?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Ghosts by faithdaria


Title: Ghosts
Rating: 14
Genre: Humor/Horror
Disclaimer: George Lucas, not mine.
Summary: Sometimes the dead choose to speak.


He had ordered the cases to be delivered to his quarters on the Executor and followed hard on the heels of the ones responsible for carrying out said orders. The latest arrival from Boba Fett had been directed to him, which meant that it represented the end of a prominent Jedi. There were few left, and Vader was eager for the death of each one.

The small container would hold the lightsaber of the bounty hunter’s prey; the larger one would have a physical memento to confirm the kill. He flipped open the catch on the smaller one with a negligent gesture, looked down on the two lightsabers, and felt his heart try to speed up. The Sith Lord fumbled with the fasteners on the second box, telling himself it was the suit that made his fingers clumsy. Surely Fett hadn’t succeeded where he himself had failed, surely it was a mistake brought on by his own longing, but he knew those weapons, knew them intimately.

Finally the box fell open and Darth Vader looked down upon the contents. Part of him noted idly that Fett had managed to avoid disintegration this time. Maybe he had become tired of the longer confirmation wait. The rest of him was such a mix of emotions that for a moment all he could do was stare down at the remains.

The head was turned to the side, facing away from him, and Vader found that oddly appropriate. He reached in and picked it up, though there was no need for further confirmation, and moved it until he was looking directly into the face of Obi-Wan Kenobi. It seemed a little older, the hair and beard streaked with grey, but there was no mistaking the tranquil features of his former master. The eyes were closed, and the mouth held the sly smile that in life had hinted at a plan that his opponent would never see coming. It was too bad for Kenobi that this plan apparently hadn’t worked. Vader moved to set the head back in the box, both glad that the man had been taken care of and angry that he hadn’t been the one to strike the final blow.

It was at this moment that he heard an old, familiar voice. “Well, this is a disappointment. I had hoped to live a little longer.”

Vader dropped his prize back into it’s container with a thump, and he heard a muffled oath. “Careful, Anakin. You might damage me.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“In here,” came the almost cheerful reply. Vader steeled himself – he was a Sith Lord, after all, and this was just another Jedi trick. No doubt Fett was in on the scheme and had wired hidden cameras. He felt anger fill him as he looked down at the severed head. It’s eyes were now open and it seemed to be studying his surroundings with interest.

“What is this?” Vader growled.

“Well, I’m no expert in these matters, but it appears that someone killed me and sent you my head in a box. Really, Anakin, that’s rather uncivilized. I thought I had taught you better manners.”

“How are you doing this?”

“You should have paid more attention to the lessons of Master Yoda. ‘Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.’” The last was said with a passable imitation of the old troll. “If a Jedi has enough focus, there are few limits to what the Force will allow him.” Obi-Wan’s eyes finally looked up into Vader’s mask. “I don’t suppose you could pick me up. I’d like to look around a little more.”

Vader hesitated, still looking down at his former master. The lips broke into a familiar smile, and the eyes filled with mirth. “I’m a severed head, Anakin. It’s not like I’m a threat. What am I going to do, bite a robotic hand?” Was it pointless to use a Force-choke on someone who didn’t have a throat? Probably. The Sith Lord gingerly picked up what remained of the Jedi. “Turn me around please. I can’t see much with you blocking my way.” The temptation to drop him on the deck was strong, and Obi-Wan must have picked up on his feelings. “If you drop me, you’ll have to call someone to clean up, and it won’t hinder me in the slightest. Turn me around.” Vader growled but did as he asked.

“Lord Vader?” The fresh-faced lieutenant stood at the door. The man’s face was white at the sight of Darth Vader holding a human head in front of him. “We’re . . .we’re preparing to enter hyperspace, my lord,” he stammered.

“Very well,” Vader said, and the young man scrambled out of the room. The Sith looked down at the head in his hands. The eyes were dull with death, the mouth slightly open. Then the eyes brightened again, and Obi-Wan grinned.

“Call another one in here. That was quite entertaining.”

“No. No more of this.” He set the head down none too gently on the table and walked toward the door.

“But I thought you enjoyed death, Anakin.” The voice sounded genuinely puzzled. “After all, you’ve practically made it into an art form, a gift freely given to so many beings that trusted you.” Vader tried to take another step and stumbled. He looked down at his feet and saw two padawans, a girl and a boy whose names had disappeared if he had ever known them. The girl had a cauterized hole the size of his fist in her chest. She was helping hold up the boy, whose torso was nearly cleaved in two from a deep lightsaber strike to the shoulder. He remembered killing them both, the look of surprise on the boy’s face when he had seen his attacker.

“They were traitors to the Emperor,” Vader hissed. “Plotting to overthrow the Republic. They all had to die.”

“I don’t understand, Master Skywalker. What did we do?” He looked down at the frightened face of one of the younglings he had personally killed. He remembered every single one of them.

“And what of her, Anakin? What did she do?” Obi-Wan was looking into the corner of the room with sadness in his eyes. Vader followed his line of vision and felt his breath try to catch, but the suit wouldn’t let it.

“Padme?” The woman in the shadows didn’t answer. “Padme, is that you?”

“She can’t speak to you, Anakin. She can’t speak to anyone anymore. You crushed her throat, remember?” The woman he loved stepped out of the shadows, and Vader saw the bruises from his Force-grip on her throat. Cradled in her arms was a baby with pale blue skin. “Your daughter died before she had a chance to live because of you.”

“Leave me alone,” Vader boomed, reaching into the Force to sweep them away. Instead they moved closer.

“What are you going to do, Anakin? You can’t kill us, we’re already dead. You saw to that.”

Vader howled and ignited his lightsaber. He slashed through Obi-Wan’s head and the table beneath, and then slashed again and again until all that remained were unrecognizable fragments of flesh, hair and bone.

“That’s not going to stop us, Anakin,” he heard. The Sith turned and looked at his dead wife, who was holding out their baby. Obi-Wan’s voice was coming from its mouth. In fact, its face was changing as he watched into his former master’s, sans beard. “We’re the only company you’ll ever have, and our ranks grow more every day. Everything you touch turns to ash, everyone you come near will die, and it’s all because of you.”

Vader screamed in rage and brought his lightsaber down through the baby and Padme . . . and then woke up, straining for air.