I'm not the pheasant plucker I'm the pheasant plucker's son and I'm only plucking pheasants til the pheasant plucker comes

File:(Black Dawn Logo File)
**Prologue** is the prologue to Black Dawn**, It was written by KatieTheAndreaFan and TheBigSwingingDick and was published on March 11th, 2015.**

**Prologue**
***Next:*** Issue 01

**Lance**

"Lance...Lance wake up...*please*..."

Lance Taylor jolted upright, beads of sweat running down his forehead. He took a deep breath and looked around him, the room was there, as it always had been. Blue walls, navy carpet, black ceiling with glow-in-the-dark star stickers. An amalgamation of toy cars on a table in the corner and the door to the landing wide open. It was always like this, always had been, and always will be. Then there was the man standing over him, the only thing he liked about this. Lance dreaded this, he dreaded it every night when he went to sleep, and yet he still longed to see that face. He didn't care that the man looked anxious, or that he had tears welling in his eyes...no, all Lance cared about was seeing his dear old dad.

"Come on matey, time to get up, I've got a special job for you," his father said, masking his obvious sadness with a warm smile. Back then, when it first happened, Lance hadn't noticed the sadness. He's asked if there was a problem, and though he already knew exactly what that problem was, he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Daddy...what's wrong? Where's mummy?" It was always that, and always in that voice that was both his and not his at the same time. Never dad or mum, never Jack or Mel; and never in the voice he knew as his own. It was always daddy and mummy, and always in that voice, the voice of a confused child. He looked at his dad, and had to fight back his own tears. No, he didn't, he didn't cry back then so he couldn't cry now.

"Mummy's downstairs matey, and you've got to get up. She needs you to..." his father stifled a sob. "Your mum and me...we need you to go and hide in the wardrobe...no, in the washing basket in the bathroom, can you do that for us Lance?"

"I can do tha-" Lance started, knowing all too well what would happen. Just as had hapened last time, and the time before, and everytime before that; he was interrupted. The sound of the end beginning, the sound of *that man* starting to break down the front door, thundered through the house

"Lance, listen to me," his father said, his voice now one of urgency and the tears now streaming down his face. "Go into the bathroom, take all the clothes out of the washing basket, climb inside, then pull them back in on top of you. Close the lid, keep quiet, and whatever anyone says, don't come out til I open the lid for you. If anyone other than me or your mum opens the lid, you run straight to Uncle Steve's house, and don't look behind you. Do you understa-"

Another thud came from downstairs, followed by the sound of his mother screaming for help. "Jack! They're coming in!" she yelled, the same cries Lance had remembered all his life. The same cries that came back every night.

His father yelled back, "I'm coming Mel! Hold on!" and then ushered Lance out of his bedroom, half dragging him by his arm. At the top of the stairs, his father turned to him and mouthed the word "Go", and then turned to run down them. This was always what happened, and Lance wanted to scream, he wanted to scream at his father to stay with him. But he always left. No, it wasn't, there was always one more thing. At the bottom of the stairs, his father turned back and mouthed one last thing to him. The one thing that meant more to him than anything else in that moment, the one thing that he still considered the most precious thing in his memory, even though it was just four words.

"I love you, son..."

His father disappeared, round the corner, and Lance never saw him again after that. Except he did, he saw him every night, and every night he never saw him again.

It had been ten minutes since he heard the last thud. Ten minutes since he'd heard a man bellow "Long-time no-see, Jackie", and five since he'd heard that man shout the words that haunted him every time. Words that hadn't phased him much at the time, but words that now wrenched his heart open every night. "Lookin' pretty tonight Mel," the man said; and then "Danny, pull her jeans down, show Jackie here how a real man does it." It was now three minutes since Lance had heard the screams of his mother being raped.

What happened next was so vividly engraved on his memory, though he'd never even seen it. He just imagined it, pictured it using the sound he heard. His father shouting, a gunshot, and a thud. The man laughing, his father shouting again and his mother screaming. A second gunshot. No more sounds from his father. A third gunshot. No more sounds from his mother.

Then came the footsteps, and his heart raced. His heart had raced then, and it did now, but for different reasons. Back then, he'd been so scared of them coming and finding him, so worried that he wouldn't be able to make it Uncle Steve's house. Now, his heart was racing out of anxiety and impatience at the same time. It was racing because she was coming. "Hello? Anyone here?" she asked as the bathroom door creaked open.

Lance couldn't see her, but she was there. He could hear her breathing, and he knew what would happen next. His body shook, he shivered and quaked, and yet he wasn't afraid. He knew nothing would happen to him, he knew everything would be fine, and yet he was terrified. No, the old Lance was terrified. The lid was lifted, beams of light shone through gaps in the mass of jackets and shirts that were his ceiling, and then he felt something reach inside. Like a worm, it wriggled through the clothes and towels around him, until it found his hand and grasped it. He felt her take his hand, and she whispered, "It's okay, I won't tell them."

He wanted to ask her so much, but the same old words came out of his mouth. "I was told to go to Uncle Steve's house if you did that..." It frustrated him, he wanted answers more than anything, but at the same time he knew that he'd never get them. Whatever answers he got now that he hadn't got back then were mere figments of his imagination.

"Well, you don't have to go to Uncle Steve's house" she replied, still in a hushed tone. "I won't tell them about you, but you have to talk in whispers, okay? I'm meant to be looking for you."

"You found me, now is it my turn to find you? Can I find my mummy and daddy as well?" he asked, in that same old childish voice. He felt her hand grip his tightly, and heard her take a deep breath.

"No, you stay there. Someone will come and find you, and until they do, I'm here. I'll stay with you..."

"Who are you?"

"My name's...well, my name doesn't matter, I'm just your friend, that's what matters."

"Friends know eachother's names" he told her defiantly.

"Alright then, my name's Tiffany Hinton...but most people call me Tiff...what's your name?"

"Lance."

"Nice to meet you Lance" she said, shaking his hand gently before reverting back to hold it. "How old are you Lance? I bet you're a big boy aren't you?"

"I'm six and a quarter years old" he boasted. Inside, he wanted to scream, he wanted to scream that he wasn't that little boy anymore. He wanted to tell her that they could save his mum and dad, that they could get away, but he knew that he couldn't. As far as she knew; hell, as far as he knew himself at the time, he was six years old. Six and a quarter years old, rather.

"Wow, you are a big boy then, my brother's only three...well, one of them is...my nice brother is three, my nasty brother is nineteen."

"Is your nasty brother the man downstairs?"

"No that's my dad...but my nasty brother's down there too...and their friends..."

"Why are you friends with all those boys? Why aren't you friends with any girls?"

"I am, well, sort of...but they aren't my friends...they're not nice pe-"

"**TIFF!**" the voice from downstairs yelled, "**WHERE IS THE LITTLE FUCKER?!**"

"I don't know dad!" she called back. "He certainly isn't up here!" she added, and then squeezed his hand tightly.

"Alright, get back down then, these two have learned their lesson," the man replied, his voice having lowered. "Come on, hurry up, or your tea will be cold."

"Mum won't be happy if you don't hurry, Tiff," another voice added. That must've been the brother, whoever he was. Was he Danny? Perhaps, Lance had never really figured it out.

Tiffany let go of his hand and pulled it out of the basket, and he whispered one last question as she moved to leave the room.

"Who are you, really?" he asked her.

"Your guardian angel" she replied.

"Lance...Lance wake up...*please*..."

He jolted upright again, but it was different. It was light, he wasn't in his childhood bedroom, and it wasn't his dad talking to him. He was on a sofa, in an office, in what seemed to be the early hours of the morning. And she was there, the girl he cherished, smiling down on him.

"Jeez, you alright?" Maxine asked him. "Didn't mean to upset ya, just wanted you to come out on watch with me. If it aint you, it's gotta be Jake, and we both know that wouldn't end well."

"Yeah, we do" he replied with a grin, rolling off of the sofa and planting his feet on the ground. He was already dressed, already had his walking boots on, that was just how it worked these days.

"You had the dream again, didn't you?" she asked him. She was the only one he'd told, the only one of them who knew about his parents, about his guardian angel. Uncle Steve had known, but he was dead. He'd died at the school, along with the others. Bill and Madi and Marcus and Lynne and Harriet and Lawson and Dave and...and Alexander Sharp. There weren't many of them left now, and though he cared about most of them, Maxine was the only one he trusted to know about what happened all those years ago. She was the only one who knew what happened to him on most nights, when he found himself trapped in the body of his six and a quarter year old self. She was the only one who knew how he'd found his parents dead the next morning, butchered on the kitchen floor. She was the only one who knew that their murderer's daughter had saved his life.

She was the only one who knew how it all tore him apart inside, and she didn't mind, because she had her demons too. And he knew every one of them by name, just as she knew his. And that was how they kept going. That was how they survived.

**Characters**

Lance Taylor

Jack Taylor

Tiffany Hinton

Maxine Crayton

Mel Taylor *(Mentioned)*

Steve Taylor *(Mentioned)*

Jon Hinton *(Mentioned)*

Danny Hinton *(Mentioned)*

Bill Davison *(Mentioned)*

Madi Blake *(Mentioned)*

Marcus Blake *(Mentioned)*

Lynne Blake *(Mentioned)*

Harriet Marks *(Mentioned)*

Anthony Lawson *(Mentioned)*

Dave Monroe *(Mentioned)*

Alexander Sharp *(Mentioned)*

**Deaths**

Jack Taylor *(Confirmed Fate)*

Mel Taylor *(Confirmed Fate)*

Steve Taylor *(Confirmed Fate)*

Bill Davison *(Confirmed Fate)*

Madi Blake *(Confirmed Fate)*

Marcus Blake *(Confirmed Fate)*

Lynne Blake *(Confirmed Fate)*

Harriet Marks *(Confirmed Fate)*

Anthony Lawson *(Confirmed Fate)*

Dave Monroe *(Confirmed Fate)*

Alexander Sharp *(Confirmed Fate)*

**Trivia**

First appearance of Lance Taylor

First appearance of Jack Taylor

First appearance of Tiffany Hinton

First appearance of Maxine Crayton

First mention of Mel Taylor

First mention of Steve Taylor

First mention of Jon Hinton

First mention of Danny Hinton

First mention of Bill Davison

First mention of Madi Blake

First mention of Marcus Blake

First mention of Lynne Blake

First mention of Harriet Marks

First mention of Anthony Lawson

First mention of Dave Monroe

First mention of Alexander Sharp

First mention of Jake Hughes