Dead Beautiful (A Harrison Wells Fanfic) *ON HOLD*

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1.
The One In Which I Die (And Get Some Pretty Awesome Silver Hair In The Process)

I thought my life would change for the better when I died.

Guess what? It didn't.

My life began the day I died. Well, technically, my life began twenty-five years prior to my death in Midway City as Nova Lee Stirling, but I really don't feel like getting into it right now. Just know that it sucked - not that it doesn't suck now, it's just sucky at a whole new level. I used to be a manga artist, and I continued to be one after my death. Not that I need the money - the side job which I got (or rather, was forced into getting) after my death pays really well - but art has been my passion ever since I was a kid.

I'll start from the moment right after my death. It was a nineteen year old Barry Allen who found my dead body washed up on the shores of Central Beach. He was there on holiday with some of his friends, and was out for an early morning walk along the beach when he saw me. He later told me that I was definitely long dead when he got to me, at least for a couple of hours - since he was studying forensic science at the time, I guess he would know. He was just about to call the police when the impossible happened - I sat up and vomited out a ton of sea water.
A normal person would probably have had a heart attack in a situation like this, but not Barry Allen (honestly, that boy is so level-headed, it's annoying). He quickly carried me back to his room, filled up the bathtub with hot water and put me in it until I could get some feeling back in my numb, ice-cold body again. After that he wrapped me up in a towel and sat me down in an armchair, before calling up room service to order a cup of hot chocolate for me. I must have looked traumatized, because he didn't ask me any questions until I got back some colour in my cheeks, thanks to the strong cup of hot chocolate.

"Who are you?" Was his first question. He must have felt that that might have been a little too insensitively phrased given my condition, because he added, "Um, do you remember your name or anything?"

I barely had enough strength to speak, but I somehow managed to choke out, "Nova."

"Nova." He smiled. He always did have such a cute smile. "My name is Barry. Barry Allen."

That was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out.

***********

When I woke up again, I was definitely not in Barry Allen's hotel room.

I was in some kind of a dark cellar, with a lone bulb hanging down from the middle of the ceiling. I was lying on the only piece of furniture in the room, a small wooden cot. There was a brown jacket wrapped around me, which I recognized as the one I had seen Barry wearing when he had found me.

I sat up and looked around. Barry was walking aimlessly around the room a little distance away from me, looking frustrated. When he saw that I had woken up he walked up to me at once. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I murmured as I tried to get up. I was still in my wet clothes, and it felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Don't get up!" Barry chided as he tried to get me settled back in the cot again. "I know it's uncomfortable, but you're too weak to be moving around now, trust me."

And for some reason, I did trust him. "Where are we?" I asked.

Barry sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. A group of men came to the hotel soon after you fell asleep and blindfolded me, then pushed us both into a car and drove us up here." He raised an eyebrow at me. "Do you, um, have any idea what's going on?"