Home. She knows that's where she should be. Holding her uncle when the cracks finally begin to show in his otherwise calm facade. Refereeing the war between her cousin & ex-aunt. Cataloging all the hallmark cards so they know who to send the thank-you cards to. She should be putting away the food that everyone seemed to think would somehow balance out the life that was stolen. She should be doing all those things . . . any of those things. But she's not. She can't seem to move, has seemingly forgotten the monotony associated with life's many losses. She's tired of it all, tired of being the rock everyone needs to lean on, tired of being the support that lifts everyone else out of their fog. Where was her rock to lean on, her support to pick her up when all she felt like doing was curling herself into a ball and crying herself to sleep.
"Hit me again Coleman, baby," she motions the bartender with a crook of her finger and he wanders over with the rest of the bottle, though he seems hesitant about pouring the shot for her.
"Any chance I can talk you into a cab tonight, short stuff?" he asks with a weak smile even as he pours her the shot she feels like her body is desperately craving. He knew she was heading for a fall, he'd seen the signs many times before. This was the first he'd seen them in her though-she had always seemed too strong for it to happen to her.
"No. No cabs. No friends offering their condolences . No ex-boyfriends who don't want you to move on, but want to fuck anyone they feel like," she declared, slamming the shot back, before reaching for the saltshaker & lime so neatly cut in front of her.
A decent, caring young woman is dead. A woman who should have been in the world long after she left it. A young woman, who had been due some happiness, after having spent so much of her life struggling for some sense of stability, some sense of peace. She was gone in a flash-taken against her will, against what seemed to be the very laws of nature. Of all the people the world had taken, why her? Why did it feel like the good people in Port Charles received nothing but pain, while the bad flourished? A brief burst of nervous laughter escaped. Deep down she had always suspected that this was a city with no hope.
He knew he was in serous trouble. Warning bells had gone off in his head as he'd first entered & scanned the dive for any potential troublemakers. It was her legs that had caught his eye first, and as his eyes traveled upward, he could feel a low hum spreading through his body. He wanted her. He had no doubt that it would be an all-night adventure & a very large part of him wanted to give into the building desire as he always had before. But he had curiously stopped, allowed it to build with no sign of relief. Because even across the room, he could feel the unbearable sense of agony that seemed to surround her, a cloud of pain that engulfed her very being. It gave him pause as nothing else could, the sense that here was a woman who had faced loss. He had known what that was like three times in his life. So he had given her space & sauntered up to the bar to await Coleman.
"Hey man, thanks for waiting. Got a tough cookie on my hands-know what I'm sayin," Coleman affected his typical cocky grin, but it never quite reached his eyes
"No problem. Besides-the beer's on you," he advised with a soft chuckle as he finished downing it in the blink of an eye.
"Winchesters. Never could turn down a free beer," Coleman said good-naturedly as he popped the tops on two more and passed one over to the man.
"Hmm, or a free . . . "
"Hey now-ladies present," Coleman interrupted with a nod to the young woman seated at the end of the bar. "Even if she's too drunk to notice your rotten language.
Her soft sob as she reached for the tequila bottle Coleman had placed in front of her caught both of their attention. He watched in amazement as the gruff bartender stalked purposely over to her. A tug-of-war for the bottle quickly ensued. To his further surprise, she won. Of course, it was AFTER a vicious argument of quite a few nasty Italian curses were flung around. She held her own and then some. He shook his head as he watched Coleman slice a lime, put it in front of her and wander back to him, muttering under his breath about "damned stubborn women."
"Coleman? Coleman, focus," he snapped his fingers in front of the man who just could not seem to let it go. It never used to matter to him what happened to his patrons as long as they paid their tabs and kept their mouths shut about his extra-curricular activities.
"Sorry man. She's in a bad way-actually part of the reason I called you boys. 'Cept you showed alone. Where's Sam? It wasn't that Coleman was a nosy man by nature. It was that he knew bad things tended to happen when the Winchester boys split up.
"Sammy got one of his freaky psychic vibes passing the cemetery. Said something there was calling," a visible shudder went through him as he said the words and it was then he noticed the woman at the end of the bar pausing in the midst of taking a shot. What did she know about why they had been called to this town?
Damnit Dean, you know better . . . " the bartender hissed forcing Dean to turn his focus from the woman back to his conversation.
"Spare me the lecture ok. Just tell me what big bad we've got to face?" Dean told him, his comfort level diminishing as he realized that maybe she was like him. Maybe she had risked it all on a throw of the die and lost more than he expected.
"Three women have been strangled to death. Two other attempts that we know of, " Coleman explained lowering his voice in hopes she wouldn't hear, but Dean knew it was too late. She was already listening avidly to them both.
"People kill each other every day," Dean attempted to explain it away.
"More like every ten minutes in this tow. It's like a black hole-sucks the life right out of you," Robin responded to him, because she couldn't not. Georgie had been stolen from her family and Robin knew without question that she was going to have to deal with it.
"Lady-that describes just about every city in America," he told her, couldn't help telling her the truth. Evil was everywhere, just waiting to get the jump on the good guys.
As he watched, she took the final shot of tequila straight, before upturning the glass. As she glided towards him, he couldn't help but think there was no way a woman who drank that much could be that graceful. She stopped in front of him, stole his beer before he could say a word. Forget trouble, he was screwed with a capital S. She took a gulp as he watched, pulling a picture out of her back pocket without a word. His gaze lingered there for a brief moment, but then she had flipped the photo over. Dean stared at the photo; he'd only seen that kind of innocence on one other face. His brother had that innocence, that faith. He couldn't help but wonder if he still had it.
"The final victim. My Cousin," she whispered softly, allowing the pain to overwhelm her anew.
"I'm sorry for your loss, but I don't see . . . "
"The only clue points to a dead man."
As the launch battles the waves on the way to Spoon Island, he's struck by how wrong it all feels. From the moment he woke up to find her gone, his world had shattered beyond repair. And when she had come back to him so soon after saying that last good-bye, he had thought it a miracle. It had renewed his faith in the power of their bond, that it had survived even death itself. In the end, that faith hadn't been able to stand against the truth. The love of his life was gone and she was never coming back to him.
As his feet pounded on the docks, he felt the rage come over him-his own particular brand of demon merely a medically induced event. Rages and seizures-cured by a few drugs that took her from him as well. He felt the loss as keenly as he did the first time. Except, now he wasn't the only one who had lost someone. And he knew she would need a friend. She couldn't exactly rely on the bastard who seemed determined to screw everyone foolish enough to spread their legs for anything remotely resembling comfort.
"Master Nikolas-someone to see you sir," Alfred advised even as he opened the study doors in order to allow him admittance.
And there she stood. The same as always. Except . . . she shouldn't be here anymore. And the rage at the loss came roaring through his blood once again. With a look he sent Alfred fleeing and he went to her-grabbing her arm, so angry he wanted to hurt her. Because she wasn't the one he wanted. And he knew in his heart, the woman he loved wasn't coming back. The illusion was just that and he couldn't bear to live with the lie any longer.
"Easy there big fella. You called me remember," the brunette, offered him a wink even as she flashed him the muzzle of her gun.
My apologies. You reminded me of someone. . " He released her without any qualms before walking over to the sifter of brandy.
"Your fiancé? News travels fast. My . . . condolences," she replied, retrieving her glass from him, having watched closely as he poured.
"Please. I'm many things, but not a fool," he informed her, even as he took a gulp. It didn't escape his notice that she drank from her glass only after he himself did.
"One hears all sorts of things about your family. Better to be safe than dead," she said taking note of his interest in her drinking habits. She wasn't going to apologize for guarding her life. She wasn't going to hell one minute before she was ready.
"Let's put it all in the open the, shall we Bella? And just so you're aware, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't even see them coming," Nikolas informed her as he downed the rest of his glass. As he deliberately invaded her space, he could a
lmost hear generations of Cassadines chanting his name.
"As it hadn't happened yet, I assume you need me. The question is, what for?" she asked even as she followed suit, setting down the empty glass when she was through even as she resisted the urge to sigh in relief as he backed away.
"You are a retriever, are you not? You find things that are . . . lost?" he offered as he moved over to his desk to open one of the drawers.
"For a price," she reminded him, slightly off-put when he laughed in response. People weren't supposed to find her work amusing-which reminded her of the one man who hadn't seemed the least threatened by her at all.
"Nothing ever comes without a price," he said even as he handed her the photograph of the item he required reclaiming.
"A dagger? You want me to find you a dagger?" she scoffed, looking up from the photo with a look of incredulity.
"It's important to my family. Find it. Bring it to me and you'll get your money. Now get out," he told her, pouring himself a secondary drink as he watched her shake her head.
"Why?"
"Go!" he yelled causing her to flinch before she turned on her heel and stalked off. As he brought the glass to his lips, he paused-he could almost see Emily in front of him now, almost taste her tears. The glass dropped to the ground with a shatter. How was he supposed to survive without her?
"How on earth did you manage to suck me into doing something so idiotic. My fingers are numb from holding this box and my heels keep sinking into the gravel. What the hell are we doing her you scrawny little doofus?" Maxie demanded even as she watched Spinelli dig the small hole in the middle of the dark intersection.
She had no clue what had possessed her to leave the warmth of her home with this ugly freak, but whatever it was-she wished it would have worn off closer to Port Charles. She wouldn't be freezing in the middle of nowhere with a serial killer on the loose and her only protection this pathetic excuse for a man.
"The jackal will explain all when ready, if the bad blonde one will indulge him by handing over the box belonging to wise Georgie," he asked holding out his palms even as he stared at her plaintively.
Maxie looked down at the small ornate box that had once belonged to her sister. It had been one of many gifts sent to them front Paris, although, they would've both preferred their cousin to the material possessions . . . at least Georgie had. Maxie had been too busy squealing with delight at the latest designer duds Robin had been able to procure via Brenda Barrett. Inside the box was the one of the rings Mariah had passes down to the sisters as part of their parent's legacy, the one that had brought them together in the first place. Perhaps, Mariah had suspected that if she had been given the ring instead, she would have thrown it away. She would've been incorrect, Maxie humphed; she would've hocked it at a pawnshop. There was also a first-edition Pride & Prejudice that Mac had found for Georgie in high school-Maxie couldn't have even bothered with the mini-series, though she conceded she might have watched the version that had just come out. And then there was the half-finished screen-play that she had been working on when she had been killed, probably just some silly love-story, Maxie had no doubt. Last, but not least, the picture of Georgie in her elf-costume from last year-she had been willing to go even though she and Dillon had been having problems-Lulu problems.
"Be careful, " Maxie warned as she reluctantly turned the box over to him. She watched as he buried the box in the gravel and stood-offering her a hopeful grin. Maxie rolled her eyes again wondering why she gave up her spot in front of the warm fireplace for the frigid night.
"Good evening," the soft tones had both Maxie and Spinelli turning, the latter with a startled "eep". The two exchanged a look, neither quite sure what to make of the figure appearing before them.
"Isn't it past your bed-time little girl?" Maxie snarked, rolling her eyes at the small young blond girl standing in front of them.
"You really shouldn't play with powers you don't understand," the little girl spoke, offering a wider grin as she took in the sight of them both.
"Ugh, how very children of the corn. Come on Spinelli-once again, you've wasted a woman's time," Maxie huffed, turning from both of them in order to get her sister's box because no way was she leaving it for the demon-seed.
"I can bring her back to you, if you want her badly enough," the little girl told them, her tones reflecting in an almost singsong fashion. It only served to freak Maxie out even more.
"Georgie's gone-there's no bringing her back so you should keep your smart mouth shut," Maxie hissed at the little girl, taking an aggressive step towards her. The little girl merely tilted her head at the two of them in response.
"She doesn't have to be. I can give her back to you. For a price," the little girl continued whispering to them both even as she seemed to glide towards them.
"You! You're the crossroads demon of which the jackal has read? He finds it difficult to believe that one so young could be that which he and the bad blonde one seek." Spinelli used the brief lull the girl's revelations provided to jump into the conversation.
"God-English oh-dorkified one," Maxie half-yelled at him as the young girl's eyes rolled until the whites were visible. A wave of pure heat engulfed them both quickly, fading just as fast. A startled Maxie swatted at the still burning embers of her jacket before ripping it off and throwing it to the ground. Just as she did, the jacket ignited, disintegrating before her very eyes.
"Do I have your attention now?" the young girl spoke to them, her voice suddenly louder, rippling with unspoken strength as two horrified gazes collided with her once again normal-looking eyes.
"Y-You can bring her back? Alive?" Maxie asked hesitantly, her eyes glancing briefly to her still smoldering jacket, a prototype for a famous designer's fall line, not merely ashes.
"She will be exactly as you left her," the little girl informed them both, a queer smile on her lips clearing Spinelli's befuddled mind, if only for a moment.
"The jackal suggests caution should be taken," Spinelli stammered to Maxie, grabbing a hold of Maxie's shirtsleeve when the girl's eyes narrowed on him.
"What do you get out of it?" Maxie demanded to know even as she wrenched free of Spinelli's grasp. This was her sister they were speaking about. No way was some freaky mojo gonna come between her and the way to bring her sister back to life-not if she could help it
"Five years. I will come and you will not be able to refuse me-anything, not even your life should I choose to ask it of you," the little girl offered. "If you do, she dies. If you double-cross me-she dies."
"Done" Maxie sealed her fate without a second thought. After all, five years was a long time. A lot of things could happen in the time between now and then.
"Very well. A life taken, a life given. You sister is returned to you. She will be exactly where you left her." The demon laughed as she vanished-her cackle resonating in the air around the two of them as it began to dawn on them both, exactly what they had done. It was only then, that they started to run