Author's Note: This was a one-shot that I had in my computer files from 2000/1. Much Thanks to JoanMilton who was kind enough to BETA this for me and guide me through many revisions, which I thought that that everyone would find amusing, that it turned out to be six. ;) I hope that you all enjoy.
This is a standalone short story.
Some original characters added. Canon characters created by David Seltzer and Joseph Howard for the novelizations and also Seltzer for the screenplay of The Omen. Plus Harvey Bernhard, Stanley Mann, Mike Hodges, for the D: OII script. I own nothing.
The Shift
New York City, NY
November 23rd
The young man could not sleep in his Soho apartment; all he did was toss and turn. It was better, however, than the nightmares that had become his new normal. It might have been why he developed a smoking habit and drank about three cups of coffee before going to bed.
There was a light frost on the windows and he hated not being able to see the outside. The cold harsh wind was a reminder that he was all alone in this world, no family, no friends, and the two most horrible realities: no girlfriend, and a belief in God that was almost non-existent.
The apartment belonged to a friend who felt concerned over the eighteen-year-old who looked like those scorched souls from the 1960's who came home after Vietnam. He didn't have to explain that while on paper he was wealthy; in reality he was as poor as the homeless vagrants on the streets.
The young man sighed heavily and rolled over; it was two-thirty in the morning and that was when he the heard cries, like a cat's. He figured if he was losing his mind, it was the price paid for still being alive.
He was no longer in the only place he considered home, which was Chicago, Illinois. He may have been safe in New York City, but he missed where he grew up.
The sound turned into a sobbing, which made him get out of bed. He developed a new habit of sleeping in his clothes, just in case he needed to make a quick getaway in the middle of the night. He put on his shoes, and didn't bother with a coat. He grabbed a flashlight off the end table. He opened the door, as the crying got louder. It was coming from inside the apartment building.
"Who's there?" He called out, his voice shaking. He needed a smoke. There was no one in the corridor. He lived in a five story apartment complex, he was glad his friend's apartment was on the first floor. The sounds were coming from above him, of course. He wouldn't run away from it. If it were a cat he'd take it in, he needed someone to talk to apart from himself.
He put his hand on the wrought iron railing and went up to the second floor, the crying was getting a little louder. The stairs creaked with every step and he finally realized what made people go insane was that the world was being against them. When he got to the third floor, he could make the cries out; they sounded female in nature. Ghosts? No. Ghosts come to you. It would be silly to have to go to them. He tried his best to rationalize.
"Who's there?" He asked again, his voice stronger this time when he got to the fourth floor.
But all the female voice did was sob uncontrollably, like she had lost something dear to her, the way he felt all the time as of late.
He stopped to catch his breath when he got to the fifth floor, and thought it was odd that not one other person came out of their apartments to check this sound out. He saw a woman by the elevators; it was bitter cold outside and she was soaked from the freezing rain and was shivering.
"Hello, are you okay?" He kept the light in the middle of them as not to blind her with it.
"Mark, it's me, Vanessa." She held out her arms to him.
She turned around and he dropped the flashlight, breaking the glass lens.
His legs were too numb to run away. He figured his mind had reached the final snapping point.
"No." His feet finally moved back a step. "You're dead. I should know. I was the one who killed you." Mark's voice broke.
"Don't be afraid, it's really me." She put her hand inside her dress pocket to reveal her silver heart locket that he gave her when they were "going steady".
"No..." He put his hands over his ears.
"Mark, listen," Vanessa replied calmly, going towards him.
He rested his hands at his side, but could not speak.
"It's really me, baby. I missed you so much!" She put her arms around him and hugged him tight.
He held her face in his hands; she smelled of her rose perfume. "But...I..."
"You only thought you killed me. Damien had us both drugged up and brainwashed."
He looked into her eyes; they were the beautiful sky blue that he remembered. "But...I went to your funeral!" If this was a trick, he wished he could just be killed on the spot. Maybe he was dreaming this whole thing.
"I was left for dead in a ditch, until a kind soul found me. The funeral was staged like everything Damien publicly does." She started to cry again.
"If I had a boat what was I going to name it?" He never told another soul that, not even Damien. They were the only ones who knew.
"The Marnessa."
"It's really you, 'Nessa!" He embraced her back tightly, and then he kissed her on the lips.
The tension he had been feeling for several months was finally lifting away, like a child letting go of a balloon into the air after a summer carnival. It was leaving his body nearly making him collapse.
"Let's get you out of these wet clothes." He was so grateful to GOD that he had been given a second chance with Vanessa. He put his arm around her as they walked down the stairs together rather than take the elevator.
While she was getting dressed in the bathroom, he put on the tea kettle. While he puttered around the kitchen he began crying, but they were joyous tears for a change.
Vanessa, dressed in a blue terry cloth robe that belonged to Mark's friend, washed her face with a plain white soap bar. When she finished drying her face she looked up into the mirror, her lips turned upward to reveal a sly smile.
He knocked at the door to check on her. "Are you okay, 'Nessa?"
"I'm fine, Mark." She opened the door, and put her arms around him, kissing him. "Is my tea ready?"
"Almost. Are you hungry?"
"Not really. Have you been reading the papers?"
That seemed a rather strange question for Vanessa to be asking, but after all they've been through, Mark figured nothing could be strange anymore.
"No. I have no interest, none at all. The only thing I want is the money that is rightfully mine and even that I don't really care about, but I can't keep sponging off my friend."
As the kettle whistled its tune, Vanessa caught one last glimpse of herself in the bedroom dresser mirror as she followed Mark into the kitchen, joining him at the small table.
"I love you." She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.
"I love you, Vanessa, for always." He picked up both her hands and kissed them and happily sighed.
He got a second chance to be alive again. And nothing was going to happen this time; not as long as he and Vanessa were together.
8:00 am
"Mark, wake up!" Vanessa jumped back on the bed, carrying a big manila envelope.
"What is it, honey?" He rubbed his eyes and kissed her good morning. She was still here; it wasn't a dream.
"I don't know, it's addressed to you."
"No one knows that I'm here except for my friend...and you."
"Open it. An envelope can't hurt you."
"All right." Vanessa had come back into his life, not everything was an evil omen. "My God!"
He tipped the envelope over and money came pouring out of the envelope, in crisp one hundred dollar bills.
"There must be thousands here!" Vanessa exclaimed, studying his face for a reaction.
"We can get our own apartment, and I'll take any job to support us."
"One step at a time, Mark. We should open a bank account."
"I don't have any personal ID, someone took it."
"I have ID, it was in my coat pocket, and we can do it in my name. The Thorn name is too powerful; you wouldn't want to draw attention to yourself." She caressed his cheek.
"Great idea, 'Nessa. I cannot handle pressure. I never could."
Vanessa smiled. "Since when do you smoke?" She picked up the packet of cigarettes that were on the bedside table.
"Since you died," he laughed. "You can throw them away."
The doorbell rang and he went to answer it; it was probably the all night flower shop he had called when Vanessa had fallen asleep at five o'clock in the morning.
She waited until he left the room and that was when Vanessa opened the pack and took one of the cigarettes and red disposable lighter with her into the bathroom and lit up as she sighed into the air.
She quickly threw the cigarette in the toilet and flushed.
Vanessa then poured a capful of mint mouthwash to freshen her breath before she slithered back into the bed and waited for him to return.
"Close your eyes; I have a surprise for you." Mark sat on the edge of the bed. He had spent the very last of his OWN money on two dozen long stemmed red roses.
"Can I open them now?" Vanessa giggled.
"Yes."
"Oh honey, they're beautiful." She reached for them.
"Read the card, first."
She reached inside the crinkly pink cellophane to pull out the white notecard.
To Vanessa: Here's to our second chance. Love you forever, Mark.
They shared yet another tender kiss. He was so happy to have his Vanessa back with him. Mark felt like he bargained with the Devil and won.
"I'm going to cry," Vanessa let out a small whimper as she smelled the pretty fragrance of the roses.
"Don't cry, 'Nessa. I actually have another surprise for you; I was going to wait until tonight."
"What is it? I just love surprises. Does your friend have a vase for these?"
Mark got up from the bed to grab the crystal pitcher that was on the dresser to put the roses in.
Vanessa watched as he quickly went to the bathroom to put the flowers in water before putting the pitcher back on top of the dresser.
He quietly opened the top drawer and took out a sapphire blue velvet box and placed it in his pocket.
"What's that?" Vanessa noticed.
"You'll see. I have wanted to do this for a very long time, but as you know fate was out of our hands, until today. To make a terribly bad story short, I'll tell you about what happened in Hawaii later, I took the next plane to Chicago, that's when I found my ID, bankbooks, passport, and birth certificate missing and I knew I couldn't stay there forever looking for them, so apart from some clothes, I grabbed two things, a real Thorn family photograph, the picture frame was cracked in half, that I can only imagine that was Ann's doing, and something my father said when I found the right person I could give it to them…something that I'd like you to have." Mark didn't have the heart to tell Vanessa his father had told him this a month before he died.
"Really?" She blinked her eyes. "What is it?"
"This has to be done right." He got down on knee and opened the ring box. "Will you marry me, Vanessa?"
Her eyes got wide with excitement. "Yes, Mark, Oh, yes! I've waited a very long time for this moment!"
He put the ring on her shaking finger as they kissed, falling backwards on the bed. Since Damien stripped Vanessa of her virginity, there was no point in waiting for their wedding night. They made love as the New York City sun rose through the winter clouds, the mysterious money falling on the floor in a tidy pile on Vanessa's side of the bed.
"I love you," they both sighed in unison when they reached their fever-pitched climax.
After they made love, Vanessa let Mark cuddle her in his arms for a good ten minutes before announcing that she wanted to take a shower before breakfast.
She let the hot water pummel her back as she satisfied herself, all the while, looking at Mary Thorn's ring on her finger. After breakfast, she was going to go to the bank to open up her account and then go shopping for some clothes.
She was going to have to buy the clothes first before going to the bank; the dress she wore earlier was still cold and damp even though the thermostat was set on 70 degrees. It figured that Mark's friend had one of those big city apartments with heating that was less than desirable.
Tomorrow, she and Mark could take a gander over the apartment listings; something overlooking Central Park West would be nice. She had to find out if he knew about the whereabouts of the Megiddo daggers. Vanessa turned off the water and wrapped herself in a big, fluffy white towel and put on one of Mark's t-shirts. It fit her like a short dress.
Vanessa went to join her fiancée in the kitchen.
"That smells good, Mark." Her stomach rumbled as she sat at the kitchen table.
"You are nothing but skin and bones, 'Nessa, you need to eat more."
"Well, so do you."
"Now, I have a reason to. I'm so glad you are back into my life. I can't believe it. I feel like I am still dreaming."
"Same here. Can I ask you something, it's been on my mind since I was raped." She began to cry.
"Don't cry, Vanessa. I hate seeing you cry. You can ask me anything."
"Did you ever find out where the daggers were?"
"No. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe we aren't meant to bring Damien down. Let someone else have the burden. I just want to be married to you and have a life that has nothing to do with our past. We can start anew. Fuck Damien!" Mark raised his glass of orange juice.
A shiver went up Vanessa's spine. "Fuck Damien!" She raised her coffee cup to clink their toast.
Shopping
Vanessa buttoned up the jade green color silk blouse in the fitting room of a high class boutique. She smoothed her hands down her chest admiring her form in the mirror; you'd never know.
She debated between black trousers or a skirt, but Vanessa figured to stay girly-girly, it's what Mark liked about her, her vulnerability. He responded to her tears.
She was Stepford Wife beautiful, like she could be chauffeuring around a minivan full of children to their sports practices. She had Mark buy himself some new clothes as well. Vanessa pinched her cheek, this was lasting longer than the first shift, but this was different.
There was a knock on the door. "Miss, are you all right in there?"
It was the saleswoman who was assisting her and Vanessa could hear the worry in the woman's voice, anxious that she would change her mind about the purchases and the woman would lose her ten percent commission on the sale. "Yes. I'll be out in a minute."
For a brief moment, her eyes turned black; but she took a deep breath and they returned to blue. She paid for her clothes wishing that there was a chauffeur or somebody to carry her bags for her, before she went to the bank.
*********************
"What did you buy?" Mark laughed; he only purchased one bag's worth.
"A woman needs clothes," Vanessa reminded him as they relaxed in the back seat of a cab.
"Did you set up the bank account?" He put his arm around her.
"It's all taken care of, honey. Tomorrow we'll look for a new apartment. As you said you don't want to sponge off your friend forever."
"It seems like you are on a mission, 'Nessa."
"I am, Mark, I am." She kissed him on the cheek.
Next Day
"Please, Mark, it's really lovely. I couldn't bear to look at another." They had only looked at two properties. The penthouse overlooking Central Park West was perfect.
"You heard the lady," Mark announced. "I suppose you are right, 'Nessa we can make a home here."
The real estate agent smiled.
"Mark, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure." They walked onto the private balcony in the master bedroom.
"I have a job interview tomorrow."
"I thought we decided that I was going to support us?"
"That's your father's idea of what a man should do. In case you haven't noticed, it's a big world out there."
"What's your interview for?" This was happening all too fast for him; but if Vanessa wanted a career, of course he supported her decision.
"Consulting in Connecticut."
"Connecticut?" He knew a lot of people commuted from New York City to Connecticut, but why did Vanessa want to?
"That's where the firm is. You know I'd rather spend every waking hour with you, don't you?"
"I know you do, 'Nessa. I'll just miss you something fierce."
"So will I, honey." She kissed him on the lips.
A Week Later
Mark was uncomfortable in his new home. He just missed Vanessa and wondered why she had to leave so early in the morning.
He tried to focus on the classifieds, but he had no interest. He was torn. It may have been easy money, but where did it come from? He did not want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it seemed the money just magically appeared out of nowhere.
The phone rang. Mark sprang up to answer it; maybe it was Vanessa. It was after five in the afternoon she should have been home by now.
"Hello, 'Nessa?"
"No, it's me, Nicole."
"How did you get my number here?" They had gone their separate ways in Hawaii.
"Mark, I see you were expecting a call from Vanessa. She's back isn't she?"
"Yes."
"I really hate to tell you this, but that is not Vanessa, it's Damien! You are in danger if you don't get out of there immediately!"
Mark's cheeks flushed with anger. "Can't I have happiness? She's proven to me that she's Vanessa."
"He's going to kill you! That's the plan!" She pleaded into the phone.
"Vanessa is Vanessa, NOT Damien. You are way out of line."
"Draw her blood, take it to a lab, you'll see that it is NOT her."
"I will do no such thing. I can understand your fear, believe me, I lived it, but it's over with. I'm sick of living and constantly looking over my shoulder. Damien is in Chicago doing god-knows-what at Thorn. Vanessa is NOT Damien. Since when can he change into another body?"
"Since he changed into you and raped Vanessa!"
"Goodbye. Don't call here ever again!"
Mark slammed the phone down and cried. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He refused to believe that his soulmate that finally came back to him was anything but his lovely Vanessa. This was too much to bear. He thought he was going crazy like his uncle, he was exhausted and fell asleep on the floor.
Vanessa smiled. She had just come home and stood in the hallway as she listened to Mark's conversation. When she heard the thud as he collapsed, she looked in the living room; he had fallen asleep on the floor. It would be the perfect opportunity to go to the restaurant across the street for dinner. She was starving.
1 Hour Later
When Mark awoke, he was embarrassed that he fell asleep on the floor. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Vanessa come through the front door and he was thankful that he at least made it to the sofa. He'd hate for her to see him break. It was the Thorn curse.
"How was your day?"
"Good." She went over to kiss him on the lips. "What did you make for dinner?"
"I was hoping we could go out." He had to cover up for the fact that he didn't even think of preparing anything or picking up a phone to getting something delivered.
Vanessa laughed. "I was joking, honey. One of the girls at the office brought in take-out for everybody, so I'm full."
They cuddled on the sofa, only half-interested in what was playing on the television.
"Okay. You're shaking, Mark. What's wrong? Is there something that you want to tell me?"
He knew Nicole didn't know what she was talking about. He told Vanessa everything she said. They had been through too much to have secrets with one another.
"Who is this Nicole person?"
"Someone Damien set me up with for our graduation party."
"I'll show you that I'm Vanessa." She kissed him with tenderness and vulnerability. "I love you, Mark. Don't pay people like that any mind." She kissed his neck, as she dimmed the lights, her eyes darkened waiting for only one day. Mark's Judgment Day.
It was one-twenty-nine when Mark looked down at the sleeping Vanessa, her head on his chest.
He stroked her hair as his fingers played with the strands. To either prove Nicole wrong, or to prove himself right, he parted her hair, gently as to not wake her up. He'd still have his marking if Vanessa was Damien. He had a lump in his throat what felt like the size of a boulder.
Vanessa's hand reached up and clamped his wrist hard. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing, 'Nessa, I was just playing with your hair."
She sat up. "No, you were not, Mark! You were seeing if I was Damien!"
His stomach sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. I didn't mean it. Honest, baby."
"No, you want to see, don't let me stop you." She put her head down and parted her hair. "Take a look, get out a magnifying glass, then you tell me!" Vanessa bit her bottom lip to stop the flow of tears.
"No, I'm sorry. It got the better of me."
"Not the right answer."
She got up and ran to the bathroom slamming the door and locking it behind her; she smiled into the medicine cabinet mirror.
"Open up, Vanessa, please, I'm so sorry. I don't believe what Nicole said. Honest." He tried opening the door.
Vanessa sat on the edge of the bathtub. When she knew that Mark was gone, she filled the bath with bubbles and sliced one of her wrists with his razor.
That'll teach him.
Mark thought as thirty minutes went by that she had spent too long in the bathtub and knocked on the door. He grew increasingly worried when she didn't answer him.
He went to the kitchen to get a screwdriver to jimmy the lock open.
Mark found Vanessa with her bloodied wrist draped over the bathtub.
"Vanessa!"
What had he done?
He didn't even want to process that she tried to kill herself because of him. He took a dazed Vanessa out of the bath. He wrapped her in a blanket and bandaged her wrist, feeling hate and contempt for himself. She thankfully had a pulse and he didn't want to call for an ambulance. She'd be fine as the cuts weren't deep enough to warrant medical attention.
"I'm sorry, Vanessa. You know I love you."
Damn Damien. Even when he wasn't in the room he was still ever present. He laid down next to her putting his arm across her body.
"I'm so sorry, 'Nessa. I love you so much." He kissed her on the lips before falling asleep.
Her eyes sprung open as soon as Mark's eyes closed.
She carefully removed his arm and went to the bathroom to remove the bandages. The cuts were already healed.
A few blonde strands of her hair were on her shoulders.
"Fuck," Vanessa whispered.
The voice, too? Not now.
What was HIS Father thinking?
It would have been partly funny to have Mark wake up to this, but it wasn't the time.
Vanessa quickly scrawled a note to Mark saying that it was over. She placed Mary Thorn's ring on top of it and put on a unisex outfit of jeans and a t-shirt, calling Paul from the kitchen phone telling him to get the New York City apartment open for her and to call for a taxi.
When the cab arrived, the driver was a disciple so it explained the utter silence and reverence as Vanessa turned back into Damien, his body covered in slime.
The driver pulled in the back entrance and made sure that Damien was safely tucked in the building before leaving.
"Fuck, Father! I almost had the bastard!"
YOU DON'T DECIDE HOW IT GOES
"I know. I'm taking a shower. The only good thing is that Mark is feeling lower than scum right about now." A self-satisfied smile spread across Damien's mouth.
"No! Vanessa..."
Mark sank to the floor of his bathroom thinking about taking the same razor to his wrist.
He held her note to his chest, the ring made it to the bedroom next to the dresser with the vase of happy of roses still on top where he had thrown it.
His hands felt strange...sticky. He smelled them...It smelled like metal…what was this substance? In the sink, he found strands of blonde hair.
It couldn't. It couldn't. It couldn't. No there had to be a reason. A logical reason. Like the mysterious money….a reason. All he wanted was a logical reason for all of this.
The phone rang taking Mark out of his thoughts.
"Hello?"
"Mark it's me, Vanessa." His body may have lost the ability to shift, but if he concentrated really hard, it was easy to bring the voice back; it was just like being a professional impersonator.
"Why did you leave?"
"I needed to clear my head."
"Did you mean it when you said it's over?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you calling from?"
"I need my space; I just wanted you to know that I'm all right." Damien knew what happened hours ago; it was because he slit his wrist. It disturbed the shift.
"I love you, I'm very sorry for what happened." Mark pleaded. He just wanted Vanessa back to him.
Damien swiftly hung up the telephone. Let Mark wallow in his self-loathing for a while longer.
2 Days Later
Vanessa sat at the vanity putting her make-up on as Mark massaged her shoulders.
"You're so beautiful, 'Nessa. You are more beautiful than I remember."
That was indeed a high compliment because the real Vanessa was a high-horse bitch who really wasn't beautiful.
"Thank you, Mark." Vanessa blushed.
"I was thinking we could go away this weekend." Everything he said and did for the past two days was to make up for what happened. Mark had yet ANOTHER chance with Vanessa and he didn't want to blow it.
"Where?"
"Anywhere you'd like to go."
"Chicago."
"What? Why?"
"It wasn't all bad, honey. We have friends there. And, I'd like to visit my parent's graves, you should too."
"I can't go there; we shouldn't. What if we bump into Damien?"
You've been bumping into Damien for a while now, and I don't hear you complaining.
"I don't think that will happen. Please, Mark." Vanessa pouted.
"I suppose, baby. If you really want to. But let's make a point not to stay too long."
"Good. I love you, Mark." She stood up to kiss him.
"I love you, too, 'Nessa. I'd die for you." He embraced her.
I know you will.
3 Days later
Thorn Estate
It had been too long since Juliet and Damien made love. She didn't really care for having sex with a woman, but this needed to be done because they needed her body. She liked a man's touch. She only did it with another woman if Damien commanded her to do so. She had picked out the right blonde; she had memorized one picture of Vanessa and that's all it took.
The homeless waif's hair was just like Vanessa's. Blonde, long, and in her face. It almost reminded her of stunt doubles used in movies. The stranger's hands were tied and her mouth gagged. Juliet had to take care of this bitch for Damien all by herself and be back in time for her new job as Chicago's Number One news anchor, but she had one last future print piece for the newspaper at Damien's request.
While Richard was buried in one of Chicago's oldest cemeteries, it was his Mother Mary who was laid to rest on the grounds of Thorn Manor near the East Garden. He was kneeled at her grave.
"Mama, I miss you...that bitch Ann..." Mark turned around; Vanessa wasn't with him. He stood up, the scent of the roses that she was holding not five minutes ago were heavy and lilted in the air. It was only then that he noticed the flowers on the cold ground.
"Vanessa?" The roses looked like they had been trampled; two of her coat buttons were in the fresh fallen snow.
"DAMIEN!"
This was war. Nothing could keep him from going inside the house that used to be his home.
Damien sent out Ann and Paul; nobody else could be here only Mark and him, plus the unfortunate little waif who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was clad in black clothes.
He sat in the kitchen with his feet up on the table; it was only a matter of time before the Prince of Princes returned.
Mark was amazed that his key still worked. Damien didn't change the locks? No one else thought to change the frigging locks. Through all of this, and not just the recent span of time, but all of these years and his cousin was in the kitchen as if he were expecting him. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER? YOU BASTARD!"
Damien stood up as Mark tried in vain to push him against the wall, but Damien wouldn't move. He was like a mountain. "Welcome home, prodigal."
Mark noticed the open basement door.
"Go ahead."
Mark ran downstairs to see Vanessa, hair in her face, struggling to get out of the chair, an electrified fence around her.
This room was different. Mark and Damien used to play in here all the time when they were little kids. They would roam in here and go down the path that led to the wine cellar. They would play hide and seek in this very room, of course, Damien would never be found and Mark would cry as he held onto his stuffed rabbit, thinking he was really gone, until his father had to come downstairs to collect him and Mark saw that his cousin was in the kitchen, happily eating cookies and drinking milk with Ann.
This room now seemed like it was used for a darker purpose. There was just a small table with a knife on top of a worn Bible.
"Touch it," Damien egged him on.
"Fuck you, Damien! Take me, let Vanessa go!"
"Do you think you can negotiate the terms? You would have been an important asset to me in my life's work, but you had to let your conscience be your guide. I hate people like you."
"People like me?"
"You and Vanessa both seemed to like pleasing me. It was your own free will, you know." Damien took off the glove on his right hand. "No one was brainwashed or drugged, granted a little drug to calm your nervous ass down, yeah, so what? I mean it was only your father who died!"
Mark grabbed a knife from the table and cut Damien's face with it. The blood, bright red, trickled down his face.
"Don't you talk about my parents!"
It was only his strong will that stopped Damien from falling backwards. "How dare you!" He was stronger than Mark, so he had no trouble pinning him against the wall and forcing the knife out of his hands. Damien plunged the knife into Mark's shoulder and Mark fell to his knees in pain.
"Now we can do this the easy way or the difficult way, the choice is yours." He wiped the bloody knife on Mark's face.
"Why-y?" He backed himself into a corner.
"You have a very short memory. YOU told me that you loved me and that you would kill for me. You had no trouble with anything I asked you to do and you told me that I was your best lover."
Mark's face twisted. It all came back to him, the past few months, each episode making each heartbeat more rapid than the next. His brain throbbed with the knowledge of the things he DID say, the unthinkable ACTS that HE DID COMMIT. It was like people who are upstanding citizens who go on shooting rampages one day because of something insignificant like getting fired or being dumped by your lover. It was his free will. It was free will manipulated by Damien. It was then that he couldn't fight anymore, he just wanted to die. White flag. Surrender.
Damien got down on his knees to be on Mark's level, took off the remaining glove and put his hand in front of Mark's face so that he could see him wearing his Mother Mary's ring. Damien put his icy hand on Mark's cheek.
Mark flinched. He couldn't stop the flow of jagged tears, he coughed. Please God, take me now. I can't live this way. I'm sorry if I sinned…..Mama, Dad.
Mark's eyes widened. He watched as Damien tensed his body. Damien turned...shifted...Nicole had been right. He tried to turn away but Damien was too strong. The mucus going into Mark's mouth, it tasted like salt, copper, venom, and blood. He watched, terrified as Damien turned into Vanessa.
Who was the girl in the cage? Was she a trick to get him to this very moment? He didn't care if she died. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't have the burden of Damien Thorn on his shoulders anymore.
Damien/Vanessa put her arms around Mark and forced his tongue down his throat. He started to gag, begging to be taken to join his parents in Heaven. Of course, he assumed that Heaven was where he was going.
"D-amien, ju—st k-k-ill m-me."
Damien/Vanessa started recalling every conversation her and Mark ever had from the real Vanessa to Damien/Vanessa. "I love you so much, I want to marry you and have your children.../ "It's really me, baby. I missed you so much!"
The sinister laughter was more than Mark could stand. He wanted it to stop. His mind flashed to when they used to play sports in the yard. Damien would always win, but Mark enjoyed being with his cousin. They would ride Ruby and Lucky on the grounds, Damien would win the race, of course, but Mark didn't think about winning and losing, good and evil, he just had fun playing with his cousin, whom he loved like his own fucking brother. The Thorn's would have an annual summer pool party. Ann seemed to love Richard. He and Damien would joke around on the private jet whenever they went on a family vacation. This was what hurt Mark the most. It was a family. Why did that have to change? He wouldn't have minded existing with the son of Satan if it was peaceful and no one got hurt. He realized the absurdity of the "no one got hurt" thought. He supposed Damien and his ilk would always go for what hurt.
"D-id….you ever lov..e…us? It w-was—n't all for s-how?" He forced the words out of his mouth, it hurt to talk, but Mark wanted to know if Damien at any time loved the family? That it wasn't all for THIS.
Damien/Vanessa smiled at him. "No."
It was as if Damien had stabbed Mark in the heart except he didn't have a knife this time. Mark talked with his mind he knew Damien would hear it.
You're lying. You can't admit it, fine. It wasn't all bad.
It just couldn't have been. The time at school when they were sophomore cadets and Mark had his trusty bugle and Damien borrowed the cymbals and they woke everybody up at three in the morning. They got into huge trouble, both at school and at home, but they laughed and smiled, proud of their little foray. Mark thought about his family as he lay dying. He almost hated his Uncle Robert for adopting Damien in the first place, but then he thought, no he didn't know about Damien's origins.
Of course, Mama Mary had to die in a horrible car crash as Damien made Mark hear and see the horrible sound of her screams and twisting metal. Richard had to marry Ann. It set the stage for Damien to have Ann as his "aunt" as she was part of his circle. Damien would now be the sole heir to Thorn Industries.
Mark didn't want to see anymore, he was sure many more would die, and that he was just a name in a long list of past and future names of those that Damien or his followers would kill.
He saw the knife by his side with both his and Damien's blood on it. He grabbed it with shaky hands and stabbed himself. Not uttering a last word, but praying for Damien's soul.
Damien collapsed from pure exhaustion. That's how Juliet and Ann found him at four in the morning.
Chicago Tribune
Mark Thorn Commits Suicide
Son of the Late Richard Thorn, Takes His Own Life
Age 18
Last article By Juliet Scott who left the Chicago Tribune for the Channel 3 News Anchor Desk
Page 3
Damien sat at the desk in the den, his chin on his hands. In front of him was the last picture of Mark and Damien, taken when they were twelve-year-olds before they became freshmen cadets. He picked up and stared at it for what seemed like an eternity.
I did love you, Mark.
He slammed the picture frame down on the desk, breaking the glass.
He folded the eulogy he was working on in half. The price paid for keeping up appearances to the rest of the world meant that ironically, Damien was the only one who could give Mark the proper send off. Ann couldn't do it through her hysterics and Paul spoke on behalf of Richard. But this was different and not just because Damien had to do it. It was just different. He didn't have to push him that far. Mark was right about free will, but it went both ways.
Damien had made Murray toss the pseudo high-horse bitch into the local landfill. Mark was responsible for his own choices. Period. He really didn't want to read from his prepared statement. He put his head on the table and sighed.
The older Damien got his mission became quite clear. The sex, the greed, gluttony, and sloth were just incidental in the big scheme of things. In September, he had to start university at Harvard or Yale, then to transfer to Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar and take over Thorn Industries. He didn't like how parts of his life were mapped out for him. He could make the right choices on his own.
He knew his life on Earth would be temporary. He wasn't a fool.
There was a soft knock at the door. "Come in," Damien said, unfolding the paper nervously.
"I brought you some tea, Damien." Juliet came in the room.
He motioned for her to set it down on the side table. She noticed the broken picture frame on the desk but did not say a word. Damien hadn't said or done much to anyone in the past few days.
Juliet went behind him to massage his shoulders. She didn't want the burdens that he carried. She kissed his neck; it was still red from his fight with Mark.
Damien thought his father worked in mysterious ways he could've healed him like every other time.
Juliet sighed. She wasn't stupid like the teenage girls at the boarding school, or a horny middle-aged whore like Ann. She might have known her time with Damien was short, but that didn't mean she wouldn't miss him. Although, she knew he probably would not miss her. "When you go to University we won't be seeing each other ever again, will we?" she asked with her knowledge that if he told her to go upstairs and swallow a bunch of pills washed down with a whole bottle of wine, she'd do it.
"I don't know. Open up a window, it's too hot in here for me to think."
Mark's Funeral
"Why didn't you listen to me?"
Nicole stood over Mark in his coffin. He looked prestigious in his formal military school uniform. Since he died a few months after graduation, it seemed appropriate to remember him like this, as a graduate ready to face the world. She went to the church early in the morning requesting this private time and that Mark Thorn was a friend.
"Damien has no soul. It's all blackness." She started to cry. Mark had saved her from her life as a stripper. No sooner had they left Hawaii and said their goodbyes at O'Hare Airport, then she had started the process of getting her GED and then had started taking an office course at the local junior college. He deserved to be married to that Vanessa person. Mark had showed her their picture once and they looked so happy.
"You're with her now Mark, I believe that."
She knew how his heart broke everyday over the loss of his mother and father. When Vanessa died, especially his involvement in her death, it was the final break for the young man.
She couldn't fault him one bit for not wanting to believe that the reappearance of Vanessa was Damien. She couldn't fault him for wanting to believe that more than anything else in the world.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help you more, you're a lovely soul Mark Thorn. Damien will get his someday."
She took off her crucifix and placed it in his hands. "Godspeed."
She wiped her eyes and ran out of the church before being hit by a speeding car two hours later.
An Hour Later
Damien mentally rolled his eyes outside the church. As he got older he was able to control being in and around anything self-proclaimed as 'holy'. However, if one more older woman pinched his cheek and forced their arms around him in an embrace for 'his loss' he would send them all flying into the altar.
"I need a glass of water."
Ann left to get it for him and he went up the stairs to the church with his usual confident strides.
She returned and handed him a paper cup of water.
"Are you sure you…?"
He cut her off. "I have no choice." He focused on the task at hand. To get through the priest's stupid prayers, listen to people say their remembrances of Mark, and then he would give the proper eulogy. They sat in the front row, Ann, Paul, himself, Juliet, and Murray.
Flashbacks
"Damien! Where did you find those?!" Mark's eyes widened with blooming adolescence. He also had the urge to giggle all the time.
"In the guest room under the bed." Damien laughed. "What do you know; Uncle Richard has a stash of Playboy's!"
"What were they doing there?"
"Your father needs a better hiding place."
"Let's go in the tree house."
Damien and Mark ran outside with their illicit finds, giggling like innocent eleven-year-olds.
Later on Damien found out that half of those were purchased by Ann for Ann's satisfaction and not for Richard at all.
"Military school?" Mark whined to Damien. He was his confidant. Mark shared everything with his cousin who was more like a brother to him.
"It won't be so bad." Damien was looking forward to it for some reason.
"But why send us there? Why not just a school like St. Michael's?"
Damien folded his shirts with a preciseness that most twelve-year-olds didn't possess. "Because, we're Thorns, we can't just go to a regular boarding school; we have to go to a military academy! We can push our weight around."
"We're going to be freshmen, the upperclassmen will push us around."
"Then Mark you simply push back."
"How did you get so confident?"
"I practice."
"Damien," Mark whispered to him, they were supposed to be asleep.
"What?"
"Thanks for….you know…..Weren't you afraid of Lewis? He's as big as house."
"Not particularly."
"Well, thanks for everything, Damien."
"You're welcome, Mark."
"Damien," Juliet whispered, putting her arms around his shoulders. "It's your turn."
Damien knew this speech was not for Ann, Paul, Juliet, or Murray he didn't have to address them. He had to address the "relatives" he never saw, Thorn business associates, people from Davidson and friends; he was addressing the public which had to be practice for something else.
While he was reminiscing, he had no idea that he blocked the whole service out of his mind. He stood up and walked to the lectern. This was the hardest thing that he ever had to do.
"Today we say goodbye to my cousin Mark Thorn." Damien naturally let his voice rise and command authority. "I have always considered you my brother, not my cousin. If I could trade places right now with you, I would. Whenever you would feel pain, I would feel pain. Whenever you would feel joy, I would feel joy. I can honestly say, that I will forever miss you. And no matter what, I will always love you."
It did not matter to Damien if anyone else believed that fact or not. He told his Father this at three thirty-five in the morning, of course, he did not answer him, but at this point saying goodbye to Mark was the most difficult thing that he ever had to do. He meant every word that he said.
He would always love him.
THE END