Disclaimer: Dark Shadows was created by Dan Curtis and is distributed by MPI Home Video. I receive no monetary benefit from this work.
This was written for the 31days community on LiveJournal. The theme for November 26, 2006 was "a thinking woman sleeps with monsters."
Bastard
At least for the moment, that was all she can think of him as. But after the events of the day, what did that make her? Nothing short of a callous fiend.
How had I been able to just stand there and watch him do it she chided herself silently. The weapon, the now empty syringe, followed her from the scene of the crime. She peeked into her bag saw it there, staring at her in it's bruised and dirtied state. It was such an ugly reminder of what had happened. Though she hadn't struck the killing blow, she had proved the instrument of destruction. It instantly disgusted her and shut her bag with an urgent anger. Why had she been there? Why had she even participated? For him.
Barnabas had insisted on driving the car back to the Old House. His driving showed all the skill of man who had been imprisoned for 170 years. But in spite of these issues, he had no difficulty talking, or ranting, about what their plan of action would be now that Dave was dead. To think I loved – love – him.
Love. What foolish things we all do for love? She covered up kidnappings, attempted murders, and finally an actual murder all for the love of him. It was all for naught. He didn't love her. She recognized that now. He would continue to fawn over those girls who reminded him of his lost, sheltered bride and use her only when it was to his benefit. He was both psychotic and charismatic. She knew that following this man would lead her further into depravity. And still, she couldn't squelch the sudden feelings of loyalty toward him. He had manipulated her. He had led her on. Even after this, she found herself following him back to his home.
She ignored Barnabas and retrieved her notebook from the floorboard. To an outsider, for she surely believed that others would soon be hot on their trail, it seemed such a piffling thing for which to kill a man. But anyone who looked inside it knew its incriminating nature. No one except those they wronged would good look good in its light. Barnabas was right: her life would have been over the moment Dave informed the police. But would her life be any better now? Though no actual blood had been spilled, she thought she could see a few droplets on her hands.
As the Old House rose up above the horizon, she felt a sudden sense of doom. The case of Maggie Evans sudden reappearance had started out as a great mystery for her. The solution to that mystery had encapsulated her life, seemingly for the worst. As much as it pained her to admit it, Dave was right: she had no more friends. This was the bed she had chosen. There was no other choice but to sleep in it.