Title: Aftermath
Author: Olivia Adams Smith
Movie: The Final Conflict
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Kate Reynolds, Damien Thorn, Father DeCarlo
Genre: Angst, supernaturual
Summary: Kate's feelings after she discovered who Damien Thorn really was. Missing scene fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters in The Omen trilogy, just borrowing them for fun.
Author's note: This is my first Omen story. Feedback along with any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!
It can't be. No. No!
Kate Reynolds slapped her hands against her ears, trying desperately to silence the screams in her head. She sat on the sofa inside the living room of Damien's mansion, still clad in a long white shirt, naked underneath. She recalled the conversation with Father DeCarlo, thinking he was a crazy religious fanatic. And yet, when standing over Damien inside the chapel, curiosity beckoned her to kneel over his naked body and check the mark on his scalp.
666.
Father DeCarlo was right.
Kate shivered and as she tightly locked her arms around her chest, she winced from the throbbing bruises on her back. The passionate sex they had last night had suddenly, to her surprise, turned abusive. She had no idea he was sadistic, though after her discovery, it all made sense.
The Antichrist, born from a jackal…a jackal.
Oh my God!
Kate squeezed her eyes shut and cringed at the thought of what she had sex with. Why didn't she listen to Father DeCarlo before she allowed Damien to make love to her? Why? Why? Because…
She loved Damien.
She wanted to be with him.
Kate wished it all had been a horrible nightmare and she would wake up next to Damien, cradled gently in his arms. He'd whisper good morning with his charming smile, looking down at her with his hypnotic cobalt eyes, what she had found so alluring when they first met. He was simply an ambassador, not the Antichrist…the son of Satan…
The son of Satan.
It wasn't a dream, and now Kate shivered even more, feeling dirty, raped by an abomination, tainted with unspeakable evil. The journalist threw her hand against her mouth as she was assaulted with nausea. Resisting the urge to be sick, Kate breathed slowly, deeply until she managed to relax.
"Kate?"
Startled, Kate's eyes snapped open. Damien stood by the fireplace; hands tucked inside the pockets of his satin burgundy robe.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I—I'm fine."
He crossed over to where she sat, standing over her. Kate looked up into his eyes and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of red, like a reflection of flames from the fireplace. But he left the mantle and there was no fire burning; only sunlight that now seeped in through the windows. Frightened, her gaze fell down onto her lap.
"Are you sure?"
Kate didn't have to look at him to know that he stared at her coldly, as if he had known something.
Does he know that I was in the chapel and I've seen the mark?
"Kate?" he called again.
"I'm fine, Damien," the journalist said in a shaky voice. She didn't want him to know she was frightened and yet she had a feeling he had already known.
Damien sat beside her. "Kate," he began softly. "About last night--,"
"I've told you," She cut in. "I'm all right. Really." She forced herself to look into his eyes again. Icy they were and she shuddered.
"You're lying," said Damien in a calm, stern voice that heightened Kate's fear.
"I'm not lying."
"I know you were there…in the chapel."
Kate slowly shook her head.
"What did you find?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Damien grasped her wrist. His eyes narrowed. "What-did-you find?"
Kate tried to wrestle her hand out of his grip, and then she shouted, "You're the Antichrist!"
Damien's lips curved into a half smile.
Kate went on. "When I fell into the water, you wanted to kill me but you didn't. Why?"
"I wanted us to be together. We can still be together…and Peter. You can have everything you want. The world will be ours."
"No!" She broke away from his grip and sprang from the sofa.
"Kate!" Damien yelled.
The journalist halted. She didn't turn around. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I have to go," she said quickly. "I left Peter alone too long." At that, Kate hurried out of the room.
--
Kate parked her car. She sat there, staring straight ahead. Her eyes bloodshot. When leaving Damien, she didn't think he would let her go after she refused his offer to be with him, or rather, become his disciple like all the others Father DeCarlo mentioned. Kate peeked at her home and thought she'd better go inside. Peter…had she lost him to Damien? Kate was able to resist becoming a disciple but what about her son? She got out of the car, walked to her home and had gone inside. It was still early, 9:00 A.M. Kate tossed her hooded coat onto the sofa and when she went upstairs to check on Peter, he was still sleeping. Quietly closing the door, she moped back downstairs and into the kitchen. Feeling numb and as if she was in a trance, Kate opened the refrigerator and took out a small bottle of orange juice. She poured what little remained into the sink and then as quietly as she could, Kate broke the bottle. Taking the top part of the bottle, she held the jagged piece in her hand and had gone back upstairs. The bathroom…Kate went inside. Holding her arm over the sink, she pressed the broken bottle against pale skin of her left wrist. Again, tears dampened her cheeks and she shivered.
I have to do this. What kind of life will I have now?
She pressed deeper until the skin was broken, a vein was pierced and blood began a trail down her hand.
Kate, what are you doing? What about Peter? Peter!
Suddenly Kate hesitated and interrupted by the doorbell. She stared at herself in the mirror and then her gaze fell to the crimson liquid dripping into the sink. Her eyes wide with shock at what she was doing. Kate dropped the glass into the sink and cried.
"Who can it be?" She wondered. Who would want to see her so early in the morning? Kate wrapped a washcloth around her wrist and buttoned the cuff of her blouse around it. Smudging the tears off her cheeks, she left the bathroom and went downstairs. The bell rang again, as if whomever it was had been immensely eager to see her. Quickly, she opened the door and shocked to see Father DeCarlo.
"Father?"
"Miss Reynolds. I apologize for coming so early. I tried to reach you but there was no answer."
"It's alright. Come in."
"Thank you." Father DeCarlo entered the quaint living room and sat down on the sofa. Kate followed, sitting beside him. He studied the way her other hand held onto her left wrist, as if she was hiding something. And then there were the puffy circles beneath her bloodshot eyes. He knew she had been crying. "What's wrong?"
Kate's lips quivered. She pressed her trembling fingers against them and again tears streamed down her cheeks.
He asked, "Have you seen Damien?"
Kate nodded. "I—uh, I was with him yesterday and--," She swallowed hard and continued. "Everything you've told me…it's true. He's the Antichrist."
"You saw the mark?"
"I know you're probably wondering how I managed to do that. When I said I was with him, I meant—we, uh--," Kate threw her hands against her face. "Father, help me!"
Father DeCarlo had known what she meant and shuddered at the thought. He gently leaned her head onto his shoulder, shut his eyes and silently prayed for her soul. He then gazed into her teary eyes. "You know what we must do."
Kate nodded and looked down at her left wrist.
What if Father DeCarlo hadn't come? Would she have continued to cut both wrists until she bled to death? But then there was her son. Kate had known Peter was now Damien's disciple. Nevertheless, she had to be there for him. Somehow she had to save him. And the only way to do that was to help Father DeCarlo destroy the man she had loved.
"You know what we must do."
End