Firstly, I am going to apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes etc, this is me we're talking about lol!
I'm also going to pretend Mitchell did not burn the newspaper clippings. The tool that he is should have done that in the first place! Bring on Sunday!
It's funny, how your whole world can crumble with a snap of a finger. That the face belonging to the one you care for so deeply dissolves and morphs into a stranger.
We don't always want to know the truth. It can be revealing and cruel, throwing us out of comforts and safety. But it makes us human, it makes us honest. It leaves only that person, a bare soul with nothing left to hide.
In the end it was her own determination to find the culprit behind the Box Tunnel massacre, her mission, which revealed the truth. She just didn't expect to find the monster living under their roof, sharing their laughs and smiles, making her feel complete.
When the accusations initially emerged – claiming Mitchell was responsible for the Box Tunnel 20 -, she delved a little deeper, if not to reinforce her trust in Mitchell, but to prove his innocence. The more she witnessed – the crime scene photographs, the pure inhuman carnage – the more Annie knew she had to find the person, or persons, responsible. Twenty one lives extinguished without a second thought. Looking at their pictures, what they used to look like, happy and smiling, brimming with life; it felt like a kick in the teeth. It made her stomach twist.
She shared Nancy's determination too, to solve the crime, saw that spark in her eyes and ignored Mitchell's protests to leave the case well alone. Soon both Nina and Annie became fixated, obvious now for different reasons. Nina was reluctantly helpful and Annie did not think twice about her hidden agenda - to search for valid proof against Mitchell. Annie now understood why. Nina knew all to well that the killer was within arms reach. And yet Nina told know one.
However, when Nancy matched the fingerprints from the train to Mitchell's, Annie - despite being shocked to her core - was adamant there was some mistake, or, at a stretch, a set-up. God, she had revolted at the idea. Of course, she wasn't naïve; Mitchell was a cold-blooded murderer, his past was shocking at the best of times, but he had changed hadn't he? Shaken, she remained firm in her belief – no way was Mitchell responsible for this.
The final confirmation of Mitchell's involvement was provided by Nina, while the boys worked an early shift: a collection of newspaper clippings, pages and pages of theories and pictures. It could be a tribute or a reminder, she didn't care either way. She couldn't kid herself anymore. Everything began to make sense; why Mitchell remained increasingly distant, why he tried to distract her from the case. She even felt guilty for thinking such thoughts, for not confronting him personally and asking for the truth.
Quietly, forcefully she had asked Nina to leave her room, needing silence to process these revelations. That's when it started, dormant powers resurfacing, tightly linked to her fragile emotional state. She felt betrayed and stupid, for she had forgiven him hadn't she? Sealed her forgiveness with a kiss. She began to wonder why Mitchell had rescued her from purgatory in the first place; to save her or himself. Every little doubt about Mitchell brought on a wave of strength to her being, the effects outputted onto the furnishings of her bedroom, cracks developing on the walls of her bedroom, dust and paint falling silently onto the carpet. She even questioned herself. Annie wondered if maybe she had not been self involved in her eternal troubles, she would have seen the signs of her friends spiralling downturn. Those life's may have been spared. What if, what if?
She remained hidden in her sanctuary well into the evening, not flinching when the boys returned from the hospital. Her heavy gaze shifted to the carpet covered in a sprinkling of broken glass, the remains of the dresser mirror. Normally she would be waiting in the kitchen, all cheery and cheesy grins for George and Mitchell, welcoming them home with a hug and kiss. The recognisable squeak of George's voice floated upstairs; her lack of presence was clearly noticed. A tight pain shot through her chest, her heart strings twisting. In that moment she realised she could not tell George the truth about Mitchell. If she did, everything would fall apart, crumble and expose their fragile bubble they blissfully lived within. Of course George deserved the truth, she just couldn't face it at this exact moment and she hoped Nina would deter George from disturbing her.
Her prayers to be left in solitude were interrupted by Mitchell, sensing something wasn't quite right, sitting outside her door despite her one hearted request for him to leave her be. They remained this way, in silence, separated by a door, until George appeared, ushering Mitchell out the way. He was trying to lure her out, coaxing her with the excuse of Mitchell's shit tea making skills. She opened the door, only a crack so they would not see her room, hood up, dark circles under her eyes and a false smile to reassure George's concerned expression. She promised to be down in a minute, meeting Mitchell's eye from behind George, swallowing hard as a whole flood of emotions threaten to surface. Before the pair could respond, she closed the door quickly and crumbled to the floor with her legs curled against her chest. Warm tears spilled from her eyes and she could hear George jokingly ask Mitchell what he had done now. Mitchell lingered a little longer, sighing her name until eventually retiring to bed. She stayed in her room for the remainder of the night; know one checking on her, much to her preference.
Then was the time to feel devastated and heartbroken.
Now is the time to be angry.
And God is she angry. Annie leans her weight against the reception bar, shoulders hunched, gaze steadily focused on a bowl of mixed nuts over-flowing onto the counter. The air presses against her ghostly form, enwrapping her in a static blanket, anticipating a storm.
She can hear hushed voices upstairs – from Mitchell's room – low and angry and desperate. She can't hear clearly what her friends are saying, maybe she doesn't want to, and instead takes a deep, ragged breath, an unnecessary motion, to calm herself. It's not really working though; small waves of electric shocks are pulsing through her limbs, running down her spine, travelling to her fingertips. She should be worried, a ghost shouldn't feel like this, but she's just too damn angry to be concerned.
She just needs to keep her eyes focused on something, anything, and refuse the burn of tears. Always crying and always sad; after her return from purgatory, she swore old habits would not fall back into place.
So instead of listening, Annie concentrates on keeping the crackles of energy at bay. She knows, however, exactly what they are discussing; the repercussions of a tormented vampire, their friend and monster.
The voices upstairs rose and further upstairs – in the attic – she imagined Herrick too was listening intently, sat with a satisfied grin. She knew they couldn't trust him. Even if he couldn't remember his vampire life, he was still cruel and calculating, playing her friends against each other. She had spotted it easily, it seemed obvious now, and yet (she scoffed) she just couldn't spot the secret Mitchell was desperate to hide. But now she knew.
The sun is setting now, it's getting dark the street lights are dimly lit. Another breath and the lights flicker, it is quick action, almost undetectable, but enough for the housemates upstairs to notice, their shared silence piercing the quiet B&B.
She doesn't move as heavy footsteps reach the stairs, doesn't flinch as the lights are turned on, illuminating her back to them. Oddly she can sense the emotions of her friends, residues from the argument upstairs; it seeps through the pores of their skin. Nina is utterly disgusted and angry, George is betrayed and Mitchell….The worst part of it all, their worried. Worried how the poor, fragile little ghost will react. It's that look of pity that will eventually get her, make her snap or breakdown.
Mitchell calls her name, husky and low, she still keeps still, a storm building and building.
Rough fingers grasp the bare skin on her arms; she knows exactly how it should feel. It's familiar but she's angry. Her heart shouldn't skip an excited beat with his touch, it's wrong. Little volts charge to the surface of her skin and Mitchell releases his grip with a hiss, like an electric shock. He still stands close, breath tickling her neck.
She spins around, causing a surprised Mitchell to step back. She's stony faced, eyes slowly swirling from their usual brown to a deep violet. Nina says she deserves to know the truth; George tries to silence her but she refuses to, she's stern and knows they can't live like this anymore. There are monsters out there, and one of them is standing in front of her, under a costume of a charismatic man she loves.
Nina growls, tell her Mitchell. George is pale, worn and tired. And still he keeps quiet.
Mitchell tries to touch her again, but she doesn't let him get close, she's not ready to understand. A sudden rush of energy throws him to the ground, all three look at her shocked. She barely registers her own shock at her growing strength. She feels powerful.
Tears threaten but she holds them back, not now. Her voice is unusually calm. You should have told me Mitchell, I would have listened - I should have listened (she pauses remembering his previous almost admission).
Slouched on the kitchen tiles, he doesn't say anything, doesn't avert his wide-eyed gaze. Almost as though he knew this day would arrive, just anticipating when.
Kitchen utensils rattle and clink around them in uncontrolled bursts. She's vaguely aware she's making a scene, but it takes all her might to control this struggling power threatening to erupt. Owen always said she was OTT when it came to her moods and right now it felt justified.
She covers her hands over her face in a bid to calm down, to stop his watching eyes pierce her heart. At some point she will forgive him, listen to him and once again accept who he his. It's in her nature to forgive. She doesn't phantom to know what George will do. There's abundant time to re-build those delicate bridges that bind their existence. But just now she has needs to be angry.
She vanishes without hesitation, just a soft 'pop' noise and she's gone from the kitchen, away from the B&B.
She doesn't know when she will return, she just needs to get away, clear her head, scream or something.
As it turns out, she returns that night, ready to face reality.
Thanks for reading! I hope this was ok, and I might be tempted to write more...