Author's Notes: Sanctuary Bingo. Again, using . as paragraph break
Prompt: Haunted
This will never be your home, while you let this darkness control you.
The words, spoke in the heat of the moment by an injured empath, have haunted John Druitt since the moment they were spoken. They spoke to the man inside, but incurred the wrath of the monster, who demanded blood as payment for such truths. And blood it got, in the form of the empath who soon lay dead at his feet, her blood staining his hands. The man hid the body, afraid of discovery but the monster revelled in the lust of killing. It would have killed Helen too, had it not been for the man fighting back inside, weakening the body so that his former lover could get the fatal shot.
.
If only she had not brought him back. But she did.
.
For a while, man and monster were parted. For a very short time, John Druitt remembered what it was to be human; to be at peace and not be driven by the blood lust the monster forced upon him. And those moments, when he was finally back to being the man he once was, were spent with the only woman he ever loved. He watched her, fascinated by every movement she made, every expression that crossed her face. He drank in the sight of her, storing away the visions so that, if he ever found himself connected with the monster again, he would have something precious to hold on to. And, in the end, he was glad he had the chance to store new memories of his glorious Helen; to look into her eyes and know that she believed he was not the one responsible for the murders.
.
At least, not wholly responsible...
.
Lizzy Stride was the one who started it all, the one he still deemed responsible for the deaths of the other whores. She had turned him away one night, saying he was too much for her when he had been drinking, as he had that fateful night in August 1888. Angry at her dismissal, John had teleported away, and while he was travelling, the monster had caught him. As soon as he re-materialised in George Yard, the monster had sunk its claws into his soul and the blood lust began. He hadn't meant to kill Martha, but the monster wanted to taste her blood and so he struck when she least expected it, while having sex with her. As soon as the knife sliced open her throat, the monster's hold had strengthened and the killing spree began. The rest went down under his blade within weeks, right up until Helen shot him after he killed Polly while she watched, helpless. Mary Kelly was his final parting message to his dear Helen, mutilated so badly that they almost didn't recognise her, just as John felt his friendship and love had been mutilated by those dearest to him.
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Years passed as he struggled to control himself, to contain the blood lust and be a normal person. The monster would never let go its hold on him, but for many years he had managed to control it, keep it at bay until he began to die. Desperation had forced his hand, fuelled by the desire to survive at any cost. He didn't even know the name of the whore he killed when he arrived in Old City, neither did he care. But, while he professed to care nothing for his daughter, he knew enough of her to know that she would take care of herself, wherever he put her in his attempt to force Helen's hand. And now she too was gone, not directly by his hand but, in some ways, because of who and what he was.
.
As he looked at Helen, the monster in him screaming for her blood, he knew with crystal clarity just what he had lost. His fiancée, his old life, his daughter, his friends. All gone. But most of all, he had lost his humanity, snatched away in the blink of an eye with the first drop of blood. He was a sinner; she the salvation that would never be his.