"I'm not looking for a date tonight, buddy. Sorry. Try the other blonde at the table back there."
"I didn't approach you because you were blonde, my dear."
"Why are you talking like a douche?"
"I approached you because you looked lonely."
"Yup, and I'm not looking for a one night stand to make my problems go away either."
"Nor am I."
...
He was cute. And mysterious. And somehow all I could look at.
...
"So if you're not looking for a one night stand, Sir English Man, what are you chatting me up for?"
"Misery loves company, love."
"Who said I was miserable?"
"I didn't."
"Ohh, are you miserable? Poor Mr. English Man. Maybe if you didn't talk like a douche-"
"How am I talking like a douche?"
"You keep calling me stupid pet names."
"They're only friendly step ins for your real name - which you've successfully not told me, by the way..."
"S'Caroline."
"Caroline, really?"
"Yes. And what's your name, douche?"
"Klaus."
"Klaus, really?"
He smirks. "Yes. Why are you laughing?"
"Because you even have a douchey name!"
...
He had one of those collected smiles that he only flashed when he wanted to, not every time it was polite to laugh. Why did I have to meet him in a busy, loud, bar?
...
"Do you wanna dance, Sir Klaus?"
"I'd rather not, actually."
"Ahh, no, buddy. You got me to the state of dancing with all your fancy drinks, so God be it, we're going to dance."
"I'm not the best of dancers, love."
"Oh! And you said another pet name. That's five points to me, and dancing cost five points so-"
"What?"
"We're dancing!"
...
Sense of rhythm, good stance, focused movements, attention completely on his target (me), and everything was so fluent. If there was anything I was helpless against, it was a good dancer.
...
"Who said you can't dance!?"
"Well no one's told me I can!"
"This coming from an experienced dancer: you can!"
...
And what the hell was he wearing? I hadn't noticed in the beginning because it worked well enough not to be noticeable. But...what the hell was he wearing?
...
"You know, not a lot of guys call pull of the blazer look. Especially at a bar."
"It's not a blazer, exactly."
"Oh yeah?"
He chuckles. "Yeah. Now what drink do you want?"
...
He was intoxicating. Addicting. Everything I did not need, but couldn't walk away from. His smile, his scruff, his eyes, his hair, his arms, his outfit, his hands, his voice. All of it.
...
"Caroline, what, darling?"
"Forbes, darling."
"Caroline Forbes. Queen of the city."
"City, and nothing else."
"Caroline...Mikaelson."
"Caroline Mikaelson... That's a real queen name."
"Queen of me, and everything else."
"Ooo, he's smooth. I think I'm a little tipsy."
"Tipsy would be putting it lightly, love."
"That means I'm in danger 'cause you're still handing me drinks."
"Meaning the drinks are endangering you, or I am?"
"Both, but definitely you."
"I'm friends with the bartender, so if you'd like, you can talk to him for a second about who you're dealing with."
"Who I'm dealing with, huh? Hey, bartender! Who's this guy?"
"Klaus Mikaelson."
"And what's is reputation?"
He glanced at Klaus for a moment. "With the ladies, perfectly respectful and reliable."
"Reliable. That's a very pretty word."
...
The bar was too small. Too mundane. If I was going to spend the night with an angel, we needed an angelic setting.
...
"Do you wanna dance again?"
"Not now, love."
"How about a private dance, then?"
He chuckled. "Not here, love."
"Where, then?"
...
What was he there for? Why was he talking to me? Angels have other things to do with their time than deal with tipsy blondes who won't shut up. So what was he doing?
...
"So you're a married man, right?"
"No. Why would I be?"
"A lot of married guys seem to like me."
"I figured every man liked you."
"Well, especially married ones. Are you dating?"
"No."
"Are you gay?"
"No."
"Are you looking for a relationship?"
"Possibly."
"Liar."
...
He was perfect, in every way. How was I supposed to get over this night? I'd seen the light.
...
"So, if I told you I know a man, would you be scared?"
"What kind of man?"
"A priest."
"As in a priest who does legal things? Like licenses things?"
"Precisely."
"And what would this priest be doing with us tonight?"
...
"And you, Caroline?"
"Yeah, sure I do."
...
"Nice ring."
...
"Nice house."
...
"Nice tattoo."
...
Everything was a blur. The room was spinning. My hands curled around his biceps and he kissed my neck. The triangle on his shoulder blade made me smile. So basic. Tattoos usually were there to make a point. But this one was just plain and simple. And the thing was, it probably did stand for something. But I was too drunk to actually think about it like that. At the time, it was just a triangle. He had a tattoo on his chest, as well, but since that was pressed into my front, I couldn't exactly see it. I didn't care, though. All that mattered was finding my breath and holding on for dear life as his hands trailed further south.
...
I never hook up with someone I don't know. Ever. What? That? No. That wasn't a hook up...exactly. He asked for my hand in marriage. I know, crazy. I didn't even know the dude's name. I was way beyond drunk. We'd been hitting on each other for quite some time and I guess I just had too much of everything because I honestly can't remember most of it. I just know there's a ring on my finger and a form I signed saying that I am officially married to one...Klaus Mikaelson?
Whatever. My eyes were still blurry and I didn't have my head screwed on quite right. The reality of it all would hit me when I started sharing it with my friends, but right now, I had to worry about getting ready for work. Single woman in my mid twenties living with my friends in the middle of a crowded city. Fun, right? My job wasn't that bad, though. I was the assistant manager for a clothing store. It wasn't just any clothing store, though, it had everything of the most recent fashion. If it came out yesterday, we had it. So, yeah, kinda a girl's dream job. My financial issues were small, I had a sweet little goldfish, my level of confidence in my life was through the roof, and I was comfortable with where I was. I didn't want nor need a man on my hands.
But still I have a ring on my finger. A ring that I actually wore into work. I should have taken it off, but I didn't. Maybe because it's pretty? Whatever the reason, I was a little pleased with myself about it. Someone married me. That was as close as I'd ever gotten to an actual relationship.
That warm feeling in my stomach I got at the thought of someone marrying me lasted until about lunch time. Then, while taking a bite of my fried chicken, I nearly vomited. I stopped mid chew and looked down at my hand. The ring sparkled in the restaurant lighting. The stone was cheep, and careless, just like the whole marriage. Marriage. Wedding. Bonding of two humans to one another. I was married. To a man I didn't know. To a man I couldn't remember. I was married to a stranger. God, I was an idiot. The ring was off my finger in half a second and I was standing up from my seat. I didn't even think about work as I started off for home. That was the only thing I could do.
It was like I was running to my parents for help. Which...in a way, I guess I was.
"You're married?" Lexi exclaimed in disgust as she walked into the living room. I was at home – our home. We lived together in our happy little apartment. And since they were a couple, I was basically their daughter...kinda... No, never mind.
"Apparently. But, does it really count if I was drunk? Like, it wasn't in front of a bunch of people so, really, it's not official," I tried. That was probably the dumbest thing I could have said since I had the marriage license in my hand. The couch was incredibly cold against my flushing skin.
Matt, from beside me, took the paper from my hand and skimmed through the words. "Certificate recorded by city or town clerk on March fifteenth of 2013, by Father Damon Salvatore."
I sighed away all false hope I'd made for myself. "Alright, yes, it counts. But there's a way to get out of it, right?"
Lexi shrugged as she sat down on the arm of the couch, eating popcorn from a bowl. "You have a divorce paper?"
"Why yes, actually, I keep one handy at all times," I retorted.
"Then I guess you're Caroline Forbes Mikaelson," Lexi sassed back.
Matt turned towards me on the couch. "Listen, I'm sure it isn't that big of a deal. Have you run into him since that night?"
"No."
"Then what's the immediate problem? You have time to figure it all out."
"I'm married, Matt!" I reminded. "This is kinda huge. This means I went to a priest and everything and now I'm tied to this asshole. This is going on all my governmental files. I'll never be able to date again!"
Lexi groaned out loud and rolled her eyes. "Take the damn ring off!" I obeyed and she snatched it from me. "There, now no one knows you're a Mrs. but you, me, and Donovan."
"Who does this?" I hissed my thoughts out loud, not paying mind to what Lexi had just preached. "What kind of person finds a woman in a crowd and goes 'Hmm, I think I'll legally make her mine and then just disappear on her before she wakes up in the morning, sober.'"
Matt frowned. "Would you prefer he showed his face?"
I licked my teeth. "No," I growled in response. Honestly, if he had been there when I woke up and recalled what had happened, I would have beat the shit out of him. "But an explanation would be nice."
Lexi tossed more popcorn into her mouth and turned on the TV. "You kinda walked yourself into this mess, babe," she sighed.
I scoffed. "You're not even going to help me! My life is falling apart and you're seriously watching reality TV shows."
Lexi laughed. "I know, crazy, right? Your life is so much more interesting than this fake blonde with three boyfriends. But this chick doesn't pout, so I'mma stick with her."
Matt cleared his throat as I raised my hand to smack her arm. "Why don't you track down this guy and make him divorce you. It's only fair, right?"
"No. What's fair is me picking the guy I want to give my ring finger to."
Lexi frowned and turned to look at me, and then I realized what I'd said. She laughed and Matt couldn't help but smile. "Shut up, guys," I snapped.
"I'm sorry, you're right," Lexi agreed, "you should go find him and get your ring finger back."
"Can't I just burn the paper?"
"He's got a copy of his own," Matt reminded.
I almost yelled out loud in frustration. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Track him down," Lexi repeated the previous plan. "Can't be that hard. Where did you meet him?"
"The club on fifty second."
"So go check out the guest list and find him. If you want to get this done you have to get off your ass and do it," Lexi snapped, gluing her eyes back onto the television.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Great idea. Let's go." I hopped off the couch and headed towards the door.
Lexi frowned up at me. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. I ain't going!"
"Yes you are," I informed her. "That way I won't stop by a shop and blow a couple hundred dollars from your wallet," I grinned, taking her purse off the kitchen chair and walking out the building. She was off the couch and running for her shoes in seconds.
Matt sat on the couch with the popcorn now in his lap. "You kids have fun!"
.
Lexi let her head fall back as we walked down the sidewalk. "How much further? We seriously need a car."
I was too busy looking around at the signs of stores all along the block to answer her. It was so different with the sun out. I honestly only remembered the green and orange neon colors of the club sign. Now I had to look for a circle around some infinity sign. "This is fifty second, right?"
"Yeah. But are you sure it was this block?"
"Yes," I huffed, tucking my fists into my coat pockets. "But it was packed, so I doubt they actually kept a guest list."
"Oh no, you're not backing your way out of all this."
"Not trying to. Just being rational."
"Oh, now she's rational. You couldn't have tried to use a clear head before you signed a marriage license?"
"Shut up," I snapped. "Should we try one more street down? I might have gone a little further."
"Why not," Lexi grumbled. "I've got the rest of the day to wonder around. Actually, you know what, can I go grab something to eat?"
I frowned at her. "Seriously? We're on a mission."
"A slow, boring, seriously lame mission. Just look up the priest. Be a lot easier."
"We're already on a hot trail. Might as well finish it all."
Lexi reached into her purse and pulled out her billfold. "Okay, Caroline. I'll be getting a muffin at that pathetic looking diner over there," she informed me, already heading down the sidewalk ahead of me.
"Fine. I'll meet you there in an hour."
Lexi turned to look over her shoulder at me, but something caught her attention. She pointed to her right. "Circle and infinity sign. Bingo," she called back to me.
"You found it?"
"I found it. You're scoping it out. See you at the diner," she brushed off, heading back down her way. When I caught up to where she'd stopped to point, I saw that she was right. The small colorless sign hung above an open door of the now silent club.
With a deep breath, I walked the few yards towards the center and peered into the black building. There was motion at the bar, so I figured someone was in.
I stepped in and tried not to gag at the smell of musk. "Excuse me," I said, approaching the bartender that was scrubbing down the counter. "Hey, do you have a second?"
"We're closed," he answered sharply, not even looking at me.
"Yeah, I know that. But I need something."
"I can't help you if you lost your bag, alright?"
"I need to see your guest list."
He frowned and looked over his shoulder at me for the first time. He wasn't the bartender from the night before. This guy was a gross looking guy. His shirt was full of stains, he was over weight, and he seriously needed a shave. "For what?"
"I'm looking for someone."
"Do you know their name?"
"Yes, I know his-"
"Then what good will the guest list do you? All it's going to do is confirm that he was here."
I stopped before I could reply. He was completely right. "You don't have like a report on him or something?"
"Oh yeah, sure," he started, "we have people fill out a form before we let them in."
I nearly growled out loud. I absolutely hated when sass was being thrown back at me. "If I could see the records, I could check to see if he's a regular."
"I know all the regulars," he informed her, going back to rubbing down the counter.
"Great. The name Klaus Mikaelson ring any bells?"
He stopped moving and snapped his eyes back to mine. "Who?"
"Mikaelson," I repeated, taking a few steps closer. "You know him?"
The guy glued his eyes on mine and slowly stood up completely straight. "What the hell do you want with him?" he said in a very quiet voice.
I was about to turn and leave, the changing atmosphere sending chills down my spine. "He took something of mine and I need it back," I said, twisting the truth.
"Forget it," he snapped. "Trust me, you won't want it after he's had it."
"I kinda need it back. It's my freedom."
"Yeah, wouldn't we all like that back from him."
I frowned. "What? No." Huffing, I walked closer and pulled up a seat at the bar. "He somehow got me to marry him. I need to get him to sign a divorce paper."
"Burn the certificate."
"He's probably got a copy of his own," I snapped, even though I had thought the same thing as him when the topic first came to my mind. "Why are you so scared of him?"
He laughed, showing off his yellowed teeth. I felt my lip unintentionally curl in disgust. "You're kidding, right?" A raise of my impatient eyebrows was all he got. He licked his lips, looking to the left nervously. "That man's insane."
"Obviously. You don't just go to a club and marry the first girl you see."
"Shh!" he hissed. "Be a little more respectful, will ya?"
"Why the hell would I pay any respect to this bastard?"
"Because he'll kill you if you don't."
That stopped my tongue from another sharp remark. This guy was off his rocker. "What are you talking about?"
The guy cleared his throat quietly. His nervousness was contagious. "Klaus Mikaelson is a known killer. He has a license to kill. He's been stalking the whole of San Diego for over a year now. How have you not heard about this?"
I bit my bottom lip. "I don't watch the news?"
The man sighed, obviously disappointed with me. "Look him up. On the internet, not in person."
"I have to. I need my name cleared from any marriage-"
"If you go to see him you will end up dead," he warned in a whisper.
I swallowed slowly. "Then let my life be in my own hands. Can you tell me how to find him?"
"Lady, I'm not helping you walk into a death trap!"
"If I slap you will it make you hate me a little more?"
"Not enough to help you die."
"I won't die! I spent the whole night with the guy, and I'm still alive!" I exclaimed, leaning forward over the counter to get in his face. "Can you trust me to make my own decisions?"
"Says the woman that got herself hitched to a psycho killer."
"I am so close to punching you in the face."
"And it's that kind of talking that will get you killed. The second he refuses to divorce you, you'll be throwing things at him and then he'll send a knife back in your direction."
I stood up from the stool. "Fine, prick. I'll go to someone else for help. I think it might be you that's insane."
I turned to leave, tired of running into dead ends with the conversation. "I'm warning you!" he called as I neared the door. "Think about this before you do anything stupid."
"The 'stupid action' box has already been checked off. Not too worried about that one anymore."
.
"Remind me to never go to that club again," I hissed, approaching Lexi's stool at the counter of the bakery.
She had a muffin in her hand and a glass of milk beside it. "Why? Someone make a move on you and you ended up married again?"
"I hate you." She smirked and went back to stuffing her face with bread. "No, the guy said that he couldn't help me with anything."
She hummed an acknowledgement, as if the fact hadn't surprised her. "You could always try the priest."
"I don't know where to find him."
"I do," she threw in, licking her finger. "He's the pastor for the church we left not too long ago. He creeped me out; too weird and carefree."
"You couldn't have mentioned this before?"
"Didn't think of it until I got this delicious muffin."
"Anything else you want to mention?"
"Yeah, that priest is hot. Try not to marry him, too."
.
The address she gave me was literally just down the street. I figured she'd send me to the church or something, but no, she had his home address stored in her head. She totally got into more shit than she let on. That must have been why she was so calm over this. It was nothing compared to what she got into. Yeah, that was it.
Anyway, the house for the guy was a sore thumb in this part of the city. I don't know why he remained there; his white picket fence was right in the middle of all the bars and casinos and even that one secret whore house that I accidentally heard about. It's top secret, but someone had just come into the shop one day, put on a dress, and informed me of everything. So why was a priest living right there? His name was hanging over his door, so I knew I had the right place.
I knocked on the door and looked around cautiously. The paint on the house was flaking and one of the windows was broken. So much for being a flawless pastor...
The door opened and a black haired man stood behind it, smiling at me with incredibly white teeth. He was wearing a pastor's getup, but he didn't have a pastor's face.
"Damon Salvatore?"
"Ah, the young lady from last night," he greeted. "Did you forget something?"
My cheeks flushed. He remembered me. Oh, how wonderful. Any embarrassing things I did were still fresh in his mind. "Yes, actually. I woke up a married woman? And I kinda want to talk to you about that."
The next thing I know we're in his living room sitting on the couch having a very civilized conversation. "Why did you marry us? It was obvious I was drunk," I accused him, not feeling a bit of guilt over it.
"I was not about to say no to Mikaelson," he chuckled, as if it were all some friendly joke.
"Why?"
"That man holds a lot against me. I've done some terrible things in my time. I became a priest looking for redemption, but he still likes to hold my past sins over my head," he explained, using a bunch of bullshit hand gestures to make him look completely graceful and innocent.
I rolled my eyes. "So, you married us off, under completely insane and idiotic conditions, because you didn't want him getting mad at you?"
The priest shifted himself on the sofa, becoming a little more relaxed. Weird. That was the complete opposite reaction the bartender had given. "When Klaus Mikaelson is upset with you, you have nowhere safe to hide. He will come for you, thinking he's a god himself, and kill you."
My eyes widened at him, but not because of his threatening words. "You're scared of him!"
He hesitated a moment before nodding. "One could say that. But only a fool would bravely deny a killer what he requests."
"Excuse me," I frowned, leaning away from him a bit. "Satan's a killer, is he not?" The man frowned at me, knowing exactly where I was going. "So, are you a fool to say no to Satan?"
It was like my words cracked his entire priest act. He leaned back into the couch and narrowed his eyes at me. "What do you want, Mrs. Mikaelson?"
"Forbes. Tell me where to find him."
"No one knows that."
"How the hell does no one know? He's a known killer in San Diego and no one's taken the time to find out where he lives?" I questioned.
Salvatore just shrugged. "Perhaps you should go to the sheriff."
"Yeah!" I exclaimed, not in agreement, but in sudden realization. "He's a killer, how has the city not locked him up yet?!"
"They have no proof. He knows how to clean up his mess."
"What? He's known as a serial killer, but there's no proof?"
"There have been a number of five deaths in the past month. Every single one has had something in common: Klaus Mikaelson was the last person they talked to before disappearing."
"What do you mean disappearing?"
"They vanish. Many say that he eats every ounce of their body, and others believe he simply is an excellent hider."
"And what do you think?"
He hesitated. "It is not my place to judge and make assumptions about that man. God is the true judge."
"God isn't going to help me get divorced," I pointed out. "You are. How do you do it; is there some kind of reverse thing you can use? Without us both signing anything?"
He smiled. "I'm afraid not. It would not go over well in court."
"Well, God's the true judge, so that doesn't matter."
His eyes held mine. "You mock me and my beliefs. Why?"
"Maybe because you tied me up to a psychopath," I hissed.
He blinked once. "Is there anything else you need from me, Mrs. Mikaelson?"
"Forbes! I'm still a Forbes. And yes, actually. Tell me about him."
Salvatore frowned. "Whom?"
"Klaus Mikaelson," I growled.
His jaw ticked at my unpleasant mood and he took a deep breath. "What would you like to know?"
"How you know him. Why he's a killer. What he does. Why he married me. Who he is."
Salvatore licked his lips. "Well, I can only tell you the little I know, so please don't be disappointed with my limited knowledge of the man." He waited a moment to see if I would interrupt. "Klaus Mikaelson came to me a year ago, threatening my life. He'd found out about something I'd done in my past – a small sin – and swore to 'take me down' if I crossed him. Naturally, I followed warnings and left the man alone. Come to find out, he had put me on a list of people to use. Ever since my name had been written on that list, I was his to control. I've been doing church duties for him ever since. One mission being to marry you to him."
I frowned. "Wait, he has to be a very secretive man. How do you know about the list? He just told you?"
"Oh no, he showed me. It's a very small list, I assure you. At least, it was when I saw it. Five names in total. All written in red." He chuckled. "It all seems so surreal, doesn't it? Like a fairy tale. I work for a killer..."
He did. This priest was doing things for a man that ripped the life away from people. Imagine walking down a street, and out of the blue a man shows up behind you and snaps your neck, ending any sort of existence you were living. Dead, just like that. You had friends and family and a job and maybe even a cat or dog, but none of it mattered anymore because you lay dead in an alley way in the middle of a city, not to be found for hours, or possibly a few days. You'd shed your last tear, sighed your last laugh, spoken your last words, and you hadn't even had the chance to prepare to die.
And this guy was working for the man that killed you – the man going around tearing the souls from random people in the night.
"How can you work for him?" I asked in a vile tone.
Salvatore frowned at me. "You're married to him!"
"I didn't have a choice! You did. Wouldn't you rather die yourself than help him kill so many others?"
The priest's eyes widened. "You think I could just say no and welcome death with open arms?"
"I think that's what any civilized human being would do."
He snicked, just under his breath. "You've never faced death before, have you, Caroline?"
I didn't give him the satisfaction of shaking my head, but that seemed to be denial enough.
"Well, when you do, you come tell me when you said no in order to save your life. Everyone would do it. A civilized human being would not stand in the track of the devil if it meant saving a man they did not know. A civilized human being would run, begging for him to take the others, because what is the human race besides just a bunch of cowards?"
I couldn't help but listen to him. Suddenly, the fact that I had been so at ease with what the bartender had told me made me want to rewind and actually react to his words. He'd warned me of a killer, and I'd laughed and brushed him off. But Damon Salvatore's words were making me rethink everything. It wasn't really "the closest I'd ever been to an actual relationship." It was really a relationship with possibly the next Jack the Ripper. It was really "the closest I'd ever been to death." And to think that I had been okay with that seconds ago...
"Klaus told me to call you Mrs. Mikaelson. He wants you to remember that you're his. No doubt you're on his list now, Caroline Mikaelson. And I'm so terribly sorry."
My hazed eyes somehow found his in the overwhelmed state I was slowly slipping into. "He told you? When? How did he know I would even come speak to you?"
Damon Salvatore looked down at his feet. "I truly am sorry. But there's nothing more I can answer for you. You have to wait for him now."
"I don't want to wait for him. I don't want him to know my name. Or take my name!"
"But he has," he reminded, "and there's no way out now."
"Are you in contact with Klaus in any way?"
"Do not worry about finding him. He will come to you."
"So, what?" I exclaimed. "I just go about my life, waiting for this deranged man to show up at my door? Then what? What the hell do I do then?"
"Don't act frightened. Act as if you know what you're doing." Oh, now he had straight forward, helpful answers. "If there's one thing I've learned about him, it's that he admires whatever looks him in the eye."
"Stare into his psychotic eyes, and I'll be fine, then?"
He smiled. "Convince yourself you'll be fine, and you will be fine."
He stood and walked the few steps it took him to get to the door, and then I followed. "I'll be here, Caroline. For when it gets rough."
I stopped by the open door. "Things get more rough than this?"
"You haven't even scratched the surface."
"So what does rough entail, then? How damn terrifying is this going to get?"
He had me walking out the door while still begging for answers. His smile was small, not enough to comfort me. "Rough is when you're ready to jump off a cliff. When you're ready to not be a civilized human being. When things are twisted in your mind and you can't tell your right from your left. Or when you think for a split second that what he's doing might not actually be all that entirely bad. That's when it's rough. That's when you lose your way. And that's when you'll need help finding your sanity."