A/N: Yes, this part is finally finished. Completing the second part now. Inspiration from Opeth's I Feel The Dark, Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan's The Strain, and other bits of music and supernatural/paranormal things. Please tell me if I need to revise it more. At the moment, I feel this first part turned out pretty legit, but of course I need the audience's opinion. Please, enjoy. Like I said, tell me what you think. By the way, I will be posting this on Livejournal once I get the art up, so I'll update this once I get the link. AND I researched like a sonofabitch, so please check if I got something wrong or mixed up.
Now and again we'll leave, we'll fly, we'll go out on a limb.
-Out On A Limb, Faunts
Just a couple minutes past midnight. A little longer till the sun comes up.
The air is cool and damp. A light breeze and a sky thick with soft gray clouds hover over London. The wind whistled through the spaces between the tombs and brittle trees. A thin blanket of snow concealed the browning grass beneath, and little snowflakes idly drifted to the ground.
Crunching of tiny footsteps sounded in the night, becoming louder as they met with cement. A clumsy lurch, and finally a halt. She noticed a castle-like tomb with two stone angels towering atop columns guarding the tarnished entrance. Everything about the structure was corroded from periods of rain throughout the years. She scampered up the small row of steps, placed herself on the one closest to the entries, and huddled against its door.
Earlier in the week, the fluffy pompom ball that complimented her brown beanie was torn off from a loose branch from a small tree she passed underneath. Fortunately, she seized it in time before the wind could take it. She held it close against her bosom.
Crunching her legs up against her little torso, she wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her face in her arms.
Strawberry blonde, Irish green eyes, small-framed, and the faintest of freckles, this little girl was lost. Frightened and confused out of her mind, she didn't know where she was, or how far she had gone.
How far she had ran.
Away… from home.
No, that wasn't a home. Not until after her mummy passed away and her daddy took control. If that even was her daddy. It was as though someone switched him for someone else in his sleep… or something possessed him. Yes, a devil, that's what he was. A demon. And that demon beat her and hurt her when mummy left. She swore he heard him laughing in the other room once he was done with her… or that could have been sobbing. Both emotions sound awfully similar. He always used the nearest object to inflict pain onto her. That cane was what gave her that bruise below her left eye. It hurt so much. It's still healing, sort of. She was only safe when she took a vacation to her grandparents in Ireland. They loved her and took care of her and were so kind and compassionate to her… she begged her daddy if she could stay there. Of course, the outcome was obvious. And that's why she ran away. To go to her grandparents.
In Ireland.
By herself.
She knows she needs to take a plane, but she forgot where they were. Her mind was still a little fuzzy after the cane.
She doubts her daddy is even searching for her. Like he would care one bit, anyway. She doesn't want anyone to search for her, though. She can go out on her own, she's old enough.
While reminiscing in past events, a snowflake nipped her nose, and melted as quickly as it did touch her. She shuddered from the cold, and goose bumps appeared on her skin.
She recalled her mother kissing her hair, and holding her close during cold winters like this. How she wore sundresses in the summer, and how she always used to put up her hair while working about the home. She recalled how normal she was, how clean and tidy she was. The scent of her lavender body mist still lingered in the little girl's senses. If only her mother was here now. Mummy would cuddle her and tell her everything will be all right, and hide her away from the freezing cold and the demon that haunted her home.
Her mother is gone, though. But deep within she felt… knew… her mother was still with her. She lifted her head up toward the angel above her, and curiously, it gazed back with stone gray eyes.
The girl scooted herself closer to the angel, and shifted her feet as much as she could away from the edge of the step, further in the dark. Closer to her only protection.
Moments pass, the rushing breeze calming. Her eyelids were starting to drift closed from all the lack of sleep she's been suffering.
Even though the moon wasn't shining, the dark seemed darker. The shadows around her felt eerie. She was never afraid of the dark, but something was pulling at her mentally, like something was wrong.
It's probably just the cold. It can make you feel that way, right?
Suddenly, the shadows around her became even shadier, and the temperature dropped so low that the coat she was wrapped up in ceased its job from keeping her warm.
Her head and eyes twisted and turned frantically, but she was too terrified to move an inch…
Abruptly, invisible hands clutched her by the shoulders, and she fell into the consuming wisps of black.
There was not a scream, not a shout for help. There was no sound, but the music of the winter wind.
All that was left was a couple droplets of blood, and her pompom.
Stepping out the taxi and slamming the door behind him, he struggled to process what he saw in that bedroom at the house.
Her arms enveloped around another man's waist. Her lips on his…
And that that man was in fact his brother.
This was a nightmare.
He told her he was coming back the week before. All he wanted was her, and she's all he ever thought of. He never meant to leave for such an extensive time. He didn't expect to be.
The majority of his absence, she called him and he called her. I miss yous and I love yous were always said through the phone, e-mails, web chats whenever they got the chance. He promised her… promised her he would come back.
His face sopping wet with tears, he stomped down the empty sidewalk towards Her Majesty's Treasury building. He lifted his collar to block the bitter wind from biting his neck, and shoved his gloved hands into his jacket pockets.
A couple weeks previously, communication began to lag, and the longing for one another seemed to fade. She grew distant and held back from informing him of recent news. He continued to say he loved her and missed her, but all she replied was, "I know."
And then this happens. He should have seen it coming.
He turned off his cell phone during the ride, and hid it in his back pocket. He had no intentions on calling anyone tonight, or answering any calls. In his mind, he didn't have friends or family. That all disappeared just an hour ago, along with his heart.
He already had trust issues with people from a life consumed by betrayal and cynicism. From his mother never buying him anything for Christmas, to his own cousin and his cousin's friends killing his canine familiar with wooden bats and a BB gun, his life has been a living hell. He has been target for anything damaging. And as though by obvious fate, tonight he has lost whatever hope that was clinging from his soul. He is finally utterly and irrevocably broken.
He took the sleeve of his jacket and swiped it across his face, leaving it faintly damp from tears. As he stopped and stood far beyond the steps to the entrance of the building, he had almost completely forgotten about the small park just athwart the road. He decided to turn that direction and visit the park, maybe even stay there for the night if no one is to bother him. Jogging, he met the snow-packed grass of the park fairly quickly. He slowed his pace and focused on the crunching of the snow beneath his shoes. It relaxed him, and aided him from his current state of mind. He paced through the paved path towards the small lake that rested beyond the tall trees. He paused and crouched as close as he could beneath one, hiding him from anyone that could be near. He scanned the park to see if there really was anyone around.
…Must be home.
He checked his watch. Just a smidge pass midnight. No wonder. But wouldn't there be just a couple pedestrians running about on the streets?
He took his mind off the trivial thought. Instead, he again focused on the snow and the soft currents in the lake. A sort of meditation practice.
After minutes of lonesome, two fish popped their heads out the water for air and made the water ripple. The tiny splashes were plopping noises, like a pebble hitting the water's surface. It was pretty, and made the broken man's cracked lips turn up.
He rose from his place against the tree and strode to the edge of the lake. He stood there, wind stinging his black hair, sun kissed skin, and thick clothing. Remembering he had one last piece of gum in his pocket, he decided to devour it. Might as well.
He unwrapped his gum and placed it on his tongue. Placing the wrapper back into his pocket, he chewed. The mint flavor engulfed his throat and nose, and sent a tremor rushing up his hunched spine. He sighed, slow and easy, white breath escaping his mouth.
Without warning, his jaw convulsed—a spasm—and his lower canine punctured his lip.
He sucked in air through his teeth and whispered, "Ah, fuckin' hell!"
His bottom lip throbbed with pain. He placed his fingers over his lip, and gently applied pressure as though to test how seriously he injured it, for he tasted a bit of blood.
He lowered his head farther near the water, and pressed.
A small drop broadened and gradually seeped off his lip. It finally let go of his skin and dripped into the lake. Plop, like the fish.
The drop dissipated into a pattern like that of a flimsy spider web, and strangely faded to black as it sank deeper into the water. The man leaned closer to the surface to examine it, focusing his body weight on his foot that sat over a small bunch of rocks fair off the edge.
He felt a pull at his ankle, pressure, and a sudden jerk.
The water consumed his body before his mind could ever apprehend what had happened.
He floated beneath the surface, still, the only feeling he had was a pounding at the back of his head.
Lifting his hand in a dawdling gesture, he touched the back of his head. A gash.
Dammit. The rocks at the edge.
He gazed down, growing dizzy. There was an uncanny darkness that swiveled and swam beneath his feet. It also began to accumulate and swish around him, but his eyes were too blurred from the water and shadows, the mounting concussion.
The man began to kick and flail his arms and legs, but the water kept him from returning to the thin light of the cold night sky. The water also began to enter his nose and mouth, and slip into his lungs.
The black wisps that surrounded him thickened, and a pallid, distorted figure appeared before him, as though materializing from the black.
He could not see its face or any other detail of its body. But its form carefully came forward.
He felt its fingers creep up his arms, and his vision became stronger, but only for a second.
And in that second, he saw its eyes.
White, dead, a corpse's blank stare…
The surface of the water was thick and a bluish-green, dismal and calm. And near the edge where the rocks sat, a small blotch of black grew and grew, until it was a great, blooming blossom of red clouds.
Sometimes I don't know where we're going
Sometimes I feel you should be crawling back to me
Time is ticking by without us knowing
Before you know it, it will be too late to see
The crowd marveled at the spectacular scene before them. The caramel-toned girl with curly chocolate brown hair twisted and twirled on the silver pole that rose through the center of the purple-lit stage. Every movement was in sequence with the melody of the music booming from the surrounding speakers. She demonstrated how complex pole dancing was.
The room was dimly lit, and like the stage, a shade of purple. The walls were purple, including the floors, which were decorated with a graceful black floral pattern. On every wall was a framed photograph of a beautiful woman. In every rounded seat was a man or woman, gazing at either dancers on each side of the room, or lounging in the bar areas.
On the other pole across the room was a thick-haired blonde whose skin was porcelain and clean of any flaws. Eyes blue diamonds and neatly plucked eyebrows, she as well coiled and bent about. The darker skinned girl outdid her skills, but she did not mind. Both are the best of friends and have been for years. Each night they performed, they would perform simultaneously. They would always smile at each other and chuckle to themselves from across the room. They would always point out the most attractive men in the room before deciding whether or not they were single. Plus, they would never leave each other side.
Both protected and cherished each other. They couldn't imagine themselves not existing in the other's life.
The beat dropped, and both broke out into a nearly impossible series of riveting moves. The audience gawked in awe at the girls, and once it was over, all applauded and shouted and whistled.
The curly haired girl's silver stilettos met the floor with a click. The moment they did, her eyes met with the blackest, most mysterious pair of eyes in the entire room… and they were just several feet away from her on the nearby row of seats. Clean black suit with a white collared shirt complimented with a black tie, his flair screamed luxury. He sat with his legs crossed, leaning back into the seat with his arms on each armrest.
Catching her amber eyes, he smirked.
Her face warmed, and lifting a brow, she smirked back.
Through that one small glimpse, something about the man made her stomach fill with butterflies and her heart flutter.
Her best friend across the room observed this. She coughed—a signal to gather the other's attention—and once she was nearly through the door, the other looked back.
The blonde jutted her chin at the man in black, a grin widening on her cherry red lips. Her friend beamed her pearly whites and winked, almost mischievously. This was going to make her night.
She's seen enough tears and heard too many sad stories.
The caramel girl stepped out into the room from around the back of the stage, and immersed herself in the ambiance.
The scents of wine and cologne and perfume wafted in the air. Purple was her favorite color, and was also one of the reasons why she loved working here. Fun and leisure defined this place. Her element felt alive and breathing. Pulsing. Reverberating.
She circled the room, passing the conversing people and the bars, just slow enough to take in a three-sixty view of the shadowy man without him fully noticing. He took a sip from his glass of what seemed to be red wine. When he sat the glass back on the table, the glass was still full. She assumed he took enough in to soak his tongue, maybe.
Sexy.
The girl took her sweet time to sneak up to his table from behind. As she did, he combed his fingers through his jet black hair. She studied it.
His hands were whitish, blue veins faintly visible through his skin. The veins spider until they reached his fingers, which were long and slender. His nails looked practically manicured.
Even sexier.
She even noticed how soft and manageable his hair seemed. When he took his hand out of his hair, it fell perfectly back into place. And the fact his head was slightly tilted to the side, the dim light of the room made his dark stubble contrast perfectly with his skin tone.
This was the sexiest man she ever saw in her life.
Finally just behind him, she gingerly touched his shoulder and said, "Hello, love."
The fine man turned and lifted his head, revealing a heartfelt smile, "Hello."
His voice. Oh, his voice.
"And how are you this evening? Enjoying the show?" She asked, lifting a brow.
"Ah, yes! Wonderful. Your performance was brilliant," After a quiet second he replied, "Would you like a seat?"
She felt her cheeks flush. She said, "Don't mind if I do."
~.~.~
Her friend was happily chatting with a couple at the bar. After a while she bid them a wonderful night, and left them to their privacy. Walking down the small set of stairs that led to the main floor, she spotted her friend sitting with the dark man, both smiling and laughing.
He seemed to have caught her interest quite quickly. This made her happy.
She went on with her business, pacing the room until the next show.
Meanwhile back at the table, the two nattered until she just couldn't hold it anymore, "Would you like a dance?"
His face froze for a fraction of a moment, before melting back into that soft smile. He responded, "But… wouldn't I have to pay you?"
Her mouth turned up in a toothy grin. "Love, I'm givin' you one for free."
She offered her hand, and he took it. She then led him to the private rooms.
~.~.~
He sat on the edge of the plush seats, seemingly apprehensive. She placed her palm to his chest and tenderly pushed him further into the plush, saying, "Relax. I don't bite." Leaning her face closer to his and finally so close her lips were almost brushing the round of his ear, she murmured, "Hard."
The music played.
Like her dance on the stage, her dance on his lap was just as graceful and fluent. It was difficult for him to keep his hands tucked beneath his thighs.
Come here rude boy, boy
Can you get it up?
Come here rude boy, boy
Is you big enough?
The curvature of her body flattered her movements. It was as though she didn't have to try. It was as though it all naturally came to her, like she didn't have to remember the sequences of her dances. She was a marvelous human being beyond compare.
The song ended, applauses echoing from the main room.
The girl hadn't realized how close she had gotten to the man—on his thighs… just inches away from his mouth… her hands on his shoulders—until the cheering faded.
The man's eyelids were partially closed, lazily hanging over his eyes, obscuring the swirls of dark that consumed his irises. His lips were parted, making a dark slit. His breath was like winter wind.
Bitter cold.
Her hands glided up his neck and finally to his face. They kissed.
It was like a jolt of pure electricity and adrenaline. Tender pecks gradually grew into full-mouthed lip biting, and hands roving each other's body.
Jumping back into reality, she pulled herself away from him only to see that he was breathing just as heavily.
"Come to my flat."
It was more of a rugged command than a suggestion. Though, the man's eyebrows arched, and he immediately agreed. The two snuck out the back of the building, chuckling madly.
She knew she was going to be in a bout of trouble for this tomorrow night.
~.~.~
They bulleted down the barren hallway of the third floor to the direction of her flat. Her hand was clamped in his, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke little things.
Halting at the farthest door, she took out the key from her purse and unlocked it. Her home was livable and comfortable, the heater on low and the windows shut tight. Her bedroom door was open, revealing a vanilla colored queen size bed, the sheets and pillows a little rustled up and unmade from her last nap.
Without warning, the man's hands grappled her waist as he spun her towards him, and pulled her into a biting kiss. Her knees buckled beneath her, but she caught herself, along with his arm, and hastily hauled him into the bedroom.
The room grew hotter with every touch, her back to the sheets, her legs straddled, and coat and purse thrown to the floor. The man took in every inch of her with his lips and tongue, leisurely dragging off her blue thong, tasting the warmth between her thighs. Her spine arched and she moaned.
Her neighbors were thankfully off on the town, the rooms at the far end of the hall vacant.
As he worked himself out of his pants, she began to noticed how abnormally warm it became. Besides the fact that she was about to have extraordinarily hot sex, besides the fact that she was sweating bullets from the tension… the temperature in the room seemed to have risen dramatically. She knows it wasn't the heater malfunctioning. It was just fixed last week.
Her eyes gazed up at the man, bewilderment fading… quickly being replaced by shock.
His eyes were white. Filmed over, only the peculiarly dilated black pupil visible.
"Open wide."
And before she could attempt an escape, his hand flew over her open mouth, blocking the scream that formed in her throat, and he viciously pressed himself into her.
She felt things rip, tear, and she felt something hot ooze down her thigh. Her eyes were wide and overflowing with tears, bulging with panic.
The hot fingers over her cheek suddenly blackened at the tips, and finally grew into long talons, sharp and black. His mouth even produced fangs, each tooth razor-sharp and sneering.
His voice wasn't that smooth, sophisticated tone anymore. It was now guttural, monstrous.
A creature.
"Now… scream."
His hand jerked from her face, tearing the skin wear the claws were placed. He fisted the sheets, each hand at the sides of her head. His mouth opened. With a swift diving motion, his fangs punctured her just above her collarbone faster than a blink.
She has never screamed as loud as she had that night. She has never felt pain as great as what she was feeling then.
Tears poured, mixing with the blood on her face. The thing chewed and sucked, blood spraying like a punctured water balloon, drenching the sheets and mattress.
She felt weak, hopeless now. She couldn't push him away. She couldn't scream. Her breath began to come in little puffs. It was obvious she was dying.
She then remembered she forgot to say goodbye to her best friend back at the club. She was too enthralled with this gentleman to think twice.
She guessed she will just meet her some other time.
Her vision glazed, and there was nothing left to her than a bleeding husk on the bed.
"Run, John! Run!"
John Watson's comrade screamed for him to run to the barracks. Another comrade of his was several feet behind him, stumbling and tripping over himself from the major laceration in his knee. His stamina was failing him, his legs abating him and turning into rubber. "Move, son!" John yelled as loud as he could over the sounds of guns firing and ear-busting explosions. "Dammit! I can't do this anymore!" The other man let out a sobbing scream. Before John could say another word to the fellow soldier, blood spewed out of the man's hip and a bullet hit the ground, a ball of dust emerging from the impact. John's eyes became wild, "NO!"
John woke up from his bed with a jolt. Adrenaline rushed through him caused his heart to beat a million miles a minute, along with sweat rolling off his face. He slouched over and closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. After pacifying himself, he shook his head, taking himself out of the nightmares that always haunted him since the war. He got out of his bed and headed down stairs for some coffee.
"Coffee. Need coffee. Always need coffee."
Morning sunshine showed through the sliver of the closed curtain at the window. The fragrant scent of coffee engulfed the kitchen, enriching the air with a promising feel that a relaxing day of nothing to do was ahead. You always need coffee.
He poured himself a cup, and smiled.
Shuffling on the couch almost made the coffee in his hand tip over from his little jump.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock Holmes was sprawled out on the couch, John's laptop balancing on his abdomen, his fingers clicking away at the keyboard.
He grumbled, "Yes, John?"
John replied, "Did you stay up all night on my laptop again?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Research."
John sighed and took a sip of his cuppa. He strode to the window and peeked outside the curtain. A ray of December sunshine showing from above the buildings partially blinded him, forcing him to squint and scrunch his face up a bit. Releasing a billow of air that was lodged in his lungs, he sat himself on the brownish lounge chair, pulling himself into it to relax himself even though he just woke up from a long sleep… which is rare to have at 221b Baker Street. He blew on his coffee, took a sip.
"Disappearances."
Sherlock's voice broadcasted out the silent void that blanketed about the room. John sat his cup on the end table. He pushed a faux perkiness into his reply, "Disappearances?"
Sherlock's eyes were glued to the laptop, "Yes, two. All within one week. A little girl, seven years old. A man, about thirty. Both mysteriously swiped off the face of the planet."
John lifted his brow, curiosity driving him. "Any evidence?"
"For the girl, only a couple drops of blood along with a pompom, obviously from a winter beanie, in Brompton Cemetery. A splotch of blood and hair follicles on a corner of a rock near the lake at Horse Guards Road for the man. Obviously slipped into the lake somehow, but there was nothing in the water. No sort of residue, nothing. The water was clean."
"Let me guess. Call Lestra-"
"Call Lestrade and inform him. Missing persons with only traces of blood left behind? This case… it's perfect for a Sunday morning." His face lifted, slapping John's laptop shut.
As John lifted himself off the chair to grab his cell, peevish from the sudden rush, the door was thrown open by none other than Gregory Lestrade—or Detective Inspector Lestrade—with an almost frantic expression plastered on his aging face. John believes Sherlock's psychic sometimes.
Sherlock, whilst slipping on his shoes, said, "Lestrade, how spontaneous of you."
"Good morning to you, Sherlock. Any who, no doubt you've read the news this morning. Two murders in a week, both disappeared without a trace minus small remnants of blood. Well… there's been a third."
"A third?" Both John and Sherlock thought back to the earlier case with the cabbie.
"And the murderer left a big, bloody mess," Lestrade said, leaving the last three words linger into John and Sherlock's minds. Lestrade added, "Both of you need to come now. The investigation's been going on for hours." Sherlock's brow arched enquiringly, "Hours?"
Lestrade stomped down the stairs hurriedly. He returned to his car, awaiting them impatiently.
Back in the flat, Sherlock threw on his coat and scarf, calling for John to come with him. John—finally fully clothed—sprinted down the steps from his room, adjusting the collar on his jacket.
Outside, the vehicle was parked. Sherlock opened the door and gestured for John to enter first. After doing so, Sherlock went after him and closed the car's door. Lestrade pushed the accelerator and drove into the street. The sun continued to slightly distort John's vision, but shined warmly through the window onto his exposed hands and face, causing his skin to seem almost sallow.