AN: This is a rewrite of conscience. Hopefully you guys will like it.
The heat was stifling today. The sun seemed to stick in the same place in the sky up above, and it beat down on the earth with a vengeance. There wasn't a cloud in the sky; nothing to offer any kind of protection. The birds that normally chattered were silenced by the steadily rising temperature, taking cover in any tree that provided shade. The only sound that could be heard was the cicadas as they screamed a song of static.
She walked slowly, captured in feel of summer. She loved the way the heat pressed her hair to her face, a sheen of sweat glistening on her tanned forehead. Her bare feet were sucking up the heat from the pavement, and she was grateful that she had come to the boundary of stone. She looked down and there was slight amusement that played upon her lips as she thought, "Finally." She sucked in heavily, shut her eyes tightly, and stepped over the edge.
The water crashed into her body, instantaneously relieving her from the outside fever. She opened her eyes and kicked off the back wall of the pool. Her body shot forward through the waters, sending waves crashing against the sides. Oh how she loved this feeling, this feeling of freedom as she swam.
The look of absolute peace in her expression would interest anyone who would stand just at the edge of the concrete, looking down into the crystalline waters. The muscles under her skin moved gracefully as she kicked, her body lithe and agile. She was completely at home here. The water was where she belonged. She pumped her arms upwards, returning to the surface for a quick breath before ducking back under the light blue waves. She began to swim laps, testing the resolve of her muscles.
It was hours later when she was finally exhausted. Dusk was approaching, and the deafening buzz of cicadas had quieted to a low hum. She propelled herself to the edge of the pool, and hoisted her body from the waters. The droplets rolled from her skin, and she smoothed her hair back with her fingers. She felt clean and reenergized as she reached for her towel to dry off. She made her way to the changing room, grasping the plastic bag that held her clothes. It was deserted; no one ever swam on a Monday afternoon.
Thoughts roamed her mind freely, and she went through the motions as she put herself together. The room was dim; a single bulb was flickering above her. The smell of mildew and chlorine sunk deep into the concrete walls. The lockers that lined the edges of the area were empty, and some of the doors were left ajar. It had the potential to be a really nice place, but the poor management had left it less than desirable.
She held a lethargic pace as she dressed; trying to put as much time between home and herself as possible. When she was finished, she threw her swimsuit and towel back into the bag, pulled on her shoes, headed towards the door. She glanced in the mirror on the way out and stopped, looking into her own eyes. Without a word, she opened the heavy wooden door and left.
She rounded the corner to her street. Dilapidated houses adorned the road, which was cracked and riddled with potholes. The lawns were unkempt, weeds springing out high above her shins. The shadows of the homes draped across the sidewalk as the sun set behind them. It was the worst place in the entire city, and she had the pleasure of living in it.
She approached her house tentatively, listening for the tell-tale signs of her stepfather. It was near silent, although she detected a TV that was on somewhere inside. He was home.
The place was a worn down little thing, with windows that had fractured from abuse. The paint that had not peeled away was grey, dirtied by neglect. The porch had holes in spots where termites had gnawed through, and it drooped to the right slightly. Shit foundation, her stepfather claimed, and that the fuckers who laid it ought to be slain. But what did he know? He never did anything except steal money from her and her mother. Her lips pursed as disgust crept through her.
She tip-toed up the steps to the front door, avoiding the spots where she knew they creaked. It had been left slightly agape, so she pressed the tips of her fingers to the wood, gently widening it. Damn. The hinges had squeaked, alerting her step-father to her presence.
"Who's there?" He called, voice fighting to stay clear against the alcohol.
It was smaller than it looked on the inside. The house was laid out with two bedrooms on either side of the front door. A couch and small TV were few feet in front. There were beer cans, plates and cups littered around it. It was the epitome of laziness. The walls were a dingy off-white, stained with a plethora of browns and grays. There was a lamp near the couch where he lay, but the bulb was dull and served nearly no purpose other than décor. The windows had weighty dark curtains which remained drawn at all times.
She ignored him, eyes narrowing, and turned into her room.
She shut the flimsy wooden door behind her, and flopped onto her mattress. It squeaked under her weight, and the uneven springs pressed against her stomach. Her eyes lazily drifted around her bedroom. It was tiny, only able to contain a small dresser and her bed. There were a few miscellaneous paintings on the walls, but aside from that, the walls were bare. Her bedspread was a plain green, and it hadn't been changed since she moved in. Her eyes finally settled on a spot on the wall where the paint had been scraped off, and she could feel them growing heavy. She brought a pillow under her chin and her eyes fluttered to a close, fatigue sinking into her body. The last thing she thought about before going to sleep was that today had been a good day.
/
Jackson rolled off of the couch and into a pile of beer cans. They clattered and crunched under his weight. After a string of colorful language, he managed to pull himself up, using the arm of the couch as support. He ran a hand through his thick tangle of blond hair, and scratched the scruff on the peak of his chin. He was a tall, bulky man, with bulging arm muscles that threatened to burst from his shirt sleeves and a broad chest. His jaw was a hard square, and his milky blue eyes were lined in wrinkles and blond eyelashes. The muscles in his arms rippled as he gripped the arm of the chair, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When it did, he lifted his head toward his step-daughters room. He could have sworn he heard her come home. The telltale squeak of those god damn door hinges had given her away.
He belched, and booze stung the back of his throat. He wiped a bit of stray drool from his mouth. Through the haze, Jackson could feel a primal desire rise inside of him, but his wife wasn't home. He glared downwards and tried to will it away, but another idea floated in through the soup of his mind. His step daughter was home. He never had thought of her that way, but it was a plausible idea. She was attractive, and he was sure she'd be better than his spouse; certainly better than nothing at all. Even in the state he was in, he was able to put it together that he would not get caught. His wife would not return until early in the morning, her nursing career pushing her to do more than necessary. There would be no way she could fight him off. He had 100 pounds on her, at least. He made up his mind with that thought and began to stagger towards her room. The walk was short, her room being no farther than ten feet from where he lay. He reached her door and suppressed another burp, knowing that waking her would not be a good thing. He grasped the handle, and gently opened the door.
The light was still on in her room, and she lay on her bed. His eyes roamed over her body. Her legs were thick from hours of swimming and running, her midsection narrow and taut. Her arms were slim, and cut with muscles. Amber locks draped over her shoulder shone in the light, golden against the tan of her body.
Yes, he concluded, this was a good idea.
She was asleep, completely unaware of the tragedy looming above her. He allowed himself a few more moments to stare, and then reached down to fulfill his ever increasing need.
/
"Daddy?" Her voice was small, quiet, and it seemed as if it reached no one other than herself. She was but a child, and she was lost; alone in what seemed like perpetual darkness. There was a chill in the air, causing her skin to ripple in gooseflesh. Her eyes strained to see in the nothing around her, and she called for him again. Behind her, there was a tinkling, soft as a whisper, almost like wind chimes. She turned and a small spot of light could be seen in the distance. This piqued her interest, and she began to approach it tentatively. A crackling joined in with the chimes, and she finally reached the source of the light. A fire, small but strong, burned at her feet. She turned her head towards the sound of cloth shifting, and her eyes rested on a man. He raised his hands to the fire, which were scarred and full of calluses.
"Wow. You've gotten so big." He gave her a smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges.
His voice was soft, but deep. It was so familiar to her, and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. She looked down, and realized she was no longer a little girl. She stood before her father, fully grown, for the first time in years. He looked exactly like she remembered. His hair was light, wavy and fell to his ears, his eyes a green so deep it was like looking upon endless miles of forest. His skin was wrinkled around the eyes and forehead, laugh lines framing his lips. The scent of oil and musk drifted to her nose. His jaw was a gentle line which matched the curve of his nose and lips. His chest was wide, and she remembered snuggling into it when she had nightmares. He was spotted with freckles and her mother's nickname, Dotty Scotty, surfaced in her memory.
"Come here honey. Sit with me."He patted the ground next to him.
She complied, and he took her hand. She looked at their interlocked fingers for a long time as he rubbed circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. How relaxing this gesture was to her. It murmured that she was protected and loved. She held on just a little bit tighter, not wanting to ever let go of her father again.
A loud snap was heard from the fire, and she turned her attention to it. It flickered, and she watched the flames dance and disappear into the air. She felt as if that image was being burned into her corneas, because the longer she stared, the more intense it seemed. The wind chimes sounded again as a gust of wind blew past them, coming from an unknown source. The fire bowed to the current, and then stood straight again as it ended, continuing its never ending jig. She rested her head upon his shoulder and sighed. She would relish in the feeling of safety for as long as she could; who knows when she would see him again?
After remaining this way for what seemed like forever, she finally spoke.
"Daddy," She lifted her head and looked at him. "Why are you here?"
He smiled. There was sadness in his eyes as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Because baby," he replied, cupping her face in his hand, "you're in danger."
/
Her eyes shot open. The scent of her father which had delighted her senses moments earlier was replaced by something sharp and foul. Jackson was leaning over her, trying to wrestle her pants from her body, and she could smell the stench of alcohol. She rolled over, eyes wide with fear, jerking herself from his grip and kicked wildly at him. Her foot connected with the thick trunk of his stomach, but he didn't stop. He dragged her forwards on her bed, towards him, and she squirmed wildly under his grasp. His lips crashed down onto hers, and he forced his tongue into her mouth. She gagged as the taste of beer and meat reached her throat. She screamed as he took both of her arms and pinned them above her head in one massive hand. The other glided its way down her stomach, to the buckle of her jeans. His tongue was writhing in her mouth, and time seemed to slow as her adrenaline increased. She had to escape, she could not let him do this to her. Even if it meant dying, she would not allow this to happen.
She bit down on his tongue with all of her strength, and he recoiled, shrieking profanities. Jackson backed up to the door, blocking her exit as his hand rose protectively. Blood dripped from his mouth profusely, staining the cream carpet below him.
"Anna, you little bitch!" He snarled at her, anger consuming his features. Fear struck her hard in the chest as she scooted backwards on the bed. His huge arm shot forward again. If he caught her, she surely would be dead. He gripped her ankle, and she kicked him hard in the face. He released her, cursing again, and she launched herself off the bed and towards the end of the room. He quickly recovered and his hulking mass covered the distance between them in a split second. All sanity had been lost from his eyes, and she didn't think he was after what she had in her pants any more. He wrapped his hand around her throat, muscles bulging in his arm. She choked. He tightened his hold, and she could feel her neck straining against the pressure. She gripped around his wrist, digging her nails into the flesh. He smirked at her.
Panic coursed through Anna in waves as her head grew light, and the room began to spin. She couldn't get air through to her lungs and they burned fiercely. She looked up at Jackson blearily, his face smearing in with the background. Her struggling was slowing as her muscles became heavier and heavier. Her arms dropped. Her eyes closed. Her legs gave out.
She died.
/
The first scent that registered in her mind was blood. It was heavy; there must have been a lot of it nearby. She wondered why someone was bleeding, and if they were okay. Maybe Jackson had tripped again, and her mother was stitching him up. He hated hospitals more than anything, so that wouldn't have been new. He had the tendency to fall and hurt himself, and on many occasion he had to make do with homemade stitches. Maybe her mother could give her some medicine for her head that refused to stop pounding. In fact, it wasn't only her head that was complaining. Her neck was incredibly sore and tight. The other muscles in her body were stiff, and all in all, she was in a lot of pain. A groan escaped her throat, but it came out sounding wrong. It was scratchy, and strangled. Her eyes lifted, and a gasp came from her as she realized that she wasn't at home.
She was lying in the middle of a stone room, but the ground beneath her was strangely warm. Her vision was limited, a single candle above a doorway in front of her being her only source of light. She could see nothing beyond the frame. Her fingers clenched into fists, knuckles scraping against the rough earth. She tried to prop herself up, but something had her bound to the floor. She jerked against them, and realized that they would not give. Her body thrashed against the bindings, and a coarse scream ripped from her throat. Hysteria seized her as her body bucked, unable to break from the restraints. Sobs forced their way from her chest as she gave up trying to fight her way out. It was hopeless. She would never get out of here, and whoever had her held hostage was going to do terrible things to her. She cried until tears would not come, and even then gasps still shook her chest. Eventually, they left her, and she stared at a crack in the wall until her eyes burned.
What are you going to do, Anna? She asked herself this over and over until the question was almost like a mantra. She didn't even know how she got there, let alone how to get out. So she decided to start at the very beginning of what she could remember, and then maybe that would lead her to the reason she was trapped.
She began by tracing her steps from the first thing she could recall. She went swimming early today, or yesterday, or however many days ago. She came home, snuck in the door. She fell asleep. But after that? What came after that? What happened? It was coming to her slowly, and she clenched her eyes shut. She had a dream. Her father was there. And he told her to sit and… what else? They sat by a fire… It was on the tip of her tongue. What did he say to her? Her mind desperately fought through the emptiness, stretching out an arm to what seemed like the very tip of her mind.
And then, it came to her. A tear found its way from her eye and hit the concrete. He said she was in danger.
Just like that, it all came back.
A chuckle drifted through the air and bounced off of the walls. Anna tensed, her breath retracting into her body and freezing there. Footsteps were approaching her and fear seized her again. Thoughts were racing through her mind as the steps came closer; what if it was Jackson? He must have horrible plans for her if she was tied up like this. What was he going to do to her? That urge to flee returned to her body as her arms strained for freedom. She could feel the straps digging into her wrists, but they would not give. Her head pivoted from side to side, searching for anything on the floor that might help her escape, but there was nothing but stone. Her heart was hammering against her chest, and it felt like it might just break through her ribcage.
"Quiet, my child."
The voice was of a man, and it was deeper than rolling thunder. Anna's pulse slowed, and she instantly felt peace wash over her. Any trace of terror from the moments before was completely erased, and her muscles quit the impossible fight against her binds. She almost felt like she was melting into the ground as it crept through her bones.
Anna became aware of the fact that someone was in the room with her, and rolled her head in the direction of the doorway at her feet. The only feature she could distinguish about him was that he was unnaturally tall, head barely clearing the frame. He approached her casually, his steps echoing in the empty room. She turned her head up to him as he kneeled down. He stroked her cheek gently with the tips of his fingers, and the stench of blood grew unbearably strong. She leaned into his touch, something drawing her in. It was almost like the way a venus fly trap lures the fly to its death. This man screamed predator, and yet she could not be afraid.
"I was wondering how long it would take for you to finally be released to me."
His tone was almost playful. He was delighted to have her here.
Released? So… She wasn't just unconscious?
"Am… Am I dead?" Anna asked, her voice hoarse and scratchy. She tried to make eye contact, but she was unable to find his eyes. She settled on staring at the spot on his face where they should be.
He laughed again, brushing her hair from her face.
"Of course you are. Don't you remember?"
She frowned. She should be an absolute wreck at this point, but serenity was radiating from her head to her toes. Somehow, she could not be upset about her death no matter how hard she tried.
"Yes, I remember. But if I'm dead, then why am I tied down?"
Something malicious crept into his tone. "So your soul can't escape."
Anna's eyes flicked downwards to the straps that held her. To her surprise, they weren't leather or rope like she had originally thought. They were an electric blue, nearly transparent, and it looked as if they were made from some kind of current that had been refined to her wrists. She tested her arm against them again, and the current intensified, glowing just a bit brighter than before. A sound of fascination escaped her throat. She turned her attention back to him, eyes searching for answers.
"I have a deal for you," He said, fingers making their way down her jaw. They reached her neck, gracing over the spots where it hurt.
She whimpered, not enjoying the pain it induced.
"You have something I need." He sat, crossing his legs at her sides. "Out of the two dimensions that exist in this world, you are the only one with this power." His digits found their way to her arms, and began to glide up and down them. His voice took on a more serious tone as he continued. "You will have to work hard to obtain such strength, but you will not be alone."
"What's the deal?" She asked, doubting that she really had a choice.
"You certainly don't beat around the bush."
It was apparent that he was highly amused, that playful sing-song making itself known in his voice even as he continued.
"I can send you back. You can be alive again," He paused, allowing this to sink in. "The only thing you have to do is develop your abilities and follow my orders."
"And that's all?" She said, suspicious. How could he bring her back to life? And what ability was he talking about? Could she even trust him?
"That's all," He purred.
"Who are you?" She asked as his fingertips found the bruises on her wrists.
"Is it important?"
"Of course it's important. How else could I even consider it? How do I know this is even real?" It was too good to be true. Even if she were dead, there had to be some kind of catch. It was too real to be a dream, but the unknown warmth radiating from the floors and the stench of blood and this proposition were so unbelievable she just couldn't believe it.
His booming laughter filled the room again.
"Where else would you be if you weren't here?"
She was quiet. He was right.
"I go by many names, but I am most commonly referred to as Jashin."
"I've never heard of you." She said, doubt laced into her words.
He chuckled again, retorting with "Then why was it important?"
"But-" she started, but he cut her off, tightening his grip on her wrist. She cried out in pain.
"Enough chit-chat. Yes or no, Anna?"
"Yes! Okay, okay, yes." She cried, pain making the decision for her.
"Wonderful!" He was cheerful again, obviously pleased that he had gotten his way. His hand crept up her arm again, and over her chest. His finger tips were pressed against her, making a pyramid shape.
"Hold still," he chirped.
A cool, tingly sensation trickled into her, creeping its way throughout her veins. The stone room and the silhouette of a man slowly faded into white. The last thing she could remember were his eyes, which had finally revealed themselves as a deep purple.