Hello! As promised, here is my new endeavor. It would be helpful for you to have at least seen the first Crow…or have a basic knowledge of it…because this story is based off the sequel. Aside from some references and explainations as they pertain to one of the main characters in this story, I won't touch the first Crow. Brandon Lee immortalized that character and I won't try to improve on it.

If you're wondering what happened to "UNRESOLVED"...then please email me. I will explain.

Standard disclaimers apply. I am making no money off of this. I'm just borrowing the characters.

Enjoy!

-Nico

Sarah woke with a start, causing Gabriel to jump from the foot of the bed where he had been curled up for the last few hours. The silky white cat narrowed his eyes at his owner and mewed in irritation, slinking off to find a snack…since he was up.

Sarah was vaguely aware that she had fallen asleep painting again; black paint was caked on her fingertips and the huge canvas she had been working on was still sprawled out next to her in her huge bed. It was dark out and most of the candles she had lit several hours ago had burned down to unidentifiable pools of wax.

She had never been one to settle down. She had come to Los Angeles in the hope of fleeing her painful memories of Detroit, but it seemed the black clouds that had hovered over her head there had followed her here. Her current living quarters were considerably better than the small apartment her drug-addicted mother had raised her in…even if she presently found herself in an abandoned loft on the sixth floor of a run-down, mostly abandoned building. When she had first gotten into town, someone had told her that the decrepit building had been a series of dance studios, graced by some of the biggest names in classic Hollywood…but now the floors were crumbling, everything was dusty and dirty…and the electricity and hot water were sketchy at best.

Still, the loft had appealed to her artistic side and the high, cathedral ceilings and wooden (albeit dirty) floors had called to her.

She'd been here for a year now.

But the nightmares had only started six weeks ago.

True, Sarah's dreams were never necessarily pleasant, but lately the intensity and frequency of these specific dreams were beginning to take their toll on her. She wearily rubbed her eyes with her paint-stained hands and crooked her neck to the side to squint at the dusty wall clock. 10:15. She was forty-five minutes late for work.

Instantly on her feet, Sarah was silently thankful that she had fallen asleep in her clothes…not an easy feat considering that her current outfit consisted of a black corset, fishnets and wispy yet strategically placed black fabric. Her brownish-blonde hair was twisted into a series of small buns and braids about her head with several unruly spiral curls tumbling down to frame her porcelain face. Red eyeliner framed her icy-pale blue eyes…eyeliner that may have been cosmetic or…more likely…the effect of several weeks of interrupted sleep.

The air on the street choked her, just as it did every night. LA had an eerie, green glow at night…an effect of smog combining with the night lights of the city. The streets were littered with newspapers…food wrappers…oil slicks…glass…anything that the world figured could be discarded…including hundreds of human beings either too young, old, sick or drug-addled to make a living.

While painting was a favorite pastime, it didn't pay Sarah's minimal bills. She still needed to eat. Some time ago, back in Detroit, she had started her career as a tattoo artist. Painting a canvas and permanently scarring human skin were actually more similar than they sounded.

Instead of choking on air, Sarah opted for a cigarette, which she lit quickly as she began the seven block walk to the tattoo studio, where she would work overnight as The Mistress of Pain…the local's affectionate little name for her.

Noah barely looked up from the tattoo he was currently etching on the back of an uncomfortable looking man. "You're late, love," he said, his British accent still prominent even thought he had lived in the states for 25 of his 45 years.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sarah said, her voice eternally child-like. "I haven't been getting that much sleep."

Noah chuckled. "At least someone's getting laid." The man he was tattooing laughed too.

Sarah smiled. "No, it's not that…it's just," she paused to collect her thoughts. "I've been having these really strange dreams."

"Well wake up and welcome to the real world," Noah said, pointing with his needle in the direction of a waiting customer. He winked at Sarah, who forced a smile and motioned for her next victim to take a seat in her chair.

For most people, dawn was a time of day that often went unnoticed…taken for granted. For Sarah, it signified the end of another long night and held the promise of another day struggling between trying to sleep and ferociously painting the images that had tormented her when she was able to sleep.

"Want to start your day off with a beer, love?" Noah asked, shrugging into his beat up leather jacket. Sarah shook her head.

"No," she smiled. "I'm okay."

Noah shuffled over, his limp a result of a drunken scuffle two decades ago. He kissed Sarah's cheek. "I have some valium, if you want it. It will help you sleep."

Sarah smiled and patted the older man's scruffy cheek. "Thanks, Noah, but I don't even take aspirin."

Noah shook his head and shrugged. "Crazy girl," he said. "You'll lock up when you're done?"

Sarah nodded. "Goodnight, Noah."

Noah smiled. "It's morning, girl. You're turning into a genuine creature of the night."

For some reason, Sarah shuddered as the door slammed behind him as he left.

Gathering her belongings slowly, Sarah yawned. Just like every other morning, she felt a rush of excitement, hoping that the yawn would preannounce a good, restful sleep. And again like every morning that hope quickly vanished as she realized she might never sleep again.

Moving more quickly now, Sarah closed up the shop and pulled the heavy, protective gate across the door.

Suddenly, she felt a fluttering against the back of her head. Spinning around, her eyes fell on an enormous black bird which was perched on a graffiti-stained bus bench, cawing loudly and eyeing her suspiciously.

It was a crow, she realized.

And it wanted her to follow it.