Hiya!
Okay, this is another of my Buffy/Angel fics, and I'm pretty sure no one else has had this idea yet. This story has a villain character that isn't in Buffy, because none of them I felt were quite right for the part and I didn't want to upset anyone by making anyone ooc. So anyway, She is a character that I have in quite a lot of my none- fanfic stories, (Apart from one of my other Buffy fanfics) so I think she's quite good for the part instead. She's not in this chapter though.
Chapter 1: I've been waiting.
The attic was small and dark. Light had not penetrated its thick walls for hundreds of years, and dusty books lay abandoned on the thin shelves, practically hanging of the walls. Nothing moved, save for a huddled form, hidden in the shadows at the corner of the room.
He listened, the usually complete silence had been broken by the sounds of movement downstairs. He didn't dare hope, didn't dare risk rng.
The attic was small and dark. Light had not penetrated its thick walls for hundreds of years, and dusty books lay abandoned on the thin shelves, practically hanging of the walls. Nothing moved, save for a huddled form, hidden in the shadows at the corner of the room.
He listened, the usually complete silence had been broken by the sounds of movement downstairs. He didn't dare hope, didn't dare risk raising his head. He merely stayed still, and couldn't help but concentrate on the sounds of muffled laughter. Somewhere in his mind, he remembered that at one time, he himself had known laughter. He had long since forgotten how. That ability had long gone along with many others.
But he hadn't forgotten why he was here. He hadn't forgotten who had chained his wrists and his ankles, or who had locked him in here, kept him from daylight, from his friends. And he hadn't forgotten whom he was waiting for.
He didn't remember exactly when he had given up hope, only that he had at some point. He had lost sight of time, he couldn't even have estimated what year it was now.
He kept as still as he could, having had years of practice, and listened. His head was still rested on his knees, as he wondered how long these intruders would stay. He wondered how long it would take for them to discover him. How long it would take them to leave. Of course, there had been others. Others who had decided to stay in this house. Each had been different, and yet exactly the same. Each had left shortly after discovering him. None of them had freed him from his prison. He supposed that they had been scared.
It had been a long time since the last visitor had departed, and he wondered how the world had changed since then. It seemed to him that with every visitor, his or her appearance and manner grew ever stranger. He speculated on what kind of people they were, as he strained his ears to catch every sound that he could.
Some time later, he didn't know exactly when, the noises desisted, and he assumed that the new inhabitants had retired to their chambers. To sleep. How he wished that he could do the same. He couldn't. He was doomed to spend every moment, waiting for him to come. Waiting for someone whom he knew in his heart would never come.
And so he stayed, his head never moving from his knees, his hands and ankles forced together in front of him. And he waited.
...
Buffy summers woke the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. She frowned, still sleepy, before remembering the move. Her eyes took in the sight before her. Last night, she had been way too tired to really look at her new room, and now that she did, she realised how beautiful it was, as was the rest of the old Victorian style mansion. A large glass door covered in deep red curtains led the way to an exquisite balcony, and the rest of the room had an eighteenth century style to it. The wooden floorboards didn't even creak as she made her way to the bathroom, to wash up.
Once she had finished, she strolled out into the long hallway, taking in the portraits hanging on the walls. She passed an ornate grandfather clock, and saw that it was still quite early in the morning. She decided that, rather than wake her parents, she would take this opportunity to explore the house on her own.
Buffy continued down the elegant hallway, knowing that even if the floorboards did creek, her parents wouldn't hear, as they were in the other wing of the house. That was possibly what she liked best about this house. She got her own wing! She knew that as soon as she made friends at her new school, she would invite them all over for a really big slumber party! Of course, all of her old friends were welcome as well. Especially Faith and her boyfriend Spike, they were always so much fun. She knew that they would love this almost spookily gothic house.
She paused, as she noticed a passageway leading off to her left. She peered down it, noticing that it was pretty dark, and knowing that she didn't know this house nearly well enough to know where a light-switch was. She shrugged, she'd check it out later.
Buffy continued down the corridor, and, noticing a large oak door opened it and walked in. The room was decidedly small compared to the other rooms that she knew of. It contained a small wooden table with a few books open atop it. Stacked on shelves to one side, she noticed various herbs and spices stacked in strange jars and bottles. It was all very old fashioned, and looked as though the previous owner had simply forgotten all about it.
Buffy decided that she would show her mom later, and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. She walked back up the corridor the way that she had come, hoping to change out of her snoopy pyjamas.
Buffy stopped in her tracks when she heard a noise. It seemed to be coming from her right. From the corridor that she had noticed earlier.
Curious, she called out, "Mom, dad? Is that you?"
There was no reply.
Cautiously, she made her way down the dark hallway, trying not to bump into anything or trip or fall.
"Hello?" She tried.
Again, she received no answer, and now she was starting to wonder whether she had imagined the sound. Still she went on, her right hand running along the wall, until she came to the end of the passage. She could just make out in the darkness a long wooden staircase. The darkness seemed to encourage her to keep silent, as she crept up the stairs.
Buffy felt the darkness grow cold around her as she neared the top of the stairs, and Buffy felt an odd sort of foreboding as she realise that she was standing at the door to the attic. She mentally scolded herself for being so silly, knowing that it was just because this was a new house and she was unfamiliar with it. But then she remembered the weird bumping noise that she had heard, and made up her mind.
She reached her hand forward and twisted the door handle, pushing the door. It remained closed. 'Damn' she thought, before saying it aloud. She pushed on it a few more times, but to no avail. She was just about to turn and leave, when she noticed the key in the lock. She smiled and shook her head, before turning the rusted old key in the lock, and easing the old door open.
"Buffy." Called her mother's voice from downstairs. Buffy sighed and, deciding that she could always come back later, headed back down the stairs to her mother.
...
He finally raised his head from his knees. His dark brown eyes, once full of life, were now vacant and unfocused, as he listened once again. At least one of the new inhabitants was up. That must mean that it is morning. He could no longer tell, the shadows in the attic stayed the same, there were no windows and the door almost always stayed shut. The room stayed deathly still, as it had always done. And he listened. Whoever it was, was drawing closer.
...
The footsteps died away, yet still, he listened. After all the years, alone in his attic, he had come to thirst for anything outside of his own existence. He had read every single book in this God-forsaken place more than once, and every whisper of sound in this house drew his attention. He had become adept at interpreting sounds. He listened, and waited, wondering whether he should draw the person's attention to this place.
...
The person was returning. He could hear them walking along, almost directly beneath his prison. He wondered if he could get them to come up here, to open the door. He told himself that it would happen eventually, he should remain still, but he could no longer wait, he felt himself needing to experience something, anything outside of his own pathetic existence.
Slowly, he raised his hands, they ached from disuse, and his wrists were raw from the chains around them, but he bared it. He grabbed a nearby book, and threw it as hard as he could at the opposite wall. He heard the thump, and leant back into his previous position, his bones protesting, once again listening.
He held himself as still as he possibly could, when he heard the clear voice. It was a girl. And she was climbing the stairs. He remembered those stairs. He didn't remember what they had looked like, but he remembered being dragged up them, his limbs already tied together.
He couldn't help but wonder how this girl would react to him. What did she look like? Did she live here now? Of course, he knew, that when she saw him, realised what he was, she would run as far as she could in the other direction. But still, if she could only open the door, maybe it would make it easier for him to be found. By him.
...
The door was open! He felt a rush of gratitude to the beautiful blonde girl who had opened the door to his prison. Her clothes had, as he had expected, been very strange indeed. Her dress intrigued him to no end. He found himself yearning to know more about her. Just then, what he assumed to be her mother called her, and he couldn't decide whether to be grateful or to despair.
Still, he waited for a while, until he could no longer hear her. His breath was ragged as he clambered to his feet. He stood for a couple of seconds before his legs gave way from under him. He crashed to the ground, panting. Every single part of his body hurt. Now he remembered why he had tried not to move for so long. His bones ached as he crawled further to the door.
The shadows had shifted. What little light had come from outside the door had entered the room. Just this small difference was monumentous to him. His eyes were long since used to the darkness, and outside the door he could see the stairs. It had been so long since he had seen anything other then the room that he was in. His confused mind couldn't take in all that was happening, though to others it would seem so little. He now wondered how he had kept himself from going mad in the confines of such a small room. He could not fathom the new expanse of the stairway, and the long corridor promising many other rooms to explore.
He shifted his weary body, so that he sat, in front of the door, his eyes roaming round the new and yet familiar sight.
He remembered these stairs so well now. The dark red carpet that covered it was the same it seemed, the banister still wooden. He remembered trying to grab it when he had been hauled up here. But his chains had prevented him from being able to.
His keen eyes noticed scuff marks at the corner of the stairs, and wondered whether it had been him that had made them. Or his captors. Of course, he was barefoot now. They had taken his shoes. And his life.
Here was the doorway to his freedom, and yet still, he hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to step outside. Who knows what could be waiting for him outside?
And so, his heart heavy, he decided to wait for nightfall. He stayed there, still as possible, waiting for any sign that the beautiful girl had retired once again to her bed.
...
Okay! That's it for the first chapter, if you want more, please review! I quite like this story, and I have a really good plan for where it should go, so please review. Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated!
Luv Angie : )
Ps, i'm really sorry about some of the formatting, the indentation dosen't work for some reason! : )