Summary: This takes place sometime after the first episode of the third series. This is, of course, with the BBC series and not the SyFy remake. Everyone is getting settled with the new house in Wales. Things seem peaceful. But we all know that when one evil dies, a stronger one takes its place. And this new evil is powerful in more ways than one. Spoilers, of course.
Disclaimer: I don't own Being Human or any of the characters in this story. All those rights go to the amazing Toby Whitehouse. Even the made-up last name "Dolonov" is not mine and was suggested to me by a friend. So now that that's out of the way…
Shadows of the Past: Chapter 1
I still can't sleep. Even in the new house. Mitchell's been more persistent than ever in trying to make me, but…
It isn't as if I don't want to. Part of me does. But another part of me is still afraid. Now it's no longer being afraid of what I'll dream of, but being afraid of what could happen while I'm unconscious. It's always something that prevents me.
First I was afraid of what I would dream of. Then I was afraid that I'd sleep in and be late for work. Now I'm afraid that I'll lose everything just as I've gained it all back.
Annie, sitting with her legs scrunched up to her chest in her chair, turned to look at her friend. He was sleeping in his bed; his brown curls tussled from his restless slumber. His face looked troubled and he groaned in his sleep.
The ghost frowned from her chair. And then she was gone.
Now she was on the stairs, staring at the landing at the foot of the steps. The floor morphed and distorted – turned to argyle tiles. Little patterns of black and white diamonds. A spider was born on one, and it grew from barely a speck to something large, its legs reaching the ends of the tile it formed on. And it stayed, staring back at Annie, challengingly.
She looked shocked at first, her eyes widening, but then the expression disappeared, replaced itself with one that was unfazed – unconcerned. As if becoming aware that this was not enough, crimson liquid rose from the spider on the tile, flooded it, surrounded it. Annie merely closed her eyes in exasperation and let out a breath.
Even in the new house. It's like they follow me – the memories. The mind is a powerful thing, and mine just happens to be powerful enough to bring my memories to life. In a sense. It's almost as if my own death is haunting me. God, you'd think I'd be over that by now. I've got a great life, so to speak. Great friends, great house. Everything should be peachy.
There was an opening and closing of a door as Mitchell left his room. Annie didn't stir. She just kept on staring at the floor, accepting its challenge and facing it down. The tan vampire huffed as he saw the sight. The blood did not tempt him. It wasn't real. But even if it had been, he would not have been drawn to it. His friend was what mattered to him right now. He sat down on the steps next to her, throwing his arm around her. Looking from the floor to her face, he frowned rubbing her arm reassuringly.
Some things just stay with you, I guess.
"Annie, you're bigger than this," he said. His brown hair shook as he waggled his head. "It doesn't control you."
"Hmm?" she said, snapping away from her thoughts. Annie looked at Mitchell, her face slightly smiling. "I know." The scene lay neglected on the ground. "I'm just thinking about it, that's all," she said, laughing in spite of herself.
His frown lessened faintly, a sad smile taking its place. Rubbing at her arm again, he pulled her closer, and Annie rested her head on his shoulder.
Rustling came from the downstairs hall to the left of the stairs. "Oh, there's blood on the-!" called a distressed voice before breaking off in confusion. "…floor from the old house." George – a tall, pale, shorthaired man with glasses entered the area of congregation with a cup of tea in hand. "What's that doing here?" he asked the pair on the stairs.
"Annie was thinking about her death," Mitchell answered. His voice shook as if the subject were a touchy one as he gestured to the changed floor.
"It's an illusion," the ghost added with a nod.
"Oh." After a moment of staring at the floor and hesitating, George brought his sock-covered toe to the blood and nudged it. He shrieked and jumped back as the fabric was stained red. "It's wet!" he yelled. "That is wet!"
"It's just an illusion!" shouted Annie jumping up from her spot. Mitchell cautiously watched between the two and stood slowly. "Your brain's playing tricks on you, that's all!"
George quickly shut his eyes and began fervently chanting to himself, "Brain, your toe's not wet, brain, your toe's not wet!" His eyes flashed open. "It is still wet, Annie, it's still wet!"
"All right, all right, you're such a baby!" she called, closing her eyes. Her body went tense, fists clenched at her sides. And then with one heavy exhale of breath, the scene was gone.
The tall man swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and, with shallow breaths said, "Thank you."
"Baby," was all she replied, her mouth set in a hard line of annoyance and disappointment.
"I am not a baby," George said, waving his teacup at her menacingly. Mitchell rolled his eyes from behind Annie as George took a sip of his tea. "How did you do that, anyway?" he asked. "Did you…steal the floor from the new tenants?"
The vampire and the ghost both wore incredulous looks on their faces. "For Christ's sakes, it's just an illusion, George," answered Mitchell.
"Yeah, George," said Annie as she stepped down the stairs. She emphasized his name and spoke in a mocking lilt. "Do you even know what an illusion is?"
George shot a glare at the woman, obviously insulted. "'Course I know what an illusion is!" he said sharply. Annie made it past him and the two men both turned to look at her. "It was just…a very good one, that's all," he murmured sheepishly.
"Well, thank you kindly," she teased, smiling. "Now if you'll both excuse me, I'm off to the kitchen to make some tea." Then she turned to look solely at George. "Just yell if you see a mouse and I'll come chase it away for you. Baby."
"I'm not a baby!" George called again after her retreating form.
"Whatever!" she said, throwing a hand uncaringly into the air.
Scowling, George turned his head to Mitchell. He shook it from side to side. "Unreasonable."
"I heard that!" came Annie's voice from the kitchen.
The vampire chuckled as he walked down the stairs, his hands in his pockets. "So where's Nina?" he asked.
"Work."
"Work?" Mitchell asked, furrowing his brows. He looked out one of the windows. The light shining through was dismal as usual and George nodded to his question as his head was turned. "What time is it?"
"Uhhh." The tall man lifted his wrist to his face and squinted his eyes. "About 5:30."
Mitchell paled. "About 5:30?" he repeated in shock.
"Yeah," said George, a grin playing at his lips. "Slept in quite late, didn't you?" he asked, making his way to the living room where he sat down at one of the couches, Mitchell followed in toe and leaned on the wall. "Practicing to be a creature of the late afternoon?"
Mitchell groaned, rubbing at his eyes and forehead. "I've just been so tired lately."
"I can't imagine why," said George with a straight face, though his tone was laced with sarcasm. "You've just recently brought our friend back from the reaches of purgatory. I can't see why that would be tiring."
Releasing his forehead, the vampire's lips quirked up at one corner, his countenance suddenly glowing with pride and happiness. George shared his look, a full smile on his face. Mitchell took a seat next to the werewolf on the couch.
"You did good, Mitchell. You brought her back." Silence lingered as they took in this truth. Then finally, George spoke again. "So, what was it like?"
"What was what like?" he asked, fingering one of the cold mugs of tea that rested on the table. After contemplating for a second, he gripped it in both hands and held it idly to his chest.
"Purgatory," answered George, watching Mitchell hold and eventually sip the cold tea. He cringed slightly, but his curiosity far outweighed his disgust. "What was it like?"
Mitchell's attention switched from looking down at the mug to glancing at a spot in the corner of the room. His eyes were distant. "Enlightening," he muttered.
Silence drifted over the room again until, sighing, George said, "That's the best answer I'm going to get, isn't it?"
Mitchell turned back to him, smiling and chuckling. He shook his head. "It isn't your time to know anything more than that." After beaming and "Heh"-ing at the statement, a full cringe hit George's face as Mitchell took another long sip of the tea.
"Don't drink that!" scolded Annie as she entered the room, a new steaming mug in her hands. Mitchell immediately lowered the cup from his mouth as if he were a child that had just been caught with his finger in his nose. "It's old! And cold. I have a fresh one right here for you."
"Well, it's your fault," said George. "You keep leaving these bleeding mugs of tea everywhere, no one can tell what they're supposed to drink anymore."
"And who are you?" Annie questioned rhetorically. "His lawyer?" She set the new cup onto the table.
Displeased, George puffed out his lips. But instead of replying, he lifted the mug quickly and tossed a coaster underneath it.
"I'm sorry, Annie," Mitchell answered solemnly. "It's my fault. I just wasn't paying attention."
"Well you should," she chided. "You could be drinking-" She looked around as if searching the room for possibilities. "Poison, for all you know!"
He laughed. "It's not as if I could die, Annie."
The ghost rolled her eyes. "Still, I was making that cup of tea for you. Why did you think I was off to the kitchen?"
"I thought you were getting tea for yourself," he admitted, shaking his head. But she raised an eyebrow at the excuse and scoffed. "You can taste," he added on as if to back up his train of thought.
"But I can't very well drink by myself, now can I?" Mitchell pursed his lips, accepting the response. Annie nodded to him. "Go on, while it's still hot, Mitchell."
He lifted his mug to his lips, blowing on the liquid gently. She didn't need the physical contact anymore to feel the experiences of another. All Annie need do was close her eyes and imagine. His gaze on her, Mitchell drank some of the tea. And a smile flitted to her lips as she tasted the drink cleanse her pallet and wash over her tongue, course down her throat and warm her being.
"So why were you thinking about your death?" The question nearly caused Mitchell to choke on his tea and all at once, Annie's eyes flew open. All gazes rested on George, mouths open in disbelief and bafflement. George's face scrunched up and he raised his hands as if to tell the others to back off. "It's a legitimate question!" he shrieked in defense.
Relaxing her stance, Annie shrugged and took a seat. "It's just something you think about."
"Oh yeah," said George, a bite to his tone as he put his tea cup onto the table, of course making sure to put a coaster down first. "Because death is always the first thing on my mind."
"Well you're not exactly dead, are you, George?" snapped Annie.
George quieted up, looking embarrassedly down at his tea and away from the ghost who was now scrutinizing his face. Mitchell turned to him, coughing slightly to clear his throat, and nodded. "She has a point, you know."
Pursing his lips, George merely gave a curt nod, keeping his eyes down.
Again Annie relaxed and sat back in her chair. "Everyone has that thing they think about when there's nothing else on their mind." The grey fabric on her shoulders rose and fell as she shrugged. "An object, a person, a phrase… Mine just happens to be, 'I'm dead.' Which leads me to thinking about how I came to be dead and there we go."
"That's morbid," replied George after a moment of quiet.
Annie scowled. "I'm sorry my thoughts aren't all about puppies and rainbows."
"Bunnies," said Mitchell.
"What?"
"It's bunnies and rainbows. Hugs and puppies, bunnies and rainbows."
"Don't help him!" shouted Annie.
"I'm just saying!" Mitchell said, throwing his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Bunnies are happier than puppies."
Annie rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That isn't the point."
Mitchell sighed and turned his body towards Annie, leaning half off the couch to her. "What I think the point is – George's point – is that none of that matters anymore. You're free of that, Annie. There isn't any reason to worry about that anymore."
She offered nothing in response but a polite and reassured smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and a nod.
The plan was clear in Daisy's head. The only ones with brains at the institution were the mysterious Reverend Kemp and Lucy Jaggat anyway, and they were now dead. As she thought of this, a sickening grin rose to her face. As soon as she'd heard news of their disappearances, she'd known they were dead. And she didn't know how, but she knew John Mitchell had to have been involved in those deaths in some way, shape, or form.
He wouldn't have been the one to kill them. She knew that. He wasn't the same Mitchell that he was with her. She leaned, limply, against one of the hallway walls, eyes drifting to the ceiling as she daydreamed. She thought about the train car massacre, and a giggle fled her lips. The screams. The fear. The pleas for mercy. The blood. She licked her lips, her stomach gurgling at the thought.
Blood everywhere, free flowing and plentiful and in parts of the train car one would never imagine, or dare to. It was soaked into the cushions; it was on the walls, on the ceilings, the food trays… She'd finger-painted with some of it a bit before lapping it up, wrote little messages to Mitchell.
The best part was that some people struggled. Some of them actually put up a fight, and it filled their blood with life. It was so-
No. She couldn't think about that now. She couldn't allow herself to get hungry. After all, there were matters that needed to be attended to first, and she was in a nice shiny white lab coat. For the sake of her disguise, she couldn't dirty that.
Straightening the coat on her shoulders, she chuckled at how stupid the staff had been. Practically anyone could get in as long as they had a lab coat and could act the part. Daisy had been an actress for seventy years. Besides, she thought, smiling to herself. She'd be able to eat later.
Clearing her throat and messing with her coat again, she plastered a gentle smile on her lips and entered the room.
The man on the white bed had been staring at the floor, his eyes wide and fearful. His black hair was untidy. His face was shaven, but judging by his state, that was only because he had been forced to shave. "Mr. Dolonov?" Daisy asked in a sweet voice. One that would make anyone who knew her true intentions sick to his or her stomach.
He looked up at her, his eyes unblinking. His breathing elevated – he was panicked. A vein in his neck throbbed with nerves. Daisy eyed it concernedly, masking the fact that she enjoyed the fear he displayed.
"Are you alright?" she asked, moving closer to the bed to get a better look at him. His pulse sounded in her ears like a drumbeat and she could picture his blood sloshing inside his veins, his arteries, his heart…
He turned his body in her direction, subtly moving away from her. He had probably assumed that his 'physician' had not noticed this, but of course she had. The gentle smile returned. "Who are you?" he asked. His voice shook with an uneasy timbre.
"I'm Doctor Lucy Jaggat," she replied. "I'm here to see you about the progress you're making." A lie on many levels. Obviously she was not Lucy Jaggat, for Lucy Jaggat was missing and decidedly dead. And clearly the man had made no progress at all, looking almost savage and as if he'd been caught out in a cold rain.
He paused, looking her over for a minute. "Your badge says Doctor Cooper."
Daisy waved a hand. "I forgot my lab coat at my flat this morning, you see." She bit her lip in faux embarrassment. "Doctor Cooper was nice enough to lend me hers since she's off for the day." He – yes "he"- was off for a lot longer than that. And it wasn't so much that he lent Daisy his lab coat as it was that she stripped it off of his corpse once she was done feeding from him. Her stomach gurgled again. She laughed, her hand gripping at it. "Pardon me!" she said. "I've missed my lunch."
Finally, he gulped. "Oh," he said with a hesitant nod. For the first time, his eyes left her. The man visibly relaxed. He turned away, his shoulders slouched and he breathed an audible sigh as if he'd been holding his breath. Though she had enjoyed his fear, Daisy was pleased by this response. It would make her plan much easier if he trusted her. If she had her way, she'd make it so that she was the only one he'd trust. "I thought you might be-" He appeared to be stuck on his words. "-One of them."
"Ah, yes," Daisy said, sagely wagging her finger in the air as she walked the rest of the way next to him. Obediently, he shuffled over on the bed to allow her room to sit next to him. And so she did. "I've heard about your fears of 'them.'" She laughed lightly. "I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about, Mr. Dolonov."
He turned his face to her, and she searched his eyes. In them, she saw sadness and fear. But she knew all of those emotions could be channeled back as stronger elements, if given the opportunity; if he were set free.
"It's all right, you're okay," she ensured, lightly placing her hand on his and wrapping her fingers around it. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes welling with tears that he would not let fall. It was obvious that the man had not been comforted after the incident he'd went through. Not properly, at least. And this made Daisy's sweet smile broaden. "You're safe here, Owen."
AN: Holy crap, that was fun. Hopefully, I'll be able to continue this because I have big plans for it. If I can work them onto the page, that is. So this story maaaaay continue, but there's a slight chance it may not if writer's block sets in. Know that it is supposed to continue, though. Hope you all enjoyed that! Rating this story "T" mainly for the gore. Thanks for reading!
-Fictions