Co-written by Dani and Elektra
Prologue
*Los Angeles, 1976*
It was dark that night, darker than he could remember in a long time. There was no moon and no stars, and the night seemed to cloak him like a black curtain.
Something inside him, something deep and urgent, told him to run. With every meter he drove, something told him to drive faster. Something told him that nothing was right.
He tried to ignore the hairs standing on the back of his neck, the unnatural chills that felt as though they were filling his entire being.
Run, run, run.
Drive, drive, drive.
Get home.
Hurry, faster.
You won't escape.
The feeling terrified him. But he was twenty miles from his home, and he couldn't let anything distract him. His son was home with a babysitter while his wife was out, and all he wanted was to return to greet him, in time to tuck him into bed.
Meanwhile, she followed. She followed and she sensed his discomfort and laughed. That laugh seemed to echo through the air, the taunting that a thousand words could never even describe.
He noticed the head lights behind him, but tried to ignore them. He tried to remind himself that not everyone was after him, and not everything was a conspiracy against him. But that same unnerving feeling whispered that this time, there was something he should fear.
They were the only ones on the road that night.
The car behind him pulled up beside his and the driver rolled down her window. He pushed down the gas pedal and tried to swerve away.
She pulled the cold, hard trigger and with perfect aim, hit a tire. Then another.
He wasn't going anywhere. At least, not alive.
He opened the door with a great force. The click of his gun safety being disengaged bounced through the all too silent air.
But she was too fast for him. Her fingers jerked the trigger back again, and he hit the ground before he had the chance to react.
She strode calmly over to his death bed (the cold, cement road) and dragged him to her car. Into the trunk he went, as though she did this a lot. "Goodnight, William Vaughn." She softly derided, slamming the roof over him. His coffin.
As she climbed back into her seat at the wheel, a low static buzzed from the device at her ear. A quiet, deep voice spoke through the crackling. "Good work."
"Thank you. It was no trouble," she answered, her voice carrying through an unseen microphone on her necklace.
"And to think he was such a high ranking agent. He never saw it coming."
"Yes. He will be missed by many."
The deep voice grew suddenly mocking. "Oh yes. He did have a wife, didn't he?"
"And a child with her."
"Hmm. What was this wife's name?"
"Serena. Serena Vaughn. She'll have to stick around longer than he did, of course, to raise the son."
The two chuckled eerily, then the deep voiced man congratulated her again and both devices were shut off.
She fell victim to the silence once again.
Finally, she spoke, this time seeming almost softened. No one was there to hear her, but she had to say the words aloud before they devoured her whole like they already had to her soul and heart.
"I miss being Carrie Welch. I don't think I want to be Serena Vaughn any longer."
TBC...
