Chapter 2 — Welcome to Mystic Falls


"Damon?"

With a gasp Damon awoke, panting heavily with a hand to his throat. He could practically feel the monstrous hitchhiker's fangs sinking into his neck, tearing it apart. But all moments of fear subside when he looks over into the driver's seat to see his wife Elena, smiling at him.

"Shhhh, baby, just another nightmare," she told him, in that wonderfully soothing voice he had come to love so much. "Everything's fine. You dozed off."

Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Damon was in no mood to look at the positives. The nightmare had left him feeling scared and confused—maybe even a little powerless. "Right," he sighed in reply. "Anything more than 'dozed off' would be news for everyone."

Elena was unfazed, and smiled back at him. "Cheer up, handsome," she laughed, nodding her head slightly to gesture through the car's windscreen. "We're here!"

As Elena exited the car, Damon took a moment to allow reality to properly reassert itself. He was sitting in his Camaro. He was on a small ferry, along with a few other vehicles and their owners. And, as Elena had pointed out, they had arrived at their destination: the town of Mystic Falls.

The trip was entirely Elena's idea—only she could have found such a seemingly remote little community, but he wasn't complaining and this was her hometown after all.

Damon sighed as he stayed in the car and his head fell into his hands. For the past two years he had been taking out his frustration (never physically, God no) at his current state both on himself and on Elena, and their relationship had suffered as a result. Time had only ensured that the wounds stayed open, not healed them. He felt that this little holiday getaway was a brilliant way to get away from New York, to put the past behind them and start a new chapter.

"I didn't want you to miss this," said Elena, pointing.

It took an effort to raise his head, but he got out of the car and followed her direction, seeing an immense forest stretching out on each side of the water, the biggest trees that he had ever seen, so tall and thick he couldn't see the forest floor.

"Hundreds of years old, never been cut. Not much of that left anymore." said Elena.

"Forest primeval, I get it," said Damon. "Welcome to Sasquatch Country." He looked down at the dark-green water churning around the ferry. He buttoned up his black leather jacket. Even with the hoodie underneath, he was shivering. The sun seemed to seek Elena out, but he was always cold.

Damon Salvatore's face was long and angular, with a three-day stubble like a rock star on a bender. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, very alert, volatile even. He told Elena once that if he had a tattoo it would read: "Born Pissed Off". She told him he needn't bother. One look at him and people figured that out fast enough.

A fallen tree drifted up ahead, bobbing gently along on the currents. Its thick trunk and broad leaves made it seem out of place among all the tall timber, and Damon, ever curious, wondered how it ended up here, what had torn it out by the roots. There was some black thing on the tree, a closer look and it was a crow, sitting as still as the yellow-tinged leaves around it. And it was watching him.

It was the biggest crow he had ever seen, plump and sleek, with rainbows shining in its black feathers. He could see every detail of it clearly: the greedy dark claws, the sharp beak, the pair of glittering black eyes. The crow suddenly shrieked before flying away.

Elena turned as the crow flew away. "Wow, that's one gigantic crow."

"Yeah," Damon said softly.

"Honey, are you okay? You look so…pale."

"Just my imagination messing with me. As usual." He ran a hand through his dark hair. Elena worried about him, worried about his moods, and especially about his temper. He gave her reason to. In the distance he could make out the outlines of a small town nestled in the bay. Had to be Mystic Falls.

Elena took her camera from her purse. "Why don't you stand next to that old guy beside the pickup? I'll take a picture of you with the woods in the background."

"You know I hate having my picture taken," he whined.

"Suffering is good for the soul," she said playfully. "Don't you want to get to heaven?"

"Not unless you're there with me," teased Damon.

"Of course, but not so soon," she said. "Come on Damon, can you please take a picture? Just this once?"

She smiled at him and he loved it. Loved her, more so every day. Elena and Damon had been married for years now, and she worked as a professional photographer; the camera she was using didn't come cheap. As a result, she worked closely with him in his own career as a bestselling paranormal writer. It had been her shots that he had used for his pictures in The Vampire's Journal novels, and her art skills that she used to design the books' artwork. Thinking about The Vampire's Journal quickly brought on a wave of nostalgia for him.

It seemed like an eternity since he had finally killed off the cocky bad-boy vampire, ending a series which had brought him international fame and enough money to last a lifetime, but in reality it had only been two years. It had only been two years since the trouble started.

Shaking the memories out of his head before they could fully form, he walked over to where the old man stood. As he watched, a small plane flew in low over the bay and landed by Mystic Falls, taxiing towards a pier along the waterfront.

Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see that the old man had noticed me, so he extended a customary "hi" in greeting. On closer inspection, he could see that the guy was somewhere in his late sixties, and (unfortunately for him) balding. Regardless, he greeted him with what he felt was a genuinely heartfelt smile. Old people were better at 'heartfelt' than the rest of us.

"You picked a good time to come to Mystic Falls," confided the older man, a short, balding fellow, his watery brown eyes crinkling behind round glasses.

"Really?" Damon asked. Elena waved at him to move closer to the man.

"Yup, a very good time."

"Uh-huh."

The man pushed back his glasses with a forefinger. "I mean, lucky you."

Damon took a deep breath. The persistence of geezers was a universal fact as certain as gravity or the speed of light. "Okay, why am I lucky?"

The older man showed his dentures in triumph. "The Founder's Gala is just two weeks away."

"The Founder's Gala, huh," said Damon, having no idea what the man was talking about. "Did you hear that, honey? The Founder's Gala!"

"Forgive my bad manners, I'm Logan Fell." The man stuck out his hand.

"I'm Damon—"

"Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Salvatore," said Logan, pumping away with his damp, pillowy hand. "We read books around here, too." He smiled at his little joke. "When's that next novel of yours coming out? Seems like we've been waiting—"

"Working on it," snapped the already irritated writer.

"Of course, can't rush the creative process, can you?" pressed Logan. "I hope this isn't too presumptuous of me, but I'm the night host at the local radio station. Any chance I could get an interview? A best-selling author doesn't come through these parts very often, and—"

"I'm on vacation with my wife," Damon said abruptly. "Trying to keep a low profile."

"I understand completely," Logan winked. "Still, you change your mind, I'm an easy man to find."

Damon returned to Elena, happy that he was away from the old man.

"I got some good shots," said Elena, pushing her hair back. "Nice to see you making friends."

"Yeah, we swapped fruitcake recipes."

Elena lightly punched him in the arm. "Wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen. You might actually enjoy yourself."

Damon didn't respond. He stood shoulder to shoulder beside her at the railing, eyes half closed, enjoying the sensation of her wind-blown hair tickling his face.

He had lied to Logan Fell about his next book. He hadn't written a word in two years, and had no idea if he would ever write again, but standing beside Elena, Damon put aside all thoughts of the books he had written, and the books he might never write, put aside the frustration that tore at him night and day. There was just him and his wife. That was enough. For this one perfect moment, that was all he needed.

"Uh Damon," she said softly.

"What?" said Damon, not wanting to look, wanting to stay where he was, smelling her perfume and forgetting everything else.

"There's the creepiest guy watching us," she said uneasily.

Damon opened his eyes, the perfect moment gone now, popped like a soap bubble on a summer afternoon. He saw a grubby man in his forties staring at them from the far end of the ferry, an insolent grin on his face. The man wore camouflage pants and a hunting vest, a stained ball cap and scuffed work boots. A cigarette dangled from his lower lip.

He started walking slowly toward the man. "Do you have a problem?" The younger man challenged, raising his voice to be heard over the rumbling engines.

The man didn't react, just took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, and kept staring.

"Damon, don't," Elena pleaded. "Stay here. This is no way to start a vacation."

Agreeing that fighting was no way to start their vacation he allowed her to steer him back to their car, neither of them saying a word until they were both inside.

"You…you scare me sometimes," said Elena.

He watched her chocolate orbs look away, he was angry at himself for upsetting her. "I'm sorry."

"Men like that…they're not worth worrying about," said Elena. She squeezed his hand. "You just have to learn to back away."

"I can't do that," Damon shook his head. "The world will eat you alive if you let it."

"That's not true," she countered. "Most people are good."

The ever so cynical writer couldn't help but snort.

"Damon Salvatore, they most certainly are."

"What about the ones who aren't good?" he asked, looking past her as the town came clearly into view, a collection of bright storefronts and a few small houses scattered across the surrounding hills. People and cars waited at the ferry dock. He turned back to her. "What about the ones who want to hurt us?"

"Why would anyone want to hurt us?"

He reached over and kissed her. "Jealousy. Who wouldn't want what we have?"

Elena kissed him back, her lips warm and pouting. "Well, they can't have it."

Elena drove the car off the ferry and onto the dock, past the fishermen lining the railing and people waiting to board. There was a chill in the air now, clouds building up on the horizon. Locals in quilted jackets clomped down the sidewalk, eating ice cream cones, enjoying the sunshine. No seagulls, which was odd, since they usually hovered around the waterfront, looking for scraps and leftovers. No seagulls. Just crows watching from the roofs and power lines. Damon shivered.

"It's nice, isn't it?" said Elena. "Quaint. No one seems to be in a hurry."

"Wait until the Founder's Gala," he grinned, "the place will be throbbing with activity."

"Can't wait." Damon took noticed of his wife's sarcasm.

"Speaking of the Founder's Gala, you never did tell me about it" The raven-haired man said. "Bad memories?"

"Not really. Just when I was little my mother...before the accident...used to dress me up so I could go on the float just because I looked like one of the founders."

Seeing as how talking about her mother brought up memories that inevitably lead to the one about her and Elena's father dying in a car crash, Damon dropped the conversation and quickly changed it to something else. But she beat him too it.

"So what are we doing today?"

"Today, we're going to pick up the key to our cabin and officially start the vacation, and if you're good, very, very good, I'll even take you to the Founder's Gala and laugh at all the idiots in their froo-froo costumes. Hey, I'll even let you pet Bambi." Damon said, grinning slyly.

"You need to take a look around and see where you are, city boy," teased Elena. "Around here, they don't pet Bambi, they eat him."


AUTHOR'S NOTES FOR CHAPTER TWO:

I hope you all liked this quick update! Nothing else to say here.

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