DAMIEN : OMEN II

The Sergeant's Daughter II : My Boy hears Voices

The rest of the night was a blur to me. I don't remember much; the last thing I could recall was feeling the cold sheet's of our bed against my bare skin as Damien pushed me down to them with a smirk on his lips.

I sat up in bed, or at least as much as my sore body would allow me, and looked around our darkened room. The sun was barely rising through the curtains next to our bed; creating just enough light to be able to see that Damien was still laying still next to me. I glanced over to the clock that currently read 5:37 AM in bright, blinking red LED numbers. I sighed, looking back over to Damien. He had every right to be tired after yesterday. From what I could remember of it, that is.

I attempted to raise myself completely up off of the bed, but was met with a searing pain in my back. I couldn't tell just what it was, but it stung; it felt like my skin was broken open. Quickly, I turned my head to where I had been laying that night.

Blood. Streaks of blood.

They weren't thin, weakened ones either. They were thick; like they were from a deep laceration or cut.

My eyes widened as I felt my stomach drop with shock and dread. What the hell had happened last night? Carefully as I could to not wake Damien next to me, I lifted the blankets off of me and stood. The adrenaline running through me made me ignore the dull ache in my legs as I came to my feet. There's not a chance this could've just been from my fall I had taken yesterday. Dad said I hadn't bled; and even if I been, the bloodstains wouldn't have looked like this.

When I stood to walk into the bathroom in the next room over, something stopped me. I'm not quite sure what it was, but something in me caused me to look where I had been laying once more. The place where I had laid that night that had been covered by the blankets was stained in blood as well.

Panic promptly replaced the adrenaline that had previously been running through me. In a fit of anxiety I looked at my legs, felt for blood on my stomach, and even braved the still lingering pain on my back to check for blood there. That's when it hit me; hard and sudden like news of death itself.

Those long, thin, stinging wounds on my back were scratch marks.

And that blood was coming from in between my legs.

I almost dropped dead there and then at the realization. I stumbled backwards a bit, my hand covering my mouth in a silent scream of shock and horror as I stared at Damien with wide eyes. My heart felt as if it was going to beat out of my chest, my breathing was rapid as I tried in vain to keep myself calm. I continued to look at Damien with tear filled eyes as I listened to my mind screaming at me, wondering if this was all just another night terror.

Had Damien and I really...?

I slowly looked down to my once pastel pink, lacy nightgown that was for some reason still on me. Blood stains littered the bottom half; thick and still damp. I lowered a hand to touch the biggest stain that lay just below my stomach. It was still somewhat warm.

Then, I felt warmth rise in my throat as I ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could before doubling over and instantly vomited into the toilet. Shock filled my thoughts as I realized what had happened. I didn't do this often; I barely got sick, and when I did, my father always blamed it on my anxieties and panic issues. I never did understand why I had them before, but now I had a reason and knew it. I leaned up against the wall for a moment, looking up to the ceiling as to not look at the remnant of my stomach contents. Tears rolled my face as I suddenly recoiled from the pain on my back; involuntarily putting my hands in my lap and then recoiling those as well upon feeling the blood.

Without even thinking twice, I pulled the bloodstained nightdress over my head and threw it onto the floor next to me. The garment laid in a heap at my feet and I hoped it wouldn't leave stains on the pristine, white tiled floor. I'd have to wash it before Damien were to wake.

I steadied myself a bit, leaning up and balancing myself to sit up on my knees. My stomach wavered once more, causing my balance to suffer a bit. As I reached to the wall next to me, I made the mistake of glancing at myself in the mirror behind me.

Just as I feared, the pain on my back were long, pink- though some were dripping with crimson beads- lines running all over my now nude skin, specifically on my back, in thin ribbons. I shuddered, looking away from the mirror as I felt myself blanch. I knew for a fact those scratch marks were Damien's work. I didn't just know from putting the pieces together; It was so much more than just that. I knew because they looked almost identical to the scratch marks he had given me on my face the day that Mark died.

No, the day that Mark was murdered.

A fresh wave of tears fell from my eyes as I heard myself phrase it that way. It was the cold truth, but I couldn't stand the thought that Damien was a murderer. He hadn't done it just once though. I knew he had killed many times before, and that he had even done it with me nearby. He hadn't done it recently; the most recent incident was Ann and Richard's deaths back when we were only thirteen.

Much too young to even come that close to death. Much too young to commit murder.

Sometimes, despite myself, I still can't believe Damien is the Antichrist. Even after nearly six years with him and being with him since I was thirteen, or rather since birth technically, I still can't bring myself to believe he's really the son of the Devil himself. I had convinced myself our parents had just raised us like this and it was all one big, cruel joke in an attempt to make us feel "special' or something like that. I knew it wasn't that though. God, I knew, but I didn't want to believe it. My mind pushed back; Why would Damien's parents, both his Mother, Father, Aunt and Uncle, sacrifice themselves like that if it really was the scenario? I held my head in my hands as I let out a wavering, weakened sigh.

So many people were dead. And they were dead because of me and Damien.

Would I have to kill someone myself soon? Oh, but wait; I already technically had with Ann. I had plunged a dagger into her shoulder that night the Thorn Museum caught fire by Damien's hand. 'It was in self defense', My father had told me. Maybe that was right, but it didn't keep the nightmares at bay.

I stood off the ground, not wanting to dwell on this subject anymore. I began to clean the evidence of the fact that I had vomited earlier until I was sure Damien wouldn't be able to tell. I tried to make it look like I hadn't even been there. The nightgown on the other hand was another story. I picked it up from the ground, where it had indeed left little red marks on the tile. I cursed under my breath as I carried it over to the counter of the sink. I turned on the water to lukewarm and then placed the garment under it. I had to try to get most of the blood out. I couldn't just take into the laundry basket; Dad or Paul would see and they'd know. What would they think? Surely they knew it was going to happen eventually...The prophecy said I had to have a child with Damien.

Is that the only reason I was brought into the world? Just so I could be groomed into a bride for the Antichrist and to breed with him?

This would undoubtedly be child abuse in any sane person's eyes. I felt the strong urge to vomit again but somehow managed to miraculously keep it down. As I looked up to turn the sink's faucet off, seeing the water below turn a dark, brick red, I noticed the marks on my chest as well.

Bite marks. They were scattered across my breasts and neck, dark like bruises. I reached up and carefully pressed onto one, feeing that it was sore like a bruise. I wondered if I had bled from those too at Damien's hand.

Against my will, I suddenly leaned over the edge of the sink and began to sob. I rested my head against the cold ceramic surface of the sink's counter as I felt my aching body shake with each sob that escaped my lips. I tried to quiet myself as much as I could; biting my lips until I could taste blood in a vain attempt to make myself shut up.

What would mother say?

What are you going to do now? You're much too young to be with child.

My mind continued to taunt me with prodding questions until I had the courage to look at my reflection once more. I had forgotten to take my makeup off the day prior; smeared, dripping mascara lines ran down my cheeks. What was left of the rest of my makeup was smudged and running as well from my emotional breakdown coupled with the fact I slept in it last night. For once in my life, I truly thought I looked broken.

I sniffled, wiping my eyes and attempting to salvage my makeup just a little bit. It didn't quite help as much as I had hoped for, and I had only succeeded in making a large black smear on my forearm. It made me chuckle to myself; it was pathetic, really. I would think the type of girl- or anyone, really- to be the protector and mate of the Antichrist to be brave and fearless, ready to lay her life on the line for him. While the latter might have applied to me, I definitely didn't think I fit the bill to be his 'protector'. My father or Paul would be more fitting by a long shot; Definitely not me, Raynee Charlotte Neff, the type of girl who cries after supposedly losing her virginity to the Antichrist himself. I shook my head to myself, dismissing my thoughts as I reached into the crimson water to retrieve my nightdress. It still had very faint smears of blood embedded in the pale fabric. I sighed, beginning to wring the now cold water out of it as I hummed a song to myself, trying to take my mind off of things.

Then, I heard the bathroom door click.

My face blanched as I felt my blood run cold. I immediately dropped the nightgown back into the sink out of shock, causing a large splash, much to my annoyance. Rosy water was now speckled onto the pristine white counters and tiled floor. I slowly looked towards the door a few feet away from me. Dead silence.

But then,

"Raynee?"

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

The oh-so-familiar voice of my husband, Damien Thorn, rang in my ears much to my horror, but not surprise. Just my luck. I paused and desperately looked around for something, anything to help my current situation. I definately wouldn't have enough time to wipe the bloodied water from the counters; and I'm certain the room still smelled of vomit. I took a few breaths to calm my racing heart, then turned to the door and finally called out in a voice dripping with a facade of faux calmness,

"...Yes?"

"Are you busy, love?" Damien asked from the other side of the door, his voice muffled. "I figured you were getting ready; I just wanted to come and make sure you were okay. May I come in?"

Panic quickly crept its way into my blood; my chest felt like it was collapsing. My eyes darted around the room, looking for somewhere, anywhere, I could store the soaked nightdress I held in my shivering hands. I couldn't just leave it on the counter! What would my excuse be? I knew Damien would ask about it. Maybe I could hide it in the laundry hamper by the shower? No, it would the the rest of the clothes in it wet too.

Wait! The cabinets!

I came to my knees on the floor and then quickly opened one of the many cherry stained, wooden cabinets under our sink and stuffed the soaked nightdress inside. I'd deal with it later; water wouldn't be that much of a hastle to clean up. Then, I stood back to my feet and walked over to the door to unlock it for Damien.

Our eyes met after I slowly pulled the door open, the lock clicking loudly. Damien's calm face turned to one of shock as he saw my current state. Messy, tangled hair, my makeup from the previous day running down my face in teary streaks, and the plethora of scratches on my skin. Damien stammered a bit before speaking.

"...R-Raynee? A-are you alright?"

I nodded in response without thinking as much as I really should've. "Yeah. I'm fine; Just really tired." My voice cracked weakly, pathetically as I spoke.

Damien's gaze travled back to my skin; to the cuts and bruises that decorated it in a macabre show of ownership. He swallowed hard, then stepped into the bathroom with me, shutting the door behind him. Silence followed suit.

We stood together, not saying a word. I chose to stare at the pristine white tile beneath my feet, Damien on the other hand was still staring at my wounds. Finally, he sighed, then placed a cold hand on my shoulder. I flinched; maybe a bit harder than I should've. His other hand came to my chin; Damien tilted my head up so I could look him in the eyes. Those damned, crystalline blue eyes that always burned into my chocolate ones- absolutely lifeless in comparison.

"Do you want to talk about last night?"

I shook my head, crossing my arms over my bare chest. Damien pulled me close to him suddenly and held me in his arms with a wavering breath. I closed my eyes after a moment, bringing my arms to his back, holding him in return. The world didn't matter when we were together like this. Everything stood peacefully still when Damien held me like this. Here I was once more, bleeding breathlessly in his worried embrace. I pulled away for a moment to look up at him.

"I'm okay. I promise." I said, placing my hand gently against Damien's cheek. "...Go downstairs. I'm gonna get cleaned up and then we'll talk, okay?"

Damien paused; I could tell he didn't want to leave me like this. But, he nodded. "Alright."

We separated. Damien glanced back at me somberly before walking out of the bathroom and shutting the door. When he was gone, I walked back over to the sink's counter. I turned on the faucet and let the water heat up, grabbing a clean washcloth from the cabinets.

Listening to the running water, I began to cry again- hoping the noise would drown out my cries. Tears ran down my already stained and messy cheeks, only adding to the carnage that used to be my beautiful makeup leftover from I and Damien's wedding day.

I was scared. Horrified, to be honest.

I was scared of the consequences. I was scared of the future. I was scared of what was to come. I was scared to be alive.

People would find out Damien and I were still out there...People like Damien's father and Richard; People who intended to harm us and our family. Those people would want us dead in the name of their beliefs. They didn't view us as people, real people with feelings and a family and a life as well...We were just prey. Their enemies.

It wouldn't happen today, maybe not even tomorrow, but it would happen soon.

Placing the washcloth into the water, dampening it, I then began to wipe off what remained of my makeup. The once white cloth turned a dull grey the more and more I scrubbed against my face, my tears coming off with my still-intact eyeliner.

My next task would be to wipe the dried blood from my skin. I wasn't looking forward to it.

I began to walk briskly down the wooden steps that lead to our foyer and living room to meet Damien as I had promised earlier. As my feet tip-tapped against the stairs, I did my best to tame my still tangled hair. I had forgotten to brush it while in the bathroom and I didn't feel like going back just to do that.

The long sleeved, rather thin, ivory nightdress I had chosen to wear clung to my still dampened skin. I silently hoped and prayed that it would suffice in covering my wounds if my father and Paul were awake. I cringed at the thought of them seeing my current state.

When I came to the living room, Damien was sitting on one of the two couches. He immediately perked up at the sight of me, giving me a small smile.

"Good morning, love." He said through the thick tension that surrounded us. I returned a smile.

"Hi." I said simply, coming over to the couch to sit next to him. I chose to still avert my eyes from him, staring at my lap instead as I felt him place his hand against mine.

"How do you feel?" Damien asked with an air of worry in his tone.

I feigned a smile. Despite the stinging pain that rocketed through my torso and legs, the crippling dread that ate at my brain, and the ache in my chest, I had to put on a happy face for him. "I feel okay...What about you?"

He paused; I assumed he didn't know what to say, just like me. Damien entangled his hand into mine; our rings touching each other lightly. Damien waited quite a bit to speak. But, then,

"I'm sorry..."

I finally chose to meet his stare with a shocked expression. I sighed, leaning against him and nuzzling against his shoulder. "For what? You've done nothing wrong." I of course knew just what he was apologizing for, but I didn't want to validate his guilt. Besides, wasn't this my job according to the prophecy? To be there for him in every way, to be subject to his will and to submit to his desires? A shudder ran through me. Damien noticed.

"...I should've been more gentle. You don't deserve what I did; I don't want you to see me like that again." He said with humility. Damien pressed a kiss to my hair, then lifted a hand to run his fingers delicately through it. "Never again." Damien spoke with a sternness in his voice I don't hear very often.

I pulled away from him then, giving him a pained look. "Damien, don't blame yourself for this...You can't control our destinies. You have nothing to be sorry for...This is my duty as your wife."

Damien gave me a disgusted look; not directly at me, but rather, at the words I chosen to say. I knew that despite the morbidly submissive- albeit interally sexist- tone of the facts, we both knew very well that they were true. Damien swiftly pulled me into a silent embrace, something we found we shared often. They were somberly beautiful.

"What a way to spend a honeymoon, right?" I chided. We both laughed hollowly.

Just then, we began to hear footsteps shuffling above us from the second floor of the manor. Damien pulled away, looking to the ceiling for a moment. I did the same, wondering just who it was that was up at this hour. At that thought, I glanced at the clock that rested on the fireplace's mantle. It read six thirty-seven on the dot. It was probably my father; he was still used to waking up rather early, even after his services in the military and his job at the Academy.

I turned to Damien. "Let's go upstairs...I don't want my father questioning why we're up so early."

Damien nodded; I'm sure he got my drift. He stood, pulling me gently up with him. Damien and I continued to walk out of the foyer together and then quickly back up the flight of stairs that lead back to the safety of our bedroom. The hallway upstairs was dark and eerily silent as we walked into our shared room.

What exactly we were going to do was unknown to the both of us. Go back to sleep, discuss everything even more, or just sit in awkward- almost mourning like silence. Something, anything to get our minds off of things; something we, again, found ourselves doing quite often.