"The miserable have no other medicine
But only hope:
I've hope to live, and am prepared to die."
"If I must die
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms."
Price and Penance
"-where he is or ya can-"
"-want this to last longer than it has to?"
"Shit guys, she knows how to take a beating. Is this even working?"
My head lolls to the side as I spit out blood and what looks suspiciously like a tooth before turning to the four mercenaries assembled in front of me, "You hit like my eighteen year old apprentice; what a bunch of fucking pansies." I'm hanging on to consciousness a good twenty percent of the time – well, I think. I've been down here for a few days maybe – time is getting fuzzy.
The room is a cement twelve by twelve cell with nothing but me roped to a metal chair and what looks like a tool case. Don't think these guys are into home improvement, though. I'm fairly certain I'm underground; there don't seem to be any natural light sources down here and when the mercenaries come down to do their work – sometimes alone, sometimes all together like this – I hear their heavy footfalls on stairs. I think I've heard someone else down here with me, too, but I can't be sure. The echo that reverberates through the empty space has me hearing all sorts of strange things.
They don't want me functional through my injuries, like John had long ago. They've already electrocuted me – goddamn car batteries hurt like a son of a bitch – starved me, and beat me to a pulp; pretty sure just my nose is broken, if I'm lucky. They've got quite the arsenal of nasty tools to do nasty things. Guess I should thank my lucky stars I don't have anything worse than a busted nose and empty stomach.
The biggest one who talks in a slight Spanish accent sends me reeling with another punch; it connects so hard it sends the chair I'm tied to toppling to the ground. Blood drips from my mouth as he picks up the chair and scowls when he sees me smiling through the pain.
"Just give it up," one of the oily bastards says from behind him, "where is he?"
"Don't know," I heave a breath through my mouth with difficulty, "what I do know is you assholes are wasting your time. Get fucked."
Clearly not enjoying my answer or my attitude, he grabs a pair of bolt cutters from their macabre playthings and approaches me. Twenty four inches of steel tipped with razor sharp edges gleam ominously in the light of a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A million equally horrifying scenarios run amok in my head as he circles around me, deciding what to take first.
"Whadya think boys? We could cut out her tongue –"
"We need her to be able to talk, ya idiot."
"Cover her mouth – this'll make her sing." Oil slick says from behind me, grabbing at my hands.
I clench my fingers into fists, but it's no use; the largest of the three has a hand over my mouth and the other two are behind me prying my digits apart for their bolt cutter happy friend. I don't have the strength to resist.
The cool feel of the metal around my little finger, right under the first knuckle, is only momentary – it quickly gives way to excruciating pain. It tears through the skin and sinew easily; when he reaches the underlying bone he wrenches the tool as he applies more leverage, and I gag against the hand on my mouth as I both feel and hear the sharp snap of my finger being completely severed. Blood drenches my other fingers, and when I try to close my hand into a fist again a tremor wracks my body.
They really fucking did it – my finger is gone; my tattoos are worthless when I'm this weakened. Bile rises to my throat again as I try in vain to protect my remaining appendages. Blood is quickly soaking the ropes I'm tied with and I try in vain to staunch the flow of it.
I scream bloody murder against the hand clamped over my mouth, but it's useless. The more I fight the more fun they seem to have.
"Now, did that change your tune?"
Black spots dance in my vision and I shake my head wildly the moment the big guy removes his hand, "Fuck you! I'm going to kill every fucking las-"
He covers my mouth again and the metal digs into my right ring finger next, my eyes roll back into my skull in response to the pain as the finger is sundered from my hand in a similar fashion to the first. Screw them; they can take all my fingers if they want. I won't sell out Liam – hell, I won't even tell these fucking cunts about Peter and Charlotte. I hold it together until they hold the severed fingers in front of my face, cackling manically. This time I do vomit and almost choke on the bitter acid before the big guy takes his hand away with a disgusted scowl. I manage to spit in his face before the fact that I just lost two fingers hit's me and I pass out again.
"-llo? Are you alive?"
The voice I hear upon waking is frightened, trembling, and yet oddly comforting. Dried blood cakes my lips and a quick feel around with my tongue confirms that I am indeed missing a tooth. Then I remember my fingers. I try to flex them and whimper in pain, but the action lets me feel the soft cotton gauze sopping up the blood.
"It sounds like they did quite a number on you," the girl – she must be a girl – sounds sympathetic to my plight.
"They take everyone's fingers or just mine?" Talking hurts.
"I think you just know how to push their buttons."
"At least they just seem like sickos and not sexually deviant sickos. Silver-linings, right?"
She laughs, unsure and almost to the point of disbelief at my levity, and my abilities don't need to be in play for me to taste the sudden metallic tang in the air – the static charge of magic hangs thickly in the dank and now very coppery scented air. The slightest pressure is relieved from my throbbing hand and mouth, and I hear a cry of triumph from the cell next to mine.
"What's Maria doing with a witch?"
"What's she doing with a hunter?"
"Touché," I relent, assessing the damage done to other parts of my body – I'm pretty wrecked, "but in all seriousness, where are we? How long have you been here? How long have I been here?" My voice gets hoarser the longer I talk. I'd kill for a glass of water.
"Me, about a week; you've been here two, three days? I tried stopping an attack on a human by one of Maria's vampires and it landed me in here. Who knows where we are – the middle of nowhere, probably. Seems like they're just trying to intimidate me now, though; they've hit me around a few times, but they haven't done anything like they've done to you to me.."
"I really know how to get on peoples shit lists. Who are you?"
"Madeline Mercier. Who are you?"
"Amory Belmont. Listen, kid –"
I hear a contemptuous snort from the right side of my cell bars, "Please, I'm twenty and an accomplished healer."
"Ok Witchie, listen up; we're getting out of this slice of Hell on Earth as soon as those goons get back. Are you tied up?"
"No – they don't think I'm a threat. I'm not, I just help people."
She sounds scared again but before I can assure her things will be alright I hear heavy footfalls descend a staircase into the basement prison we're currently captive in. The man stops in front of my new pal's cell, looks like he's checking we're still alive; it's the big guy, and soon he's in front of my cell, staring at me with weathered looking charcoal eyes.
Water? Screw that, I'd kill for some whiskey. I need some liquid courage right about now.
"Hey asshole, you here to give me some more love taps? Can't even shut up a terminally ill bitch," I tut and smile when I see him getting worked up by my words, "what a fucking disappointment."
"I'm the one with the bolt cutters, whore. Keep talking – we'll take your tongue next."
"You don't have the balls sweetheart."
I fight back a snarl of victory as he unlocks the cell door and enters without shutting it behind him. He advances on me quickly, hand thrown over his body to deliver a backhand, but I do have a plan.
My still slightly bleeding hand is slick, slippery enough to slide through the ropes around my wrists – I'm pretty sure I dislocate my thumb in the process, but at this point that's the equivalent of a paper cut. I duck his punch and reach for the pearl handle knife stuck in his belt. He delivers a blow to my body before I plunge the knife deeply into his throat.
It's a good kill, quiet, and without the slightest use of my unresponsive tattoos. I wait for his gurgling to stop before pulling out the blade now dripping crimson. His blood gets on me as I saw through the ropes still tying me to the chair and I cringe; I might grimy, but dirt is nothing compared to the blood of this filth. My legs feel like lead as I stumble over to where he fell on the cold stone floor. I have to hold the wall for support as I stoop to snatch the keys and knife scabbard off his belt and make my way towards Mercier's cell.
She's covered in grime and grit, just like me but with way less blood – she does have a few hand shaped bruises on her arms from being thrown around, and there is a fading purple shadow on her jaw. Her shoulder length dark curly hair is matted down and her dark skin looks dull, and for a moment I'm reminded of Laurent, that Frenchie vampire, but bright and intelligent hazel eyes – human eyes – look at me in awe.
"You –"
I hold one finger over my mouth and fight another wave of nausea when I finally see the covered stumps of my fingers. I pop the blade handle into my mouth as I try the other cell key on the ring I lifted – thank God there are only two cells down here. It opens with a pop and she's out, already inspecting my injuries with a critical eye.
"I thought you were ill; cancer, right? You're a mess, how are you still alive?"
"Dumb luck; you're right about the cancer, but if we don't get the fuck out of here that's not what'll kill me. Come on Witiche." I say in a rush and motion for her to follow me.
I climb the stairs with some difficulty, leaving the dark and dingy cement behind me. Madeline is close on my heels, breathing scared and heavy. I pop my head around the open door frame, trying to sense anyone still in the house. Out of the corner of my eye I catch movement and duck back into the stairwell, heart beating erratically. Blood drips from my bandaged hand to the concrete landing as I formulate my next move.
As usual, I don't get the chance. Another one of the bastards is still home, and by the way he doesn't call out for help when he sees us out of our cages I guess everyone else is gone. It's not the guy that took my fingers, but I still take pleasure in driving him back into the hallway and planting the knife deeply in his heart. His dying eyes look up at me in confusion and it sinks in that the only reason I was able to take him out was because of his surprise. Spent, I yell with effort and with one heaving twist I dislodge the blade. Shaking like a leaf I watch his corpse as it falls limply to the floor.
"One quick search and we're out. Did you have anything on you when you got caught?" Cabinets get wrenched open and tables get upturned as I start to search for my holster and gun.
She nods frantically and mimics me as I tear the hovel apart, "My spell book – its blue leather with a strange lock."
Knocking over a metal box, my stuff tumbles out with her book. Before I toss it to her I take a cigarette out of my case, and then shrug on my holster. When I'm taking the first long drag, I tuck the silver case back into its home near my heart.
"We need to fix your injuries Amory, you-"
"We need to get out of here," I say, cigarette dangling from my lips as I check my pistol whole looking for an exit that's not the front door, "I'd love to stick around, get patched up, and hand the last two their own asses, but we don't have the – fuck, looks like we're going out the front door." One minute is enough time wasted, we need to go.
I've got no idea where they put my extra clips, and there's no time to keep looking – I have six shots in the mag. Things better go smoothly for once; plans A-Z have been exhausted. Pushing a frightened Madeline clutching her blue book to her chest behind me, I ready my gun and pull the door inwards, ready to feed those bastards lead and fire if they're outside. Here goes nothing.
Really, nothing; no two men in wait, and unfortunately no car; even the landscape around us is nothing but desert and weeds.
"Looks like we've got a long hike."
"Moral of the story? Falling in love with a bloodsucker…sucks." I have my arm slung around Maddie's shoulders for support as I tell her – at her request – how I came to be battered and alone in Mexico.
Her nose wrinkles in distaste at the thought, "That's the worst love story I've ever heard."
"Tell me about it," there's a lull in the conversation as she adjusts my arm and shuffles her feet forward in step with me again.
"So Witchie, where are you from?"
"Really? You're beat to a pulp, missing fingers –"
"Don't remind me."
" – and you're making small talk?"
"Yup; keeps my mind off the whole finger thing, thanks for bringing that up again."
She heaves a sigh, "I was born in Canada, near Montreal. My aunt raised me and we moved to Nevada when I was about five. My life isn't nearly as crazy as yours – getting captured was the first really terrible thing that's ever happened to me that I can remember. I was just down here to study magic, not get caught up in this."
"Not as crazy? You do realize you're a witch, right?"
"I'm a healer."
I stop to catch my breath, "That's a tough break; we're getting out of here, though. Fuck dying in a desert."
"So, are you going back to Forks now?" She urges me along again, and I'm glad I'm not alone or I'd be crawling by now.
"Dunno; who knows what Maria will do now, and I should head to Volterra to ask after that mythical book before I bite the dust. Hell, maybe it exists and they'll just give it to me. That wouldn't be the crazi-"
We both snap our heads in the direction of a revving engine – the last two are coming back and we're sitting ducks out here. I lift her arm from my shoulders and give her a push towards a small outcropping of rock, too small to conceal us both.
"Get down and don't come out until they're gone. Stay there." At my words she nods firmly and narrows her eyes at the incoming car; it's a nice try at being tough, but I can see the worry in her compassionate eyes.
So this is how it ends; a showdown in the fucking desert, sick and battered and holding on by a thread. I draw my weapon with my left hand as my right hangs lamely at my side and take aim.
I'm not about to be taken alive, not again. Maybe I'll pull this off, too. I'm Kitten, right? I've got nine-lives.
The barrel of a revolver pokes out of the passenger side window and starts unloading. I try to pop their tires or bust the windshield, but I'm a piss poor left handed shot when compared to my right hand, not to mention I'm swaying on my feet from all the blood loss and exhaustion. All my shots go wide, and just as I'm about to turn to run, pain explodes through my rib cage and into my heart.
So the cancer didn't do me in after all. Instead I get gunned down under the sunny Mexico sky by a couple of thugs – what a waste. My vision goes tunnel and despite how hard I try to move my arms to stop the blood I know is flowing from the wound, the fire spreading through my chest cavity is makes it impossible. Everything gets progressively darker, and everything I've done, everyone I've cared about flashes before my eyes; gotta say, this whole death thing is actually pretty cliché. Guess all nine-lives are gone – surprised it took this long.
"Fuck." Of course my last word is a curse; my voice is a whispery croak as my lungs burn.
Why is now –at what is literally the back end of forever, going down what is most probably the highway to hell – when I choose to get my head out of my ass and really realize that I acted just as asinine as Jasper did? That if I had handled things differently things would be different, all this might not be happening? Typical last moment's hindsight is twenty-twenty bullshit.
The physical and emotional exhaustion finally fade away as I hand myself over to the murky depths of death.
(A/N: Now we know how Amory ended up dead – she is dead, right? – in the middle of nowhere Mexico. Things are getting pretty heavy; also very graphic – sorry if you don't like the gruesome stuff, but I live for it. I Tarantino'ed the last two chapters; this one was originally going to be posted right after the battle with Maria, but I liked the way it flowed reversing them. Quotes at the beginning belong to Shakespeare, they're from Measure for Measure. Stay tuned – things are coming to a head! Thanks for all the support, views/reviews/favorites/follows, I'm like a kid on Christmas when I get any of 'em! Keep being awesome you lovely people you!)