Hey! I know it's been a while, but there have been longer waits between updates for this fic...
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There are some pretty gruesome scenes/descriptions in this chapter, so if that's not your thing maybe skip it... Otherwise, hope you enjoy the chapter :)
Argentina, 1948
Ripping flesh, cracking bone. Cuts and gashes spread down her now mutilated flesh; precise, painful, deadly. Blood was still oozing out of them, though the flow had slowed considerably in the past few minutes – probably due to her growing ever closer to death. No, no, that wouldn't do at all, to let her be snatched away so peacefully, without feeling an ounce of the pain he had spent hours inflicting on her. No appreciation for the work he had put into his latest masterpiece. No, she wouldn't go so easily, not after all of the effort.
He tugged at her lip, now stained with blood, shaking her violently in order to rouse her from her near-dormant state. The movement jostled wounds open that had only just closed and he could feel fresh, warm blood trickle down his fingertips. He grinned.
"You're still bleeding," he stated in a voice that could bring chills to anyone's flesh. "But does it still hurt?"
"Por favor," the woman begged weakly. Please. She would probably be crying, but her tears had run out long ago. She simply looked up at him, a pleading, desperate look in her eyes.
"Oh you poor, pathetic creature," the ghoulish man said, fake sympathy and true disgust mingling on his face. Grabbing her by the hair, ignoring her faint cries of protest, he pulled her close to him, so close that he could have kissed her. So close that she could taste the foul odour of death that lingered on his breath, "You are no longer of any amusement to me." The knife, no longer a shining silver but a dull red colour, flashed up in his grip and was brutally shoved throughout her entire skull, through the mouth and upwards. He watched as her last few moments were spent twitching in pain.
When she lay completely still, a mangled remnant of the beautiful woman she had once been, he slowly got to his feet. Wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers, he turned his head to the corner of the room. A smile creeped on to his face as he saw the person standing there, who had watched the whole scene unfold, unable to do a thing, a look of complete horror on his face.
The ghastly figure made his way over to the man and ran a hand down his cheek. "Oh, my dear vampire," he crooned. "It has been so long. My pretty vampire of Cain. You came to find me. I knew you would." Suddenly the murderer's happy expression turned into a snarling mask of twisted anger. "But Jack won't be such a nice boy this time, Simon."
Simon awoke with a start. If he was human, he would have been covered in cold sweat, heart racing in his chest, lungs gasping for air. But as a vampire, it had been years since any of those things had happened to him. Instead, the only way you could see his fear was by looking in his eyes – wide hazel spheres, shining in the darkness, horror in their depths.
As they darted about the room, he became aware of his surroundings and with a shuddering (and unnecessary) sigh he flopped back on to his bed. He ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes.
It had been a dream. He tried to convince himself of that fact. But it had seemed so real, he wasn't sure. Ever since he and Magnus had narrowly escaped with their lives when they had first met the psychopathic creature in London, Jack had been lingering at the back of his mind – the vampire knew that wouldn't be the last they would see of him, felt it deep in his bones. The man (if one could even call him that) was too unstable not to kill again and he appeared to have some unsettling obsession with Simon. They knew next-to-nothing about him though, and added to the fact that it seemed he could attack Simon without feeling the after-effects of his mark, the vampire was deeply disturbed by his would-be dream.
After a few moments spent with his palms pressed over his eyes, trying to convince himself that the dream meant nothing, he still wasn't absolutely convinced. Mind clouded with sombre thoughts, he finally decided to head downstairs, since he knew sleep was no longer a possibility.
He heard deep breaths and the occasional rumbling snore coming from Magnus' room as he passed it on his way to the stairs. A small grin spread across his face – at least he knew the warlock wasn't in any immediate danger. The fact that Magnus – self-proclaimed fabulous, grand, all-powerful future High Warlock of Brooklyn – snored, was just something that never failed to amuse Simon, much to the warlock's annoyance.
As he waited for some blood to warm on the stove, Simon started writing his latest letter to Hesper, who kept in touch with him every other week or so, updating him on the clan in Berlin. While he had decided to go with Magnus, Simon still held some importance in the clan hierarchy, but was no longer its primary leader. As his second, Kaspar would have been the next in line, but his unfortunate death had made that impossible. So before leaving Simon had put his affairs in order. Hesper had agreed to lead the clan, under the condition that they kept in touch regularly, should the need for his help or advise arise. She had chosen Victoria as her second, a wise choice in his eyes. The battle at the circus had greatly depleted their numbers, but they were starting to recruit new trustworthy members who agreed to their no-murdering-humans policy.
From what she told him, they seemed fine, for the most part, even though the war had shaken them a great deal. Enough to finally make Leo confess his feelings to Tori. The past few years had been rocky for the clan – just as they were starting to heal after the loss of their comrades, one of the darkest periods in history had fallen upon them. When things had gotten unbearable, Hesper had sent a lot of the vampires in the area to seek refuge in Downworld. Simon had met with them from time to time, making sure they were alright, finding them places at the overcrowded Mermaid's Drink. Hesper, however, had stayed throughout the entirety of the war, insisting she need to be there in case people needed help. So she stayed, her resilience commendable and impressive, Tori by her side as her loyal second. Even now, when things weren't ideal in the city, they showed no signs of wanting to leave. It was enough to make Simon feel like a coward at times, for leaving them rather than staying to fight and help. His unique situation made it hard to commit to a large group of people, when something life-threatening could happen at any moment and jeopardise his return to the future. But perhaps he would return to them one day. Somehow though, he felt as if something big was on the verge of happening that would need his full attention, which meant that he would never be able to focus all of his attention on the clan; they deserved better than he could give. And the dream about Jack, the thought of which was enough to make him shudder and grow cold all over, only solidified that feeling.
So Simon wrote to his friends and his clan, trying his best not to dwell on the chilling dream he had experienced.
Jack watched as the bustle of humanity rushed past him, all busy eagerly heading to something or someone, or just as equally pressed to run from something else. All of them were so beautiful, so vibrant and full of life. So different to him.
He had to admit, he was not above a little resentment from that fact. They were everything he could never be, everything he had once desired. He was a corpse, rotting and ugly on the outside. But on the inside, oh, he was so much more. He had a clever, sharp mind. It wasn't that his mind was beautiful to the ordinary person – on the contrary, the likes of these people would probably shriek with horror if only they knew what he was hiding underneath his greasy hair and crumpled top hat. But it was the fact that his body reflected his mind. He wasn't afraid to show who he was and what he thought. Didn't cower away from his desires as humans had been teaching themselves to do for centuries, but embraced them fully.
He may have been a monster, worse than even Shelley's creation (and wasn't he surprised when he fell upon a story that was so like his own, that spoke of a disgusting creature, shunned by society and loathed by all, who had been made by a master who had abandoned them), but at least he was genuine. He hid nothing about himself from the outside world.
That was the real difference between these people and him. They saw him as a monster for what he looked like, and perhaps he was, but underneath their shiny, glimmering surface of beauty they showed off? Well, they were much, much worse.
He continued to watch them pass, hidden in the shadows while they paraded their ugliness right out in the bright light of day, their hypocrisy – or maybe it was simple denial, or wishful thinking – was the only thing that allowed them to do so feeling only minimal guilt about what they hid inside, what they tried to suppress.
And there, one of the best illusionists he had seen in his time on this Earth – a beautiful young girl, so fresh and innocent-looking. Daring to show her flesh to the world, taunting everyone with her seductive looks – who knew what kind of monstrosities she had beneath the surface. He grinned to himself. He would have fun peeling back the layers to catch a glimpse and find out. Yes, she would do nicely as his next plaything, that disgusting thing.
Three days in a row, Simon had been dreaming of Jack. It was no longer possible for him to believe they were nothing more than figments of his imagination. Convinced it was something more – either weird visions of acts Jack was committing, had committed, or was going to, he decided to consult an expert on messed up minds; the warlock currently down the hall from him.
Magnus was of the same opinion as him. These dreams were too detailed, too precise to be something his brain had come up with by itself. They had to be something else, linked directly to Jack himself. The warlock had been keeping up with any events or news that may have seemed strange in the city and one of the women Simon had described from his dream sounded a lot like a woman who had officially been reported missing under suspicious circumstances, last seen with a very strange looking man.
Since it was the only lead they had to go on, the two Downworlders decided to go to the place it was rumoured she had last been seen. They would have to improvise from that point on. Of course, as usual, Simon was the one who initiated the search and Magnus had agreed in a resigned matter, blowing out a deep sigh before heading out with him. In this situation his hesitance was understandable – the last time he had faced this person, he had ended up kidnapped and beaten by the obsessed psychopath.
Even Simon had to admit, he wasn't feeling his most confident as they walked down the streets to where the woman had presumably been kidnapped. Since Jack didn't seem to be influenced by the Mark of Cain, Simon would have to rely on actual fighting skills (which, thankfully, had vastly improved since he had been sent back in time – he was even fairly confident he would be able to take on Jace in a fight), since Jack also seemed to possess some kind of unnatural strength.
Once they reached the street where the woman had last been seen, they were stuck and Simon still had no idea how they were going to progress from here on. They literally had nothing else to go on, other than this location and Simon's freaky dreams.
With a sigh, he turned to the warlock. "Magnus, please tell me you can perform some kind of tracking spell?"
Magnus lifted an eyebrow at the vampire. "You couldn't have asked for me to do that before we left the house?"
"So you can?" Simon pressed.
"Ugh, yes, I can." He grumbled, already reaching into his pockets for something.
The vampire broke into a huge grin, "That's great, man! I was hoping that tracking spells were a real thing and not something I'd made up cause I'd seen Willow do it. Well, technically, Joss Whedon would have made it up in that case..." he trailed off at the look of confusion on Magnus' face and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, an awkward smile on his lips, "And yeah, I'm gonna stop there. It's probably for the best you didn't get that reference anyway. You'd probably give me crap for being a nerd and a Buffy fan anyway..."
Magnus shot him another look, a cross between confusion and irritation – a look he often gave Simon when he accidentally blurted out a pop culture reference – and rolled his eyes, "Sometimes I don't think you appreciate my amazing self quite as much as you should."
"Whatever, Sparkles, your ego doesn't need me feeding it."
It turned out, the tracking spell really wasn't as easy as Simon had thought it would be. Since he was the one who had some kind of freaky mind-connection with the Ripper, he had to be involved – how exactly Magnus hadn't explained, but it somehow resulted in him being the one of the two the spell would affect, meaning only he would be able to see whatever mojo would lead them to the renown serial killer.
Sure enough, once Magnus was done with whatever it was that he had been doing, a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over Simon, his legs going so weak he stumbled head-first towards the ground. Magnus, the kind person that he was, did absolutely nothing to prevent this, allowing his supposed friend to hit the concrete with a rather alarmingly loud crunch.
When Simon came to he used the wall to get back on his feet, shooting a glare at the warlock, who glanced at him over the top of his nails, which he had been examining as he waited.
"You suck." Simon gritted out through his teeth, though his words were weak and Magnus dismissed them with a faint grin. The vampire shook his head vigorously in the hopes that the action might clear the dizzy haze clouding both his mind and vision. Surprisingly, it didn't work.
After waiting several minutes for Simon to regain a fully functioning brain and decent eyesight (his vision had only been slightly worse in the days of his glasses), the spell finally kicked in. Suddenly he could see a line of red string, spread out like a trail on the ground, so long it disappeared from his sight as it turned the corner of the street. He turned his gaze to Magnus, just to check the warlock didn't see the trail himself to confirm this was indeed what they were supposed to follow in order to find themselves a raging lunatic.
Wanting to waste no more time in catching this man before he killed another innocent woman for whatever insane reason he justified his actions to himself, Simon immediately set off after the red string, grabbing Magnus' sleeve as an afterthought and dragging the warlock after him, ignoring his protests.
Their pace grew faster and faster as they raced down the streets, following the red string, and with their speed, Simon's anxiousness grew. He tried to reassure himself, remember all the things Thea had taught him that would almost guarantee he could find some way out of this, some way to turn the situation to their advantage. But he was also reminded of one of the things she had taught him that he would never forget – know when you are beaten and accept death as it comes. Which was admittedly less reassuring.
When the red trail continued up to a dilapidated building with a warning sign on the property, all the nervousness Simon had been feeling melted together into one large ball deep in the pit of his stomach. Glancing at the warlock he could see that he was equally tense. Though he was trying to conceal his feelings, they could be read in the seriousness of his face, the look in his amber eyes and the clenched jaw.
Allowing his superior senses to reign free, Simon closed his eyes, using them to show him what he would not be able to see. He regretted it almost instantly, gagging as the putrid smell of rotting flesh overwhelmed him. When he opened his eyes, there was a moment, when they were watering, when he could have sworn he had seen a person standing in the street by the house. A man, dressed in a big, dark coat and wearing a large hat. However, when he blinked he was gone. Simon dismissed what he might have seen – whether or not there had been a man there, he had other things to concentrate on and by the time night fell he would have already forgotten what he may or may not have seen. Eyes now clear, he was certain that this was where Jack was and he nodded to the expectant warlock, who took on the look of a child being forced to eat vegetables against his will for the rest of his life.
The two headed into the house, so dark that even Simon could barely see anything. He could no longer see the red string but there was no need – he could simply follow the smell to where it was the strongest, as unpleasant as it was. They came to a halt outside a room where a faint sound could be heard. Simon wasn't sure what it was exactly, couldn't make it out. Nudging Magnus, the warlock allowed flames to dance over his fingers, both illuminating the darkness and readying himself for a fight.
When they entered the room, Simon felt a strong urge to vomit as bile rose in his throat at the sight that awaited them. On the floor was the disemboweled body of the woman he had seen in first dream. Her torso was ripped apart, a swarm of flies picking at her flesh. It was as if her organs had been pillaged. However unsettling the sight of the woman's dead body was however, it was nothing to the creature next to her. Crouching by her side in his tattered clothes, Jack was gorging himself on a piece of flesh clasped in his hands. His hands and chin were stained a dark red from the blood and the sounds he made as his sharp teeth ripped out pieces of the organ made Simon's stomach churn further.
The sound of Magnus letting out a disgusted groan alerted him to their presence for the first time, as his attention as been utterly absorbed by his consumption of the woman's... liver? Simon wasn't entirely up to date on his knowledge of the anatomy of half-eaten humans. His eyes grew wide as he realised who was standing before him, vile red lips stretched in some akin to a gruesome smile.
"Simon," his tone was awed, reverent and it made the vampire feel even more disgusted.
"Jack," replied the vampire.
The corpse-like man's smile grew. "Under different circumstances, I would have been so happy to see you, young de Vampyr," at the use of the royal name, Simon froze, eyes wide. Chancing a quick glance in Magnus' direction, he saw the warlock was frowning – thankfully he seemed to have no idea what Jack was talking about. Jack had caught the quick exchange and his eyes lit up even more and he raised a thin finger to his lips. "Shh, naughty Jack," he said to himself with glee at the look of panicked confusion on Simon's face. The vampire was wondering how this man could possibly know about his vampire origins. Unfortunately, asking him would reveal that he knew what he was talking about to Magnus, who would later ask questions. And technically, Simon wasn't supposed to tell the warlock anything about it.
"As I was saying, Simon dear," continued Jack, "This would have made me so happy in a previous lifetime. But the last time we met, you weren't very kind – even after I didn't kill your warlock friend – " he waved at Magnus, who sneered in response, " – and you hurt my feelings. So Jack is still very angry with you, Simon."
The look in Jack's eyes as he spoke those words was about as murderous a sentiment a person could express. Simon gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
He turned towards Magnus, his eyes flicking between the warlock and the whatever-the-hell Jack was.
"If we die, I am so sorry I dragged us into this mess," he said. Magnus snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Not everything has to do with you, Lewis. Watch that ego of yours."
Simon chuckled in spite of himself before running to meet Jack head-on, fangs glinting in the light of Magnus' fire, a snarl snapping past his lips.
Mikael watched the warlock and the vampire as they left the house, a little bruised and worn, but clearly the victors of the fight that had occurred in the basement. He grinned slightly – he had always known Simon would make a grand fighter, a survivor, and this incident proved that. The boy was, after all, a member of the de Vampyr family. While practically everyone who ever knew about their existence thought them all long since dead and gone, in their heyday they had been known for their resilience, their tenacity.
He watched them vanish around a corner before heading over to the building. As much as he despised being in the presence of that vile product of necromancy, he might as well check to see if the Lewis boy had truly finished off the job this time around. Besides, Jack could have his uses, occasionally.
Not my favourite chapter ever, but... Well, what did you think of it?