Mystic Falls, VA September 30, 1864
Damon went straight to Abigail's bedroom. He waited outside the door, which stood open, and listened to his brother's activities downstairs. Stefan was having his playthings play some type of game, and he was making the rules. Feeling it was safe to enter, he crossed the threshold.
Abigail was still in the same position. He'd come to expect it, but it was no easier to see. Her face shown with the signs that she'd been crying. Clearly no peace or progress had been made since the morning. He made no noise as he crossed to the bed. Looking down at her slight form, at the honey brown curls fanned across her pillows, he prayed once more that the plan would work.
With his finger, he traced an errant curl, allowing himself the comfort of its silkiness. Then he steeled himself to begin. First the chain. He pulled it from his pocket and decided her wrist was the simplest course for the moment. Taking her hand in his, he gently wrapped the delicate chain around her thin wrist. It circled three times, and he made certain that it was secure and that the small bead was tight against her skin.
Lowering the sleeve of her blouse over her new jewelry, in case his brother happened to come in, he considered the best path out of the house and to hers. Listening he could tell that the games were still being played downstairs, musical chairs from the sounds of it, although more like musical Stefan. Dear brother was still occupied, so Damon thought the servants' tight back stairway, that led to the back porch would be best. It was dark, and tight, but with his advanced senses, he could make easy work of it.
He carefully uncovered her and took in the full sight of her for what felt like the first time. He had to silent the urge to run his hand down the smooth curve of her cheek, to hold her head in his hand and beg her to wake up. Damon had to remind himself that part of why she was in this state was because of him. He had to remember killing her in vivid detail, of how good it made him feel. Of how proud he had been to bury her.
Moving his arms under her arms and legs, he carefully picked her up. It reminded him of when he'd seen Stefan with her, after she'd been missing. He'd been up here, on this floor having an assignation with Katherine and they'd come downstairs laughing at their time spent cloistered away, when he'd seen everyone gathered below. Abigail in Stefan's arms, like a bride being carried over the threshold of her new home. And now it was his turn, only she wasn't awake, and while it was her home he was carrying her to, she wouldn't be a happy bride. She'd be a hidden treasure, from a horrible monster.
Emily's spell worked. Damon realized as he carried her down the tight servants' stairway and out into the darkness. When he did brush her skin, the overwhelming pain and angst wasn't there. There was grief, but it was nowhere near what it had been before. He rushed to her house, reaching it in no time, but then realizing the blunder in the plan.
"I haven't been invited in." He whispered, as his foot refused to pass beyond the door that had opened easily when the key he'd found in her vanity turned in the lock.
He was still holding her, still thinking as the fear set in. Stefan wouldn't be diverted forever, or even for the rest of the night. And standing on the huge porch of Abigail's future home would not work as a great hiding spot. Think, Damon, think.
His hand brushed hers and he saw a flash of a room and her hair. Gasping, he moved his hand to hers again. There she was, in a room that bore a remarkable resemblance to the room they'd just abandoned. Abigail was pacing, much like Damon and Emily had while considering their path forward. She was confused, that much was clear, but she was also agitated.
"Abigail," he breathed, and was surprised when she turned to face him. Her confusion changed to fear at the sight of him. He should have expected that reaction if she ever saw him again. "You can see me?"
She took a nervous step back and found herself against the fireplace. Her eyes were wide with fright and he wanted to assure her that he meant no harm, but he also needed to figure out a path into her house. Please, he thought, let this work.
"Abi," he said, "I'm outside your house and I'm carrying you to safety. I can't go inside, please invite me in." She was still staring at him and he watched as she ran the meaning of his words through her mind.
"You're one of them." She said, disgust evident. "Killing me wasn't enough, burying me didn't cause enough damage?" She stared him straight in the eyes. "Now you want access into my home?"
He closed his eyes, trying to listen for dangers in the real world while staying with her in the room. "I am as you say. Please know, Abigail, that I have to hide you. The only place safe is your house. The very proof is that you have to give permission to enter. You are unconscious, and he won't have access to ask."
She paled and he knew that she understood that he had meant Stefan. "How am I in this room? And how can you be here as well?"
He groaned, time was of the utmost importance. "I will answer any question you have for me, I swear it, but invite me in the house, Abigail."
She nodded, and he tried to push his foot over the entryway, nothing happened. Swearing, he had to tell her, "it has to be verbal, out loud." He waited.
"Damon Salvatore, please come into my home." She whispered, still terrified, but more afraid of his brother after what she'd seen in the office.
He crossed the doorway and removed the key from the lock. Holding her body tightly, he closed and locked the door. He'd already picked the cellar, but knowing that Abigail had to give verbal permission to gain entrance, he decided she deserved better accommodations.
Carrying her up the grand staircase, he looked through open doors until he found one that suited the woman in his arms. With some luck, there was a chest that held linens, and he made it around her prone form. Careful to position her in what he hoped would be a comfortable position, he held her hand and followed through on his promise. He told her how her mental prison had changed.
And then, before the sun had begun to peak over the horizon, he told her he had to go. Stefan would be ready to wake his bride, and he had to go act surprised that she'd escaped his clutches.
