Since everyone asked so nicely, here's the first part of chapter 2 :)
Thanks for the comments! Feedback is always appreciated. I should
probably go over this a couple more times before posting it but what the
hell…
Shadows : Chapter 2a
The sun began its slow descent towards the horizon while life in Smallville continued. Lana Lang oversaw business at the Talon, occasionally glancing at the door in hopes of seeing dark hair and a pair of blue eyes… Martha and Jonathon Kent enjoyed a quiet romantic dinner, taking advantage of their son's absence… Pete Ross sat on his couch watching a basketball game he'd taped the previous evening.
There were a few who noted the coming darkness with unusual expectation. Sean Philips sought out his hotel room and turned on all the lights, resisting the urge to barricade himself in as he began running a computer trace on the hotel guest list he'd procured from Mr. Finn… Clark Kent and Chloe Sullivan returned to the brightly-lit office of the Torch to continue their search in safer surroundings. Others simply felt an unexplained chill on the air and decided to stay home, forgoing previous plans without really knowing why.
Night fell over Smallville, bathing it in shadows and twilight.
Stacy removed her glasses, taking a brief moment to find a place for them on her always-cluttered desk. The document on her computer monitor became a blur of white lines and she closed her eyes for a moment to block out the sight. Sitting back she tried to relax the tension in her neck and arms but was instead reminded that the Smallville savings and loan continually refused to furnish their employees with anything but the cheapest of desk chairs, sufficient for typing but useless for lounging.
The clock on her desk shouted with bright red blurry numbers that it was late, and that she should have long since left for home. She'd always hated deadlines: they were stressful, aggravating, and interfered unfairly with her sleep. For some reason she'd assumed working in a bank would never require anything more from her than an eight hour day dealing with friendly customers and large amounts of money. It was a myth she'd dispelled long since.
Stacy stood up and allowed herself a long stretch before grabbing her coat. Sam had phoned her twice, the first call to see when she'd be home and the second to make sure she was safe when that time had long since passed. The memory brought a smile to her face; he was always so worried about her. She regretted many things, leading that list was her choice of vocation, but she had never regretted him.
Several minutes later found Stacy locking the glass door to the bank's now dark interior. Her car was on the far side of the parking lot, a blue station wagon that she only half owned with the other half the property of her very own bank. Fast food workers were served burgers at half price, her friend at Sears always talked about how they practically gave away clothes to employees, so why was it that bank officers didn't get loans with the interest rate cut in half?
Looking around she made sure the dimly lit parking lot was empty before heading across. Smallville was normally a safe place to live, but it was prudent. Stacy was nothing if not prudent. She was half way to her car, fumbling in her pocket for the keys, when a hand reached around her from behind.
Blood, the faintest sent of it seemed to fill her nostrils as a hand covered her mouth. She tried to scream and he just pulled her back against his chest, fingers pressing into her jaw hard enough to bruise. First she felt disbelief, then panic as his other hand came from beneath to caress her throat, then she began flailing madly in an attempt to get free. Tears streamed down her face when she realized she couldn't make him let go. He wouldn't give so much as an inch, it was like fighting with solid stone.
Then she felt pain, he'd ripped something away. The collar of her shirt maybe, Stacy wasn't sure. She tried to inhale but breathed in a thick sticky liquid instead of air; she tried to cough but it was too much work.
As blood poured down her chest Stacy Valentine took one last look at the world, now so dim that the only thing she could make out was the bright moon hanging above her in the sky. She should call Sam and tell him she wouldn't be home. He'd worry, she'd always teased him about how overly protective he was of his young wife.
Then her eyes closed, and never opened again.
Gabriel let the body fall to the ground and stood, watching as the blood formed a pool around his feet. Licking his hand he savored the thick sweet taste she'd left behind. He'd needed that, needed it so badly that nothing else mattered; not the police and not the wretched little town in which he been so cruelly trapped.
Allowing himself only a few more moments to relish her sent, Gabriel began the familiar work required to hide what he had done. By the time he was finished, there was no trace of him, the blood, or of Stacy Valentine to be found.
Shadows : Chapter 2a
The sun began its slow descent towards the horizon while life in Smallville continued. Lana Lang oversaw business at the Talon, occasionally glancing at the door in hopes of seeing dark hair and a pair of blue eyes… Martha and Jonathon Kent enjoyed a quiet romantic dinner, taking advantage of their son's absence… Pete Ross sat on his couch watching a basketball game he'd taped the previous evening.
There were a few who noted the coming darkness with unusual expectation. Sean Philips sought out his hotel room and turned on all the lights, resisting the urge to barricade himself in as he began running a computer trace on the hotel guest list he'd procured from Mr. Finn… Clark Kent and Chloe Sullivan returned to the brightly-lit office of the Torch to continue their search in safer surroundings. Others simply felt an unexplained chill on the air and decided to stay home, forgoing previous plans without really knowing why.
Night fell over Smallville, bathing it in shadows and twilight.
Stacy removed her glasses, taking a brief moment to find a place for them on her always-cluttered desk. The document on her computer monitor became a blur of white lines and she closed her eyes for a moment to block out the sight. Sitting back she tried to relax the tension in her neck and arms but was instead reminded that the Smallville savings and loan continually refused to furnish their employees with anything but the cheapest of desk chairs, sufficient for typing but useless for lounging.
The clock on her desk shouted with bright red blurry numbers that it was late, and that she should have long since left for home. She'd always hated deadlines: they were stressful, aggravating, and interfered unfairly with her sleep. For some reason she'd assumed working in a bank would never require anything more from her than an eight hour day dealing with friendly customers and large amounts of money. It was a myth she'd dispelled long since.
Stacy stood up and allowed herself a long stretch before grabbing her coat. Sam had phoned her twice, the first call to see when she'd be home and the second to make sure she was safe when that time had long since passed. The memory brought a smile to her face; he was always so worried about her. She regretted many things, leading that list was her choice of vocation, but she had never regretted him.
Several minutes later found Stacy locking the glass door to the bank's now dark interior. Her car was on the far side of the parking lot, a blue station wagon that she only half owned with the other half the property of her very own bank. Fast food workers were served burgers at half price, her friend at Sears always talked about how they practically gave away clothes to employees, so why was it that bank officers didn't get loans with the interest rate cut in half?
Looking around she made sure the dimly lit parking lot was empty before heading across. Smallville was normally a safe place to live, but it was prudent. Stacy was nothing if not prudent. She was half way to her car, fumbling in her pocket for the keys, when a hand reached around her from behind.
Blood, the faintest sent of it seemed to fill her nostrils as a hand covered her mouth. She tried to scream and he just pulled her back against his chest, fingers pressing into her jaw hard enough to bruise. First she felt disbelief, then panic as his other hand came from beneath to caress her throat, then she began flailing madly in an attempt to get free. Tears streamed down her face when she realized she couldn't make him let go. He wouldn't give so much as an inch, it was like fighting with solid stone.
Then she felt pain, he'd ripped something away. The collar of her shirt maybe, Stacy wasn't sure. She tried to inhale but breathed in a thick sticky liquid instead of air; she tried to cough but it was too much work.
As blood poured down her chest Stacy Valentine took one last look at the world, now so dim that the only thing she could make out was the bright moon hanging above her in the sky. She should call Sam and tell him she wouldn't be home. He'd worry, she'd always teased him about how overly protective he was of his young wife.
Then her eyes closed, and never opened again.
Gabriel let the body fall to the ground and stood, watching as the blood formed a pool around his feet. Licking his hand he savored the thick sweet taste she'd left behind. He'd needed that, needed it so badly that nothing else mattered; not the police and not the wretched little town in which he been so cruelly trapped.
Allowing himself only a few more moments to relish her sent, Gabriel began the familiar work required to hide what he had done. By the time he was finished, there was no trace of him, the blood, or of Stacy Valentine to be found.
