Danae: Vampire Slayer
Series One, Episode Eight
Past, Present, Future
By Head Staff Writer RainTiger
---
"I cannot die in my dreams, for I am already dead untouchable." The girl, so pale, so frail, held her hand out. Her fingers pointed to the ground, palm out, arms straight. Cuts, shockingly red against white skin, drip slowly towards the earth.
"You're in pain." It's a revelation, shocking.
"Always." The girl walks forward, pulling the Other's hand to hers. The Other's palm begins to bleed as the girl's fingers tighten, nails digging into the backs of the Other's hand. "Aren't you?"
"Oh, Ricardo," Jenna sighs.
Oops. My eyes open guiltily, realizing I have fallen asleep on a date with Anthony. It's not my fault I patrolled a little late last night, or that I find romantic movies boring beyond all reason, or the smell of buttered popcorn alluring. Anthony wouldn't understand, though. He doesn't patrol late.
I turn, looking at Anthony are we technically "going out?" I wonder and see him slumped in his seat, eyes closed, box of Goobers dangling from his fingers.
"Oh, Sarah," Ricardo sighs.
"Sarah? Who the hell is Sarah?" Jenna demands.
I smile at Anthony, who looks worn. I suppose even without late patrolling, he's tired. Ever since he learned my secret, he's put in extra hours at the studio, always at my hand, always friendly, always well, just plain available. For someone so delicately human, it would get hard after some time.
Hand curling around my soda (caffeine, naturally, being the gasoline for Slayers), I raise the straw to my lips. There's nothing in there but ice, rattling in the plastic.
Giving another glance to Anthony my boyfriend, if not in name, then in practice I raise from my seat. Marching slowly down the aisle, I turn and head for the lobby.
"There's no one but you!" Ricardo insists.
Shaking my empty soda, I hum quietly. The sound of popping corn grows louder, and I consider the money in my pocket. Popcorn's a little too greasy, but it always reminds me of when I was younger not much younger, granted, but there was a period of time when James always took me to the movies. Wherever we traveled, when I got depressed, he'd take me to the movies, get a popcorn, and we'd leave silently after. Something about it is calming, and makes me feel much better. It's the security blanket I'll never have.
Amidst the popping and snapping, I hear growling.
Don't the undead take Friday nights off?
Dropping my drink into the garbage can, I wipe the moisture left from the cup on my jeans. Rounding the bend hiding the snack bar from view, I see two vampires crouched near the concessions stand. Probably looking for an eat-and-run. The poor boy in his dumb movie vest is cowering from them, and I step forward.
"Over here," I say. I'm not in a witty mood.
The Ugly Couple turn, both the sort to obviously have never gotten dates when they WERE alive. Their faces are contorted, dark. It would have scared me when I was younger, but now I see this every night, and sometimes in the day when I read books.
I don't know how I draw my stake so quickly, just flying from my boot to my hand. Then the adrenaline breaks into my veins, and as my heart begins beating faster, my breath double speeds, and everything blurs.
If you were to ask me just how I fought them, I would tell you that after that first punch all the way through to each staking, I don't remember a thing. My memory has never been a strong point, but this is more the exhilaration, the heat and hunger, the excitement.
My stake hits the first vampire's chest, and I don't even pause to enjoy the explosion. I turn to the second --
My stake clatters to the floor, fist aching from the sudden kick. Everything jumps into sharp detail, down from the drool on the female vampire's chin to the black bruise on my knuckles.
The girl walks forward, pulling the Other's hand to hers. The Other's palm begins to bleed as the girl's fingers tighten, nails digging into the backs of the Other's hand. "Aren't you?"
The Other nods, pulling back. The cuts are now mirrored on the Other's palm. "Forever."
A slicing pain lances through my arm -- I panic. Grabbing at the vampire's face, there's a moment where shock shows on her face, and she too becomes no more than dust.
My knees cry out as I fall, staring at my hands. The crosses on my palms glow softly, light fading into nothing.
"Bloody hell," I say, and then there's nothing but black.
~~~~~
Waking up is not fun. It never is. My body relaxes into one position (usually fetal), and I stay that way all night, when my dreams aren't plagued with death and memories. It hurts to stretch out, to stand, and move my muscles. I wish, sometimes, I could just lay there all day and watch the sun cross the sky.
But then the vampires would catch up with me at night. James would worry. I would probably die.
My eyes open very slowly, and I feel as though I've been laying around for those long days, and my first response is to panic. My second, however, is to actually look where I am.
The tense face of my Watcher looms above me, my side pressed against his chest. James is a very strong man, but even so, I weigh little and carrying me really isn't a big deal. He looks stressed, though, and worried, and obviously hasn't noticed that I'm awake (sort of).
I don't say anything to encourage him to put me down; as I said, I like to lay around after I wake up.
His grip on me shifts as he opens the door to the dance studio (I recognize the sign far above), and am jostled about a bit as he climbs the stairs. Then, I allow myself to close my eyes. He sets me gently in my bed, a lovely four poster with drapes, and pulls back. Without his warmth against me, I automatically curl into fetal position. I'm so tired. Wasn't I just at a movie?
"Is she okay?"
"Where is she?"
Gabi and Anthony. Better move.
I sit up again, opening my eyes once more. James' silhouette is in my doorway, talking to Gabi and Anthony. Wherever Anthony is, there's always Gabi. It's almost like magic. The cousins never separate, not even for a date, I guess.
My hands itch. I look at my palms, resisting the urge, and see the familiar sight of my crosses. Had I put my hands on a vampire and dusted it? I can't resist but to scratch a little, nails not helping the itch.
"I'm awake," I say, just loudly enough for James to hear.
He turns, looking very relieved. James enters the room, Anthony and Gabi behind him, but instead of coming over to me, he goes to one of my bookshelves. There isn't much room in the dance studio for all of James' books, so many of them spend time in my own room. He pulls out an old diary, belonging to his aunt, flipping through. "What caused you to collapse? I seem to remember my Aunt's Slayer having some fainting spells"
"It wasn't that," I try and explain. "M-my hands--"
I held my hands out for James to examine.
Her fingers pointed to the ground, palm out, arms straight. Cuts, shockingly red against white skin, drip slowly towards the earth.
Taking a deep breath, I hold my arm steady. James crosses over, Anthony so close behind it looks like they're going to trip over each other. Gabi now has the journal of Ms. Watson, and is looking through it, entranced. James touches the cross on my palm. "That's not unusual. I've seen your tattoos before."
"Not all of my tattoos." I can't help but smile -- my eyes ask, Do you even know where all of them are?
"All of them," James says deadpan, but there's a slight quirk to his brow. Even if he HAD seen me naked (which he hasn't I think), there was one he wouldn't be able to see unless--
"As much as I hate to disturb this quite frankly, disturbing conversation," Anthony says, moving to block James from my view, "I'd like to know why you passed out at the movie."
"Vampires," I say quickly. I had neglected to tell James that I was going on a date, merely said, "I'm going out with some friends." James is beginning to look suspicious nonetheless.
"Vampires made you faint," he said skeptically.
"They'd make ME faint if I had to kill them," Gabi muttered, turning a page in the diary gently.
"You and Danae are very different--"
"There were vampires in the lobby. I went, staked one, and touched the other -- poof. That was it." I draw my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them. "I felt so weak after, I just kind of collapsed."
James pushes Anthony aside (much to his annoyance), taking my hands again and sitting at my feet. His brow furrows. "They haven't changed, but you think that they were the cause?"
I nod. "Definitely. They were glowing after I dusted him."
"Afterglow," James says thoughtfully.
Gabi coughs.
"Magic afterglow," James says, annoyed. "Teenagers, all those raging hormones. Think everything is an innuendo."
"Right, old man, you were a teenager so long ago," I say, squeezing his hands. We both laugh. I don't know when specifically, but James was born in the early seventies, so he could only be six or seven years out of the land of teenage-hood.
"Back on the subject" James says suddenly, standing. "I seem to remember Alex shipping me a book on magical curse scars and markings. I haven't gotten to read it yet" His voice recedes as he walks into his own bedroom.
"Alex?" Anthony asks. He takes James' seat as Gabi puts her book away and joins us.
"Identical twin brother." Gabi smiles. "He's a weapons expert/Watcher he was off in Australia last time he checked in with us. Sometimes he sends James books." I decide not to mention how irresponsible he is, too -- Alex was supposed to be my Watcher, but as soon as they told him, he ran off and hid somewhere in Africa. The Council is still waiting to get their hands on him -- they still want him to train me.
"How many tattoos do you have?" Gabi asks, grinning widely.
"Seven," I reply instantly. "Two on my hands, one between my shoulders--"
"Ah ha!" James says triumphantly, re-entering the room. Anthony looks disappointed, but Gabi simply turns to face him.
I continue, "One on my lower back, one around my navel--"
"I think I found something." James sits to my side, holding the book out for me to see. All I catch is a picture of a cross, with simple design yet intricate lines, before he pulls it back. "The Mark of the Trivius." Frowning at it for a moment, he said, "This is in Latin, at which I'm a little rusty, but I believe it roughly says, 'At the crossroads of life, these are tattooed on a being at either the nape of the neck or hand. They are often enchanted with a specific purpose, and the activation spell as well as the purpose are individual to each situation.'" He snaps the book shut.
"That tells me nothing!" I cry, annoyed.
James gives me a very intense look, so dark that I nearly lean away from him. "If you remember anything anything about how you got those, I must know."
Biting my lower lip, I hang my head. I wish for once I did remember. "I'm sorry." Anthony puts an arm around my waist, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He glares at James (probably for upsetting me).
"There is something you can do though, right?" Gabi asks, patting my hand comfortingly while she watches James. "Like a a magic-y thing."
"Actually" James says, still looking at me. "It could be painful. And we'd need protection anchors to this world. Three at least."
"We?" I ask, yawning. I'm still tired.
James raises, gesturing for Gabi and Anthony to follow. "I'll take care of this. You need rest, Danae."
~~~~~
"So here's how it's going to work," I begin to explain. Wrapping my jacket tighter around myself, I blow into my mittens to warm them. Damn, but it's cold up here and it has hardly even snowed! "James and I are going to do this spell thing (more him than me, obviously), and you will stand just outside the circle, as anchors."
Walking slowly with Anthony's protective arm around me, and Gabi warming my other side, I lift my boots carefully and set them down again. The trees are frosted to a lovely green-tinged white, my breath coming out in great puffs. The very air is sharp, but Anthony is still looking fresh and happy well, as happy as he ever really looks.
"The two of us? Who's the third anchor?" Gabi asks, hair matted around her face. "James did say three, right?"
"Three," I confirm, snuggling closer to Anthony. "Do you think Sara would do it?"
"Does she even know?" Anthony asks, surprised.
"Erm no." I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, ducking my head. "But I think she should know now. There's been so much the Guardian, those monks, Ethan Rayne the David-Nicholas hostage situation."
Anthony groans, remembering. Gabi sighs, shaking her head woefully as we pass the ruins of the laundry (exploded by the Guardian). "If she isn't figuring it out already, I think that says a lot," Gabi remarks. I laugh.
"I suppose so," Anthony agrees doubtfully.
"Christmas soon!" I remember suddenly. "How long a week?"
"Haven't you been noticing all the happy decorations?" Gabi asked. "The Christmas cheer? The never ending songs at the grocery store?"
"My attention has been elsewhere," I mumble sullenly.
"I already have gifts for both of you," Anthony says.
Aack.
We walk up to the studio, empty on the first floor at the moment. However, there is noise from upstairs.
"I'm sorry, I'm not interested in that case," I hear James say, sounding incredibly annoyed.
"But--"
"No."
"--don't you--"
"No!"
James comes down the stairs, wearing a deep blue jumper and followed by what looks like a senior boy with blonde hair. James' lips are tight, looking very severe. Usually when he gets that expression, he starts telling me just how insufferable I am.
Gabi begins smiling broadly is it that senior?
The boy crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. "If you reconsider, call me." He shoves a paper at James, and pauses, looking at Gabi, before brushing past roughly.
The door leading outside slams.
"What'd he want?" I ask, brushing snow off my mittens and peeling them off. I set them on the banister.
James rolls his eyes. (It's so cute when he does that. He picked it up from me.) "Little git. Wants me to do a favor."
"What--" Anthony begins, but James cuts him off. Poor Anthony.
"Do you have the supplies?" James asks me.
I take my jacket off, holding a brown paper bag. James takes my coat, folding it over his arm. "Right here. All those crystals, herbs and sands you want."
"And the third anchor?"
"Um coming along," Gabi says.
"And final on the agenda," James finishes, "what do you want for your birthday, Danae?"
My heart sinks. I hate birthdays. "Birthday?" Anthony asks, perking up. I rub my upper arms.
"On the twenty fifth," James says.
"Christmas?" Gabi looks so delighted.
I hate James.
"Yes," I sigh, "and don't worry about it."
"I need to buy her another present now," Gabi whispers clearly to Anthony.
"Danae doesn't like this time of year," James says playfully. "It makes her feel old."
"That's not why!" I insist. It's true. I don't like birthdays because I never celebrated them with my parents, and I think it's a very stupid and immature tradition. James doesn't agree, of course. He's celebrated my birthdays almost religiously for the past three years; my sixteenth should be even worse.
James switches the subject suddenly. "On an equally important note, I want you all on the beach at nine thirty tonight. Wear very warm clothes, and Danae swimsuit." That's his plan. I'm going to freeze to death for my birthday, aren't I? "Bring me the third anchor."
He leaves quickly, and I turn to Anthony. "I'm going to do a little exercise. If you can wait a few for me to get some frustration out, I'll go with you to Sara's."
"Sure," Anthony says. "In fact, I'll even train with you."
~~~~~
"Sorry!" I apologize again, wincing. I finish wrapping Anthony's torso with bandages, his shirt on the couch next to him.
"It's all right," he says with a groan. "I don't think anything's broken, just cracked."
Handing him his shirt back, I sigh. I hadn't meant to get so rough with him, but I'm more used to fighting James and vampires -- both of which seem to be a bit sturdier.
"I'll get over it," he moans, moving carefully to put his shirt back on. He looks very yummy (except for the look of intense pain).
"Down hormones," I bid myself silently. Out loud, I say, "Still want to go get Sara? I'm sure I could talk to her alone"
"I think I should go too," he says, standing. I get off the couch, holding his arm to steady him. "I've known her longer. It'll be better for me to explain."
"As long as you don't think you need to go to the hospital," I mutter doubtfully, walking over to the closet to get my coat.
In little time, we're back outside in the cold headed for Sara's place. We don't really talk much on the way there -- we're both thinking about how we're going to approach telling Sara. "Hi. Vampires are real, and it's my job to kill them. So, want to hold me in this plane with your mental strength?" No.
I've spent the last ten minutes thinking up a speech well, at least trying to and nothing is really working. Unfortunately, we're walking up to Sara's door now, and I still do not have any idea what to say. If not for the need for a third anchor, I'd just say "Screw this" and go home.
Anthony's hand goes up and hits the doorbell, a pleasant bell tingling loudly. A woman with wiry hair answers quickly. "Yes?"
"We're here to see Sara," I say. "Is she home?"
She moves aside, opening the door wider. "Sara's upstairs, in her room. Hello, Anthony."
"Hi, Mrs. Freidman," Anthony greets, smiling. Freidman? He enters as I follow, and we climb the stairs. "Do you know what to say?"
"No idea," I laugh.
I come to a door with a hand-painted sigh that says "Sara" very quickly. Knocking, I hear a quiet "come in," and I push the door open.
Sara, wearing glasses perched on her nose, looks up from her computer. "Hi."
"Hi, Sara, hope we aren't interrupting anything," I say cheerfully, crossing the bare room (she has no posters, no makeup just a bed, closet, and the computer desk).
"No. Is something wrong?" Sara removes her wireframes.
I exchange a look with Anthony. He nods at me. "We have a favor to ask."
"I'm not an ordained priest, so I can't marry you," she says dryly. Is Sara making a joke?
"Don't worry," Anthony says instantly.
I roll my eyes. "Anyway, this favor's going to take a bit of an explanation"
~~~~~
James puts my hair over my shoulder, tracing the furrows behind my ears with his fingertips. I stand with my arms folded in front of me, eyes closed, seeing the fire light flicker before me. He leans forward, and I can hear him open a bottle identical to that which I hold. "This will only take a few minutes," James says quietly, and I can hear him through the rhythmic sound of the waves nearby.
A spot on my back is suddenly colder, and it spreads as James slowly works oil over the skin of my back. I hang my head, allowing my hair to fall before me. The cold shortly begins tingly, warming my muscles and making it hard to stand. I lock my knees, keeping my back straight, and take deep breaths. It stings the tiniest bit around the edges, more an itch than a pain, but I don't scratch.
The rest of my body is already covered, torso under my low-backed swim suit, face, legs, arms, even my scalp and my hair greased. James drips some oil on the small of my back, causing me to gasp from the sudden sensation of an ice cube being drawn along my spine.
"Will this take long?" Anthony asks. He is outside the circle, nearest to the water, and Sara and Gabi are at their own positions.
"It will seem about ten minutes to you," James says, running his fingers around the edge of my suit to be sure he didn't miss a spot.
"The oil--" Gabi began questioningly.
"Is a magical conductor plus, it will keep us warm, even in the wind," James explains, corking his bottle again. I turn, and James' bare chest glistens in the playing light of the bonfire. "Sit."
I settle on the sand, grains sticking to my slimy skin as I fold my legs. James settles in front of me, moving close enough so our knees touch. He reaches behind himself, coming up with a large, clear crystal. "Will this hurt?" Does it matter if it does? I ask silently.
"Possibly. This will put us in your memories, and it will not feel good to dredge them up again. What you remember may not make sense at first, but you will be able to tell after a while when this is."
His lips begin to move silently, a chanting rising up out of the waters of Lake Tahoe. A chorus of voices repeat over and over a single phrase in Latin, the crystal beginning to glow. Several moments pass. I wonder when the spell is going to
My face splatters in the mud, hands tied behind my back. My wrists ache from the cords, but I can't twist my hands enough to get them out of the bindings. The grainy taste of dirty street mingles with blood from a knocked-loose tooth, and I turn enough to get my face out of the muck. "We don't allow children in here," a demon spits. The heavy door clangs shut.
Calmly standing, I shake mud out of my hair. The back streets of Ashwan aren't the cleanest of places, and it's all I can do but hope that it is mud I'm shaking from my hair. I walk down the street, hoping that I can find something rough to undo my ropes with. It shouldn't be too hard, but --
"Wake up," a voice soothes, and immediately it's all dark. My hands lay, unbound, at my sides, and the back of my head aches. Cool hands brush hair out of my face. "Wake up."
Although my head does hurt, the rest of me is significantly more comfortable. I don't want to wake up; where I lay is too soft to stir. With an inward sigh, my eyes open slowly, blinking difficult. A face swims into clarity amongst draping white sheets -- a friendly old man with long silvery hair slicked back. He wears long robes, covering his form.
I sit up slowly, painfully. I'm in a large bed, comfortable and all white. "Good morning," he says soothingly, as though trying to calm a frightened cat. He's speaking in French, but I understand him perfectly.
"Where am I?" I demand (also in French-), closing my eyes. I rub my brow, trying to make my headache disappear.
"My servants were on an errand in Ashwan," he explains, "and you were found, attacked by a Fyarl. What is someone as young as you doing in a demon town?"
My eyes flick down to my hands, examining the odd cuffs. The Fyarl definitely explained my headache, and my sudden passing out. "My parents, they have gone missing. I am looking for them."
He looks sympathetic, and appears deep in thought. I take the opportunity to examine my surroundings -- I'm in a large four-poster (which I am nearly swallowed in), but the room is large enough to compensate. There is an armoire, heavy-draped windows, a mahogany desk, a grandmother clock, and many dolls. "Why do you have dolls?" I ask, then realize it's a rude question.
Luckily, he just laughs. "They belonged to my daughters."
"Oh." I decide not to ask where they are now. "And who are you?"
"I am Francis," he says simply, "master of this household. Who are you?"
"I am Danae." Francis smiles again -- he is a very pleasant person.
"I am very pleased to meet you Danae," he said as the clock began to strike nine. He stood, clapping his hands together. "There is a lovely breakfast prepared, if you are interested."
"Breakfast?" Ooh, I haven't eaten breakfast in days. Weeks, perhaps. The thought of waffles and pancakes and bacon and sausage and melon has my mouth watering. "Real breakfast?"
"Real breakfast!" he laughs, and his laughing makes me laugh. My face sort of hurts. I guess I haven't laughed in a while either.
~~~~~
Anthony, Gabi, and Sara sat.
And sat.
"I'm bored," Anthony announced.
Gabi checked her watch. "It's been a minute and a half."
Anthony sighed.
Anthony, Gabi, and Sara sat.
~~~~~
As I lay in bed tonight, I remember things from this morning. I hadn't noticed then, but when I ate breakfast, Francis did not. He simply watched, and smiled, and things were good. "How long can I stay here?" I asked, tempted by the delicious food and comfortable bed.
"As long as you'd like," he replied.
The grounds were incredibly huge. I looked at them after breakfast, changing into another outfit from my armoire. (Is anything in this place not massive?) Then, in riding clothes that fit perfectly, I rode on a horse from the stables. This place is like heaven, I realize. It feels as though everything was crafted to appeal to the senses. I had tried to ride to the outside of the grounds by lunch, but I hadn't even seen a sign of the end of the land. Was it possible that there was so much room?
I had gone back, handing the horse over to a stablehand, and gone for lunch. Francis hadn't eaten then, either, just watched me devour my food. We sat down in the study afterwards, and I found myself telling him all about the past month. "They were taken by a B'nav demon," I had told him. "I looked it up after they were taken. I can't recall how I first found where to look for them"
"That's right," I mumble to myself thoughtfully. "I'm beginning to forget. How odd."
I roll over, fingers curling around my hair. We had sat there for hours, amongst so many books and well-cushioned red chairs, toes in the fluffy rug, and just talked. But beyond the first few minutes, I don't remember what we talked about. "Remember" seems to be so important.
Dinner. The meat had been piled high, and they fed me anything I wanted. Francis wasn't there, and it was like they were trying to either distract me, or fatten me. It seems stupid to think that they're fattening me up to eat me for two reasons -- one, they have all that other food already, and two, it just doesn't feel like that. It feels like they just want me happy.
So, distraction is the obvious conclusion.
I'm sure that there's nothing wrong here, I decide. I'll stay for a day or two, then leave. That's all.
~~~~~
"I'm cold," Anthony complained.
"Shut up, it's still only been four minutes," Gabi said, bored.
"Anyone want to play twenty questions?" Sara offered.
Silence.
Anthony sighed. "Sure. It's not like we're going anywhere."
~~~~~
Five days had passed.
I hadn't meant to stay so long. Every day, the bed grew more comfy, the food grew yummier, and the only thing that wasn't better dramatically was my relationship with the horses (they still found it amusing to throw me in the mud). I found myself liking and never wanting to leave this place. Why should I? There's no reason to leave. I can't even remember how I got here.
Francis never shows up for dinner. I don't like it very much; eating dinner surrounded by silent servants without anyone to speak to. I began to wonder where he goes.
That's my problem. I'm too curious.
It's just after light's out, laying in my bed again. The house is silent, almost as though if I were to scream it wouldn't reach my ears. I'm under instructions to stay in my room at night so that the servants may properly clean outside, but I begin to think. Francis disappears during dinner and all times after. I'm banned from the basement.
What's in the basement?
Where does Francis go?
In the end, the questions really answer themselves. Francis goes to the basement at night, and there's something there he doesn't want me to see. I really shouldn't go down there.
Rolling out of bed, my feet hit the floor and I'm instantly moving. Taking my dressing gown from inside the armoire, I put it on quickly. Tip-toeing to the door, I press my ear to it -- there's no sound from outside. Turning the handle slowly, I open the door with care.
There's as little noise outside as there is within. Padding softly down the hall, passing vases and paintings as eye-catching as neon signs, I look around quickly. The door leading to the basement is only meters away.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
Gasping, I spin, and see Francis looking down at me. He isn't smiling, but he doesn't look particularly annoyed, either. His hair is mussed slightly, and there's a bruise on his cheekbone. "I'm sorry! I was looking for the-- bathroom. I got confused in the dark."
Francis smirks the littlest bit. "The bathroom is the other way. Shall I take you there?"
"Please," I say, relieved and disappointed.
~~~~~
"Sand," Gabi said, sounding incredibly bored.
"You guess too fast," Sara protested, folding her arms.
"Come up with more difficult things, then," Anthony said. "First fire, then trees, then sand? It takes about twenty seconds to guess!"
Gabi sighed, leaning back. Inside the circle, Danae and James were motionless, chests hardly even moving with breath. James' lidded eyes were glowing ever so slightly, but from where Gabi was, she couldn't see Danae's face. What was happening in there?
~~~~~
Not to be deterred, I went back to my room and sat, deep in thought. Francis was bruised, and his perfect white hair wasn't perfect. Even more sure that I had to get into the basement, I frowned. Would his guard be down, assuming I'd stay in bed now?
Determined, I stood again, and listened once more to the corridor. Footsteps recede down the corridor, away from the basement. Darting outside, I take no time in subtlety and dash towards the door. Even using my ability to be very quiet, my steps sound like daiko drums, and I throw open the door, shutting it behind me.
I'm met by complete darkness, the air a bit more damp, and I lean against the closed door. My heart pounds, and I blink rapidly, trying to get my eyes to adjust. Unfortunately, I still can't see anything after quite some time, and I reach out, looking for walls. They are close, wetting my fingers. I slide my foot forward, pleased to find the ground smooth.
I slide along like that for a while, fingers trailing lines and cracks on the walls while my feet watch for drops or rises in the ground. Worry leaks from my mind as I become absorbed in my task, and it's a comforting rhythm -- feel, slide, step, feel, slide, step.
The walls suddenly disappear, and I stand dumbly. I can feel the ends behind me, but I'm afraid to proceed without a guideline. Muttering angrily to myself, I step backward.
A torch flares to life ahead of me, and I reflexively close my eyes, wincing. Two more flares sound off around me, and I open one eye tentatively.
Holy shit.
I'm surrounded by what look like glass-topped tables, although I can't see inside any of them, and many shelves on stone walls -- but that's not what startles me. On the shelves, there are skulls and bones piled high, not arranged in any particular manner, as though someone had just randomly thrown them on there.
"What is this, Francis?" I whisper.
I step slowly towards one of the tables, light reflecting off of it so I could not see in. Squinting, I move to the head of the table.
Inside, there is a girl, pale and dark-haired. What's a girl doing in a glass table?
Oh.
Ew.
Pressing my hand to my stomach, I take several deep breaths, stepping a little away from the dead body. Francis has dead bodies in his basement. Francis has dead bodies in his basement. A little girl, to be in fact. I turn, looking in another table. Another pale, dark-haired girl.
And another.
And another.
They're all wearing a simple, high-necked white dress. Their hair is brushed straight, feet covered in little white slippers. I immediately think of my own look -- dark hair brushed straight, pale skin, and the white gown I wear every day. Am I going to be one of them?
"So, you've found my basement." Francis walks out of a shadow, and I lean unsteadily on a table. "I had hoped you would know better."
"Why?" I whisper.
"Things are complicated, Danae," he sighed, stepping forward. I instantly step back. "They were flawed, little one. They weren't perfect."
"What do you mean?" I keep walking backwards, trying to avoid him.
"They were my children, my daughters," he said, trailing his fingers on the glass of one. "Or, I wanted them to be. For so long I have searched for the perfect child. Someone I could raise to be like me."
"Like you," I echo. "What are you?"
Francis took a deep breath, folding his hands. He pretended to ignore me. "They all disappointed me. They questioned too much, or could not live up to my expectations. They could not fight at all, or they were not ladies." He leaned on one of the many cases. "She wanted her sisters back. I had hoped I could make her forget, make her realize she wanted me more than them." His face softened. "Marie was my latest. I had her for seven months, and I thought I could bring her to me. I have had the most hopes for you, though."
I hit a wall, unable to go any further back. "What are you?"
"You've forgotten your parents already," he continued, drumming his fingers on the glass. "You have perfect manners. You can fight and ride, although my horses don't really seem so fond of you, you're at least bilingual--"
"I haven't forgotten my parents," I say tightly. My face contorts into a sneer. "I'll never forget them."
Francis looks dangerous suddenly, the first time he's ever seemed threatening. "Liar." Such a simple statement.
It makes sense, suddenly. Perhaps I'm dense, perhaps I did forget, but there's a realization that finds its way to my mouth "You took them."
He leans back, smiling darkly. "I came for you, actually, but they were in the way. They knew I was coming. It's one of the reasons your pathetic little demon-hunting parents were on the run. Actually, they'd made many enemies along the way I was just one of them."
"Where are they?" I demand, voice loud.
"I--"
"Where are they?!"
Francis draws himself up. "So. This is your fatal flaw. I had hoped you'd be the one."
He slams me against the wall, and I didn't even see him go from a meter away to right against me. His forehead cracks against mine, head hitting the wall. His eyes glow darkly, and I try to draw away -- he strikes me in the abdomen, throwing me to the floor.
I'd never noticed how cold stone is.
Rolling away quickly, I clamber under a table, on all fours. The Francis monster grabs the side of the table, throwing it to the side, shattering against the floor. Gasping, I slide around to the other side of another one of the coffins.
There's only the passage leading back up to the manor, and Francis is in the way. Behind me, there's a heavy metal door, but I have the ominous feeling it's locked.
I expect hero-evil banter, as there always is in the movies, but he wastes no time talking. Leaping atop one of the sarcophagi, he bounds towards me. The door's my only chance. I spin, grabbing the handle and pulling with all my strength --
I'm thrown back as it opens, and I run inside, forgetting to close the door. The room is so long, and a dead end, but I can hear Francis' roar behind me and have no choice but to run. Abandoning my slippers, I beat my feet hard along the ground, pumping my arms.
The end of the room rushes towards me, and there's a large bronze-colored plaque on the wall. That's it. I run into it, palms flat against the metal, searching for anything.
My hands begin to burn, palms itching and warming. Pulling away quickly, I fall against the ground, flush on my back. The burning continues, and I clench my hands into my fists. This is no time for discomfort. My eyes are drawn up to the plaque -- lit by a single glowing torch. A massive ornate cross adorns it, softly shining a light gold. "Holy mother," I whisper, looking at my hands. The cross is on them.
I can hear Francis approaching, but a sense of calm has overtaken me, sinking deep in my bones. Sliding to face him, I see him rushing me, looking like a hacked off coyote. I hold my hands up, and my palms begin to shine.
He stops in his tracks, beams shooting from my hands and striking him in the chest. Francis is thrown back several feet, stumbling. "Where are they?" I repeat. "Tell me!"
Francis growls, elongated front teeth showing under his curled lip. "I know when I'm defeated." He turns, running back away.
"No! Tell me where they are!" I cry, chasing him. "Tell me!"
"Tell me!" I cry, throwing myself forward. The cold wind sweeps around me, and James catches me, then falls down to the sand.
Sobbing, I cover my eyes with greasy hands, curling. James slides out from under me, shuddering. "Is she okay? What's wrong?" The circle breaks, and Anthony and Gabi rush in. My knees pull up to my chest, and I cover my head to keep them back.
I can hear James crying a little, from sharing my memories and emotions. He bends down and whispers in my ear, "I'm sorry," then pulls back and stands.
"Is she okay?" Gabi asks urgently from above me.
James shakes his head silently, bending down to scoop me in his arms. Anthony protests, but I don't hear what he says. He exchanges words with James, and then a heavy jacket covers me, and I'm lain carefully in the van. I roll over, facing the back of the seat, and everything fades out as I fall asleep.
---
"Danae. Danae, wake up," James says softly, touching my shoulder.
"Mmf," I say against the seat in the van.
"We're at the studio," he says.
"Just put me in bed," I mumble.
"I'm not putting you in bed all oily like this. It'll be hard enough cleaning it out of the van." He hesitates. "Are you up to a shower?"
Sighing, I force myself to sit up, and take his hand to climb out of the van. He shuts the door behind me, opening the studio door. (He's always like this in public. It's nice, but almost embarrassing.) Wrapping myself more tightly in the coat, I go in and climb up the stairs.
Francis killed a dozen girls, and who knows who else along with my parents.
Francis killed my parents.
I can feel a cry rising up in my chest, but bite my lip and run for the bathroom, slamming the door. Throwing off the jacket and swimsuit, I jump in the shower and turn it on as hot as it goes. I tilt my face up to meet the flow, scrubbing at my skin.
He killed them.
I lean against the wall, allowing my head to drop down between my shoulders. I close my eyes tightly, ignoring the burn of the water.
Turning up my palms, I look at the crosses there. There's still so much left unanswered, so much I don't know. Why did the bronze thing do what it did? Why did Francis even have it? Why did he want a daughter so badly? What in the hell was he?
The tightness in my breast has returned, but I just shut off the water, fumbling around for a towel.
Why did he choose me?
I stare at my reflection. "Why?" I ask her, but she doesn't reply. I guess no one has an answer.
I slip on my bathrobe, tying it and walking down towards my room. I can hear James in his own bedroom, and go inside mine without letting him know I'm done.
My room has a four-poster with drapes and an armoire. I've always liked those items of furniture, but I've never known why.
Now I know.
The frustration and anger is building again, but this time I don't try and control it. I let the scream come out, cursing at Francis, at myself, at God. I smash my fist into one of the posts on my bed, breaking it, ripping the covers off and throwing them in a corner.
Grabbing the armoire, I heave it at the wall, my clothes spilling out as the sides of it crumple. I flip my bed over, remaining three posts buckling. Taking the post I had ripped off, I heave it at my mirror.
I shatter.
About to throw something at my window, James grabs me from behind, taking my arms and holding me still. I struggle against him, and I know I could break free if I wanted to, but I don't feel like putting the effort in. Dropping my wooden pole, I stop screaming finally, sobbing and leaning back against James. He pulls me away from my room, taking me from the offending furniture.
"He killed them, James."
"I know."
Weeping, I sit on the couch in the main part of our flat, resting my head on my knees. "Why?"
James doesn't answer. He holds me, and whispers very gently, and I know that I might never know "why."
---
On Christmas morning, several days later, we all meet at Gabi's house. She lives in this cutely cliché little cabin-in-the-woods type thing, and her parents are gone for the week on vacation -- thus, party central. For the moment, James, Gabi, Sara, Anthony, and I are all sitting on the floor near their huge Christmas tree, each with several presents unwrapped already, and still more to give.
To me.
Okay, I guess birthdays aren't all bad.
After all the presents are done, we simply laze around the tree, everyone keeping up a normal conversation. I listen to what they say half-heartedly, not joining in. I haven't been much of a social creature for the last week.
"and Danae and I are going to San Francisco this weekend while the delivery persons drop off some, ah, new furniture," I catch James say, and can't help but smile. "You're all, of course, invited."
"I'm game," Gabi says with a shrug.
Anthony nods, then checks his watch. "Anyone want to go out for breakfast?"
"Sure--" I begin.
"Wait," James says suddenly. "There's one more thing." He disappears out the door.
I roll my eyes. "Great. Mister forgetful is on the loose."
"Be nice, Danae," Gabi says. Sara laughs.
James re-appears very shortly, a box in his hands. He hands it to me, and I look at him suspiciously when it moves. "I don't want a bomb for my birthday," I say.
"Open it," he says impatiently.
Sighing, I open the top -- and a tabby kitten stands up, looking at me oddly. "Mrow?"
"James!" I cry, letting the kitten out of the box. It meows loudly, climbing on me to get a good look.
"No, not James, I've been calling him Perseus. Hope you don't mind," James said, sitting back on the ground.
"How cute!" Gabi says, holding out her hands for Perseus. He sniffs her, and begins batting at Anthony's leg. Anthony sneers at him. I guess he hates cats.
"I thought you were allergic," I say, throwing myself at James and hugging him tightly.
"There are some -- ack, let go -- brilliant new medications out there that can fix that," he says, but I don't let go. James pries my arms off, setting me back. I smile weakly at him.
Perseus pounces my shoe, growling and mewling. I begin laughing, taking the attack opportunity to stroke his back. He's incredibly soft, and I melt inside.
"Are you okay, Danae?" Gabi whispers in my ear, watching Perseus.
"No," I say, then pause thoughtfully. "But I will be."
---
"I cannot die in my dreams, for I am already dead untouchable." The girl, so pale, so frail, held her hand out. Her fingers pointed to the ground, palm out, arms straight. Cuts, shockingly red against white skin, drip slowly towards the earth.
"You're in pain." It's a revelation, shocking.
"Always." The girl walks forward, pulling the Other's hand to hers. The Other's palm begins to bleed as the girl's fingers tighten, nails digging into the backs of the Other's hand. "Aren't you?"
The Other nods, pulling back. The cuts are now mirrored on the Other's palm. "Forever."
The girl looks sad, placing her hand gently over the Other's chest. "Pain heals."
"Not this kind," the Other says, beginning to cry. Streaks of red stream down her cheeks, and the girl embraces her.
"It will. I promise." She turns up the Other's hands. "These, to you, are my gifts. Use them well."
---