Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. This is an amateur effort with no intention of infringement of copyright laws/policies. There was no financial gain during the thinking, writing, and or posting processes of this story and it is and always will be for entertainment purposes only.
Reviews:
Gothic Spook: John and Monica always did have such cute interactions. Especially in Sunny Days when Monica gets all giddy over a picture she took of the Brady Bunch House. LOL!
Samantha: Ouch, being punished sucks. I'm glad you were allowed back on! My friend was banned from the computer for a month once and she went insane. Glad you liked the chapters!
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"Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping.
Hello. I'm still here,
All that's left of yesterday."
~Evanescence, Hello from Fallen
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Chapter 4: Marked by the Devil
Monica hadn't said a word. John tried to stop looking over at her, tried to keep his eyes on the road. It was impossible. He may not be able to empathize with her, but he could at least try to be supportive.
She had been there for him with the shit with Barbara. Why shouldn't he be able to return the favour?
But no, Monica Reyes was an independent woman, frequent reader of Chatelaine which supported her inability to have men run her life. She was in a man's world after all.
Meredith's first audition involved a satire of her mother's actions. She had said the 'F' word for the first time in this audition, much to her mother's dismay. Meredith was perceptive, like her father. A little too perceptive he liked to think.
So John Doggett did something that shocked even Monica. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it into park, removing the keys from the ignition.
"What's wrong?" He demanded now because he was sick of being on the sidelines when she was angry and obviously upset. Monica shifted away uncomfortably. "Come on Monica. I know something's wrong."
"No, John, I'm fine." She said sternly.
"Okay then." He said, crossing his arms immaturely and leaning back in the seat, refusing to move. Monica waited for him to just give up and go home. But he didn't. He just sat there, staring out the window, pretending to whistle a little as other cars passed by them lazily. She wanted to scream. That's all she wanted to do.
"Fine…" She finally said and reached for her door handle, opening the door and walking out onto the sidewalk. John cursed at himself. Things just didn't want to go his way. He followed her outside.
"Come on
Monica. You know you can tell me."
"It's not that simple,
John. You know it's not."
"Well can
you at least try?"
"Why? What will it solve?"
He stopped himself. They weren't getting anywhere.
"Look, you do what you want. Come back to the car when you're ready to go home."
Monica stood her ground, still sulking. She hadn't expected John to wait for her like he did. But he had that look in his blue eyes, the persistent look. The one he got on a big murder case or when he was playing chess with Meredith, the look that made her smile suddenly and laugh and little at the way they were behaving. She crossed her arms and walked back to the car, slamming the door behind her.
"I'd kiss you if my breath didn't taste like vomit." She said, leaning back in the seat. He started the car and said nothing, but he had started to smile a little.
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She was resourceful. It was the second lesson. The first was to kill. The second was how to go about it. They would set up the gymnasium with every challenge a child could think of. Adult guards, child guards, motion sensors, mines, ropes, ventilation shafts, pressure switches, retina scans, everything. So many casualties were from that single challenge. Only five actually made it through without a scratch. She was one of them.
The hospital was treated in the same manner. Every step could be her last. Every breath could be her last. Every twitch, every reaction, every breath, every heartbeat, everything had to be working the way she commanded it too. There could be no other mistakes.
She had been cocky in the subway station, and now the ringing in her ears wouldn't stop. But now, she wasn't being cocky. She would be careful.
The first thing she did was break into an empty apartment, stealing a coat and a shirt, as well as a pair of scissors from the kitchen, a needle and thread from the sewing kit in the bedroom, and a roll of bandages. In the darkness of the alley she cut her hair, tossing the blood soaked locks into the trash and ran her fingers through it. She felt naked without it, but it would change her appearance. With the 'breed' damaged, it wouldn't grow back for a few hours.
She threaded the needle and stitched herself clumsily, then changed her clothes.
Her whole appearance was different. There would be no one to recognize her now.
But now was the hard part. Getting in and getting out would be two very different plans.
She perched herself on the apartment roof in the area and watched.
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Phoebe had only one thing to complain about with her job with Meredith. The tiny seven-year-old could disappear anywhere. She could be sitting in the TV room one minute and then simply vanish the next. Phoebe understood how spirits could do this. She understood spirits. She understood ghosts, demons, apparitions, and the occasional poltergeist that took up residence in her home.
But the living was a completely different story for Phoebe.
She moved through the front foyer of the large house, looking around through the shadows.
"Meredith?" She called. The house could have very well been empty. There was no giggling sounds or shouts back. Phoebe looked up the stairs to the landing and the loft. "MEREDITH!" She called again, still receiving silence as her answer. She sighed deeply and climbed the stairs quickly, looking through the bathroom, the linen closet, all the way down the hall to John and Monica's bedroom. She didn't dare enter, feeling strange about searching through their bedroom without permission. She turned, instead, and headed in the opposite direction to Meredith's room.
She's out on the roof again, she told herself.
And thus, Phoebe loses her job. And her parents find that she is irresponsible. So ends Phoebe's life in Washington.
"Meredith if you're out on the roof…" She didn't complete the sentence. What could she say? She only threatened when the person she needed to intimidate was bigger than her. Meredith was barely the height of her hip. She looked up the coiling staircase and found the light was on, faintly.
Phoebe climbed the stairs.
"Meredith?" She asked again, and this time received an answer. Meredith jumped out from behind the boxes in the attic and shouted boo.
Phoebe jumped back. Her heart was pounding. Meredith just laughed and laughed.
"You scare too easily." She said, striding past Phoebe as she walked down the stairs. Phoebe groaned loudly. Meredith made it to her bedroom when she suddenly stopped short. She stood still, completely rigid.
"Meredith you can't pull two on me in one night." Phoebe said. But that's when she realized that Phoebe wasn't joking. She could hear someone coming into the house.
"Stay here." She said, walking out of the room. She could hear Meredith behind her, ignoring the warning Phoebe had given her and following along, watching out for anything and everything. They moved to the stairs and looked down into the foyer, seeing nothing. Phoebe started down the stairs.
She was always looking ten moves ahead of her, eyeing the foyer carefully. They would call up, wouldn't they? I mean, they know Meredith is up. They know I'm awake, so wouldn't they call?
Unless it's not them, in which case…
"Phoebe…" Meredith whispered and trotted after her. They huddled there on the stairs, looking at the foyer with widened eyes.
And the lights flickered in the kitchen.
They bolted back upstairs.
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She moved into the hospital awkwardly. The guards were looking at her strangely, but she kept her cool and pretended not to notice that they were checking her identity and seeing if she was the possible murder suspect. Room 132, she saw the white board on the wall. Follmer was all that was written in a scrawl. So she quickened her pace just to be sure, and slid into the public washrooms without much trouble.
But they were starting to suspect something about her identity.
The panels on the ceiling of the bathroom were easy to push and crawl into. She jumped up from the back of the toilet and pulled herself inside. The drugs were wearing off slowly, and she could feel her normal strength returning. The shaft was hugging to her skin, but she managed to slither through like a snake, moving through with the only thought of completing her mission in mind.
You should have killed those two in the street…
You're losing your nerve…
You're washed up and wasted. They should have sent the Second on this.
She stopped listening to them, stopping when she hovered over the bed of Brad Follmer.
One shot will give you away. Two and they'll be firing back.
So I won't shoot him, she thought to herself coyly. He deserves something more…special.
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There were two fireplaces in the house. One was downstairs in the dining room. The other was in the loft upstairs, where the second TV was. Phoebe grabbed the fire poker from this fireplace and moved down the stairs, Meredith clinging to her arm.
They moved down the stairs, quicker this time, moving with hearts pounding to the kitchen. Phoebe stopped for a moment and pushed the door open with the poker and stood face to face with…
The fire poker dropped to the ground and Meredith shrieked a little as her mother walked through the door.
"What are you two doing?" She demanded, picking up the sharp metal rod off the chipped tile. Meredith let go of Phoebe's leg. Phoebe shrugged and smiled.
"God, we thought you two were robbers or something." She said, taking a deep breath.
"She was more scared than me." Meredith added. Phoebe looked at her and just shook her head.
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The sun was just barely up and Monica couldn't sleep. Meredith had gone to bed not long ago. She was worn out, the caffeine rush from 2:30 catching up with her. John had put on some movie in the loft and she was curled up on the couch. But Monica was thinking, lying on the bed in her cotton pajamas thinking about Brad in the hospital, and forgetting that she was married.
She brushed her right hand over her left and felt the diamond wedding band on her ring finger. It made her smile softly, reminding her that she was a bride, a wife, a mother, but amongst that list wasn't Brad's girlfriend.
It was comforting. It made her smile.
There was the sound of glass breaking. She pushed herself off the bed and bolted to the bedroom door and to the rail over the foyer.
John was already halfway down the stairs, shocked, looking at what had rolled through their window. There was a bloody trail where Brad Follmer's head had rolled to the center of the floor, eyes open, watching them.
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