Hope you liked the first chapter! I know I got a bit suggestive with Elena and Stefan, but I couldn't help it. So, without any further ado: here comes chapter two! (Wow, that rhymes!)

The plot is mine. The characters and scenery (except The Catacombs) belong to L. J. Smith. Bla bla, you know the rest!

The dedication stays the same! If you haven't read The Aftershock (by me!) please read it!

Thanks
- xxx -
Salvatore Shan

The Devil Owns The Catacombs
Chapter Two: The Worst Time To Call

So much for 'no interruptions.' They had barely got to the stage where they were both naked by the time there was the roar of a Ferrari coming down the road and it had parked right next to Stefan's Porsche. Elena recognised those footsteps all too well. She made sure she was decent, took a deep breath and stomped up to the front door.

The visitor barely had time to knock before the door was thrown open.
"What do you think you're doing, calling at this time?" Elena spat. The person's hand was in midair, paused above the spot where the door had been and where they had intended to knock. His hair was sticking up wildly all over, but it was done deliberately – in one of those 'I-can't-be-bothered' styles. His eyes were wide and shocked.

"I, uh, need to speak to Stefan…"
"You can't," Elena frowned, slowly shutting the door. "We're busy right now." She raised the hand that wasn't sealing the visitor out, and waved sweetly with her fingers. "So, goodb–"

She didn't get to finish. A hand stuck out, grabbed the door and flung it open. "I need to speak to my brother," Damon said with more urgency. Elena's heart was in her mouth. It wasn't that he was being fierce and was scaring her. It was that he looked like he was going to throw up.

Slowly, she took a few steps back. As she did, Damon pushed the door open with more force and took in the view. His brother was leaning against the hallway wall, shirtless, looking lost for words – his eyes enlarged. He'd been fumbling with a packet of something, but he then quickly stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

"Damon," he smiled all too sweetly, taking Elena by the shoulders lightly and walking backwards with her. "I, uh, didn't know you were going to call. Especially at this time…"
"We've got problems," Damon said shortly, shutting the front door behind him. Elena's eyes followed him as he stepped forward. She realised he didn't intend to leave quickly.

"Problems?" Stefan's voice went steely and his eyes narrowed. He changed in that small moment – as if a tsunami had washed across his face and destroyed Stefan forever. He seemed sober all of a sudden, awake and serious. Elena knew, then, that they wouldn't get any piece tonight.

She sighed, more exaggerated than she meant it to be, and flounced out of the hall – tossing her hair as she went. Boys. She thought.

For four years she'd been over Damon. He'd only ever been a friend. In fact, they were so much alike that sometimes it was scary. And Damon felt the same way. In fact, he had his eye on Bonnie. Even though she insisted that she didn't like him too, Elena knew she thought about him at any opportunity she had. And now, they were the same age. Perfect.

Damon watched Elena's retreating back and as soon as she was out of earshot, he shut the living room door, just so she wouldn't eavesdrop. The two brothers were suddenly imprisoned in the corridor – which was lit by one lone candle next to the door that burned despite all the slamming. It cast warm shadows over the walls. Red silhouettes on top of the orange wallpaper and golden border.

Damon took a deep breath, not looking at Stefan. His dark hair had grown slightly longer since the last time they'd met. It was strange that vampire hair could grow – yet they could not grow themselves. It was down to his ears, stylised like typical Hollywood actors. It made him fresh bait to all the girls in Fells Church and Damon loved attention.

"Stefan, this is important," he whispered, head bowed. Stefan caught the tone of his voice and tensed up, expression grim. Damon started tapping his left foot, thinking about what he was going to say. He didn't know how to put it. It wasn't really his place to tell Stefan, but… he was family.

"Alaric called me this morning," he began, running a pale hand through his hair. The black-on-white effect made it seem eerie – that Damon was even more dead than he should be. As if he were a walking corpse and not a vampire after all.
What's the difference? Stefan thought, ironically. We're dead, either way. But he didn't linger on that thought for long. Why would Alaric be calling Damon?

"It's about The Catacombs." He finally said, turning around to face his brother.
Their eyes locked. Stefan wanted to shrink away from Damon's black eyes, but he couldn't. They were like holes in space – cruel and distant. Revealing nothing. Damon wasn't evil anymore, not in the sense he had been. But he'd been born with those eyes like haematite and he'd die with them.

Stefan kept his face neutral. Damon didn't care about where he worked or what he did for a living. He thought it was wimpy human custom, and that humans had no sense at all. Stefan sometimes had to put it to him that they had been human once, too.
"Go on," Stefan said tightly, his hands shaking at his side. Even though Damon was trying to hide it, Stefan could tell that it was bad. Very bad.

"People have been going missing down there," Damon said sourly, his face twisted in mock disbelief as if he were about to laugh at such a ridiculous idea. But he knew it was true. It was just a show for Stefan. "Alaric is getting some heavy feedback from his bosses and their company is thinking of shutting it down." Damon watched Stefan's face closely, to see his reaction.

Stefan shrugged. "It's what the tourists wanted, wasn't it? To see vampires. So what if some get lost? The others will just think it's more realistic."
Damon laughed at that. His brother wasn't entirely stupid. And he wasn't entirely oblivious to how cruel the world could be. But he was wrong this time. It wasn't what the tourists wanted. "Stefan, I'm going to ask you a personal question and I want you to be honest."

"Shoot," Stefan said, feeling the purpose behind those words. He started fidgeting unhappily. Damon looked like a kid who'd just been told off. He was in a grudging mood – looking as if he was about to throw a tantrum. Stefan could see the muscles underneath his shirt pulsing with the need to hit something. Damon wasn't happy.

"Have you ever drunk from any of the tourists down there?" he asked quickly, regretting it straight away. Stefan blew up like a balloon. Except instead of going pink he went pale. Then a flush crept up along one side of his face. His eyes were cold and he was gritting his teeth. Damon knew he was about to have an argument with him. Not that he cared – he always had arguments with his brother. And won. But that wasn't the point. He was worried for him; worried that Stefan was going to be in big trouble.

"NO!" Stefan roared. "You know how I feel about drinking from humans! You know I would never-"
"Okay, okay. That's what I thought. But that's not what others are saying." Damon hushed his brother, waving his hands to quieten him. Stefan seemed to deflate. His lips quivered slightly and all the anger washed out of him.
"What…? What others?" he asked.

Damon's eyes were narrowed as he looked at his brother through heavy lidded eyes. He was tired of this – there was no doubt about that. At every opportunity in that meeting room, south of Fells Church, he'd tried to put it to the company's many bosses that his brother was innocent. He'd even begged Alaric to help him, and begging wasn't his style. But Alaric was uncertain. Without Meredith there to persuade him of Stefan's ways, too, Damon had failed of getting the manager of The Catacombs on his side. But Alaric wasn't just his brother's employer – he was his friend. Was Alaric's faith that fickle?

Damon felt all his strength leave him. He couldn't look at his younger brother for another instant. He remembered when he was younger – before he realised it was little Stefan's fault that he never saw Mommy again – how he'd felt that brotherly protectiveness over him whenever the children of Florence picked on him for being spoilt and rich.

"You! You leave my brother alone!" Damon cried, storming down the hill of the Salvatore Mansion. Stefan was running. Running so fast that his tunic was slipping and he'd lost his silk cap on his way. The little boy with black hair and sea-green eyes was at the double golden gates, pawing at them – trying to reach for one of the high handles. He was crying, tears staining his face and making his nose run. In the distance, a pack of boys were sprinting after him.

"Damon! Damon, help me! They're trying to hurt me!" a six-year-old Stefan yelled. Damon started running, too, and eventually he flung the gates open. Stefan jumped through them and ended up behind his older brother, clinging onto his legs. Damon slammed the gates shut.

"Oy! Salvatore! You stay away from my sister, you hear?" the leader of the gang of boys called. He was Damon's age – nine. He stood there in front of the gates, growling at Stefan and pointing at him threateningly. "You're too snotty to hang around with her. Both of you. You think you're too high for all of us. Well we're better than you!" he started laughing, stepping backwards.

Damon's eyes were narrowing threateningly. He had to speak the threat through his teeth. "You hurt my little brother again, you get hurt twice as badly. Understand?"
The other boy froze and stopped laughing immediately, eyes locking with those dark eyes of obsidian. He flinched at the sight of them. Then he recovered and sneered cruelly. "Farewell. 'Your highnesses'," he spat, sarcastically, then ran off, waving. He would regret that, Damon promised. He waited for him for four years before he was brave enough to make his move.

The little boy was called Giovanni. He disappeared at the age of thirteen. They never found him again.

Damon was smiling to himself, cruelly. It made Stefan uneasy when his brother looked like that. "Damon? Damon, what are you thinking about?" he asked. He hadn't fed tonight – he couldn't be bothered to pry.
Damon laughed and hung his head.
"Just thinking about Giovanni DeTolio," he replied, snidely.

"Who?" Stefan said, scratching his head in wonder. Damon smiled again. "Oh, you wouldn't remember him. You were too little,"
Stefan snorted at that, then remembered where their conversation had left off. "What did you mean by 'others'?"
Damon turned back to face him. Stefan didn't look serious anymore – he looked slightly afraid, young.

"There are rumours that vampires are working at The Catacombs and they're the ones responsible for the missing people. CCTV shows one of the staff attacking a tourist and dumping them in one of the fake coffins. As soon as the police became interested in the case and wanted to find where the coffin was, the footage tape disappeared. Hence, they believe there are two members of staff on the team that are doing this. One attacking, one covering it up."
Damon took a deep breath. Now, he had to say the thing it was he came here to say. The thing he didn't want to say. "The blame's shifting to you and Elena." He whispered.

Stefan blinked rapidly a few times, his face becoming drawn and pale. Then automatically he said, as if in protest: "No."

"Stefan, you have to get out of Fells Church. The police are looking for you. Alaric's not giving you up – he's not telling them anything – but now they have him in custody." Damon was speaking with more urgency now. "Pack your things and go. Take Elena – take anything you want – just don't hang around here any longer!" He was mad, Stefan could tell. But Damon wasn't angry with him, it was at the police – at whoever thought his brother was responsible for this.

"Stefan, I mean it! They think you're a murderer! They could put you in for life! And send Elena down for assisting a killer. Do you know what people can get for that, these days?"
Stefan was trembling. He kept shaking his head, saying 'no' over and over again. But of course it wouldn't help. Nothing would. All he could do was take Damon's advice.

"I'm begging you, get out! The police won't be here tonight, but they will be tomorrow. They have evidence pointing at you two, Stefan. They've just searched the place, top-to-bottom. They've even found a body."

Stefan went cold, inside and out. He stopped shaking. He stopped feeling any longer. There was evidence – heck, they'd even found a corpse! How could he argue with that? If he stayed, there was no telling what the police would do. The town knew there were vampires somewhere in Fells Church. They'd been pushed to extremes before; it was only going to be a short time before they brought out the heavy artillery. Stakes-to-go.

"Damon…" Stefan began. His throat hurt. He put a hand to his head. His palm brushed wetness out of his eyes. He hadn't realised he was crying.

"I'll smuggle you out. Put your stuff in the back seat. They have you on CCTV so you'd have to go in the trunk, but Elena could ride up front with me. They have police on all the routes out of town, but I think we'll get through. Just don't pack so much, I don't want it to look… Stefan?" Damon stopped. His brother was looking at him in disbelief.

"CCTV? Me? They actually have me on tape? Attacking people?"
Damon stopped, mouth hanging open. Then, he gave a very tiny nod. Stefan felt faint. But he'd made his decision.

"Elena!"
"Yes?" she replied from somewhere in the back of the living room. Now Stefan was concentrating, he could hear a Tom and Jerry episode play on the TV.
"We're going for a little vacation. Pack all the things you need, but only important stuff. Money, ID cards, passports…"

"What?" Elena stormed, flinging open the living room door. Stefan had tears in his eyes. He was ringing his hands at his sides. Elena hadn't seen him this worked up in years and without a word, gave Damon a quick glance and then ran upstairs.

"Looks like you've got what you wanted," Stefan growled in the direction of Damon, turning around and going through the door opposite the living room. The kitchen. "I need a bloody drink!"