2027 cont.
It took waking up to the shambles of the attic for Bianca to realise she wasn't dead, and for all that had seemed like a very bad nightmare to appear real. As had happened last time Wyatt's powers had been taken, it took him many weeks to recover and be able to use them to full capacity again. He called very little on Bianca, giving her time to properly recuperate from the events of that night. With the destruction of one of the neighbouring properties, Wyatt employed a new method of getting what he wanted. Few people were killed now, instead being held captive in the basement of the rebuilt property. Bianca watched, as the months passed, the construction of solid grey walls – tiny containment cells which would drive a person to insanity or injury. The house itself, once finished, was purposely unappealing to dissuade prying eyes. It was here coven leaders caved to Wyatt's demands. It was here witches and demons alike turned on one another for freedom. It was here that started the beginning of the end.
Bianca sat back, keeping a watchful eye on Merregrin. His impish behaviour was causing Wyatt concern, and she could see it in the contradictory behaviour of the hyperactive but aged purple creature. Guard duties were boring, but there was an advantage to handling less strenuous activity – it caused less pain.
"You don't have to sit there seventy-two hours straight. You can go home and sleep," Wyatt said kindly. She turned her head towards him, raising an eyebrow at his appearance. "What?"
"You cut your hair," she observed.
"Yes, and…?" he queried.
"I just never expected you to do that. I thought it was like Samson's mane – where your power comes from," she explained, tossing her head.
He smiled, knowing she was joking, and sat down beside her with clasped hands, leaning forward as he looked at her.
"I believe the only people who had faith in that ideal are those from my great-grandmother's generation. It's not exactly relevant anymore."
"You're not afraid they'll find you too…"
"Good?" he suggested, chuckling lightly at the thought. "I think my name and status prevail over my image in any circumstance."
She smiled briefly, her attention turning back to Merregrin as he again tried to ram raid the door in an attempt to get out. She knew it would only take another twenty tries before she'd hear the crushing of bone and the bellow of pain. She'd already counted how many blows it had taken last time.
"I take it he's not being very compliant?" Wyatt asked as he heard the dull thud of a small body hitting a solid unmovable surface.
"This has been the most exciting thing to happen in the last hour," Bianca answered blandly.
"Maybe I should find you someone more entertaining to watch?" he suggested.
Bianca shifted her gaze back to him, raising an eyebrow inquiringly. "Like?"
She was almost sure she caught a hint of embarrassment on his face as he directed his gaze down to the ground and shuffled his feet. Finally he looked back up and gave a humoured smile.
"You're right. They all act the same. I can't offer you a better captive."
"They're hyper monkeys that don't know how to be quiet," she sighed. He chuckled. She glanced at him curiously.
"My mother used to say that," he explained.
"Sir, the Dianie witch is asking for you," one of the guards interrupted.
He lowered his eyes disparagingly. Bianca saw them harden with a steely glare before he looked back to her. She slightly nodded her head – an assurance that she didn't need him to keep her company anymore. Wyatt said nothing as he rose to his feet, turning and following the guard down the hall to the furthest cell block. Opening the door, he stepped inside and closed it behind him. He was not afraid to be in the room with the prisoners, he had an easy way to get himself out.
"You requested my presence?" he asked.
"I want to know when I'm getting out of here," the blonde returned stubbornly.
"You're not," Wyatt said flatly.
She levitated herself up from the ground, kicking her foot forward and trying to make impact with Wyatt's face. He grabbed her by the heel, twisting her leg until he felt the bone dislocate. The witch screamed, dropping to the ground and clutching her leg in pain.
"You're so cruel!" she cried. "I don't know why you were meant to be the special one. You abuse it all!"
"Becky," he began, shaking his head heartlessly as he stood over her. "You may be important to your coven in Iowa, but you hold no power here. You're playing in the devil's playground."
She began to fade out of sight and he knew she was using her invisibility. Quickly he snapped his hand closed into a fist. He heard her choking and spluttering and she began to appear again.
"How do you think you're going to evade me when you only have one leg to stand on?" Wyatt queried.
Tears began to stream down her face as she stared up at him. Her blonde hair which had been so coiffed and perfect upon her arrival now lay about her shoulders in a tangled mess.
"Someone help!" she screamed. "Let me go!"
Wyatt looked at her considerately. Walking back to the door, he opened it up, looking back at her and sweeping a hand towards the open entrance invitingly.
"Well then, go. If you can make it out of here on your own," he said.
Looking down at her twisted leg, the tears began to fall harder from Becky's eyes. She pushed against the dusty ground but found she could not even stand without a great measure of pain streaming up and down her leg. Sobbing, she dropped back down again onto the hard concrete floor. Wyatt watched her, making no attempt to move to help or stop her. Resolutely she began pulling her body towards the door, dragging her lower half by her arms, crying all the way. Wyatt waited until she stopped in the doorway before he did anything.
"I hate to see someone suffering so much," he said, shaking his head sadly.
Lifting his hand, he flicked his fingers towards her, watching her blow into pieces. Unconcernedly he dusted his hands and pulled the door closed behind him, exiting back into the hallway.
"Oh, you're going to lock me up now?" the young girl asked as two guards hauled her into one of the empty cells. "Where's the pillows? You know you should be more accommodating to your guests. Don't you guys get punished for mistreating prisoners?"
She watched as the door closed behind them. They hadn't paid any attention to what she was saying, but she wasn't really surprised at that. Folding her arms and legs, she seated herself on the floor.
"Ah, who am I kidding?" she mumbled.
Looking around at the grey walls she frowned. There wasn't very much light in here. There wasn't even any entertainment. She wondered how she was meant to pass the time until they decided to do to her whatever it was they did to prisoners for fun. She didn't have any useful information. She wondered why they'd even attempted to capture her, unless they thought she was a snitch. But just because she lived on the street didn't mean that she knew the ins and outs of everything.
"Hey! Who's in charge here?" she yelled at the door.
She waited a few minutes and was about to call again when she heard a lock click open on the other side. Slowly the door opened. Wyatt walked through, his gaze falling upon her in a reproachful manner. She looked up at his progressively thinning form, his clean shaven face and his lighter coloured clothes and laughed. Wyatt glared at her.
"You're the one running the show?" she questioned.
"I am," he answered austerely.
"You look like a choir boy on stilts."
"Well I can't say I approve of your image either," he returned.
"I don't care," she said, shrugging nonchalantly.
"What's your name?" he questioned.
"Amanda," she replied. "And I'm guessing you're the son of Brad Pitt, right?"
"No," Wyatt said, looking at her crossly. "I'm a Halliwell."
"Never heard of them," Amanda responded.
"You should have. The Charmed Ones were the most powerful force in the magical world for the past two decades. I am the offspring of one of the most powerful witches, and a whitelighter who became an Elder, no less. I'm the twice-blessed child."
Amanda looked to a vacant spot thoughtfully, replying curtly: "Still doesn't beat a super-baby."
Wyatt waved his hand back in the air, telekinetically backhanding her and sending her into one of the walls of the room.
"Ow!" she cried, rubbing her shoulder. "Don't blame me for your parents not being celebrities."
"You think that's why I did that?"
"No, I think that's why you have issues."
"Are you always this obstinate?"
"No, on occasion I can be crafty and wilful, and if I'm in the right mood even nice sometimes."
"This tête-à-tête is inane. I should just kill you now," Wyatt growled.
Amanda paused as if she were considering the idea. "Okay."
Giving her a scornful look, Wyatt began to raise his hand, contemplating exactly which method he should use to eliminate her.
"Sir!" one of the guards shouted urgently, heavy footfalls sounding down the corridor as he yanked the door open. "Sir, there's trouble upstairs!"
Glancing back quickly at his guards, Wyatt exhaled and glared at Amanda. She had been lucky this time. Racing out the door after the guards, he spied Bianca merely three doors away.
"Bianca, take care of her," he ordered.
Bianca watched as Wyatt and the group of guards passed, moving down to the door Wyatt had just exited from. Walking inside, she closed it behind her. Amanda looked up to her innocently.
"Where did Wyatt leave off?" Bianca asked heartlessly, feigning assurance. She had no idea what had just been happening between the two, but she wasn't about to give the young girl the upper hand in the situation.
"He was about to kill me," Amanda answered honestly.
"You only just got here," Bianca stated with confusion. She had seen the guards pass by not even half an hour earlier. Wyatt was not so hasty to kill someone in that short a period of time, especially these days, unless she had been testing him. Amanda shrugged.
"He was pissed about not being Brangelina's kid."
Bianca shook her head. "Wyatt's not interested in celebrity."
"Really? Because he sure looked like he wanted everyone to know who he was."
"He wants people to be aware of how they're affecting the greater population."
"I'm sure killing people is a great display of that," Amanda pointed out. Bianca cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. "So, are you meant to be the executioner? You know – the man in the hooded mask… not that you're wearing one… or that you're a man,"
"I don't plan on killing you without an order," Bianca informed her, placing her hands on her hips. Her sleeves sliding up, Amanda spied the mark on her wrist, her eyes lighting up.
"Oh, cool tatt! Where'd you get it?" she asked, racing over and grabbing hold of Bianca's arm. Her body stiffened and she blinked a few times, seeing something Bianca knew but could not currently see herself.
"It's a birthmark," Bianca said bluntly.
Amanda looked up to Bianca, her eyes softening. "It wasn't a happy place was it?"
Bianca yanked her wrist away, nodding her head upwards towards the corner. "I think you better sit back down and keep quiet."
Amanda did as told. Bianca turned away, wondering exactly how the girl had known about her past when she didn't even recognise the mark. Turning back, she eyed her suspiciously.
"Which coven do you belong to?" she questioned.
"None," Amanda replied, settling herself into a seated position, her arms around her raised knees. "At least that I know of."
"Well, where's your family?" Bianca pressed.
"Dead. Mostly from the earthquake last year. I got shipped off to relatives in Detroit but they weren't accustomed to having children around, so I ended up coming back here by myself."
"Why return here?"
"Thought I could join a gang or something," Amanda jested.
"A gang?" Bianca repeated with amusement.
"Not really. I'd rather avoid people," Amanda said honestly. She looked up to Bianca. "Do you know what it's like to be alone? To have no-one else you can depend on?"
Feeling unsettled, Bianca averted her eyes and shifted her shoulders. "It makes you grow up quickly."
"Yeah, and what better way to do it than in a city in ruins?"
Taking a deep breath, Bianca glimpsed back to Amanda. "It's not."
"Not all of it. Just the eastern quarter." Amanda leant back against the wall. "The best places to be by yourself are those in devastation. The few people that are there only care about themselves. It's easier to hide. But I'm sure you already knew that."
"Don't attempt to relate to me," Bianca warned.
"How can I? You're like… twice my age."
Huffily Bianca turned and walked back to the door, waving her hand to open it. She pressed her back against the cold steel as she closed it behind her. Relaxing as she heard the lock fasten, she directed her gaze towards the stairway and saw Wyatt descending it once again with a number of guards in tow.
"Is everything okay?" she asked him.
"Yes. It was one small nuisance quickly taken care of. Now what about the other one?" he asked, his gaze shifting to the doorway of the room Amanda was imprisoned in.
"You didn't tell me what you wanted me to do with her," Bianca said.
"I'm sure I did. Was I not speaking English?"
"Why do you want to kill her?" Bianca asked.
"Apart from the fact she's a spiteful brat?"
"You don't kill people because they get on your nerves."
Wyatt clenched and unclenched his hands. "She irritates me more than anyone else has before. There is something about her I just do not like."
"Give her a day. If you still can't get anything out of her, you'll have to resort to another method other than threats. I don't think she's an easy one to break."
"I don't see why I should keep her around."
"She knows something, Wyatt. I don't know how she does it but there's definitely something under all that impertinence. We need to find out more about her."
"Do you think she's dangerous?" Wyatt asked hesitantly.
"Honestly, I don't know. I'll stay here a little longer and keep watch if it makes you feel more secure. I know you have plenty of other things to worry about."
Wyatt nodded in agreement. "The trappings of fame. Everybody wants a piece of you."
Bianca watched curiously as he walked away, her gaze drifting back to Amanda's doorway as she wondered how right the girl had been. Surely the teenager didn't know Wyatt better than she did. But there was that ever-lingering comment that hung in her mind about her past. It was only as Bianca reviewed the moment that she realised it had been prompted by Amanda touching her birthmark. Perhaps there was more wisdom in her words than the Phoenix would like to have admitted.