Hi everyone! Here I am with a new chapter, a little later than I wanted but I've been struggling the last couple of weeks. Hope everyone has a good morning/day/evening/night, or maybe that it's just not worse than expected. You guys mean a lot to me, even though I see most of you through statistics.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Vampire Diaries, only my own characters and plots
The following week I stepped through the doors to the Grill for my first day of work. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous, but it wasn't too bad. On the surface, everything was as before. I didn't feel other people's feelings seeping into me anymore. I had most of my control back, without much practice at all. Somehow, it had come back to me. I was still hesitant about touching, but not to the extent that I shunned from people altogether. But, I still felt uncomfortably numb. A small, frightened, part of me wondered how it was all connected. I had yet to come up with an answer to that.
Coming to the restaurant was like coming back home. I saw Pete behind the bar, who immediately came up to me asking how I'd been. Carefully as I could, I told him. It was nice, seeing a friendly face. I had no trouble whatsoever getting back into restaurant routine. There wasn't a second when I hesitated, wondering what to do. Everything there was exactly the same. Roberta was the same, peeking out of her office every now and then to check on things. Pete was a rock. Sarah wasn't there today, but I made a mental note to text her later. I hadn't talked to her in a while, and I told myself that whatever I was going through wasn't worth losing her friendship over.
I was just bringing some dishes past the counter when a familiar voice stopped me.
''What's up girlfriend?'' Damon grinned, gliding onto a seat, tapping his fingers against the counter. Seconds later Pete had a glass in front of him.
''You tell me,'' I replied, frowning slightly. ''You're the one drinking in the middle of the day.''
''If I didn't know better I'd say you're back to your old self,'' Damon said. ''But... I know better.''
''It's nothing, Damon.''
He gave me a look that said he wasn't going to let it go. How was I supposed to give people the answers they wanted when I didn't even know them myself?
''Elena fill you in on Barbie Klaus?''
''Who? Oh. Yeah, she did.''
Damon nodded approvingly. ''Good. Hey, can I get another one?'' he called for Pete.
When he saw me looking at him, he shrugged and mouthed: What?
''Never mind,'' I mumbled, and stepped out from behind the counter and went to clean up a table that just had been vacated.
Getting back to the old routine was good. It was familiar, and strangely safe. Most of all, it kept my mind and body busy.
I worked methodically, wiping tables and lining up shakers and napkin holders to the point when I looked up and met Damon's eyes from across the room. He looked down at the table before me and shook his head, then turned his attention back to the glass in his hands. I looked down, too, and realised that I must've rearranged the things over and over again until they were absolutely symmetrically placed.
I'm not going crazy, I thought to myself a few times, careful not to whisper it aloud in the presence of Damon's supernatural hearing.
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I turned around, wiping my hands on my apron, ignoring the way they trembled.
''Stefan,'' I said in surprise. ''Hi.''
He smiled. ''Hey.''
He looked the same as before everything went down. Before he was compelled to turn his switch off. There was nothing left in his eyes of that angry darkness that had been there. His smile was hesitant, but kind. He looked the same, and seemed the same.
''I don't really know how to do this,'' he began slowly. ''I don't know if I should thank you or if I should repay you somehow – I don't even know what would measure up to what you did.''
Shaking my head, I clasped my hands in front of me. ''I'm just glad you're okay.''
''If there's ever anything I can do for you...'' he trailed off, meeting my eyes intensely. ''Anything. Name it.''
''Okay,'' I replied. He smiled at me hesitantly, then gave a little nod and turned to walk away. I let my eyes linger on his retreating back, thinking how strange it was, what I'd done to him.
The following morning I found myself on my way to the library. It was one of those spontaneous decisions, the result of waking up earlier than usual and not being able to go back to sleep, and when staying in bed trying only made me more jittery.
I got there ten minutes before they opened. Making sure my bike was locked, I then sat down on the stairs to the entrance, waiting.
It was quiet outside, apart from a few passersby. Mrs. Martin, manager of one of our two clothes shops, stopped when she saw me, asking how my mother was doing and every other small talk pleasantry there was. I waved at one of our neighbours, more out of habit than anything else, and as soon as the jingle of keys sounded from behind me I was on my feet ready to head inside.
''Morning sweetie,'' one of the librarians, Mrs. Balinger, greeted me. She'd been working at the library for as long as I could remember. A kind woman, who took everyone's requests seriously – be it normal or unusual.
''Hi Mrs. Balinger,'' I replied with a small smile. ''Could you help me out when you're done setting up?''
''Of course, I'll be right there.''
For a somewhat small town, we still had quite the library. It was dark, but cozy – and hopefully the archives held the information I needed.
''Alright, what are we looking for today?'' Mrs. Balinger asked.
''I was hoping to get a look in the archives. Maybe if there's a parish register from the turn of the century?''
Mrs. Balinger nodded thoughtfully. ''We have that, yes. If you head over to the reading room I'll bring them up for you.''
''Thank you,'' I said, and slowly made my way through the library to the room at the far end. Once I'd opened the door, I quietly I walked past two people occupied at their desks, and I picked one at the back. It was dead quiet, apart from the turning of pages and the shuffling of clothes when someone stretched in their seat.
I knew what to look for, but I had no idea how long it would take, or if I would even find anything. First, the name. Moreau. My dad's last name had been Davis, but Mum never took it when they married. He didn't want me to have his name, because he never liked it himself.
The door opened and Mrs. Balinger came through pulling a cart with a few books on it. ''Alright,'' here we go,'' she said when she reached me. ''I know I don't need to tell you to be careful, even though they aren't as fragile as they seem.''
''Of course,'' I replied, and gently grabbed one of them and placed it on the desk.
I figured the best place to start was at the date of the photograph. The writing was beautiful, but difficult to make out. The years where a lot easier to make out than the names.
I don't know how long I sat there. It must've been hours of turning pages and squinting at the text before I found anything.
Then, I saw it. I had to re-read it several times to make sure I wasn't imagining anything, but I wasn't.
Madeleine Moreau.
I leaned back against the chair in disbelief. She had lived here once. Walked these streets.
After some further research, I found out that she had been born in New Orleans in 1879, baptised Madeleine Adèle Ines Moreau, married in 1901 to Landry Benoit, also of New Orleans, then moved and settled down for life in Mystic Falls.
They had two children. A daughter, Madeleine, and a son who died before he reached the age of one. She passed away in 1965, and when I dug a little deeper I found out that she was buried right here in Mystic Falls.
This was all more than I could have hoped for. It was the strangest feeling – so strange, that I thought maybe I was losing my mind. We were related, she and I. A straight line went from her being born in 1879, and me, over a hundred years later. And, for some unknown reason, every daughter descending from Madeleine took the name Moreau. I'd have to ask Mum about that later.
I felt like I was had too much information to know what to do with. Where did I go from here? I'd found what I wanted to find – but apart from that, I had no idea what she wanted with me. Why she appeared that night.
I didn't know exactly where her grave was, so when I arrived at the cemetery I was walking blind among the headstones. There were graves here dated back to the 19th century. The weathered names were bittersweet. This was supposed to be a kind of celebration of all these people – but they were all dead. The forgotten stones were the worst.
Some of the surnames were familiar. No wonder, I suppose, since this small town had been the home for generations of families.
When I finally found it, it wasn't because it was large or ornamental; in fact, it was rather small and plain looking. A simple stone with her name on it, along with her date of birth and passing. At the top, there was a symbol, one of those... What's it called? I thought, searching my mind for the name. I knew what it was. I pulled out my phone, and after a quick search the familiar name was all over the screen. A fleur-de-lis.
There weren't any flowers in front of it, just a simple stone in the shape of a heart that looked like it had been there a long time.
Everything was quiet. A few birds chirped in the trees, and somewhere in the distance a car drove by.
I didn't know what I was expecting. Her to appear again? A voice in the wind? A message to magically appear in my hand?
This felt like the end of the line. I didn't know where else to turn, what else to look up. I'd gotten everything I could, and all that led me to was verification and a forgotten gravestone.
I sat down on the path. ''Hi,'' I said after a while. If she sought me out before, that had to mean she could see me, right? Hear me? Even if I couldn't hear her. Maybe I looked stupid – maybe I was stupid – but I had to try.
''I'm Evangeline.'' I paused, not sure how to continue. ''I don't know if you can hear me. I... I found you. I don't know who you are... I mean, I know who you are, but... I think maybe we're the same?''
My gaze flickered towards a crow leaping into the air from a nearby tree. ''I don't know what to do,'' I said, continuing. ''I really don't. It's like... I went haywire, and now I've got it under control, but it's not the same? I don't know if you know what I mean...'' I let out a low laugh. ''I don't even know if you can hear me. I hope you can. I don't really know where else to turn.''
I turned me gaze towards the sky, sighing. ''I'm going to keep going like before,'' I said. ''I'm gonna try. Maybe it'll sort itself out.''
I didn't say anything else after that. I stayed a while, looking at the trees and the soft grass, thinking that maybe cemeteries weren't all that eerie as they were made up to be.
The next night I worked through the dinner rush. It wasn't too bad, and not more people than usual. Damon had parked himself by the bar, stopping me for conversation every other time I passed him. Either he was upset about Elena, or he had it in his head to keep an eye on me. I was hoping it was the former, no matter how nice it was to have friends looking out for you.
''You know, you could just pour me another one,'' he said, after fussing about having to call Pete over when I was right there.
''Roberta insists we have to take a course and get a certificate,'' I replied.
''Come on,'' he pouted.
''I can get you a club soda?''
He tugged at my ponytail. ''Go bust some tables.''
''I was on my way, you stopped me.''
I eased my way past Damon towards a table where a couple had just gotten up to leave when I caught a glimpse of Stefan's face.
''Hi Stefan,'' I smiled when I passed him.
''Hey,'' Stefan said, nodding towards his brother. ''How many has he had?''
''Only three, brother!'' Damon shouted from behind me.
''Three and a half,'' I added. ''Do you guys even get drunk?''
''Not on three glasses of whiskey,'' Stefan frowned, and walked over to the bar.
I wasn't sure if Damon would talk about it if I asked him. I knew he was hurting. And even if I... even if felt like I didn't know anything about anything anymore – I knew I didn't want my friends hurt.
When I glanced towards the bar, they weren't alone. They were talking to someone, an older man, and Damon's usually carefree face was stiff and he looked almost sober.
I tried to get myself within earshot. The hustle and bustle around made it difficult, so I tried to work inconspicuously and catch a few phrases while cleaning tables nearby or passing the bar with dishes.
''The Salvatore boys, I presume?'' The man's voice was smooth, low, with the hint of an accent.
''Mikael.''
A chill crept up my spine. Mikael? The name on the wall? The father of the Originals? What was he doing here?
I moved my way a little closer, stacking napkins, trying to look occupied.
''Is Klaus out of the country?'' Mikael's level voice asked. Oh, I thought. But what-
Stefan's voice spoke up, and I tried really hard to listen in. ''I can't tell you.''
''Has he spoken to you since he left?''
''I can't tell you.''
''Alright. Can you tell me the last time you spoke to Niklaus?''
''I'm compelled to do what he says, and he says to keep my damn mouth shut.'' I suddenly realised that they were trying to pretend Stefan still had his humanity off.
''I really hope this game of twenty questions isn't your secret weapon,'' Damon's voice cut in.
''You see, Damon...'' Mikael began. ''I've been a vampire hunter longer than you've been alive. It's why I found you here. It's why I'm gonna find Niklaus.''
''Well, Klaus has been running for about thousand years, so if you think you can get a work around here...''
I couldn't hear anything for a few seconds. I didn't dare look up, so I had no idea what was going on. Then, accompanied by a cold chill through my body, Mikael's voice spoke again.
''What about the pretty blonde listening into this conversation, hm? She's obviously heard everything so far, why not invite her in?''
I looked up then. Stefan's mouth was in a thin line, his dark eyes worried. Damon shook his head. When I met the eyes of the Original father, I was struck by the fact that the likeness between him and his son was uncanny. Maybe not in looks, but in manner. And that I was certain he was as difficult to read as Elijah.
''And you are?'' he asked cooly. My eyes went from him to Damon and Stefan, then to the office door and all up and down the bar. No one was in earshot.
''Innocent,'' Damon snapped.
''Really now?'' Mikael said. ''You're saying, if I told her to take this knife-'' he grabbed one from a nearby table, ''and stab herself with it, you wouldn't be pleased?''
''Don't drag her into this,'' Stefan said, not taking his eyes of Mikael.
''She dragged herself into it,'' Mikael said, and maybe I imagined his pupils dilating when he stared into my eyes, but I knew the look. ''Stab yourself.''
Fear washed over me. How far would I go to pretend to be susceptible to compulsion? Not this far. I couldn't. Everything in me, every muscle and fibre in my being fought against it.
For a brief moment, I caught in his eyes what couldn't be anything other than surprise. ''It's been years,'' he said in a low voice, eyeing me closely. Could he tell what I was? He grabbed my hand and before I could blink there was a thin red line across the palm of my hand. I hissed when the pain set in. Mikael's pale blue eyes bore into mine, as if he was searching for something. Then he took a step back, letting my hand go gentler than he'd taken it.
''Where is Klaus?'' he asked, and by the tone of his voice it sounded like it would be the last time he asked that question.
''I can bring him back,'' Stefan said. ''I can lure Klaus back to Mystic Falls.''
Even if Mikael was pleased, he didn't show it. ''Get Klaus back to Mystic Falls, and I will gladly drive a stake through his heart. Fail, I'll drive it through yours.''
With those words, he left, not sparing us a single glance.
On unsteady legs, I grabbed the nearest clean napkin I could find and wrapped it around my hand.
''What the hell?'' Damon spluttered, his eyes lingering angrily at the door Mikael had left through.
Stefan looked at me with worry. ''You okay?''
I let out a shaky breath. ''Yeah. You?''
''I did not expect that,'' Stefan admitted. ''I'm sorry he got to you.''
''My fault,'' I grimaced and pressed down harder on the wound. ''So, what happens now?''
''What happens now is I take you home,'' Damon said. ''You see how he looked at her?'' he added, asking Stefan. ''He knows something.''
''I don't think he was out to hurt me,'' I mumbled, and felt Damon's hand on my shoulder lightly pushing me towards the exit.
Ten minutes later I was in the car with Damon beside me. He was convinced the alcohol had worn off – I wasn't. And even though the strange encounter with Mikael wouldn't let my mind or body rest, I felt safe with Damon.
None of us said anything during the ride back to my house. Only when I'd put the car in park did Damon speak.
''Don't go running after him.''
Turning my head to look at him, I saw him staring straight ahead, eyes troubled and jaw tense.
''I know you wanna know,'' he continued. ''About you. But trust me, don't try to learn about it from him.''
I looked at him for a while longer, then turned my head and stared out the windshield same as him. ''I won't.''
Silence settled over us. Apart from the street and porch lights, the world was dark.
''Are there ever times when you just wanna scream?'' Damon asked.
''Yes,'' I replied without thinking. ''When there's just too much inside of you and you feel like you have to let it out, or you'll explode.''
There were times. More so recently than before.
''Is this when I start screaming and you join in?'' Damon asked sourly. ''Then we end up laughing and being closer friends than ever, 'cause we've shared such an intimate experience.''
''Yes,'' I said seriously, struggling to keep a straight face like him. ''But don't scream. Someone will call the cops.''
The corner of his mouth twitched. ''Don't you know? Me and Sheriff Forbes are like this,'' he said, crossing two of his fingers.
I snorted and shook my head. ''You gonna get home okay?''
''Yep,'' he said, shuffling around on the seat. ''Stay inside,'' he said, climbing out the car. He leaned down and flashed me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. ''Later, Moreau.'' Then he disappeared into the night.
I didn't want to stay in the car alone longer than I had to. It didn't matter that my gut feeling said Mikael didn't want to hurt me. That alone didn't mean he didn't want something else, whatever that may be.
God, all this not knowing, I thought bitterly as I shut the front door and locked it behind me. There wasn't a point in lying to Damon about wanting to know. Of course I wanted to know. Mikael was the only one to ever just know. I knew he had tried compelling me, but he suspected something before he even knew by my blood. Elijah hadn't known. Not Rebekah either, at least not that she let on that one time in school.
I didn't know what to do. What was the chance of that door opening back up again, letting the ghosts come through here? What was the chance of me meeting someone like that again? Someone who obviously knew something about my powers?
I wouldn't go after him. That would be stupid. Stupid and naive and just down right reckless.
But, if he came to me? If he came to me, I had to ask, didn't I?
Take care guys, until the next one.
