Ch 8
The blood was everywhere. Covering the floor, until it reached her boots.
The stench of death filled the apartment, hanging in the air like the dread and tension.
She knew what she would find.
Knew there had to be a body.
But she couldn't stop herself from walking through the door.
She didn't want to go in.
But her feet wouldn't listen.
God help her.
She found the body. Blood poured out of the gun shot wounds. There were so many holes in the woman's body.
God she wanted to run, hide, do anything to escape.
But she wouldn't. And he knew it.
He killed her.
He killed her mother.
There was no pain or grieve felt for the woman.
But then she was never a real mother.
The floorboards creaked behind her. Under some ones weight.
She knew who it was.
She knew him.
She didn't turn around. Didn't want to. Her hazel eyes landed on the knife that was held in her mother's cold fingers.
Bending down she picked it up.
It felt warm and slick beneath her fingers.
It was covered in blood, her mother's blood. The blood that flowed her own veins.
She turned to face him.
She had always looked a lot like him.
She had always resented that fact. His eyes glanced at the knife she held, and laughed.
The sound made her skin crawl.
He shook a long finger at her as he raised the gun.
He wanted her to drop the knife.
She didn't want to, but she needed to by her time.
The cold steel crashed to the floor. He put the gun down.
Moving quickly his fist smashed into her face, knocking her to the floor, beside her mother.
He lashed out again, but she moved. She fought, for al it was worth she fought and she cause him damage.
It made her sick that she had to beat him the way he had beaten her. But she wanted to live and there was no other way.
A chair came down across her body.
She hurt; the pain from his hits was starting to affect her.
She looked up at him and saw nothing but cold, undying hatred.
He was enjoying this.
As he always did.
The pain spread through her body as he hit her again.
And again.
And again.
By now she was nothing more than a bloody mess with two hazel eyes, eyes that had seen too much.
She knew what he had done, knew his crime, and now he would inflict the same on her. He had no qualms about beating her to death.
Another blow.was it seven.eight.hell there was no use counting anymore, there were too many to count, just as always.
He was staring at her with burning hatred; it was all quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that chilled you to the bone.
The door slammed open.
No longer quiet.
There was shouting and pain.
Too much pain.
**** "Why won't she wake up!"? Angel had to scream over Buffy as she trashed on the couch before him.
She had started screaming a few minutes. Everyone had come running in his or her nightclothes to find out what had scared her so. Only to find her sleeping, but they could wake her up.
This was starting to scare him. He knew that Buffy had nightmares from time to time. She had mentioned the before, but he didn't know they were anything like this.
What was she dreaming about that could possibly scare her to cry out so?
"Don't know mate," Spike yelled back.
Both Angel and him had been trying to hold Buffy down from hurting them or herself while the others tried to find a way to wake her up.
So far nothing had worked.
"Wait. I saw her take a pill before she went to bed. We need to find the bottle and see what it was," Willow called as she rushed to Buffy's jacket.
She smiled as she held up a round blue bottle.
"What are they?" Doyle asked.
"Sleeping pills," came the answer.
"Then how do we wake her up?" Cordelia asked, becoming a little frantic since Buffy hadn't yet stopped struggling with Angel and Spike and in fact was becoming more violent.
"She needs a shock," Angel said grimly then looked to Spike, "Willow go run a cold shower, Spike you and I are tossing her in. Fully clothed I might add," Angel warned when a smile let his friends face.
With a bit more help Angel, Spike and Doyle managed to get Buffy in the shower and instantly had to step back when she came swinging awake. Her punches were hard and full of force as Doyle learned when he didn't step back quick enough.
Her hazel eyes were huge, and tears threatened to wash down her face. But she wasn't crying and thank the lord she had stopped screaming. She seemed confused and a bit scared. Slowly she hauled her self up from the tub and stepped on the floor before them.
Not a sound could be heard as she fixed her gaze on each of them and with a hoarse voice stated , "Guess its about time I told the truth about my past."
The blood was everywhere. Covering the floor, until it reached her boots.
The stench of death filled the apartment, hanging in the air like the dread and tension.
She knew what she would find.
Knew there had to be a body.
But she couldn't stop herself from walking through the door.
She didn't want to go in.
But her feet wouldn't listen.
God help her.
She found the body. Blood poured out of the gun shot wounds. There were so many holes in the woman's body.
God she wanted to run, hide, do anything to escape.
But she wouldn't. And he knew it.
He killed her.
He killed her mother.
There was no pain or grieve felt for the woman.
But then she was never a real mother.
The floorboards creaked behind her. Under some ones weight.
She knew who it was.
She knew him.
She didn't turn around. Didn't want to. Her hazel eyes landed on the knife that was held in her mother's cold fingers.
Bending down she picked it up.
It felt warm and slick beneath her fingers.
It was covered in blood, her mother's blood. The blood that flowed her own veins.
She turned to face him.
She had always looked a lot like him.
She had always resented that fact. His eyes glanced at the knife she held, and laughed.
The sound made her skin crawl.
He shook a long finger at her as he raised the gun.
He wanted her to drop the knife.
She didn't want to, but she needed to by her time.
The cold steel crashed to the floor. He put the gun down.
Moving quickly his fist smashed into her face, knocking her to the floor, beside her mother.
He lashed out again, but she moved. She fought, for al it was worth she fought and she cause him damage.
It made her sick that she had to beat him the way he had beaten her. But she wanted to live and there was no other way.
A chair came down across her body.
She hurt; the pain from his hits was starting to affect her.
She looked up at him and saw nothing but cold, undying hatred.
He was enjoying this.
As he always did.
The pain spread through her body as he hit her again.
And again.
And again.
By now she was nothing more than a bloody mess with two hazel eyes, eyes that had seen too much.
She knew what he had done, knew his crime, and now he would inflict the same on her. He had no qualms about beating her to death.
Another blow.was it seven.eight.hell there was no use counting anymore, there were too many to count, just as always.
He was staring at her with burning hatred; it was all quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that chilled you to the bone.
The door slammed open.
No longer quiet.
There was shouting and pain.
Too much pain.
**** "Why won't she wake up!"? Angel had to scream over Buffy as she trashed on the couch before him.
She had started screaming a few minutes. Everyone had come running in his or her nightclothes to find out what had scared her so. Only to find her sleeping, but they could wake her up.
This was starting to scare him. He knew that Buffy had nightmares from time to time. She had mentioned the before, but he didn't know they were anything like this.
What was she dreaming about that could possibly scare her to cry out so?
"Don't know mate," Spike yelled back.
Both Angel and him had been trying to hold Buffy down from hurting them or herself while the others tried to find a way to wake her up.
So far nothing had worked.
"Wait. I saw her take a pill before she went to bed. We need to find the bottle and see what it was," Willow called as she rushed to Buffy's jacket.
She smiled as she held up a round blue bottle.
"What are they?" Doyle asked.
"Sleeping pills," came the answer.
"Then how do we wake her up?" Cordelia asked, becoming a little frantic since Buffy hadn't yet stopped struggling with Angel and Spike and in fact was becoming more violent.
"She needs a shock," Angel said grimly then looked to Spike, "Willow go run a cold shower, Spike you and I are tossing her in. Fully clothed I might add," Angel warned when a smile let his friends face.
With a bit more help Angel, Spike and Doyle managed to get Buffy in the shower and instantly had to step back when she came swinging awake. Her punches were hard and full of force as Doyle learned when he didn't step back quick enough.
Her hazel eyes were huge, and tears threatened to wash down her face. But she wasn't crying and thank the lord she had stopped screaming. She seemed confused and a bit scared. Slowly she hauled her self up from the tub and stepped on the floor before them.
Not a sound could be heard as she fixed her gaze on each of them and with a hoarse voice stated , "Guess its about time I told the truth about my past."