Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?
. . .
Haunted
"Was this over before,
Before it ever began . . ."
- Feel Good Drag by Anberlin -
Chapter 5 | What Have You Done?
Everything is loud: too loud. Everything is too loud because – even over the screams and the gasps and the "What the hell's?" – the ringing in her ears is almost deafening.
At first she is disoriented, but it only takes a moment for her thoughts to clear, for her memories to come back into focus and Isabelle thinks that she must be dead. She must be dead because no-one could survive a head on collision like that. But then she feels the ground beneath her feet and the feel of warm metal pressed against her form and her mind goes into overdrive.
Maybe this is a dream, she thinks, or a dream of a dream. Another of the violent, terrifying nightmares she has. Only her dreams always involve death and this . . .
Surely death must be different. Surely there would be more relief, more finality, not this panic she feels.
The feeling starts in her chest, working its way out. Isabelle steps back from the car hurriedly, straightening from her crouch and she stares around, ears still ringing, a fearful expression on her face.
Everyone is looking at her – no, looking through her, she corrects, but she feels the weight of their gaze all the same.
Isabelle chances a look at the car in front of her and she can barely believe her eyes. The bumper is packed in on itself; the indent there matching perfectly to her form.
But that can't be.
It is one of those moments in life when everything seems surreal. You are dazed, overcome, all logical explanation fails you.
Life in cartoon motion.
Isabelle turns to her brother, seeking an explanation – because if anyone can make sense of all this it is Alec – but his expression is unreadable.
Alec stares at her and he is oddly calm, unsurprised, the only indication that he is even witnessing the scene before him is his taut jaw. It is so much more disconcerting than if he had been angry.
Isabelle turns away from him, chancing one final glance at the crowd surrounding her, a new kind of panic brewing beneath her skin.
Her instinct talks to her and Isabelle listens.
She runs.
. . .
She only realises that Alec has not followed her when she arrives home.
When she gets to her room the events of the day catch up to her and suddenly she is struck by such a strong wave of exhaustion that she falls, face first, onto her bed covers and does not get up again.
. . .
The night air is cold and Isabelle wonders what she was thinking going outside in the thin, white cotton dress she is wearing on a day like this. But she trudges, bare foot through the muddy earth regardless.
She's been here before, Isabelle thinks and she feels an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when she realises that she is in a cemetery – the cemetery where they buried Simon before he was turned.
She walks along a cobbled, winding path as night settles, noting how dark it is here – the green foliage looks black. Not a thing can be heard. Not the whit whoo of an owl. Not the scurry of a squirrel. Nothing.
It is not eerie – not what you would expect from a cemetery – and Isabelle feels strangely serene. Even as the trees tower ominously over her on both sides. She feels as if they are protecting her, keeping her safe.
But from what?
She feels a pull, somewhere below her navel, as if she is being led, led to somewhere she needs to be and she surprises herself when, after minutes of walking, she stops dead in her tracks.
The space she is in is enclosed, away from prying eyes – not that there were any to begin with; she is completely alone – and Isabelle feels a sudden wave of recurrence. She vaguely wonders if this is the spot where they buried Simon, but the events of that night are too blurry for her to recall.
A sudden rustle in the leaves behind her draws Isabelle's attention and she turns to the sound.
"Isabelle," a voice breaks through the quiet. She doesn't notice the dark silhouette – lodged between two trees and pitch black in the dim light from the stars – until they speak.
"Simon?" she is surprised by her questioning tone; she is so sure that it is him. Isabelle supposes that she should've seen this coming. This is the place where Simon was reborn as a vampire, why wouldn't he be here? But she can't stop asking herself why he would be here.
When the voice does not answer Isabelle begins to have doubts.
"Simon, is that you?" she asks again studying his silhouette. The shape is too short, too well-built to be Simon. And they still haven't moved from that spot.
"Yes Isabelle," he answers coyly, and it is definitely Simon's voice, though she is only somewhat reassured. He continues, "It is me."
They are silent for a time as she stares at the figure – Simon's figure? – eyebrows knitted together in a frown, before he speaks again.
"You have to leave Isabelle."
There is a pause whilst she contemplates the words, before a soft chuckle her lips, though she wonders why she is laughing.
"What are you talking about Simon?" he doesn't explain, only repeats his words.
He has still not moved, she notices, suddenly annoyed.
"Come closer," it is not a request, more of a demand, but he still stays rooted to the spot.
"Go home Isabelle. It's not safe here."
"Come closer." Her tone is irritated, frustrated by his behaviour.
Simon takes a step forward and she feels a small sense of triumph, until he speaks,
"Isabelle."
Simon coo's the word, his animated, boyish voice slipping into something soft and smooth, definitely not Simon.
"Isabelle," they repeat – whoever they are – singing her name like a melody, caressing it with the tip of their tongue and she involuntarily shivers.
Isabelle frowns, confused, before unconsciously stepping towards the still unrecognisable form. From this vantage point she can make out more of them, their slightly muscular shape, and their wisp of dark curls. There is a small patch of starlight, directly in front of them. If they were to just step forward . . .
"Simon, is that you?" she repeats, and though the question is the same, the answer is different.
"No Isabelle," he steps forward, into the patch of light and, instantly, Isabelle can make them out; olive skin, strong jaw, deep brown eyes.
"It's me."
Isabelle wakes in a heap on her carpeted bedroom floor, confusion dissipating as she realises that she must have fallen out of bed – there is a throbbing pain at the back of her head where she suspects she hit it off of her nightstand.
She just has a chance to scramble up from the floor, before the panic sets in. It claws at her chest until she can barely breathe and she holds one arm over her torso protectively, as if the action will contain it.
Images flash through her mind, of yesterday – the light streaming through her window tells her it is morning – of Alec and Simon, crowded roads and speeding cars; of the dream, of Raphael's face.
Without thinking, she makes for the door. An unsteady hand scratches at the door knob until she has a firm grip and she wrenches it open, proceeding out into the deserted hallway beyond.
She has a destination in mind, and she charges there with purpose – or as much as she can muster in her panicked state – fists clenched at her sides. Isabelle knows that she is making too much noise but she doesn't care; her bare feet slap against the hardwood floor beneath her and if she weren't so panicked and distracted she would have noticed that somebody has removed her socks and shoes.
Finally, after minutes of walking through the silent institute, Isabelle makes it to Hodge's office. She bursts through the door, the suffocating panic in her chest morphing into anger.
Isabelle makes her way to the back of the room and, without hesitation, opens the top desk drawer. Paper, a stele, a book, matches – she takes the objects out of the draw, clumsily placing them on the desk top without pause. She is afraid that if she pauses she will rethink what she is about to do.
Her fingers close around the cool metal of the stele and she curses, noticing the way her hand is shaking. Taking a deep breath – though it does little to steady her pounding heart – she puts stele to paper, reminding herself that she has seen her mother do this enough times not to be so nervous. Isabelle traces the rune on the paper, shaky hands making the design less than perfect, before flipping to the right page in the book. She lights a match, setting fire to the paper, briefly watching as it melts away, before turning back to the book.
It is a spell book of sorts Maryse had told her – warlocks spells modified for Shadowhunter use – once belonging to her grandmother, though Isabelle has never taken an interest in it until now.
She speaks the incantation from the book – she has heard her mother say it so often that the words roll off of her tongue with ease – and then there is a flash of bright, white light, dissolving into blue, purple, before the room is silent once more. Untouched, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
The paper she is holding melts away, solid dissolving into gas before pearly white fog is materialising in front of her. Isabelle stands stock still, watching as a face appears through the fog, a form, a figure. Raphael.
He is facing away from her, jaw taut, shoulders tense, telling her that he is more than ticked off at the interruption.
"Maryse what do you want now?" he bites out as the final wisps of fog disperse and he is left, standing before her. Raphael turns towards her, "I thought I told you-"
He stops dead when he sees her, mouth still open – an expression Isabelle never thought she'd see on his face – but doesn't say a word.
And as she stares into his shocked brown eyes, the panic sets in again, the events of the day rushing back to the surface – the car, Simon's words, Alec's face – she takes a deep, calming breath and speaks the words, the words that have been repeating themselves in her mind like a mantra since she woke up.
"What have you done to me?"
End Chapter
. . .
A/N: So this is a bit sloppy and short, but I had some ideas that I just need to put down. YEY for filler chapters. The next chapter is the one that the last few have been leading up to. The Isabelle and Raphael . . . confrontation. GASP!
Also, I'd originally planned this fic to be about 10-11 chapters but I've made soon changes to the plot and now I'm think more along the lines of 16. What do you think? Sound good?
So erm . . . yeah . . . I can't think of anything else to write! Thanks for the reviews/alerts from last chapter and I'll update soon soon :D