Allydia AU- Purgatory Version 1
She clung on to the piece of driftwood, praying for daylight. Blood dripped off the tip, a grim reminder of how she got to where she was now. People (but they weren't human, at least not anymore) attacked her the minute she got her bearings. She remembered taking off running, and tripping face first into the ground, almost busting her nose on the dirt. She grabbed the wood she tripped over and faced her opponents, slamming the wood into their stomachs.
Daylight isn't the normal sun shining high in the sky type of deal. No, instead there's a never ending, unchanging supply of light that seems to come from nowhere and isn't too bright nor too dull. Just... there.
She can't afford to stop moving; she can already hear more things running through the woods, feet thudding like the thunder she wishes would happen.
Rain. It's a half-formed thought, since the idea of water actually falling from the Heavens, drenching her clothes, washing the blood and grime and dried sweat from her skin, clearing the mud from her thoughts, was almost too much to bear.
She craves something other than the long driftwood. She wants her weapon smaller, able to be played with while waiting for the next monster to show their ugly face.
Her name is Sacred, stored deep within the concrete vaults of her mind. Her name is never uttered, never even thought to herself. It isn't who she is now. She can't ruin her name with the vile things she's done here. Even when she was on Earth, nothing came close to tarnishing her name like she has done here.
Sometimes, she hears her name, whispered and echoed across the land. Other times, it's screamed, loud enough to rattle her teeth and bones. It's during those times she worries about getting found, hidden in a secluded cave or invisible among the foliage on the tops of the trees.
The voice sounds familiar, but it doesn't belong in this Hell she's found herself in. And the voice changes tone. Yelled angrily, or whispered wetly as if someone was mourning her. She wants to yell back, "Who are you? Why are you so angry? Do I know you?"
She can recall her name, but not how she got here, or where she was before. She has senses, common knowledge of what she needs to do for herself, how to protect herself, but not where she got the information. It scares her what her mind is capable of, and after spending so much time wherever- she-was, she's not a hundred percent sure she wants to know anything besides her instincts,
What she wants is to leave. She wants to not have to run every day for the rest of her life. She wants to stop and be able to clean herself for more than a few seconds with more than a licked thumb to clean off blood on her hands. She's scared she's forgetting what it was like being human.
Things are being ripped away every day. What she nows today is less than she knew yesterday. And, of course, she can't remember what she's forgotten day-to-day.
She knows her name. She knows she came from a mother and father, but can't remember their names. She knows she had friends. She knows she used to be able to ride a bike. She knows what a computer is, but nothing on how to work one.
It frustrates her to no end that her mind plays tricks on her like this. (And scares her to think this place stole them from her, robbed of her life and experiences.)
Does she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Are her parents alive? What are her favorite songs? Favorite movie? Favorite winter food? To think that she used to have all the answers to all these questions sends a throb of intense anguish through her veins.
She can't pinpoint exactly how long she's been there. Days, weeks, months, maybe even a year. Days aren't marked by the setting Sun, mostly because there was no Sun to begin with. She never gets tired enough to sleep, nor does she get the feeling to do so anyway.
She can't remember if she likes to sleep. Or how. On her side? Someone pressed up behind her, hands splayed across her stomach, stroking sofly and warm, so, so warm.
She gets slammed to the ground mid-thought, the side of her head hitting the ground hard enough where her ears ring loudly.
"Hello, gorgeous," the monster growls in her ear. "Show me that pretty face, huh?"
Instead of answering, she jabs the monster (male) in the side with her makeshift spear. He yelps in pain, and she is able to roll out from underneath him. She stands her ground, backing up to give her room to block any incoming attacks.
"Fiesty. I like 'em fiesty." He licks hs lips, and eyes her up and down. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of reacting. In fact, she stays silent as she plots, watching for weaknesses (right Achilles heel torn, dislocated shoulder, large laceration across his chest) and how to exploit them.
Finally, he looks at her face again. "What's your name sweetheart?"
"Why do you care?"
He shrugs. "You seem interesting. Figure you'd have an interesting name."
"You don't get the privilege of knowing my name." She frowns. "No one does."
"Does it help if I say my name used to be Mike?"
She tilts her head. "Used to be? It isn't anymore?"
Mike laughs. "Just not who I am anymore."
She understood almost too well. "Well then, Mike, I will let you choose. Leave now and live another pitiful day, or die right now."
"You're going to kill me? What do you weigh? A hundred pounds soaking wet?"
"This is your choice? To die?" She demands as her hand tightens on the driftwood.
Mike laughs again and shakes his head. "No. I really wanna know your name, and I don't wanna go to the black place."
He runs off before she can ask what the hell he was talking about. She thinks about following him until she comes to her senses and remembers why that would be an extraordinarily dumb idea. For all She knew, he was getting reinforcements to come back and finish the job.
She runs until she reaches the edge of the forest. It leads to a wide open area that reminds her of a graveyard. She coughs and swears she sees blood on her hand.
The whispering starts up again. It reaches out and caresses her cheek, so full of love it hurts her gut. It tastes like copper on her tongue; the memory is so brief she barely remembers it.
But then she looks out at the field and sees it playing before her eyes.
A young woman with firey red hair standing over a grave. Her hands are covered by white gloves, and the gloved hands hold purple and grey flowers. The woman's name is on the tip of her tongue, wanting to scream it across worlds.
She's moving forward without thought. She doesn't focus on the grave, but on the woman. She looks to be around mid-twenties, her hair carefully styled in a braided bin under a white hat. The woman's talking, but she can't hear her.
She moves close to the woman's side.
"Lydia."
The name comes unbidden from her mouth. The woman's reaction is frightening to her. The woman, Lydia, stops talking, moving, even breathing.
"Lydia. Breathe if you can hear me." Her voice is barely above a whisper.
Lydia breathes in deep, then drops to her knees, crying in earnest now.
"Please. Please tell me your real. Please, Allison."
Allison. Her name is allowed to be spoken. She's not back there. She's here, right now, with Lydia.
"I'm here." She follows Lydia to the ground. "I promise. I'm really here."
"How?"
"I'm not sure." Allison takes a deep breath she doesn't need. "I've missed you so much."
Lydia laughs, wet and choked. " You're been dead for eight years."
Allison takes this second to look at her friend. Her hair is the same shade it was when they were in high school. Her face is more defined with age, and her mascara is running a little. That's when she sees the scar across her collarbone. She reaches out and touches it.
Lydia jumps and touches the scar. "Allison?"
"Sorry. What happened?" Allison asks, not thinking about the fact that she couldn't feel anything.
"Uh, got a little too close to a werewolf. Not a good one, by the way. An unruly Omega wanted to be the Alpha of Beacon Hills." She huffs in a way that Allison thinks is a laugh. "Didn't end well for him."
Allison scrunches her face in worry. "Are you okay?"
"It happened so long ago I sometimes forget I have it." Lydia sniffs and looks up at the grave. "I really hope I'm not going crazy."
Allison smiles, and moves so she's facing Lydia. "You're not. I promise." She hesitates before continuing. "I don't think I'm dead, Lydia."
Lydia freezes, and Allison wants to reach out and smooth the lines on her forehead. "What are you talking about?"
"Lydia, I'm here talking to you. I'm fully aware of what I'm doing. I was in a weird forest before, and was getting chased by monsters all hours of the day." She leans in closer. "I could hear your voice."
"Shut up."
Allison snaps back, hurt. "Wha-"
"Shut up! Allison's dead! We would've found a way to bring her back if we thought otherwise! Shut up!" Allison feels something cold pierce her gut, but when she looks down, nothing's there. "Allison?" Lydia asks, but this time, it's soft, quiet, like something isn't real.
Allison looks up, and her best friend is staring right at her. "Lydia? you can see me?"
Lydia nods her head, mouth in a tight line, and immediately grabs Allison's shoulders and pulls her into a fierce hug. "Oh my god! Allison!" Both of them are crying now, and neither want to let go. It was surreal. After so long not feeling anything, Allison feels like she might overload.
But Lydia refuses to let go. She mumbles, "oh god" and "you're alive" over and over into Allison's hair.
"Not alive," Allison says, gently releasing herself, but keeping a hold on Lydia's arms. Lydia looks at her, confused. Allison clarifies. "Not yet."
"Allison, what are you talking about?" Lydia looks worried.
"I am not alive yet." Allison stands and pulls Lydia with her. "But I think you can help." She looks down at herself. "I don't feel right. Like I don't belong here. I'm," she pauses, "weightless. I don't feel human."
Lydia shakes her head. "So how do we get you back?"
"You." Allison smiles. "You got me here in the first place. Your voice lead me here, and your voice helped you see me and me feel you."
Her face changes instantly. "Okay. I'll get cracking. What should I tell-" Allison's breath catches in her throat before Lydia even finishes. "Everyone else?"
Allison swallows. "Let's keep this between us for now. I don't want to get everybody's hopes up in case..."
Lydia takes a deep, shaky breath. "We're getting you back. Whatever it takes. You didn't deserve-"
Allison grabs hold of Lydia before she can continue, and whispers, "Tell me when I get back."
"I will. I will."
In a daring exit, Allison kisses Lydia's cheek, and starts walking away. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Allison."
Allison fades into mist as soon as she feels her tether slip from her waist. She can see Lydia's lips move again, and though she wants to know what she said, Allison's confident they'll see each other soon.
Lydia watches her best friend, a supposedly best friends that's been dead for almost ten years, disappear into mist like she was never there in the first place. Maybe she wasn't, and that was all Lydia's imagination. It wasn't going to stop her from keeping her promise of finding Allison and saving her.
She wishes Allison could've heard her say, "Always," but there's always next time.
With a smile and a new goal in mind, Lydia places the flowers on the grave and heads to the library.