"Die for me" Living Dead Girl Rob Zombie
Thank you to my, so far, two reviewers; GrimAngel16 and krazieneko. Without further ado; I own nothing but the story plot. Enjoy, -N
He was grateful that no one was at the tower when he finally got back. All he found was a note stuck to the refrigerator door, 'Another wake, dinners in the fridge, Vic.' Sure enough, there was some chow, but that wasn't what appealed to him. He reached past the half-rotten food and god only knew what else, and pulled a beer from the back. Popping the tab, he remembered how he was the only one who had even started drinking since she was gone.
The others said that it would slow them down, make them sluggish. He had been having at least five drinks a day since she died, and the only thing he noticed was the aftertaste it left in his mouth each morning. He pulled the dagger from his belt then, and fingering it, thought about what he had to do next. It had been over a week since the ceremony, and he knew what needed to be done. With her gone, he would be weaker, that was without a doubt. But, he would still need to be careful, if the thing was able to draw on any amount of strength, he would be gone before he knew what happened.
He made his way slowly to her room. It was the most logical place to call him. It held a piece of her, and by association him, she would be better equipped to summon him. The door was locked, and rightfully so. They had all agreed to leave it as it was as a sort of shrine to Her. No one ever entered her sanctuary, and so it was like she would still be there. As the doors slid open though, he realized just how gone she was.
He figured that the room would be dark, barren, and overall, not very comforting. The large bed, light blue walls, and glowing lights showed him that he was wrong. He breathed her scent in deep, pulling it into his chest to savor and remember. While her scent enveloped him, he spotted a small desk, and was surprised at the amount of makeup that sat before its mirror. His gaze soon spotted a beaten violet book placed almost sacredly in its center, the faded gold letters reading, 'Diary'. If it wasn't for the large, overstuffed bookshelves and gothic art, he would have thought that it was Kori's room; that she had finally gotten out of her pink phase. He resisted the urge to read the book, and instead moved over to her bed.
He could make out the beaten steamer trunk she had placed underneath it. He even remembered the conversation they had about the damned thing. When he had found her dragging it towards her door, he helped her. She told him that it was meant to hold things she wanted to forget, but couldn't lose; that it was her 'hopeless' chest. She had seemed especially forlorn that day; she didn't even flinch when he pulled her close for a hug. When she pulled away, she had put back that damn mask of indifference back in place, and with a curt nod, slid it into her room, closing the door.
Now though, he hoped that her hopelessness could lead to salvation. When he dragged it out into the dim light, he could make out several locks that had been placed there. He knew they would have no keys, that she made them to keep people out of the box, but that didn't stop him. He figured they were only two tumblers, ten seconds a lock, if that. When the last hit the ground, he flipped the lid back and smiled in appreciation.
He knew that she came from bad stock, and that her father's influence would draw her to darkness, but this was the mother lode. Wolf teeth, black salt, he raised a glass jar, dead man's blood. He opened a small cigar box and lifted one of the candles; he recognized the greasy feel of tallow, probably human. "Raven, you have been one busy girl." He had always known she was smart, that she had dabbled before the team was formed, but never realized how much she knew. If Raven had grown up with his family, his grandmother, the Pchuri Daj, would have raised and taught her personally. His eyes fell then on the book. It was plain, and oddly enough, white. But he knew what it held. He remembered the bastard that was stuck in its pages, but what surprised him was that she kept the thing. He smiled though when he found the matches. Lighting one, he felt like laughing as the pages curled and turned black. Enough, he dropped the burning book and turned back to the supplies. You're on a mission Rick, don't screw it up.
He slid her scarce furniture away from the center of the room. Finished, he took the salt and teeth, taking great care to place a circle of both in the opening, one inside the other. After that, he reached for the blood, and with careful precision, poured his symbol into the center. He didn't worry that it might not be right. He'd never forget its shape from when he first saw it, burning on pale skin. When he was satisfied, he pulled the candles out and surrounded his circle, lighting them. Finished, he was proud at how much he had remembered from his childhood, but then he started thinking about something his grandmother told him. "Remember Richard, Beng is a stubborn, greedy creature, the only way you will get him to speak with you is to offer him a gift of yourself."
He didn't even feel the dagger sliding across his arm. With the cut bleeding freely, he knelt near one of the candles, and as his blood hissed in the flame, he started. "Trigon, I call to you. It regards your child." Nothing happened, but he knew that these things took time. That even if he was aware of the call, the demon would come when he was good and ready. Still though, he wasn't ready for the creature to come so quickly. When the room filled with light and the smoke had cleared, he realized that Raven's death really had affected the creature.
He remembered how strong and powerful he was, but the hunched over creature rasping for air was anything but intimidating. A proud stance was now a bent back, and the tall creature with bulging muscles now resembled a broken man. He could even see a pair of twisted feeble wings fluttering on his back, keeping pace with each wheezing cough. "Why have you called me mortal?" He stepped into the circle then, and drew the blade. He watched as the creature's eyes fell on it, and smirked. "Where did you get a blade of the Fallen?" He smashed his boot into his face, and grabbing his hair, jerked his head back, letting him feel the edge of the blade.
"Where is Raven?" The only answer he got was a laugh.
"She is dead, I thought you knew." He made a shallow cut, and he felt the power dance up his arm.
"Watch yourself, the Fallen scream for your blood a little too loudly." He brought the blade closer and tensed his arm. "Where is she? We both know she was only half human. I highly doubt that demons can be killed by a drunk doing fifty on a city street. WHERE IS SHE!"
He watched as Trigon seemed to look upon him with almost pity before bowing his head. "What is left of my daughter now resides in the pit, with me."
"How do I get her back?" Again, he raised an eye, and shook his head.
"She is gone, what is with me is not the one you know."
"I don't care, how do I get her back?"
"She is not the one you-," it felt good when he heard the cartilage of the demon's nose break.
"Last chance or you die here. How do I get her back?" His body shook with the force of the creature's laugh.
"That is part of it. My life must end," he felt the creature push himself against the blade, and he jerked him back. "Then she can return, if she is buried where I walked." He didn't hesitate then, dragging the blade across his neck. He thought he heard him sigh as his body hit the floor. But, watching as he shook on the carpet, the blood soaking the carpet in the light of the candles, he felt nothing. Richard thought that he would feel anger at this creature for being so self-absorbed, even at the end. Would feel regret at finally breaking his oath and taking a life. Maybe even self-loathing at calling him here only to kill him. But at the moment, he only felt tired. He hadn't slept in however long.
Eventually though, as the body became still, he was mesmerized as he sunk into the floor. Everything, the rings, the candles, the tar-like blood, sunk into the carpet until it was like it was never there. He was even willing to bet that should be tear up the padding, the wood underneath would be untouched. With almost reverent care, he packed the remaining things away, and taking another moment to savor her scent, he wandered out of her room and again sealed it.
Wandering back to his room, he thought about what Trigon had said, 'What is with me is not the one you know.' It didn't matter. True, she was not very sociable when they first met, but he would be willing to work with her again. After slamming the door, he went to his closet and pulled out a bottle. He didn't flinch at swallowing the whiskey; in fact, the burning sensation helped him focus. He would be getting her back, tonight if possible. His eyes then fell on the photograph on his desk.
She had never even known about it, he was sure of it. Back with they were still the 'Teen' Titans; he had spent hours watching her. If she knew, it was obvious that she didn't care. Eventually though, he got what he was looking for. She was facing the sun as it set, the colors dancing across her skin. He wanted to be able to look on the image for all time. It was quick; she didn't even notice when the flash went off. She just kept staring at the sun, like it was the first time she had ever seen it set. He turned to face his window, and saw that the sun was almost down. He wanted to move now, so he could have her back, but that wasn't going to happen. He knew what people would think if they saw what he was trying to do. While he was sure he could stop them, the last thing he wanted tonight was to bring down his own team.
They didn't stop him when he left. They told me that it would be okay, that they would be willing to come if he needed company. When he left the tower, dressed in black, holding lilies, they only looked upon him with pity and sadness. Let them think what they want. He was worried that Vic would say something about him taking his truck instead of his motorcycle, but the guy was silent. When he was out of sight, he went to the nearest hardware store, and got what he needed. He wasn't sure how much work would be needed, but the shovel and pick seemed like they would be enough.
When he arrived, he marched straight to where she lay. He didn't know what to expect, but was grateful that he was alone. The doors locks spun, and he entered where she was kept. He started then. Like he expected, he found the motion sensor that was connected to the lid. He understood why it was there. Just because no one did anything at her funeral, didn't mean they wouldn't try something later. He wasn't worried about an enemy, it was almost an unspoken rule that a person's final rest was meant to be undisturbed. It was the groupies and fans, people who either wanted a piece of her, either in life or death that they were worried about.
Quickly, it was bypassed, and the lid slid to the floor with a dull thud. She seemed the same as she did days ago. Pale skin that was flawless as the marble surrounding her, perfect hair, an almost angelic look on her face. He was almost afraid of what would happen when he touched her; that she would be destroyed and be gone forever. But as he eased his arms beneath her, nothing happened; he just felt the cold weight against his skin. Raising her out of the grave, he smiled as her body turned into him. I've always wanted to do this. With care, he wrapped her shroud around her, and after placing her on the ground turned to the empty space that held her. The others would come eventually, the need to grieve would be too strong, and when they saw what had happened, they'd start looking.
With care, he pushed it back into place, and reset the sensor. Finished, he took his bundle, and after hearing the locks spin shut, made his way to the truck. He had to move quickly, before he lost his nerve. He almost regretted putting her in the back, underneath the cover. He wanted her beside him, to remind him why he was doing this, but the last thing he needed was a cop pulling up beside him and seeing her. He pulled away slowly then, turning to where he needed to go. It was rather funny though, he thought. She would live in the place she was destroyed.
It didn't surprise him that they never rebuilt the place. Truth be told, he didn't even know what it was. All he knew was that she would come back here, be with him because of this cursed place. The stones crumbled under his tires as he pulled inside its walls. The stark grey and white stood out against his headlights. Eventually, he got to the center. He climbed out and looked at the lone standing column with disgust. He'd never forget the day she rose up there and gave her life to save them. Shaking the thought from his head, he turned to the truck, and pulled out the tools, and returned to her. He placed her far enough from him to protect her, but not so far as to lose her. He had come too close to lose now.
He figured the pick would be the best to start with. When he swung, the ground didn't even crack, and his hands shook with the force. Again, he swung, but this time the point buried itself. With a wrench, he pulled it free, and the smell of sulfur surrounded him. He knew then that this was the perfect place. Trigon's presence was strong; it wouldn't take much for her to come back. He would get her back, one way or another. He just kept swinging then, and after what seemed like hours, he stopped and saw the broken earth. Kicking a chunk of stone into the light, he saw why it was so hard.
He lifted what he thought was a rock from the ground and realized that it was bone. The area was covered by it. He figured disgust would fill him then, wanting to bury her around so much death, but all he felt was gratitude. Now that they were cleared, his job would be much easier. When he started to dig, the stench of sulfur grew stronger. He kept going though, as his eyes watered and his throat burned, he kept digging. Eventually, he realized he couldn't see her. His arms burned and his clothes were soaked.
Climbing from the hole, he made his way to her. She was still there, and again he pulled her close. With care, he uncovered her face, and did what he dreamed. He kissed her. She felt cold and soft, something that he figured would be the same, even if she didn't have a pulse. "Soon Raven, soon." He almost regretted covering her again, but he knew it would be easier that was. He lowered her back down, and with a heavy heart started to cover her. To him, this was the hardest of all.
When the last pile was thrown, he waited. He didn't know what to expect, but he figured it would be instantaneous. Instead, nothing happened. "You bastard," he should have expected it. Trigon was a devil, they can lie; why did he expect him to tell the truth, even when facing death. Now, she was gone, and buried in some godforsaken place. If he had the strength, he would have pulled her out, and taken her back to where she belonged.
He stopped at a liquor store on his way back. Now that she really was gone, he didn't care anymore. He wasn't even paying attention to what he bought. When he arrived back home, he wasn't surprised that the others were asleep, according to the clock, it was a little after midnight. He walked slowly to his room, and of course had to pass hers. Maybe he could remember her there? Just spend time remembering, it wouldn't be so bad then. He didn't even bother to lock his door; he just went to his desk and pulled out a pack of cards and a bottle. He gagged on the first swallow, and realized that he had gotten tequila. With a shrug, he took another swallow and shuffled. Reaching back into the bag, he pulled out what he realized was a carton, and after freeing a pack, little a smoke and started to play.
When the first bottle and two packs were gone, he reached for another bottle, a fresh pack, and kept going. He wasn't even thinking about what would happen tomorrow. He figured, screw it. The city could take care of itself for a while, and he hadn't had a chance yet to wallow in his grief. He had failed and now she really was gone.
When the second bottle was gone, and he was on his last pack, he thought about what he had done. He had broken into her crypt and taken her. He had to make things right. He couldn't leave her there. He could smell the sulfur then, and realized that the stink of that cursed earth had probably gotten into his skin. That was when he saw the dirt covered hand on his shoulder. "I'm back Rick."
I thought this would be a good place to end. Like I said, I have a plan with this, and I guess you could say that this is the end of the "first act". Hope you enjoyed it, I know I did. Take it Easy, -N.