A/N: I want to apologize for the long wait on some of my stories. I recently lost a good friend of mine and fellow fanfic writer and the loss was much harder than I anticipated. It really stunted whatever creative power I had and left me in a state of much sorrow. It's hard to realize just how much people influence our lives and our passions until they are no longer there. For the next while all my stories are going to be dedicated to her.
AJ. I will miss you. I will miss you and your laughing encouragement more than I can ever say. This one is for you.
Special thanks to Razorgaze as my Beta, and Hummergrey for her constant friendship during this sad time. You both render me speechless with your skills, friendship and dedication. Please check out their fics. The links are in my profile page.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC's. I am not making any money from this. Please do not sue.
She couldn't stand to spend another moment in that room. It mattered not that Sam and 'Bee were less than an hour away, or the fact that she would find no comfort in whatever gaggle of so-called 'relatives' still remained in the house. For the longest time fear kept her from heading towards that oak door, turning the antique brass knob and facing all that remained of Lorilai Banes's legacy. Fear that maybe the old woman would be standing on the other side, waiting for her with her lacy dresses and pearls and fans and all manner of feminine trappings with which to hide sharp nails and sharper words.
Unconsciously she hid her arms behind her back, feeling all over again the hot sting of her grandmother's grasp, those iron-hard nails leaving scars where they bit into her tender skin. Just glancing at that door brought it all back, so much so that she took to her bed again, hiding beneath the duvet. Wheelie obediently curled up with her, knowing all too well the fear of his elders and the remembered pain of punishments for not being perfect.
His presence alone, the look in his optics as he huddled with her underneath the childlike faux-safety of the blankets, was enough to change her fear into rage.
Damn it, she had stood eye to optic with Megatron—MEGATRON!—and had not hidden or ran. She had driven backwards through a combat zone with a wounded Bumblebee strapped to the back of her stolen tow-truck! And, as if that wasn't enough to earn her her courage merit badge, she'd been teleported to Egypt, stayed at Sam's side through his near death experience, and still was able to look at the Autobots without fear. She wasn't little 'Kay Banes anymore. She was Mikaela Banes, a woman who did not run from danger.
A woman that did not run from the memories of a dead relative that no longer had the power to harm her.
"Warrior goddess?" Wheelie asked hesitantly, his sensors picking up on the sudden calmness that swept through her.
She stared into his optics, remembering the courage it had taken to grab him with the welding tools in her father's shop, the strength it had taken to interrogate the little guy when knowing that he could manifest weapons in the blink of an eye. After all, a simple Nokia cell phone had displayed awesome weaponry in its tiny little life span. Why not a drone the size of a small radio car? It was the fact that he hadn't tried to kill her that saved his spark, and the knowledge that he really didn't want to hurt anyone or anything that allowed him to take his place with the Autobots.
That had taken courage on his part, too. To turn to the enemy side and ask asylum, knowing they had every right to blast you to bits. If he could have the courage to do that, then she could have the courage to face her blood relations.
"This is my house now," she whispered back. "This is my house. And I shouldn't feel afraid to explore what is mine, right?"
"Right," he answered slowly, optics narrowing. "Does that mean we're going out that door now?"
"It does," she nodded, trying to screw up her new-found courage. "Want to come with me?"
"What part of 'we' didn't register in your processors," he replied with his usual snide snicker. "I'm not gonna let you face that horde of organic losers alone. Besides, if I did, 'Bee would have my parts for a new hood ornament."
Mikaela smiled, understanding the truth in his words. He tried to so hard to be tough, and admitting that he wanted to stay with her because he worried for her didn't sound like a tough bot. So of course he defaulted back to a supposed threat. She leaned in and kissed him quickly between the optics, laughing for the first time in days at how he groused about strange human customs and how he was going to remove the lipstick print before anyone noticed it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam stared at the ironwork gates that lead to the Ravenswood Plantation and simultaneously tried not to gape and frown all at once. Moonlight filtered through the dead bare branches of hundreds of skeletal trees, dry leaves rustling in the cold autumn air like scurrying rats across the barren earth. Even the gates themselves added to the muted horror of the place with their absolute silence. If they had creaked in the wind like something out of a b-rated horror flick, he would have been able to laugh. It would have been too many clichés all at once to be truly frightening.
But the gates were pristine, well oiled and solid in their opposing stance. And there were no clouds in the frigid black sky, nothing to cast shadows over the landscape or dull the feeling that something in there was waiting for them to enter, holding its collective breath in anticipation. Everything was revealed with a kind of stark clarity, from the outline of the massive sprawling house in the distance to the too-white gravel of the driveway.
Being able to see all of that only made the trepidation worse. Not being able to see Mikaela enhanced the horror all the more.
"I can see why she hates this place," Sam murmured, keeping one hand on the open driver's side door of the yellow Camaro and one hand firmly planted on the roof. One leg was still inside, as if his subconscious recognized dangers that his conscious mind ignored, and in a fit of self-preservation had kept him half inside the car. "I thought Aunt Trudy's place was creepy. This place takes the cake."
'Bee's agreement was expressed with a clip of the Twilight Zone theme.
Sam shot the car a rueful grin. "Not helping, 'Bee."
The radio tuning knob moved on its own, cycling through channels and cobbling together enough words to create a sentence. "Not meant to. This location makes me nervous, too."
His grin faded, turning into a frown. "You picking up anything on your scanners?"
"Negative, partner. Only organics in the vicinity, save for Wheelie."
"Good," he nodded, patting the roof reassuringly. Though, as his eyes did their own scan of the area, he honestly had to wonder which one of them he was reassuring with that gesture. "Good. Okay, let's do this. Let's get Mikaela and hit the road."
Sam climbed back inside, hands on the wheel for show. 'Bee sent out a small electronic burst, easily fooling the sensors on the gate into thinking that the correct key code had been entered. Soundlessly, the Banes Family crest, woven into the center of the towering gates, parted to allow them entrance. Just as quietly, the flashy yellow Camaro slowly made its way down the crushed marble path towards the house.
As the gates closed behind them, Sam had to push aside the feeling that he was being locked into some kind of prison.
~*~*~*~*~*~
They had all given her the strangest of looks as she wandered down the hallways. Mikaela had to tell herself that it was partly due to the fact that she was the new mistress of Ravenswood and mostly due to the way she clutched what appeared to be a toy car to her chest. Then again, the odd looks might have been over the fact that she had her hair down, her makeup slightly askew, and that she was wearing jeans of all things. Lorilai Banes would not have been caught dead with so much as a hair out of place before exiting her private rooms, nevertheless wearing pants.
Even in her silk-lined casket, she had looked like the definition of perfection.
Mikaela pushed those thoughts aside, pausing in her trek only to ask a wandering servant where she could find the nearest phone. Obediently he showed her into a massive library-type of room, four times as grand as the room in which the will was read. Normally she would have taken the time to stare at shelf upon shelf of leather-bound books, delighted that now she would be able to read them when before it was forbidden. However, the house did not feel like it was hers and as such she kept her eyes down and all but ran for the phone.
She placed a single call to the gateman and to the butler, letting both know to expect Sam at any moment. They replied that "Mr. Samuel James Witwicky would be showed to the east sitting room upon arrival. If madam would like, refreshments would be provided in whatever variety she desired."
If. Madam. Would. Like. The words were almost enough to have her dry heaving again.
She was so NOT the Madam Banes. She would never be the Madam Banes. Not if it meant having to stay in this place with its bad memories and even worse secrets. If it hadn't been nearly midnight, she would have called the nearest realtor and put the entire place up for sale that very moment. She was beginning to panic again, and knew that that reaction wasn't going to help her at all. The time for panic had passed. The need for rational choices had arrived. Sam, she tried to tell herself. Everything would be alright when Sam got there. He would calm her, and he wouldn't be blinded by so many memories. He'd see everything with clear, fresh eyes.
He would be able to help her make the right decision. And then they could get away from here. They would never have to look back.
"Warrior goddess," Wheelie said, placing a hand on her leg.
She looked up from her fingers, not realizing that she had placed her face in her hands, or that she had been crying again. "What?"
"Several organics are standing outside the doors to this room, with several more joining them as we speak."
A small curse left her lips, her hands balling up into fists. Anger began to replace the shock and fear, anger that these people were just now showing up to see her. "Great. Just great. My dear relations won't even give me one night of rest, huh? I pass out on my face and they won't lift a hand to help me, but now that I'm walking around, they feel good enough to start asking me for money and stuff. Well, this is my house now. And they can all get the hell out of it."
Mikaela threw open the double doors, the words of hate on her tongue—
—and nearly fell over at the sight. It looked like every member of the vast Ravenswood staff was standing before her. From elderly to the young, from the kitchen help to the head maid, all arrayed before her in their immaculately pressed black and white uniforms. There were so many of them, all with their faces turned to her with mixed emotions. Some were hopeful. Some wore small smirks of distain. And the more experienced, seasoned members of the crew wore no expression at all.
"Madam," a middle-aged man spoke crisply, though not without politeness. "It is good to see you on your feet again. The staff has been arranged for your inspection. Mrs. Hutchenson, the head chef, also has the menus for tomorrow morning for your approval. We are sorry to have them to you so late in the day. Your… need for rest," he said delicately, with the hint of a smile. "Made it difficult to ascertain your choices until now."
Her courage fled, the weight of all those faces staring at her, all those lives that depended upon the Banes family for their welfare, shattering what little she had managed to build up. Her eyes widened, filled with tears… and suddenly she felt four years old again, staring at the entrance to that vile maze and knowing she was utterly powerless.