CRASH!
The sound of breaking glass catapulted Shilo out of sleep and uneasy dreams, her eyes opening wide for a moment before she sat up in bed. She gasped as she took in several things at once, the fact that the bed she lay in was not her own, that she had been cleaned and dressed. Her hand moved to her throat for a moment, wrapping itself around her mother's necklace for comfort.
"Did the woman from the graveyard bring me here?" Shilo whispered. She eased her way out of the bed, her bare feet cold on the concrete floor as she stepped over the pile of her bloody clothes, the shirt she was wearing brushing against her knees. She hesitated when she got to the closed door, one hand resting on the knob. She didn't hear anything; had the crash she heard just been part of her dream?
"NO! He—" The words were muffled by the door and Shilo pressed her ear to the wood. There was a sound, something between laughter and screaming, breaking glass again, then silence.
Shilo backed away, looking for another way out. Had the Gencops followed the woman here, were they looking for her? Was the woman herself wanted maybe? She had been in a graveyard after all, maybe she was a graverobber. There was a window set near the ceiling, small but large enough for someone as petite as Shilo to slip through. She could stand on the dresser, hoist herself up and escape. But to where, to what?
Silence from outside the room. Surely if there were Gencops there would be more noise? The heavy tread of boots on the floor at the very least? Her curiosity aroused, Shilo opened the door a crack, peeking out into the short hallway beyond. If she listened very hard she could hear mumbling punctuated every so often by the tink, tink sound of glass hitting the floor.
"I made it out of the Opera; surely I can make it down this hallway," Shilo whispered to herself. Silently she crept forward, barely breathing as she reached the end of the hallway and found herself in the living room proper.
A battered old couch blocked most of Shilo's view, but she could still see and smell the smoke that drifted up from a broken television, even if she couldn't see how it had been broken from where she was standing. The mumbling seemed to be coming from the couch and Shilo inched closer.
"Couldn't save her, told me to stay away, tried to keep me safe. The devil's claws in her, contract signed in blood. I can still hear him laughing. He'd dead, why can I hear him--- I wouldn't come any closer Shilo, there's broken glass everywhere."
Shilo squeaked in surprise when the woman from the graveyard addressed her, backing up a few steps. "How—how did you know my name?"
"Your name means 'gift,' did you know that? That's what you were to her, a gift." There was a pause. "You're Marni's daughter." It sounded almost like a question. "Nathan's daughter." The woman's voice was almost flat, just the tiniest of tremors betraying any emotion.
"Y-yes." Shilo stared at the back of the couch, eyes fixed on the only part of the woman she could see, a bit of red hair that kept bobbing in and out of her vision. "Are… are you okay?"
The woman laughed, a harsh and bitter sound that made Shilo want to simultaneously comfort her and run for the door. "I haven't been okay in years kid, but this indeed is not one of my better days. Do me a favor? Go back down the hallway, first door on your right, and grab the first aid kit under the sink? And maybe you could hurry. I slammed my fist through the coffee table and I think I've been bleeding quite a bit while we've been talking."
Shilo gasped, taking another half step toward to the couch before changing her mind and dashing down the hallway, in her haste turning left instead of right. She only had the briefest impression of the bedroom she found herself in, clothes scattered everywhere, mattress on the floor, strange smells, before she reversed direction and found the bathroom.
When Shilo thought "first aid kit," she thought of something small, plastic, orderly, not a battered and frayed messenger bag filled with a jumble of miscellaneous medical supplies. At just a glance she could see gauze, syringes wrapped in plastic, and bottles of what she was sure was animal tranquilizer. Brow furrowed slightly, she slung the bag over her shoulder and rushed back into the living room… and stopped dead.
The woman was standing in the middle of the kitchen, half turned toward Shilo, holding a white (slowly becoming red) towel around her right hand. She had rolled back her shirtsleeves, revealing arms a bit more muscular than Shilo was used to on a woman, but it wasn't the blood or muscles that made Shilo gape in astonishment. She blinked, sure that what she was seeing was impossible, some strange sort of costume perhaps, or a trick of the light fooling her brain somehow. The back of the woman's shirt was cut low, allowing wings, feathery white real looking wings to lie against the woman's back. As Shilo watched they twitched, stretching wide for a moment before settling themselves again.
"It's rude to stare," The woman snapped as she settled herself sideways into a chair at a kitchen table that was covered with stains and gouges that went deeply into the wood. "Just fancy surgery, that's all it is." She unwrapped her hand from the towel and Shilo winced at the sight. Her hand was covered in cuts, most of which looked like they could be taken care of easily with some bandages, but the wound in the side of her palm was an entirely different story. The bleeding had slowed but Shilo could see that the cut went deep into the meat of her palm
"You're going to need stitches," Shilo said, trying to wrench her eyes away from the blood.
"Then I hope that your father taught you how to sew, kid, because that's the only way it's going to get done, my left hand is fairly useless at that kind of thing. There should be stuff you can use in that bag." The woman stood again and walked over to the sink. Shilo heard water running and more than a few choice curse words, but she was again distracted by the wings which kept twitching every few seconds. She made sure to avert her eyes when the woman turned around again to rummage in the fridge, coming back to the table with a bottle of vodka. "Open this for me?"
Shilo obliged, grimacing at the smell of the alcohol as she did so, causing the woman to chuckle softly. "Believe me, it tastes about as bad as it smells. Still, can't complain." She knocked back a swallow as she held her injured hand out to Shilo.
Shilo had searched through the bag, surprised to find several small packages containing absorbable pre-threaded sutures. Where did she find these? Who keeps these on hand? Then again… Now that the woman was closer she could see that her arms were covered in scars. Some of them had the shiny, twisted look of old burns, but there were ones near her wrist that looked like they had been stitched up in a hurry once upon a time by someone who lacked experience. "I used to practice making stitches when I was younger, on my stuffed animals. I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up." Like Dad. She remembered him smiling at her, admiring her skill with the needle and thread. It was a fond memory, but Shilo sadly realized that at the moment even fond memories of her father hurt. "I don't think—"
"Don't think. Pretend I'm a teddy bear you're practicing on if it makes you feel any better. Just hurry, if you can. I'm thinking clearly now and there's things I want to tell you. I don't know how long I —just try your best."
Shilo nodded as she got up and washed her hands before opening the package and picking up the threaded needle. Taking a deep breath to calm herself and steady her nerves, she began to sew.
Yes, Angel has had a most… unconventional surgery. More about that in time… Eager to see what people think, so please review! As always I don't own Repo! or anything besides Angel and this delicious cup of hot chocolate.