I forgot to mention in the last chapter that there were lyrics used from the song "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell- which I regretfully do not own. :-P
Enjoy Chapter ten!
"I…I can't accept it," Cassidy finally managed to say, sitting against the back wall of her room, the back of her head pressed firmly to the wall as she hugged her knees to her chest. "I can't accept it. I wouldn't accept it from a human man or woman and I'm certainly not going to accept it from that monster…"
"So what are you going to do?" Stan hissed. "Are you just going to hand it back to him? Leave it at the door and hope he gets the message?"
He was whispering, as she was. The two had learned quickly from the night before. Something about the fact that Cassidy had been talking to Stan had thrown Michael into a violent rage and afraid that they were additionally being eavesdropped on, Cassidy had insisted that they both speak as quietly as possible.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," she said finally, resting her chin upon her knees. "I'm considering just ignoring the thing altogether and pretending I didn't find it or something…or flushing it down the goddamn loo…"
In truth, she had already tried that but similar to the rose, she couldn't bring herself to drop it down.
Cassidy lifted the box from the floor and opened the lid once more, eyeing its sparkling contents for the thousandth time.
The box's velvet lining cushioned what was possibly the most beautiful necklace that she had ever seen. The necklace was crafted in a choker-style- with latticed bands of ardent silver, seemingly woven into an intricate pattern that finished with a dainty chain and clasp at each end. It was ornamented with flawlessly cut precious stones, each one glittering and casting rainbow lights against the walls when it caught the light.
"It's absolutely stunning," Cassidy breathed, shaking her head as she closed the box. "It must have cost a bomb, though I highly doubt that Michael "bought" it by any conventional means."
"Are they real diamonds?" Stan asked, coughing slightly. "Can you tell?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't know, to be honest. Precious stones and gems aren't my speciality," she confessed.
"Oh? What's your special area then?" he quizzed her, heaving another gritty breath and coughing once more.
Cassidy gave a groan. "Artwork…pottery, paintings and statues…ironic, hm? Michael was supposed to be the crown jewel in my resume and the kick-start of my career in archaeology."
Stan tried to reply but his words waned into a string of hard-lunged coughs.
Worry bubbled in Cassidy's stomach; Stan's breathing had become increasingly worse since he and Michael's "encounter" the night before.
"Stan, are you sure you're alright?"
He laughed- something that would have comforted Cassidy a lot more had it not been underscored by a painful-sounding wheeze. "For the final time, girlie, I'm fine. Your gargoyle just scratched me up a little bit. Nothing to be too concerned about. I've been through worse."
But Cassidy could sense that he was lying, even if there was no way that she could prove his reassurance false.
She swallowed, tracing the rim of the black box in her hands and gritting her teeth.
"Why? Why would he even give me something like this? I think it's supposed to be some kind of twisted thank you present but why would he even bother? He's done nothing but hurt me…"
Her voice faltered in her own mouth with the sickening memory of the night before. He may have left bruises on her wrists but the memory of Michael's lulling, gentle touch against her skin as he stroked her body was the memory that plagued her dreams but had eventually soothed her to sleep.
He hadn't entirely hurt her.
She had no idea what to make of his disturbing act of affection. All she knew was that some guilty part of her had admittedly enjoyed his actions.
"Y'know," Stan pointed out, speaking casually with the possible intention to cheer Cassidy up. "I dunno about London but where I come from, when a man brings a lady to a hotel room and starts giving her expensive gifts: there's only one thing that's on his mind."
Cassidy's stomach suddenly tightened. "That's not what he wants. He's a monster. He treats me like a parasite," she choked out quickly. "Those Angels are keeping humans like farm animals. I doubt they even possess the ability to look at us in that kind of way."
"All I'm saying is that, monster or alien or whatever or not, your statue is male," he went on, giving another wheezy chortle. "Maybe he wants you to be your fancy man, Cass."
"Stop it, Stan!" Cassidy said sharply though she immediately regretted her somewhat harsh tone. She knew that he was just trying to make light of her situation but then and there, he was not saying the kind of things that she wanted to hear.
Luckily, he was a quick learner and took the message instantly. "Ok, ok, girlie…I'm sorry. Hey, why don't you tell me that story about the fruit seeds? The one you started earlier? The Greek one?"
Thankful for the abrupt subject-change, Cassidy took a deep breath. "Yes, Hades and Persephone…it's one of the most famous Greek myths and it was used to explain why and how the seasons changed. So, according to the myth, Hades- the god of the Underworld- fell in love with Persephone- the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest…"
And she told him the story.
She went on to tell him a myriad of Greek myths and somewhere between Jason's golden fleece and King Minos' labyrinth, Cassidy realised that there were few things more comforting than having someone willing to just listen to you talk endlessly.
Someone who didn't try to speak over you or interject or was impatiently waiting for their turn to talk. Someone who just listened to you.
Stan told Cassidy stories too.
He told her funny little anecdotes about his life on his father's peach farm in North Carolina.
These were far from the epics of Ancient Greece but they were just as entertaining.
They talked for another hour or two, until eventually Stan left to take a walk and to get some air. She was going to miss his company but at least she knew that his injuries from Michael hadn't rendered him unable to walk.
As a credit to him, at least he had tried to get her out of the room. Unfortunately, the handle of her door was bound with some kind of lock and chain- thus explaining why she couldn't even budge the handle.
Cassidy walked to the bathroom, taking up the plastic comb and absent-mindedly starting to run it through her hair.
"Keep busy," she murmured. "Keep yourself busy and don't let yourself start thinking about home or mum or anything…"
The more distraction, the better.
She studied her reflection in the mirror as the teeth of the comb sifted through her scruffy yellow mop. She took up an elastic band and used it to tie her hair into a high ponytail before hesitantly taking up the black box again.
She couldn't resist looking at the necklace again and it took frightening levels of self-control to prevent herself from trying the beautiful trinket on.
Cassidy was just in the midst of another mental tryst when she suddenly felt a cold draft of air rush over her. She was just about to consider this strange, seeing as the window was impossible to open, when she heard the sound of a fist rapping against hard wood.
And then a door slamming shut.
Oh God. She did not need this right now.
She turned, her heart pounding in her chest, only to see the Weeping Archangel standing in the doorway of the bathroom.
As always, his eyes were locked on her much-smaller form, though Cassidy was doing everything she could to avoid looking directly into his slate-grey gaze. Instead, she allowed her eyes to skim over the stone angel's Herculean body. She shuddered, her face suddenly very hot and her body suddenly very cold.
After a very thin, unblinking silence, Cassidy forced a heavy dose of courage down her own throat and spoke.
"What do you want?"
But upon shifting her gaze only slightly, she noticed another blindfold in his hand; his intentions were more than clear.
"No," she told him, shaking her head. "Not again. Not this time."
She tried to make her voice sound as defiant and threatening as possible but it rolled out rather pleading.
Tears flooded her dry, sore eyes and prompted her to blink.
Following that blink, Michael's forehead was now creased with annoyance and he was pointing out into the bedroom. After a few minutes of deciphering, Cassidy realised that he was pointing towards the basket of food that he had left for her.
She raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "Yes, thank you for that…" She dared herself to meet his eyes for a split second. "If you're threatening to starve me or something, it's not going to work. I don't care."
Cassidy quickly dropped her gaze to the floor but when she lifted her eyes again, Michael's face was completely overcast with anger. His finger was now pointing at the back-wall: just as he had last night, he was threatening her with Stan.
She opened her mouth to remind him that Stan was gone into the city and as such, he had no hold on her…but then she remembered that her friend wouldn't be gone forever.
She knew that Michael was vindictive and vengeful enough to wait until Stan got back if needs be.
He had waited for all that time in the museum, hadn't he?
Silently praying that she was just in for another session of petting, Cassidy took in a shaky, fearful breath. "A-Alright…fine…"
She took the blindfold from his hand and with numb, clammy, trembling fingers, tied it around her head- willingly blacking out her own vision and thus, surrendering herself to him once more.
There was a single, splintered second in which she stood, untouched and in blackness, waiting for him. Searing fear burned in her stomach and coursed through her veins.
Without warning, the Angel grabbed her by the forearm, causing the fear to climax in her chest. He hauled her forward, dragging her out into the main bedroom.
Cassidy felt her feet leave the cool tiles of the bathroom and stumble over the skirting boards into the deep carpet of the bedroom.
She felt Michael's hand come to rest on her head, running casually over the ponytail before his fingers harshly tore the flimsy elastic band. Her hair spilled down over her shaking shoulders and upper back.
She cried out, feeling something cold and metallic press against the skin of her bare neck. The metal object was wrapped around her slender neck and secured at the nape, leaving a slight weight against her throat.
"That's the necklace," she thought, realising. "He put the necklace on me."
Keeping his hand tight around her upper arm, he pulled her close to him. Cassidy was surprised to feel the rim of a Styrofoam cup pressed against her lips.
She reeled backwards.
"Mmmpf…what-?!"
Her mouth was open for a fraction of s second and in that miniscule time-frame, Michael forced her head forward. A scaldingly hot, bitter liquid suddenly splashed against her lips, leaking into her mouth and burning her tongue and gums.
She coughed and spluttered but the Lonely Assassin held her steady until all of the liquid had been swallowed. Cassidy panted, sucking welcome breaths of cool air into her freshly blistered mouth.
When the after-taste hit her, she realised that he had just forced her to drink a cup of black coffee.
Before Cassidy could even contemplate the bizarreness of this action, another object was pressed against her lips. The texture and faint scent told Cassidy that it was a chunk of bread.
Michael kept a firm hold on the back of her head and continued to push the bread against the young woman's mouth.
Cassidy lifted a hand, fidgeting. "If you want me to eat it," she managed to say. "I'll eat it. Please just let me."
But her hand was quickly and painfully swatted away; Michael was silently insistent upon feeding her himself.
Degrading as it was, Cassidy had no other choice but to eat the bread out of Michael's hand- letting him feed her like a baby or an animal. She swallowed back the last of the forced snack, choking slightly on the crumbs that now lined the back of her throat. His hand went from fisting her hair to condescendingly patting the back of her head as if to say "good girl."
Fooling herself that the ordeal was over, Cassidy attempted to take the blindfold off.
Quick as a flash, Michael seized her hands and shoved them back down to her sides.
Cassidy tried a second rebellion, sick of being pulled around like a ragdoll. Her wrists and forearms were aching, her lips her swollen from being burned and her stomach was sick with nerves.
"No," she insisted, quietly. "No more. Leave me alone now."
Michael growled in response, suddenly grabbing her ribcage and lifting her into his tenure as easily as a child's toy. Cassidy froze instantly, not even trying to struggle.
She had never heard him growl before and it was the most feral, unearthly, unnatural sound that her ears had ever drunk in.
He carried her over to the bed and for the first time, she felt his broad chest and gargantuan biceps pressed flush against her much smaller, wiry body. Despite the coldness that engulfed her lower body, her face was suddenly all too warm.
He lowered her to the mattress and she felt him settle himself next to her as he had the night before. She folded her hands in her lap as he started to toy with her hair again, her shoulders tense and her head slightly bent- mentally preparing herself for another session of stroking.
But Michael sent a jolt of shock through her when he suddenly took a firm hold of her neck and shoved her backwards so that she was lying down upon the bed. She quivered as her back met the duvet with a soft thud, all too aware of her own vulnerability.
He began by running his fingertips along her arms, legs, neck and collarbone before moving his hand to cup her face once more. He traced each of her features with a single finger, touching her nose, lips and eyelids, allowing the pad of his finger to lightly grace her soft skin.
She waited for the painful harshness of his claws with baited breath.
"He's just lulling me into a false sense of security," she thought, tensing her shoulders and bracing herself. "This monster is getting ready to hurt me. He's a beast. He's a sadist."
Each time that a whimper escaped her lips, Michael pressed a finger to them to silence her.
If she tried to curl up, her knees bending or buckling as she writhed, the Angel swiftly brought his hands to her legs to insistently straighten them out again.
Cassidy's anxiety started to reach an all-time high when Michael's fingers slowly started to creep along the hem of her tank top.
Her eyes shot open behind the blindfold, her head starting to twitch as she wriggled in protest.
"No. Oh God, please no. Anything but that."
She lifted a hand to stop him but her wrist was swiftly pinned to the mattress by one of Michael's large, strong hands. The other continued to finger the hem of her tank top, almost teasingly tracing the bare strip of skin between her tank top and the belt of her shorts.
It wasn't long before he was lifting the faded material and gently tugging it upward, seeking to expose more of her milky white skin.
Cassidy shook her head frantically, now breathing heavily, her eyes squeezing tight behind the blindfold. She was just about to lift her second hand, set to slap him away- regardless of the consequences- however Michael only lifted the top enough to expose her stomach.
A cool draft blew across the newly bare skin causing her to shiver and her near-hysterical quivering only became more violent when her captor ran a finger from the centre of her sternum, down over her navel and over the top of her abdomen.
Then he was stroking her tummy, running the full palm of his hand down her stomach.
She could feel her heartbeat getting dangerously fast and it was getting hard to breathe; if she wasn't able to sit up, it wouldn't be long before her lungs contracted and anxiety asphyxiation began.
It was difficult but Cassidy managed to coerce herself into relaxing.
Michael continued stroking her stomach in an even rhythm, gradually coming to release her wrist and to place a hand over her forehead.
Cassidy couldn't tell whether he was genuinely attempting to aid her in calming herself down or just trying to hold her head down, to prevent her from trying to sit up, but after ten straight minutes, it no longer mattered.
"Just relax," she thought to herself. "Just try to leave the room. Try to pretend that he's not the one touching you. Try to pretend that you're somewhere else."
She allowed her body to fall flaccid upon the bed, limp, lifeless and completely relaxed. She tried to visualise being somewhere else with somebody else but much to her own horror, she realised that a fantasy was no longer necessary.
In fact, soon she was enjoying the sensations that came from his touch. After a while, his skin was not cold to her but pleasantly cool and she soon found that the less she struggled, the gentler with her he became.
Cassidy allowed herself to be hypnotised by the steady pace of his touches, lying still beneath him. Her mind drifted back to her naive days at the museum when she would dream about Michael coming to life as she tirelessly washed, polished and repaired his stone body.
She told herself to forget that he was a violent, vicious alien from another world who had abducted her. Instead, Cassidy tried to pretend that she was back in the preparation room and that Michael had only just come to life- but as a real human man and not a monster.
And now he was gently stroking her.
She flinched a little, feeling soft tendrils brush against the side of her arm. She automatically lifted a hand to brush the rather ticklish sensation away and realised that she was touching a feather.
"His wings," she thought numbly. "This is what they really feel like."
Without thinking, she ran her fingers up against the feathers, feeling the plumage- the gossamer feathers of the fringes of the wing to the stiffer feathers that formed the central lining.
Cassidy's better sense returned with the sudden and sharp realisation of what she was doing.
However, Michael hadn't tried to brush her hand away from the edges of his wings. In fact, he just continued to stroke her stomach, occasionally returning to touch the still-evident claw marks on her face.
The dreamy numbness returned and Cassidy's inhibitions had started to deteriorate. Being forced to lie down for so long, in a warm room, on a soft bed while being petted like a Persian kitten had the inevitable effect of making her extremely sleepy and light headed.
Soon, she had settled into a comforting tempo, gliding her hand through his feathers.
A faint, content smile slowly crept on to her face.
Suddenly the once-soft feathers beneath her fingers turned to cold metamorphic rock, his fingers on her stomach transforming to chilling stone.
Brought back to reality with a shock, Cassidy froze.
Why had he turned to stone? The blindfold was still in place: there was no way that she could see him.
Unless it wasn't her gaze that had triggered the natural defence of the Weeping Angels.
Cassidy blinked, sitting up slightly under the petrified Archangel.
"H-Hello…is there someone else in here?"
Her question was met with nothing but a thin silence.
Without warning, Michael suddenly came back to life, his hand wrapping around her throat and forcing her back down to the bed.
She let out a sharp cry that was instantly quietened by Michael's vice-like grip on her windpipe. She struggled, tearing at his hand but to little avail and wincing at the feeling of his claws pressing into the bare skin of her neck.
Cassidy tried desperately to breathe, her lungs starting to burn and her chest starting to hurt.
What had happened?
What had she done wrong?
Suddenly the grip on her neck was replaced by something cold and wet slowly running up her throat, over the glittering necklace and right up to her chin. It was only when Michael gave another throaty growl that Cassidy realised just what she was feeling.
He was licking her.
Before she had a chance to react to this, his teeth suddenly sunk into her shoulder, breaking into the flesh with a hot, piercing pain.
Cassidy screamed, tears immediately springing to her eyes as her hand shot up to cushion the wound.
Her actions were met with no punishment and after a few moments, she dared herself to lift the blindfold.
He had left her alone once more.
Fighting the sobs that racked her body, Cassidy scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom. Her shoulder was in agony. She couldn't feel any blood seeping from the wounds but she wasn't prepared to take any chances.
Michael was an alien.
The doctor hadn't mentioned anything about the bite of the Weeping Angels but Cassidy was filled with paranoia all the same.
However, when she looked into the bathroom mirror, it wasn't the grotesque purple and red, puckering bite on her shoulder that Cassidy's eyes were drawn to.
Instead, she found herself staring at the jewels that adorned her neck.
The necklace really did look beautiful.
He loved watching his little pet- vulnerable and utterly helpless- as she melted beneath his fingertips.
He found particular joy in the fact that she was trying so very hard not to enjoy his touch on her body but failing miserably. She had tried to resist him before, but right now she was completely at his mercy
Her collar looked very pretty on her too, he noted.
The male Angel had observed the human tradition of marking their pets using ornamented neck-bands. It truly was far too good a custom for him not to take advantage of.
He was deeply engaged in the highly addictive act of prodding his human's skin, enjoying the feeling of her soft, malleable skin and relishing in her quiet obedience- when suddenly he noticed that her fingers had brushed against his right wing.
He paused for a moment before lowering the wing a little, allowing her further access to his plumage. She seemed childishly enchanted with his feathers- just like a cherub would be.
The Archangel hesitated when she began to stroke him: the touching of wings was taboo in the community of the Weeping Angels. She wasn't even an Angel. She was a low, filthy little human who didn't even deserve the honour of his presence- let alone the evident pleasure that he lavished on her body.
Alas, he enjoyed the feeling of her hand running against his wings. It had been a long time since another organism had touched
Something contorted within him at the thought of her guilty pleasure becoming his own but he ignored it, concentrating instead on twirling a finger around the strange abscess in the centre of her stomach.
His human was so unlike the females of his kind.
So delicate, dainty and the scent of the earth fruits that she had eaten still clung to her hair and skin.
"You're pathetic," he whispered to her in his silent mother-tongue. "But you are so very fun to watch and I am quite taken with this body of yours. I have never quite had the chance to be so close to a human before and I must say, you're kind are not quite as repulsive as everyone makes them out to be. Or perhaps it's just you…"
All of a sudden, Michael felt his quantum-lock take effect, his body turning to stone.
For a split second, he queried whether his pet's blindfold had slipped but then he sensed the presence of another Angel in the room with them.
The effects wore off quickly and Michael immediately whipped his head around to confront the unwelcome intruder.
The trespasser had already left the room and stormed back into the hallway; he could already hear her growling.
Michael snarled under his breath and turned back to his human, realising for the first time she had started to sit up. She was saying something but the Angel above her was deaf to all but his indignant rage.
He wrapped his fingers around her slender little neck and shoved her backwards to the mattress once more.
"I did not give you my permission to rise yet!"
He watched her writhe and squeal beneath his grasp, drinking in her delicious fear while fighting the temptation to crush her tiny windpipe in his fingers.
He released her, allowing her to breathe before the final suffocation. Before leaving, he could not resist leaning down to run his tongue over her pale white throat.
She tasted phenomenal.
Her skin was warm and both sweet and salty at the same time. He satiated his sudden cravings by sinking his teeth into her shoulder- marking her as his possession before leaving the room to follow the intruding Angel.
She was waiting for him in the corridor.
Her hands were already neatly folded over her eyes so Michael saw no need to show any courtesy by doing the same.
"What do you want, Angel Kyrie?!" he demanded to know, teeth already bared.
The female Angel regarded him with a cool, haughty tone. "What were you doing to that human, Wanderer?"
"That human," he growled, flexing his wings. "Is my property. I can do whatever I please to her without challenge."
"Her!?" Kyrie gave a mocking laugh, unable to move due to Michael's gaze but maintaining her antagonising tone. "You actually talk about that creature with respect to its gender. I almost find that less repulsive than the fact that you fawn over it."
"Pettish as ever, Kyrie," Michael responded sourly. "Small wonder that Angel Ariel has yet to promote you to her inner-circle."
"Our Mother Superior, Angel Ariel," Kyrie retorted. "Would be horrified if she knew that you were actually allowing that thing to touch your wings?"
Michael deliberately looked away, both in contemplation of his own actions and because he wanted Kyrie to move.
He wanted her to come closer and he wanted her to try to attack him.
Just so that he could justify embedding his claws in her skin.
"Why do you not just kill her, Wanderer?" Kyrie went on, predictably moving closer to Michael. "You've already taken her years. What makes this human so special? Why not just move on from her?"
Michael only growled, allowing the smaller, female Angel to patronise him and luring her into his compass of his snare.
"You are truly obsessed with this human, are you not, Wanderer?" she continued, coming to stand directly in front of him. "It's sick. It's unnatural. It's disappointing to think that the great, mythological males of our race could be so soft-minded and foolish…" She pretended to give a sudden gasp of realisation. "And do you know what I think, Wanderer?"
Slowly, Michael lifted an arm to cover his eyes, turning his head in the direction of her voice.
"Enlighten me."
"The way you touch that human is disgustingly intimate," she sneered. "You look at it in a way in which you do not look upon any females in this clan. You look at it desiringly. Is that it, Wanderer? Are none of the females here good enough for you? Am I not good enough for you?" He felt her lean in closer to him. "Do you want that filthy human as your lover? Do you want it as your mate?"
Michael's right hand suddenly shot out, grabbing Kyrie around the head so that she could not open her eyes to activate his quantum lock. His left hand grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her up against the wall, squeezing down and pressing her into the peeling wallpaper.
His voice was frighteningly calm and even in tone.
"I want to point out two things, Kyrie," he said smoothly, his claws digging harshly into the throat of the screeching Angel. Kyrie ran her claws down his bare chest in protest, causing him slight discomfort and pain but he refused to show it. He showed her no mercy.
She deserved no mercy.
Her hard, firm, cold and grainy skin felt nothing like the soft skin of his human's.
"Number one," he hissed, ignoring her screams and cursing. "If you breathe a word to Angel Ariel about what you have seen, the only seraph who will be receiving any kind of punishment will be you, seeing as you will have breached the only term of my contract with your leader…my human and my affairs with that human were to be left ignored…you have violated that agreement and Ariel will not be happy to hear that…" Michael smirked slightly, folding his wings behind his back. "And number two…"
As easily as though she were a marionette puppet, Michael flung Kyrie to the ground, lifting a foot and stamping down on her back. Pinned face-down, the female Angel could only growl threats at him.
Threats that were promptly ignored.
Her earlier accusations and berating had filled him with venom enough to fuel a high amount of sadism.
"Number two, Kyrie…perhaps the reason that I do not look at the females here with this kind of "desire" that you have foolishly imagined," he told her, his voice slowly escalating to a terrifying roar. "Is because I have formed standards that your clan simply do not meet. Particularly the strain of nosy, ignorant, petulant, tiresome fledglings like you!" He pressed down harder with his foot, slashing at her wings with his claws. "If I see or hear that you have come near to Cassidy's room again, I will make you suffer, Kyrie…believe that."
Michael released her, leaving her gasping and twitching on the ground as he began to walk away. He paused only for a second, to look at her over his shoulder.
"And do not challenge me again."
It was only when Michael had rounded the corner at the end of the hallway that he felt the full pain of the gashes across his chest.
His wounds were not bleeding: Weeping Angels did not bleed- but he had completely underestimated how deeply that irritating little Angel had sliced him.
He ran his fingers over the stinging trenches in his pectorals. These trenches would become dangerously unstable cracks if he were to turn to stone any time soon.
The Lonely Assassins were a highly developed species and had a fairly fast self-healing rate, provided that they were well-nourished. However, Michael noted with disdain, the wounds that crossed his chest would slow him down significantly for the next while.
He needed someone to repair his wounds.
Thankfully, he realised with a wide smirk, he had someone at hand who was more than capable of nursing him back to full health in a matter of hours.
Cassidy had only just barely gotten over Michael's earlier assault.
She had stuffed the blindfold down into the skirting boards, behind one of the polished bed-side tables. Looking at it had brought a sick, uneasy feeling to her stomach.
Needless to say, she had also removed the necklace and shoved it into a drawer.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
She had just started to settle down, massaging her shoulder and eating some of the fruit that was left in the basket, when Michael was in her room again.
She reeled backwards where she sat, dropping the half-eaten pear and suddenly jumping to her feet.
"What do you w-want?! I…I'm not putting on another blindfold again! Leave me alone!"
She stared at him for a moment, wary and shuddering. Even after she blinked, he did not move. Cassidy took a deep breath, trying to prevent herself from shivering any further.
She was not going to show fear this time even if he was insistent on toying with her.
"What do you want this time?"
She took a step towards him but blinked when the glaring sunlight from the window outside struck her eyes.
Cassidy's heart rate picked up as Michael suddenly grabbed her by the wrist.
She forced herself to look upwards though in order to avoid his eyes, she only allowed her gaze to travel as far as his lightly parted lips.
"What do you want from me?" she asked him through gritted teeth.
It took her a minute or so to notice that his free hand was pointing towards the huge cracks in his chest. The rifts were deep in the grey stone and crumbling slightly at the fringes.
"You're…you've been attacked?" she blinked, slowly studying the fissures before looking up at him. "You're hurt?"
Cassidy shook her head. "That's not my fault…you…you got yourself hurt somehow…what do you want me to-?"
Her eyes widened with realisation and she raised an eyebrow. "You want me to repair you? Is that it?" She gave a bark of cynical laughter, trying to tug her wrist from his iron-grip. "You regularly do nothing but damage to me." Cassidy gestured to the bruise on her neck. She was still scared of him but the stinging in her cheek, the aching in her wrist and the pain she felt whenever she turned her head prompted her to shout at him. "And you expect me to care for you? Ha! Why should I? Are you going to threaten me with Stan? Are you going to threaten to starve me again?"
At her next blink, she suddenly felt a dangerously painful pressure on her wrist.
Michael was tightening his grip, threatening to break her bones.
She winced but obstinately refused to blink again, trying to tear her hand away from him but only hurting herself more in the process.
"A-Ah!"
It was no use. There were only two ways that she could escape his grip:
Either by complying with Michael's wishes and hoping that he wouldn't break her wrist or by breaking it herself anyway.
She sighed, her eyes slowly travelling to the three deep cracks in the Angel's chest.
She didn't want to admit it outright but it absolutely killed her to think that someone or something had done that to him. Cassidy had spent gruelling hours, long days and tumultuous weeks restoring Michael's body to its former glory and the idea that her work had been so horribly vandalised made her skin crawl.
Somewhere inside of her, there was a still a soft-hearted girl clinging to the memories that she had of Michael when she had first found him. It made her sick to acknowledge it but part of her still wanted Michael to be as strong as possible.
After all, he had been her flawless statue. Her responsibility.
Cassidy gritted her teeth further, chewing the inner parts of her cheek and finally giving up on physical protest.
"Listen to me," she told him. "I can't repair you right here and right now…I need my tools from the museum…I need resin…I need plaster…I need my kit…"
In the middle of her explanations, her gaze had dropped to the floor and free from the quantum-lock, Michael dropped her wrist.
When she looked at him again, he was simply looking at her, his hands at his sides with one eyebrow raised.
Still frightened as she was, Cassidy couldn't help but think that in any other situation, the expression would look rather comical on the face of such an imposing creature.
She supposed that he was confused as to what she meant and she exhaled.
"Do you remember when we were at the museum? I used a kind of powder and a kind of white, sticky cement to repair the cracks in…in you. I also used a little leather wallet to fix the cracks and to examine them. Remember? You…you picked up my fan brush…that was one of the tools…" Cassidy paused for a moment, looking up at Michael, meeting his eyes briefly as she clasped her hands behind her back. "If…if you take me back to the museum…I can get them…and then I can repair you…"
For a brief second, Cassidy thought that she had finally managed to convince Michael to take her home but her thoughts of success were short lived for right before her eyes, the Atlasian stone Angel disappeared before her very eyes.
"What the-?"
He had presumably transported himself to the museum somehow.
The doctor hadn't mentioned that Angels could teleport at will.
"Though that presumably explains how they go forwards and backwards in time," Cassidy thought, rubbing the inner part of her wrist as she sat down on the bed. "Is that how he transported me here? It must be…"
She took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising headache- the erratic throbbing in her temples that was slowly building. This was all too much for her.
Cassidy crawled across the bed, pressing her forehead to the headboard and starting to murmur facts and figures.
Names.
Dates.
Locations.
Time Periods.
She used to do it all the time to soothe her migraines when she was in college, studying archaeology.
Historical facts had solidarity, clarity and sense behind them.
Something that her life currently lacked.
She was relieved to hear knuckles rap against the wall in front of her: Stan was back home safe and sound.
"Hey Cass," she heard him chuckle, sounding brighter albeit still slightly wheezy. "Didn't your daddy tell you that it's rude for a lady to mutter to herself?"
She smiled faintly, running her hand along the polished trim of the headboard. "My dad didn't really talk to me very much…" Desiring to get off the topic, she immediately asked. "How was your walk? Where did you go this time?"
They talked until the sun set and Cassidy was somewhat relieved to close the curtains of the room and to slip her aching limbs into the cool sheets of the bed.
Michael hadn't returned yet but she somewhat cynically pushed this to the back of her mind.
"He can wake me up if he wants me to repair him so badly," she thought. "And I doubt he'll hesitate to wake me either."
However when Cassidy was safely between her sheets, in the depths of slumber, it wasn't Michael who woke her but rather a knocking at her door.
Her eyes shot open and she groggily sat up. She yawned and finger-combed her hair out of her face, wondering who on earth was outside her door.
The knock was far too light and even to be Michael and even then, she suspected at this stage he'd be just as happy to slip into her room unannounced regardless of whether or not he was preluded with fanfare.
So who was knocking?
Cassidy sat up slowly, pulling back the covers and cautiously moving towards the door.
Her shoulders started to shake as a tightness started to grow in her chest.
If the person was knocking, it meant that they couldn't get into the room on their own. Was it another human resident in the building? Or maybe the doctor?
Relief washed over her when she heard a gentle, female voice with the cheerful assonance of an American accent.
"H-Hello? Is anyone there? Are you awake?"
Cassidy cleared her throat, calling out as she approached the door. "Yes. Hello. Who is that?"
"This is Emily," the woman's voice replied. "Are you Cassidy?"
"I am," Cassidy confirmed, pressing her ear to the door. "Why do you want to know?"
The woman suddenly sounded rather nervous. "C-Could you please o-open the door? I…I think the other Angels might b-be coming to patrol this c-corridor soon…"
Cassidy shook her head. "I…I can't open the door. I'm sorry. It's been chained shut from the outside. Can't you see that?"
"Just a moment," Emily bade her, a strange swishing and clicking sound indicating that she was tampering with the lock "Alright…try to open it now. P-Please hurry! This is v-v-very important!"
The idea that another young woman who was just as frightened as she was, was right outside the door and begging to come in suddenly negated any suspicions or common sense that Cassidy had.
She grabbed the door handle and was surprised when the door opened without any effort on her part at all.
But as soon as she opened the door, she instantly wished she hadn't.
Instead of the timid woman she was expecting to see, one of the Weeping Angels stood on the other side of the door.
Up close, the females were just as frightening and intimidating as Michael. This one was about Cassidy's height but her raised wings made her look much more imposing.
A far cry from the usual, emotionless mask that most of the females wore, this one's lips were curved into a faint, eerie smile.
Her hands were also folded in front of her, feigning a kind of politeness.
Cassidy flinched in shock, about to instantly close the door again but shock caused her to blink and in that split second, the Angel had stepped into the doorway to prevent her from doing so.
"I'm sorry, Cassidy," the Angel simpered. "I am so sorry to wake you."
The real young woman's eyes widened in both astonishment and disbelief. She didn't know that the Weeping Angels possessed the ability to speak.
The Angel's lips were closed and unmoving yet at the same time, there seemed to be a voice coming from her stone skin.
"You…you can speak…," Cassidy observed slowly, keeping her eyes wide open and locked on the Angel. Why had Michael never spoken to her before?
A frighteningly hollow laugh echoed from the stone Angel.
"Of course we can speak, silly human," she purred condescendingly. "We usually speak in a language that is too finely articulated for your underdeveloped ears to take in but if we wish, we can rip out the brain stem of a human being and re-animate their consciousness in order to use his or her voice."
Cassidy blinked, feeling her shoulders starting to shake again as her stomach started to feel horribly sick.
"You can only talk b-because you…tore out s-someone's brain stem?"
"Yes," the Angel replied. "She was only a little older than you but her life was just as expendable." She gave a rather cruel laugh. " My true name is Kyrie but the human's name was Emily. So I suppose I can assume that identity now, can't I? I really wanted to talk to you, Cassidy."
Cassidy swallowed, shaking her head. "What…what do you want from me?"
"I just wanted to remind you that the male Angel's strange interest in you does not make you superior to any other human in this building," Angel Emily stated factually. "His infatuation with you will soon decay and when it does, you will be little more than a feeding entity once more." She gave another laugh. "I just hope that he gives me the joy of disposing of you."
"What?"
"You see, he and I had a…confrontation of sorts earlier. It ended with both of us being wounded but as sure as these wounds will heal, he will come to his senses and realise that you are nothing unique soon enough."
Cassidy's brows furrowed as she tried to comprehend what the seraph had just told her. "Why…? Infatuation…? I…don't think I'm any better than any other person h-here…why would I?" Her fingers curled into her palms as she continued to retort the accusation. "He doesn't exactly treat me very well…" She swallowed, ignoring sudden thoughts of the roses, the food or the necklace. "There's no need to be jealous…"
Suddenly the hall light above Cassidy's head flickered, briefly plunging them both into blackness.
In that single moment of darkness, Angel Emily's hand shot forward and grabbed the front of Cassidy's tank top, dragging her close so that the two of them were practically nose to nose.
Cassidy desperately tried to avoid the Angel's eyes but every time she looked away, the stone creature took the opportunity to pull her closer.
One of her lithe but powerful grey arms was lifted, clawed fingers hovering over Cassidy's bare forearm.
"Jealous?!" Angel Emily cackled. "How dare you even insinuate that one of my noble race could ever feel jealous of a mere human? The nerve!" Her voice had quickly descended from soft and timid to cruel and screeching. "You are not a special being, you stupid little ape. You are nothing but replaceable!"
"I…I never wanted to be a-anything but th-that!" Cassidy stammered. "I-I never said that I w-was special in any way!"
"Pathetic human," Angel Emily sneered coldly. "I do not see why he takes such interest in you. I could destroy you right now if I wanted to. I could send you back in time where he would never find you. I could snap every bone in your weak little body…" She sniggered. "Or I could just scratch you right now…I could mark you and ruin you and make you so undesirable that he'd never want to set eyes on you again…"
Cassidy could feel tears in her eyes, both from sheer terror and her aching desire to blink.
She sniffed, her voice rolling out in a shaky whisper when she tried to speak. "So…why haven't you done any of that already?"
"Because unlike you pathetic humans," Angel Emily whispered, mimicking Cassidy's scared stutter. "I am a being with infinite patience. Mark my words. I will make good of my threats. I am just waiting for the right time."
Tears flooded her eyes and Cassidy was forced to blink.
Angel Emily's stone skin returned to its state of flesh and she shoved the human girl backwards with a cruel laugh. "Sleep well now."
The door slammed shut, leaving Cassidy lying on the carpet in darkness, tears of fear and confusion slowly rolling down her face.
She had no idea why this Angel had suddenly taken out a vendetta against her.
All she knew was that at that moment in time, there was an undeniable longing inside of her.
She wanted to be held.
She wanted to be comforted.
She wanted to be protected.
Leon Drake looked down at his younger sister as the two of them scaled the front steps of the Museum.
"Come on, Abbie," the tour guide said, trying to encourage her to smile once again. "I used to have to tell you to not to run into the museum lobby and these days, I'm having to drag you up the steps." He arched his brow, concerned as he looked down at the glum little red-head. "What's the matter? You've been so gloomy lately…"
Abigail Drake stared down at her shiny new black Clarke's shoes, fidgeting with the hem of her favourite My Little Pony rain-coat. She chose to ignore her brother's question and instead, as they walked through the front doors of the museum, she asked rather quietly: "Has anybody found the angel statue yet? Y'know…Michael?"
Leon shook his head. "No Abbie. They think some bad people might have taken him away. But don't worry. The police are trying very, very hard to find him…"
"What about Cassy?" Abbie questioned her brother, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes. "Where is Cassy? I hear-ed you tell the boss man that she hasn't been in work for two days. Is she sick?"
Leon frowned uncomfortably, swallowing and taking a long pause before finally saying. "Maybe, Abbie. I don't know…It's not really my place to know…"
"But I thoughted that you liked Cassy," the little girl insisted.
Her older brother said nothing in response to this, simply releasing her little hand as they reached the main desk. He leaned down to kiss her fluffy little head before giving her a nudge in the direction of the main corridor.
"Go and put your coat and bag in the preparation room. I have to go and talk to Curator Stanford and some policemen and women, alright?"
Abbie did as she was told but felt butterflies in her stomach all the same.
She knew her brother was just as sad as she was and she knew that deep down, he really wanted Cassy to come back to the Museum too.
Even if he didn't say it out loud.
Why were adults always so complicated?
The little girl was just pondering this as she turned the familiar corner to the preparation room.
Her little eyes widened and her mouth fell open, her Pinkie Pie backpack falling from her arms and landing with a thud on the floor.
Standing right outside the preparation room, his hand on the doorknob and his huge stone wings fanning out behind him, was Michael.
Abbie gasped. "It's you! You came back!"
The little girl blinked in surprise, rubbing her eyes to make doubly sure that she wasn't dreaming- however when she opened her eyes again, Michael was standing almost right in front of her, both of his hands and his sides, staring down at the child menacingly.
Abbie screamed. "Leon! Leon! Leon! Leon! Come quickly! Michael is back!"
She turned her head, watching her brother as he hurried down the corridor, sighing.
"Abbie, what is it? What's wrong n-?"
Leon's froze on the spot, seeing the huge stone angel. "Bloody Hell…"
When Abbie turned back to the statue, she noticed that he had assumed the pose that he always had at the museum, one arm draped over his eyes as if he was crying.
Abbie tugged on her brother's pants leg. "Leon! Leon! He moved again! Didn't you see it! He moved!"
But Leon was no longer listening.
He was shouting for Curator Stanford, who came running with Omar, two policemen and several other members of museum staff.
Abbie was ushered out of the crowd of people quickly gathering around the statue.
The little girl quivered as she looked up at the stone angel, wondering if her dear friend Cassy knew his secrets too.
As always, I hope you guys enjoyed!
:)