Thanks a whole bunch for the reviews, favourites and follows!
I'd especially like to thank any Guest who has reviewed, particularly Guilleber, Free Bird, Rascal and "Impatient Guest" (loving the name :-P). I like to write a thank you note to everyone who reviews personally but obviously I can't write direct ones to Guests so this is me saying a big THANK YOU or as we say in Ireland: GO RAIBH MAITH AGAT to all the Guests who have read and reviewed.
Though the harsh sharpness of physical pain and the punitive bluntness of emotional turmoil racked her body, Cassidy Albright eventually succumbed to slumber.
Part of her was too shocked to sleep but at the same time, she was far too weak to fight slumber's call.
In the harsh heat of day, she closed her eyes and slept upon the carpet.
It wasn't long before her troubled mind made the transition from the world of reality to the recesses of her dreams.
She was in the cave again, the spiralling roof above her and the cold, wet floor below. For once, there was no murmuring, whispers or cryptic messages being hissed into her ear. There was only silence.
She looked around, waiting for something.
Waiting for anything.
Waiting for the voices to start.
Waiting for the Angels to come.
Waiting for him.
But it was not a Lonely Assassin that emerged from the darkness that surrounded her.
She was stunned when out of the blackness, appeared a thin, waif-like young woman. She was trembling like a flame balancing on the wick of a candle in the breeze- threatening to expire at any moment. Her pale blonde hair fell over her bare shoulders in thin vines and her eyes were wide, hollow and staring, darkened by the clouds of sleepless nights and days governed by fear.
Cassidy reached out to offer aid to the shivering wraith and for a moment, the girl seemed to accept her outstretched hand. But when their fingertips met, all Cassidy felt was a cold, glossy pane of glass.
It was then that she realised that she was looking into a mirror.
For a few seconds, Cassidy trailed her fingers down the smooth surface of the mirror, looking at her own reflection in disbelief.
Suddenly a loud, sinister laugh rumbled from somewhere deep within the cave.
It echoed from the ceiling to the floor, heralding the coming of something wicked.
Her heart racing, Cassidy immediately tried to run, only to find that she was unable to move her legs. She was chained to the ground, wrought-iron rings around her ankles- weighted and holding her to the spot.
Shackled.
She swallowed, frantically pulling at her bonds, trying to free herself from the stone ground.
"H-Help!" she called out in vain. "Help me! Somebody! Anybody!"
All of a sudden, she lost all feeling in her right foot and it was rendered paralysed.
Cassidy looked down at her foot, attempting to move it but finding that it was heavy and immobile.
The same cold numbness travelled up along her right ankle, shin, knee thigh and soon her left leg was overtaken by the horrific feeling. Soon she was completely unable to move from the waist down.
"What-? What's happening to me?"
Cassidy's eyes darted towards the mirror and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.
What the archaeologist saw in her reflection terrified beyond her anything that she had ever seen before.
Her legs had turned completely grey.
But it was not simply a change in the hue of her flesh but the texture had also changed- the curves in her kneecaps becoming more pronounced and her calves looking almost smooth to touch.
She was turning to stone.
"N-No…"
The cold, damp air of the cave choked and caught in Cassidy's throat as she struggled to breathe- completely unable to scream. With frightening haste, the paralysis ran up through her entire body, until soon her entire torso was rigid.
The grey colour spread like a venomous infection beneath her skin, following the numbness and transforming her shoulders, her arms, her wrists, her hands, her fingers…
"No! No! No! Oh God, no!"
The stone feeling was quickly spreading across her collar-bone and up her throat.
Unable to move as she was being transformed into a statue, Cassidy was completely helpless. She could do nothing but watch her reflection's eyes dart and widen in panic as her body was slowly overtaken.
Just as the stone reached her chin, she saw Michael emerge from the darkness, standing behind the mirror.
His mouth was stretched in an evil grin- open in silent laughter as he watched her.
"You're doing this somehow, aren't you?! Stop it! Stop it now! No!"
But little by little, the stone overtook her, fully transforming her.
Spreading up to her face.
Taking her mouth.
Her nose.
Her eyes.
"Help me. Somebody! Please help me."
And all the while, she was forced to watch herself being turned to stone as Michael stood there, in silent laughter.
"Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me…"
Then from somewhere in the depths of the cave, she heard a man's voice. It was a familiar voice, taking on a soothing note as it spoke to her.
"Don't worry, Cassidy Albright. I'll be there soon and I'll take you away from him. Just hang on…
….just hang on."
Seconds later, her eyes bloodshot and her throat still aching, Cassidy awoke. Clapping her hands to her face and ascertaining that she was of flesh and blood once more, a single, choked-out word escaped her lips.
"Doctor?"
"Welcome to Los Angeles, California! Bit too far back to meet Catherine Zeta Jones but all the same, a very nice place," the doctor announced, stepping out of the TARDIS and looking around. "Oh bugger it!" he added with a disappointed sigh as he ran to the end of the alley in which the TARDIS had been parked. "I was hoping to have been caught in a spot where we could see the Hollywood sign."
Edmund stumbled out of the dark blue threshold, clutching the wood for a moment and doubling over slightly.
"Ah! Finally! It feels so good to be back on solid ground!" he panted breathily, putting a hand to his head. "I don't care what either of you say. I am never going to get used to that. Ever."
"Oh, man up a little," Clara chided, nudging him in the shoulder but smiling all the while. "You've just travelled over eighty years into the past and all you can do is complain about some silly travel sickness?"
The archaeologist's eyes widened and as if he had only just realised that fact for himself, he slowly straightened up. Edmund walked over to the doctor, his mouth slightly agape as he stared out of the alley and on to the street.
The warm air was pervaded by the sounds of a busy city, crawling with slickers, slashers, starlets and superheroes, that time had long forgotten.
The huge towering buildings were alive with excitement and teeming with the drama of the lives of the quirky residents, good, honest workers and the scheming underbelly of Los Angeles. Movie posters, adorned with the faces of the great stars of old, wallpapered every street corner and massive advertising billboards acted as backdrops to the impressive skyline.
Palm trees stretched out of the pavement from far behind the buildings, swaying in the breeze which carried the shouts, swears and shrieks of the city's inhabitants.
Motorcars honked and spluttered sooty clouds as they powered down the streets in sparsely spread lines. Men in pinstripe suits and women with dandelion-clock hair hurried up and down the footpaths- totally absorbed in the lifestyles that they had built for themselves.
Most of them didn't even look up as the Time Lord and his two human sidekicks slowly shuffled out of the alley.
"It's really…," Edmund managed to stutter, his eyes darting to every corner of the scene before him. "We really have…I mean…we're …this is…" He took in a long breath, clapping a hand to his head. "Good God."
The doctor slapped Edmund across the back for the seventh time that day. "Very well put, Eddie, my man. Very well put indeed."
"We've travelled back in time!" he blurted out, proceeding to rush over to the nearest building with eyes like ping-pong balls. "This building...this building was erected only this year and I could be one of the very first people to touch it! It looks like a dentist's now but what is it used for in the future? Does it even still exist in the Hollywood of the future?!"
The doctor turned to Clara, letting the archaeologist continue his rambles.
"So then, that worked, thankfully." He grabbed a newspaper, resting atop a nearby newspaper dispenser, checking the date. "And it would appear that we've arrived right on schedule."
"Good," Clara nodded, before throwing a glance back at Edmund. "Is he…is he going to be alright? He seems a bit delirious."
"I could be breathing the same air as Al Capone right now!" the young man announced, practically gyrating on the edge of the redbrick building.
"I wouldn't worry. Don't you remember your first time-travel?" the doctor said with a bemused chuckle. "Besides, history junkies…what are you going to do with them?" His smile fading as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver, the doctor sighed. "However, we really have no time to gawk at the sights." He grabbed Edmund by the collar of his jacket and without a hint of remorse, pulled him into earshot of he and Clara's huddle. "Because we're not here to gawk at the sights. We're here to find Cassidy and to take her home."
"R-Right, yeah. Of course," Edmund centred himself, managing to tear his eyes away from the 1920s City of Los Angeles for a few seconds. "We have to find Cassidy." His eyes widened as though he had only just remembered what exactly they were there for. "We've got to find her! We've got to-!"
"Yes we do!" Clara hissed placing a hand on Edmund's shoulder. "And keep your voice down a little." She looked around. "We're starting to get a few funny looks from people."
"'Course we are," the doctor said absent-mindedly, flicking his screwdriver around- entirely unaware of how strange he looked. "Look at the way you two are dressed. This is before the era of trainers…and skirts above the knee…" Ignoring Clara's sudden self-conscious preening, the doctor looked up. "Hmph. No immediate time signatures. We're going to have to work from the ground up to find the Angels' base of operations."
"Base of operations?" repeated Edmund quizzically. "Ok, what exactly are we looking for here? What kind of building?"
"I've dealt with them before in New York," the doctor informed them both. "They're attracted to hubs of human interaction…big cities…places where people can go missing and nobody will notice. In 1930s New York, they had commandeered an entire set of apartment blocks. They'll need a place where they can keep a lot of people under control but fully alive…"
"Have you got any idea where that place could be? You must have been to this Los Angeles before," Clara questioned.
The doctor clicked his tongue. "Admittedly I have been here before and I have my suspicions but now is not the time for guesswork. For Cassidy's sake, we need to be precise." He took a breath and put his hands on his hips. "Right then, we need to start talking to locals."
"And ask them about moving angel statues?" Edmund stated sceptically. "Don't you think that's going to sound just a little bit crazy?"
"Everyone's a little bit crazy, Eddie," the doctor replied coolly. "And we're not going to ask them about the Angels outright. Just ask about local rumours surrounding statues. Los Angeles is a big place but someone will have noticed something and an urban myth will have grown up around the area where the Angels are…"
"So we need to head to places where people meet and chat casually?" Clara observed, looking around. "As it appears no one is just going to stop for a chat on the street. Maybe we should look for a bar?"
"A bar?" the doctor said with a chuckle. "Oh no, Miss Oswald. There'll be no bars around here. We're in the middle of 1923! The Roaring Twenties! In the States!"
"The Prohibition Laws are still in place," Edmund explained in response to Clara's quizzical expression. "Alcohol is illegal at the moment almost all across the US." He looked to the doctor. "We need to find a Speakeasy. They were…are usually hidden behind barber shops, book shops, dentists…They're secret."
"Oh Edmund," Clara smiled, quasi-admiringly. "You're quite the expert, aren't you?"
Desperately fighting the spray of blush that was appearing on his cheeks, Edmund waved a hand to signal his tepid modesty. "There was an exhibit based around the Roaring Twenties in the museum a while ago."
The doctor tucked his screwdriver away. "Handy for us and right you are. We need to find ourselves a Speakeasy, then. Have you got any ideas about where we might be able to find one, Mr History?"
Edmund looked around, frowning slightly. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I know the type of place where a Speakeasy usually is situated but I don't think I've studied any specific places in Los Angeles city…" His eyes fell upon a nearby Newsagent's. "We could also be arrested for asking about one. They're illegal above all things…" He exhaled, his brow furrowing. "But for Cass' sake, we'll need to ask a local."
"And we'll need to ask one quickly," the doctor murmured, anxiety briefly flickering across his features as he looked up at a nearby clock, mounted on to a streetlamp.
No sooner had the words escaped the doctor's lips, a young man in a fedora with a newspaper tucked under his arm had swaggered over to Clara.
"Hiya toots. You new in town?" he smirked. "If you need a tour-guide, you're in luck. I can show you all the best sights in all of Hollywood, baby. And so much more…"
"Hi there!" the doctor immediately interjected, throwing his arm around Clara's shoulders and leaning forward so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the aspiring flirt. "How shrewd of you! Yes, we are all new in town! Just across the pond for a lovely holiday! My two friends and I would actually love it if you could show us around." He lowered his voice, putting on his very best "cool-guy" croon as he made a drinking gesture. "Especially a place where we could, y'know…get a little buzzed? Get jazzed? Get a little pyjama-ed?"
The disgruntled suitor's face turned from sour to confused but after raising a high eyebrow at all three of them, he spoke again. "Brits, huh? Well, if you guys are looking for some fun. You should try down at Louis Dawson's antique store. Head straight to the back-room and tell the guy that Pete the Fox sent you. Then he'll…"
Before "Pete the Fox" could say another word, an oily-faced, burly man came running past and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Petey! Awwh Hell, Petey! You gotta come see this! The cops are all swarmin' down the end of Main Street. I thought they were shootin' for another movie but there's been an actual murder! They've got the body sprawled out on the street and everything…"
Pete's eyes widened and he gave a low whistle before looking to the three time-travellers. "Sorry folks. I'm a journalist with the local paper so that's my cue to run." He winked at Clara, (prompting a rather protective squeeze from the doctor). "Maybe I'll catch you later then, cutie."
Clara wrinkled her nose, watching as the two men ran down the street, rounding the corner. "Some men and their methods…." She rolled her eyes. "Well, at least we have the name of one of those Speakeasys to go on, so-…."
"We have to follow him," the doctor said, staring after the two men and suddenly breaking into a run after them.
Edmund slumped his shoulders in disbelief. "There he goes! Just running off again! Explaining nothing!"
Clara sighed. "Yes, he tends to do that. Part of his charm. Come on, then."
The duo followed their self-elected leader and soon managed to catch up with him, breathing heavily.
"So why are we running after Laurel and Hardy up there?" Edmund asked between pants, nodding at the gathering crowd ahead.
"The police are there!" the doctor shouted as he sprinted. "I need to ask them something! And this murder! I just have a strange feeling about it! Not a good feeling! Not a bad feeling! Just a strange one!"
They kept running until they reached the scattered crowd of whispering, chattering locals. Women were shielding children from the view, men were shaking their heads and journalists were pressed up against white lines of police tape.
The doctor bounced up on tiptoe, trying desperately to get a view of the crime scene.
"What do you mean strange?" Edmund panted, leaning forward on to his knees. "You know, you talk an awful lot but say very little."
Clara joined them, finger-combing her long chocolate-coloured hair and frowning up at the doctor, quoting only one word from his previous conversation. "Pyjama-ed? Really?"
The doctor waved a hand, still craning his neck and not bothering to look at either of them.
"Oh come on. Basic rule of human language. All you need to do is turn any noun into a verb in the past tense and it instantly means "getting drunk." You should know that. I need to get up front. You two, wait here."
Without another word, the doctor elbowed his way forward, slipping through the crowd and coming to awkwardly step over the police tape.
There were three police men talking, all of them clad in black shirts and frowning, looking perplexed. They occasionally threw a glance over to the body laying sprawled upon the ground, covered by a white sheet. Patches of bright red had seeped into the covering around where the figure's head should have been.
"…I don't know what to say. Mother of God, I think I'm going to be sick," one of the cops was saying. "I've never seen anything like it. The guy's back is split open, his head is cracked at the back like an egg and his brains have been scooped out with a melon-baller or something! His entire spine is completely fucked too…"
"What weapon could have done that?"
"This is almost identical to that other murder across the city…on the East side…"
"Hey there guys," the doctor chimed in, quickly flashing the psychic papers. "I'm Detective John Smith…I was sent by the head office. I just need to do a quick inspection of events. Could you give me a quick run-down on what's happened here?"
"Uhh, yeah, sure," one of the officers stammered. "Well, we got the call about a body in the middle of the cul-de-sac at about midday. We've never seen anything like it. The victim is male and in his early thirties. We haven't managed to identify him either…but it's gonna be pretty hard to…his head's been…torn open…so has his torso…I'm no coroner but I reckon his brain has just been ripped out and I…"
The doctor held up a hand to halt the flustered policeman, smiling in a friendly way, despite the sudden sinking in his chest. "Good work, officer. Really good work. I think I get the picture. Now, you were saying there was another murder like this one?"
"Yeah, Inspector Smith," another of the cops nodded. "Emily Baxter. A local florist's daughter. She had been missing for a few days and her body was found in an alley on the East Side just about a week ago. Her…her, uh, brain was pulled out too…"
"I see," the doctor said with a weak nod, looking towards the sheet-covered body and swallowing. "May I…?"
"Go ahead, Inspector," the third of the officers said. "If you think you've the stomach for it. It's pretty grim."
Well used to anything that human law enforcers could consider "grim", the doctor walked ahead, approaching the body gingerly.
He carefully crouched down and took a hold of a corner of the blanket, lifting it and peering under.
His face contorted with a mixture of disgust and morbid realisation and his breath became quick and heavy. He quickly dropped the sheet and after swiftly running his screwdriver along the sides of the body, the doctor stood up. He briskly walked back to the police-tape line, his eyes straight ahead and his lips twitching.
Clara and Edmund had managed to force their way to the front of the crowd and were abreast the tape, waiting for him.
"What is it?" asked Clara, noticing the doctor's worried expression. "What's happened?"
"He's talking to her," the doctor said.
"What?"
"The Angel is talking to her," the doctor repeated, his eyebrows knitting further. "He needed a way to verbally communicate with her and he found a way of doing it. He's taken that human's brain-stem. This situation has escalated far further than I thought it had."
He looked to his two companions for the first time, stepping out over the line and wringing his hands as he spoke. "Usually Angels don't bother with talking unless it's absolutely necessary. His obsession with her has grown to the point where he needs verbal commands to control her. Physical control isn't enough for him anymore…"
"But what does that mean for Cass?" Edmund demanded to know. "For us?"
The doctor looked to Edmund, his expression serious and sombre as ever. "It means that we need to get to Louis Dawson's Speakeasy as soon as possible."
It was only after Edmund Potter started to walk ahead of them as they hurried down the sidewalk, (following the directions of a portly and rather endearing cigarette girl), that Clara turned to the doctor. "You didn't answer me before. What do you know about Cassidy that you're not saying? What's going to happen to her? You need to tell Edmund and I. It could be important to her rescue…"
"Clara, know that I trust you and your fantastic judgement beyond anything else right now," the doctor replied. "But whether or not I tell you, won't make a difference." He swallowed, watching Edmund round the corner and punch the air in triumph as he located the antique shop. "There are some things that just aren't worth knowing. Just understand that we can save her. That's what's important right now…"
Clara Oswald frowned deeply but after a few seconds, nodded, taking a breath. "We'd better remember to tell this man that "Pete the Fox" sent us, then…"
The waiting was the worst part.
She had been waiting for him to make an appearance all day but so far, he hadn't come.
From the moment that she had opened her bloodshot eyes, her body slick with sweat and her wits frayed to their end, she had been waiting for Michael to come into her room and torment her in ways unimaginable.
He had almost choked her to death the night before, hadn't he?
She lay on the bed, every inch of her tinged with fearful anticipation.
Her back was pressed against the mattress, her limbs strewn limply across the bed and her torso completely inflexible. Like a child's doll.
Nerves pulsed through her and her eyes darted back and forth from the window to the door.
Any second now that murderous creature of stone would steal silently into her room- more than likely with the intention of finishing the deed that he had almost committed only hours ago.
Or maybe he hadn't shown up yet, she considered, forcing herself to sit up, because he really was intent on starving her death this time.
Perhaps he really had abandoned her completely, having decided that she was too much work to take care of.
"Alright then," Cassidy whispered under her breath. "Starve me until I'm skin and bone and let me rot here. I don't care. I'd rather die here alone with my body slowly eating itself from the inside than live under your rule again…"
However, the taste of food last night had broken the seal of bile in her stomach, restarted her appetite once again and thus she was afflicted with agonizing hunger pains.
She wrapped an arm around her abdomen, groaning and shaking her head. "Distract yourself, distract yourself, distract yourself…"
Tired of carving pictures into the skirting board, Cassidy went prying around the bureau and bedside drawers again.
Stuffed into one of the back of the drawers, she found a leather-bound bible and an old stationary notepad, printed with the logo of "The Summer Bank Hotel." The pages were slightly faded and marred- most likely from damp and heat damage- but the pen tucked into the spine still had some ink in it.
She had always like writing letters and despite the knowledge that she would never get to send them, Cassidy sat crosslegged upon her bed and began to write.
The pen pressed awkwardly into the page, smearing a little as the soft surface beneath gave way to the pressure applied to the nib but too engrossed in each word that she wrote, the prisoner of the Angels didn't care.
The letters didn't really have a structure or a purpose- they were simply her thoughts and emotions spilled directly out on to a page through the medium of ink.
Her first letter was to Leon.
Dear Leon,
If I ever see you again, I don't want things to be awkward between us. I don't mean to be harsh but I don't really have feelings for you anymore and strangely, I don't think I really ever did.
Maybe it was just because you're a nice guy, I wanted someone and you happened to be there.
Just writing to clarify that there are no hard feelings about the night of the presentation. I made the unfair assumption that it was you sending me the roses and I do realise that I put you on the spot.
It was rather childish of me and for the record, I think that Shauna looks absolutely lovely. I hope that you are both very, very happy and have a long and awesome relationship.
Best wishes,
Cassidy
Her second letter was to the Doctor. The man who had promised to save her.
Dear Doctor,
I forgot to ask: what is your real name?
Are you even a real person?
Are you coming to save me? Have you forgotten all about me?
I think I heard your voice in my dream last night. Is that it? Did I dream you up?
Or are you just some crazy, time-travelling man in a blue police box who likes to give people false hope of rescue?
Somehow, I don't think you're that callous. We spoke very little and in awful circumstances but you seem very nice.
I hope something horrible hasn't happened to you.
Please come and find me soon.
I don't think I can last much longer.
Yours sincerely,
Cassidy Albright
She also wrote one to Dr Hewitt.
Doctor Hewitt,
I'm aware that this is terribly informal but where the hell are you? You've been missing for months. I really wish that you were back at the museum with me. So much has happened since you left. I had to do the presentation alone but everything went smoothly.
I found out something terrible about the Angel statue but maybe you know all about it already. Maybe he got to you already. When this entire drama with Michael started, maybe you would have believed me.
After all, you believed in me before when no one else would. You made me your apprentice even when the board told you that I was too inexperienced.
Thank you so much for that.
Wherever you are right now, I hope you're happy.
Your faithful student,
Cassidy Albright.
She tore another sheet of notepaper and wrote her next letter to Edmund.
Dear Ed,
I'm about to say something that I rarely ever got to say when we worked together at the museum: I was right and you were wrong.
The Angel statue was alive and he kidnapped me. In response to the question that I kind of hope that you're asking right now, I'm in a hotel somewhere and sometime far, far away The Angel took me here.
I know if you were with me right now, you'd be hurling all kinds of logic and rationality at me right now- telling me to calm the heck down and to get a hold of myself.
I never told you this but as annoying as you could get, I love how level-headed you always managed to stay under any kind of pressure.
I also never thought I'd miss arguing with you.
While we're confessing, I guess I have always been a little jealous of your experience and your knowledge. Despite that, I consider you to be one of my greatest friends.
And no hard feelings if you want to take up my work at the museum since I probably won't be getting back there any time soon.
You'll finally get the spotlight that you've always wanted and always deserved.
Good luck in the future,
Cass
She paused before starting her next letter, taking a moment of reflection before putting pen to paper.
Dear Mum,
I love you.
I love you so, so much.
You are the best Mum that anyone could ever ask for. You always did your very, very best to give me everything that I needed.
I know that sometimes you got worried that you were more of a burden than a mother to me because you were always so sick but that's just not true. I never minded looking after you because it was a way that I could show you how grateful I was for having such an amazing mummy.
You always supported me in everything. When I told you that I wanted to be an archaeologist, you taped every episode of Time Team for me and took me to the museum every weekend.
And it isn't your fault that my Dad left. You were right. We are better off without him and I've never resented the fact that I grew up with no daddy. You'll always be worth a hundred daddies to me. And I loved celebrating Mother's Day on Father's Day too. I got to have two Mother's Days every year. Two excuses to make you breakfast in bed, to draw your favourite flowers on to a card and to spend the entire day with you! What more could I have asked for?
I really wish that I could be with you right now. Not just because I want to be there for you but because I really want you to come and hug me right now the way you always used to when I was afraid.
I'm scared, mummy. A bad man has taken me away and I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I want to wake up and to find out that this is all a nightmare so that I can out of bed, come into your room, get into bed with you and fall asleep feeling safe beside you. Just like when I was a little girl.
I really hope you're alright.
Love you forever,
Cassy
Xxxxx
Wiping tears from her eyes, Cassidy went on writing.
Dear Louisa,
I'm so, so sorry.
Words alone will never describe how sorry I am.
If it wasn't for me bringing that statue to the Museum, you'd still be alive right now and so many other people might be still alive, happy and in London too.
You are my best friend in the whole world. You were the first person to talk to me when I first came to work at the museum, you were my wingwoman on every night out and no matter what kind of stupid idea or scheme I had, you were always there to talk me out of it or to laugh about it with me afterwards.
I miss you so much right now.
Everybody misses you but in the past few days I've realised just how valuable a friend can be.
I feel like it's my fault that you're gone and the only way that I can console myself is to think that even though I'm in Hell right now, you're in Heaven watching over me.
Maybe I'll see you someday soon.
Lots of love,
Cass
Xxxx
Her teardrops were now dotting the page, smearing the ink and blurring her vision as she wrote what she thought would be her final letter.
Hey Abbie,
I hope you're doing alright, princess!
I hope you're still going to Lil'Diggers Club and I hope you still come to work with your brother as often as possible. There's a new exhibit coming to the museum soon that has lots of dinosaurs in it. Be sure to take lots and lots of photos of them for your scrap book!
I think you'll make a great historian someday!
People will be saying a lot of weird things at the museum but don't believe any of it. I'm doing fine. I've just had to go away for a while.
I hope to see you soon and when I do, I hope you're still interested in history!
The museum needs more fun, creative people like you! Make sure to tell your brother that. I'm positive that he'll agree with me.
Stay wonderful. I've always wanted a little sister just like you.
Love,
Cassy
Cassidy wiped the tears from her face, her shoulders shuddering.
She delicately packed her letters into a small bundle and pressed her lips to the creased paper folds before tucking them under her pillow.
A thought suddenly occurred to her as she was putting the notepad away and sitting back up on to the bed, she wrote one last letter.
Dear Michael,
That's not even your real name but that's how I'll always know you.
I've never you called you by it to your face.
Just in my dreams and whenever I've thought of you.
And back at the museum.
I wish I could go back to then.
When you really were the only man in my life who ever listened to me and I could still feel so safe, just standing with you and talking to you.
Mum always used to say that Angels were sent by God to watch over us and to take care of us.
I don't know whether you really understand this or not but what you've been doing to me is neither.
There was a crazy moment when you held me and you laughed and I could feel the laughter ripple out of your throat when I really believed that if I opened my eyes, I'd see a real human man. Sometimes when you touch me and your skin presses against mine, I feel like there are no boundaries between us
There are times when I think about you and it takes all my self-control not to admit that maybe I still care about you.
There are times when you frighten me so much and make me so angry that I wish that you could die in the most horrible way possible and were out of my life forever.
Then there are times when I wonder what my life would be like if I had never met you at all.
Sometimes you're a monster.
Sometimes you're a murderer.
Sometimes you're a fiend.
Sometimes you're charming.
Sometimes you're a mystery.
Sometimes you really are just like a human man.
I can say all these things aloud and not feel a thing.
But as I've said before, I really can't deny that you're always the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen before.
And admitting that single fact kills me.
Your prisoner,
Cassidy.
That letter joined the others beneath her pillow.
Tears were now falling freely from her eyes, despite the fact that she no longer felt the need to cry.
Moving slowly across the mangled sheets, she stood up, walking over to the bathroom door and shedding her clothes as she went.
Her ritualistic cleansing- her daily ablution- was all that she wanted right now.
As the fabric was peeled from her sore, slick skin, Cassidy felt a familiar mixture of both vulnerability and liberation.
She twisted the faucet and without even waiting for the water to adopt a bearable temperature, she stepped under the shower.
Cassidy did not flinch when the water was icy cold nor cry out when the water was boiling hot. She stood beneath the pulsating jet, steadfast and waiting for the sporadic temperature changes to subside as her skin was scalded and shocked by the cold in erratic measures.
After her routine of shaving, scrubbing and washing, she simply rested beneath the shower head- her forehead pressed against the cool, glossy tiles.
She let the water spill down her face in thin, veins, passing through her hair like vines, clinging to her eyelashes in silvery beads and pooling at her collar bone before travelling down her body and ending its journey by disappearing into the gurgling drain.
She wished for every emotion inside of her to wash away with it.
Every drop of anxiety, fear, anger and sorrow to be cleansed from her and to vanish forever down the silver drain.
Groping for a towel, Cassidy turned off the shower and stepped back out on to the tiles of the bathroom floor. She dabbed herself dry and started to re-dress, the uneasy feeling in her stomach returning with the realisation that Michael still hadn't come calling for her that day.
She looked up at the mirror- the glass steam-coated with the hoary breath of condensation. Cassidy frowned with disdain, looking at her blurry reflection. She could see no fine details of her face and body but alas, she did not need to; she could see perfectly well the damage that had been done.
Her skin was frighteningly pale in the places where it had not suffered severe sunburns and as such was tinged a patchy, puce colour. Her eyes looked like two gaping, smoky black-holes, surrounded by greyish blue insomniac clouds. Her entire body was also wan and reedy- impossibly thinner than it had been when she had first arrived.
All of that, combined with the specks of white on her fingernails and the bruises and deep cuts that marred her- served as a testimony to the prisonerhood that she had endured.
"Look at what he's done to you," she whispered under her breath. "Look what he's fucking done to you…"
She imagined her reflection smiling cruelly behind the blurry haze on the glass.
"Don't pretend that you didn't love every second of it."
"Love it? Are you crazy?" Cassidy hissed at her dark-eyed reflection. "Do you think that I like being starved and beaten and imprisoned?"
"You love all of the attention that he lavishes on you. This is your dream come true. Your angel has come to life…"
"And he's slowly killing me."
"But he's not trying to kill you, is he? He just gets angry at you because he wants you all to himself. He's almost imprinted on you."
"Don't say that. He hasn't "imprinted" on me. He wants me as his pet. His slave."
"Oooh, kinky, isn't it? Come on, Cassy. You secretly want to believe that he's doing all of this because he's fallen madly in love with you."
"Stop it! Stop talking to me! I don't want him to be in love with me! He's an alien, he's a monster…"
"A sexy alien and a monster who wants nothing more than to spoil you. You heard the way he was talking to you. You remember what Stan said about men who bring presents to girls. Hey, our lovely Michael even said that he'd bring you more gifts and be super nice to you if you just acted like a good girl and stopped talking to Stan…"
"I'm not going to give in to that demon's pressures and bullying. He's a heartless, soulless bastard."
"Whom you depend on."
"That's not true."
"Deny everything, Cassy but you know what I'm saying is true. It's so romantic, isn't it? The way he's stolen you away for himself…"
"And all the people who he's hurt, maimed and probably killed just to get near me? All of the people who died because of his obsession with me? Louisa? Is that all "so romantic"?"
"He only got rid of anyone he saw as coming between you and him. The poor darling was just jealous. He doesn't even seem to understand what he did was wrong. All he wants is you and would gladly remove anyone whom he sees as competition for your attention…"
"He's a psychopath! That doesn't excuse anything he's done!"
"Oh Cassy. It's like your very own Greek myth. He's like Hades and you're his Persephone. Or you're his Psyche and he could be your dashing Eros…He certainly has a better appreciation for Greek legends than Leon."
"Stop it! You don't know what you're talking about! You don't know me! You're not me!"
"Oh, but I AM you, Cassy. Admit it! Resign to the truth! This is your greatest wish come true! You love every second of what he's done to you and if you had a lot more brains and a little less heart, you'd just let him do whatever else he wants to you, tell everyone at home in England to sod off and happily spend the rest of your life in the arms of your stone prince charming!"
"Now listen, you ignorant freak! Just fucking listen to me!" Cassidy shouted into the mirror. "You're wrong! I don't care about him at all! He's a murderer and nothing more than a selfish beast! I never wanted this to happen and right now, the only reason I'd be upset if he never came back to see me again is because I'd be stuck here! I don't want him! I don't love him! And I will never give into him! Never!" She reached forward and started to frantically wipe the surface of the mirror, wiping at the foggy, sneering reflection's face until only her own frantic visage was visible. "Never. Never. Never. Never…"
She continued to murmur the same half-crazed mantra even after she had eradicated her malicious, lustful doppelganger, opening the bathroom door.
"Never. Never. Nev-…"
Michael was standing right outside the bathroom door, staring down at her with a fanged smirk and his wings spread- casting a shadow over her and almost barring the threshold.
"Never what, Cassidy, my darling?" He gave a low, mirthful chuckle. "In the case of most species, talking to oneself is considered an early sign of insanity. Oh dear."
Him saying her real name had once filled her with warmth- now it filled her with nothing but sour malice.
Cassidy glowered up at the Weeping Angel and then avoided his eyes as she ducked under his wings, walking out into the bedroom.
"I'd be shocked if I bloody well hadn't gone insane yet from being trapped here," she seethed, not even bothering to look back at him. "What do you want?"
Quick as a flash, the Angel seized her wrist from behind, pulling her and forcing her to stand on the spot. He gave a mock gasp of surprise. "Such coarse language from such a fragile little female! Your terrible attitude aside, I could not agree more. I have been a terrible master thus far. Driving you to your wits end. It was of my mind that it due time that I took you out for a special night."
Cassidy froze, turning around slowly- apprehensive and wary in wake of his suddenly very amiable manner. "What…what are you talking about? You're going to take me out…outside?"
Michael was still looking down at her, still eerily smiling, his hulking wrapped firmly around her slender wrist.
"Well, no. Not out of the hotel per se. I do, however, intend to give you a very special night out of this room. The other Angels partake in a very entertaining event at this time every month and I have decided to attend the event myself. However, etiquette from this world dictates that I simply cannot go alone. I must have an escort."
Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head and feeling him release her, she stumbled backwards. "Wh-what? No…I'm not going to be your "escort" for some stupid party that the Angels are throwing…"
She was expecting him to lose his temper at this but "Oh, little trinket. You have upset me greatly and insulted my generosity. I even went to the bother of buying you something special to wear for the occasion…"
Confused, Cassidy looked around the room and for the first time, saw the large, square-shaped box resting atop the bed. Curiosity overcame her and she walked over to the box. "Something to wear?"
An intricate logo printed in gold was emblazoned on the top of the box, proclaiming the name of some kind of designer but not one that Cassidy recognised.
Sitting down on the bed, she slowly opened the box and after a moment of looking at its contents, Cassidy's jaw dropped.
"You will accompany me tonight," Michael commanded coldly. "And you will wear what I have brought you."
She closed the box quickly, her face hot and flushed and she shook her head.
"I am not wearing that."
Cassidy was waiting for a shout, a growl, a fist…but surprisingly, Michael remained calm and collected as ever.
"You will wear it," he said smoothly. "And I think you will do it happily."
The human girl's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think that? What makes you think I'll do anything you say?" Cassidy shoved the box inside, her cheeks still flushed pink and her skin starting to crawl.
"You'll do everything that I ask tonight…and you'll do so happily," Michael simply repeated.
Cassidy took a deep breath, gritting her teeth as anger started to boil in her stomach. "You can beat me. You can break me. But I am not going to do anything that you order me to do."
"Oh but I think you will," the statue insisted, his voice taking on a subtle note of threatening. "You see, I know my Cassidy often does not care for her own wellbeing but she cares greatly for the well-being of others…"
"And maybe I've decided that Stan is a fully grown man and can take care of himself?" Cassidy challenged, folding her arms.
"But maybe Stan is not the other life to which I am referring?" Michael chuckled with a growl. "He may be a fully grown human man but the poor little human in the room across the hallway is scarcely more than an infant…"
"What kind of pathetic, sick game are you trying to play?"
"Oh, I am not playing any kind of game with you, my little doll. I am deadly serious. Go across the hall and knock on the door if you don't believe me…but I would not keep the little girl waiting. She is already quite anxious as it is. She has not stopped crying since I brought her here…how irritating…"
Cassidy's stomach started to feel incredibly uneasy.
No, it couldn't be.
She got up off the bed and without giving a second look to the Angel, started to walk across the room, bound for the door.
No, he couldn't have.
She left the room and traversed the corridor, going straight to the door on the opposite wall. Lifting a shaking fist to the door, she knocked.
Oh please God, let me be wrong.
"H-hello? Is anybody there?"
"Cassy?! Cassy?! Is that Cassy?! He said Cassy would be here!"
Cassidy's blood ran cold.
"Abbie?!"
Her heart started to race and for the first time, she noticed the nameplate on the door .
Abbie Drake.
There was no mistaking that voice.
This was no bluff.
Michael had kidnapped her.
"Yes, Abbie!" Cassidy answered, pounding against the wood and sliding downwards against the door. "Yes Abbie! It's me. It's Cassidy!"
"Cassy!" the little girl cried. "Michael took me here! I don't know where I am! Can you please come in here?!"
The sheer terror in the girl's voice made Cassidy's stomach churn. She tried to open the door but found it to be locked. "I…I'm sorry Abbie! I can't come in. The door is locked. B-But don't worry, sweetheart. You'll be alright. I'll make sure that you'll be alright!"
"There's an old lady in the room," Abbie told her, her voice warbling dangerously.
"What?" Cassidy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Who's the old woman? Did you talk to her?"
"She was lying in the bed," the frightened child went on. "She said that she was me."
Remembering what Stan had told her on her very first night in the hotel, Cassidy swallowed. "Can you ask the old lady to come to the door, Abbie? I need to ask her something."
"She fell asleep!" Abbie said, now starting to cry. "Sh-she fell asleep a while ago and I…I tried to wake her up but she won't open h-her eyes or talk to me…! I'm scared, Cassy!"
Cassidy clapped both hands to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears and for a moment, she was unable to speak.
"Angels will come to remove the body tomorrow," a cold voice at Cassidy's back stated. "Hygiene will not be a concern. Do not worry."
Cassidy looked up at Michael, his cold smirk sending shudders through her.
"You monster," she breathed. "You didn't have to bring her into this…"
"Unfortunately, the situation was far too perfect not to take advantage of," the Lonely Assassin crooned, towering over her. "You see, the life years of human children are plentiful and provide ample nutrition. Because of this, your offspring are very, very valuable to my kind. Little "Abbie" here, will serve as the best kind of ransom to placate the other Angels here in this tribe…"
Abbie whacked her little fists against the door, setting the wood vibrating against Cassidy's cheek. "Cassy! Cassy! Please let me out! Please!"
Before Cassidy could say another word, Michael spoke over her.
"Her fate is in your hands, Cassidy Albright," the Angel declared. "The child is infinitely replaceable. Whether she lives in comfort or dies in pain is entirely up to you…"
A single tear ran down Cassidy's cheek and she slowly turned to the door, saying in the most gentle voice that she could muster.
"Just w-wait right th-there, Abbie. I-I'll make s-sure that no one h-hurts you. Y-You'll be alright…I p-promise."
Satisfied that the little girl had calmed down, she turned back to Michael, standing up slowly and looking up into the face of the angel of stone. "I…I'll do whatever you want…"
The Angel gave a triumphant growl and as Cassidy walked back into the room, her eyes lowered, he smirked cruelly. "Good girl. Now, get dressed."
Elbowing his way back to the bar, a rather flush-faced Timelord sank into the seat beside his companion, leaning on the polished counter-top.
"Rough day, fella?" the sympathetic bartender asked. "What can I get ya? Double on the rocks?"
"Just a nice glass of milk from a cow would be great right now. Ninth century farm-cow, if possible but I'm not too picky." He turned away from the rather confused-looking bartender and back to the brown-haired girl at his side.
"Any luck spreading rumours?" the doctor asked Clara, slightly shouting over the raucous noise of the Speakeasy. "Or have you managed to pick up any new information?"
The huge dance-hall was populated by drinkers, gamblers, waiters and cigarette girls. Atop the stage that overlooked the dimly lit club were several glittering dancers, bouncing and kicking to the blaring swing music of the band in the pit.
Clara shook her head. "No. Not at all. You'd be surprised how quickly people are deterred when you start asking about alien Angel statues that move when you're not looking." She raised a bemused eyebrow. "Five different men did offer to buy me drinks though."
The doctor coughed a little, quickly re-railing the topic once more. "We have to double our efforts. We're running out of time." He leaned on his hand, looking around. "Where's Eddie run off to?"
Clara rolled her eyes, pointing a finger over her shoulder.
Looking in that direction, the doctor caught sight of Edmund, sitting at the table behind them. The poor young man was crushed against the bosom of a busty, peroxide blonde, much older woman and looking rather discontented with the seating arrangement, (and partly unable to breathe).
"He looks happy," the doctor commented offhandedly. "And…a little bit smushed."
"This one had better not be married," Clara sighed. "He almost got into a brawl with the last one's husband."
The doctor chuckled slightly before exhaling and dropping his chin against his palm. "You know, it's funny. Usually when I'm in another time, searching for someone, trying to save them from unspeakable danger…I'm usually the one who's after getting them in danger in the first place. Knowing that I'm not the one who actually put Cassidy Albright in harm's way is rather…."
"…nice?" Clara suggested.
"Nah, I wouldn't go as far as to say it's nice but it's certainly…different…in a kind of…nice…way," the doctor said with a shrug, looking over his shoulder once more. "I don't suppose that Edmund's new girlfriend would know anything about the evil Angel statues?"
"Evil angel statues?" the bartender said, placing the doctor's glass of milk on the counter top in front of him. "Awh hell, have you two been talking to my ol' pal, Stanley?"
"No," Clara replied quickly, her eyes widening. "Why though? Does your friend Stanley know anything about the Angel statues?"
"Sure, honey," the bartender went on, lifting a glass up to clean. "He first came in here 'bout a year ago, shouting and roaring about a bunch of evil angel statues and time travel and all of this other garbage…Heck, the kid's either heavy into his drink, some scriptwriter who is way too into his work or an absolute nutcase…"
"Keep the change, my good man!" The doctor leapt to his feet, slapping a few dollars on to the counter. "Is Stanley here right now?"
The bartender nodded, grinning at the generous tip. "Yep. He's over there. The table over by the plants."
The doctor suddenly grabbed the bartender's hand and shook it vigorously. "Thanks a million!" He clapped a hand on to Clara's shoulder, stooping to hiss in her ear. "Grab Eddie away from his girlfriend. We're getting out of here."
Following the bartender's directions, it wasn't long before the doctor located the slim young man, sitting alone at a table with a glass of whiskey before him.
"Mind if I join you?"
Stanley looked up, raising an eyebrow but shrugging. "Yeah, go ahead."
"I'm going to cut to the chase," the doctor told him, sitting down. "I'm told that you know a thing or two about a certain group of Angel statues."
Stanley grunted. "If you're here to mock me like everyone else…"
The doctor shook his head. "Not at all, Stanley. I know what you are." He leaned closer to the young man, lowering his voice. "I know that you're a prisoner of the Angels. I know that you're not from this time. They took you from your home, took you back in time and now they're holding you here against your will."
Stan's eyes widened and he bit his lip, his knuckles turning milky as his grip tightened around his glass. "How do you know-…? Who are-…?"
"I'm a time traveller too, Stanley," the doctor told him. "I'm a very old time traveller and I've dealt with the Weeping Angels before. I want to save you. I want to save every other person that they're holding but most of all, I need to save a friend of mine. Her name is Cassidy Albright."
"Cassidy?!" Stan said suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "You know Cassidy?! Blonde British girl?"
"That's exactly her, Stanley," the doctor went on. "Where have you seen her before?"
"Sh-she's being held by the Angels too. Her…her room is right next to mine!"
"Where is she being held? Where is the room?"
"The Summer Bank Hotel, south of main street and near the river."
"Summer Bank, hm? Witty," The doctor frowned deeply. "They're trying to recreate Winter Quay…trying to establish a new big feeding ground…"
"Wh-what are you talking about?"
The doctor waved his hand. "Nothing important. What's important is that I am going to save Cassidy and I am going to save you."
Stan sighed, looking frustrated. "I've been to the cops already. They won't believe me and the ones that do are too damn scared to come anywhere near the hotel…"
"Oh, we're not going to bring the police into this, Stanley," the doctor told him, standing up. "We're going to take the Angels down ourselves and with your help, we're going to do it tonight."
Stan stood up slowly, his eyebrows raising and his voice breathy. "Mother of God. You're a time-traveller who wants to save us…you're the doctor, aren't you?" A smile tugged at the sides of Stan's mouth. "Cassidy talked about you all the time. I thought that she might have made you up to make me feel better but wow, Jesus J. Christ, you really do exist! Cassidy was right…she's going to be so happy!"
The doctor had been smiling but his expression became serious. "That's great, Stanley but time is of the essence. You need to take my friends and I with you to the Hotel right now. If we don't get there in time, something utterly horrible will happen to Cassidy."
Stan's expression turned to a scowl. "I knew that dirty rotten bastard Angel couldn't be trusted. Come on, then, I'll take you to the Hotel…"
The doctor waited for Clara and (a very red-faced) Edmund to join them before beckoning Stan to continue leading them up the steps and out of the Speakeasy.
"Hang on Cassidy," he murmured under his breath. "Just hang in there. We're almost there."
Reluctantly, the young woman took the box and walked into the bathroom to get dressed. The box contained a silk dress of fine quality. It was pearly white in colour and she noticed with disgust that it had the same kind of collar as the garment that the female Angels wore.
However, in stark contrast to the long, beautiful, graceful stolas that the Weeping Angels were clad in, the dress was about half the length and looked as though it would barely cover her rear.
It was also made of a terribly flimsy material that was so sheer and so thin that it was almost see-through.
Cassidy was trembling all over as she put on the skimpy garment, feeling uncomfortably like a concubine being sold at a slave market.
Her hair was still slightly damp, so using an elastic bobbin that had been in the pocket of her shorts, she secured it in a bun at the nape of her neck. The dress was near-transparent enough: she didn't want it getting wet.
She replaced her converse and socks with the plain white flat shoes that had been added to the box. There were also what appeared to be two black leather wristbands.
Unsure as to what they were for but fearful of what might happen to Abigail Drake if she refused to wear them, Cassidy carefully affixed them to her wrists. Finally, she took the diamond necklace from the bathroom cabinet, (where she had stuffed it in an angry rage) and delicately clasped it around her neck.
She had made the swift decision that it was a good idea to appease her captor at that moment in time.
She had always found the room to be airlessly hot and stuffy but as Cassidy stepped back into the bedroom with that hulking stone Angel leering at her with a fanged grin on his perfectly mask-like face, her skin had never felt colder.
She didn't know whether she was shaking out of fear, anger or that very same, strange coldness.
He laughed outright at her shivering. "A trifle chilly, are you, little human?"
Cassidy refused to answer to his mockery, simply staring at his folded arms and slowly bringing her own arms to cross her chest.
"My, my, my," Michael's stolen voice dropped to a low, almost sensual purr. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? I had a feeling that such a garment would suit you and it does compliment your frail little body."
She felt her face heat up and swallowed, staring at the Weeping Angel intently and silently praying for him to stop speaking to her in such ways. Her heart thumped uncomfortably beneath the thin silk; despite the fact that he appeared nothing more than a stone statue- she could feel his eyes travelling all over her.
Scanning her.
Examining her.
Judging her.
It made her feel sick to her stomach.
"In such fittingly grand attire and with that hair of yours pinned back," he went on in the same near-erogenous tone. "You could almost pass for one of my kind." He gave a dark chuckle. "You would make a truly lovely Angel, my pet."
Cassidy blinked in shock, a sudden scene from her dream the night before flashing before her eyes. She shook her head, looking downwards. "No. No, d-don't ever say that."
In the moment that it took her to blink, Michael had already darted forward and took her by both hands, forcing her to sit back on to the bed.
"Now, now," he scolded her, his grip tight and bordering pain. "We shall have no more of that commanding language from you. It is time that you learned your place, human. Or will the infant have to pay for your foolish rudeness?"
Cassidy winced, shaking her head and gritting her teeth.
"N-No. Don't hurt Abbie. I'll be good. I promise."
"And my Cassidy will be polite and cheerful tonight?" the Angel queried almost patronisingly.
All Cassidy could do was to swallow back her anger and nod.
She had become his marionette puppet- completely helpless as he pulled her strings to his fancy.
"Close your eyes," he ordered her and reluctantly, she obeyed.
He released her wrists and she felt something soft and cloth-like pass over her closed eyelids.
"I'm being blindfolded again," Cassidy realised, biting the inner part of her mouth to prevent herself from crying out.
"Now stay completely still, little human."
Free from her direct line of sight, Michael was liberated from his quantum-lock. He ran his fingers through the front of her hair line, tugging on some of the loose tendrils and pulling the stray wisps across her forehead.
Cassidy shuddered, her teeth starting chatter but compliant as ever, she sat perfectly still.
His cold, clawed fingers drifted downwards, stroking her cheeks and running his knuckles down her neck.
"Now listen very carefully to me," Michael told her, suddenly grabbing her lower jaw. "You must do everything that I say, this evening. I am your master and you are my possession. You will speak to me with great respect. Is that clear?"
Cassidy nodded. "Yes."
"Let me hear you say it, human. Say that I am your master."
"…you are my master."
The Angel smirked in the wake of his victory. "Such a good, obedient girl, you are. Now stay where you are."
For a brief moment, she felt Michael's hands leave her body and when he returned, he took both of her forearms. She felt him fumbling with the leather bracelets around her wrists and suddenly felt something weighted being attached to both of them.
There was a hollow, half-metallic clanking sound and Cassidy felt a long, cold, jagged object brush against her legs.
Chains.
He had her in shackles.
He had her on a chain like an animal.
She felt the Archangel's breath on her face, realising that he had stooped down so that his face was level with hers.
"There's my good, timid, docile, little Cassidy," he whispered, one of his hands coming to cup her cheek. His claws grazed her temple almost threateningly and though she could not tell if the action was deliberate or not, thankfully, they did not scratch into her flesh this time. "I am going to take you downstairs now. Remember that all of your actions tonight will have very definitive repercussions for the little human child."
She nodded, replying "Yes, master" though the words felt like acrid venom on her tongue.
His thumb delicately ran across her lips. "Such music to my ears." His voice lowered. "I will allow no other Angel to harm you tonight provided that you obey my word. I will allow no one else to touch you." He ran his fingertips down her cheek once more, though Cassidy couldn't tell whether it felt tender or possessive. "Now stand."
Cassidy moved to stand, the chain drifted across her bare legs once again, clinking and dragging along the carpet.
The Weeping Archangel suddenly pulled the chain taut, hauling her behind him and causing her to stumble.
She walked blindly in his wake, feeling the texture of the floor change beneath her feet as she was dragged onto the coarse carpet of the hallway.
Devoid of her sense of sight, she could only clutch at the chain that bound her wrists and hinge her survival on her ears.
At first, there was only silence but as Michael pulled her after him, she gradually became aware of faint rumble of some kind echoing from the floors above and below her- just managing to seep through the floorboards.
It took her a few moments to realise what she was listening to but as the tide of noise suddenly grew- it dawned upon her.
Screams.
What sounded like hundreds of people shouting, swearing and screaming.
"Pay no heed to their cries," Michael told her. "You will not meet the same fate as them tonight."
Cassidy was about to quietly question what exactly the fate of the other humans would be, when her voice was instantly drowned out by the most terrifying sound that she had ever heard.
It was the most horrific, grating, inhuman shrieking that had ever met her ears before and it was coming from all around her, resounding on all sides.
She suddenly froze, bound to the spot by an intense fear. "Wh-what is that?"
"Oh, do not worry," Michael responded, suddenly tugging her so hard that she fell straight into his arms. He let out a chuckle, gripping her forearms and turning her to face him.
"The Angels are laughing at you."
I've been quite busy lately so I am very sorry if this chapter is a little sub-standard!
Thanks again for reading! I hope you've enjoyed!