As always, I'm so thankful for all the follows, faves, comments and critiques. They all serve as reminders that people are reading Shackled, enjoying the fic and want to hear more about the archaeologist who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the Lonely Assassin who wanted to steal away a human for himself.
And as such, I'm even more motivated to write more, as quickly as I can!
Hope you enjoy the next chapter ;)
Cassidy suddenly became very aware of herself.
Not aware of any specific trait or feature of herself.
Just aware of herself.
Her entire self.
She slowly became aware that she was standing upright.
She was standing upright and upon a very cold, rugged, stone floor.
There was also darkness surrounding her.
Her eyes searched for a source of light but she found none.
Only pitch-black darkness.
"Is this death?" she found herself wondering.
Because if that was death- in all its horrors, glories and unspoken mystery- Cassidy felt rather cheated.
The whole experience was a little anti-climatic, really.
Soon after realising that she was able to move, Cassidy realised that she was in the dark depths of a cave.
Whether or not it was the one that she had seen in her dreams for so long was yet to be decided but despite not being able to see anything, Cassidy gradually noticed the sound of rushing water nearby as her unimpaired senses were prompted to sharpen.
A river?
"Maybe that's the river Styx," Cassidy thought to herself as she slowly started to walk in the direction of the sound. "Maybe I really am dead."
Cassidy had learned a long time ago that the Greeks believed that the Underworld- "Hades", after whom its ruling god had been named- was built upon a river. In the mortal world, the river was known as Lethe- the river of forgetfulness. After it flowed through a crack in the ground, an underground cavern and into the upper realms of Hades, it became the Styx- the river of the dead, traversed only by the macabre boatman, Charon.
Ancient Greek people would place coins upon the eyes of their dead to ensure that the wandering souls would have money to pay Charon in order to be safely ferried into the afterlife.
What waited beyond was the endless beauty of the Elysium Fields and the fiery tortures of Tartarus.
Souls could be bound for either, depending on the life that they'd lived.
"I wonder which I'm going to. I mean I've never been the most pleasant of people at the best of times but I haven't exactly lived a bad life either," Cassidy thought to herself, deciding that the Greek afterlife didn't sound too bad. At least it was an interesting way to be received after death.
Maybe she could meet Persephone- the goddess of the Underworld- and finally ask her why she had eaten the pomegranate seeds.
Why did she choose a tortured love, bound by darkness instead of a full, happy life in the world of light?
She kept walking towards the source of the gushing water but soon found that the longer she walked, the further away the sound seemed to appear.
Cassidy's brow creased in frustration as her eyes strained in the darkness and her hands stretched out blindly. "I'll never find the river at this rate."
Suddenly a voice from behind her spoke.
A familiar voice.
A soothing voice.
A voice that she thought she'd never hear again.
A voice that brought tears to her struggling eyes.
"It's not your time yet, love."
"Mum?"
"Yes, Cassy. It's time for you to go back now. You've been so silly."
"Mum!? Mum!? Where are you!? Why can't I see you!?"
"You shouldn't be here, Cassy. Go back now."
"Mum, I'm so…so sorry that I wasn't there for you when you needed me…"
"I know, Cassy. I know everything now. I know you have more to do in life and I know that it's not your time to go…so go back, like a good girl…"
"Mum…no…I don't want to go back…"
"Cassy, love. You must."
"But I want to stay here with you."
"That isn't allowed, dear."
"Why not?! Why can't I see anything?! Where are you?!"
"Because you're not dead."
Her mother's voice suddenly seemed to change, morphing with each decibel and becoming that of an unfamiliar speaker.
"Return to the world of the waking, Cassidy Albright. You have no place here."
With these words, Cassidy suddenly became aware of three very important things and remembered something important that her mother had told her as a little girl.
Firstly, Cassidy became aware of the fact that she was very, very cold.
Secondly, she became aware of the fact that her skin was very wet and that her limbs were too weak to keep walking.
Thirdly, she realised that she really wasn't dead.
Not dead at all, in fact.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a lucid knowledge awakened- reminding her that she was only dreaming.
She also remembered what her mother had said about dying.
"Mummy, when we die, where do we go? What will we see?"
"I don't really know, Cassy, love…but I believe that there will be angels. Lots and lots of angels…"
"So when I die, I'll get to meet a real angel, mummy?"
"Yes, Cassidy. But you're not going to die for a very long time. Don't think about dying so much. Think about life and how lucky you are to be living a good and healthy life."
"I know, I know…but when I do die, I'll meet an angel, right? I'll meet a special angel, right? An angel who'll always be with me?"
"Yes, Cassy. You'll meet a very special angel who will look after you forever and ever and never let you go."
It wasn't long before Michael found the fated tear in the time-stream.
Granted, it had been given ample hours to heal but that did not disguise its scent or shape to him by any means. The trail markers were also far too obvious to be ignored.
With the Summer Bank destroyed, every other Weeping Angel in the city of Los Angeles in 1923 was effectively vanquished.
Dead beyond hope of recovery.
He, himself, had survived the ordeal- not having confined his diet to that of the humans kept in Summer Bank.
Distrust, experience and pride had taught him to do his own hunting and to deal with his own needs rather than to trust anyone else to.
The real giveaway for the fissure in time, aside from it being the only one in the area, was that it was bound for London, England in the 2010s- the same era that she lived in.
For his stolen captive, that time was her present.
The Time Lord was a formidable adversary, Michael begrudgingly conceded, but he was not even half as intelligent as he thought himself to be.
The Lonely Assassin growled under his breath as he tore the time stream open once again. He had known for a while that his Cassidy's would-be rescuer- this "doctor"- was far from an ordinary human being.
But a Gallifrean Time Lord? Michael had thought that species to be long extinct.
But there was no doubting his ability to traverse the time stream with such ease and not only did the man radiate distorted time energy but the fables and folktales surrounding the infamous "doctor" of legend, stated clearly that he was a powerful Gallifrean warrior.
"Time Lord or not," Michael snarled, taking flight into the time stream. "This "doctor" is still an inferior being and he will not take what is rightfully mine from me."
The precise reason as to why the Time Lord had chosen to protect his Cassidy, of all humans, still evaded Michael and while the thought slowly festered in the back of his mind- the Weeping Archangel ignored it.
He resolved to instead focus on the more important task at hand.
Finding her.
He followed her trail, finally breaching from the Time Stream at the place in London of 2012 where his human had first stepped from the Time Lord's tenure.
Fittingly, it was her place of dwelling.
He was no stranger to its layout as he had followed her there before.
However upon forcing his entry into the house, he found it to be vacant.
The grudge constricted his insides, coiling tighter- like a length of barbed wire- while his rage continued to simmer.
Michael snarled.
Where was she hiding?
He returned to the museum, her place of work and his former prison at the hands of the humans who had taken him from the forest, but the trail went cold before he even entered the building.
Gone.
No trace of her.
But Michael was not prepared to surrender his pet so easily.
Not after having her in his possession for so long.
Not after having controlled her…having felt her heart beat fast and frantically beneath his hands…having witnessed her eyes sharpen in defiance and widen with fear…having heard her quavering voice scream, cry, beg, plead and finally profess her love for him…
Not after he had been forced- entrapped in a hide of stone like a common church gargoyle- to watch her disappear right before his very eyes.
He spent tireless days searching for her.
The Lonely Assassins were as determined a race as they were patient.
Slowed and hindered by his quantum-lock, Michael still scoured the human city.
He did not hunt for that would be a time-consuming distraction.
Nor did he cover his eyes for he needed to see the faces in the crowds that passed him.
He needed to see if she was among them.
But despite his precise observation, he struggled to find her features.
It was on his fourth day of searching, finally having conserved enough energy to transport himself through space and into the outskirts of the human city, that he found her trail again. He followed it directly, paying heed to nothing else and eventually found his former carer and captive.
She was being held in a large building, seemingly confined to a small room, by a cluster of her own kind.
The functions of the establishment piqued his interest.
Cassidy was not the only human being confined to its corridors by any means.
Of what class and occupation were these humans? Why was she being held there? Why was she making no attempt to leave?
Perhaps this was a prison of some kind? It seemed to resemble one.
These questions dwindled in the fore of Michael's mind but were virtually incinerated by his growing rage as he continued to watch the humans.
He was not going to have Cassidy disappear from him once, only to have her stolen from him by some repugnant drivel of her own kind.
He took just a day to observe the behaviour of those who were keeping her. The Weeping Archangel stole through the hallways mostly unseen but instantly assuming his serene posture as his instinctual camouflage took over and never quite arousing any suspicions.
"Goodness me, Irene. Fancy that. Have you ever seen this thing here before?"
"No, can't say I have, Florrie but it's rather lovely, isn't it? Where did it come from?"
"No idea…oh! You know what it is? The oratory is being redecorated downstairs, yeah? I'd wager that the Angel statue is going down somewhere next to the new altar."
"Oh, you're right. Oh, won't that be beautiful?"
Michael glowered at them as they passed.
Humans were such ignorant, stupid creatures in his eyes- so impossibly unaware of the dangers that surrounded them every day and so utterly ill-equipped in terms of physical defence.
It was a small wonder that they were considered a doomed race, as far as he was concerned.
"She should have been thankful," he often thought as he carefully watched the human females who tended his claimed pet every day- memorising their habits and daily routines. "That I, as a superior being was willing to take her into my possession…give her comfort and preserve her in return for her obedience and servitude…" A searing pang of anger burned at his temples, forcing his thoughts to descend into vengeful depravity once more. "But she chose to deny me and now, I will offer her nothing but the punishment that she deserves."
After a full twenty-four hours of watching, Michael acted upon his learning.
He had contemplated simply breaking into his Cassidy's holding cell and stealing her away the night before but decided against it. If he took her by force and caused a commotion, the humans would pursue him.
The Weeping Angels in all their devious mastery were better than that and besides, such a rousing would certainly ruin his plans.
He wanted no fussing. No distractions. Absolutely nothing to warn her of his coming or to offer her the hope of escaping him again.
It was early and the corridors were still draped in half-formed shadows, the only light coming from a few poor-quality, buzzing bulbs dangling from the ceiling.
The Weeping Archangel waited for the designated human to unlock Cassidy's door.
The short, squat human with a body that looked as though it was straining against her pressed, white garments, the purplish flesh overflowing at her neck, upper arms and thighs.
She disappeared behind the door and made watery, insipid conversation with his Cassidy. Their voices gradually faded into the sound of running water and as she had the day before, the other female left the room- door unlocked and Cassidy alone inside.
Michael made sure to make short work of the interfering human-warden.
No sooner had she rounded the corner beside Cassidy's room, did the Lonely Assassin approach her from behind, grabbing her by the neck and sending her back to 1931.
Had he not been filled with such burning anticipation, he may have put more thought and effort into where and when he sent the bumbling human. He may felt more satiated by the years he had freshly procured.
But the female's years were hollow and meaningless- a mere morsel in comparison to the great satiation that awaited him.
In fact, her life meant absolutely nothing to him. She was nothing more than a menial snack at best and at her most irritating, an active obstacle to his claiming of Cassidy Albright- his rightful property.
With her successfully and permanently out of the way, Michael slipped into the room where Cassidy was being held.
He looked around the bleak, damp-stained walls, only to see no sign of her.
He growled.
"Where are you? Where are you hiding? Where could you possibly have gone? I heard you in here. I saw you enter this very room and you did not leave for I would have seen you leave. Where are you? Are you hiding from me purposefully? Did you know that I was coming? How could you have known that I was coming, little whelp? Who told you?! I will-!"
His inner-turmoil was interrupted by the sound of water lapping against porcelain. Silencing his thoughts and following his acute sense of hearing, Michael found the offending noise to be coming from another door that seemed to lead to a different room.
"Ah, there you are."
He centred himself.
He composed himself.
His desire to find his pet actively clouded his rationality as anger clamoured his more refined instincts.
Smirking lightly in triumph, he moved across the room, opened the smaller door and entered the room.
Michael did not see her at first but he recognised the chamber as the kind of room that humans procured to bathe in.
Suddenly his mind was powerfully overtaken by a memory.
Try as he might, he could not prevent the onset of the thoughts.
Crystalline rivulets of water pouring down her flushed cheeks like newly spilled tears yet her expression was one of complete serenity and submitting. The clear liquid branched through her pale gold tresses and travelled downward through each flaxen stem before finally reaching a plain of smooth ivory skin.
Through a veil of vapours, he could make out the outline of her body and she remained entirely oblivious to his watching.
She lifted a hand to push her hair back further, revealing more of her face and neck and offering the exposed flesh to the steady stream of pulsating, hot water.
And he watched the water as it greedily lapped at his slave's skin.
He watched with envy.
He watched with outrage.
He watched with longing.
It disgusted him.
He disgusted himself.
The Weeping Angels were a proud race. They did not fall prey to such weak feelings.
Nor did they wish to be anything more or less than they were.
Yet at that very moment, Michael reviled himself to admit that he would have paid any price to become that very hot water.
The water that touched her bare skin as she willingly leaned back, her eyes shut and her features slackened with rapture…
Michael gritted his teeth, exhaling hard and shaking his head.
"This is not right," he told himself. "It is not right that she should have this effect upon me…"
He instantly noticed her upon approaching the bath-tub- the vessel for human bathing.
Upon seeing her face again, he expected to have anger inspired within him but something felt wrong.
He had witnessed her bathing before but never like this.
Usually his pet bathed devoid of all her clothing and in a standing or sitting position yet here she lay, beneath the water and fully-clothed in grey cloth that dwarfed her wraith-like form.
There was something very wrong with the scene.
She did not react upon seeing him.
She did not react for she did not see him at all.
Her eyes were closed and her features were completely slackened.
But this was not with a dazed bliss of any kind.
Her repose almost suggested that she was slumbering.
But for many nights, her captor had watched her sleep and he knew her posture to be very different from that of her sleeping.
Michael tilted his head to look at her, partly disappointed with the anti-climax of their reunion and partly curious as to just what exactly she was doing.
Her hair floated around her in fair, woven clouds and her skin was whiter than it had ever been before, a strange kind of blue dotting the lines of her neck and mouth.
As the Lonely Assassin's eyes traced the line of her mouth, he took stock of the fact that tiny bubbles were fast escaping the corners of her lips.
"That is oxygen," he noted, frowning. "Do you not need oxygen, you stupid human?"
It was no sooner had the thought crossed his mind that he sensed the draining.
Some outside force was pulling at his Cassidy, drawing her life years from her body.
Fate and time were converging.
Intervening.
Something was being rewritten.
And her life years continued to evaporate from her body.
Michael let out a roar as a sudden, terrible realisation struck him.
She was dying!
His Cassidy was dying!
She was leaving him permanently and doing so of her own hand, forever escaping his control.
"No! No!" he bellowed, reaching into the water and dragging her forth, her body falling limp in his arms as she broke the surface of the water. "I did not give you my permission to die!"
Had he arrived mere seconds later, she would have been out of his reach and there would have been no way to undo what Fate had done.
He held her up by her frail, quivering shoulders and shook her violently. "How dare you try to escape me?! You will never escape me again, ingrate!"
Her head rolled from side to side, her mouth slightly open but she did not respond.
"Look at me! Look at your master! I command you to open your eyes and to look into the eyes of the one who rules you!"
He was willing to face the quantum-lock, just to witness the terror in her eyes.
The sheer, raw, unbridled fear that he had fantasised about seeing for so long.
"Open your eyes now or I shall break your flimsy little neck!"
Still, Cassidy made no movement.
His threat may have been a hollow one but she did not even attempt to lift her head to look at him. Or to struggle.
She did not even attempt to speak in protest.
So unlike the Cassidy that he had come to know.
"Awaken and look at me!" he continued to command, still shaking her. She inspired such weakness in him. Such reviling, unbelievable, unforgivable weakness that he had to witness the fright that he inspired in her.
Just to remind himself that he was the being who held the power and control.
Her head rolled back, heavy upon her shoulder, water trickling down her face and her hair wrapped around her throat like creeping ivy.
Every now and then, her eyelids would flutter slightly as though she was trying to rouse herself but failing terribly.
Her breathing came in short, sharp bursts and each strangled exhale sounded as though it was being partly stunted by something lodged in her throat.
Growling, Michael swiftly took his claws to her bare neck, the curved talons easily shredding at her damp skin- not enough to kill but just enough to cause optimum pain and to draw blood in thin trails of scarlet.
But Cassidy barely flinched in discomfort.
Instead, she coughed slightly, her breath quickening for a moment…before she fell as a dead weight in his arms. She did not even slightly struggle and even as Michael began to shake her again, her body only grew heavier in his arms.
"Awaken and look at me!"
He finally had his escaped prisoner back in his possession and the thought that his presence could have no effect on her, infuriated him.
Michael moved one hand to grasp the collar of her flimsy garment, the threads threatening to tear as he held her, hanging in his grip. He lifted his free hand and brought it down across her face in a harsh, resounding slap.
She remained still.
He slapped her again. Harder this time.
Still no effect.
A third slap made contact with the wet flesh- now turning a painful raw red.
But the human girl did not move.
And by this stage, her breathing had ceased entirely.
Michael furrowed his brow at the realisation that her breathing had stopped, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with each rage-torn breath of his own.
Why was this happening?
What had she done to herself?
He lowered her to the ground, laying her out flat on the cold tiles and inspecting her face. He could still feel her life years slowly slipping from her body- dissipating from healthy decades to much fainter single years…months…weeks…days…
Her lips were tinged a faint purple
He put his hand upon her chest, realising that her heart- the organ that kept humans alive- was only barely beating.
The Weeping Archangel knew very little of human anatomy but could recall learning somewhere that searching for the beat of this little aortic pump in the chest of a human was the best way of telling if it was still alive.
She was alive.
But only barely.
And she wasn't breathing.
Michael gritted his teeth in frustration as he studied her face, searching for something- anything, any miniscule clue- to tell him how to help her.
"You humans are such pathetic creatures," he hissed, an audible note of despair coming into his own voice that almost took him by surprise. "You require so much to stay alive yet even when you have all you need, you die so easily…"
He prised her pale, plum lips apart with a single finger, hoping that it would coax her to start taking in air again but her chest remained still, not rising or falling even slightly.
"Awaken," he bade her, one last time, his lips close to her ear and his voice lowered to a hoarse whisper.
She remained completely motionless, eyes shut and body rigid.
Single drops of water trickled from the bridge of her nose to the sides of her face and ran down to form estuaries with the darkened lines of blood that stained her neck.
He could command her as much as he liked but it would not change the fact that despite being one of a superior race of intelligent beings, Michael had no idea how to save his little pet from the coming of death.
In a frantic surge of contemplation, part of Michael's mind coaxed him to leave the human girl.
To leave the defective, dying child to waste upon the floor.
But no, he argued against his own burning instincts, after all this searching- to leave her would be to abandon his own interests.
Why should he sacrifice his needs just yet?
He placed a hand on her cheek and trailed it downwards, his claws skimming the trenches that they had left in her skin and smearing the blood down to her collar bone.
Michael's hand came to rest over her heart once more.
The pumping in her chest was becoming fainter and fainter with each shuddering beat.
"You pathetic little weakling," he sneered at her, his voice quieter than he had initially intended- almost showing reverence that was completely involuntary. "I offer you all you could ever hope for…you run from my possession…I spend weeks tracking you to this very place…only to watch you die…"
A foreign emotion suddenly tore through the Weeping Archangel and in frustration he pressed his hand down hard against her chest.
However, upon lifting it, he found that her heart seemed to swell with his hand and her heartbeat increased in tempo- if not only slightly.
Raising an eyebrow at this, he repeated the action, pressing down his hand and lifting it again, only to find the same result.
Feeling something ignite in the pit of his stomach, he continued this newfound ritual of pressing and releasing, coaxing his human's heart to return to its original rhythm.
He frowned, however, noticing that she still wasn't breathing.
Without oxygen, human beings could not live.
Suddenly another memory from the Summer Bank stole forth from the recesses of his mind; the memory of his Cassidy kneeling beside another human who was not breathing. Her mouth was pressed to the human male's but his pet had told him later that she was feeding him oxygen from her lungs to his.
Apparently it was a means by which humans assisted each other in breathing.
What had she called it?
"Cardio pulmonary resuscitation," he recalled, leaning down so that his face hovered above hers. "C…P…R…"
Breathing was not essential for the Angels to survive but he could certainly inhale and expel air and with that in mind, Michael sucked in a powerful breath and closed his lips down over Cassidy's half-open mouth.
His first exhale filled her jowls and escaped from the corners of her lips and nostrils but the Angel was a fast learner.
He pinched her nasal cavities shut and grabbed her hair, forcing her neck to extend and for her head to tilt back as far as it would go before continuing his donations of air.
On the fourth breath, her chest expanded beneath his free hand and he aided it by pressing down on her heart once more.
"Come, little human. Rise. Awaken. Receive what is being given to you."
Her nose had begun to bruise beneath his grip, her lips were soon raw-red from the rough contact and something in her chest beneath his hand had begun to make a distinct crackling sound upon each press.
But he did not cease for even a moment.
Finally, with one almighty breath, he felt his captive's body jerk to life beneath his touch. Quickly retracting his arms and watching her every move with vigour, Michael sat back and away from her.
Cassidy's face twitched, her eyes shifting beneath the lids.
Water began to seep from the corners of her mouth and with a sudden twist of her neck to the side, she began to splutter, struggling to breathe normally again.
She coughed up spittle, bathwater and clotted phlegm before letting out a soft moan of pain and trying to sit up.
Gradually, her eyes opened- bloodshot and bleary.
Michael felt his quantum-lock return, his body instantly turning to stone, as her unfocused gaze came to settle on him.
The sudden petrification did little to bother him for in that moment, he saw such terror in her eyes that every void, every recess and every hollow that had plagued him since her disappearance was instantly filled.
"That's right, little slave. Tremble before your master. He has returned to claim you once again."
Her shoulders began to rise and fall rapidly as she stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly.
"Y-y…" she attempted, her voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "N-n…"
Suddenly Cassidy's eyes rolled backwards into her head and she fell slack upon the ground in a dead faint, her head hitting against the tiles with a definite thud-only slightly muffled by the wet fount of hair that was matted upon her head.
"Again, you fall unconscious," Michael thought, almost exasperated as he moved closer to her once more. "You are so very, pathetically, almost worringly fragile."
He noticed, relieved that he would not have to expend himself again, that her heartbeat and breathing had returned.
Her life years had also stabilised.
He had helped her to cheat death.
The Weeping Archangel was contemplating his next action when he heard shouting and commotion from just outside the room where Cassidy was being held.
He frowned.
The human fools had finally noticed that he had broken in.
It would not be long before they came into the room and discovered him.
Scooping up Cassidy into his arms and using his wings to keep her balanced, Michael turned his focus to the single lightbulb suspended from the ceiling above.
Using all the strength he could muster, he used it as a spout to drain the energy from the entire building.
With the establishment plunged completely into darkness, the noise outside became a lot louder and a lot more frantic and with his decoy perfectly set, the Weeping Archangel used a hefty portion of his stolen energy to transport he and his claimed human to a place of sanctuary for them both.
It was not the ideal permanent place of dwelling, he decided, but it would suffice until he could formulate his further plans.
He located the chamber that smelled most strongly of her and laid her down in the bed in the centre of the room.
Following habit, he found himself stooping at her bedside and watching her in slumber. Her breathing was uneven and grated in her throat, not to mention every time she moved even slightly, her face contorted with discomfort.
He lifted a hand to clear some of the damp hair, twisted around her neck and face, wagering that it would alleviate her breathing problems but noticing in the process that her skin was cold.
Very cold.
Colder than it had ever been.
To his own surprise, a very small sigh escaped his lips accompanied by an inexplicable feeling of emptiness.
The Lonely Assassin pointedly ignored the feeling, growling aloud as though he was hoping to frighten it away.
Michael pressed his palm to her frozen cheek, cupping it and running his thumb over the place where the faint marks of his claws could still be seen.
Where he had marked her.
"Stupid human," he sneered gruffly, flexing his wings. "You are far too prone to damage for your own good."
Cassidy made no verbal response, only fidgeting slightly in her sleep at the sound of his stolen voice before returning to her almost corpse-like torpor.
And although Michael had come to quite enjoy watching her sleep, after seeing her laying beneath him, cold, sickly and barely clinging to the years of her own life…
… he decided that- for some strange reason- he did not take any pleasure in watching her sleep like this.
Cassidy awoke slowly, sensation creeping back into her nerves and with this renewed sensation came a harsh awareness of acute pain running through her body.
It began in her knees and how they ached with fatigue.
It was soon followed up by a searing, splitting pain shooting up through her rib-cage, an eye-watering sting in her neck, a faint scalding on the inner part of her nose and a cruel throbbing around the outer part of it.
"Ugh…"
She bit the inner corner of her mouth, struggling to open her eyes but only managing to open them a sliver.
Light hit her pupils in sporadic, unforgivingly bright bursts, causing her to wince.
In spite of the pain, Cassidy made the decision that sitting up would be a good idea. She sucked in a breath, preparing to brace herself for the discomfort- only to realise how beaten her lungs were.
Her breath came forth in laboured wheezes and her head felt unsettlingly light.
Her skin was also very cold, her clothes oddly damp in excess…
A second attempt to open her eyes was made.
A blurry room shifted into view but her tired, unfocused eyes could make no sense of it.
She was most definitely lying in a bed.
Cassidy willed her arms to start moving and spread her palms out along the quilt, feeling the appliqued lace and realising with surprise that she was lying in her own bed.
An overpowering whiff of overdue library books, lavender bath beads and discount-version Sure deodorant forced through her burning nostrils confirmed Cassidy's realisation.
This was her room.
In her house.
How had she gotten here?
Upon the last time she had checked, she had been confined to a psychiatric ward…and she could recall going to take a bath and…
Cassidy lifted a heavy hand to rub her eyes. "H-How…?"
"Finally awake, are you?" an all-too-familiar voice growled in her ear cold breath licking her cheek. "That is good. For too long, I contemplated tearing you to pieces whilst you slept…"
The young woman's entire body was seized by terror and her eyelids split apart more rapidly than ever before. Quivering beneath the covers of her bed, Cassidy turned her head and immediately drew back into the depths of the pillow at the sight of Michael's grinning, ghoulish face mere inches from her own.
"Y-You…!" she managed to choke out, pressing herself into the mattress as though willing it to suck her in.
"Me," the demonic statue replied simply.
"You're supposed to be dead," Cassidy whispered hoarsely, her eyes instinctively locking on him and refusing to blink.
Michael chuckled- the guttural ripple of laughter causing Cassidy's fingers to become entangled with the sheets beneath her, fisting at the material as her knuckles turned milky.
"Yes, that is what your dear little doctor told you, isn't it? That is what you would very much like to believe. Well, little traitor, your beloved saviour couldn't have told you anything further from the truth. I am, indeed, still alive."
Her wide eyes began to tear up involuntarily from staring but she did not blink, even as she shook her head slowly in chronic disbelief. "No…no…this isn't real…you can't be …can't be here…not now...not after…"
"But I am here, little Cassidy. I am here with you and rest assured, human, I do not intend to allow you to escape this time," the Weeping Archangel growled, a terrifying note of serenity taking over his voice as he continued. "Even if that means having to break every bone in both of your legs…or simply making good of my threat to tear both of your eyes out…"
Cassidy opened her mouth to scream for help, to fearfully beg for any kind of aid that her cries could attract, but no noise escaped her mouth.
Her burned-raw throat, still partially starved of oxygen and sore from being squeezed and strangled, could only produce a meagre shrill gasp of fear.
The terrified human girl tried to scream again but on this second attempt, was struck by a terrible realisation.
Who was she expecting to come to her aid?
She had no neighbours in the area.
All of her work colleagues were far away, in the city.
She had no idea where the doctor was or how to contact him. In fact, Cassidy wasn't even entirely sure how he had contacted her in the first place.
Nancy had long abandoned coming to the house- ever since the solicitors had started examining it, preparing items for auction and deciding who would eventually inherit what was left of it.
Would her cousin even bother to run to her side anyway? She hadn't visited once since Cassidy had been interned.
Maybe the nurses would come looking for her. The ones from the ward.
But did she really want to be taken back to that place again?
Her mother was the only one who definitely would have come.
She was the only one Cassidy would have welcomed the sight of at that very moment.
But that wasn't going to happen.
Cassidy Albright's mum was dead.
She wasn't ever going to come back.
Cassidy was never ever going to be held or comforted by her mother, ever again.
Even if she did scream for her.
A cruel and unforgiving tidal wave of grief crashed over Cassidy and she started to cry, closing her eyes and looking away from Michael in total defeat. Every feeling that she had tried to ignore, beat and starve out of herself from the day she returned to London to that very second, engulfed her in a single harsh overtaking.
She hung her head, sobbing noisily and choking on her own tears as they flowed down her face.
Michael frowned as her attention was suddenly diverted from him.
True, she was in distress, as he had wanted her to be.
But he could sense that he was not at all the root cause of her distress.
"Oh cease your incessant whining," he snapped gruffly, taking a foreboding step towards her. "Lest I actually give you something worth shedding tears for."
Hearing these words, Cassidy fell silent for a moment, her fists clenching beneath the covers and then wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, she looked up at the Weeping Archangel again.
Her eyes were tinged red and suddenly clouded with anger.
"…no."
"What did you just say?" the living statue demanded, infuriated by her defiance.
"...no," she repeated plainly, her features beginning to melt and her face slowly becoming mask-like. No expression. Nothing to betray her feelings anymore. "No." Cassidy took a long but shaky breath before going on. "You don't have any control over me. The doctor was right."
The Weeping Archangel roared in her direction but she did not react, only turning her head and looking down at her hands where they clenched the sheets.
"I command you to hold your tongue, you snivelling ingrate! And do not dare give mention of the doctor again-…!"
"Or what?" Cassidy said, grief and anger seeming to drain from her body as she sunk back down against the pillow, her eyes closing. "You'll kill me?" Her eyes snapped open, darting over in his direction and briefly meeting his own gaze. "Kill me then. I don't care anymore."
Michael was silent for a moment, forced to stare at her as he was bound by his quantum-lock but continuing to stare even after she closed her eyes once more.
"What kind of pathetic creature welcomes death?"
"One that has nothing left to live for," she stated blankly, her grip slackening on the covers. "Kill me then. What are you waiting for?"
The Lonely Assassin continued to glower at the human girl, both with intrigue and disgust regarding this sudden transformation.
"Do not speak to me with such patronizing words," he hissed, after a few minutes of silence. "Another such command from you and you will suffer tortures unimaginable to the human brain."
Her eyes opened again and she glanced over at him briefly before staring straight ahead, suddenly quite uncaring about how often she blinked.
"Why make me suffer though? Why go through all the bother? Why not just end me? End me whatever way you like…but just make sure that I'm gone for good…I don't care anymore…"
"Cease your foolishness, human and cease your trivial, childish mind-games. I wish to hear no more of your weak deception tactics…"
"Deception tactics?" She raised an eyebrow before speaking again. "I'm not …trying to deceive you. I want to die. You must have found me in the bathroom, in the psychiatric ward, right? What do you think…think I was doing…in the bath…?" Her voice started to break slightly, despite her expressionless visage. "I w-wanted to die…"
Michael had long discerned this fact but hearing it from her mouth, from her voice, evoked an emotion in the pit of his stomach that made him want to reject the information.
"I restored you to life," he told her. "You should be grateful for that. Grateful that I even thought that you deserved to retain your life, selfish human!"
"I'm sorry for your effort," she replied dryly. "But I didn't need or want your help. I wanted to die."
"Why?! Why would a creature of any kind deliberately walk into Death's arms?"
"I told you before, I have nothing left to live for."
"Truly, your kind are as ignorant as they are selfish! I liberated you. I gave you a higher purpose. I marked you apart from the pathetic droves of your species. And yet you seek to do nothing but betray me?"
"You didn't do any of those things. All you did was to destroy my life."
She gave a long exhale, a final tear of anguish slipping from the corner of her left eye and down her damp cheek. "You took everything away from me, made me see and do things that I'll never be able to forget…" Cassidy looked over at the statue that she once would have gladly given up all of her time just to look after. "Just kill me. End me. Please…" Despite the potential consequences, she lifted her gaze so that her eyes were bore directly into his. "Please." Her voice became little more than a whisper. "End me. End this. End this for both of us, Michael…"
These words said, she lay back and closed her eyes, surrendering once more.
She had used his name.
Not his real name, of course.
But the title that she had come to know him by.
The foreign emotion returned to him again, biting at him with frustrating and untouchable persistence.
The Weeping Angel did not like this emotion. It was draining and difficult to bear.
Hard to manage.
Hard to place.
Hard to identify.
Instantly he sought to replace the emotion with something that he could recognise.
Anger?
Anger made sense.
He could identify Anger.
And Anger didn't claw at his insides.
Anger only burned.
"Don't dare give me orders, human!" he growled down at her, seizing a clump of her hair and forcing her head to lift. His claws tore through the freshly healed scratch marks on her face. The faded scabbed lines of dark scarlet glowed bright with running crimson.
However the young woman barely reacted.
One of her eyelids twitched but she made no sound.
He flung her head back into the pillow and her eyes opened, sealing him into stone once more.
It was his eyes that were his undoing.
Her stare was completely listless- without fear, or rage, or sorrow.
It was as though every drop of emotion had completely evaporated from her body.
It was within that hollow, unfocused gaze that Michael came to a realisation. Whether she was alive or not, his slave's spirit had left her body.
He had broken his little toy.
As her eyelids drooped, his fingers drifted to her neck.
He contemplated fulfilling her wish and simply ending it.
"Cassidy Albright has been little more than a nuisance and a burdening obsession to me since the day that I first happened upon her," he thought, his fingers skimming the rise of her collarbone and tracing back to the hollows of her throat. "I could always take another human slave in her place…"
He frowned at the idea.
It was true; taking another human would be easy and not half as problematic as keeping her. It would also end his shameful, burgeoning fixation on her.
His eyes fell upon her face.
No, to kill her would be to give into what she wanted.
It would be playing servant to her needs.
And somewhere in furthest recesses of his mind, he knew that looking for a replacement would be futile. No matter what variety of human he took, it would always be flawed for the single fact that it would not be his Cassidy.
He pressed his thumb in on her throat, threatening to choke her once more though her lack of reaction only proved what he already knew.
She had no fear of death.
That fear.
That control.
That power.
It no longer existed.
He removed his hand from her neck and brought it to his side, clenching his fingers into a fist.
"Aren't you going to do it then?" she asked, her voice thin and faint but without the slightest hint of wavering.
"…no," he replied firmly. "I shall not give into your pettish, foolish desires simply because you command it. I do not know what kind of silly game you are attempting to play, human, but know this: I would not do anything and will never do anything to assist you in escaping me."
"So, despite having threatened me with death repeatedly in the past and making numerous attempts on my life, you now refuse to kill me as soon as I willingly give you the chance to do it?"
"Indeed."
She turned over in the bed, away from him, grumbling slightly. "You're a fucking complicated race, you lot."
She could feel that they had finally met a barrier. A point of no further progression.
He raised an eyebrow, condescending as ever. "That is a fair observation."
He could feel it too.
Cassidy couldn't quite remember what had caused her to fall asleep.
Perhaps it was hunger. Even if she didn't feel much like eating and her body had grown accustomed to scarcely being fed, food was still a necessity to ensure that she stayed conscious.
On the other hand, it could have been sheer boredom.
The ursine seraph of stone stopped talking to her, simply watching her in silence and she, in turn, had no mind to make conversation with him.
She was also in no hurry to leave the bed.
It certainly wasn't comfort, by any means.
Her face ached while pain, in sporadic bursts, shot up through her torso upon her every attempt to move or to turn over.
She was also still wet.
The Angel had made no attempt to remove her clothes, (a fact, after later reflection, that Cassidy would be grateful for), and as such, she was still wearing a pair of sopping wet pyjamas. Her hair also clung uncomfortably to her face, slickened to her neck and across her cheeks. To make matters further worse, the initial dampness from her clothes had soaked into the sheets and blanket of the bed so trying to keep warm was fast becoming a tedious and disappointing affair.
"Why do you even care? I thought you wanted to die."
The grim, taunting voice spoke from the back of her mind.
Cassidy frowned, her eyes still closed. It wasn't that she wanted to death per se.
Just release.
Escape.
Something in her life that she could control.
But he wouldn't even give her that.
And it wasn't necessarily that she wanted to die either.
She just didn't really care whether she lived or not anymore.
After all, life had rather lost its appeal for her and while death was a dark unknown, it still held a little more promise.
Living was difficult.
Dying was probably easier.
Cassidy squirmed, shivering slightly as her forearm made contact with a wet patch on the sheets.
No. What the Hell had she been thinking?
Since when was she the kind of person who contemplated suicide so lightly?
Had Summer Bank really destroyed her to that extent?
Robbed her of her sanity?
Of her humanity?
She had become passive.
Not inhuman…
On a more positive note, her passiveness seemed to be bothering him anyway.
That was a comforting thought.
She was still his prisoner though.
For the second time.
"When things get rough, Cassy, try to imagine a lifeline being tossed out to you. It's right in front of you. You just have to make the effort to stand up, reach out and grab it. Make the most of what you've got…"
That was what her mother used to say.
Hadn't she heard her mother's voice in her dream? Telling her to hold on…to return to the world of the living?
"Mum?"
Cassidy woke up, her mouth dry and her eyes already brimming. She couldn't remember what she had been dreaming about but her mother's voice rang so clearly in her ears, she could have sworn that the gentle old woman had been standing in the room with her.
She looked around, her neck hurting with each turn of her head.
There was only him.
He was standing directly above her, glaring down at her with the same cold expression, carved into stone.
"You often whimper for your mother in your sleep," he stated, almost patronisingly. "Why do you even bother? She is deceased, is she not?"
Cassidy was taken aback by the bluntness of Michael's words and almost involuntarily, she started to cry, turning her head away so that he could not see her tears.
"It is so ironic," he seethed, exasperated. "That my kind are referred to as those who "weep." I have yet to see one of my own kind weep. Your kind weep perpetually. You especially. Why do you continue to sob and mourn? Your mother is gone. Your tears will not resurrect her."
The human girl's eyes narrowed, suddenly filled with hatred and contempt for the living statue once more. "Why do I weep? I weep because my mother is dead. I weep because she died and I'll never see her again." She gritted her teeth, grinding her back molars and thumping a fist against the mattress in frustration. "I weep because I'm alone now. Completely alone. And it's your fault. Not mine. Yours. You either killed everyone I've ever cared about or made me look sufficiently crazy enough to be forbidden from ever seeing them again…"
"…I did not kill your mother," Michael responded coolly. "I had nothing to do with her death."
"She died while you had me locked up in that hotel room in the past. If you hadn't kidnapped me, I could have been there…I might have been able to help her…somehow…"
"That still does not mean that I had any hand in your mother's death."
Cassidy groaned. "You still fucking destroyed my life and now I'm fucking alone, thanks to you!" She took a breath, realising that the display of aggression was grating on her lungs before hissing through her lips. "I hate you."
Michael was silent for a moment, free from his quantum-lock as she had long turned away from him, but still unmoving.
He contemplated striking her for her actions but decided that her sudden display of rage was far too amusing not to probe further.
Finally, she was reacting to him again.
"You are quite the little hypocrite, child," he went on, coolly. "Did you not tearfully declare that you loved me and wanted nothing more than to be with me and me alone? Between…kisses?"
The irksome sing-song note that crept into his voice towards the end of the question cut through Cassidy like a double-edged blade.
"I lied," the bed-ridden human spat bitterly. "I fucking lied. Get that through your thick, stone skull."
"What in all galaxies would drive such a sentimental, overly sensitive creature to tell such a mistruth?"
Cassidy's eyes widened and coughing hard, she immediately whipped her head around to glower at him. "You were going to rape me…I would have said anything…" She squirmed, shuddering at the memory and feeling bile rise in her throat. "Anything…just to get you to stop…"
"Rape?" Michael echoed questioningly. Almost confused.
"Yes, rape," she wheezed, trying to shout at him, despite her weakened voice. "Rape! When you force someone to…to…to lie with you…to sleep with you! What!? Doesn't the all-powerful Angel know what that is?!"
She squeezed her eyes shut and in the absence of her sight, Michael tilted his head to the side. "We Angels do not have such a concept."
Part of Cassidy was not at all surprised to hear this but much to her own chagrin, that wasn't the part of her that decided to speak. "…you don't know what rape is? You…your kind…but why wouldn't you…? What about…consent?"
"The Lonely Assassins view our society and that of the universe's in terms of status and superiority," he explained smoothly. "Beings of a lower status are born to serve and obey those of higher status. It is the natural way. You are a lowly being and subservient to me, I wished to display dominance over you and so I proceeded to take what is mine…"
"That is absolutely ridiculous!"
"Do humans not have a system of class and status?"
"No! No human is born higher than another…well, at least that's what's prescribed…I mean…human beings where I come from don't abide by class…at least everyone's considered equal enough that it's a crime to try to rape or kill someone…you can't justify it just by saying that you're above someone else! That's madness…"
"Preposterous. Status systems ensure that everyone keeps to the occupation that they were chosen to partake in, everyone fulfils their given roles, order is preserved…and in the way of your hypocrisy once more, humans do in fact have very evident class-groupings. Were you not subservient to a number of different humans at your "museum", were you not?"
"…that's…different," Cassidy responded slowly, quickly becoming annoyed at the Angel. However, despite the sour burning of that very annoyance beneath her skin, it felt sickeningly… refreshing to actually feel something other than cynicism and despair. "I work for them. I'm not lower than them."
"But does would it not feel better to serve a being who is clearly superior to you rather than a collection of beings who claim to be your equals?"
"Well, it doesn't matter either way now, does it? Seeing as pretty much all of my "equals" think I'm crazy, thanks to you."
"While I, as your superior being, know that you are perfectly sane." He paused, almost uncharacteristically whimsically. "If not incredibly irksome, stubborn and liberally prone to delusions of grandeur and emotional extremities…"
Cassidy gave another groan and rolled on to her side once more, flinching when she noticed how close the stone angel had come to her bedside. She kept her eyes on him, avoiding his face and avoiding his eyes. "Why was it me?"
"…I do not follow."
"Why did you choose me to be your slave? Your servant? Your…pet?" Cassidy wrinkled her nose. "I mean, I know I found you in the forest…but I couldn't have been the only human who'd ever approached you before that…and you've got the power to go anywhere in time…you've got your pick of humans…" She shook her head. "I'm not the best of humans everywhere by any means. I'm not the smartest…or strongest…or healthiest…or best looking…and as you've said, I'm apparently full of emotional extremities…"
"…that is true."
The Weeping Archangel was silent for a moment, as though he too was only considering this question for the first time.
When he finally spoke again, Cassidy had drifted back to sleep slightly so his the basal growl of his voice caused her to jerk beneath the sheets.
"Precisely that. Your emotional extremities."
"Hm?"
He sighed. "Do attempt to push the borders of your understanding, human. Your emotions. That is why I choose you over others of your kind."
Her eyes fluttered open to look at the Angel, binding him in stone.
"My…emotions?"
"...Yes. I find your displays of emotion to be infinitely entertaining. My kind are taught to suppress our feelings and we usually never fall to such extremities. Your constant snivelling and crying followed by your panicked fussing and your fits of terror when you feel fear...they amuse me. The passion and determination with which you apply to any task you undertake is…intriguing in comparison with others of your kind." He gave a low chuckle. "Also, most beings regard the infamous Lonely Assassins with confusion and fright. Yet upon the day that you happened upon me in the forest you first looked at me with such wide-eyed innocence…and joy…I found it so strange…"
Cassidy exhaled, ignoring the stirring in her stomach and the sudden heat in her face and trying to keep her expression as complacent as possible. "Well, somehow I don't think you'll see much joy from me anymore. Congratulations." She bit her lip, squirming beneath the sheets. Pain and discomfort from the damp sheets had started to make her chest tight but there was suddenly another reason why her blood pressure had started to increase. A realisation as her eyes drifted over to the window near her bed. "…you can't keep me here…people will come…they'll know that I'm missing from the ward…they'll come here looking for me…they'll take me b-back…"
She was shivering again.
"If anyone attempts to enter this building," Michael responded coolly. "I will kill them."
"Is that just your solution for everything?" the human woman demanded, propping herself up in the bed as best she could, trying to stifle her quivering limbs. "You don't get your own way so you kill people. Snap their necks or send them back in time?!" She shook her head. "Why do you even do that anyway? Why do you Angels even use that method to kill people? I mean, I know you need to feed off of their years but the doctor said that your kind could suck the lives of people right out of their mouths. Why go to the bother of sending them back in time? "
She hadn't been expecting a direct answer.
So when she received one, Cassidy was forced to lift her head in surprise.
"There is a myth among my kind that the Universe itself became jealous of the great power of the Weeping Angels and to punish our race for attaining such vigour, they commanded that our souls should be taken from us. In order to stay alive, we were forced to steal the souls of others, absorbing their life-years for nutrition," he told her, smoothly as ever. "However, the Great Elders feared that we Angels would cause the extinction of every being in the Universe and throw off the balance of time if we proceeded to kill so instead each Angel was commanded to send a number of humans back in time. They would still live but we would take their years to replace the souls that we did not have…"
Cassidy's jaw fell slightly slack as she made an attempt to sit up. "…I-?"
"Of course, this is just a myth that we tell cherubs upon their first hunting venture," the Archangel sharply cut across her. "In actual fact, sending a being back in time provides more full, healthy time energy to be taken than does taking years directly from the mouth." A waver of disgust entered his voice. "And it involves less lip-contact with…lower species…"
The human girl's mouth twitched as she sat up straight, resisting every urge to make a snide and witty comment regarding the very topic of lip-contact.
Instead she drew back the sheets of the bed and attempted to step out on to the floor. However her legs gave out from beneath her and her knees came crashing down into cold, hard-wood floorboards.
Cassidy grunted, massaging her legs frantically as she attempted to stand. Her body ached all over and the house was freezing. The skin of her legs was goose-pimpled and frighteningly bluish. Her toes were also near-numb and her knuckles were starting to tinge purple.
"What precisely are you doing?" he asked her, having turned to face her but having made no movement to approach her.
"If you want me to live," she croaked, narrowing her eyes as she placed her hands flat on the knotted surface beneath her. "I have to get warm. And I'm not going to lie in that bed any longer."
She fumbled, her fingers clumsily trying to grab the knob of a bureau drawer: she needed to get her wet clothes off and she needed to get into something warm.
"Mmph." She craned her neck, reaching upward and failing in her attempts.
Michael sighed gruffly and suddenly Cassidy felt herself being grabbed from behind and hauled to her feet.
Terror gripped her at the feeling of his cold skin against hers, a pair of colossal wrapping around her torso and her back pressing tight against his chest.
No escape.
"L-let me go!" she shrieked, her voice involuntarily pitchy. "Put m-me down!"
"Cease your squirming, child. Watching you wriggle and writhe like a blind slug is starting to become pathetic to watch."
He set her down on her bare feet.
"Now do what you need to do."
Still shaking, Cassidy started to unbutton her pyjama shirt and stopped abruptly, glaring at the Angel. "Turn around."
Michael gave a bark of laughter. "Come again? Are you attempting to command me, human?"
"Turn the fuck around!"
"Why?"
"I don't want you to see me while I'm dressing!"
"You are no place to order me around, little whelp."
Quivering violently from head to toe, Cassidy looked at Michael with a hard stare.
Her health was fragile.
He wouldn't kill her or risk killing her, thinking that that was what she wanted.
She was truly sick of Michael having all of the control.
And it was time that she took a risk of her own.
"Fine. Fine." Dragging the drawer open, she yanked out new underwear, balled-up knee socks that she hadn't worn since secondary school, an over-sized Digimon t-shirt and a pair of faded green pyjama shorts that had come as part of a set that Nancy had given her for Christmas, (thankfully it appeared that her cousin hadn't yet gotten around to clearing all of her belongings from the house). They weren't the most ideal selection but they were the closest things to the surface of the drawer and above all else, they were dry and loose-fitting.
Still glaring at the Angel, she bundled the clothes up into her arms and walked around so that she was standing squarely at his back.
"You'd b-better not bloody well turn around," she threatened, rather weakly, resuming unbuttoning her shirt.
"Are you actually so simple-minded?" Michael chided, laughing slightly. "Whether or not I move depends entirely on your actions at this very moment. Not mine."
Cassidy resisted the urge to roll her eyes and continued to shed herself of the wet, standard-issue grey pyjamas, peeling their damp folds from her clammy skin.
Despite the awful, sand-like grating that scratched at the corners of her eyes, Cassidy did not blink; all of her experience with Michael and the Summer Bank Weeping Angels had trained her in resilience.
"What do your years number to, human?"
"…what?"
"What is your age?" the Lonely Assassin repeated, slowly and condescendingly. "I wish to ascertain something."
Cassidy sighed, shimmying the shorts up and around her hips. "I'm twenty-three. What do you want to ascertain?"
"At what age are humans usually considered to have reached adulthood?"
"…eighteen…twenty-one…it varies depending on where you come from…why?"
"So you are definitely an adult of your species."
"…yes."
"And you are certain of this?"
"Yes."
Michael gave a low, cruel-toned chuckle. "Then why in all of the universe must you persist in behaving like a child? Why are you so bashful about your naked form?"
Cassidy's face was suddenly aflame from her cheeks to her ears. "I am not bashful about…! I…I'm just trying to keep my dignity!"
After finishing her dressing, Cassidy finally allowed her tired, sore eyes the luxury of a single blink.
Her heart leapt into her mouth when she felt cold fingers wrap tightly around one of her wrists. She swallowed, her eyes instantly locked on the grey claws of stone now serving as a manacle.
"Your body temperature has not yet restored," Michael observed. "I will not have you serving me whilst you are sickly. What must be done to ensure that it returns to normal levels?"
Cassidy bit her lip.
Her arm was in far too much pain to struggle with him and she was still far too cold and weak to run from him. Yet.
If he was offering her a chance to restore herself, she would be a fool not to accept and she had little other choice besides that.
"The heating in the h-house," she stammered quietly, lowering her gaze. "It hasn't been turned on in weeks…b-but downstairs has an electric fireplace…I can warm myself if I sit beside that for a while…"
Michael released her hand on the second that she looked away and when she looked up at the Angel again, he was gesturing towards the door.
"Go then."
Shakily, Cassidy made her way out of the bedroom and on to the darkened, second-floor landing. Perhaps the sight of her long-abandoned house might have inspired a more emotional reaction from Cassidy, had she not been so aware of the Weeping Angel who walked behind her.
Two things in particular struck her as being particularly unnerving.
Firstly, that she never ever heard him moving. No footsteps. No breathing. No sound at all.
Secondly, that she no longer had to see or hear him to know that he was there.
Following her.
She was always within his reach.
Michael followed her right into the sitting room, coming to stand at the mantel piece and instantly turning to stone under her gaze. His expression was carefully blank but she could tell that his eyes were still focused on her every move.
Thankfully, despite the unsightly, suffocating layers of dust over the uncovered sitting-room furniture, the electricity had not yet been switched off.
Cassidy managed to switch on the heater, turning it up on full blast and sinking down on to the Navajo rug.
A blurry childhood memory of sitting on that very same rug, dotted by glowing fairy lights and punctuated by a familiar Christmas song, briefly flitted through Cassidy's mind.
She was in no mood to be sentimental.
Not now.
"So, Weeping Angels have myths?"
His silhouette- a Herculean behemoth with huge, sloping wings- was cast over her, in the flickering amber light of the artificial fire.
"Yes. As do most cultures."
"…you mentioned that you liked listening to myths when you were…uh…a cherub?"
"On occasion."
"Was that one you told me your favourite myth?"
"…no….I vastly preferred the myth of the great stars…"
For the first time, Cassidy noticed that when he was not giving a speech or issuing orders, Michael's sentences were always very clipped and stunted- as though her was not used to lengthy conversations.
"The myth of the great stars? That sounds…" She rubbed her hands together, noticing the frosty sting starting to fade from her fingers. "…interesting. What's it about?"
"Why do you take such interest?"
"…I like myths…I used to study them…collect them…"
Michael exhaled. "It tells the story of why the heavens of night appear the way they do. The myth tells that the skies at night are a reflection of the very fabric of time and every star that we see in the skies reflects the soul of a living being. In my younger years, I was often told that every time I willingly send someone back in time: that person's star moves back across the sky, signalling them crossing the time-stream…"
"…shooting stars," Cassidy whispered under her breath, nodding and hunching her shoulders forward and trying to avail of a little more warmth. "That's…actually kind of …pretty…almost…"
"The myth of the pomegranate seeds," Michael recalled, his voice low and as always, teetering on the edge of a growl. "The one you told me before you escaped me at the Summer Bank. Is this the human myth that you favour most?"
"The Hades and Persephone one? Is that my favourite?" she responded quietly. "No, it isn't. My favourite myth is the story of Eros and Psyche."
"And what, precisely, is their story? It must be exciting if you choose it as your favourite."
Cassidy knuckled her forehead, an uncomfortable memory regarding a certain red-haired tour-guide suddenly rising inside of her.
"It's…it's basically about a god who falls in love with a human."
The Angel gave a snort of cynical laughter. "How utterly fatuous. Why would an all-powerful god choose to love a mere human? It is illogical, above all else."
The woman at his feet shrugged, lifting a hand to nurse her sorely scabbed neck. "Love isn't always logical."
"You speak as though you are an expert on the topic of love. You certainly seem to think you have the authority to lie about its existence…"
For a moment, Cassidy thought she detected a small note of bitterness in his tone.
But only for a moment.
And she was probably only imagining it anyway.
"I know I'm not the ultimate authority on love. I just know what it feels like and I know when I feel it…and it's not always logical."
"And I suppose you knew that you felt it when you were with that brash and boorish suitor of yours at the museum? Such pity that he didn't quite reciprocate."
Cassidy swallowed, suddenly feeling the very strong desire to hit something. "Shut the fuck up about that."
Without warning, she felt her hair being seized from behind, wrenching her head back.
She whimpered and writhed, clutching at his fingers but keeping her eyes squeezed shut.
If she opened them, he would be bound in stone and her pain would only increase- not to mention, she very well might find herself with a bald patch, her hair being ripped from her scalp.
"Your new tendency to give me orders is starting to become rather annoying. You almost seem to think that I am willing to permit it! I am superior to you! Do not forget that! Your existence renewed is to serve only me!"
Cassidy gritted her teeth, determined not to show him any lenience.
He didn't kill her before. Why would he do it now?
"Doesn't a…doesn't a s-superior being h-have anything better to…to do with his t-t-time than to be tormenting a lowly being like m-m-me?"
Michael suddenly flung her backwards, her head striking the ground with a harsh thump, rendering her vision double as she slowly opened her eyes.
The living statue was bent over her, staring at her with a mocking sneer on his smooth, marblesque face.
"What do you suggest I should do with my time instead?"
She avoided his eyes, sitting up and with her back to him once more.
"I don't know," she grunted. "Find some other Angels. Play with them instead."
Michael laughed. "Where shall I find these "other angels?" Those from Summer Bank are all dead."
"There must, unfortunately, be more of you though," Cassidy persisted, rolling her shoulders beneath the folds of the t-shirt. Not only was her neck stiff and aching but her ribs were also in muted agony. "Can't you find some?"
The Angel gave another mocking snort. "You know nothing of my kind, little human and you vastly underestimate our abilities to conceal ourselves. Tribes of the Lonely Assassins are very difficult to locate and highly exclusive." He moved to stand behind her. "They usually do not accept outsiders."
She shifted a little, away from the Angel and closer to the artificial fire. "So why did the Summer Bank Angels take you in with open arms?"
"I promised them a hearty contribution to their food supply, of course."
Cassidy rolled her eyes, shuddering slightly and choosing not to delve into that particular topic, spoke again. "Alright then. Well, you can travel anywhere in time and space that you like…why not go somewhere else? Somewhere more exciting?"
"More exciting? When one possesses the ability to go anywhere at any time, nowhere is truly exciting any longer."
"Then why not go back home? To wherever you came from? To whatever tribe you were born into? Why not…?" Cassidy's voice trailed off and she lifted her head, her eyes widening with slow realisation. "…they exiled you, didn't they?"
Michael was silent.
For once.
"I remember what you told me in the hotel room," she went on, winding a lock of straw-like hair around her finger and staring into the yellowish lights of the electric fire. "You said that your father exiled you and took over your tribe…you're…you're…" A sadistic streak briefly shot through Cassidy's chest but it was followed by the greatest unease that she had ever been forced to stomach. "…you're alone now too."
"That is true," Michael responded, his voice low and gruff. "But unlike humans…we Angels do not crave social contact to preserve our sanity…"
Cassidy did not reply to this, simply staring into the fire and mulling her thoughts over as her body continued to warm itself back to normal. When her hair was somewhat drier and the false flames had started to cause sweat to form on her brow, Cassidy made an attempt to stand. Her appetite had started to return and after begrudgingly asking for permission, he walked to the kitchen for some food.
Thankfully, some non-perishable goods were still occupying the cupboards.
A cup of instant noodles wasn't the most sustaining of snacks but it would give her something hot and flavoured to munch on.
She took a seat on the sofa, crossing her legs beneath her.
As soon as her gaze fell, Michael was standing at her side, watching her as always, his wings raised and casting a shadow over her.
The sounds of her own eating started to unnerve her a little and wishing to break the silence, she murmured quietly.
"So…do you need to eat too?"
"I have already eaten."
An involuntary shiver ran through Cassidy, from her lips to her fingertips.
Her mouth was dry, even as she shovelled forkful after forkful of processed Asian food into it.
Her current situation was one that she didn't want to think about.
Silence made her start thinking.
Words kept her from thinking.
Words seemed to distract him too.
She opened her mouth to speak again but was cut-off by the sound of the phone ringing on the side table.
The ringing was like a ghost from Cassidy's past- something familiar yet frightening to have to hear.
As a thousand questions raced through her mind, she could only stare at the phone like a startled animal.
Her heart pounded and her shoulders started to rise and fall with panic.
She looked to Michael.
He was staring at the phone too, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in contempt. There was a slight curl in his upper-lip, through which she could see a set of fearsome, curved fangs.
Fangs that had once punctured her very skin.
"Stifle it," the Angel commanded. "Stifle it now."
Cassidy did not want to bend to his will so quickly but she could not allow anyone to find her.
Nor did she want to know who was trying to find her.
Lest it was a member of hospital staff or the police force.
She crawled to the plug-socket, crouching to pull the cable from the wall.
"Hello, you've reached-…"
The sound of her mother's disembodied voice caused her to yank the phone with a lot more jerk and fervour than she had initially intended.
She sat back on to her haunches, slowly turning to look at the stone Angel and flinching when she saw that he was now standing only a breath away from her once again.
The threat of silence drove her to start speaking again.
"Were you…close to your mother…Michael?"
"Not particularly, Cassidy Albright."
He used her name, as she had used his.
"…oh?"
"I knew her. She nursed me until I was strong enough to survive on my own."
"Wouldn't that make you two close by default?"
"She did not come to my aid when I was shackled and chained in Nottingham Forest. If that is sufficient commentary on how… "close" I was to my mother."
"…ah…didn't you have any siblings?"
"No."
"I'm an only child too…" She raised an eyebrow, staring down at the empty Styrofoam cup in her hand. "Did you ever have a wife? Like…a mate, I mean."
"No."
"Not like you didn't have offers though," Cassidy found herself saying. "That…Kyrie seemed pretty mad about you. Literally."
"You have turned down quite a few "offers" too," the Angel orated.
"Have I?"
"That irksome "Stan" of yours…or that other pale-haired human whom you work with…"
Cassidy choked a little on the last of her noodles. "Edmund is not a prospective mate by any means…and I already told you, Stan and I had nothing between us…"
After another half an hour of tense silence, Cassidy was starting to succumb to slumber once more.
She didn't want to sleep.
Not in the presence of a monster.
Not in that house.
But it was no use.
She was too weak and too tired, even after the amount of sleep she had gotten earlier in that day.
And much to her misfortune, Michael had noticed her oncoming fatigue.
"Sleep."
"No."
"Sleep. You are of no use to me whilst you are exhausted."
"No…I don't want to."
"You lie."
"I can't sleep. What if…what if someone comes to the house looking for me?"
"Then, I will kill them. Sleep."
His response was plain and simple.
Cassidy grumbled an incoherent response, sufficient for an argument in her own half-asleep mind.
It was not long before she had completely fallen asleep on the sofa, her arms and legs curled up beneath her and her head resting on one of the lounging cushions.
"What are you doing, Cass?" an echoing voice asked from the back of her mind. "He is your jailer…not your protector…"
"Perhaps I really have gone crazy," she answered the voice. "Perhaps I really have lost my mind…"
Michael watched his pet- his Cassidy- where she lay, sleeping soundly.
Her skin was flushed and warm and her chest rose and fell with each deep, slow breath.
Patience.
Patience was all he needed until his fragile little human was back to full health.
Her emotions seemed to have returned…along with a new, amusing little streak of curiosity.
He reached out a hand and ran his fingertips along her jawbone, tracing the gentle contours with the very tips of his claws.
Yes, he decided.
He took great pleasure in watching her sleep like this.
Sorry about the delay, everyone!
I had a lot of unanticipated assignments and a pretty serious personal matter to deal with but now I'm back to business at last.
Really hoping that you've enjoyed the chapter!