A/N: I'd like to thank all of you who took the time to review, favorite and put this story to their story alert. I feel very humbled and grateful. Writing this story while having so much support, makes me work so much faster. The worst thing that can happen when you write is losing inspiration for a fanfic. I will admit, that sometimes happens to me too but you guys help me so well.
I adore your kind words, but I certainly enjoy your ideas of how the story could go later on too. I especially am amused and pleased when you guys figure out something I considered a surprising turn. I'm hardly as secretive or subtler as I often think I am…^^
Anyway, enjoy chapter thirteen!
o.O.o
Chapter Thirteen, Dark Omens
Weeks passed in quick succession and the temperature dropped gradually, my sweaters and turtlenecks got thicker, my coats longer. November brought a surprising cold streak, leaves whirling to the ground and ice crystals clinging to the foliage. Caroline was spending the majority of her time with the Salvatore's, or with Stefan Salvatore.
Just like in the original timeline he was the one helping her gain control, but unlike the original timeline, she'd been turned a lot sooner. And by Damon instead of Katherine. Or at least by Damon's hand instead of Katherine's.
Worse even, without anyone to guide her, without anyone specifically looking for her, Caroline lost control. I could only imagine what it was like when you had no one to turn to. When you had no idea, what was happening to you? What it would feel like to be responsible for the death of your best friend?
I knew how I felt— and it was horrible.
Bonnie's funeral was held on a chilly, sunny Wednesday afternoon. The trees surrounding the cemetery weighed down by orange-red leaves and Bonnie's grandmother and father had been in tears.
I'd half expected Sheila to call me out, perhaps not in the middle of the graveyard, but I still expected her to ask, how this was possible.
I'd only realized later that day, with the absence of prying eyes and low whispering, that Sheila probably knew. Knew who'd killed her granddaughter.
Or perhaps she didn't— or perhaps she didn't blame me the way I blamed myself.
Either way, that Saturday, three days after Bonnie's funeral, I went to visit the Salvatore boarding house.
Stefan and Damon's house was only ten minutes away from Elena's. Taking Miranda's silver Volvo, I drove fast, not even slowing down once I neared Wickery bridge. The huge wooden structure an imposing sight and the river beneath wild and swiftly flowing.
I had Googled the boarding house, memorized the lanes I had to take once I passed Wickery bridge. Which was a good thing, because the small dirt roads all looked the same around Mystic Falls.
Slowly, I steered the car onto a series of dirt side roads. The neat suburban neighborhood bled into foliage, the streets now surrounded by crowding red-and-yellow trees. The branches of the trees were backlit by the late afternoon sun and I steered the car onto the private gravel lane leading to the Boarding House.
Dust kicked up by the car and drifted after the Volvo like a cloud of fog. I parked the car at the intersection in front of the house. The grass was well-kept and the red-brick manor huge.
The house was surrounded by a wide stretch of gravel and bordered on every side by the copse of large bristly conifers. I nervously rolled my shoulder and then crossed my arms over my chest, venturing past the cover of the trees and into the sunlight.
The gravel crunched beneath my feet and I let my eyes glide over the large building. Red brick walls were covered with creepers and large cathedral windows shone in the afternoon light.
On the sunny porch, beside the front door, two large stone lions were placed. I reached for the knocker, my mouth stretched out into a tight line but as my fingers tightened around it, the door swung open.
"Elena," Stefan whispered, his eyes wide and surprised.
"I wanted to see Caroline," I told him matter-of-factly.
"It's not really a good time, Elena," he told me softly, "she's not doing well."
I almost snorted. "Of course, she isn't, Stefan," I grumbled, "how can she be? Just— how long do you plan on keeping her locked in here? And with Damon— no less…"
"Damon is- Not a problem right now."
"Your brother is always a problem." I sneered. I couldn't help it. I blamed him for everything that happened last Halloween far more than I blamed myself. And that had gotten only worse over the last few days. "Is the arsehole home?"
"—No."
I gave him an unimpressed look (he was definitely lying) and with a small, guilty sort of smile, Stefan stepped aside. I took a cautious step inside, moving inside the house. Seeing it on the show was entirely different from seeing it in reality.
Even with my apprehension and irritation fresh on my mind, I couldn't help craning my neck. Dark wooden pillars reached out into a vaulted ceiling. The floors were covered with expensive looking rugs and still wide-eyed, I rounded a corner, following Stefan into the living room.
My eyes widened even more. "Wow."
The living room was huge. It followed the theme of the hallway, with the dark, dim lighted theme. The floors were covered with rugs and a huge stone fireplace dominated the room.
The mantle, richly detailed, stretching out all the way to the ceiling, from which two large chandeliers descended. Two red sofas with a matching set of stuffed high-back chairs and an antique coffee table were centrally placed above a richly detailed rug. It certainly was very lavish, and I wetted my lips.
Stefan shrugged in that awkward way of his. "It's— well, it's home."
"That's one way of saying it," I agreed.
"You can wait here, Elena," Stefan explained. "I'll get Caroline."
I nodded, perching on the edge of one red sofa and pressed my numb fingers between my knees. Stefan disappeared through a doorway off to the left and I stared at my feet. At the scuffed noses of my old sneakers and absentmindedly listened to the sounds of the house.
"Really," an incredulous voice sighed, and I whipped around to the newest arrival.
Zach Salvatore, sharing the same build and psychic as Damon but then with blond curly hair, stood in the open doorway to the right.
I'd forgotten all about him. I'd forgotten about him living at the Boarding House at the beginning of the show. I'd forgotten about him being killed by Damon when Caroline had let him out of the basement jail Stefan had locked him up in.
I swallowed, "Oh, erm, hi?"
"I can't believe this. What am I the shelter for lost vampires?"
I laughed at that, "A shelter for the Undead? I suppose that fits well enough. Although, I'm not a vampire."
"Zach," Stefan mumbled, appearing into the living room again.
"Stefan", Zach retorted, the lines in his face still tense.
"That's Elena Gilbert, she's not - "
"Oh," his face relaxed and he gave me an apologetic look, "Grayson's daughter."
"I— yeah."
"My apologies, Elena." He muttered.
I shrugged, "It's fine."
Caroline ventured inside the living room as well, making her way over. She looked around expectantly, waggling her fingers at me. "Hi, Elena."
"Caroline," I whispered, taking in her red-rimmed eyes and her gaunt skin, "you look - "
"Horrible?" She finished, carding her curly loose hair over her shoulders.
"I didn't expect you to look like a beauty queen after everything that happened."
She frowned. "I'm okay." She still looked unconvinced.
"Can I hug you?" I asked slowly and Caroline turned wide eyes at Stefan.
"It's okay, Caroline. Just think about your breathing exercises."
"Breathing exercises?" I asked. Stefan made vampirism sound like yoga.
"It keeps her steady and calm," Stefan said by way of explanation.
I nodded. "Okay, well, it's okay, Care. I know you won't—"
"Don't say it— I couldn't stop myself from—" she let out a sob and shook her head. "—I couldn't stop myself from attacking Bonnie! What will stop me from ripping out your jugular, hm?"
"Do you want to hurt me?"
"No!"
"What happened with Bonnie?" I asked, gripping her hands and yanking her down beside me.
"She fell, and when her blood— I couldn't— Her blood was— I can't— I can't do this!"
"Hey," I whispered, "Hey! You were all alone with this. No one is blaming you."
"I am," she whispered.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, "I just don't know what to say to make you feel better."
She shook her head, tears, bright and brimming, clung to her eyelashes. I couldn't help her. Not really, but I still wrapped my arms tightly around her waist. Caroline returned the hug after a few seconds and I leant my chin atop of her head.
It was somewhat uncomfortable as Caroline's body was a lot stronger than Elena's. And as upset as she was, her grip on me was tight, my bones shifting and grinding together.
I let her, it seemed like the right thing to do and after a while, Caroline's shoulders stopped shaking.
"Do you think Bonnie hates me?"
I blinked stupidly and only belatedly realized she must have learned about the other side, "No, don't think she hates you. I think she watches over you. That she understands now what happened."
That must have been the right thing to say because a small smile tugged her lips up, "Thank you."
"Did Sheila contact you?" I asked, turning to Stefan.
"Sheila Bennett? You think she would?"
"I think she's proficient enough in witchcraft to come after you", I stressed.
"I haven't seen her." Stefan mumbled.
I nodded and turned to Caroline again, "Don't worry. I don't think she'll go after you. Perhaps after Damon."
Caroline's expression turned dangerous, "One could hope."
I nodded in agreement. One could hope. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, Stefan never venturing far away. Zach remained where he was as well, settled against the bar. He looked much like a football fan following a difficult football match.
At some point, Stefan seemed to think that was all Caroline could take and with an apologetic look, he pulled Caroline up to her feet and led her away, leaving me with Zach. I reached down to redo my laces and got to my feet.
Caroline had looked slightly better, no longer as stressed as before and I watched Stefan lead her out of the living room.
Zach straightened his back fingering a decanter of bourbon on the bar and turned to me with a frown. "Do your parents know you - "
"No," I muttered and peeked out the window at the forest sloping down the hill behind the manor.
"Then, how do you?"
"Journals. My family kept journals."
Pouring himself a generous portion of bourbon, he turned fully towards me. "You read them."
"And connected the dots? Yes. Although, Damon is hardly being subtle about it." I frowned.
"Of course, Damon," he sneered.
"Where is Damon?"
"In the cellar. Some old vampire guy delivered him at the front door two nights ago."
"Elijah?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing together in an expression of gentle bewilderment.
"He wore a tux."
"Yeah, that's Elijah all right." I agreed and felt a tiny smile tug at my lips. "Can I see him?"
"You want to see Damon?"
"Well, no, I want to rub it under his nose, that he's locked in a dungeon and helpless," I admitted.
I expected Zach to deny my request. I expected him to refuse to let me go near his great-whatever- -uncle. He didn't. Zach's mouth only thinned into a sharp line and he gave a short nod, beckoning me to follow him out of the room.
I opened my mouth, but Zach shook his head, tapping his index finger at his ear. I nodded in understanding. Right, vampires had super hearing.
Hitching my bag up my shoulder, I followed Zach out into the hall and slipping through a door beneath the dark-wooden stairs heading upstairs.
Our feet beating against the stone steps echoed dully through the damp air. I held my breath, my heartbeat accelerating the closer to the even floor I came and when we stepped on the concrete floor, I subtly looked around.
It didn't look much like the dungeon I'd thought it would and after a twist or two, I kept my eyes firmly on Zach's back, afraid tripping over something or even getting lost in the maze under the house.
I took a shuddering breath, just as we'd stepped up in front of two cells. Two huge wooden doors with small barred windows (without glass). This part did look like a dungeon.
"Hello, Elena."
Zach stepped aside, grimacing at me, and I stepped up to the first cell door and peeked through the bars.
"Damon." I greeted, eyeing him angrily.
He was dark-grey button-down shirt and pair of matching dark slacks, sitting against one wall, one arm looped over his bent leg. His skin pale, deathly, waxy white, but his eyes were still alive. I almost recoiled at the violent intensity that still shone in them. Almost.
"Why, come to visit the inmate?" He asked, his lips already twisted into that ever-present smirk.
"Yes," I agreed.
"Zachary," Damon drawled and I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Leave him alone, Damon. This is your own fault."
"Is it?"
"You killed so many people— and you know, I could understand if it was solely for feeding. I could understand the need to survive but you hurt, maim and kill for your own enjoyment." I whispered, staring him down. "This— being stuck in here, is definitely your own fault. It's what you deserve."
Damon's face twisted, shoulders tensing. Ready to snap, ready to pounce and fight. His eyes blazed with an unfathomable hatred and he sped over, colliding hard with the door.
I gasped, backing away, almost losing my balance and for a moment I could only stare at his furious face pressing against the bars of the window.
Damon had never looked less human, "You and Katherine— you can both go to hell!"
"Right," I agreed, "you hurt Caroline to spite me. Because I didn't tell you about her."
"Right," he echoed mockingly.
"So, I thought, let me enlighten you why Katherine wasn't inside the tomb," I said.
"Oh, I know why she wasn't there. She double-crossed me."
"No, Damon. She didn't care enough." I remarked coldly, ignoring the guilt churning in my stomach.
"Didn't she?"
"No," I whispered and took a step closer to the cell. "She always loved your brother more. You were just the added bonus. When faced with the choice between you and your brother, it will always be your brother. I hope you understand that."
"You are a lot more like her than I gave you credit for."
"And you are just the funhouse-reflection of the monster beneath our beds." I smiled horribly. "You lack purpose, acting like a psychotic toddler. You know, I used to feel sorry for you. Used to think you didn't deserve what Katherine put you through and although I somewhat understand why she would run, I didn't think you deserved to go through the pain of betrayal."
He snorted— I ignored him.
"That was why I didn't want to tell you. Why besides not thinking you'd believe me, why I wished to spare you from the pain. Now, I don't. Now I hope you rot." His lips pursed into an annoyed grimace, his eyes flashing, but I didn't let him have one-word in. "I hope you'll think of Bonnie every day for the rest of your life. The rest of your life locked up in here."
"Well, isn't that—"
"I was not done, Damon," I sneered, "I had one sentence left. Go to hell!"
And with that, I twirled around nodded at Zach and climbed the stone steps two at a time.
"Was that really necessary, Elena?" Stefan asked, waiting for me at the top of the stairs.
"He deserves it." I shrugged and moved straight for the front door.
It was a cloudy fall afternoon, but the light of the setting sun still bright enough to dapple through the trees and over the gravel path as I made my way to my car.
The foliage around me blazed orange and crimson and I clambered behind the wheel without another thought. The engine roared alive and I steered the car out of the Salvatore's private lane and onto the road without another glance backwards.
It was dark once I drove my car into Maple Street, leaves rustling up from the street when I parked the SUV in front of the Gilbert residence. No lights were on in the house and the car door made a clunk when I closed it behind me.
The air felt chilly enough that I shivered, my fingers curling against my palms. I'd started the trek towards the Gilbert house, the underbrush crackling beneath my boots as I stepped onto the lane leading to the house. Maple street was surprisingly quiet, not even the birds or the surrounding trees made a sound and I felt my face grow cold.
A prickle ran down my skin, and that same painfully alert feeling I'd felt before I'd found Caroline and Bonnie settled in my stomach. My breathing turned shallow; my heartbeat sped up. Leaning on my toes, I peered around, fingers tightly wrapping around the straps of my bag and felt my breath catch in my throat.
A few houses back, against the dark iron-wrought gate of a front yard, a man leant, staring intensely at me. I couldn't make out his face exactly, he was dressed in black, a hood pulled over his head, which obscured his face partly, but I could tell it was a man. A man watching me…
At first, I eyed the figure with trepidation, my mouth dry. I had no idea who he was but somehow, instead of scaring the living daylights out of me, anger started to work its way up my bloodstream. Feeling the colour to my face quickly return, fury settled in my stomach, warmed my blood. My feet were already carrying me towards him before my mind had settled on it.
"Who are you and what do you want?"
"You look like Katherine." The man said, standing up straight and his face was vaguely familiar.
I swallowed, "So I've heard. Repeatedly."
"You look like—"
"Yes, I look like Katherine," I agreed irritably, crossing my arms over my chest. I frowned trying to work out why he looked so familiar. He was taller than me, his brown hair nearly orange in the warm lantern light and his eyes were so brown and inexpressive, they were almost black.
He was pale, his cheeks tinged with just the finest hint of pink and a square chin. My eyebrows furrowed even more, and I stared at him, transfixed when finally, it hit me. "Shit," I gasped, my eyes growing as wide as saucers when recognition hit me. "You're the stalking creep. The one obsessed with Katherine."
"Stalking creep," he echoed.
"No, no, I mean," I started (really, 'the stalking creep') and took a step back. He was the weirdo who wanted to— murder Elena for her likeness to Katherine. Hadn't he been the one responsible for her car crash in season one? I swallowed, steeled my nerves and straightened my back. If only I could remember his name. "I do look a lot like Katherine, don't I? I know her too. Bit of a tool, hm?"
"You know her?" He asked and his voice was low and deep.
I almost grinned at my victory. He seemed utterly thrown off and my fingers clasped tightly around the pepper-spray Grayson insisted I carried everywhere (it did work way better than the deodorant spray). "Yes. I know where she is, too."
"You do?" He asked looking curious, bloodlust or murder-game momentarily forgotten.
"Yes I—
Something moved from my peripheral vision. It was fast and dark, and pain suddenly surged through my temple, my vision fading so quickly I had barely time to hold out my arms to break my fall.
I was unconscious before my head hit the rough asphalt hard. So much for victory…
To be continued…
A/N: Damon, you're a dick, you deserved her anger. I'm pretty sure it will have a reversed effect on him. I'm pretty sure Elena standing up to Damon was what he liked about Canon-Elena as well (that and her face). However, for now, he's stuck in the Salvatore dungeon. Isn't it kinda creepy they have one; as it was built after the whole vampire hunt in 1864?
Oh well, like always, leave a review.
This chapter was beta'd by HPuni101