FicWad

My street's odd without lights. Stepping out of my house, with a cool leather hand grasping mine, it felt like I was stepping away from myself. The darkness makes me uneasy, and I half-expect the blonde man to turn around and kill me, right here, in my front lawn.


I'm leaving behind everything that had been a sanctuary, even though I had been living with a traitor. After fighting to keep the monsters at bay for so long, I had ended up surrendering anyway, easier than I should have. Irony's a bitch.


The car with the tinted windows is his. He led me to it, almost in a hurry, and when he opened the back passenger's door, I didn't even try to run. As soon as I sat down, he blindfolded me, but I didn't try to stop that either. My entire body had suddenly become tired, lazy, as if I hadn't sat in months. My limbs feel like they're made of lead, and when he drove off, I didn't protest. I didn't want to, and I doubt I could have if I did.


He's been driving for hours. I'm vaguely wondering if he's driving in circles to confuse me, or if wherever he's taking me really is too far away for people to find me. If they looked.


But mostly, I'm wondering about Mother. I'm wondering how they killed her, and if her picture will be in the paper tomorrow morning; another faceless victim, a new lifeless epitaph.


And I hope she's burning in Hell.



The car finally stopped, and I heard my captor climb out, and slam his door shut. Seconds later mine was opened, and he was pulling me out. The thought of escaping, of just pulling the blindfold off and running, flitted through my mind for a split second. But the feeling of being filled with lead came over me again, stronger than before, and I did nothing.


I had more than a million questions, but as he dragged me along by my arm, blind and at his clemency, I decided against asking any of them. He, in turn, said nothing to me.


I could tell by the feel of the ground beneath me that he was leading me through the woods, pulling me further and further away from any hope of escape, or regaining a normal life.


But that was killed with Mother.


Soon the brush that was reaching for the folds of my clothes started to diminish, and then our footsteps began to crunch, over loose gravel. Seconds later, the blonde man stopped abruptly, forcing me to do so also. I heard him knock, and almost immediately, heard the soft swoosh of a door being thrown open. Another man sighed, but when he spoke, I heard teasing in his voice.


"Someone's a bit late."


"Not by much," the blonde man answered, stepping forward again and pulling me with him. "We had problems with the mother."


Staring into the dark of my blindfold, I tried to picture Mother putting up some sort of struggle to save me. All I could see, though, was her giving them permission to go in our house, and trying to convince them not to kill her.


"Well," answered the other man, closing the door behind us as the blonde man started leading me off again, "Frank's been waiting. She was his last one for the night."


"Yeah, poor Frank, having to wait on someone else for a change."


"Well if this is the one, you won't be waiting on anyone else, ever..."


The blonde man laughed, and sniffed jokingly. "Is that a promotion I smell?"


The other man laughed, and they continued talking, referring to me as if I wasn't right there next to them. I ignored them, trying to take in my surroundings, despite my lack of vision.


The building, whatever it was, was incredibly warm, almost stifling, and not comfortable in the slightest. Every breath I took felt like I was inhaling a cloud rather than oxygen. The floors creaked as we walked, and occasionally I stumbled onto and off of carpeted sections of floor. Neither of them noticed.


I knew I wasn't being led in circles to be made confused, because we never once turned, only walked straight. I was certain that whatever hall we were in was pitch black, since I couldn't even make out the slightest spec of light coming in underneath the blindfold. I had the unnerving sensation that I was being watched, on all sides, and it wasn't by the two men with me. Once or twice, I swore I heard whispers.


The building seemed like it would go on forever, until finally I heard, "Watch your step, princess," and felt a sudden drop in the floor. My stomach turned, and I took a second to steady myself. The blonde man chuckled.


"Told you to watch your step."


He led me down the rest of the long flight of stairs, the other man making a joke of how I couldn't really watch anything, and I walked along slowly and uneasily, thinking of how easy it would be for either of them to simply push me down the rest of the stairs. Once at the bottom, we walked straight again, and the air grew even thicker.


At last, I was forced to stop again, and one of the men rapped sharply on another door. It creaked open loudly, and yet another voice said, "Well, about time, then."


The blonde man grunted, pulling me in front of him, and pushing me gingerly away from him. Another set of hands caught me, roughly.


"You'll be needing help, I suppose?" the blonde man asked sharply. The one holding me only laughed.


"Not from you, Bob. You go ahead and make sure he knows his valiant little Fed-Ex man has returned."


The man had said "he" with an air I couldn't quite understand- something like respect and admiration, with immense jealously. I heard the blonde man- Bob -scoff, and mutter "arrogant sonofabitch," before sighing, and seeming to speak more in my direction.


"Just watch it, Frank. Be careful with her."


"I know the damn rules," Frank said, with an irritated sigh. "Just go."


He started moving away from them, pulling me with him, and further into whatever room we were in. I turned my head back to where I thought Bob was, suddenly very afraid to be leaving him. Frank only pulled me faster, and when I heard the loud groan of the door, and the bang of it snapping shut, my fear that had all but disappeared began to mount once again.


He pushed me into a chair, and I could sense him standing in front of me, watching me. I silently willed my heartbeat to slow down again, but the harder I tried, the more he seemed to study me. I had the odd feeling that he was enjoying my terror very much.


After an eternity of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke.


"Adella, is it?"


I bit the inside of my lip, not sure if his question was rhetorical or not. After a few seconds of more silence, I nodded slowly. I felt him lean over me, and reach around to the back of my head, to untie my blindfold. He pulled it away from my eyes, and I blinked repeatedly, looking around the dim room, trying to reassure myself that I hadn't actually gone blind.


I noticed a table in the far corner of the room, but it was too dark to see what it held. I looked down at myself, clad in the same jeans and shirt I had been wearing for the past three days, and then at the chair I was in. It was old, and made of wood, and spotted with black stains I knew weren't paint. I gripped the arms of the chair tightly, swallowing the lump that was rising in my throat. I could feel Frank smiling, and so finally, I looked up at him.


I couldn't make out much of his face in the dark, but I saw right away how different he was from my captor, and the men that had been following me. His hands were clasped behind his back, and a smug look that I imagined never left him was plastered on his face. His shirt, his trousers, and his boots, were all white. It was almost hard to tell where his shirt ended and his neck began; even as he turned from me, and walked to the table in the corner, I could see that his skin was exceptionally pale.


I heard a small click, and suddenly a blinding white light snapped on directly over my head, making me shrink into the stained old chair. I grimaced, and heard him laugh- right beside me. I jumped, squinting up at him, as he stood on the outskirts of the light. I saw him clearer, and noticed pink or red makeup smudged across both his eyes, and a head of dark hair that made his pale complexion and clothes look even more out of place. He was pulling a pair of pink surgical gloves over his hands, and a pink plastic tourniquet dangled from his pocket, with tubing-


I realized what it was he meant to do, and made to leap out of the chair, fighting the feeling in my limbs. Something hit me square in the chest, knocking the wind from me and shoving me right back into the chair, which rocked and creaked as if it would shatter.


I glanced down at the pink-gloved hand on my chest, still not quite able to breathe, and then at its owner.


He was leaning down, well into the light now, his face mere inches from mine. In such harsh light, I saw just how pale he was. He was nearly translucent, and I could have easily traced all the blue and green lines that zigzagged across his exposed arms, neck, and disturbingly striking face. His lips, a paler pink than his gloves, were curled into a fiendish smile, and the little silver ring on his bottom lip rested neatly against one of his sharp, elongated canines. I stared at his pearl white, deadly teeth, my own lips quivering.


So I was right.


So very right, Adella.


He moved his hand from my chest, slowly, still smiling, and watching me. Brushing a loose strand of my ginger hair behind my ear, he said in a low, vicious whisper that was almost a growl, "Sit tight, honey, or I'll make it hurt more than it should."


I snapped my mouth shut, and grasped the arms of the chair tighter, trying to hide the fact that I was trembling. He refused to let his smile fade, or to tear his sharp emerald eyes away from mine. Once again, I found I couldn't move, even as he tied the tourniquet around my arm, and began to rub the inside of it, like a doctor would. I bit down on my lip, wishing more than anything that he would look away from me, but he didn't even glance down to do his work; I felt the thick needle push through the thin skin covering the crook of my elbow, and sinking into my vein.


I heard my heart pounding in my ears, my own struggled breathing, and- I thought, -the sound of my blood leaving me, and pouring into the vial at the end of the tubing. Still, he smiled.


I hated him then, more than I had thought I hated Mother. She was a traitor, but he was a thief. His smiled grew wider as he finished, and he even laughed a little.


"Such a good girl," he cooed, finally turning his eyes from mine, to look down at my arm. I sighed, looking down as well.


He slid the needle from my arm, and pulled the tourniquet off, without trying to stop the sudden rush of crimson that flowed from the puncture. Instead, he leaned over it, looking back up at me so I was paralyzed again, and rested his lips on the sensitive skin just next to the small flow of blood.


I shivered, partly because his lips were like ice, and partly out of disgust. He only smiled again, and ran his tongue up my arm, carefully collecting the stream of my blood in his mouth. I tried to cry out as he began sucking at the small wound, closing his eyes and grasping my wrist tightly, to keep me still. All I managed was a small whimper, in the base of my throat, and I tried to squirm away from him.


He pulled away suddenly, throwing his head back and laughing, my blood stark and vivid on his teeth. He let go of my wrist and stood straight, still smiling and chuckling occasionally, as he walked back over to his table to set the full vial and the tubing down, and peel off his gloves.


Still shaking, and now more afraid of his unpredictability than anything, I cast a quick glance down at my arm. It was as smooth and white and pure as it had ever been.


"Well," he said, standing in front of me again, haughty as ever, "be seeing you, honey."


I glared up at him, as much as my remaining free will would allow me to. He smirked, reaching down and taking my hand, lifting me so I was standing, unbearably close to him. Staring me in the eyes again, he lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed it lightly; like a gentleman.


"Now be a dear... and start forgetting."