Post by madascheese on Mar 24, 2007 15:29:01 GMT
Heeeere's the next chapter, a little ahead of schedule *yay*! Enjoy!
*************
Dillan heard the steady footsteps on the stairs and, covering her peacefully resting mother in her blankets, moved to sit down again on her chair. Maggie walked cautiously into the room.
“Well, as promised, I'm here to tidy up this big mess,” she smiled, walking towards the blinds. “Now all we need is a little bit of light...”
“No!” Dillan cried, running towards her. Maggie narrowed her eyes with curiosity. “Look, mom fell asleep and I don't want to wake her up, she needs to sober up. I'll tidy up later, don't worry. You may as well go home.” She breathed deeply, trying to remain calm and stop her shaking limbs. She had come so close to destruction that she could taste the burning heat from the sunlight, even from behind the blinds.
“Okay sweetie, “ she replied, pity glossing over the sweet tones of her sonorous voice. “I'll see you tomorrow.” With that, she walked slowly out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Sighing with much-needed relief as she heard the front door close, she walked to the bed and, peeling back the blankets, turned over the lifeless body lying there, tears of her mother's blood rolling down her warm cheeks. How could she have done such a thing? She looked to the vacant expression on her mother's face, empty, glazed over as if she had no idea of what was going on as her own daughter guiltily drained her of blood; curiously, her blood tasted artificial, chemically enhanced, and yet so much more potent than that of her other victims. Presumably she could taste the overbearing thingytail of alcohol, anti-depressants and painkillers her mom had been reliant on since her dad had died, alongside the desperate, spiralling depression she had been caught in for nearly eight years. Maybe it was a good thing – everyone knew how depressed her mom was, that she longed to be released and yet could not do the deed herself. Pity, she thought, is a curious thing.
The Sun was still glaring stubbornly outside as she looked over at her alarm clock, wiping the tears from her face with a snow white tissue, staining it with death. It was 2.15pm, so she should be able to get a couple of hours rest before she began her journey back to the academy. Leaving her mother in an eternal rest on the bed, not wishing to disturb her more than so, she pulled out her sleeping bag from the closet, laid it down on the floor and, lying down on the cool, cushioned exterior, fell asleep.
She awoke close to sunset, hearing the faint, arrogant slamming of the front door as Jerry, her 'beloved' stepfather, arrived home from work. He said nothing as he crossed the threshold as he often did, hoping that his mere presence would inform the other occupants of his arrival. The very thought of him being in the house filled her with immense anger as she remembered drinking the essence of her mother's despair, sharing the pain. She stood up, feeling the usual, inimitable hunger and thirst aching through her body; putting on her denim jacket and heaving her rucksack over her right shoulder, she glanced at her mother's blank, dead stare one more time and walked downstairs.
She could hear him making his presence known in the kitchen, the clinking mugs and hissing steam from the espresso machine sounded industrial, loud, irritating. As she descended further she smelt the sharp, nutty smell of roasted coffee and the enticing scent of blood exhaling from the kitchen. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the sounds stopped almost as suddenly as they had begun, leaving the kitchen quiet save for the flicking of magazine pages. She had one last score to settle before she could truly leave her human life behind her.
Walking into the kitchen she watched as he idly flicked through the pages of Forbes magazine, with his espresso steaming quietly on the table in front of him. He seemed so self-important – he had the air of a man who truly believed that the world was his oyster, alongside the notion that the world actually revolved around him. She would force him to think otherwise.
“Hey Dill,” he drawled as she appeared in his peripheral vision. “Did you have a good time at the Mansbridge Academy?” he said, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
“It was life changing,” she replied, the irony piercing her words with venom. “How was your vacation with mom? Did you miss your harlot of a secretary?” She felt her blood, her mother's blood, boiling inside her, as her hunger cried out to her subconsciously.
“You know, I don't know why you say these awful things Dillan,” he sighed in sarcastic, falsely concerned tones. “You know, if you continue I think we may have to send you to military school.” He laughed drily, ragged against the silent kitchen air. As he reached for his coffee, she placed her hands on the back rest of the wooden chair he was sat on an leaned in, threateningly. He felt a shiver slip down his spine, but laughed all the same. “You don't frighten me little girl.” He stopped turning the pages and began to focus on reading a particular article.
“You see, that's where you're wrong Jerry,” she murmured, pouring the sound into his ear as if it were poison. “I'm not a girl any more. In fact,” she said, as her eyes turned red and fangs became visible, “I'm not even human.” He turned his head to look at her, but she wasn't there. Confused, he looked at the opposite end of the table to see her sat down, her red eyes staring at him, her head resting casually on her hands, elbows leaning on the table. He stood up immediately and let the chair fall behind him with a silence shattering clatter. He said nothing, his mouth agape at this creature sitting before him; how could she have moved instantly from one place to another? No, it was impossible – he must be very tired, he thought. She watched his face as she smiled at him, revealing the sharp, keen fangs at either side of her mouth; the sight made his face twitch with fear of what she had become. She watched him, observant, smiling, hungry, as he stood before her, panic gradually gripping his body as she saw his muscles stiffen. He stared back, contemplating what to do; right now, he thought, there was only one thing he could do.
He tried to make a run for it by bolting towards the front door, leaping over the fallen chair and not looking over his shoulder. Practically falling into the door, he pressed down both handles and attempted to pull it open, only to find it inexplicably jammed. Dillan walked forward slowly, menacingly, inhaling the fear emanating deliciously from his frightened body. Observing his attacker advancing slowly but surely towards him, Jerry decided that he would make a break for it. If he could make it to his room at the top of the first set of stairs, then he could quite easily scale the drainpipe and run like hell. He darted upstairs as fast as he could, two at a time, all the while his heart pounding desperately in his ears and adrenaline pumping through his body.
She knew where he would be headed. Without even having to think about it, she willed the door closed as he approached it, slamming her stepfather forcibly in the head, causing him to cry out in anger, pain and confusion. He could not understand why this was happening, why every one of his attempts for survival seemed to be thwarted somehow. She began to ascend the stairs behind him, her eyes hungrily fixated on her victim. In absolute desperation, he continued to run upstairs, having nowhere else to run; he came to the door of her room, which mysteriously opened slowly before him. Feeling the cold sweat of relief wash over him, he slammed the door shut behind him and stood staunchly against it, hoping that he could at least keep her at bay until he could figure a way out of this mess – he was unaware that Dillan was already lurking in the shadows across the room, waiting for the perfect moment to teach him a lesson that he could never forget.
After standing against the door for about five minutes, and hearing nothing from the other side, he stood up gingerly and walked towards the bed; there was something underneath the quilt – could it be his wife? He was relieved that her monstrous daughter had not found her at least. He threw the blankets off her and onto the floor.
He was greeted with the cold, dead gaze of Hilary Oldfield, her ashen grey skin punctured by two crimson coloured holes on her neck. Dillan had found her too. He raised his violently shaking hand to his warm mouth, his body convulsing rapidly as her vacant, icy glare imprinted itself on his memory.
“You did this to her you know,” Dillan said venomously, emerging from the shadows behind him. He did not flinch or avert his gaze as he heard her voice. He hardly heard her. Consumed by guilt and emptiness, he considered her statement. Had he truly done this to her? How could he? He was no monster – he was a lot of things, but he was certainly not a monster. With great difficulty, he tore his stare away from the body and rested his desolate, vacant green eyes on Dillan as she advanced upon him, arms folded, studying his reactions.
“What are you?” he said weakly, his voice wavering with fear and confusion. “What the hell have you become?”
“You know, for a scheming, cheating businessman, you're pretty stupid,” she replied, baring her fangs at him ruthlessly, hungrily. He flinched with terror as he saw those keen, sharp teeth once again – could it be that she was a vampire? She couldn't be anything else, he reasoned desperately. She would kill him, drink his blood – but he didn't want to die; despite everything he had done and the damage that he had caused other people, he definitely would not give up on life now.
“You see that expression on her face?” Dillan continued, anger cutting through her words viciously. “That's how she always looked, even when she was actually alive. You were supposed to look after us – both of us – and look what your constant, disgusting whoring did to her!” she was shouting now, becoming more and more enraged as he stood there, rooted to the spot, listening, as a strangely human-like sadness pierced her heart. Her mind raced along with his heartbeat, bubbling with the bitterness and hatred that she had harboured for all these years; for once in his life, Jerry didn't know what to say.
“I gave my mom a release from the pain and suffering that you caused her daily. This sadness, her depression and detachment from everything around her – from reality itself – was entirely your fault.” She spat the words out brutally, violently. “I know that's something you'll never forget.” She felt ready now; she walked towards him, hissing and baring her fangs with malevolent desire, anticipating the kill. Jerry knew that this was it.
“Dillan, you can't do this.” He gasped, treading backwards away from her. “Don't you realise? Killing me would free me from the pain I'm experiencing now. If I live, I will never, ever forget what I have seen today. How could I? Surely you can see that it is a much more fitting punishment, a punishment that I obviously deserve.”
She stopped in her tracks as her body flooded with outrage. “Don't you dare patronise me. You think you know what pain feels like?” she growled. “Trust me, I don't need to let you live for you to feel pain. The last thing you feel on this Earth will be pain more intense than you've ever felt before, I'll make sure of it. I'm not stupid; I know you well enough to know that all this would be forgotten in a matter of months if I was to let you live.” She smiled. “I can't let that happen.”
His face dropped, aghast with acute fear and panic as he prepared for his now inevitable death. He thought back to his life, his marriages, his business – it would all be gone in a matter of minutes, or maybe hours. Everything would be obsolete, everything he had worked for, forty-five years of life cast aside, as if it never meant anything at all. Silently, he begged for his life.
“I can tell what you're thinking, you're pathetic.” she said, her blood red eyes boring into his skull. “You're faced with death and this is your last chance to show some real humility, to ask for forgiveness, and all you think about is yourself!” she cried, frenzied with frustration. She had reached the end of her tether now; with one last look at his pitiful, sweating face, she lunged for him with preternatural speed and strength, feeling him struggle helplessly in her iron grip. The intoxicating smell of blood infused her being as her hunger leapt out; with great satisfaction and intense craving, she sunk her teeth deep and hard into his neck, twisting and turning at the soft flesh and listening intently to his agonised screams of pain. She drained him slowly, passionately, savouring every moment as the voluptuous, velveteen blood poured down her parched throat. Revenge, she mused, is not best served cold, but cold-blooded.
Panting instinctively for air, she lifted her head from the corpse and let it drop to the ground. This time she could feel the blood dripping lazily over her chin as she looked at the body. She gasped as she realised that a huge section of flesh had actually been torn away from his throat in her violent, passionate rage; large strips of bright red, smouldering skin hung limply in stark contrast to the bloodless, pale skin of the rest of his neck. Taking the handkerchief Jerry always kept in the inside pocket of his now bloodstained suit, she wiped away the blood from her mouth, tainting the flawless white of the unused cloth. She felt strong, powerful and consumed with darkness once again.
She had now killed both of her parents – one with mercy, one with malice – and yet she did not feel any regret or sadness for what she had done. It was a curious thing, she thought, looking from her mother's otherworldly expression to the intense horror playing on Jerry's lifeless countenance; they were dead, but it was no big deal. At the end of the day, it was all just blood, and that was all that mattered now. The lowest common denominator, the root of her very existence, was blood. Simplicity itself, she thought. Life as a vampire would obviously be lonely, empty and devoid of true emotion – the only feelings she had now were enormously exaggerated; her anger, passion, everlasting hunger and deep satisfaction were unlike anything she could experience as a mortal. Interest had become obsession, hunger had become starvation and satisfaction was now synonymous with divinity. With one last look at the bloody mess she left behind her, she walked briskly out of the room and down the stairs, alone with her thoughts, and picked up the rucksack by the front door. Forcing herself to think about the journey ahead and repressing the subtly growing sadness and guilt associated with her picture-perfect memory of the scene, she walked out of the door and began her long, moonlit journey to the Mansbridge Academy.
*************
Dillan heard the steady footsteps on the stairs and, covering her peacefully resting mother in her blankets, moved to sit down again on her chair. Maggie walked cautiously into the room.
“Well, as promised, I'm here to tidy up this big mess,” she smiled, walking towards the blinds. “Now all we need is a little bit of light...”
“No!” Dillan cried, running towards her. Maggie narrowed her eyes with curiosity. “Look, mom fell asleep and I don't want to wake her up, she needs to sober up. I'll tidy up later, don't worry. You may as well go home.” She breathed deeply, trying to remain calm and stop her shaking limbs. She had come so close to destruction that she could taste the burning heat from the sunlight, even from behind the blinds.
“Okay sweetie, “ she replied, pity glossing over the sweet tones of her sonorous voice. “I'll see you tomorrow.” With that, she walked slowly out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Sighing with much-needed relief as she heard the front door close, she walked to the bed and, peeling back the blankets, turned over the lifeless body lying there, tears of her mother's blood rolling down her warm cheeks. How could she have done such a thing? She looked to the vacant expression on her mother's face, empty, glazed over as if she had no idea of what was going on as her own daughter guiltily drained her of blood; curiously, her blood tasted artificial, chemically enhanced, and yet so much more potent than that of her other victims. Presumably she could taste the overbearing thingytail of alcohol, anti-depressants and painkillers her mom had been reliant on since her dad had died, alongside the desperate, spiralling depression she had been caught in for nearly eight years. Maybe it was a good thing – everyone knew how depressed her mom was, that she longed to be released and yet could not do the deed herself. Pity, she thought, is a curious thing.
The Sun was still glaring stubbornly outside as she looked over at her alarm clock, wiping the tears from her face with a snow white tissue, staining it with death. It was 2.15pm, so she should be able to get a couple of hours rest before she began her journey back to the academy. Leaving her mother in an eternal rest on the bed, not wishing to disturb her more than so, she pulled out her sleeping bag from the closet, laid it down on the floor and, lying down on the cool, cushioned exterior, fell asleep.
She awoke close to sunset, hearing the faint, arrogant slamming of the front door as Jerry, her 'beloved' stepfather, arrived home from work. He said nothing as he crossed the threshold as he often did, hoping that his mere presence would inform the other occupants of his arrival. The very thought of him being in the house filled her with immense anger as she remembered drinking the essence of her mother's despair, sharing the pain. She stood up, feeling the usual, inimitable hunger and thirst aching through her body; putting on her denim jacket and heaving her rucksack over her right shoulder, she glanced at her mother's blank, dead stare one more time and walked downstairs.
She could hear him making his presence known in the kitchen, the clinking mugs and hissing steam from the espresso machine sounded industrial, loud, irritating. As she descended further she smelt the sharp, nutty smell of roasted coffee and the enticing scent of blood exhaling from the kitchen. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the sounds stopped almost as suddenly as they had begun, leaving the kitchen quiet save for the flicking of magazine pages. She had one last score to settle before she could truly leave her human life behind her.
Walking into the kitchen she watched as he idly flicked through the pages of Forbes magazine, with his espresso steaming quietly on the table in front of him. He seemed so self-important – he had the air of a man who truly believed that the world was his oyster, alongside the notion that the world actually revolved around him. She would force him to think otherwise.
“Hey Dill,” he drawled as she appeared in his peripheral vision. “Did you have a good time at the Mansbridge Academy?” he said, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
“It was life changing,” she replied, the irony piercing her words with venom. “How was your vacation with mom? Did you miss your harlot of a secretary?” She felt her blood, her mother's blood, boiling inside her, as her hunger cried out to her subconsciously.
“You know, I don't know why you say these awful things Dillan,” he sighed in sarcastic, falsely concerned tones. “You know, if you continue I think we may have to send you to military school.” He laughed drily, ragged against the silent kitchen air. As he reached for his coffee, she placed her hands on the back rest of the wooden chair he was sat on an leaned in, threateningly. He felt a shiver slip down his spine, but laughed all the same. “You don't frighten me little girl.” He stopped turning the pages and began to focus on reading a particular article.
“You see, that's where you're wrong Jerry,” she murmured, pouring the sound into his ear as if it were poison. “I'm not a girl any more. In fact,” she said, as her eyes turned red and fangs became visible, “I'm not even human.” He turned his head to look at her, but she wasn't there. Confused, he looked at the opposite end of the table to see her sat down, her red eyes staring at him, her head resting casually on her hands, elbows leaning on the table. He stood up immediately and let the chair fall behind him with a silence shattering clatter. He said nothing, his mouth agape at this creature sitting before him; how could she have moved instantly from one place to another? No, it was impossible – he must be very tired, he thought. She watched his face as she smiled at him, revealing the sharp, keen fangs at either side of her mouth; the sight made his face twitch with fear of what she had become. She watched him, observant, smiling, hungry, as he stood before her, panic gradually gripping his body as she saw his muscles stiffen. He stared back, contemplating what to do; right now, he thought, there was only one thing he could do.
He tried to make a run for it by bolting towards the front door, leaping over the fallen chair and not looking over his shoulder. Practically falling into the door, he pressed down both handles and attempted to pull it open, only to find it inexplicably jammed. Dillan walked forward slowly, menacingly, inhaling the fear emanating deliciously from his frightened body. Observing his attacker advancing slowly but surely towards him, Jerry decided that he would make a break for it. If he could make it to his room at the top of the first set of stairs, then he could quite easily scale the drainpipe and run like hell. He darted upstairs as fast as he could, two at a time, all the while his heart pounding desperately in his ears and adrenaline pumping through his body.
She knew where he would be headed. Without even having to think about it, she willed the door closed as he approached it, slamming her stepfather forcibly in the head, causing him to cry out in anger, pain and confusion. He could not understand why this was happening, why every one of his attempts for survival seemed to be thwarted somehow. She began to ascend the stairs behind him, her eyes hungrily fixated on her victim. In absolute desperation, he continued to run upstairs, having nowhere else to run; he came to the door of her room, which mysteriously opened slowly before him. Feeling the cold sweat of relief wash over him, he slammed the door shut behind him and stood staunchly against it, hoping that he could at least keep her at bay until he could figure a way out of this mess – he was unaware that Dillan was already lurking in the shadows across the room, waiting for the perfect moment to teach him a lesson that he could never forget.
After standing against the door for about five minutes, and hearing nothing from the other side, he stood up gingerly and walked towards the bed; there was something underneath the quilt – could it be his wife? He was relieved that her monstrous daughter had not found her at least. He threw the blankets off her and onto the floor.
He was greeted with the cold, dead gaze of Hilary Oldfield, her ashen grey skin punctured by two crimson coloured holes on her neck. Dillan had found her too. He raised his violently shaking hand to his warm mouth, his body convulsing rapidly as her vacant, icy glare imprinted itself on his memory.
“You did this to her you know,” Dillan said venomously, emerging from the shadows behind him. He did not flinch or avert his gaze as he heard her voice. He hardly heard her. Consumed by guilt and emptiness, he considered her statement. Had he truly done this to her? How could he? He was no monster – he was a lot of things, but he was certainly not a monster. With great difficulty, he tore his stare away from the body and rested his desolate, vacant green eyes on Dillan as she advanced upon him, arms folded, studying his reactions.
“What are you?” he said weakly, his voice wavering with fear and confusion. “What the hell have you become?”
“You know, for a scheming, cheating businessman, you're pretty stupid,” she replied, baring her fangs at him ruthlessly, hungrily. He flinched with terror as he saw those keen, sharp teeth once again – could it be that she was a vampire? She couldn't be anything else, he reasoned desperately. She would kill him, drink his blood – but he didn't want to die; despite everything he had done and the damage that he had caused other people, he definitely would not give up on life now.
“You see that expression on her face?” Dillan continued, anger cutting through her words viciously. “That's how she always looked, even when she was actually alive. You were supposed to look after us – both of us – and look what your constant, disgusting whoring did to her!” she was shouting now, becoming more and more enraged as he stood there, rooted to the spot, listening, as a strangely human-like sadness pierced her heart. Her mind raced along with his heartbeat, bubbling with the bitterness and hatred that she had harboured for all these years; for once in his life, Jerry didn't know what to say.
“I gave my mom a release from the pain and suffering that you caused her daily. This sadness, her depression and detachment from everything around her – from reality itself – was entirely your fault.” She spat the words out brutally, violently. “I know that's something you'll never forget.” She felt ready now; she walked towards him, hissing and baring her fangs with malevolent desire, anticipating the kill. Jerry knew that this was it.
“Dillan, you can't do this.” He gasped, treading backwards away from her. “Don't you realise? Killing me would free me from the pain I'm experiencing now. If I live, I will never, ever forget what I have seen today. How could I? Surely you can see that it is a much more fitting punishment, a punishment that I obviously deserve.”
She stopped in her tracks as her body flooded with outrage. “Don't you dare patronise me. You think you know what pain feels like?” she growled. “Trust me, I don't need to let you live for you to feel pain. The last thing you feel on this Earth will be pain more intense than you've ever felt before, I'll make sure of it. I'm not stupid; I know you well enough to know that all this would be forgotten in a matter of months if I was to let you live.” She smiled. “I can't let that happen.”
His face dropped, aghast with acute fear and panic as he prepared for his now inevitable death. He thought back to his life, his marriages, his business – it would all be gone in a matter of minutes, or maybe hours. Everything would be obsolete, everything he had worked for, forty-five years of life cast aside, as if it never meant anything at all. Silently, he begged for his life.
“I can tell what you're thinking, you're pathetic.” she said, her blood red eyes boring into his skull. “You're faced with death and this is your last chance to show some real humility, to ask for forgiveness, and all you think about is yourself!” she cried, frenzied with frustration. She had reached the end of her tether now; with one last look at his pitiful, sweating face, she lunged for him with preternatural speed and strength, feeling him struggle helplessly in her iron grip. The intoxicating smell of blood infused her being as her hunger leapt out; with great satisfaction and intense craving, she sunk her teeth deep and hard into his neck, twisting and turning at the soft flesh and listening intently to his agonised screams of pain. She drained him slowly, passionately, savouring every moment as the voluptuous, velveteen blood poured down her parched throat. Revenge, she mused, is not best served cold, but cold-blooded.
Panting instinctively for air, she lifted her head from the corpse and let it drop to the ground. This time she could feel the blood dripping lazily over her chin as she looked at the body. She gasped as she realised that a huge section of flesh had actually been torn away from his throat in her violent, passionate rage; large strips of bright red, smouldering skin hung limply in stark contrast to the bloodless, pale skin of the rest of his neck. Taking the handkerchief Jerry always kept in the inside pocket of his now bloodstained suit, she wiped away the blood from her mouth, tainting the flawless white of the unused cloth. She felt strong, powerful and consumed with darkness once again.
She had now killed both of her parents – one with mercy, one with malice – and yet she did not feel any regret or sadness for what she had done. It was a curious thing, she thought, looking from her mother's otherworldly expression to the intense horror playing on Jerry's lifeless countenance; they were dead, but it was no big deal. At the end of the day, it was all just blood, and that was all that mattered now. The lowest common denominator, the root of her very existence, was blood. Simplicity itself, she thought. Life as a vampire would obviously be lonely, empty and devoid of true emotion – the only feelings she had now were enormously exaggerated; her anger, passion, everlasting hunger and deep satisfaction were unlike anything she could experience as a mortal. Interest had become obsession, hunger had become starvation and satisfaction was now synonymous with divinity. With one last look at the bloody mess she left behind her, she walked briskly out of the room and down the stairs, alone with her thoughts, and picked up the rucksack by the front door. Forcing herself to think about the journey ahead and repressing the subtly growing sadness and guilt associated with her picture-perfect memory of the scene, she walked out of the door and began her long, moonlit journey to the Mansbridge Academy.
chapter 8 is in development at the moment, i'm still deciding what to do next lolz!