chapter 1: the womb
He was wet…
As he glanced down at his bare forearms, they appeared to glow in the moonlight with perspiration like so many neon pebbles dotting his skin. It was always too hot for him in this part of the world. It was stifling. He preferred London 's chilly moist nights and gentle waltzes to this town's blazing sun and mariachi bands. Even in the middle of the night, it was too hot. He touched his lower lip with the index finger of his left hand before sucking it into his mouth, moistening his fingertip with his tongue. As he pulled it out and held it in front of his face, he cursed. “Not even a fucking breeze.”
With a groan, he stepped through the archway of the outdoor café. It was brimming with over-heated couples dancing and jerking feverishly against each other, lost to the rhythms of the guitars and drums. These dull fools didn't even seem to care that they were boiling alive, he snarled, knowing the sound couldn't be heard above the clapping hands, howling shouts and banging drums. Still, he had to remember that this was their town, their home. He was only a visitor.
Leaning lazily against a choppily carved mahogany pole (meant to pass as décor he assumed), he allowed his gaze to explore. A row of dried bushes at the edge of the cafe's dirt dance floor served as a barrier between the partygoers and the deserted alleyway. Shifting his eyes slightly to the right, he could see the sweat pouring from the faces of the bartenders; their fat hands were busy grabbing empty bottles of beer and refilling the plastic cups pushed into their palms with dark, cheap rum. Opposite the bar, a group of big-breasted women sat huddled together, whispering. Their jiggling bodies, bent heads and hushed tones reminded him of a herd of cattle munching grass. Swallowing his disgust, he returned his attention to the dance floor. It was time to concentrate on the business that had brought him to this place. Straightening, he pushed away from the pole and strolled toward the dancers, eyes searching for his prey.
Almost instantly, he found her and stopped to marvel at the vision. She was barely a woman, still a girl really, with long brown hair and bright, round eyes, innocent and seductive all at once. She was not a deliberate temptress. He believed it was simply her gift to tantalize. Tall and coltish, she wove through the dancers with grace and ease, her erect nipples pushing through her white cotton blouse, unbuttoned delicately low, as she twirled her full skirt around and around.
Then she glanced at him, tossing a brief smile his way before continuing to dart through the crowd. She didn't see him return her smile. He didn't care, though. She was majestic, flaunting her power over the others like a sparkling white diamond in a dusty coal bin. He was glistening, watching her dance, smile and work her magic, leaving broad grins on the souls she touched with her full lips and friendly words.
“She is beauty,” he whispered.
Stepping onto the dance floor, he kept his eyes cast down. Now he could follow her with his senses.
He waited patiently, and when she finally moved to the edge of the dance floor, he pounced. He dragged her into the alley, and there in the dark corner he began the ritual. The music was loud. The girl was afraid. She screamed and twisted her body violently, trying to punch and kick him away from her. He was too strong, though, and her struggle quickly became pointless as he pressed one hand over her mouth and the other hand held her firmly around the waist. Pulling her ass against his hardening cock, he sighed into her neck, his breath scorching his lips as he rested against her cool skin. Then he bent her forward at the waist, lifted her skirt and tore away her panties. Freeing himself, he entered her from behind, thrusting into her hard and brutally splitting her slim body. His cock hammered away at her cunt until she was no longer capable of screaming. Now he could take his time and slowed his pace, raking in and out of her dry pussy in earnest as her small pained cries echoed through him, caressing his damaged soul. As their grunts and groans mingled with the music and laugher of the café's guests, he felt close to exploding. Then suddenly everything, except for the sensation of his cock pounding into her taunt flesh, seemed to disappear.
After a time, he withdrew from her, spun her around, ripped open her blouse and roughly squeezed her breasts, bruising her savagely with his hands. Then he used his teeth, sinking them into the softness of her neck. He devoured her throat, drawing her pure blood deeply into his body. Even in the silence of her pain, he felt her stiffen as he began to orgasm, his seed spewing against her bare chest and stomach. He did not need to be inside her to relish this. Her blood was his sex and his desire.
“Yes, God, yes,” he cried aloud softly. “You are my gift.”
Turning her to face him, he gently kissed her pale lips. The girl whimpered. She was still alive. Lifting her under her arms, he dangled her in front of him as he took one last look into the doe-shaped eyes. Then with one hand, he ripped her head from her shoulders. Holding the blood-dripping object up to the moonlight, he saw the face of the next creature he'd need to hunt. He dropped the body, and then the girl's head, and walked slowly from the alley.
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“Oh please god, help me! I can't stand it. Make it stop. Please, Buffy, please make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” Dawn was crying, screaming and flailing her arms frantically while jamming her fingers into her face, trying to pull her own eyes out of their sockets.
Buffy pushed Dawn onto the bed and pressed down on her shoulders hard with her hands (but not too hard). Then she planted her knees firmly on either side of her sister's pelvis. Sure, there were easier ways to control Dawn. She was the Slayer after all. But this wasn't Slayer time. Buffy wasn't going to treat her sister like a demon. She refused to chain Dawn up in the bathtub; she wouldn't rope her to a chair. She was going to help Dawn like a normal big sister. She'd wrestle her into submission.
From room to room, upstairs and downstairs, all through the Summers' house, Buffy had battled Dawn for three days. Now they were in the witches' bedroom where the memories of their Mom still lingered in the sheets, the dresser, the soft pastels of the wallpaper. Even the lace scarves that hung over the lampshades had Mom-smell. Sometimes, this room seemed to calm Dawn. But not today, Buffy realized too late. So she'd had no choice but to throw Dawn onto on the bed and pin her down.
It had started only three weeks after Buffy had returned from the dead. She'd found Dawn on the bathroom floor one morning, screaming and grabbing at her eyes and face. Immediately, she lifted her into her arms and ran as fast as she could to the hospital. Buffy had decided after her Mom died that she'd never dial 911 again in her life. So she ran. When she finally burst through the doors of the emergency room, she was screaming, “Help her! Help her!” over and over again. She couldn't lose Dawn. Not after losing Mom. Not after stopping Glory. Not after being brought back to life at the whim of her friends. So she couldn't lose anyone or anything else. No matter what.
Twenty stress-filled hours later, it turned out that Dawn didn't have a brain tumor or an aneurysm or high blood pressure, or poor eyesight. She didn't have any of those things. She had migraines. But these migraines weren't physiological, according to the doctors. They were psychological. Yeah right, Dawn is a perfectly healthy 16-year old girl, except for these pesky headaches that are so painful she was trying to kill herself, Buffy had snapped. She'd stormed out of the hospital with a shivering girl in her arms and no answers. Then after dealing with Dawn's blood-curdling screams and self-inflicting wound obsession for an entire night, Buffy called Giles and asked that he and Willow check out the demon factor. The monster trying to destroy Buffy's family this time had to be something she could kill. She hoped.
A day later, the watcher and the witch confirmed that magic or demons or prophecy was the culprit. But that was all they could figure out. Neither one of them could tell Buffy what kind of big beasty was causing Dawn's headaches or why. It wasn't the ghost of Glory returning from wherever she'd been vanquished. Giles also assured Buffy that Dawn's headaches weren't a cross-dimensional brain suck. Dawn was sane, just in a lot of pain caused by an unknown demon or other badness yet to be determined.
Then suddenly Buffy was pinned against the bedpost, jerked from her musings by an armload of Dawn in full thrash mode. Seconds later, a stray fist caught her in the jaw. Damn, that stung, she thought, rubbing the spot Dawn had claimed with one blow while taking a tighter hold of her sister with her free hand. Dawn wasn't ready to calm down, though. She jumped forward, catching Buffy's jaw – again – with another strike from a wild forearm. Quickly, Buffy adjusted her grip and added a little super strength to help Dawn stay still, at least for a moment.
“Can't keep falling asleep on the job,” Buffy muttered.
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Dawn's eyes flew open. Searching, she looked around, desperately trying to find something or someone in the room besides her and Buffy. Then she spotted the darkness swirling in the corner near the closet door. Watching it carefully, she struggled to keep from screaming. She needed to warn Buffy. She looked up at Buffy, and she could swear that from this angle, Buffy should have been able to see it. Why didn't Buffy see it? Why wasn't she protecting her? It was right there in the corner. It wasn't trying to hide. It was there! There! Dawn's anguished eyes stared into Buffy's face who was mumbling about her ‘job'. She didn't even seem concerned about what was in the corner, to Dawn's disbelief. Buffy didn't seem to care that much about too many things since she'd returned to life, thought Dawn, returning her attention to the thing moving in the corner. Studiously, she eyed its movements as the black gash grew and slid from floor to ceiling and windowsill to closet door. Dawn was close to screaming aloud again. But instead, she kicked, scratched and actually pawed at the dark madness. Still it kept inching closer.
Then all of a sudden, she became aware of Buffy's hands and knees pressing down on her limbs. Dawn recognized Slayer strength, even when gently applied. She wasn't a fool. She tried to stop struggling, but the pain was searing, and it helped her deal with it if she hit it. Hurt it. Shoved it away. That worked sometimes, didn't it? Like being in her dead mother's bedroom helped Dawn win some freedom from the pain. She could find a place in her mind where monsters and demons did not exist – a place only the Key could reach. Then the pain would ease, the blackness retreating, shrinking into a tight ball and moving to the edge of her vision. It was working. Finally, she took several deep breaths, pulling the sweet oxygen into her lungs. For the first time in more hours than she could count, she wasn't gasping in pain. The agony stabbing the back of her eyes had disappeared. The clear image of a monster smashing her skull, grabbing her head and twisting it from her body, was gone.
“Better, Dawnie?” asked Buffy.
“Getting there.” Dawn spoke softly as she watched Buffy lean forward to place a soft kiss on her dry lips.
The pain had nearly dissolved. All that was left was a sweet taste floating over her tongue that she couldn't describe. Exhausted, Dawn relaxed in her sister's arms.
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you, too, Buffy. Thank you, thank you for being here.” Dawn didn't feel like playing the independent teenage girl for a change. She wanted to be at the receiving end of Buffy's hugs and kisses.
“Let's get you cleaned up. How about a nice hot bath – okay?
“Sounds good, Buffy.”
In the dark corner near the closet, Dawn kept an eye on the tiny trace of blackness that still lingered. She knew Buffy hadn't seen it. Maybe because Buffy wasn't the Key. Dawn was. And Dawn had a feeling, a strong sense, that the darkness in the corner was Key business. Even without Glory, she was still what she was.
Free my heart. So my soul can fly.
Dawn mouthed the words silently so that Buffy could not hear. It was her private chant to calm her nerves. She needed a few hours of peace before the blackness returned. Because she knew it was coming back, and she could only pray that she'd be ready.
to be continued…
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!