Title: The Long Journey Into Darkness
Author: Crazy_Girl_Mary
Email: crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The two main characters are Joss', but I'm not stealin' I promise I'll give them back when I'm done.
Summary: A female is on the run from a killer, and he's not going to give up until he has her right where he wants her.
Pairings: Female/Male. This story has a female character a human, and a male vampire from the Buffyverse, but names are not used anywhere in the story. I did this so the reader could envision any characters they wanted. So if you have a thing for Willow/Spike, hey man it's them. There were two characters I had in mind when writing it and some subtle clues you may pick up may lead you to that conclusion, if you want to know who they really are then you can email me and I'll tell you.
Category: Angst.
Spoilers: None, complete AU, just a girl and a vampire.
Rating: NC-17 parts for sexual content, brutal torture, and character deaths.
Author's Comments: This is my latest work, and I think the fact that I've progressed as a writer shows. I'm probably more emotionally attached to this story as corny as it sounds but I still desperately want to know any thoughts, feelings, praises, and most of all criticisms, so please please let me know!

Part XXXI: The Catch


I wouldn’t trade that look and that sound for all the money, riches, and fucking virgin Slayer blood in the whole world. That picture will always stay in my mind. Her drunk and swirling eyes seeing what they fear most, what they haven’t seen in over two years and that sound of glass breaking into thousands of tiny painful shards as the wine bottle and ash tray fall from her hands to the marble bathroom floor. Her mouth open with the word “Fuck” on her vulgar lips but the sound is never made.

There is no towel to hinder her beauty from me and I’m almost glad I had to wait so long to see her again. She has aged finely these past few years, she’s been pampering herself, and she’s perfectly toned, not the skinny, self-reliant, yet strong woman I last remember. The metamorphosis is complete, now she’s a healthy, strong, yet helpless woman and there is a distinct difference. Her skin is soft from expensive lotions and trips to spas and it’s glistening with bath water like an open invitation. She’s a golden tan hue from exotic vacations and light boxes no doubt in all of her houses. Her muscles and weight and everything I lust about her is back to the state it was the first time I saw her.

Unlike most supermodels her full breasts are completely natural and I remember them well. But I wonder and I’ll soon find out, did her mind change too? Has she become Billie Knight? If so, the death will lose it’s reward and sweet taste, but afterwards she’ll still be her most evil self, the things I see deep in her eyes will come to life before mine. This time, I’m not taking my time. This time, I’ll have her tonight.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, that’s the only thought in my brain for a few moments. Then it’s swiftly followed by two thoughts. Damn, he looks so good, and how the fuck did he get in here? He’s standing in the center of my white bedroom among mirrors that don’t see him, wearing a crisp fitted black suit of raw silk or some other luxurious fabric and bare feet, which is a new look for him, but enchanting all the while. He could make anything look sexy, but this beats many things by a long shot. His smug grin, his burning and always evil eyes, perfectly pressed in every way. He planned this perfectly. There is no possible way to get in unless he knew the main access code, my birthday, which I doubt. He would also need an invitation into the house and an additional one into my bedroom.

He doesn’t speak, like always he’s content just to stare, watch my thoughts as I think them and wait for me to speak. I unconsciously shift my weight and I feel tiny grains of glass breaking the delicate skin on the soles of my feet. I don’t care.

Now the curiosity is gripping me. I have to know, and I try to sound casual, but I’m not sure if that goal is met. “Been here long?”

He grins, he knows. What? Everything. “Longer then you.”

That’s all he needs to say. That answers all my questions, and he knows it, which means he knows my questions as well. Like I said, he knows every damn thing. So that means he had to break my code and the guards codes which are almost equally impossible to solve because they are changed so often. But if anyone knows him it’s me, after all the time we spent together, and I know how determined and intelligent and absolutely mad he is. He also has the personality and painful good looks that can convince anyone of anything. I also know this from experience.

I take the first steps through the glass not wishing to risk looking down. I’m sure that after the three steps through the broken glass it will take to get to the soft beige carpet I will be leaving dark red footprints in my wake, but my feet are thankful for the relieve when I do get there. I start towards the closet and he doesn’t take a step towards me. “Do you mind if I dress?” I ask, just for the sake of speaking again. He knows I don’t care if he minds.

“Yes.” His answer is plain and simple so unlike him but he doesn’t step forward to enforce it. I open the closet door and take my eyes off of him to reach in and grab a long silk robe and wrap it around my body. When I turn, like so many times before he’s inches behind me when no sounds or visions warned me of such. He inhales deeply just for the sake of smelling me. Then he looks me over once more and I stay strong under his scrutinizing gaze. Then, just like that, he turns, walks over to my huge bed and lounges across it, eyes never leaving me.

In this moment a three-sided internal battle is being waged inside my body between my heart, my pride, and my instinct. My heart, newly found of course, is begging and pleading with my capable body to lift skirt and hightail it out of there as fast as my slightly wounded feet can carry me. My pride, old seated, is starkly against this choice, refuses to take part in such a display, and reminds my body that I would rather die then run. And my instinct, ancient seated in its ways, my instinct’s opinion surprises, disturbs, and wonders me. My instinct tries to smoothly persuade my body not to run, or fight, but to join. It crawls beneath my skin with the sudden urge to run into his arms and take him. To unleash all the passion, lust, anger, and confusion out on him in a physically gratifying way and a way that will return these unwanted burdens of feelings on him.

Then a new side is represented. My defiance, so strong, it aiming even to defy the other parts of my being, shows me two new options as his eyes bore into mine. My defiance would have me wait, entrenched, for him to make the first move, or better still defy him by walking right over, tossing the pillows, and getting into the bed he guards and defying not only the other parts of myself but him and his expectations and ego.

My head is swimming with drugs and alcohol and oh so many choices! I glance over at him and his smile is broad with pride, for he knows the inner chaos and unhappiness he causes, but also the lust and so connected guilt. He is the catch, and Michael Kearney just another pawn, another man he made into a monster to do his evil bidding. If only the drugs and alcohol were enough to take me away from this place but I know too well they never are.

There’s a chair behind me against the wall next to the open bathroom door. I plop down, never taking my eyes off him, “Did you come here to chat?” I ask casually. The answer is obviously no, he’s less talkative then usual, maybe that’s why I asked, to make him talk.

“No,” he says, “I came here to get what I want… what’s mine… what’s rightfully been mine for years… what will be mine forever…”

Me. Great! He came to make me into a soulless, invincible killing machine. I won’t let him; I won’t let him make me kill the people I care about, even the people I don’t care about. He’s going to hurt me so bad, and I can see it in his eyes, so strong, like I’ve never seen anything in his eyes before. I’ll never leave this house. He’s going to kill me tonight, and he’s going to try and make me cry and elicit all the emotions he craves that he’s yet to satisfy in me before he does.

Part XXXII: Welcome Back… to Life


The way she’s sitting nervously in that chair seeing her doom in my eyes, and relaying that to me through her own eyes is the closest to heaven I’ve ever been or with hope will ever get. I sit up on the bed and throw my legs over the side. I want to hurt her, now. Bruises will heal and fade even if I make her, but wounds and scars stay scars so I have to be careful. I have to hurt her without breaking her skin and it shouldn’t be too hard because she has been off her game for quite some time. Although she works out and teaches fighting techniques to her bodyguards she has not fought actual demons. She’ll put up a good fight though, that’s what I love about her.

He stands suddenly and I watch as though paralyzed, unable to move, a deer caught in the headlights of his eyes, but they are too dark and evil to be even headlights. He removes his coat jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair matching the very one I’m seated in. Then he slowly unbuttons his black silk shirt before my eyes. His body is amazing, as it always has been, but I haven’t seen it or him for a while. I feel my body begin to heat and the arousal between my legs is suddenly strong where it wasn’t before. Have I really lost complete control of myself?

I beg myself to stop wanting him, but it’s impossible. I’m weak, incapable of resisting him and the two things he promises, pain and pleasure, but this time they’ll be eternal. His pants are loose and slung low on his hips and his chest is free from hair, he was turned so young, but his muscles are toned and beautiful. How can he know how beautiful he is when he can’t see it for himself?

“Why do you want to hurt me?” I ask slowly as he starts to pad towards me at a painfully slow pace. He doesn’t want to hurt me; he needs to hurt me, as I need to be hurt.

He smiles, “You’re full of questions tonight aren’t you?” he asks.

“But not you,” I state, “you don’t have any time consuming questions or answers this time, this time you’re ready.”

He smiles his confident answer and comes closer. I consider running but I know it will please him just as much as staying will and I might fall and look weak and ridiculous… but I might get away. Now it’s too late. He’s hovering above me, his hands on the arms of my chair his body bent over mine, his legs before mine, his beautiful face inches from mine. I dare not look down to avoid his strong gaze and risk him taking me by surprise. His right hand gently and slowly slides up my silk covered arm to my neck. He’s slow because he wants to see if I’ll fight him. His hand curls around my neck and tangles in my hair.

“You need to be punished,” he whispers almost lovingly. Then his gentle touch turns inevitably violent and he rips me out of the seat by my hair.

“Bastard!” I scream angrily before I can stop myself.

She fights me, kicking and screaming like an opera or symphony to my ears but it does her no good. Only rips her hair and her arm more as I drag her into the middle of the room, far from anything she can grab and use as a weapon against me. I easily pin her beneath me and although her arousal still calls me, sweet and strong, I can avert it because I know she needs the pain first and so do I.

I lift my fist high in the air and watch her eyes as the first heavy blow makes contact with her stomach. Her jaw is clenched tightly closed but I hear the air leave her stomach and feel it push through her teeth and hit my face like a warm breeze. Her arms push harder this time to escape, and her face turns red until she can pull in another breath. By this time I’m already winding up for another hit, and I follow it quickly with another. This time she has better prepared her body by clenching her abs but the pain still registers on her face and her eyes begin to water.

He’s lost all control, I can see that in his eyes, and although he’s a vampire, his control is something he’s well known for. He never losses control with his victims, hardly ever losses patience. He has lost both of these with me and that makes him all the more dangerous and crazed.

His punches once came slow but now they’re a torrent to which I can no longer keep track of the numbers. The pain is like one big hurt in my stomach. I can feel the food and wine I had earlier in the back of my throat waiting to escape. I close my eyes and try to swallow it down but each punch brings it back up to my throat again. When I open my eyes the red lights don’t leave and I can barely see his face. Through this whole ordeal I’ve kicked and scratched and beaten but I know it’s no use.

Suddenly, my body isn’t convulsing and I hear his voice in my ears, “You know what… you’re not even worth it,” he rasps with a menacing and promising voice. I believe him. I’m not worth it. Then I feel his tight grip around my throat. I haven’t been breathing very heavily so it doesn’t take long for my body to start bucking against him begging for the air the mind distains. “Yes, kill me!” screams my mind. “No, you can’t! You want me don’t you!” screams my body.

My mouth is open in a real scream but I know with finality it will never come. My eyes are burning and they feel like they might burst in my sockets. My body is in turmoil but my mind is finally at ease. He’s actually going to kill me. He’s going to kill me and I’ll go to hell, but that’s far better then being his mate and sending others to the hereafter.

I never loosen my grip. I watch her struggling futilely, her eyes staring deep into mine, the craziness, the calmness, the acceptance, and then they’re empty, and just like that the life is swept clean of this beautiful creature. That’s not the only way I know how to sweep the life clean from such a creature.

I release my hands and touch her lips, which are open in a silent scream but still adaptable and soft, even wet. I kiss her roughly and smile happily into her lips. I could get lost in her mouth, but I have to be quick, I have to stick with her or I won’t have her for long. I hold the holes in her nose closed and suck in a lung full of unused air then I blow it back into her mouth. I press timed beats into her lungs below her ribcage, careful not to get too carried away with my strength. I know it will work. I’ve done it before. I give her another breath of air and another set of beats. It better fucking work!

Third times a charm and she sucks in a breath and coughs out the puke in her throat and mouth. I tilt her head to the side and let her get rid of everything. Her body convulses strongly underneath me and when I lift her head back up to look at me her eyes aren’t evil and despising as I expected but confused and glazed over. Was there brain damage? That’s never good.

The bastard brought me back! I thought he would kill me but no, just another step in his torture. And I thought I’d seen it all. I was dead, and I’ll be dead again before the night is over but the next time I’ll know how it feels, sort of.

“Welcome back baby,” he says smiling, his face still hovering close to mine. I spit a foul vomit tainted spray in his face. His smile doesn’t falter and he leans down to wipe his face on my cheek and then my robe. Even now his face rubbing my breast sends emotions rocketing through my body, revulsion and desire ultimately mixed together. He’s the sadist and he wants me to be his perfect little masochist, but I can’t, I won’t… he might make me. He stands over me and grabs my wrists. I can’t struggle; I barely have the strength to open my eyes. But I can think, I can always think. He drags me over the carpet and my legs hang limp and I can feel the carpet burns through the back of my robe, which is coming untied, and on my exposed ass. Soon the carpet turns into cool tile, but that relief is temporary. The glass from the champagne bottle and ashtray scraps and jams into the tender skin of my ass and legs and the bony skin of my back. I can’t even scream, and I’m thankful to spite him the happiness of that.

He smiles as he looks down at my body, then he drops my arms like limp tree limbs and they crack painfully onto the tile. That fucking hurt! I try to get up, try to do anything but I manage only in moving my body slightly from side to side and that doesn’t get me anywhere. I hear the water in the tub come on and see the thick steam rising immediately to cover the still damp surfaces. I can feel the heat coming from the water only a foot away and feel the grains and pieces of glass digging into a body that I’ve lost all control of. How many times must he take away the freedom of movement from me before he’s satisfied? I’ve grown accustomed to his cruel rituals.

Now he’s planning to deliver back all my feelings and bring my numbed, cold body to an energetic and nerve heightened state. He stands over me, smiling like always, and leans down to grasp the twisted bloody remains of my silk robe with both hands. He pulls them and lifts my body off the ground but he doesn’t move me anywhere. I can hear the tiny sounds of the threads in the back seam giving way moments before my body falls heavy to the glass littered, hard tile floor. There’s a feeling, not an altogether new or welcome one, pain. The pain hits my ass and the protruding bones of my back and shatters through the rest of my body, like a passing tornado leaving havoc in its path. What can I do? What should I say? Nothing. I purse my lips like I’ve done so many times before in an effort to save my dwindling dignity from this animal that aims to steal it and every other part of me.

He isn’t saying much; just watching the hot water fill the tub the same way the fear fills my body. It crawls through my veins making my blood boil like the steaming water. And only a little while ago I was clean, high, and semi-happy. I was also stupid and lying to, yet not convincing, myself that I was safe. I knew he would come, he always does, and the fact that I maybe thought I was safe this time just makes it all the more devastating for me and all the more glorious for him. I feel like I’m lying in a puddle of my own sweat and blood.

Yet again he’s broken me down. This is the worst time, this is the last time, and I’m thankful for that. No more running, no more rebuilding, no more pretending. At least I hope so. Like every other time he has tortured me or I have tortured myself I am praying for my death because it’s the only thing I can do, the only positive outcome from this situation. And also like all the times in the past I know I’m not strong enough to kill myself so I know he has to do it for me. But unlike every other time I actually wanted to live a full happy life before he came back into my life and that is the last straw, the point he has been waiting for. That’s why I know he’ll really go through with it this time, eventually.




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