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 XIX: Escape


I hear the breakfast cart down the hall and I know I have to move now. I stuff the little belongings I have in a plastic bag and throw on an outfit Jaime brought for me to leave in. It’s an unnerving thing to wake up like normal, with a little stretch and yawn after four days of being completely still and lacking any way to communicate. It’s even more unnerving to wake up to the morning news that the third dead girl matching my physical description in three days has been found in a park on the highway.

I look out the door both ways to make sure no one who will recognize me is around. No one knows I’m out of the paralysis and that’s the way I want it to stay. I quickly get inside the elevator and know as soon as I’m out of the hospital I’ll be home free. I take the elevator right down to the parking garage. I’m cautious as I exit because there’s always a chance he could have someone down here watching for me and Jaime or maybe even be down in the massive, dark, cold, concrete shell himself, God knows he’d be at home. Sure enough there’s a man dressed in black leaning against a wall and smoking a fag only a few yards away.

I move around the other side of the elevator and out of sight soundlessly, and I see Jaime’s Monte Carlo across the garage. I duck behind a white construction van near the exit and listen until he gets in the elevator and goes up. Not much time. I have to get home now. I swing back around to the front of the elevator. The guy is putting out his cigarette and he looks up and a huge smile crosses his face as he stands up. Chump. He starts towards me. “Hi there sweetheart,” he says getting out a pair of handcuffs.

“Don’t bother,” I snap, not that he would ever get them on me. “I’m coming willingly.” He looks taken aback. Probably expecting the tough kick ass me, give it time.

“Okay,” he says finally and gestures with his hand for me to go ahead of him, “the car’s over here.” He’s smart enough to not turn his back on me and I’m reckless enough to turn mine on him so I follow his hand. He leads me to a big black Lincoln Navigator. He comes around my side to unlock the door and I smile before I kick him square in the jaw. I pick up the keys he’s dropped, stick them in my pocket and slam him into the side of the vehicle. Human, that’s a surprise; maybe he knew I wouldn’t kill a human. Or maybe he wanted to see if I would, make me like him.

I climb in the driver’s side and speed out. I don’t catch a tail, and I make it to the house in record time. The ground is still charred from where my beautiful car used to be. He actually bombed my fucking car. What ever happened to the good old days with stakes and swords and vamps using their bare hands? When did they all go Unabomber? I’m even more depressed as I stand outside my closed bedroom door. I’m almost sure what I’ll find. I open the door and my eyes immediately take in the stripped bed. The mattress has a small bloodstain that’s turned brown in the baby blue silky material. Jaime must have taken the bloody sheets and feather bed off. I’m thankful I don’t have to see those. There is a new mattress leaning against the bed with the plastic and tags still on it. He must have bought it yesterday because he had work and then he didn’t come visit me afterward. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had and I have to make sure that he’s safe.

With that thought the phone rings in the silent deathlike house and it shakes me from my revelry. For a second everything’s normal and I start for the phone on a hall table then I realize with a flood I can’t answer the phone. Answering the phone would be facing his sad loving voice and I can’t do that, I can’t stay. I have to leave, for him and Denise if not for myself.

I’m more experienced with choosing only essentials from the life that you’ve built to take to a new one, given only a small amount of time and space then anyone else I’ve ever known. Unfortunately, I’m out of practice. I got comfortable here and now it’s my fault that I have to leave everything I worked for behind. I pull out a duffel bag and put as much clothes as it will hold. Then I get out a book bag and put in pictures, a few mementos, hygiene products, and all my personal information and identification. It takes me about twenty-five minutes. Then I run out into the kitchen and leave Jaime a scrawled note with instructions on it, begging him to keep safe and not worry about me. I can’t assure myself that he won’t try and find me, and I know he’ll worry.

Part XX: Vacation


I get off the boat late at night while it’s still moored. It was harder then I expected staying in my room and avoiding all outside contact on a cruise ship full of inebriated young people looking for excitement that I can more then offer for three days and three nights. I managed to avoid most of the young ladies, and the light. I emerged from my room at night only for a drink or maybe an encounter with a pretty young woman. I didn’t kill. It’s too dangerous to do on a boat full of humans in the middle of the ocean. People are missed and the first person they suspect is the strange man who wears black and only comes out at night. Besides I know I give off that ‘guilty as sin’ look, not that it’s ever got me into trouble I didn’t want.

The ships night crew is out cleaning the deck, waiting for the passengers to return before the boat leaves in a few hours. They look surprised to see me just leaving while the boat has been docked all day. I smile but don’t make conversation or offer an explanation, and I’m sure their curiosity will grow when I don’t return.

Maybe I will return. If I find my target quickly there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be back within the next three hours but sometimes I tend to get carried away and I think Jaime really deserves to be the bearer of that. He thought he could just escape with the Mrs. and everything would be copasetic. I’ll have to teach him a lesson.

Thoughts of torturing his pretty little girlfriend with scenes of paradise just outside the window have quickened my pace and I’m at the only hotel on the island. I look up at the crisp white stucco, and the bright white window trim and clay shingles. How precious. It’s the perfect setting for a gruesome murder scene.

I step inside the large glass doors and onto plush sand carpets. The lobby walls are painted in a beach scene and the furniture all fit the motif. The two young men behind the desk are talking and laughing comfortably and when they notice me they quickly stand up straight scared to be caught goofing off on the job. “Can we help you sir?” a taller one asks. He has a pin on his pressed short sleeve shirt that says Manager. They must be short handed but that will make my job easier.

“Yes,” I say in an urgent tone, “I’m a Private Investigator and I have every reason to believe that a man who escaped my custody is staying in the hotel right now. He is very dangerous and I have to get to him right now before incident occurs.”

The kid’s look thunderstruck, the younger one slack jawed but he recovers. “Do you have any identification?” he asks.

“Come on, that’s movie stuff kid, you’re wasting my time. He could be plotting to kill everyone as we stand here talking!” I lean over the counter towards them and they step back intimidated and rightfully so. “Are you going to help me or not?”

The manager looks to the other, “Yeah, um, what’s the name?”

“James Falcone Jaime for short, or it might be under Denise Shapiro.”

The kid types the names nervously into the computer. “Don’t you think the cops should be called?” asked the younger one uncertainly.

“This is no matter of the cops or this town,” I say firmly and he looks like he might agree. The cops around here would most likely have no idea how to handle a murderer.

“We got a match for both, adjoining rooms,” the manager spits out, “fourth floor, rooms 14 and 15.”

“Do you have a spare keycard?” I ask quickly.

“No, the maids carry them.”

“Is there a maid on duty around here where I can get it?” I ask impatiently.

“Somewhere,” the younger mumbles.

“No time, I’ll have to break the door.” I start towards the elevator.

“Should I call my boss? I mean you’re not going to be killing and shooting guns right?” the manager questions.

“No, everything will be clean, I’ll get them out of here easily and you’ll do better not to mention to your boss that you let some strange man get classified information without showing formal identification, luckily I’m a good guy.” Yeah right.

They buy it, they look reassured and I wink kindly as the elevator door closes between us. Assholes. Now I have to take the cows out of the hotel before I kill them. Why didn’t I just hit the fucking kids and find the room myself?

I step out of the opening elevator doors and onto the fourth floor. The wall I’m facing is one seamless window both ways. There are no doors on the hall at all. I run down to the end of the hall and glance around the corner. One wall is another glass window showing the beautiful view of the beach and vast coastline and the other is lined with room doors 1 through 6. The next hall holds rooms 7 through 12. On the next hall I pass a young mother and her toddler and smile politely even though it makes me sick. Then I go to the door of room 14 and pretend I’m looking for my keycard. Her child is misbehaving and she doesn’t glance back to see where I went.

When I hear her enter a room around the corner and close the door I know I’m clear. I lean my weight against the door and hold the doorknob with both hands then slam my body into it and the door breaks the lock with only the brief sound of wood splitting and swings open a few feet. Immediately I can see that the room hasn’t seen much use. The bed is still made and I don’t see any suitcases anywhere. They must be spending all the time in her room. Then why buy two rooms in the first place?

I don’t worry about the meager justification of the humans I hunt so I take a step into the room and I close the door as best I can. Then I quickly cross the room to the door adjoining them. It’s unlocked and I’m a little surprised. They must think I wouldn’t dare follow them when I have other targets to follow. He is a fool to think I would let him get away with touching what is mine, and a fool for other things like not touching her as much as he could.

I swing the door open quickly anticipating to startle the lovers in bed or perhaps fresh from a bath together. I don’t receive the welcome I expected. I don’t receive a welcome at all. The room is much the way I found the last only there is a note pinned to the closet door right across the room. The first thing I see, so plainly put for me to find.

I cross the room and rip it from the door angrily. They made a fool of me.

Sorry we weren’t here to meet you.
You’re not likely to find us now.
If you hurt her I’ll kill you myself.

Smug bastard thinks he’s so damned smart. Or maybe she convinced him and his lover to leave. It was so hard for me to avoid following her when she left without discretion, so plainly begging me to follow her, maybe now I know why. I crumple the paper and throw it across the room in anger. I consider that maybe it’s a ploy and that they really are here but if so, they aren’t in this room. I know they’re smarter then to stick around after they lured me here. They are most likely on the other side of the world by now.

Good for them that I’m sick of being patient, that I’m sick of waiting to touch her and taste her, to have her at my side. I know I still have a long wait ahead. I have plans for her that she is unknowingly helping along. The more she loses the more desirable she is because I’ll be the only one to break her.

I take a walk along the beach outside the hotel and come across a young girl, maybe 18 years old. She’s wearing a brown string bikini and splashing her feet playfully in the moon-sparkling water. She feels my eyes on her and turns to me smiling brightly at the attention. Her eyes and hair are the brown of her swimsuit and her skin is lightly tanned golden. She’s beautiful by any man’s standards and most likely by many women and her own. She walks up close to where I’m standing, spreads out a small blanket and lays back on it, her eyes meeting mine. “Have a seat,” she offers and I sit down next to her. She’s from South America, my best guess would be Peru, but her English is very good.

“You shouldn’t talk to strangers,” I comment smiling deeply.

So holds her arms out in a gesture to the beautiful scene, “This is heaven, nothing bad could happen here,” she reaches a hand back and unhooks her small top and tiny tan breasts fall out. She pulls the triangles over her head, “only good.” I agree wholeheartedly.

I walk on the ramp of the boat and the crew is just preparing to leave. “Almost missed it,” says a man on deck. I smile, grab a bottle of whiskey as I pass the bar and head straight to my room. I can still taste and smell the woman from the sand. She was beautiful everywhere, I soon found out, even her insides were exceptional as I gouged them out with a seashell. I glance down at the teeth prints on the inside of my hand, a reminder of how I had to hold her mouth shut to prevent her screams from ruining the serenity. I screamed her name through the pleasure and then the pain I induced. The girl probably understood because she called someone else’s name through our pleasure too.

It was a beautiful death, which she deserved completely. She deserved passion and publicity far more then she deserved old age and decay. I threw my shoes and bloody shirt into the lightly rolling waves and they’ll be far from the scene when the body is discovered. The headlines will read, ‘A young woman cut down in her prime while on vacation. The bloody crime is yet to be solved and the killer could be in your backyard.’ Very true.

Part XXI: Obtained


I’ve been watching her for months now. She’s so fucked up all the time she’s probably completely oblivious. She’s not running if she does know I’m here. I’ve certainly left a trail of bodies just like hers in my wake. But then again she doesn’t watch TV or listen to the radio, likely trying not to hear that type of news. Maybe her habits are completely random to her, but I know her movements and activity like clockwork. She’s been over a year without me. Over a year in New York City where its cold and damp and dangerous. Where she belongs. She’s taken up the habits of the city, habits she knew a little about in her youth.

She leaves her apartment scarcely dressed for the season. Always scarcely dressed, unaware that she’s not in Kansas anymore and danger lurks around every dark corner. Maybe even praying that something will jump out of the darkness and end the miserable life she’s too weak to end herself. Only one person can kill her, she’s marked, and soon she’ll be ready. There are still a few things she could be stripped of.

I've seen her do this so many times. Walk out of the shitty apartment complex and onto the gritty street. She starts early, just after the sun has set, when she wakes up. She’s already on my schedule. She uses a leg covered with a thigh high leather boot and leather mini skirt to halt a taxi which takes her to that nights club and she never pays which sometimes causes a scene but this guy just speeds off leaving little more then a ‘Fuck you!’

We’ve been to tonight’s club a few times, unbeknownst to her, but we were together. There were times when I could tell she could sense me in the room like a cool chill or a hot flash. But she’s been using too many drugs for too long and the senses have dampened or she’s learned to ignore them most of the time. The streets haven’t marred her beauty but she’s lived on the streets before, or at least ran them.

Tonight’s drug of choice is cocaine and liquor. She must have been remembering things lately because she’s hitting it pretty hard and after only two and half hours an equally unstable dance partner is leading her to a strange car.

I watch as she stumbles and passes out in the abandoned parking lot. Her partner struggles to lift her but her small body is dead weight to this sack of bones. I watch him drag her lifeless body for a few moments just to make sure she is out then I quickly walk the distance between us.

"Hey man, if you want the bitch you can have her," the drunk drugged punk says as if he could stop me if he wanted.

"Women aren't property," I scold, yeah right. "You should treat them with a little more respect."

"Hey she’s fun, but all she is is some fine ass pussy!" he rants in return. I glance around the lot to make sure we aren’t being watched then step towards him and snap his neck in one evil twist and he bounces off the ground. I lift her easily off the dirty asphalt and throw her over my shoulder. She weights next to nothing, the drugs and alcohol wasting her away, and it’s rare to see her eating anything but pills.

We get to the SUV and I throw her in the passenger seat. I check her eyes but she’s out for the count and that’s all I need. I have everything arranged. Tomorrow is the end of the month and she hasn’t paid this months rent. I was at the front desk last week pretending to be her new boyfriend. They saw my outfit and begged for money. I told them I would be moving her out this week and they were more then thrilled to hear it.

First thought, headache. Second thought, oh shit. Memory loss not usually a problem until you wake up chained to a wall. Then memory loss is pretty big. I feel dizzy and dirty and almost sober. This is so far from good. The room is dark but I can make it out; exposed concrete walls and pipes, vents in the ceiling, cold concrete floors under my bare feet, a big open room, and furniture. I’m in a loft; I’ve seen enough of them to know what they look like although never any quite this nice. This is expensive and apparently the owner has a thing for bondage and run. I’m not naked though and I don’t feel fucked in the literal sense.

The room is dimly lit with sparse black candles and a fire place is burning on the wall opposite me so I can see pretty clearly now that my eyes have adjusted. There’s a bathroom in the far left corner, I know it’s the bathroom because the walls are made of that rice paper glass that you can see shadows through and they don’t go all the way up to the high ceiling. Right in front of me, in the middle of the room, there’s a circular hole cut into the ground and a spiral metal staircase designed into it. Beyond the staircase hole there’s a bar and small dining area and to the right of that and in the corner is a huge bed draped in dark red silk and velvet. To my direct right are a living room area, a huge stereo system, a computer center, and a set of black leather sofas with a coffee table in the middle. To my direct left there’s what looks like an old art studio with a counter splotched with paint and equipment. If I’m right about the owner that part of the abode along with the kitchen doesn’t get much use. This culprit orders out.

A sinking feeling builds in my stomach as I stare more closely at the kitchen counter. Set out on the smooth charcoal gray marble top are a set of surgical equipment, a set of butcher knifes and a few other things. On the left wall there are three doors. Are they a way out? I struggle with the chains for close to an hour, until the cuts on my wrists and ankles are so deep the blood dripping to the floor below is enough to make my head spin.

Alcohol and drugs thin your blood so you bleed uncontrollably. Maybe I can kill myself before he returns. That would really piss him off. I scream as I struggle with the chains, even using one hand to slide the others wrist along the rusted metal cuffs. Up and down. Shit, that hurts. My arms turn red with spent blood and the floor under my feet is one big puddle. The last thing I see is the puddle of blood contrasted under the whiteness of my feet.

Part XXII: The Continuation and New Beginning of His Pain


I pull the car into the garage and as close to the stairs as possible. I climb out to meet the feel of warm air from the fireplace and smell her rich sweet blood filling every inch of space. I look up into the darkness and I can’t help but whistle as I load the stuff worth taking into the garage. Once I’m done I turn the car off and race up the stairs two at a time. I know I can’t torture her yet and I don’t want to, but I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she wakes up. I see the blood puddle and her lolling head from the top of the stairs and I make it to her in seconds and as I uncuff her she falls forward into my arms like a chopped down tree. With her head resting on my shoulder I start to carry her to the kitchen counter.

I feel her eyelids flutter against my neck but I never expect what she deals out. Sweet pain starts at my dead pulse point and shoots through my whole body. I try to fling her off but she holds on like a steel trap. I finally manage to unclamp her jaw and she falls to the floor unable to move anymore. “Bitch!” I kick her in the stomach for good measure and she vomits on the floor before her.

"Yeah! You like the taste of blood in your mouth don’t you?" I scream, "Wait ‘til you're sucking your first baby dry!" She doesn't move so I turn her over and slap her hard across the face. "What's the matter bitch? Had enough already? But we’ve only just begun!"

She spits out some more bloody vomit then rolls into a heap and passes out. She’s done, I can tell right away and I kneel down and pick her up again making sure her mouth is facing away from my skin just in case. I lay her out of the cool counter, putting the set of knifes and other torture tools in a locked drawer, she’s seen them and knows what I have in mind but they’re not needed yet. Then I strip her down, run her through a shower, taking care to clean and touch ever inch of her battered, abused, suffering body. Then I put her in a pair of sweat shorts and a white ribbed tank top. The shorts are from when she lived in Florida and she’s lost a lot of weight so they have to be rolled and tied to stay on. The thin white undershirt is mine and it’s ribbed so it fits her tight.

With that done I cuff her to the toilet resting her head on the seat should she wake up and have to throw up again. I go back downstairs and pull her small single mattress from the back of the SUV. I was surprised it was in usable condition so I brought it with me. After I clean up the blood and throw up I lay it by her cuffs cover it with some clean sheets and lay a blanket down. Then I lay an extra sheet down next to the bed because I’ve seen hard withdrawal and I don’t want any kind of fluids staining my floor because raw concrete is surprisingly hard to keep clean. By the time I get back into the bathroom she’s awake and I can hear her wrenching from outside the open door. I go inside and rub her back in false concern, "Aw, whatsa matter sweetie pie?" I ask.

"Fuck you!" she glares then returns her face to the toilet for a batch of dry heaves.

"Again?" I ask, "and here I thought you hadn't enjoyed yourself!" I lean down and unlock her chains from the toilet tank and lift her to her feet. She starts kicking and punching me and when I laugh at her weak attempts she frowns and leans back over the toilet. I’m surprised she didn't try to throw up on me. When she seems to be completely through I lead her out to the mattress I set up and thread her cuffs through the sturdy feet cuffs she was in earlier. She curls easily on the mattress, defeated physically for now and falls into a quick daze. She still focuses in on me and follows me with her big sexy eyes as I fix the fire that was beginning to die down so I’m sure to make a big show of getting undressed before her staring eyes. When I get into bed I turn away from her and feel her eyes burrowing into me until she finally falls asleep.




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