Blaine hadn’t realized how hungry he had been until he was on his second plate of food.
The dining hall was nearly empty.
The glossy hand carved tables already wiped down for the night. Even the old fashioned electric lamps that clung to the walls had been dimmed; the entire mansion seemed much more at peace.
The best thing that had resulted from that days chaotic events was that he had managed to avoid the other students.
Only two boys sat at the other end of the dining hall. One was rather lanky with beach blond hair that fell over his eyes, the other was a shorter, pitch-black haired, boy with tanned skin and eyes that crinkled every time he laughed. Both seemed rather immersed in their own conversation but every so often Blaine swore he could feel their eyes on him.
Emma was seated directly in front of him, her strawberry blond hair bobbing as she spoke enthusiastically.
“So Blaine,” she paused pressing her thin lips down. “I know you haven’t made a decision on whether you’re staying yet, but I say there’s no point in wasting your first day. You might as well take advantage of it, right?” She asked animatedly.
Blaine found that he liked the way she spoke. Her voice was complexly hushed and high pitched. She was tiny with big bright eyes that almost made her seem too fragile to be in a school filled with demonically possessed teens, but the way she spoke with a gentle precision told Blaine she was more than capable of handling herself at Dalton.
Blaine nodded as he shoveled another forkful of fettuccini alfredo into his mouth. He wasn’t really sure what she was referring to -the only thing on his mind was the food in front of him- but he nodded, not wanting to be rude.
“Wonderful.” She clasped her hands together enthusiastically, “then I guess I should start by telling you that every student here is required to get their high school diploma. This is still a school after all, and education is always important. You’ll have to take a quick placement test tomorrow since I hear you missed quite a bit of your senior year.”
Blaine quickly gulped down the warm, creamy pasta, ready to protest.
Yes he had practically missed an entire semester of school but that didn’t worry him. He was certain he could get into Harvard faster than any student that actually attended school; a placement test was not what concerned him.
What worried him was the fact that he had to waste time on useless information when his life was on the line. Would random facts on the civil war or calculus really matter if he was dead?
He had assumed when Smithe said Dalton was a school the only learning he’d be doing would be demon related; apparently he’d been wrong.
“Before you say anything I know what you’re thinking, but trust me you are going to have a lot of time to learn everything else. Your schoolwork is easy. They’re mostly packets. It’s a simple distraction to keep you from fixating on…other things.” She said discreetly.
Blaine watched as she folded the paper napkin into a perfect square, and then lightly smoothed it over before brightly looking up at him. “So what do you say?”
He nodded mutely and went back to eating.
There seemed no point in arguing, he didn’t even know if he was staying.
“Good. Good. All right, after that I think we should get you fitted for your uniform. You’ll have to wear a used one tomorrow but you should have your own soon.”
Again he nodded.
“Now I should warn you this school is a boarding school and it’s co-ed however you are not to disrespect the girls. Although if you do I can assure you they are entirely capable of defending themselves.” She said nodding pointedly.
At this Blaine nearly cracked a smile.
“Trust me that won’t be an issue.”
“I should hope not.” She said sternly and she shot him what Blaine assumed was supposed to be a somewhat threatening disapproving glare.
At this he chuckled.
“You have my word,” he said raising his right hand, his left palm flattening on the table as if it contained an invisible bible. “I solemnly swear I will not lay a finger on any of the girls.”
She smiled at him sweetly.
Emma continued speaking for the entirety of his meal, generally briefing him on the everyday life at Dalton. Blaine soon realized she was only spewing out information to keep it from growing too quite, and for that he was grateful.
Her long stream of conversation was enough to keep his mind at ease.
In fact she may have even saved him from another identity crisis because he was certain if he had sat there alone he would have begun to question who he really was, and useless morbid thoughts would have eventually eaten into his head.
Unfortunately there was only so much silence she could fill. The moment she led him to his assigned room and closed the door he was drowned in an awful silence that amplified his every thought.
Blaine threw off his jacket and collapsed on the floor before his bed. He’d chosen the floor because he didn’t feel comfortable sitting on an unfamiliar bed. The room was completely furnished but not in the neutral hotel room sense. Every pinhole and scuff on the floor signified an untold story, which made it feel like he had stepped into a stranger’s bedroom. He leaned his head on the bed frame, and let out a long shaky breath his body crumbling in exhaustion as he attempted to clear his mind.
He eventually gave up and straightened up one knee folded up, his arm resting on top of it. As he sat in an unfamiliar room made up of wooden floors, empty dressers, clean sheets, pristine drapes, and a large desk, Blaine couldn’t help but wonder if the person that had previously occupied the room made it past their eighteenth birthday.
Which only led to the more troubling question, would he?
It was strange how quickly his life had turned upside down. One minute he was a runaway teen making a quick buck playing in bars and selling personal belongings, and the next he was a demon in an academy that intended to either fix him, or kill him. Blaine suddenly felt he could identify with every single man and woman that had ever been put on death row. The luxurious bedroom felt like nothing more than a jail cell. His very own, carefully furnished, jail cell. The worst part was he was the only one keeping himself there.
His eyes darted around the room in hopes of a distraction; he stood as he caught sight of a forgotten calendar that hung on the door.
He got up and stumbled towards it.
It was two years old.
His fingers lightly traced over each harshly checked off day. The checkmarks stopped on the twenty-sixth. That day was circled with a dark red marker but Blaine instantly noted that there was no check mark. Blaine knew what that day must have been and his heart sunk at the thought. He angrily knocked the calendar onto the floor as the unfairness of their situation hit him.
The Calendar loudly crashed down; it’s pages awkwardly bending as the thumbtack spun wildly.
Blaine firmly pressed his forehead against the door a shaky breath escaping his lips. His right hand clenched just above his head as he fought a broken sob.
He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to die.
The mere thought made something spitefully whirl inside him. It was a hot rabid fire that forcefully lunged him forward, Blaine let out a shocked gasp as he hit the door and fell to the ground. He felt as if whatever writhed within him hissed furiously, like it to understood that the circled day was symbolic of both their relinquishments and it needed to express its displeasure.
Blaine sat on the ground for far too long, unable to move. He had never experienced something that drastic. The fact that there was something inside his body that could control him was distressing and it paralyzed him with fear. The dark force eventually dissipated but Blaine was left with a growing sense of power that pulsed through him and his body itched to make use of it.
Without thinking he reached his hand out and retrieved the calendar. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were still burning with unshed tears as he forcefully pushed the last calendar pages back.
There at the very end was what he needed.
The calendar for the next two years lay before him. Each month fit into a small box, the numbers barely visible.
His fingers found the month and day he was looking for. He knew the date; Smithe’s day-to-day calendar on his desk had read February fourth. The day his life had changed would forever be burned into his mind.
Blaine counted the number of days before he reached his birthday: April fourth.
He calculated over and over again. Hoping, wishing, praying he was wrong. He had nine weeks.
Nine weeks was not enough. He now knew that whatever was in him was not weak. He needed more time. If he counted the number of days and not weeks the number was bigger, farther away. Blaine allowed himself to frantically count each day. He had sixty days total.
He crumpled the calendar in his hand and let it fall to the ground.
The one unanswerable question flooding his mind; why?
Why him?
He never wanted this.
He never wanted power.
He never wanted to cause anyone pain, he knew pain and he never wished it upon anyone else, so why him?
Why not his father, his selfish, self-absorbed father, or his authoritative grandfather who had always tried to control the people around him?
After all it was an inherited trait, was it not?
They where the type of people that deserved to be labeled something cruel and destructive not him. Both his father and grandfather believed fear brought respect. Their high status and political involvement would benefit from this source of power.
The thought nearly made Blaine shudder; it wasn’t hard to picture either of them giving in to it, never caring who they hurt for glory.
And suddenly Blaine understood why, like a key finding it’s place it clicked.
The mere thought of them having such a destructive force at their disposal was terrifying, especially because he’d always questioned their morale.
Blaine knew there was a reason he was now in this newfound prison, a reason he hadn’t run. He didn’t want to hurt others, he didn’t have the need to kill or torture, and he now realized that had never been him. The thing that craved everything destructive was not him, and this was comforting. It was then that Blaine finally understood what Smithe meant about it residing within him but not actually being a part of him.
Blaine couldn’t help but feel hopeful again because he now knew he could overpower it. He would not let it manipulate him. For once someone believed in him and he would not prove them wrong. He would spend the next sixty days learning how to control it. He would do whatever they asked of him. He would stay at Dalton even if that decision resulted in his death because Blaine wanted to do the right thing and that was something that neither his father nor grandfather would have ever understood. He may have been the demon but deep down he knew that in many ways he was better than them, because unlike them he would never give in.
It wasn’t long before Blaine found himself at Quinn’s door. He was suddenly extremely ecstatic and he had to tell someone he could do it. He would live up to the challenge in just sixty days.
**
Kurt was alone.
Not physically, technically he was surrounded by friends and peers but he had chosen to sit by himself this morning.
He’d spotted Finn, Rachel, and Santana, but the thought of sitting with them after the previous night was far from appealing. He was not in mood for an intervention and from the worried looks Finn and Rachel kept sending him, it was obvious he was in for one soon.
Kurt stared blankly ahead as everyone bustled around him grabbing bagels, french toast, muffins, and fruit bowls.
Puck had motioned for him to head to his table but Puck was with Karofsky and Jesse St. James and Kurt honestly preferred being alone to sitting with the three most egotistical boys of Dalton. They’d have to have their riveting discussion on who was stronger and who had hunted more demons without him.
Kurt yawned and sat up as Sam slid into the bench facing him, his tray loudly clattering down as it hit the table.
Kurt was pleased to see Sam looked rather rested. His polo was neatly pressed, and glowing sense of pride washed over him, as he realized Sam had even run a small amount of product through his hair his eyes fully visible again.
“Rough night?” Sam asked as he stuffed half his French toast into his outrageously wide mouth.
Kurt laughed sardonically, he hated that he was so apparent. “You could say that.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose in response as he chewed, “want to talk about it?” He asked, mouth full of food.
Kurt didn’t comment on his loss of manners instead he shook his head his eyes downcast. “No I was just upset over something but I’m over it now.”
Sam swallowed and grabbed another piece of toast.
“You sure?” he asked his second piece hovering before his mouth as he blatantly awaited Kurt’s response.
Kurt smiled and nodded, “yeah.”
Technically he wasn’t lying, he was over it. He didn’t want to dwell on his inability to ever lead a normal life. He just wanted to get through another day and if he allowed his mind to go back to the same place it had been the night before he’d be stuck there all day.
“Well if you realize you’re not over it you know you can always talk to me, right?” Sam asked sipping a glass of orange juice.
Kurt nodded rolling his eyes playfully, “of course.”
They sat in comfortable silence as Sam ate and Kurt stirred his coffee. A familiar figured emerged in the doorframe and Kurt fought the urge to look up, but his eyes eventually landed on the boy wearing a dangerously tight polo and pants so short they revealed his ankles. Kurt had the sudden urge to laugh. Blaine was wearing his temporary Dalton uniform, and he looked ridiculously good despite the obvious wardrobe malfunctions. Kurt watched him as he stood in the doorway his golden eyes feverishly scanning the dinning hall they narrowed as he found whomever he’d been searching for. Kurt followed him with his gaze as he made his way down the hall, he felt rather mesmerized by the newfound poise Blaine carried himself with. It made Kurt wish he had met him under different circumstances because this boy seemed much more at ease with himself.
Heads turned as Blaine passed, the bright early morning chatter quickly dying down.
Blaine didn’t seem to notice. He walked right up to Puck, who looked just as startled that Blaine was addressing him as everyone else, including Kurt.
Kurt gripped his coffee mug his heart suddenly beating a little too rapidly as he wondered why Blaine had approached Puck. He’d seen the way Blaine had reacted to Puck the night before. He’d stood in front of Kurt as if Puck was some sort of threat, and for a moment Kurt was scared Blaine would do something reckless. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Rachel and Finn had been right, was Blaine dangerous? He didn’t actually know Blaine he could very well be completely out of control.
But Blaine’s seemed entirely lax, as he addressed Puck nothing like the tense, enraged boy Kurt had seen. Puck watched Blaine expectantly.
“Relax …he’s asking Puck about something he left at his door…and a…. car I think” Sam said his eyes distant as he tried to make out the conversation across the hall.
“Hmmm?” Kurt hummed distractedly. He propped his chin on his elbow his eyes never leaving Blaine.
“I said relax. You look like you’re about to shatter your mug with that grip.” Sam said as he ripped the mugged from Kurt’s hands.
Kurt turned to glare at him, eyes wide “What are you doing?” he snapped.
“Did you not hear a word I just said?” Sam asked laughing incredulously.
Kurt didn’t respond his eyes already drifting back to where they’d been before.
Sam shook his head a knowing smile on his lips. “Man you’ve got it bad.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurt muttered turning to face Sam. He snatched his mug back a small amount of coffee nearly spilling out.
“Oh yes I do I can practically hear your thoughts. It goes a little something like this;” his voice went up an octave as began to tease Kurt “He’s so dreamy I can’t help but stare. He has the perfect little butt and face.”
Kurt looked pained as he stifled a laugh and fought to keep a straight face. Had Sam really just complimented Blaine’s ass? “You should really stick to impersonating men with low voices. That high pitch really doesn’t suit you.” Kurt quipped.
Sam put up a hand to silence him, “I wasn’t done.” He said feigning irritation. “His big honey eyes and dark thick lashes leave me breathless.” He said fluttering his eyelashes comically.
Kurt raised an eyebrow and shot Sam a bewildered look. “Sam is there something you want to tell me? Are you gay too?” He asked a look of faux concern on his face.
“Nope.”
“Then please explain why you know his eye color?”
Sam shrugged and took a sip of juice. “I know because I couldn’t stop staring at them yesterday. His eyes got super light when he was with you; they practically glow. It was kind of weird. But like, not in a bad way.” Sam said looking rather confused as he spoke.
Kurt shifted uncomfortably.
“You know what that means right?” Sam asked grinning.
Kurt didn’t respond he knew what that meant. It meant things were suddenly much more complicated.
“It means he’s completely into you man.” Sam chuckled happily.
Kurt’s face fell. The air seemed to grow denser as he abruptly stood up.
Sam looked up baffled by his sudden mood swing.
“Kurt?”
“Sam.”
His eyes met Sam’s and guilt pulled at his chest. This wasn’t his fault he hadn’t known.
“I didn’t mean to-“
Kurt sighed tiredly. “Forget it, can we go?” he mumbled avoiding Sam’s gaze.
Sam nodded wordlessly grabbing his tray and slipping out of the wooden bench.
Kurt stole one last glance at Blaine who was already seated and unabashedly watching him; he blinked slowly then gave Kurt a soft smile.
Kurt grabbed his tray and sharply turned away willing himself to keep it together.
**
Day two, also known as February fifth, was a Saturday.
Saturday was convenient. It allowed Blaine to be fitted for his uniform as well as begin his first private lessons with Jesse St. James.
Not private in the sense that it would only be him and Jesse in one room- Jesse had already mentioned a few other boys known as watchers would be coming in as backup- they were private because for the first few weeks Blaine would not be allowed to train with everyone else, it was dangerous.
“Alright pretty boy today you show me everything you’ve got.” Jesse casually said as Blaine handed him a clipboard.
He’d been asked to fill out a few forms with his personal information, and emergency contacts.
“Not that we will be calling your daddy when you get injured. It’s all filed away for future reference…you know in case things don’t go well.” Jesse had said. Blaine thought that was a fairly nice way of saying we need it in case you die.
Jesse ran a hand through his wavy, honey ginger hair as he eyed the paper. He tapped his thumb against the sheet and flipped the page, quickly scanning it for completion.
Satisfied with what he saw Jesse nodded and began to unwind his thin black scarf, a silver dog tag with an intricate D, swinging freely.
He monotonously unbuttoned his vest and stripped to a black body hugging sleeveless shirt his bulging biceps on display. Jesse seemed young, early twenty’s, Blaine assumed. Most mentors, well the only mentor Blaine had spoken to, Puck, was twenty. His friends seemed to be about the same age maybe a year older or younger. Blaine assumed Jesse was approximately twenty-three to twenty-four years old. Despite being so young it was clear why he was the school’s trainer or as he called himself his study of techniques teacher. Jesse exuberated self-confidence, he was blunt, demanding, and to be frank rather intimidating. All in all he seemed to know what he was doing therefore people trusted him, especially students. Blaine had met him earlier that day in the dining hall. Puck had introduced them; once he realized Blaine only wanted to talk about the duffle bag, car keys, and the apology note he’d found by his door that morning.
Jesse had greeted him coolly. His eyes drifted over Blaine in complete evaluation. It wasn’t until he was leaving that he even mentioned he was the school trainer.
“Lets see,” Jesse muttered as he picked up the clipboard “I normally don’t work Saturdays but Emma insisted we start today” he huffed as he kicked a leather bag to the corner of the room. “First I need to know you’re fully committed. I can’t stress how difficult this is going to be, I teach the skills but at the end of the day it’s up to you to get through this. From today to April fourth you will be trai-” he stopped and looked Blaine over his jaw clenching.
“Wait I’m sorry how old are you?” he asked suddenly confused.
Blaine cleared his throat “Seventeen.”
“And you’re birthday is April fourth?” he asked his eyes darting from him to the clipboard.
Blaine nodded.
“Jesus Christ kid. No wonder Emma was so adamant we start today. We only have two months.”
“Yeah,” Blaine breathed not knowing what else to say, but the loss of words on his behalf went unnoticed as Jesse processed this vital piece of information.
”Have you told anyone about this?” he asked urgently.
Blaine shook his head uncertainly, “not really-”
“Good keep it that way. Trust me when I say you don’t want people knowing. You’d be treated a lot differently.” He said in a lower tone.
Blaine wondered if Quinn had told anyone else. He was certain she hadn’t but he made a mental note to ask her not to just in case.
Jesse shook his head, still very much lost in his own thoughts. Blaine was beginning to realize this guy was more than a little self-absorbed.
“Smithe briefed me on you, he said you were a challenge, but I had no idea how much of a challenge you would be. Two months.” he repeated in disbelief.
Blaine couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle.
“Yeah… do you think I can do it?” he asked anxiously. If anyone’s opinion mattered Blaine was certain it was his.
Jesse crossed his arms; one hand covering his chin and mouth as he considered the question. His eyebrows knitted together as he trained his eyes on Blaine, scrutinizing him. It made Blaine feel very much felt like a Salvador Dali piece on display.
“Look I’m not one to give false hope. I tell it like it is. If you want someone to sugar coat it you have Emma,” Jesse began.
Blaine’s gut twisted at his words.
“But for once I don’t know what to say. You’re more composed than some of the other kids here and they’ve been training for years. I’m honestly perplexed. You don’t exhibit the behavior of an average demon. At this point you should be losing it, easily irritated, jumpy, losing sleep, maybe even completely at your demons disposal. So all I’m going to say is…”
Blaine held his breath.
“It’s worth a try. If anyone else in your condition asked me this I’d say it’s not possible but you certainly make me question that assumption.” He finished.
Blaine let out a trembling sigh of relief. He didn’t quite understand what he or anyone else meant when they said he was composed because he already felt like was he losing it. From the moment Blaine had run away he’d felt that way. He’d threatened to kill people countless times. He felt much more aggressive, possessive, even demanding and those were not features of a composed person; however he trusted Jesse and his optimism was extremely encouraging.
“Well…” Jesse let out a puff of air, his hair lightly flying out of his face before neatly falling into place. “I guess it’s time we get started. We don’t have a minute to waste. Are you ready?” He asked clapping him on the shoulder.
Blaine nodded squarely. He wasn’t sure how he felt, he was torn between eagerness and nerves, but he was certain he was ready.
Jesse grinned approvingly and turned towards the doors of the training room to finally let the designated watchers in.
Blaine could only stand there nervously. The guys coming in instantly putting him on edge. He tried to relax as he took in the room, but it very much felt like an eggshell painted asylum. There were no windows and the walls were cushioned with a seemingly soft diamond-crossed fabric that reminded Blaine of mattresses.
The doors were closed and Jesse returned.
Blaine’s palms felt sweaty as the watchers surrounded him, each giving him a tight-lipped smile. Their smiles, although meant to be comforting, were nothing but alarming to Blaine. The fact that he was being surrounded was understandably nerve wrecking.
But it wasn’t so much that Blaine was being surrounded, what unsettled him was the strong force they emitted. It was a familiar and simultaneously unfamiliar sensation, and it pried out the unsettling aggression Blaine feared.
He had been adjusting to it around Dalton. That feeling Blaine now associated with other demons had been there from the moment he’d been abducted, to the moment he’d woken up. He honestly thought staying in that room with Kurt had helped him familiarize himself with it because the more he trusted Kurt the less threatening that prodding form of dark energy felt.
He had been stunned by it’s intensity as he entered the dining hall that morning. Blaine felt it in him like a soft buzz, some were stronger, some ramped, some settled but each reached him fiercely. They ran through him like a rapid adrenaline rush, every one of his senses instantly invigorated. It was an odd sensation and Blaine inwardly struggled to act indifferent. He was pleased to find that through them all he could pinpoint a warm, familiar hum. He didn’t have to look at him to know he was there, he simply felt his presence strong, relentless, and now a newfound anchor to Blaine.
It had been Kurt.
By mid-day Blaine had thought he was growing used to the infinite buzz of so many demons surrounding him but as the group of watchers stood around him, their powers running rampart in the room, Blaine wasn’t so sure.
His hostile mood was more than palpable as Jess approached him.
Jesse’s slow footsteps echoed in Blaine’s head as if each generated footstep had no avail.
Jesse stood before him his hair now pulled up, his blackening eyes shone visibly, he swiftly tilted Blaine’s chin up so they were eye to eye.
“Blaine I need you to focus on my voice. Can you do that?”
Blaine nodded; it was a simple command yet it was currently proving to be extremely difficult as amplifies noises and voices filled his head. He could hear his heart racing, his breath shallowing, his body trembling; each heartbeat, each tremor growing louder.
“Good” Jesse said as Blaine fought back every natural instinct.
“Everything you are feeling is completely normal. You currently feel threatened and your body is doing everything in its power to prepare you. I know you have been fighting this, which is good but now I’m telling you it’s okay to lose yourself in it. Let it in. “
Blaine shook his head his entire body shaking. The mere thought of giving in was gratifying, he was so tired of fighting it but deep down Blaine now knew exactly what giving in entailed and it was terrifying his eyes darted around the room in slight paranoia and he saw the watchers eyes darkening, anticipating his next move.
A familiar sensation bubbled inside but he pushed it down.
“It’s okay Blaine. You have to do this. You wont hurt anyone I promise.” Jesse said sternly.
Blaine wasn’t sure if it was Jesse words, or a stronger force inside him that was now manipulating him but something had seemed to convince him that it was okay to give in. His eyes fell shut, as a deep hunger possessed him. His heart raced and a loud rush filled his ears. His mind was simultaneously clouded by a need to eliminate every threat in the room.
He drew his eyes open feeling much more powerful and rather exhilarated.
It felt like Blaine was seeing everything through a new light, for once nothing felt impossible. He could do anything, be anything, he was invincible.
The feeling of pleasure and satisfaction that clung to every memory Blaine had fought to suppress filled him. Dizzying flashbacks of when he beat his father, of everything good thing being a demon had brought him ran through his mind.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
Blaine couldn’t respond but he felt his head involuntarily tilt to its side, his face was completely expressionless and his eyes were now sharply fixed on Jesse. A harsh shudder rippled through him and suddenly his mind went blank.
He blinked rapidly as the bright florescent light hit his eyes. A figure appeared before him and he squinted.
“You did it. Welcome back Blaine.”
**
February 5th 4pm.
The volatile smell of liquor and sweat filled his nostrils as he broke the door open and stepped inside.
A gasp followed by the sound of glass hitting the smooth cement floor pierced the air.
There stood a girl her eyes wide, mouth agape.
“What the hell? This bar is closed.” She said frantically cowering behind the bar.
A smooth laugh erupted from his chest.
“I know.” He replied wickedly; amused by the sound of her heart beating out of her chest, he could practically taste her fear. It was gratifying.
He continued towards her his suede shoes sticking on the dirty floor.
“I know self defense and my boss is in the cellar.” the girl yelled nervously as she pushed herself into the back countertop.
He tisked then flashed her a toothy grin. “Good, because I’ll need him next,” his blue, ocean cold eyes fixed on hers. “Now don’t move.” He said, his eyes briefly flashing black.
He turned and straightened the now broken door, shutting the few rays of afternoon sun out.
Twenty-four year old Amy Sandrizo was frozen in her place. Every one of her instincts screamed to move, to run, to fight, but she found herself frozen the moment he'd asked her not to move. Panic filled her and she screamed.
One moment he was walking towards the bar, the next he was over the counter shoving her against the brick wall, a muffled cry filling his tightly clamped hand.
“Shhh,” he breathed into her ear. His hot breath ran over her neck as tears streamed down her face and onto his wrist.
“Relax.” He crooned pulling her back so he could face her.
Her heartbeat slowed the moment the words left his lips and she was left watching him numbly,
“I’m going to let you go now, and when I do you are not going to scream, understood?” She nodded pulling away from his intense gaze.
He stepped back taking her in.
She had no choice but to stand there and watch him roll up his cuffs. The boy, because that was all he was, a boy with dead eyes and a menacing grin, ignored her probing gaze.
“I really wish I didn’t have to do this,” he sighed. “You’re beautiful.” His finger locked on a single burgundy curl and she grimaced. “But there’s really no other way to get my point across.”
The fear returned.
“Please let me go,” she whimpered.
He inched closer, his thumb smoothly brushing across her cheek.
“This isn’t about you. This is about something bigger, much bigger.” His other hand slid down to her waist before slowly moving to her lower back. She tried not to flinch.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know?” she trembled in response to his words as he tightened his hold on her. “I used to be alone, defenseless, crippled.” He spat bitterly. “But not anymore,” he whispered.
She shuddered and shut her eyes
“Please, please I’m begging you just let me go.” She cried desperately.
He gave her a weak smile then rested his forehead on hers.
“I wish I could, “ he said stroking her hair “But I already told you I can’t. Now be a good girl and open you eyes for me.”
Her eyelids squeezed down tighter.
“I said open your eyes!”
Her eyes shot open as she screamed in both pain and terror.
It felt as if every bone in her right hand had been splintered, crushed, and grinded. The pain so intolerable her eyes began to roll back. But as abruptly as it began, it stopped. She trembled and held her hand to her chest cradling it like an infant.
He grabbed it and gently kissed it, his eyes turned up never breaking away from hers, she instantly pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around herself, her finger nails digging deeply into her skin as she coward away. The cellar door swung open and in walked a sixty-year old man with a ratty shirt and several crates.
“Don’t scream.” Artie commanded voice gruff as he turned away from Amy.
She unwillingly nodded.
“Who the hell are you?” the man grunted as he surveyed the room.
“How should I put this?” he paused a chilling grin plastered on his face. “ I guess you could call me your demises.” His eyes hollowed to resolute darkness and the man collapsed onto his knees; crates crashing as his hands gripped his head, he screamed in sheer agony. Shards of glass, bourbon, and blood hit the floor as the man shook in pain his eyes turning white, his legs and fingers twitching. Blood oozed down his ears and nose.
Artie didn’t even flinch. This was by far his favorite part, he felt himself growing stronger, their screams, their pain were nothing but music to his ears. He lived for these moments when he was allowed to feel himself at his true potential.
He closed his eyes and let the heavy electrifying force course through him; the man jumped violently on the floor as his final cry caught in his throat, a small gurgle rose and then he went limp.
Artie turned to the girl now rocking on the floor her hands on her ears, eyes shut tight as she fought the urge to scream. She felt as if she her lungs were about to burst she needed to scream or run but instead she found herself on the floor knees locked tight to her chest as she rocked steadily her loud gasps of air piercing the heavy silence.
“Where were we?” he asked.
She gazed up at him bleary eyed, and in half a state of shock.
“Oh right you pulled your hand away from me didn’t you?” His asked his head cocked to the side as he addressed her. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket, he ignored it instead reaching out for her hand. She reluctantly handed it to him. Moments later she was writhing in pain as he carved a name into her skin.
He stepped over the bodies. The metallic smell of blood overriding the bars trademark odor, his work was done, now all he had to do was wait.
**
Febuary 6th 8am
Will slammed the newspaper onto Smithe’s desk.
“Puck was right about him being followed. They know we have him. They know what he is and they want him back.”
“Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions William? Just because it happened in the same bar does not mean-”
Will threw the newspaper open to the fifth page there in large print was a photo of the victim’s wrist; carved across it was a single name: Blaine. The photo had been taken from a distance, blurring the gory details but the name slashed across the slender wrist was hard to miss.
“Innocent people are getting hurt for this kid.”
“And what are you proposing I do?” Smith asked in exasperation as he tore his worried eyes from the page.
“Get rid of him.” He murmured.
Emma gasped.
“He’s just a boy,” she cried, “they all are.”
At this Will let out a taunting and weezy laugh. “When will you people stop lying to yourselves? He’s not just some boy. He’s a threat to the world and a threat to himself. He isn’t worth this much trouble.”
Smithe slowly shook his head as he reached for his patience. “That’s where you are wrong William. Not even you understand what’s happening here.”
“Enlighten me?” Will shouted his eyes crazed as he paced Smithe’s office.
Smithe frowned. “No. Not yet and most certainly not within these walls.”