Chapter 4
She tossed around in bed later that night, her temples throbbing from the whirlwind of thoughts and images as she teetered on that precarious edge between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyelids felt heavy before she lost the battle, finally succumbing.
In the dream, the front door slammed shut and even though the sound was muffled, it tore Buffy out of sleep with the efficiency of a gun shot. She was eight years old again. The sun was lurking over the horizon, orange and pink spilling across the sky, illuminating her room as she curled into herself.
She could hear noise in the living room below but it was different from the sounds of Dad making breakfast before he went to work. This had a menacing edge and her breath quickened. All she wanted to do was stay burrowed under the warm blankets. All she wanted was to pretend everything was fine. Except she couldn’t, because then her mother’s voice drifted up, calling her name. The sound was sharp and cold, like two knives slashing against each other.
Buffy’s bare feet hit the cold wooden floor and she padded out of her room, even though the deep seated urge of anxiety refused to let her go. It rose and thickened, resting in the pit of her stomach like a heap of lead with every step down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom, clutching the banister until her knuckles turned white as her mother approached her.
“What took you so long?” Anne snapped.
Buffy stared up at her, the way her dark green eyes flashed with anger making Buffy’s chin quiver. “M-mom?”
“Do you know what you did? You ruined everything!” She bent down and gripped Buffy’s forearms, tugging her closer. Her mother was bruising her skin but Buffy didn’t say a word. “Did you think you’d get away with it? With taking everything away from me?”
Mom had been acting differently these last few months. She wasn’t the person Buffy had known. It was like someone had switched off the lights inside and she couldn’t find her way out. Buffy didn’t understand what she was asking of her now, and her mother’s face twisted in rage was scaring her. Hot torrents of tears poured down Buffy’s face as she choked back sobs in an effort to keep from making her mother even madder, from drawing the monster to the fore. Why couldn’t she ever just hold the tears back? Why did she have to enrage her mother further with her inability to be quiet?
She so badly wanted Dad to come home and protect her.
“We’re going to play a game,” Anne said in a deceptively calm voice and pulled her further into the living room.
She wanted to beg and plead and run but she didn’t dare, the words frozen in the back of her throat.
“You were naughty tonight, Buffy. You were supposed to stay and make Mommy happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
Buffy nodded jerkily but her mother’s eyes narrowed, glinting with insanity and that strange otherness Buffy didn’t recognise.
“Then why did you run?”
She struggled to find an answer but she didn’t know what Mom was talking about. She had been up in her room all night, sleeping. But she didn’t voice those thoughts. It didn’t matter what she said or did. Somehow, the blame would still be hers.
“We’ll make it better, won’t we? You’ll be good for once and let Mommy do what she needs to so she can be always young and pretty as she is now. You’ll listen now, won’t you, honey?”
Buffy nodded again, drawing in a shuddering breath.
Anne bared her teeth in a vicious grin, reaching for an empty bottle of beer she’d been drinking earlier. When she smashed its bottom against the edge of the table, Buffy’s eyes widened and she tried to back away but Anne’s grip on her wrist tightened.
“Now, now. You promised to stop being a bad girl.”
“No!” Buffy screamed and yanked her hand out of her mother’s as terror crashed over her in spades.
She ran blindly into the hall, but her steps were short and Anne caught up to her quickly. Before Buffy could do anything, Anne spun her around, bursting with rage. Buffy was in a haze, her whole body encased in a shroud no sound could penetrate. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as she watched her mother lash out, the sharp glass edges glinting as it neared her face. Buffy raised her arms in effort to protect herself but it was too late. All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut before pain slashed through her in vivid red.
The pain was excruciating. It stabbed through her and only got worse as the second wave crashed over her torn nerves. Her screams were a distant echo in her ears as she fell to the floor. The skin of her face was slick as she covered it with her palms. Blackness overwhelmed her and it was the last thing she remembered.
Except, there was something… something fighting to the surface of her consciousness. Quick bursts of voices and glimpses of memories that should not have been there.
The room was suddenly filled with sounds of a scuffle but Buffy was too distracted by flashes of events she wasn’t supposed to remember. Flashes from a night hidden behind a veil that had suddenly been brushed away. Her mother leading her through the darkness earlier that night, with her voice trembling with excitement. A circle of strangers in an empty house, all of them staring at Buffy.
Hungry and expectant.
A man taking her hand, setting her up on a metallic table. So cold. Faces shifting, melting into those of monsters. Gleaming yellow eyes, sharp teeth. Blood of a potential. Then chaos. Shattered windows. Animalistic snarls around her. The pounding of her heart. Nobody was looking. Terrified, Buffy ran. Wind slammed against her skin, adrenaline-filled blood loud in her ears.
Someone snatched her up, covered her mouth with their palm before ducking into a dark corridor. Young masculine voice whispered into her ear, “Shh. Gotta stay quiet, lamb.”
Not one of them. Warm arms held her close, the scent of spice and something sweet filled her nose.
“Where do you live?”
Buffy heard herself stutter the answer. There was another gap where memories seemed to be missing, and she was suddenly back home. Someone passed a thumb over her forehead, murmured in a language she didn’t understand. Sleep tugged at her and she followed, obedient and grateful.
*******
Pain ripped through eight-year-old Buffy’s face, stirring her from unconsciousness but her eyelids were too heavy. She couldn’t seem to stop crying, the muscles in her face pulled taut making it worse. Blood filled her mouth, coppery and bittersweet. Then she heard the familiar voice wash over her again. Was she still dreaming?
Her face clammy with blood and tears jerked under a sudden warm caress. Someone pressed a soft towel against her torn skin, and she whimpered in pain.
“Where’s the fucking ambulance?”
She drifted in and out of consciousness; heard the sounds of an ambulance blaring in the distance at last. She was lying on the couch now, and she sensed the person retreat. The only thing left was his scent.
*******
Buffy woke up, hair sticking to her sweaty skin, her stomach tight with remnants of the memory still fresh in her mind. She hadn’t dreamt of the incident in years. Talking to Dad earlier must have ripped the wound open.
Rolling over onto her back, she reached for a second pillow and hugged it to her chest. Besides the memory, there was something else. Her skin buzzed with a revelation her brain refused to let her grasp. It slipped away as quickly and inevitably as water spilling between her fingers would.
It had been a dream within a dream. Quick flashes of something… of truth. But it was as if there was a barrier, a brick wall climbing up to the heavens. So high she’d never be able to see the end, never mind find her way over it and glimpse what lay behind.
The presence of someone lingered in her subconscious, teasing her. There had been someone else there. Dad had told her it must have been a neighbor who had called the hospital, but now she wondered. Had it been really? If so, why had none of them ever said anything?
*******
It was Saturday when she ransacked her room in search of her sketchbook. It was only when she knelt next to her bed to look under it that she realised… She wouldn’t find her bag there. For one simple reason. It had been left forgotten at the mansion after her mad dash to get away from… him.
God, she didn’t even know the man’s name.
Her stomach threatened to crawl into her mouth at the mere thought of confronting him again. She wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or disgust or just plain nerves. Hopefully, him being there had been a coincidence and a one time occurrence. If she went back, the house would be empty. She’d just grab her stuff and everything would be all right.
Wouldn’t it?
*******
Silently, with bated breath, Buffy sneaked into the vast space of the living room within the house. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the dust layered linen covering the furniture. The only ghosts this place had.
There was the fireplace and the nearer she got, the more her heart tightened. No sign of the bag, yet she stubbornly took the last few steps and stood there in dismay, staring at the empty spot where it should have been. The only thing staring back at her was the faded, torn up tapestry.
“Well, this can’t be good,” she muttered and her eyes darted around in the hopes of finding her property discarded somewhere else in the room.
It wasn’t.
Was he still here, she wondered? Probably not. But why would he take her stuff? It only held her sketches and a few books. Nothing valuable. Not to anyone but her anyway.
Maybe he just moved it to mess with her. This conviction gave her enough courage to cross the living room to enter a dark corridor where the long staircase twisted up to the upper level. She’d never been there. As much as she snorted at any thoughts of ghosts, this place gave her the wiggins. The cold silence clung to her skin, almost like a living breathing thing warding off unwanted house guests.
Still she put one foot in front of the other and climbed up the stairs, holding on to the gaudy rustic handrail with more force than necessary. After what felt like eons she made it to the top, contemplating which of the numerous doors to open first.
The first room proved to be nothing but a closet full of cobwebs and abandoned bottles of detergent. Wincing every time the old floorboards whined with protest, Buffy tip-toed to the second room. Sudden ridiculous thought of feeling like Alice in Wonderland occurred to her. After all, there were no rabbits and hopefully she wouldn’t tumble down any hole. Although with this place, she wouldn’t be surprised if the floor was eaten through by termites and she’d crash through any minute now. Broken legs were what she needed to make her life complete.
Two rooms opened and checked. Whole lot of nothing.
Her temper flared.
How dare he just take her stuff? If he was still here, she’d give him a piece of her mind.
Buffy’s hand curled around the third doorknob and she twisted. At the sight within, she drew in a sharp wisp of air. So, he hadn’t left after all.
His face was turned away from her as he lay splayed across the double bed, his nude back slowly expanding as he breathed in repose. At least she thought he was asleep since he hadn’t even moved as she crossed the threshold. He still had his boots and jeans on, curiously enough. And it was probably a good thing the owner of this place couldn’t see the dirt on the soles of his boots staining the creamy lace of the bedding.
He looked kind of… not entirely gross. It was probably due to him not being awake to change her mind and she had to mull over the reason why she came up here in the first place.
Right.
Her bag.
With a sigh of relief she spotted it on the floor right next to the bed. Her heart hammered away with every step and she felt her every muscle coil. She was ready to flee or fight at the slightest hint of any movement, so when the mattress creaked—as loud as a siren in her mind—she held her breath. He turned his head in her direction but his eyes remained closed.
Buffy slowly exhaled and renewed her progress. Just three more steps and… Yes! She crouched down, her eyes flickering between his face and her prized possession on the floor.
Her palms were a bit sweaty as she grasped the bag. She was about to rise to her feet when his hand shot out and closed painfully around her upper arm.
TBC
[Reviews - 426]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 3686 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you for the reviews, lovely people! I have replied to them all! ;) Now on a more somber note, this chapter comes with a warning. There's graphic violence/child abuse. I didn't write it too gory, IMO, and it's important to the story but I had to warn you.
Chapter End Notes:
Hope you're not too disappointed with the mother's identity, but I decided to use the original character since I may use Drusilla in a different way and didn't want to make Joyce such a terrible mother. But hey, I named Buffy's mother Anne since it's Buffy's middle name. It made sense to me. Also, sorry about that cliffhanger. ;)