Waiting For Sunrise

After driving for a while, the man pulled into the parking lot of one of the many churches found in that neighbourhood. Irene peered out hoping to see someone she could reach out to for help, but the parking lot was empty save for a single sporty car. The man grabbed his rifle and got out, walking around to the back door. When the passenger door came open, Irene was again staring down the barrel of a gun. Fear squirmed in her gut like a throng of maggots.

“Get out.”

Without hesitation, Irene got out, raising her hands with the palms out. After she was out, Merle shakily exited. Both girls stared at the ground, no longer able to look at the man or his gun.

"Turn around." Irene turned first. Merle hesitated, but as the man rested his finger on the trigger, she quickly spun about face. There was a soft click and the whisper of cloth. Moments later, a blindfold was placed over Irene's eyes, and another surge of panic trembled through her. She took a deep breath to ground herself. What will happen, will happen.

Both of the girls were sternly led to the other car, and guided into the back seats. There was a smell that Irene recognized and felt an instant pang of nostalgia - the smell of a new car. They hadn't had a new car since Monica was alive. Irene didn't want to conflate such a happy moment with one that was terrifying. How many good things would these people taint?

Slam. The doors were shut. Rustling and the sound of fabric against fabric resounded in their ears. A sawing sound was heard, followed by a distinctive click. Another slam. Jingling. Engine revving. Motion. They were on the move once more.

Irene could feel Merle shivering beside her. Irene let out a sigh and reached out, groping clumsily until she found Merle's hand. She gave it a squeeze, but was too afraid to say anything. Perhaps, that was for the best.

When the car came to another stop, Irene gave Merle's hand another reassuring squeeze, and received one in turn. Irene listened as the front car door opened and shut. Footsteps were heard to Irene's left. She straightened up, pulling away from the door instinctively before it opened, a rush of cool air reaching Irene's arm and cheek. Irene's left arm was roughly grabbed and yanked, pulling her out of the car. She then heard Merle make a defiant noise as she was likely dragged from the back seat as well. Standing side by side, blindfolded, and afraid, the pair could only imagine what fate awaited them. A hand was placed on each of their backs, pushing them forward. Irene walked carefully, feeling the ground before putting her foot down. There was a shift in the air as it became heavier and smelled of dust. Echoes of their footsteps could be heard as they were marched forward.

“Watch your step, we’re going down.” The hands left their backs. Moments later there was a grunt and a loud, angry creak. The man took a hold of Irene’s shoulders, and led her down onto some stairs. “Keep walking,” he instructed. Irene paused, groping around until her hand clasped around something smooth and cylindrical. It was at a declined angle and felt sturdy when Irene gave it a little shove. Clinging onto this banister, she began to descend, with Merle and the kidnapper not far behind.

Irene stopped when she felt a wooden door in front of her. The sensation of the man pressing past her caused her to squish against the wall to give him space. Once he opened the door, Irene felt a burst of warm air reach her cool cheeks. Her nostrils picked up a perfume-like fragrance, mixed with a smoky odor. Irene and Merle were roughly pulled inside. Merle stumbled and fell to her knees, but Irene managed to catch herself. Once steady, Irene lifted her head, relying on her other senses for more clues. Her ears rewarded her with the sound of a familiar voice; a voice that made her blood freeze.

“Who is this other girl?”

“She was with the target. I figured you wouldn’t mind another neck to feed on. I did what you asked me, now I want my reward!” the captor said.

“Gabriel…” Irene muttered.

“Irene… do you know what’s going on?” Merle whispered.

“Ah, so you remember my voice. I’m surprised to see you looking so… healthy,” Gabriel’s voice came. It plagued Irene’s ears, and she felt dirty just hearing him. Her blindfold was whipped off. Within moments her eyes adjusted, staring at Gabriel’s fair but stern face. His features became only more severe in the candlelight, and a halo seemed to gleam from around his golden hair.

“Gabriel…” Irene repeated, her voice spewing disgust.

“I heard you the first time," Gabriel said patronizingly. He grabbed her chin in his bare fingers, forcing her head to turn to either side as he examined her neck. “What was that fool up to?”

“Sire, my reward?” the man repeated. Gabriel glanced past Irene, a look of irritation building into his pale eyes.

“You will get your reward – but not from me! Go talk to Roan. He will give you the immortality that you crave, Matthew,” Gabriel said in a dry tone.

“Matthias! My new name will be Matthias…” the man insisted. Gabriel narrowed his eyes. Without saying a word, Matthew muttered an apology and quickly left. Gabriel walked over and locked the door, then turned back to Irene. Irene had knelt down beside Merle and wrapped her arms around her.

“Did you really think I wouldn't find you?” Gabriel said.

“Irene… what is going on?” Merle asked, her lower lips quivering. Irene held Merle tight, looking up at Gabriel.

“Shush Merle…”

Merle shakily lifted her hands, taking off her blindfold. She peered up at Gabriel’s tall form, her eyes wide and face pale. Gabriel grinned, showing his fangs. Merle let out a shriek and tried to crawl away, but Irene held her tight.

“He’s… he’s… this can’t be real!” Merle exclaimed.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Hm… so you never told your little friend."

Irene glared defiantly up at him. Gabriel was much stronger than her, but it was still daytime. If she could just get out, he could not follow her… but what of Matthew? What if there were others like him, lining up for immortality? It hadn’t occurred to Irene that humans and vampires would work together.

“Leave her out of this,” Irene insisted. Gabriel rubbed his chin in thought, as if he really were considering Irene’s demand.

“Well, she knows about vampires now, so I can’t." Gabriel responded. "Bad luck for your friend, I'm afraid, as she's useless to me."

“Vampires…” Merle made a choking sound, as her face contorted into a grin so large it looked more like a grimace. Hysterical giggling erupted from her mouth. Merle slammed the ground, her body tossed with the throes of laughter. “Vampires…. Vampires… of course… why didn’t I think of that? There are vampires walking the streets!” Merle babbled in between giggles. Irene held her tight and shook her. "It all makes sense now!"

“Get a hold of yourself!” Irene demanded. Irene looked fiercely up into Gabriel’s snowy eyes. Irene rose, gently letting go of the hysterical Merle. “Enough of this! I told you to leave her out of this!”

“You are in no position to make demands,” Gabriel said calmly yet menacingly. “Come, princess.” Gabriel's voice dripped with derision and venom.

“Princess… Irene’s a princess now…” Merle sputtered, laughter still crying in her tone.

Gabriel took Irene firmly by the arm and led her away. She pulled against him, but had as much luck resisting him as she did with Cyrus. He was just too strong. She heard the laughing and muttering of her friend get fainter and fainter as she was pulled away.

The room Irene was led into was empty and colourless. A single, bare light bulb hung from the ceiling. Irene had expected there to be a small square table in the middle with two chairs on either side. However, instead, there were manacles on the wall. Irene shuddered. She did not want to be bound again. Redoubling her effort, she tired to squirm free, but Gabriel's grip was absolute.

Gabriel dragged Irene, despite her trying to plant her heels, to the shackles. Irene felt rage and panic swell up in her chest at being so helpless. There was nothing she could do to prevent this, and it ate at her. Her precautions were just an illusion. She was never safe. All she could do was glare at Gabriel, who remained unaffected. Clink. Clink. The cold metal rubbed and chafed at her wrists. Irene's eyes watered, but she refused to sniff or let a tear fall. Once Irene was secured to the wall, Gabriel bared a large, toothy grin at her, and Irene turned her face away from his putrid, metallic breath.

“Now tell me Irene, how DID you survive?” Gabriel asked, poking her right where her knife wound had been. Irene tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go. Cornered, and still feeling maddening defiance, Irene spat in his face. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at her, calmly taking a handkerchief out from his breast pocket and wiping away the saliva. “I have eternity to get an answer – you don’t.”

“What does it matter?” Irene responded angrily. Gabriel shook his head, clicking his tongue at her.

“Little miss, as cliché as it is, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

“Answer my question,” Irene demanded.

Gabriel let out a low chuckle. He leaned in close to Irene, so all she could see were his pale eyes and sharp fangs. “You don’t seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation."

“You’re right! I don’t appreciate it!” Irene retorted. Gabriel abruptly put his hand around Irene’s fleshy throat, but did not yet apply any pressure. Irene immediately regretted her defiance. Gabriel was not like Cyrus; she could see this in his cold eyes. He was in some other league of cruelty that Cyrus only licked the boots of, and that terrified her.

“I was going to try and keep this civil, but I'm afraid I must remind you that this will go easier on you if you answer my questions, and keep yours to yourself,” Gabriel warned. Irene drew in a deep breath, rolling her eyes up. She still didn't have any memory of how she got there, and only had Cyrus's dubious account of events.

“I was taken home, then to the hospital, and recovered there,” Irene relayed with brevity.

Gabriel released her neck and took a few steps back, smiling almost pleasantly. “There now, that wasn’t so hard… but that doesn’t fully answer my question. How did you survive?”

“I don’t remember,” Irene responded coldly.

“Well perhaps I can refresh your memory,” Gabriel said as he reached up, taking Irene’s hand in his own, then began crushing it. Irene clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, letting out a long, ragged breath. She could feel her bones compressing under the might of his hand, and her knuckles grinding against each other. There was a distinct cracking sound and Irene let out a gasp of pain.

“I don’t remember!” Irene squealed. Gabriel wasn’t satisfied, and began to squeeze even harder. Irene bit her lip to keep herself from screaming. It didn't work. “YOU’D HAVE TO ASK CYRUS!”

“Cyrus?” Gabriel asked, releasing her hand. Irene let out a low groan, and it felt almost as if her hand were expanding and her fingers might tumble out of their sockets. Gabriel looked at her intensely. “Cyrus is still alive?”

“Yes!” Irene snapped. She blinked furiously to get the last of the tears out of her eyes so that she could see clearly once more.

“It seems one of my men has been telling me falsehoods. That will never do,” Gabriel frowned, looking only mildly annoyed on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of menace in his voice. "Though that does explain the mistletoe. The rat has betrayed his own kind's secrets." Gabriel clicked his tongue in disapproval. The tall vampire paced for a while, every once in a while glancing back at Irene. A crooked smile slowly sculpted itself onto his face. Gabriel grabbed a knife out from beneath his long, black coat.

“I told you what I know!” Irene insisted desperately.

“It’s a pity that is all you know. I need to know what makes you so special. Cyrus never wasted his time on anyone unless they were very useful to him. He plays the buffoon, but make no mistake, he has raped and murdered countless victims when he tired of his seduction games. So there must be a reason you're still alive,” Gabriel said as he walked over to her. Irene watched the knife with wide eyes, not having time to react to Gabriel's words as the more imminent fear of that glinting blade presented itself. Gabriel took a hold of one of her crushed fingers while Irene stifled a cry. Pulling one of them, he hacked through it, severing her finger. There was no holding it in, Irene let out a shriek. Tendrils of pain shot down her wrist. Warm wet blood tickled her senses as it trickled down her hand. There was no use in being strong. Irene began sobbing.

Gabriel took out his handkerchief again and wrapped the bloody finger in it. Seeing her finger by itself was surreal. Bile rose up in her throat, but all she managed were dry heaves between sobs.

“Ah yes, this should lure him out,” Gabriel said, satisfied as he clenched the wrapped finger in his hand. He gave her a nonchalant wave as he headed out, leaving Irene to bleed and ponder upon what horrible torment awaited her next. Irene wanted more than anything to just collapse, but the pain was not yet great enough for her brain to shut her down. So instead she waited in bitter agony for the blood loss to do it instead.

If the pain and fear weren't so pervasive, Irene might almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation. But this was no laughing matter. She didn't have the energy left to laugh or cry at that point as she just hung against the shackles, limp and powerless. The punchline to this sordid joke was that Cyrus, loathsome as he was, might be her only hope. As Irene's consciousness began to fade, causing her to nod then jerk awake a few times, she thought to herself what a relief it would be to drift off and never wake up again.