Wither: How She Died
by Quortoth
How She Died
~1991
Tom Locke sat at his kitchen table taking a drink of his drink. A beer. Nothing big, just sitting there after a hard days work. “So you didn’t get the job,” stated Ellen. Ramona’s mother.
“No, I didn’t,” sighed Tom.
She sat down across from him at the kitchen table, she didn’t know how to put this. Ellen played with her hands nervously, “Maybe…you…should, try something else-”
“Are you crazy?” he questioned.
“Maybe, journalism isn’t your thing-”
He was getting slightly worked up, “It’s my job, they just fire me because I don’t speak there mind, I speak mines-”
“Maybe they’re all like that,” she suggested just trying to help her husband, in a way.
“I’m going to do this, I have the drive Honey,” he groaned, “Is this about the kids. I’ll find a job-”
“Don’t be this way, we’re fine.”
“We’re not fine,” he said plainly.
“Yes, we are,” laughed Ellen.
Tom let out a slow breath, he was a very calm man. He looked at his beautiful small wife’s large gray eyes, “You’re scared, I know, doesn’t mean anything. I’m going to get another job, or try to get a second chance with that other one. We have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not scared, about that,” she stated.
“What would you be afraid of?” questioned Tom.
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~1991 [Still, different day though.]
Ramona sat in her bedroom. Her hair was long and wavy going down her shoulders. She was playing with her new dolly that her mom had gotten her a while back. When she was afraid.
Never mind being afraid, doesn’t matter. She loved her dolly, it had red hair like hers. It had a sweet little porcelain face, big gray eyes. A pretty little red dress, made of velvet, and pretty little black shoes.
The little girl, Ramona, put her little dolly down at the tea table. Ramona called it a tea table because that’s where she had her tea parties. Ramona was a normal little girl in her yellow sun dress, mommy was afraid so that’s what she put Ramona in to wear. Normal little girl, never had the tea parties during the day, always at night.
She moved a cup over to a bear at the little wooden table. Then a tea cup was put in front of her dolly on her right side, “Have you read the paper today Mr. Whistler?” - - - “Oh you have?” she took a sip from her cup, “Yes, another killing, hmmm…” - - - “Oh you knew that man?”
The door downstairs was slammed closed. Ramona just went on with normal. Mark always had a thing where he’d slam the doors.
“Really?” giggled Little Ramona.
There was talking downstairs, rushed, but nothing audible. “Want some more Peppermint tea Ellen?” questioned Ramona to her dolly.
Suddenly downstairs there was a scream, that dolly fell out of it’s seat. Ramona looked to the door of the room. It was closed, the big pink door was closed. There was screaming, like a woman being beaten to death.
“What’s that Mr. Whistler?” questioned Ramona in her little voice. She was afraid of what was going to happen, she kept talking with the bear over the screaming, “How many pies did she make?” Ramona stood up and went to pick up her dolly Ellen.
Scream…, “Really, 12,” she picked up the dolly, “That ridiculous.” That little dolly had smashed it’s head on the floor. “Why Ellen, I think I’m going to have to call the hospital for you.”
The screaming didn’t stop for a long moment. Crying in that screaming. Ramona went to her door and opened it, the hall was dark, “MOMMY!!!” The screaming stopped.
Maybe that wasn’t Mark, he never made mommy scream like that, even when he road his bike into the rose bush, backed up and did it again.
No one called back, there was another door slam. Ramona went towards the stairs. She had seen the shadow of who had left, but she didn’t know who. She looked back on her room, she had left the door open and lamp on.
Slowly she went towards the stairs. Everything was quiet, mommy didn’t scream all that often. And it had sounded like mommy was crying.
Ramona went down the stairs towards the living room. She looked around, “Mommy?” There was a broken lamp on the floor, and bloody foot prints.
“MOMMY!!” screamed the little girl. She saw her mommy on the floor in puddle of blood. Her eyes wide open.
The little girl didn’t understand, she knew something was wrong though. Whatever that was. It was bad, bad, bad, bad. “Ramona, help me,” moaned the mother her long wavy red hair covered in the blood from the wound to the skull she had received.
“Mommy!!” screamed Ramona, she went over to her mommy. She didn’t know what to do, “What’s wrong?!” tears were going down the small child’s eyes. She was screaming and crying, she got her little feet in the blood and blood got on her hands as she went to her mommy and hugged her.
Her mother laid out on her back, turned, she couldn’t move. Ramona’s momma looked up at the ceiling, blank. No thoughts of her pleading daughter.
“MOMMY! MOMMY!!” she screamed repeatedly.
Her mommy closed her eyes. Ramona started to hit her chest, “MOMMY wake, up,” hit, like she was angry, like mommy wouldn’t get up in the morning. Tears stung the poor little girls eyes as she hit her, hugging her, “Mommy, wake up!! Why won’t you wake up.”
The little girl just kept letting out yells and screams. Blood getting all over her cute clothes. Her mommy in her small arms.
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~ 2004:
Ramona woke up suddenly. She took in a breath rising up, her jacket draped over her. She was confused, that dream.
Everything came rushing back. She made a noise like someone had hit her or something, like a gasp. She sat there, on that floor.
It was day. The sun came in through the glassless window of that motel room shinning down on her. It was warm feeling against her skin, she was naked.
Ramona looked around, Cillian wasn’t there. She swallowed, closed her eyes tight for a long moment. Her eyes filled with tears realizing that, that she had killed that man. The stalker was dead. How could she kill someone, she’s the slayer. She was wrong.
Slowly she opened her eyes and looked over to where he had laid before that other night. He wasn’t there, that man, the blood. The gun. All of it, wasn’t there.
Ramona stood up slowly seeing her clothes littered nearby. She wiped her face with the palms of her hands. Taking in a deep breath, her tears made her eyes sore.
“Got rid of the body,” Ramona turned around suddenly, Cillian had spoke. She grabbed her jacket putting it over her.
Cillian took a step towards her, he was fully clothed. He smirked, then looked at her seriously as she stood there with that jacket draped around her. “Should I care?” scoffed Ramona not looking him in the eyes.
“Of course,” he stated looking her in the eyes. “I took him to his van, and drove him off a cliff.” He stopped talking for a moment, then spoke, “After I drank him a good deal dryer.” He licked his lips, smirked a little, not in an evil way though, “Clean the floor up, got rid of his weapon.”
She cringed slightly from hearing him say the drinking part. Ramona skimmed the floor, seeing her clothes, all of them. Cillian stepped towards her, She backed up one step looking only at his throat, like it was his eyes. “I could put my mind in the dirtier places of this situation, but I have morals.”
Ramona looked at his eyes for once. He continued after a pausing moment, “I’m not a confused individual like you.” Pause. “I’m a very old man, don’t think I haven’t had some situations like this before.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” growled Ramona, “You sleep with slayers?”
“Never a woman quite endowed like you along those lines,” she shook his head, smirking a little. “I’m definitely going to kill you.” She looked at him for a long moment. “Don’t think I wouldn’t battle you right here in the nude, I would.
He stepped towards her, towering over her, looking down, “I would never kill something beautiful like you though.”
Ramona suddenly punched him in the face and he fell backwards hitting the floor hard. She started grabbing her clothes up quickly. Cillian stood back up, “Use that against me?!” he laughed.
“Shut up,” she demanded harshly, “I don’t care about the body, I don’t care about this. We are enemies, so I’m leaving, right now. Okay. And you come to my house, you attack anyone in my family, you come near me, I’ll kill you.”
“Lovely threat,” he stated, checked his nose, looked a this hand, no blood. “Oh, and don’t think I live here.”
She looked at him angrily, “Doesn’t matter.”
He sat down in the corner of the room, looking at her. Cillian folded his arms out in front of him. Ramona just looked at him, she had to put her clothes on. She didn’t like standing there with nothing but a jacket to keep her descent around him.
Cillian smiled slightly, knowing why she wasn’t getting dressed, “Would you rather get dressed in front of me, when I’ve seen-felt, everything there, or the homeless druggies that live through out this small complex, out that door?”
Ramona looked at him just disgustedly.
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Tom sat at the couch in the living room. Waiting for his daughter, he knew she hadn’t come home yet. He heard the door open. Quickly he went to the door.
Ramona closed it behind her. He got in front of her, “Where the hell have you been?!”
She looked at him, “Nowhere.”
“Nowhere?!” demanded her father, clearly outraged, “Nowhere, really? How can you be in nowhere if nowhere doesn’t exist?! I know you were out all night!”
“Don’t blow up, okay,” stated Ramona walking past him.
He grabbed her arm, “Don’t walk away from me.” Ramona looked him in the eyes seriously, dead in them. “Your brother is in the hospital, you were part of wreck in front of our house. There was that man-”
“He has nothing to do with me,” she said aggressively.
“Came here months ago trying to kill you. I saw the fight, what’s going on?” demanded her father, “Where were you?” She didn’t answer for a moment, he spoke again: “I don’t second guess me, don’t think I’m blind to what you’re doing.”
Ramona looked down. She said the only thing, did the only thing she could think to do. Suddenly she pulled her arm away from him inhumanly, “Those dreams were real.”
Tom just looked at her wide eyed, “What do they have to do with this?”
“I wasn’t crazy,” Ramona said firmly, “I was scared.”
“Why am I supposed to believe that the dreams are making you stay out late. I don’t believe that-” she cut him off.
“There’s bad things in this world, I have to protect good against those bad things.” She didn’t know what would happen, tears in her eyes because she didn’t know.
Tom just looked down at his daughter. Ramona backed up away from him, then she turned to the stairs and ran up them. He heard her close the door to her room. Lock the door.
After a long moment, he went to the phone. He dialed in a number. The other line rang for a moment.
Someone picked up, Tom spoke, “May I speak to Dr. Wallace?”
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Ramona stepped back from her door, looking in the large mirror on the wall on her left. She watched herself sit down on her purple quilt on her bed. Slowly she slid her boots off pulled off her jacket.
She looked down sadly, her head turned to the side. Saw her hands. Killer’s hands.
It went through her head, over and over again. She could hear the gun going off into the stalker’s gut. Death for him.
Ramona laid back. She laid on her pillows looking at the mirror. The gun going off inside her head.
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~ 1991
It was raining that day. In the Cemetery. A crowd surrounded Ellen Locke’s open grave.
The casket lay over the hole with flowers on top. It was almost time to lower it. A minister was close to the grave. He was going to begin his talking.
Everyone had their umbrellas. Ramona was standing next to her brother Mark under theirs. She held that broken faced doll in her arms, not crying. Just looking straight forward.
She wasn’t looking at the grave she wasn’t looking at anything. Looking at a nothingness. A little child, this child had been traumatized, and that’s why she was right there.
Little Ramona understood death. Mark understood death. Where was Tom?
He stepped forward, falling on his knees as that minister spoke. He spoke about Tom‘s wife, the nice things. Ellen was a nice woman, everything about her was nice.
Ellen was sweet. She tried to help people, she was the poster mom for- great mom. Everyone there wished that she could have stayed with them longer.
Tom let the rain fall on him as he stood on his knees before the grave. He didn’t cry, he looked up at the sky. The rain dripping into his eyes.
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~ Night:
Ramona looked down at her mother’s tombstone, she knelt there, like her father had. Slowly she put that broken faced doll down by the tombstone. It’s red hair was still silky and long. The face had never been fixed sadly enough.
She sat back on her heels folding her arms together, “I miss you.”
There wouldn’t be a reply. Ramona hadn’t come to this grave since it was placed. But she remembered exactly where is was. Ramona closed her eyes slowly, looking from the name.
Ramona could hear everything around her, the wind, the grass and tree leaves moving with it. The wind like a voice, it was soft. Ramona didn’t know what had happened, children block things out for a reason. She opened her eyes, “Who killed you?”
“That’s an awfully big question,” stated that voice, not the wind.
Ramona looked to the side of her but the voice was behind her, “ Cillian.”
He stood right behind her, “I thought you would catch me here,” he stuck his hands in his pockets, “No use for sneakiness.”
“Following me?” questioned Ramona.
“Not really following,” he stated.
Ramona stood up, “How would it not be following?” she sounded like she was annoyed with him.
“Kind of around already.”
“You knew I’d be here, you followed me,” hissed Ramona.
“As far as you know, I live around these parts,” hissed Cillian standing over her, he looked to the grave stone, after a moment looked back to her. “I have no reason to follow you, unless torment counts.”
“Torment,” sighed Ramona.
He didn‘t speak for a moment, the spoke: “Tell me, was your mother as beautiful as you?”
Ramona stepped back from him, looking at him disgustedly, “Don’t talk about her.”
Cillian sat down on his knees slowly leaning back on the heels of his boots, looking up at her, “I don’t mean any harm.”
“You are harm,” she growled nastily.
“So happy you think I’m like that.”
“Didn’t I tell you I’d kill you?” growled Ramona.
“But the question is, would you? We fight, fight all the time,” he cocked his head to the side, “But would it lead to fighting in the end.”
“No, death,” she stated in a matter of fact kind of way.
“Yours or mines?” He asked, his eyes bright, “Truly, that’s a quite interesting subject.”
“Nothing is interesting about it,” she growled.
“Oh, quite the contrary Lady Red. I vote that I’d win, I’ve killed lots-”
“I’ve killed lots of vamps,” she contradicted.
“But how many people.” Ramona’s face changed, she thought about that moment when she shot that man. “When you kill you need to be ruthless. Especially if you’ve had some kind of connection with that person.”
“You’re not a person-”
“The old Tale,” he said coldly. He watched her, being a being that watches, pays attention to the way one acts he saw that she was hurt thinking about that man, “You do know, that was an accident?” Ramona just looked at him coldly.
Cillian laughed. Ramona went to kick him across the face. He grabbed her leg with ease and pulled her down to him. Inhumanly fast, he had her right in front of him, almost in his lap, his hands around her waist. Ramona quickly slammed her hands on his chest.
“Don’t fight with anger, that’ll just make you loose,” he stated, “Fight because-”
“I don’t need to know why,” she aggressively holding her hands firmly against his chest.
“Anger won’t get you anywhere,” he said nicely.
Ramona scoffed at him, “Don’t say it like you’re sweet.”
“I’m not,” he clarified, “But I pity a girl that kneels over an empty grave in the middle of the night thinking it’s her gone away mother.”
“What?” she ached. What did that mean?
He backed up from her standing up. Cillian pulled her up onto her feet, held her shoulders, “Death has sent. Bones they have the sent of blood on them, I can smell blood even through the ground, through even a steel coffin.” Cillian pointed to the ground, “That one down there, is empty.”
“You’re lying,” she hissed pushing his hands off of her.
“No, she’s not there,” stated Cillian pulling away from her. Ramona stood there, looking towards the ground in a state of horror, he backed up from her, “I bet I have brought up quite a racking question in your head Lady Red. Good night,” he waved.
She watched him walk away, he had left like a gentleman. “You’re lying,” she said.
He didn’t reply. He was going. Ramona turned towards the grave, looked down on it. Nothing in there, why? Should she believe him? Where would she be, what’s going on?
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~ Day:
“We need to go about this safely Mr. Locke. Of course I‘m not saying that it could get violent,” stated Dr. Wallace sitting on the couch in the living room with a cup of coffee in hand.
Tom just stood there with the coffee pot spaced out it seemed. “Mr. Locke?”
“Um…Sorry, just thinking,” he said coming back to planet earth.
“It seems these will become trying times. You told me she’s starting to believe that those dreams were real, that she believes she’s been chosen to fight the side of good,” clarified the Doctor.
“I think that’s it, it sounded like that when we were talking,” Tom didn’t speak for a moment, “I think she’s depressed.”
“Well wouldn’t you be if you had the weight of the world on your shoulders?” he questioned, Tom put the coffee pot forward a little, “No thank you, I have some already.”
“Sorry,” sighed Tom he took the coffee pot with him out of the room and was right back, he sat down in a chair across from the doctor.
The Doctor put his coffee cup down on a coaster on the new coffee table. “You said that she’s been staying out at night to all, anything of ridiculous hours?”
“Yeah,” sighed tom looking at the coffee table, “I think…What if she’s been, trying to save the world. Trying to fight evil…” Long pause…“What if she hurts someone.”
“I think we would have heard about it by now,” assured Dr. Wallace.
The front door of the house started to sound like someone was unlocking it from the outside. The door opened. Ramona walked in. Tom stood up, “Ramona.”
She looked over to them putting down her book bag from school, she quickly saw Dr. Wallace, gave him a deadly look and looked back to Tom, they were all quiet.
“What is this?” she asked.
“I was just talking with your father,” stated the Doctor standing up from the couch, “Having a check up.”
“Liar. I know what this is,” she looked to Tom quickly, “I’m not crazy, I’ve…I’ve…I’ve just got things.”
“What things?” demanded Tom.
“Job,” she said quickly, didn’t want to say to much.
“Do you believe you’ve been placed on this earth to save it?” questioned Dr. Wallace.
Ramona looked at him for a long moment. Tom put his hand on his forehead stressed, “Oh my god, you do.”
“No. I just can’t explain it-”
“Calm down Ramona,” stated Dr. Wallace in that voice that a psychiatrist would use, in the kind of voice that was supposed to make you not feel like you’re crazy but it was kind of telling you that you were.
Tom stepped towards Ramona, “You stay away from me!” she said backing up a step, “I thought I could trust you.”
“You call what we have trust Ramona? You don’t tell me anything, you stay out at night- I don’t know anything about you!!” replied Tom.
“Mr. Locke,” said Dr. Wallace, “This isn’t the way to go about this.”
“Yeah, it’s not,” Ramona sneered distastefully looking from her dad to the doctor, “We haven’t called in the interns to pack me away in a straight jacket and put drugs in me yet!!”
“You’re not crazy,” Dr. Wallace spoke trying to calm her down.
“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM!!” yelled Ramona, she calmed down quickly, “I’m not crazy, I’m not anything, I’m just fine. I’m normal, there’s nothing wrong with me!”
“What about Leo Fisher?” growled Tom quickly.
“Friend,” hissed Ramona her eyes dodging to her father.
Tom turned towards the doctor, “That man’s probably encouraging this behavior.”
“He’s not,” pleaded Ramona, “Katie’s my friend, he’s my friend, I hang out Dad.”
Her father looked at her, she usually doesn’t call him Dad without good reason. Ramona looked from the Doctor to her father, “I don’t need to take this,” she spoke quickly. She went to the opened doorway.
Tom turned towards Dr. Wallace, “Was bringing you here wrong?”
“No, it could be the best thing for her.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
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~ 1991:
Ellen was making dinner for her children. Tom was out at work not doubt. Mark and Ramona were sitting at the kitchen table. Ramona’s feet hit the bottom of the chair as they swung back and forth. She stroked the hair on the doll.
The room was quiet. Except for those little feet in their shoes hitting the bottom in the chair. Ellen heard something in the bushes outside the kitchen window move. She stopped what she was doing. Ramona still hit her feet on the chair.
Mark was reading a book sitting there. Didn’t hear it. Ellen looked out the window. Night outside. Something moved again then it was all quiet again. Ellen looked to the back door.
She went over to it to make sure that it was locked. It was just like every door in the house. She backed up and looked back out the window. It seemed the feet hitting the chair got louder. Like the sound of a clock ticking.
Nothing in the bushes were moving, “Ramona, stop that!” she said firmly. The girl suddenly stopped looking at her mommy wide eyed.
Ellen swallowed. “Sorry momma,” she said, Mark looked at Ramona.
She looked from Ramona back to the window. Then closed the blinds. Ellen went to Ramona, she got down on her knees, “Baby, do you know that I love you guys?”
Ramona shook her head yes. Mark looked at his mom. Ellen looked at him, “Do you know?”
“Yeah,” he sighed.
“I want you guys to allows remember that I love you. Both of you, the same, just the same, but as much as I can love anything,” she said, she stroked Ramona’s back, “You’re my girl, and you’re my boy. Whatever happens you have to know it’s not your fault.”
“What’s going to happen?” questioned Mark suspiciously.
“I don’t know honey,” she sighed putting her hand on his, on the table, “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Do you love Daddy?” asked Ramona.
“Yeah, I love Daddy, and I’ll tell him when he gets home,” she smiled.
“Do you love Ellen?” asked Ramona showing Ellen her dolly that her mommy had given her. With it’s red hair, gray eyes.
“Of course, I love Ellen too,” smiled Ellen.
Ramona hugged her dolly, “I love you too.”
Mark looked at the window suspiciously at the blinds, “What’s going to happen Mom?”
“Nothing,” smiled Ellen, she stood up, “We’re going to have a lovely dinner and I’ll tuck you in. And we’ll be a happy family, nothing is going to happen.”
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~Night:
Cillian was spending his time under ground. He had finished his time above ground for the night. He was arm wrestling demons. A big blue scaly one was putting him to the test.
“Can’t beat me,” growled the demon, wincing, edging on.
He’s Scottish opponent was keeping him on his toes, “I beat the Phyarl demon, didn’t I?”
Cillian’s face changed from the strain and he threw down the demon’s hand, his face turned back. Cillian started laughing. His arm ached, he wouldn’t let that demon know though. Cillian could keep them coming.
The demons started paying their money from the bets over to Cillian. He pocketed the money then turned to one of the guys.
“Dude, I’m good for the money,” pleaded the vamp.
Cillian looked at his lady friend, “No, I take her.” He licked his lips and the scared young woman pulled back.
The demon considered it and pushed her towards him. Cillian grabbed her by the hair and slammed her down towards the table. His face changed suddenly and quickly her put his fangs to her throat. The wound was made.
His face turned back as he drank ravenously from the screaming woman’s throat. After a long moment of the warm blood rushing down his throat he pulled away and almost fell back laughing, feeling the heat of the drink. He loved it.
“I love this life,” he growled his hair dangling down around his face, he wiped the blood off his mouth with his sleeve of his coat. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes and pushed the dead body off the table, “Who’s next?!!”
Suddenly he stood up straighter. Sniffed the air. He turned towards the backdoor entrance. Sniffed the air again as he did so.
Ramona stood there, they made eye contact. Cillian stood up. He finished his drink and went towards her. The demons around didn’t acknowledge her. They hardly ever do in these kind of settlements.
He pushed his long hair out of his eyes again going towards her, “I’m done for the night.”
Cillian walked towards her in his black suite pants, button up black shirt and his black suede jacket that he’d gotten back. She stood there, looking up at him. They didn’t say anything, “How about we head outside,” suggested Cillian, “If that’s what you want.”
Ramona backed up and went out the door. Cillian caught the door and went out of it. Ramona stood back against the alley wall. She looked up at him.
“What do you want, the epic bat-tle…..” battle was drawn out.
She slid down the back wall crying. She sat on the ground of the alley her knees up to her chest. Tears going down her cheeks. He could only looked at her confused.
Ramona wiped at her face, sobbing in her hands. Cillian just stood there for a long moment, watching her. Why, why, was she crying?
No one else was around. “Why are you doing this?” he questioned. “What’s wrong with you?” he wasn’t mean about it, but then again was.
Cillian went down on his knees in front of her, “What’s wrong?” He put his hands firmly on her shoulders, she opened her eyes. He was looking at her like she was a poor helpless creature. Like someone he’d been torturing and that’s why she was crying but this wasn‘t fun to him.
He just looked at her for a long moment, “I’m…not…crazy,” she whispered through sobs.
Slowly he stroked her cheek. It was wet, his skin was warm from that woman. Ramona touched his hand, held it. He brought her to him and let her lay her head against his chest. She closed her eyes tightly while he stroked her hair.
Cillian looked straight forward stroking her hair. Blinking every now and again. He doesn’t have a soul, can’t feel this, really can’t feel it. But can feel it, he closed his eyes tightly.
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Fisher was going to close up his offices for the night. It wasn’t too late. Business wasn’t good. Just a regular day in the insurance building that wasn‘t the point of anyone‘s life. Anyone‘s at all, they didn‘t pay him money etc. to trust him with their families’ benefits. Sad, sad days.
He got up to go towards the door and lock up. Someone came in. The bell over the door ringing, “Hello, how may-” he stopped himself, “Hello…Mr. Locke.”
Tom looked around the room. Looked at Fisher distastefully. “Can I help you?” continued Fisher.
Mr. Locke saw the occult books on the shelves, not many, but he saw them quickly, “You believe in the occult Mr. Fisher?”
“Believe, yes. Worship, use it, no, I’m afraid not,” stated Fisher.
“You did this to my daughter,” growled Tom.
“What have I been doing to your daughter?” questioned Fisher, “We’re friends, I help her with homework, stuff along those lines. She makes a good cup of coffee-”
“Shut your mouth,” hissed Mr. Locke.
“I believe you’re over reacting,” said Fisher, in his cool, calm voice.
“No I’m not,” scoffed Tom.
Fisher examined Tom’s stature, the way he was standing, the way he was blinking, talking, “Are you drunk?”
Suddenly Tom threw a punch at Fisher. He hit him in the face. Fisher went backwards against his desk knocking some knick knacks over. Fisher ducked the next blow. Tom picked up a pen off of Fisher’s desk and tried to stab Fisher. Fisher caught his hand and took the pen from Tom’s hand.
He threw down the pen, “I’m sorry,” spoke Fisher. He was going to defend himself.
Fisher kicked Tom in the grown and punched him in the face. He kicked him back. Tom went down on the ground and he drunkenly rolled back up onto his feet. He went to punched Fisher. Fisher blocked the blow and kneed him in the face. Tom went back into one of the Lobby chairs, the chair flipped back.
“I wouldn’t fight me,” assured Fisher, “Whatever your problem is-”
Tom had rolled back up onto his feet and thrown a chair at him. Fisher ducked the chair. Tom was faster then the average drunk. He grabbed a lamp and hit Fisher over the head with it. Fisher went down on the ground, a gash in his face, in his brow.
Fisher rolled onto his back moaning in pain. Tom started punching him in the face. Blood got on Tom’s hands as he beat into Fisher’s face. After awhile the poor man on the floor didn’t make noises.
Tom was breathing hard, he pulled back after a moment. He had tired himself out. Fisher was out. Dead? Unconscious? Blood on his face, his white shirt. He laid out on the floor, not doing anything.
Tom looked around at the room. He backed out of the front door of the office building realizing what he’d done.
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“FISHER!!” said Ramona quickly, hours later.
She saw him laying out on the floor. Quickly she went to his aid. Blood, blood, he looked badly injured.
He didn’t reply. Her heart was racing, Ramona started smacking him in the face. Her hair dangling down in his blood. “Fisher, wake up!” she said quickly.
She grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. That thumping was there. “Fisher wake up!” she wasn’t crying, just very alert, very scared. She didn’t want to cry, but if he had been dead she would have. It’s sad to loose friends.
“Hey, Hey,” said Fisher at first a moan, then louder, because the hitting him awake idea got painful.
“Fisher, you’re awake,” she said backing off.
“Yeah, I know it,” stated Fisher, “Owe.”
“Who did this?” demanded Ramona.
Fisher sat up wiping the blood off of his face. Ramona stood up and went over to the counter where the coffee maker was. She grabbed the paper towels and brought them over to him, quickly, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No, no, no, I don’t think so,” he stated, “Might need illegal drugs.” He was thinking right, or, sane.
“Who did this?” she asked, her heart still not back to normal from the worry.
“Who?” he questioned, taking paper towels he answered, “Your father.”
“What, why?” Ramona watched him confused, wanted the answer quickly, “Why?” she clarified, didn’t need to be any clearer though.
“Cause,” he wiped his face, his voice a little muffled from the paper towels, “Because he thinks I did something to you.”
“I knew he’d do this, I knew it,” she sighed.
“He was drunk, too,” stated Fisher as trying to stand up.
Ramona helped him up, “He’s never gotten drunk,” she said nicely.
“Well he sure fooled me,” answered Fisher, He felt his head throbbing, “Ah, my head.”
“Go home, he can’t find you there,” she suggested, only wanted him safe at that moment.
“Or the hospital,” he said quickly. Ramona went to walk away from him. Fisher grabbed her arm, “If he doesn’t get drunk, why would he now?”
She blinked, “He, thinks, I’m crazy and that it’s your fault obviously.”
“You tried to tell him?” he asked, very concerned outside of his own head injury.
“No, I said stuff. Not trying to tell him- I don’t have time to talk about this, I have to go to him before he does something really bad, or something,” stated Ramona pulling away from him and going to the door.
“Don’t let him get the best of you,” answered Fisher quickly as the door closed.
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Tom stood in his kitchen. The lights were out, all in the house. Tom was washing the blood off his hands from Fisher’s face. He turned off the water when there was a knock at the front door.
His vision was still dazed from the drink. He grabbed a kitchen towel and started wiping his hands off. He went in through the dinning room, through the living room and opened the front door.
“Hello, Mr. Locke,” replied Cillian standing there. Tom backed up from the door dropping the kitchen towel. Cillian smiled, looking at the doorway and Tom backed up, “Lets see if this still works.”
Cillian stepped forward and into the house, he took off his coat and hung it up. Right by the door like he lived there. Tom stood up, the dizziness not helping.
“What do you want?!” demanded Tom.
“You’re daughter isn’t crazy,” stated Cillian, “You’re just in denial of the truth.” He took in a big whiffed of the air, looked towards the living room. He walked past Tom.
“Get out of my house!!” slurred Tom walking towards him holding onto the stairs.
“Make me,” stated Cillian stepping into the living room not really caring what Tom said. He sniffed the air in looked down at the carpet. Tom came up behind him. Cillian grabbed his arm as it came at him. He broke it.
Tom yelled in pain as his limb had been twisted behind his back. He felt nauseous and was twisted around to face the door and tossed at it. “Close the door for me Tommy.” Tom caught himself.
He went back to what he was doing. Cillian started pushing around furniture. Couch, coffee table. Tom stood back up cradling his arm, he closed the door just like Cillian wanted.
“A house this old, they weren’t created with carpet. And white carpet, wow,” Cillian spoke pulling out a knife from his pant pocket. The blade came out.
“What are you doing?” growled Tom, his hand slowly moved for the baseball bat next to the umbrella stand.
Cillian took in another whiff of the room and knelt down at a certain part. He took the knife and started cutting the rug. He cut a great deal of it quickly.
Suddenly Cillian threw the knife into Tom’s wrist, “-And so hard to keep clean.” Tom yelled in pain slammed down on the floor, dropped the bat. He held his wrist, wincing and hissing in pain. Cillian pulled up the piece of rug, “Bingo.”
“Why are you doing this?” questioned Tom, wincing more.
The wood was stained with blood, “You do know, bleach would have gotten this out a long time ago.” Tom was crying remembering his wife.
Cillian sat on his knees and put his face down an inch away from the wooden floor. Taking in a deep breath. Becoming intoxicated with that smell from the old, once existent puddle. “Why?” sobbed Tom.
Cillian was down against that floor on all fours, sniffing in deep his hair dangling down off his shoulders, he smiled looking up at Tom, “Didn’t want more reminders.”
Quickly Cillian stood up walking over to Tom. He grabbed his arm inhumanly fast and pulled out the knife. Cillian smiled at Tom, Tom’s eyes were glassy from tears and pain. The man yelling in pain the same. Tom watched Cillian lick the blade clean. Put the knife away.
Suddenly Cillian grabbed him by the broken arm and picked him up off the ground. Cillian pulled him into the dinning room and into the kitchen. In the kitchen was the door to the basement. He took in another deep breath, his eyes closed. He opened them quickly and opened up the basement door.
Tom was thrown down the stairs. He hit his head on the floor coughing.
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~ 1991
Ellen stood in the hall watching her daughter play with her doll. Playing the tea party scene. She went down the hall. Went down the stairs.
The back door of the house was slammed shut. Ellen stopped in the living room, closed her eyes. Slowly took in a breath. Someone put down a glass bottle in the kitchen.
She heard them walk towards her, “Tom, good evening,” she smiled.
“Don’t good evening me,” he growled, he was drunk.
“What’s wrong?” asked Ellen going to go past him into the kitchen, “I’ll get you some dinner.”
“What’s wrong,” he grabbed her by the wrist, “You,” he spat. “You and you’re men.”
“What do you mean?”
“The men, they’re here all the time, I hear you talk to them!” roared Tom, “I watched the come in here. Saw you and them from the bushes last night!”
“You’re drunk, just calm down,” answered Ellen, keeping her own cool, using her sweet voice. It wasn‘t ignorant sweet though.
“How am I supposed to calm down?” slurred Tom, “When your banging, every man on the….stree…street.”
“Stop this,” replied Ellen.
“You told him that you loved him, I saw you do it,” growled Tom going forward a little.
“I don’t talk to anyone Tom,” she explained. She then spoke of an almost different subject, “Did you loose your job?”
“Liar.”
“I tell our children that I love them, I tell you. I don’t talk to other men, I don’t tell them anything-”
“Lies, you’ve always had trouble lying,” spat Tom.
“I’m going to get you dinner and we’re going to have a good evening,” Ellen went towards the kitchen.
Tom grabbed her and pushed her against the wall, “You whore.”
“Don’t do this, they’re home, Ramona and Mark-”
Tom hit her in the face. The small woman went down on the floor. Tom had tears going down his face, “I don’t understand why you have to tell lies, you always tell lies.”
“You have a drinking problem Tom!” she almost screamed.
“SHUT UP!!!” he roared, watching the tears going down his small wives’ cheeks.
“Stop Tom,” she stated.
Tom grabbed her by the hair, “Why do you have to be like this!?”
“STOP!!” screamed Ellen.
Tom threw her down in the middle of the living room. He started a drunken rage thing. Hitting her, kicking her. Ellen was being bloodied up.
All Tom could think about was her, and the other men. Other men that weren’t ever around, didn’t even exist. He didn’t think of how much he loved her. Didn’t think of how much he loved his children and he just hit her in the head with a lamp.
He heard the crash, the scream and he pulled away. There was blood he couldn’t take looking at it. He backed away. The shards of lamp were on the floor. She was still moving.
Tom didn’t know what to think. Everything was confusing. He had tears on his face. She didn’t move for a long moment he put his hand on her face, “Ellen, what’s going on?” he sobbed.
Blood on his hand. He pulled away looking at it. Tom stepped away, got away from her and went towards the kitchen.
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~ 2004:
Cillian walked down the stairs towards Tom, “Then what did you do?”
“I didn’t…do…anything,” coughed Tom.
“Liar!!” roared Cillian, he laughed, this all didn’t matter, but it did. “You’ve got a woman buried in your floor!”
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~ 1991:
Blood on his hands Tom grabbed his sledgehammer and started beating in the floor of the basement He started beating and pulling up concrete. He hit and hit to create a hole.
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~ 2004:
Cillian slammed down the sledge hammer and hit the concrete. He went at it again, “Stop,” said Tom.
“Show you,” threw down the sledgehammer, “Your mistakes.”
He threw down the thing, over and over. Quickly the sledgehammer had broken from his vampiric strength. He grabbed Tom and pulled him over to where he’d been hitting. Cillian started using his fist to open the concrete, it hurt, but he‘d heal, no big. He found a layer of dirt and started uncovering it.
There was a wooden box in the dirt. Tom was thrown down on the top of the wooden box. Cillian smiled at him, “You hurt Ramona, hurt your wife. Blistered your family, why?”
“I did wrong,” sobbed Tom.
“Yes you did,” he cocked his head to the side, “I take it, it was the drinking mate.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Too Late,” laughed Cillian, not for the death of Ellen. He thought Tom’s pleas were funny, the man reeked of fear.
Cillian’s face vamped out. Tom looked at him terrified, already in shock from knowing, right under him was the body of his decomposed wife.
“Be scared,” stated Cillian, he held Tom by the shoulders. “You’re daughter isn’t crazy. I, am, proof. I am a phantom, I am wrong. I will be here when you are dead, while your corpse decides to Wither.”
He bit into Tom’s throat. Tom yelled in pain as Cillian drunk in his blood.
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Ramona ran down the street, she was going to catch up with her father. She wasn’t going to let him do anything he’d regret more. Fisher, he could regret hurting him, maybe not.
She ran down her street. Ramona ran to the door and opened it quickly. The door swung back, “DAD!!”
He wasn’t anywhere in site. She saw blood on the floor leading to the dinning room, to the kitchen. Saw the rug pulled up in the living room. The blood stain. “Dad,” she sighed scared, worried for him.
Ramona ran into the kitchen and to the basement door. She leapt down the stairs. Stood there…, “Dad.”
Cillian stood up dropping her dead father on the floor. Over the box, the closed box. His face turned back.
Ramona blinked, looking at the box, Cillian’s bloody fists, “What?”
He stepped up to her, looking down into her eyes. Ramona started crying, confused of what was going on. “What’s going on?!” she screamed.
“Don’t you see?” questioned Cillian.
“You killed him,” she sobbed, she hit him in the chest, hit him again, “You did it!” she started yelling at him. “YOU KILLED HIM, YOU!! You did this!!” she hit him in the chest. “YOU KILLED HIM!!!!”
Cillian grabbed her wrists and held them. She stopped trying to pull away after a moment. Ramona put her head on his chest crying, “HE’S DEAD!!” She sobbed over and over again. Her sobs got deeper, “Why, why, why?”
“He killed her,” said Cillian.
Ramona pushed him off of her and went over to her dad, “Daddy!!” She felt for his pulse, he wasn’t awake, he was already getting cold. She pushed him out of the way seeing just a three feet amount of the box. Tears rolling down her cheeks.
She pulled at the top of the box and pulled it off. Ramona let out a scream putting her hands over her mouth, almost slapping herself in the face. Cillian crawled over to her.
Ramona pulled her hands away and dug her hands in the dirt and wood. She was screaming. Cillian put his hand over her mouth, “Shh…” he said in her ear.
He pulled her against him. Holding his arms around her. She didn’t scream anymore about seeing inside the box. She took in deep breaths, gasps. Cillian held her to him.
Cillian stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. She didn’t talk for a long, long moment. Leaning against him. Couldn’t stop staring into that box.
“How?” she asked, deep in her sobbing breaths.
He whispered in her ear, “Two and two together Lady Red.” Pause, “You’re house smelled like blood.” Cillian kissed the side of her head, rested his chin on her shoulder, “The husband usually does it.”
She let herself go against him. Her father, and her mother dead. Because of each other kind of. Cillian stroked her hair, held her tight. Tears rained down her face, she felt cold, scared. His skin was warm.
Ramona closed her eyes, she wasn’t alone with Cillian…
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