Author’s note: If you recognize the first scene of the first act, but can’t place it - don’t worry, it’s mine, so it’s not plagiarism. It’s a subtle tie-in and some funky foreshadowing. That is all.
Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 1
The silence shrieked in her ears, unending, maddening, drowning in sorrow. She had done this to herself, there was only one way to solve it, to save them; to face it.
There was no sideways motion here, no escaping, no hope. Just moving forward, terror but especially sorrow pulling at her, squeezing her heart and holding her back, but she strode forward regardless. Her footsteps, sounding small and weak to her ears, marked each step; slower and more cowardly than she had intended. She could feel her breath in her throat, fearful and shallow, her nimble fingers trembled as she made weak fists. It was somewhere ahead. Somewhere at the end of the long corridor.
The dim light from each doorway cast alternating patterns of light and dark across her path. She shuddered, again seeing its eyes as she looked down at it, in unrestrained anguish and pleading.
“Save me,” it had begged, she had begged. But fear had overridden her then, she had given in to it; she had run. She had sent the thing she loved to a hell worse than any conceivable. Now it was back. No. Now she was back, killing, laughing, knowing she would come for her. And so she did.
Hanna walked down the hallway, towards her fear. The walk stretched time into forever. Her building terror, her quivering breath and clammy palms the only indication she was approaching her destination. She had tried to come to terms with her own death; that nauseatingly unnatural conclusion which gnawed at her insides with each step. In the stale, cold air of this ungodly corridor, she had tried to rationalize it to herself. This was her fault, and if she died - no, when she died, she might be able to stand the thought of herself again.
It was only her body which she had failed to convince. As far as it was concerned, she should be running as hard and fast away from this place as possible, or at the very least finding a high place from which to fling herself. But not this. Anything but this– this living hell of indescribable agony to which she was headed.
Before her body could quite find the motive to end itself then and there, she had arrived. The bleak white door opened without a sound and the light of a bloody sunset illuminated the room in shades of scarlet and sickly orange.
The still figure standing by the window said nothing as Hanna approached, her stomach quivering, no longer breathing at all. She gripped the hem of her shirt to keep her hands from trembling.
This was the epitome of horror. With a now furiously trembling hand, she reached out, a slight whimper escaping her. Before she could touch the shoulder, the figure turned, its mutilated, bloodied face the parody-maker of all death Hanna had ever imagined.
“Daughter,” the corpse of Rachel mouthed.
Hanna awoke covered in cold sweat, breathing hard in the darkness. She could not recall any nightmare more terrifying. She gripped the edge of the covers, her knuckles white. With wide eyes she stared into the darkness, for several seconds after awakening fearing she would see a figure standing at the end of her bed.
But no one was there.
Logan kissed two fingers and touched Hanna’s forehead before she hurried out the door, looking a little more tired this morning than usual — then again, she had just found out her boyfriend was raised by an evil demon. Ex-boyfriend.
“Bye, honey,” he called after her as the door closed. With a satisfied smile, he tossed the folded newspaper in the bin by the door and reached for his khaki jacket. Old Reliable. Logan’s jacket hadn’t had nearly the ride Niki’s leather jacket had, but it had endured a lot and Logan loved it. He draped it over his forearm and started out the door, glancing back to the kitchen and the brooding Rachel with her coffee. Logan’s satisfied smile disappeared. Bye, honey he mouthed.
Logan loved the feeling of heading off to work. A week ago he had succeeded in finding a firm that would take him. He was back on track. And back in an office. But what a commute.
Closing the door behind him, Logan started across the lawn for the car. Like his jacket, the little brown car had endured a lot. Half of the parts on it were being held together by mystical forces Logan couldn’t even spell. Isis was holding the tailpipe on... By Zeus, he had unclogged the fuel lines last week.
As he got in, his eyes glanced into the rearview mirror and he paused. There was a man, sitting in a car which was idling on the curb across the street. Logan couldn’t really see the man, or the make of the car, but the fact that the man was looking intently at Logan caught his attention.
With a troubled frown, Logan shut the driver’s door and started the car, backing out of the driveway he kept looking in the mirror, but he was at the turn before he could see anything definitive. About twenty minutes down Sunrise Highway, he thought to look behind him again, but with the morning traffic, he couldn’t tell if he was being followed.
This small thing distracted Logan for the rest of the day. On its own, Logan wouldn’t worry about an incident of someone following him. He could handle himself. He was confident that the protection spell he had placed on Rachel’s wedding ring would protect her if the stalker was demonic or magical, but he was worried should Wolfram and Hart have sent a human thug to threaten her.
But that didn’t line up. The letter Logan had found indicated that Fischer was trying to drive a wedge between them. A direct attack on Rachel would only bring her and Logan together... Logan’s eyes widened. Unless since Fischer had died the new liaison has changed the game plan. Or the stalker wasn’t from Wolfram and Hart at all.
If Rachel was having Logan followed... He swallowed his anger and dismissed it. It didn’t matter. Logan wasn’t involved in anything illicit anymore. He was clean. Let her investigate him.
And then there was Michael. The not-quite-angel of death. Sent for some mysterious reason to help Logan... and yet camping out at his daughter’s school and his wife’s hospital. Either he was being more paranoid than usual, or something was terribly wrong.
Niki walked into the Marionette wearing everything she owned. A stake in her pocket, life in her veins and enough money for one last drink. She slid into a seat next to a familiar face and shrugged her jacket onto the back of the chair.
“Of all the gin joints in all the world...” she grinned, lifting the fedora and pulling it snugly onto her own head. “Hey, it fits. Who’da thunk it?”
Whistler couldn’t help but smile. “It’s good to see you,” he slid a can of nuts across the table. “Nuts?”
“A little,” she admitted, then saw the can. “Oh... yeah, thanks.” She munched a little and picked up the can. “Brazilian. Nice. Where you been at, Whistler? I’ve missed you.”
The demon nodded in gratitude. “Salvador,” he said simply. “...it’s in Brazil,” he added as she munched on the nuts. “Some trouble there that needed handling. It’s a hotbed down there.”
“Mmm,” the Slayer nodded. “And now you’re back in this old hotbed.”
Whistler nodded. He looked a little distracted and watched her hands as she took handfuls of nuts and popped them into her mouth. “So... I heard you killed Addison,” he said at last, as if to break the one-sided awkward silence.
Niki stopped mid-chew. “Oh. Yeah... right after the party – right after you left.” She frowned. “And then again a couple of weeks ago.” She shoveled another handful of nuts into her mouth. “He had it coming... both times.”
Whistler was nodding. “Niki...” he lowered his gaze as she continued eating, her expression growing worried and her chewing slowing.
“...What?” She slid the can back to him. “Did you still want some?”
He looked back up and swallowed. “I’d like to talk to you... about your destiny.”
The Slayer blinked. “That’s funny,” she said dryly, “I had always imagined that I had free choice.”
Whistler closed his eyes with a sigh. “I knew this wouldn’t work.” He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t talk to you.”
“Psh,” Niki dismissed. “We were talking until you used the D word.”
“Fine” the demon snapped, “I want to talk to you about your death.”
“Ah,” she leaned back in her chair. “The other D word." The young woman looked down at her fingernails. “I didn’t know I had one,” she said at last.
“You do,” he said sharply. “Believe me. We all do. And it would be nice to think death isn’t meaningless, but you’ve seen enough to believe otherwise. I know I can’t challenge that belief, so I won’t try.” He stood and reached for his hat, plucking it from her head to make her look at him. “I sent you to Crowley because he had the text of the Story. I know that you saw the Shadow Men. What did they tell you?”
Niki frowned. “Why do you care?” she demanded, tired of having to disclose everything to everyone. Tired of being judged. She had nothing anymore. No home, no money, no family, no lover, no Watcher... Why couldn’t her destiny be her own?
“Because I care,” he answered bluntly. “About the fight,” he added after a pointed pause. There was a long silence between them as he contained his anger and set his hat beside the nuts on the table. “Because I care,” he said gently, at last.
“They seemed worried about something,” she admitted after a long silence. “Worried about an end that was coming. I think they weren’t sure I could handle it.”
The demon frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Niki took a slow deep breath, recalling her time in the cave with the creepy, ancient men. Addison had suggested that the Council had been wrong all along. That the whole time they had been trying to kill her to bring about the calling of another Slayer, it wasn’t her death which was going to do it.
“They wanted to take away my power,” she said thoughtfully. “They wanted to make me normal and call another girl in my place.” She looked up from her contemplations and took another handful of nuts. “Anyway, I didn’t go for it.”
Whistler looked very resigned and he slowly dropped his gaze from the Slayer to his own hands. “It may turn out... that you made the wrong choice.”
Kenneth looked around the airport. He knew that the Slayer in this city was notorious — infamous back in England. She killed nearly everything British that stepped off a plane, including her own Watcher. He half expected to see her waiting for him with a sign and a sword. He smiled nonetheless.
It wasn’t exactly polite to smile at the peril faced by the assassins of the Council, but then, he never really liked the Council, or its policies on the Termination Procedures. He agreed the termination of a rogue Slayer was sometimes necessary, considering the fate of the world was often dropped in her lap and she needed to be someone who could handle it.
And that was why Kenneth was disembarking in New York City. He hoped he need never meet the infamous Niki Valtaine in person, but he was prepared just in case. He had the original weapon intended for the Termination Procedure in his suitcase. Customs had let it through – it wasn’t really dangerous to anyone but her, and he would only use it as a last resort. He preferred not to be involved in that messy business.
He was all about the future. And the future called from right here in New York.
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