*NEW* Original Sin (Angel(us)/Drusilla) NC-17 1/2
Title: Original Sin
By Tami (tabrandt @ hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: The characters from ATS / BTVS are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox studios. This story is not meant to infringe upon anyone's rights, only to entertain.
BETA: Myself, lexa4227, sevendeadlyfun
Rating - NC-17
Pairing - Angel(us)/Drusilla, Implied-Angelus/Darla)
Timeline - BTVS S3 AMENDS, missing scene.
Summary - AR. Takes place during AMENDS. Angel is haunted by Drusilla. A fresh, new, darkly erotic, and compelling look at how Angelus tormented Drusilla. He saw a butterfly, a gem of innocence and virginity, with the gift of Sight, and made his ambition to mold her. He took away everything she loved, her family, her innocence, her sanity, her life, and she was reborn . . .
Feedback - It would be appreciated. My plot bunny has been lagging lately.
Author's Note - This fic wouldn't been possible if it wasn't for the encouragement and support of two wonderful women and great friends, kidcyclone and woman_of_, and my wonderful betas kateyes085, lexa4227 and sevendeadlyfun.
WARNINGS: Mental Torture, Torment, Anguish, Minor Character Deaths, Violence, Dark Fic dealing with mental/emotional disintegration.
Word Count: 6,582
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Part 1
Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
It felt strange to be back. It was as if he was in a dream, and this mansion and Sunnydale were just an illusion, something that his tormentors in Acathla’s Hell had conjured up to tease him. It was harsh and painful to be here. When he had arrived, fallen would be the better term, onto the cold stone floor it was a shock to his senses. Raw nerves tingled under his skin.
He couldn’t believe that he had survived Hell and was thrown out for his valor. Was it valor to endure a grotesque version of yourself twisting your wretched and cursed soul? God, he had wanted to lose that soul so bad, if only to be able to fight back. Why was it given to him moments, even seconds before the love of his undead life plunged a sword into his gut, only to be sucked into a black and red abyss? All the despair and blood, even when he was Angelus, he had never seen so much blood.
It was so hot there too. It was starting to get suffocating. His skin had blistered constantly. He would never burn though. Vampires should dust when they smolder, right? But, he never did. He just suffered through the searing heat. Only to be thrown out of there and into the cold world with its damp air and icy floor. It probably wasn’t like that to someone who was acclimated to the weather. But, after Acathla’s Hell? It was damn near Antarctic temperatures.
No matter how much he acted like he was fine around Buffy, Giles and the rest of her troupe, he wasn’t. He still had nightmares of Hell. They weren’t like his killing dreams of before. These dreams consisted of more blood, rivers of it. He thought he’d drown in his own dreams from it. Everything was a red haze in his dreams. They left him shivering under the blankets.
He could still feel the instruments they had used on him. He thought that at one point they were trying to re-enact the Greek myth of Prometheus bound to a rock with buzzards eating at his liver every day. Instead of buzzards, meat hooks scratched his blistered flesh into raw wounds. Everything that was done to him was used to balance the scale for all the pain he had caused as Angelus.
Then, he was thrust out and dropped onto the frigid floor exactly where the stone statue of Acathla had once sat. He was still in defense mode. After 100 years of torture and pain, he was well past the use of human speech. He could only growl and snarl.
Being dropped into this icy version of a new torment brought hunger. He had refused to drink the blood in Hell. But, hunger wasn’t an issue there, not when survival was so important. When he came back, he was so hungry. His hunger is what brought him into contact with Buffy again. If he could have stifled it, she never would have known he was back. Instead, he went out hunting. The soul had been quiet ever since the first tortures started and hadn’t reasserted its tenuous hold on his demon yet, which allowed him to hunt without qualm. That’s when she found him.
It hurt to see her again. Seeing her reminded him of the woman who had sent him to Hell in the first place. She didn’t even register as Buffy, the woman he loved, when he first saw her. She was the enemy at that moment, and she kept his existence a secret from her friends and watcher.
All of that was water under the bridge compared to his newest torment.
Now, not only was he dreaming of his past kills, but they had somehow manifested into reality and haunted him when he was awake. They came to him in the form of the bridegroom who had stiffed Angelus of a few bucks, the maid of a well-to-do Irish family, the distinguished businessman whom Angelus took pleasure in gifting with the cold, dead corpses of his entire family, Giles’ girlfriend, Jenny Calendar and his sister Kathy.
He had brought pain and death to each of their lives when he was soulless. He dreamed about what he had done to each and every one of them. They were so clear, right down to the scents in the air. He always woke up in cold sweats and shaking, with a feeling of anxiety rushing through him. Vampires weren’t supposed to get cold sweats, were they?
He climbed out of bed and stumbled to the grand living room. Falling down on the hearth, he shivered against the cold air in the drafty mansion. He rubbed his arms as if that would warm him as it would a human, and gave the room a cursory paranoid once over.
As he set about making a fire in the huge inglenook, he noted that the dreams of his victims were much better than those from his time in Hell. There wasn’t the mass amount of blood in his victim-dreams for one thing.
After building the fire up, he leaned against the side of the hearth, resting his head against the stone surface, and watched the flames dance.
Why had they let him return? Why did they let him come back to this place if only to torment him with dreams? What was the purpose? He was supposed to be in Hell receiving a great deal of punishment for what he had done when he was evil. He had accepted that. It’s what he wanted, right? It’s what he needed to cleanse his soul of his own damnation.
Just then, a breeze flittered past his cheek and caused him to scan the room with paranoid eyes. God, not again. Please! I can’t take anymore tonight. I don’t want to see anymore. You’ve shown me enough.
He shook his head jerkily as he leaned against the hearth and muttered repeatedly, “No more, please. No more.”
A feather-light touch caressed his cheekbone. If he wasn’t so fearful he would have passed it off as another breeze.
“Shh, Daddy. It’s just me,” a voice whispered near his ear.
He turned and looked with wide eyes as the apparition of Drusilla sat beside him. He startled in surprise. It seemed like years - not months - had gone by since he had last seen her.
“You aren’t Drusilla,” he whispered as he stared at her in horror.
The apparition pouted. “Daddy, you wound me so. I thought you cared about me, that I was your little girl.”
“You are not Drusilla,” he stressed as he tried to back away from her only to hit the stone wall of the hearth. “You’re just playing with my head again. All the victims you chose to assume tonight and you- No! No! You aren’t her! You’re too sane to be her. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Don’t you see, my Angel? Isn’t it clear enough to you?” the apparition asked clearly.
“See what?” he shuddered despite the heat.
“You don’t belong, not to yourself, not to her, you belong to me,” the apparition said.
“I belong to no one,” he countered. He stood up, stumbled over to the couch and sat down heavily.
The apparition followed him as it glided over the stone floor and sat beside him. “I saw it in my vision when I first saw you. Do you remember when Grand-mummy pointed me out to you?”
“It was so long ago,” he said as he shook his head in denial.
“Yet, you remember every detail. I knew why you wanted me. Though, I don’t think I posed too much of a challenge for you,” the apparition said.
The reasoning that he was in the presence of a ghost and not his demented childe had left him. It was too much work for his mind to separate them. “You were beautiful, fragile, sweet, chaste . . . pure. You glowed with wholesome innocence and I took pleasure in the knowledge that it would be easy to break you.”
The apparition rested her head on his shoulder as she listened to him talk. “Do you remember what you did?”
He shuddered. He didn’t know how she was able to touch him. It wasn’t a touch of hard bone so much as a weighted pressure on his shoulder. His Drusilla wasn’t very big to begin with so it felt like a small bird resting on his shoulder. Why was she trying to make him remember? He knew exactly what he had done to her. How she was today was a testament to his expert abilities of psychological torture, so why bring it to the surface?
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London, March, 1860
Angelus walked down the street filled with horse-drawn carriages and people dressed in regency clothing. He was about to pass the mouth of an alley when he stopped and turned down into it. He held out his hand, and a woman took it and let him help her up.
“I thought we were meeting in the Square,” Angelus mused as Darla stepped out of the darkness.
“I ran into Lord Nichols - horrid little man,” Darla commented derisively as she looked over her shoulder at a body lying on the ground with bite marks in his neck. She turned back to Angelus. “He was propositioning a street walker and dickering over the price. Can you imagine? I told him I’d do him for nothing.”
“You’re very charitable,” Angelus commented as he glanced at the body and noticed the dead prostitute beside him.
Darla delicately dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. “I so loathe cheap royalty.”
Angelus leaned in and licked the blood residue off her lips. “They all taste the same to me.”
Darla moaned softly. “My boy does have the touch.”
Angelus nuzzled against her. “Darla?”
“Mm, yes?” she asked innocently.
“Why’d you kill the street walker?”
Darla glanced at the dead woman. “Oh. I just liked her. Guess what’s next?” She smiled as they left the mouth of the alley and walked along the street.
“What is it?” Angelus inquired.
Darla’s smile turned coy. “It’s a surprise. You have to guess.”
Angelus scanned the street and finally spotted a family with three young daughters coming out of a dress shop. He smiled and glanced between Darla and the girls. “Three daughters - all virgins.”
“Close,” Darla hedged as she watched her childe with delight.
Angelus examined each girl in turn. He sensed all three were certainly pure, but there was one that was different from the others. “The one in the middle has something delicate and unique . . . Did you find me a saint?”
Darla leaned closer and whispered, “Better than that, darling. She has the Sight.”
The girl in question turned revealing herself to be an ethereal beauty with rich, dark hair and big, dark blue eyes. She looked straight into Angelus’ eyes.
Angelus licked his lips like a hungry wolf. “Visions. She sees the future.” He took off at a stroll, walking toward the girl with Darla clinging to his arm. “She is pure innocence, yet she sees what’s coming. She knows what I’m going to do to her. I’ll really have to come up to snuff for this one.”
The girl’s eyes widened as the couple drew closer. She turned away and quickly herded her sisters away. Darla put a hand on Angelus’ chest to stop him from following the girl.
“Down, boy! Let the plum ripen,” Darla commanded.
Angelus stopped and stared down at his Sire. “You always come up with something new.”
“Keeps me young,” Darla said as she walked away, leaving him to watch the girl scurry away with her family.
Angelus watched the girl disappear and then followed his Sire back to their hotel. As he walked among the natives, he thought about the young girl and tried to devise the best way to deal with her. It wouldn’t be quick like his other meals, for she wouldn’t be just any plaything. She was unique, special. He had to come up with something different for her.
Instead of turning down the street that led to the hotel, Angelus went in the opposite direction and doubled back to where they had last seen the girl. He stood still in front of the dress shop and scented the air. The smell of sun-kissed peaches and lavender filled his nose and he followed it. He walked through a park to a two-storey house with a terrace and decorative trellises along the sides.
Climbing a trellis to the second floor, he walked along the terrace roof until he pinpointed the scent to a bedroom and peeked inside. Angelus placed his fingertips on the glass and watched silently as the girl moved around her bedroom preparing to retire for the night.
She sat at her carved vanity and brushed her hair out before braiding it. Then, she stood up and walked gracefully to her closet. She pulled off her housedress and slipped her pristine nightgown on over her chemise and pantaloons. Crawling into bed, she blew out a candle on the bedside table, pulled the covers to her chin and went to sleep. Angelus watched her for a good hour before he climbed down the trellis and disappeared into the night.
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Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
Angel shivered as he remembered following Drusilla back to her home. He remembered seeing her in her bedroom, getting ready for bed with the thought that she was safe and sound inside her little house. It was after that night, he decided to risk the deadly sun and follow her during the day, learning her routine from the shadows.
“Do you remember?” the apparition asked.
“Yes. I remember,” he replied regretfully.
“How long did it take for you to memorize my daily life?”
As she asked the question, she skimmed her manicured nails along his cheek, but all he felt was a cool breeze brush his skin.
“Not long, a week at most. Your visions sent you to confession nearly every day. I would follow you in the shadows. I’d watch your house at night. I would watch you sleep from the window,” Angel said softly.
“Do you remember how you gained access to the house?” the apparition asked.
“There was another sister, younger than the rest. She didn’t accompany you to the dress shop that night. I tricked her into allowing me to cross the threshold,” Angel admitted as he slid to the floor at the First-Drusilla’s feet.
He stared at her red velvet slippers. His Drusilla loved to wear velvet slippers, like the kind that resembled the shoes of a ballerina. She always wanted to be a ballerina, even ate a few as he recalled. She wore long formless dresses acting the child that she was mentally. But, underneath the clothes, she was all womanly curves. Nicely rounded breasts, tiny waist, gently flared hips and slim thighs. He groaned inwardly as he remembered how well her legs wrapped around his waist when he took her.
A breeze sifted through his hair as the Drusilla-apparition ran her fingers through it. “Go on,” she urged.
“Once I gained access to the house, I would sneak into your bedroom and watch you sleep. I went through your belongings to learn your name,” Angel continued.
“What was my human name?”
Angel stared into the flames in the hearth as he tried in vain to remember Drusilla’s human name. “It’s always been Drusilla. When I made you, I kept it that way. I never renamed any of my childer.”
“Then, what did you do?”
“I spent most of my time watching you. I wasn’t starving, but I didn’t feel the need to feed either. I knew that anything else would taste like ashes next to the blood of a virgin. So, I waited and relished the thought of what your sisters would taste like. I was sated on the plans I made to defile them. But, it wasn’t about them necessarily. They were a means to an end. They were pawns to use in driving you just that much further over the edge. I knew you’d know what would happen, that you’d see it in a vision. I knew from the times I followed you that you went to St. Mark’s Catholic Church. I went in and killed the clergy. I was busy killing a priest when you entered the adjacent confessional box. You surprised me at first, but then I seized upon on it as the perfect opportunity to play with you,” Angel said still staring into the fire.
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London, April, 1860
Drusilla scurried through the abbey into the nave. She slowed down when she got there and walked behind the pews toward the confessional booths. Before entering, she faced the altar, knelt down and crossed herself. She looked up at the altar briefly before standing again and going into one of the booths. As she stepped through the curtain, an arm juts out of the adjacent booth where the priest awaits. The arm was quickly pulled back as quickly as it appeared. Inside the booth, Drusilla sat down and pulls her shawl from her head.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Drusilla said in greeting.
Angelus was caught off guard by the sound of the voice of the girl he’d been following for weeks. He dropped the dead priest and listened intently.
“It’s been two days since my last confession,” Drusilla was saying.
Not knowing how to respond, Angelus remained quiet.
“Father?” Drusilla inquired when she didn’t get an answer.
Angelus shook off his surprise, deciding it was best to fall into character. It was a way to gain her trust and in the long run, a way in which he could break her. It was the opportunity he had been hoping for in the past few weeks.
Clearing his throat, he spoke deeply, “That's not very long.”
Satisfied that she was answered, Drusilla resumed her confession in a trembling voice. “Oh, Father, I'm so afraid.”
Angelus took a moment to relish the fear in her voice. The scent of it wafted through the lattice grate separating them. It tasted delicious on his tongue. He leaned closer to the grate and urged her to continue.
“The Lord is very forgiving. Tell me your sins.”
“I had . . .” Drusilla took a deep breath to calm herself. “I've been seeing again, Father. Yesterday, the men were going to work in the mine. I had . . .” She shuddered as she tried to explain, “a terrible fright.” She drew a trembling breath. “My stomach is all tied up, and I saw this horrible . . . crash.” She calmed down a bit. “My Mummy said to keep my peace, it didn't mean anything. But, this morning . . . they had a cave-in. Two men died.”
“Go on,” Angelus urged.
“Me Mum says . . . I’m cursed.” Drusilla exhaled a breath. “My seeing things are an affront to the Lord,” she inhaled a sob, “that only He's supposed to see anything before it happens.” She started sobbing. “But, I don't mean to, Father, I swear!” She inhaled shakily. “I swear!” Tears pricked her eyes as she started to cry. “I try to be pure in His sight. I don't want to be an evil thing,” she sobbed.
“Oh, hush, child,” Angelus cooed. “The Lord has a plan for all creatures, even a Devil child like you.”
Drusilla was taken aback by the priest’s words. “A Devil?”
Angelus smirked at the fright in her voice. The scent of it became more delectable as it grew stronger. “Yes! You’re a spawn of Satan. All the Hail Marys in the world aren’t going to help. The Lord will use you and smite you down. He’s like that.”
Drusilla clenched fistfuls of her dress and asked in a frightened voice, “What can I do?”
Angelus leaned closer to the grate and seductively said, “Fulfill His plan, child. Be evil. Just give in.”
Drusilla shook her head erratically in denial and sobbed, “No! I want to be good. I want to be pure!”
Angelus nodded thoughtfully. “We all do . . . at first. The world doesn’t work that way.”
Drusilla pressed her face against the grate and sobbed louder. “Father . . . I beg you . . . Please . . . Please, help me.”
Angelus sighed dramatically. “Very well. Ten Our Fathers and an act of contrition. Does that sound good?”
Drusilla sighed in relief. “Yes. Yes, Father. Thank you.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Angelus whispered. “And my child . . .” He called out as he raised his hand to the lattice grate between them.
“Yes?” Drusilla answered expectantly.
Angelus stared at her as he silently fed off her fear. “God is watching you,” he warned.
Drusilla crossed herself anxiously and hurried out of the confessional.
Angelus sat back and listened to her repent her visions and beg God to forgive and to protect her. He stayed where he was until he heard her soft footsteps leave the church. Once she was gone, he stepped out of the booth, leaving the dead priest propped up inside and exited the building under the cover of shadows.
He went back to the hotel and whiled away the rest of the day deliberating over his next plan. When nightfall came, he was at her window again watching her in a restless sleep. He smiled at the thought that he was probably the cause of it. His words inside the confessional had struck a chord with her. He had planted the seeds of worry inside her. Worry that she was evil for having the visions that were beyond her control and the doubt that she could ever be good.
He watched her toss and turn in her bed, clutching her rosary beads. She was moaning softly as she tried to escape whatever was in her dream. After a while, he climbed down, went to another side of the house and climbed the trellis to the second storey balcony. He pressed against the pane and the window opened inward. He climbed inside and examined the room carefully.
The room belonged to Drusilla’s sister, Anna. The pale blonde girl lay snug in her bed, her brow unmarred by dreams such as those that plagued Drusilla. She was indeed a blonde beauty. He couldn’t decide what to do to her first: rape her or drain her.
Knowing it had to be a quick death, something that wasn’t expected. It had to be something that would surprise those who knew her, but also cause Drusilla even more grief. He couldn’t take pleasure in killing this first victim. It had to be a shocking death.
Resigned to that conclusion, Angelus moved swiftly. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand over her mouth. She awoke immediately when she felt the hand and stared at him in wide-eyed fear. He leaned closer to her and scented the delectable aroma before shifting to his demon and striking.
Just as he had fantasized, Angelus became hard at the taste of virgin blood. But, he also tasted age and the wisdom that went with it. She was older than Drusilla by a couple of years at most. But, she was an ordinary girl. She wasn’t plagued by horrific visions like his Drusilla. There wasn’t a twinge of madness in her blood, just the sweetness of virgin and wheat taste of young girl.
Once she was drained, Angelus arranged her like an adjustable doll and left her lying with her hand curled under her chin and the covers drawn up over her shoulders. The position effectively covered the bite mark so that no one would instantly notice it come morning. Then, he went to her dresser and sifted through the dresses. He found a black lace dress, something that wasn’t normally worn by a proper woman. Angelus grinned evilly. So, this sister had a bit of a wanton streak in her. He pulled the dress out and laid it over the end of her bed with great care.
He pulled back the covers again, revealing the girl’s body. Then, he pulled off her white nightgown. He took a moment to ogle her nude body, her breasts were a little on the small side for his tastes. Realizing what he was doing, he never thought of himself as a breast-man before. He stood above her and pondered that thought for a moment. Generally, he was all-woman kind of guy. It never mattered what they looked like as long as they had the appropriate holes in all the right places. He never zoned in one particular part of the anatomy. Huh. Darla’s influence must be rubbing off him lately. Now there was a woman with more than enough flesh, slim in all the right places, but full and firm in others. Angelus shrugged it off and returned to his task of dressing the dead girl in the black dress he had set aside. Once everything was to set up to his satisfaction, he left out the window as silently as he arrived and closed it behind him.
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Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
“You killed my sister,” the apparition sneered. “She was sweet and innocent and you murdered her so callously and then left her there for us find.” She moved closer and whispered in Angel’s ear, “But, you’re more than a murderer aren’t you? You’re more than just a killer.”
The specter of Drusilla straddled his hips, yet he felt no body weight. She looked straight at him with those dark blue doe eyes. She leaned closer until her lips barely touched his and whispered, “You’re not like any other demon. You were born to surpass human killing; become legendary in the art of it. A master torturer is what you are.”
Angel shook his head frantically in denial, “I have a soul now. I can be good. I can do good. Repent for my sins.”
The phantom laughed in Drusilla’s tinkling way. “Do you really think you can repent for what you did to her? She’s too far gone to forgive you. You’ve made sure of that.”
“I didn’t have a soul then!” Angel sobbed.
“You are a fool if you think you can be any different now. The demon is still inside you. You’ll never be free of it, just as you’ll never be free of the memories,” the spirit stated.
“You left my sister’s decaying corpse in her bed for me to find in the morning.” The apparition was back to referring to its disguise in first person. “You didn’t even wait until the earth had hardened over her grave before you went after another victim.”
As Angel rose up off the floor, the apparition disappeared. When he walked swiftly to the atrium, the ghost of Drusilla appeared before him again, blocking his path.
“Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me back if all you’re going to do is torment me? I know . . . what I’ve done . . . to you and others. I can’t ask forgiveness for it! I haven’t got the right to do that. I don’t know what you want from me! I can’t offer you anything!” Angel yelled at her.
“I’m not trying to take anything from you, Daddy. I would never do that.” Ghost-Drusilla raised her hand as if to caress his cheek, but again all he felt was a light breeze. “Shh, Daddy. You have to finish the story. Come on,” she said urged as she turned and sat on the couch again and patted the seat beside her. “Come; tell me what you did next.”
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London, April, 1860
Drusilla woke in fright from the nightmare that plagued her for most of the night. The dream worried her so, that she slid out of bed, wrapped a wool robe around herself and hurried to her sister’s room. She skidded to halt in the open doorway. There Anna lay looking almost peaceful.
Drusilla knocked softly before she entered the room and rounded the bed. She sat beside her sister’s sleeping form and reached over to shake her awake. When she did, the blonde head rolled to the opposite side, revealing two rows of bite marks on her neck. Drusilla touched her sister’s arm feeling the cold and clammy skin. Anna had been dead for some time.
Drusilla covered her mouth and backed away against the wall as she stared in horror at the sight. Anna looked almost picturesque laying there. Her mind refused to process the scene. She didn’t understand how this could have happened. She had seen her sister just before they retired for the night.
Drusilla blinked and realized her Mum was in the room crying. She didn’t remember when her Mummy had arrived or that she had screamed and alerted the whole house as to what happened. She was still staring at her sister in shock.
“Mummy! I saw this in my dream last night,” Drusilla said quietly from her position of trying to sink into the wall.
Her mother looked up with sorrowful eyes. “Now is not the time for your devil’s sight. You are not to speak of it in this house. It’s a sin. You say you saw your sister’s death in a dream? Did you cause this? Was it you that killed her with your cursed thoughts?” Her mother asked accusingly.
“No, Mummy! I didn’t cause this. ’Tis something else, not me!” Drusilla sobbed. “I can’t control what I see.”
Drusilla watched her Mum grieve for a moment before she left the room. She dressed quickly and grabbed her shawl on the way out the door. As she made her way to the church, she tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. In her dream, she had cried out to Anna as a beast grabbed her and killed her in front of Drusilla’s eyes. Then, she woke to find her sister’s lifeless body. Was her Mum right? Was she the cause of Anna’s death? But then, her Mum thought she was cursed by the Devil with having the visions. Even the priest said she was a devil child yesterday. Why was God punishing her with these visions? She never asked for them, but she’d had them for as long as she could remember.
Entering St. Mark’s Catholic Church, she knelt and crossed herself, paying respect at the altar before going to the confessional booth. Over the last ten years, she had become familiar with this place.
Drusilla trembled as she sat down to wait for the window to open. How to explain something like this to the Father? The men in the mine were one thing. She didn’t know them; only saw them in a vision. But, Anna was her sister, flesh and blood kin.
“Back so soon, child?” the deep voice from yesterday broke into her thoughts.
“Oh, Father! It has been a day since my last confession. I had a vision-dream. It was terrible!” Drusilla started to stutter in her fright. “I-I-I saw my sister, Anna, grabbed by an unknown b-b-beast. He k-k-killed her right in front of me!” She inhaled deeply to recover her wits before they spilled out all over the floor and went on, “This morning when I woke . . . I went to check on her. She was dead! Me Mum says that my visions are what killed her. I didn’t mean to, Father! I swear!”
“How do you not know that you did not kill her subconsciously? Mayhap, you were sleep walking and committed the act,” the Father suggested.
“But, there was no blood on my clothes!” Drusilla insisted through tears. “I would never do anything to hurt Anna!” Drusilla gripped her fingers in the latticework of the window and cried harder. “Please, Father! You have to help me! Please, I want to be saved! I don’t want this Sight. I want to be pure!”
“It’s too late. What has been given cannot be taken back. Your soul has made a deal with the Devil and you must stand by it. All I can offer you now is advice. Go back to your mother and tell her you’re sorry,” the Father said.
“Yes, Father,” Drusilla sobbed softly.
When she left the confessional, Angelus had a wide, sinister grin on his face. The poor girl was so confused. She was starting to slowly lose her mind. As far as she knew, her visions aided the death of her sister. This was proving to be very interesting. He’d never contributed to the systematic destruction of a human before. The people in Liam’s life were as sinful as he was. As Angelus, he had killed a lot of people: men, women, and children, whole families murdered and propped up like dolls in their houses to be found by their loved ones.
All of that was well and good when ravaging a village full of innocents. However, this was the first time he had ever obsessed over one victim and set out to methodically destroy their life. It was a new experience for him, tearing down one wall at a time, making her safe little home into something of her worst nightmares. If the emotions pouring off her were any indication, nothing was safe for her anymore. Angelus smiled, pleased with his accomplishment thus far. It was about to become a whole lot worse.
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Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
“I’m so sorry,” Angel said hoarsely.
He swallowed, trying to get past the lump in his throat. It was raw from pent up emotion. He was long past seeing just an apparition now. She was Drusilla through eyes blurred by unshed tears. She was a beautiful, watery vision sitting beside him. He had been visited by horrific memories over the years since he was cursed with his soul. But, Drusilla was . . . different. When he was Angelus last year, playing cat and mouse with Buffy and her friends was merely a way to relieve the boredom. Drusilla was a masterpiece, an obsession, his original sin.
“You told me to apologize to Mummy,” Drusilla stated. “I went back home and did just that, but she ignored me. My Mummy wouldn’t speak to me. She shut me out while she dealt with Anna’s burial. I stood as an outcast through the funeral. I tried to repent to her, to Anna. I did what you told me and it got me nothing but scorn,” she said flatly.
“Angelus wanted to hurt you, not me! I wouldn’t - didn’t do that. Please, Dru, what do you want from me? What do you want me to do?” Angel pleaded.
Drusilla stared blankly at him, silent.
“Answer me!” Angel yelled at the apparition.
“What would you like me to say? The demon inside you created me,” Drusilla replied.
Angel ground his teeth in frustration as he shuddered. Maybe she was his girl after all. She always talked circles around him. She was flawed in that respect. Maybe Angelus should have let her keep a small shred of sanity for coherency’s sake.
“What did you do?” Drusilla urged, as she looked searchingly into his eyes. "Tell me what you did next. I want to hear how you would tell my story.”
**************************
St. Mark’s Catholic Church, London, 1860
Midnight Mass was already in progress when Angelus silently entered the church and took a seat in the last pew. He glanced over at the adjacent row and several rows away sitting on the end was Drusilla with her head bowed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She sobbed louder whenever the cleric mentioned Anna’s name.
It was interesting that even though the years changed, the Catholic religion was still the same no matter where you were in the world. As a human, he never put much stock in the power of prayer and God. All that God-fearing drivel his father used to drum into him never really took. The sanctimonious rules and laws were hypocrisy, and meant nothing to him now. He’d been a demon for 107 years and still dared a chance of hellfire for stepping foot on holy ground. Unlike crosses and holy water, and perhaps an earthquake, the holy building wasn’t going to harm him and the grounds wouldn’t open up to swallow him.
Angelus took his eyes off a grieving Drusilla long enough to look at the body in the open coffin. Anna was faced toward the audience still wearing the black dress he had put on her with the added touch of a scarf around her neck to hide his bite marks. It’s just as well; the Victorian age was so sensitive about things such as murder and death. Yet, he had been around them in drawings rooms and parlors, attending lavish parties with Darla to know that what was seen in public were just a façade. Behind closed doors, the snobbish prigs were just as deviant as he was.
Paying closer attention to the body, he noticed that in the well-lit church, Anna was a blonde replica of Drusilla. She looked just like her sister, but with blonde hair, the features looked plain on her, whereas, Drusilla had an exotic ethereal beauty. Smiling, Angelus got up and quietly left the church.
A few days later, after they had buried Anna, Angelus took a stroll through the Kensal Green Cemetery until he found her grave. It was in a quaint part of the grounds, the tombstone was simple yet stylishly carved. A bouquet of roses rested in front of the marker. He took two of them and went on his way.
Angelus made his way back to Drusilla’s house and climbed the trellis. Entering her bedroom, he carefully plucked the petals off the stem and arranged them on her vanity. Then, he pricked his finger, let the blood well up and wrote Anna’s name on her vanity mirror. With his excellent night vision, he examined his handiwork: the blood dripping down the mirror from Anna’s name to drip onto the red rose petals that were arranged to spell out Drusilla’s name. With each drop of blood, the petals got darker in color.
Angelus caught a glimpse of a sleeping Drusilla in the mirror and turned around to look at her. Her brow was furrowed by her nightmares. In a mocking sense of tenderness, he went over to the bed and kissed her forehead. He stopped to scent her before disappearing out the window again.
The next morning, Drusilla woke to the sight of the bloody name and screamed. The sound brought everyone to her door. She curled herself into a ball against the headboard and stared at her vanity in horror.
Why was this happening to her now? Her visions were a danger to her family and her. The display on her vanity was a sign from God surely. He was punishing her for Sight that only He should have. She hurried to get dressed, not even looking at her Mum. She couldn’t face her Mum knowing she was the cause of the things that had occurred to them recently. Drusilla bowed her head, avoiding her Mum’s eyes when she walked past and left the house.
Part 2 Here
By Tami (tabrandt @ hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: The characters from ATS / BTVS are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox studios. This story is not meant to infringe upon anyone's rights, only to entertain.
BETA: Myself, lexa4227, sevendeadlyfun
Rating - NC-17
Pairing - Angel(us)/Drusilla, Implied-Angelus/Darla)
Timeline - BTVS S3 AMENDS, missing scene.
Summary - AR. Takes place during AMENDS. Angel is haunted by Drusilla. A fresh, new, darkly erotic, and compelling look at how Angelus tormented Drusilla. He saw a butterfly, a gem of innocence and virginity, with the gift of Sight, and made his ambition to mold her. He took away everything she loved, her family, her innocence, her sanity, her life, and she was reborn . . .
Feedback - It would be appreciated. My plot bunny has been lagging lately.
Author's Note - This fic wouldn't been possible if it wasn't for the encouragement and support of two wonderful women and great friends, kidcyclone and woman_of_, and my wonderful betas kateyes085, lexa4227 and sevendeadlyfun.
WARNINGS: Mental Torture, Torment, Anguish, Minor Character Deaths, Violence, Dark Fic dealing with mental/emotional disintegration.
Word Count: 6,582
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Part 1
Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
It felt strange to be back. It was as if he was in a dream, and this mansion and Sunnydale were just an illusion, something that his tormentors in Acathla’s Hell had conjured up to tease him. It was harsh and painful to be here. When he had arrived, fallen would be the better term, onto the cold stone floor it was a shock to his senses. Raw nerves tingled under his skin.
He couldn’t believe that he had survived Hell and was thrown out for his valor. Was it valor to endure a grotesque version of yourself twisting your wretched and cursed soul? God, he had wanted to lose that soul so bad, if only to be able to fight back. Why was it given to him moments, even seconds before the love of his undead life plunged a sword into his gut, only to be sucked into a black and red abyss? All the despair and blood, even when he was Angelus, he had never seen so much blood.
It was so hot there too. It was starting to get suffocating. His skin had blistered constantly. He would never burn though. Vampires should dust when they smolder, right? But, he never did. He just suffered through the searing heat. Only to be thrown out of there and into the cold world with its damp air and icy floor. It probably wasn’t like that to someone who was acclimated to the weather. But, after Acathla’s Hell? It was damn near Antarctic temperatures.
No matter how much he acted like he was fine around Buffy, Giles and the rest of her troupe, he wasn’t. He still had nightmares of Hell. They weren’t like his killing dreams of before. These dreams consisted of more blood, rivers of it. He thought he’d drown in his own dreams from it. Everything was a red haze in his dreams. They left him shivering under the blankets.
He could still feel the instruments they had used on him. He thought that at one point they were trying to re-enact the Greek myth of Prometheus bound to a rock with buzzards eating at his liver every day. Instead of buzzards, meat hooks scratched his blistered flesh into raw wounds. Everything that was done to him was used to balance the scale for all the pain he had caused as Angelus.
Then, he was thrust out and dropped onto the frigid floor exactly where the stone statue of Acathla had once sat. He was still in defense mode. After 100 years of torture and pain, he was well past the use of human speech. He could only growl and snarl.
Being dropped into this icy version of a new torment brought hunger. He had refused to drink the blood in Hell. But, hunger wasn’t an issue there, not when survival was so important. When he came back, he was so hungry. His hunger is what brought him into contact with Buffy again. If he could have stifled it, she never would have known he was back. Instead, he went out hunting. The soul had been quiet ever since the first tortures started and hadn’t reasserted its tenuous hold on his demon yet, which allowed him to hunt without qualm. That’s when she found him.
It hurt to see her again. Seeing her reminded him of the woman who had sent him to Hell in the first place. She didn’t even register as Buffy, the woman he loved, when he first saw her. She was the enemy at that moment, and she kept his existence a secret from her friends and watcher.
All of that was water under the bridge compared to his newest torment.
Now, not only was he dreaming of his past kills, but they had somehow manifested into reality and haunted him when he was awake. They came to him in the form of the bridegroom who had stiffed Angelus of a few bucks, the maid of a well-to-do Irish family, the distinguished businessman whom Angelus took pleasure in gifting with the cold, dead corpses of his entire family, Giles’ girlfriend, Jenny Calendar and his sister Kathy.
He had brought pain and death to each of their lives when he was soulless. He dreamed about what he had done to each and every one of them. They were so clear, right down to the scents in the air. He always woke up in cold sweats and shaking, with a feeling of anxiety rushing through him. Vampires weren’t supposed to get cold sweats, were they?
He climbed out of bed and stumbled to the grand living room. Falling down on the hearth, he shivered against the cold air in the drafty mansion. He rubbed his arms as if that would warm him as it would a human, and gave the room a cursory paranoid once over.
As he set about making a fire in the huge inglenook, he noted that the dreams of his victims were much better than those from his time in Hell. There wasn’t the mass amount of blood in his victim-dreams for one thing.
After building the fire up, he leaned against the side of the hearth, resting his head against the stone surface, and watched the flames dance.
Why had they let him return? Why did they let him come back to this place if only to torment him with dreams? What was the purpose? He was supposed to be in Hell receiving a great deal of punishment for what he had done when he was evil. He had accepted that. It’s what he wanted, right? It’s what he needed to cleanse his soul of his own damnation.
Just then, a breeze flittered past his cheek and caused him to scan the room with paranoid eyes. God, not again. Please! I can’t take anymore tonight. I don’t want to see anymore. You’ve shown me enough.
He shook his head jerkily as he leaned against the hearth and muttered repeatedly, “No more, please. No more.”
A feather-light touch caressed his cheekbone. If he wasn’t so fearful he would have passed it off as another breeze.
“Shh, Daddy. It’s just me,” a voice whispered near his ear.
He turned and looked with wide eyes as the apparition of Drusilla sat beside him. He startled in surprise. It seemed like years - not months - had gone by since he had last seen her.
“You aren’t Drusilla,” he whispered as he stared at her in horror.
The apparition pouted. “Daddy, you wound me so. I thought you cared about me, that I was your little girl.”
“You are not Drusilla,” he stressed as he tried to back away from her only to hit the stone wall of the hearth. “You’re just playing with my head again. All the victims you chose to assume tonight and you- No! No! You aren’t her! You’re too sane to be her. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Don’t you see, my Angel? Isn’t it clear enough to you?” the apparition asked clearly.
“See what?” he shuddered despite the heat.
“You don’t belong, not to yourself, not to her, you belong to me,” the apparition said.
“I belong to no one,” he countered. He stood up, stumbled over to the couch and sat down heavily.
The apparition followed him as it glided over the stone floor and sat beside him. “I saw it in my vision when I first saw you. Do you remember when Grand-mummy pointed me out to you?”
“It was so long ago,” he said as he shook his head in denial.
“Yet, you remember every detail. I knew why you wanted me. Though, I don’t think I posed too much of a challenge for you,” the apparition said.
The reasoning that he was in the presence of a ghost and not his demented childe had left him. It was too much work for his mind to separate them. “You were beautiful, fragile, sweet, chaste . . . pure. You glowed with wholesome innocence and I took pleasure in the knowledge that it would be easy to break you.”
The apparition rested her head on his shoulder as she listened to him talk. “Do you remember what you did?”
He shuddered. He didn’t know how she was able to touch him. It wasn’t a touch of hard bone so much as a weighted pressure on his shoulder. His Drusilla wasn’t very big to begin with so it felt like a small bird resting on his shoulder. Why was she trying to make him remember? He knew exactly what he had done to her. How she was today was a testament to his expert abilities of psychological torture, so why bring it to the surface?
**************************
London, March, 1860
Angelus walked down the street filled with horse-drawn carriages and people dressed in regency clothing. He was about to pass the mouth of an alley when he stopped and turned down into it. He held out his hand, and a woman took it and let him help her up.
“I thought we were meeting in the Square,” Angelus mused as Darla stepped out of the darkness.
“I ran into Lord Nichols - horrid little man,” Darla commented derisively as she looked over her shoulder at a body lying on the ground with bite marks in his neck. She turned back to Angelus. “He was propositioning a street walker and dickering over the price. Can you imagine? I told him I’d do him for nothing.”
“You’re very charitable,” Angelus commented as he glanced at the body and noticed the dead prostitute beside him.
Darla delicately dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. “I so loathe cheap royalty.”
Angelus leaned in and licked the blood residue off her lips. “They all taste the same to me.”
Darla moaned softly. “My boy does have the touch.”
Angelus nuzzled against her. “Darla?”
“Mm, yes?” she asked innocently.
“Why’d you kill the street walker?”
Darla glanced at the dead woman. “Oh. I just liked her. Guess what’s next?” She smiled as they left the mouth of the alley and walked along the street.
“What is it?” Angelus inquired.
Darla’s smile turned coy. “It’s a surprise. You have to guess.”
Angelus scanned the street and finally spotted a family with three young daughters coming out of a dress shop. He smiled and glanced between Darla and the girls. “Three daughters - all virgins.”
“Close,” Darla hedged as she watched her childe with delight.
Angelus examined each girl in turn. He sensed all three were certainly pure, but there was one that was different from the others. “The one in the middle has something delicate and unique . . . Did you find me a saint?”
Darla leaned closer and whispered, “Better than that, darling. She has the Sight.”
The girl in question turned revealing herself to be an ethereal beauty with rich, dark hair and big, dark blue eyes. She looked straight into Angelus’ eyes.
Angelus licked his lips like a hungry wolf. “Visions. She sees the future.” He took off at a stroll, walking toward the girl with Darla clinging to his arm. “She is pure innocence, yet she sees what’s coming. She knows what I’m going to do to her. I’ll really have to come up to snuff for this one.”
The girl’s eyes widened as the couple drew closer. She turned away and quickly herded her sisters away. Darla put a hand on Angelus’ chest to stop him from following the girl.
“Down, boy! Let the plum ripen,” Darla commanded.
Angelus stopped and stared down at his Sire. “You always come up with something new.”
“Keeps me young,” Darla said as she walked away, leaving him to watch the girl scurry away with her family.
Angelus watched the girl disappear and then followed his Sire back to their hotel. As he walked among the natives, he thought about the young girl and tried to devise the best way to deal with her. It wouldn’t be quick like his other meals, for she wouldn’t be just any plaything. She was unique, special. He had to come up with something different for her.
Instead of turning down the street that led to the hotel, Angelus went in the opposite direction and doubled back to where they had last seen the girl. He stood still in front of the dress shop and scented the air. The smell of sun-kissed peaches and lavender filled his nose and he followed it. He walked through a park to a two-storey house with a terrace and decorative trellises along the sides.
Climbing a trellis to the second floor, he walked along the terrace roof until he pinpointed the scent to a bedroom and peeked inside. Angelus placed his fingertips on the glass and watched silently as the girl moved around her bedroom preparing to retire for the night.
She sat at her carved vanity and brushed her hair out before braiding it. Then, she stood up and walked gracefully to her closet. She pulled off her housedress and slipped her pristine nightgown on over her chemise and pantaloons. Crawling into bed, she blew out a candle on the bedside table, pulled the covers to her chin and went to sleep. Angelus watched her for a good hour before he climbed down the trellis and disappeared into the night.
**************************
Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
Angel shivered as he remembered following Drusilla back to her home. He remembered seeing her in her bedroom, getting ready for bed with the thought that she was safe and sound inside her little house. It was after that night, he decided to risk the deadly sun and follow her during the day, learning her routine from the shadows.
“Do you remember?” the apparition asked.
“Yes. I remember,” he replied regretfully.
“How long did it take for you to memorize my daily life?”
As she asked the question, she skimmed her manicured nails along his cheek, but all he felt was a cool breeze brush his skin.
“Not long, a week at most. Your visions sent you to confession nearly every day. I would follow you in the shadows. I’d watch your house at night. I would watch you sleep from the window,” Angel said softly.
“Do you remember how you gained access to the house?” the apparition asked.
“There was another sister, younger than the rest. She didn’t accompany you to the dress shop that night. I tricked her into allowing me to cross the threshold,” Angel admitted as he slid to the floor at the First-Drusilla’s feet.
He stared at her red velvet slippers. His Drusilla loved to wear velvet slippers, like the kind that resembled the shoes of a ballerina. She always wanted to be a ballerina, even ate a few as he recalled. She wore long formless dresses acting the child that she was mentally. But, underneath the clothes, she was all womanly curves. Nicely rounded breasts, tiny waist, gently flared hips and slim thighs. He groaned inwardly as he remembered how well her legs wrapped around his waist when he took her.
A breeze sifted through his hair as the Drusilla-apparition ran her fingers through it. “Go on,” she urged.
“Once I gained access to the house, I would sneak into your bedroom and watch you sleep. I went through your belongings to learn your name,” Angel continued.
“What was my human name?”
Angel stared into the flames in the hearth as he tried in vain to remember Drusilla’s human name. “It’s always been Drusilla. When I made you, I kept it that way. I never renamed any of my childer.”
“Then, what did you do?”
“I spent most of my time watching you. I wasn’t starving, but I didn’t feel the need to feed either. I knew that anything else would taste like ashes next to the blood of a virgin. So, I waited and relished the thought of what your sisters would taste like. I was sated on the plans I made to defile them. But, it wasn’t about them necessarily. They were a means to an end. They were pawns to use in driving you just that much further over the edge. I knew you’d know what would happen, that you’d see it in a vision. I knew from the times I followed you that you went to St. Mark’s Catholic Church. I went in and killed the clergy. I was busy killing a priest when you entered the adjacent confessional box. You surprised me at first, but then I seized upon on it as the perfect opportunity to play with you,” Angel said still staring into the fire.
**************************
London, April, 1860
Drusilla scurried through the abbey into the nave. She slowed down when she got there and walked behind the pews toward the confessional booths. Before entering, she faced the altar, knelt down and crossed herself. She looked up at the altar briefly before standing again and going into one of the booths. As she stepped through the curtain, an arm juts out of the adjacent booth where the priest awaits. The arm was quickly pulled back as quickly as it appeared. Inside the booth, Drusilla sat down and pulls her shawl from her head.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Drusilla said in greeting.
Angelus was caught off guard by the sound of the voice of the girl he’d been following for weeks. He dropped the dead priest and listened intently.
“It’s been two days since my last confession,” Drusilla was saying.
Not knowing how to respond, Angelus remained quiet.
“Father?” Drusilla inquired when she didn’t get an answer.
Angelus shook off his surprise, deciding it was best to fall into character. It was a way to gain her trust and in the long run, a way in which he could break her. It was the opportunity he had been hoping for in the past few weeks.
Clearing his throat, he spoke deeply, “That's not very long.”
Satisfied that she was answered, Drusilla resumed her confession in a trembling voice. “Oh, Father, I'm so afraid.”
Angelus took a moment to relish the fear in her voice. The scent of it wafted through the lattice grate separating them. It tasted delicious on his tongue. He leaned closer to the grate and urged her to continue.
“The Lord is very forgiving. Tell me your sins.”
“I had . . .” Drusilla took a deep breath to calm herself. “I've been seeing again, Father. Yesterday, the men were going to work in the mine. I had . . .” She shuddered as she tried to explain, “a terrible fright.” She drew a trembling breath. “My stomach is all tied up, and I saw this horrible . . . crash.” She calmed down a bit. “My Mummy said to keep my peace, it didn't mean anything. But, this morning . . . they had a cave-in. Two men died.”
“Go on,” Angelus urged.
“Me Mum says . . . I’m cursed.” Drusilla exhaled a breath. “My seeing things are an affront to the Lord,” she inhaled a sob, “that only He's supposed to see anything before it happens.” She started sobbing. “But, I don't mean to, Father, I swear!” She inhaled shakily. “I swear!” Tears pricked her eyes as she started to cry. “I try to be pure in His sight. I don't want to be an evil thing,” she sobbed.
“Oh, hush, child,” Angelus cooed. “The Lord has a plan for all creatures, even a Devil child like you.”
Drusilla was taken aback by the priest’s words. “A Devil?”
Angelus smirked at the fright in her voice. The scent of it became more delectable as it grew stronger. “Yes! You’re a spawn of Satan. All the Hail Marys in the world aren’t going to help. The Lord will use you and smite you down. He’s like that.”
Drusilla clenched fistfuls of her dress and asked in a frightened voice, “What can I do?”
Angelus leaned closer to the grate and seductively said, “Fulfill His plan, child. Be evil. Just give in.”
Drusilla shook her head erratically in denial and sobbed, “No! I want to be good. I want to be pure!”
Angelus nodded thoughtfully. “We all do . . . at first. The world doesn’t work that way.”
Drusilla pressed her face against the grate and sobbed louder. “Father . . . I beg you . . . Please . . . Please, help me.”
Angelus sighed dramatically. “Very well. Ten Our Fathers and an act of contrition. Does that sound good?”
Drusilla sighed in relief. “Yes. Yes, Father. Thank you.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Angelus whispered. “And my child . . .” He called out as he raised his hand to the lattice grate between them.
“Yes?” Drusilla answered expectantly.
Angelus stared at her as he silently fed off her fear. “God is watching you,” he warned.
Drusilla crossed herself anxiously and hurried out of the confessional.
Angelus sat back and listened to her repent her visions and beg God to forgive and to protect her. He stayed where he was until he heard her soft footsteps leave the church. Once she was gone, he stepped out of the booth, leaving the dead priest propped up inside and exited the building under the cover of shadows.
He went back to the hotel and whiled away the rest of the day deliberating over his next plan. When nightfall came, he was at her window again watching her in a restless sleep. He smiled at the thought that he was probably the cause of it. His words inside the confessional had struck a chord with her. He had planted the seeds of worry inside her. Worry that she was evil for having the visions that were beyond her control and the doubt that she could ever be good.
He watched her toss and turn in her bed, clutching her rosary beads. She was moaning softly as she tried to escape whatever was in her dream. After a while, he climbed down, went to another side of the house and climbed the trellis to the second storey balcony. He pressed against the pane and the window opened inward. He climbed inside and examined the room carefully.
The room belonged to Drusilla’s sister, Anna. The pale blonde girl lay snug in her bed, her brow unmarred by dreams such as those that plagued Drusilla. She was indeed a blonde beauty. He couldn’t decide what to do to her first: rape her or drain her.
Knowing it had to be a quick death, something that wasn’t expected. It had to be something that would surprise those who knew her, but also cause Drusilla even more grief. He couldn’t take pleasure in killing this first victim. It had to be a shocking death.
Resigned to that conclusion, Angelus moved swiftly. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand over her mouth. She awoke immediately when she felt the hand and stared at him in wide-eyed fear. He leaned closer to her and scented the delectable aroma before shifting to his demon and striking.
Just as he had fantasized, Angelus became hard at the taste of virgin blood. But, he also tasted age and the wisdom that went with it. She was older than Drusilla by a couple of years at most. But, she was an ordinary girl. She wasn’t plagued by horrific visions like his Drusilla. There wasn’t a twinge of madness in her blood, just the sweetness of virgin and wheat taste of young girl.
Once she was drained, Angelus arranged her like an adjustable doll and left her lying with her hand curled under her chin and the covers drawn up over her shoulders. The position effectively covered the bite mark so that no one would instantly notice it come morning. Then, he went to her dresser and sifted through the dresses. He found a black lace dress, something that wasn’t normally worn by a proper woman. Angelus grinned evilly. So, this sister had a bit of a wanton streak in her. He pulled the dress out and laid it over the end of her bed with great care.
He pulled back the covers again, revealing the girl’s body. Then, he pulled off her white nightgown. He took a moment to ogle her nude body, her breasts were a little on the small side for his tastes. Realizing what he was doing, he never thought of himself as a breast-man before. He stood above her and pondered that thought for a moment. Generally, he was all-woman kind of guy. It never mattered what they looked like as long as they had the appropriate holes in all the right places. He never zoned in one particular part of the anatomy. Huh. Darla’s influence must be rubbing off him lately. Now there was a woman with more than enough flesh, slim in all the right places, but full and firm in others. Angelus shrugged it off and returned to his task of dressing the dead girl in the black dress he had set aside. Once everything was to set up to his satisfaction, he left out the window as silently as he arrived and closed it behind him.
**************************
Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
“You killed my sister,” the apparition sneered. “She was sweet and innocent and you murdered her so callously and then left her there for us find.” She moved closer and whispered in Angel’s ear, “But, you’re more than a murderer aren’t you? You’re more than just a killer.”
The specter of Drusilla straddled his hips, yet he felt no body weight. She looked straight at him with those dark blue doe eyes. She leaned closer until her lips barely touched his and whispered, “You’re not like any other demon. You were born to surpass human killing; become legendary in the art of it. A master torturer is what you are.”
Angel shook his head frantically in denial, “I have a soul now. I can be good. I can do good. Repent for my sins.”
The phantom laughed in Drusilla’s tinkling way. “Do you really think you can repent for what you did to her? She’s too far gone to forgive you. You’ve made sure of that.”
“I didn’t have a soul then!” Angel sobbed.
“You are a fool if you think you can be any different now. The demon is still inside you. You’ll never be free of it, just as you’ll never be free of the memories,” the spirit stated.
“You left my sister’s decaying corpse in her bed for me to find in the morning.” The apparition was back to referring to its disguise in first person. “You didn’t even wait until the earth had hardened over her grave before you went after another victim.”
As Angel rose up off the floor, the apparition disappeared. When he walked swiftly to the atrium, the ghost of Drusilla appeared before him again, blocking his path.
“Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me back if all you’re going to do is torment me? I know . . . what I’ve done . . . to you and others. I can’t ask forgiveness for it! I haven’t got the right to do that. I don’t know what you want from me! I can’t offer you anything!” Angel yelled at her.
“I’m not trying to take anything from you, Daddy. I would never do that.” Ghost-Drusilla raised her hand as if to caress his cheek, but again all he felt was a light breeze. “Shh, Daddy. You have to finish the story. Come on,” she said urged as she turned and sat on the couch again and patted the seat beside her. “Come; tell me what you did next.”
**************************
London, April, 1860
Drusilla woke in fright from the nightmare that plagued her for most of the night. The dream worried her so, that she slid out of bed, wrapped a wool robe around herself and hurried to her sister’s room. She skidded to halt in the open doorway. There Anna lay looking almost peaceful.
Drusilla knocked softly before she entered the room and rounded the bed. She sat beside her sister’s sleeping form and reached over to shake her awake. When she did, the blonde head rolled to the opposite side, revealing two rows of bite marks on her neck. Drusilla touched her sister’s arm feeling the cold and clammy skin. Anna had been dead for some time.
Drusilla covered her mouth and backed away against the wall as she stared in horror at the sight. Anna looked almost picturesque laying there. Her mind refused to process the scene. She didn’t understand how this could have happened. She had seen her sister just before they retired for the night.
Drusilla blinked and realized her Mum was in the room crying. She didn’t remember when her Mummy had arrived or that she had screamed and alerted the whole house as to what happened. She was still staring at her sister in shock.
“Mummy! I saw this in my dream last night,” Drusilla said quietly from her position of trying to sink into the wall.
Her mother looked up with sorrowful eyes. “Now is not the time for your devil’s sight. You are not to speak of it in this house. It’s a sin. You say you saw your sister’s death in a dream? Did you cause this? Was it you that killed her with your cursed thoughts?” Her mother asked accusingly.
“No, Mummy! I didn’t cause this. ’Tis something else, not me!” Drusilla sobbed. “I can’t control what I see.”
Drusilla watched her Mum grieve for a moment before she left the room. She dressed quickly and grabbed her shawl on the way out the door. As she made her way to the church, she tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. In her dream, she had cried out to Anna as a beast grabbed her and killed her in front of Drusilla’s eyes. Then, she woke to find her sister’s lifeless body. Was her Mum right? Was she the cause of Anna’s death? But then, her Mum thought she was cursed by the Devil with having the visions. Even the priest said she was a devil child yesterday. Why was God punishing her with these visions? She never asked for them, but she’d had them for as long as she could remember.
Entering St. Mark’s Catholic Church, she knelt and crossed herself, paying respect at the altar before going to the confessional booth. Over the last ten years, she had become familiar with this place.
Drusilla trembled as she sat down to wait for the window to open. How to explain something like this to the Father? The men in the mine were one thing. She didn’t know them; only saw them in a vision. But, Anna was her sister, flesh and blood kin.
“Back so soon, child?” the deep voice from yesterday broke into her thoughts.
“Oh, Father! It has been a day since my last confession. I had a vision-dream. It was terrible!” Drusilla started to stutter in her fright. “I-I-I saw my sister, Anna, grabbed by an unknown b-b-beast. He k-k-killed her right in front of me!” She inhaled deeply to recover her wits before they spilled out all over the floor and went on, “This morning when I woke . . . I went to check on her. She was dead! Me Mum says that my visions are what killed her. I didn’t mean to, Father! I swear!”
“How do you not know that you did not kill her subconsciously? Mayhap, you were sleep walking and committed the act,” the Father suggested.
“But, there was no blood on my clothes!” Drusilla insisted through tears. “I would never do anything to hurt Anna!” Drusilla gripped her fingers in the latticework of the window and cried harder. “Please, Father! You have to help me! Please, I want to be saved! I don’t want this Sight. I want to be pure!”
“It’s too late. What has been given cannot be taken back. Your soul has made a deal with the Devil and you must stand by it. All I can offer you now is advice. Go back to your mother and tell her you’re sorry,” the Father said.
“Yes, Father,” Drusilla sobbed softly.
When she left the confessional, Angelus had a wide, sinister grin on his face. The poor girl was so confused. She was starting to slowly lose her mind. As far as she knew, her visions aided the death of her sister. This was proving to be very interesting. He’d never contributed to the systematic destruction of a human before. The people in Liam’s life were as sinful as he was. As Angelus, he had killed a lot of people: men, women, and children, whole families murdered and propped up like dolls in their houses to be found by their loved ones.
All of that was well and good when ravaging a village full of innocents. However, this was the first time he had ever obsessed over one victim and set out to methodically destroy their life. It was a new experience for him, tearing down one wall at a time, making her safe little home into something of her worst nightmares. If the emotions pouring off her were any indication, nothing was safe for her anymore. Angelus smiled, pleased with his accomplishment thus far. It was about to become a whole lot worse.
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Crawford Street Mansion, December 24, 1998
“I’m so sorry,” Angel said hoarsely.
He swallowed, trying to get past the lump in his throat. It was raw from pent up emotion. He was long past seeing just an apparition now. She was Drusilla through eyes blurred by unshed tears. She was a beautiful, watery vision sitting beside him. He had been visited by horrific memories over the years since he was cursed with his soul. But, Drusilla was . . . different. When he was Angelus last year, playing cat and mouse with Buffy and her friends was merely a way to relieve the boredom. Drusilla was a masterpiece, an obsession, his original sin.
“You told me to apologize to Mummy,” Drusilla stated. “I went back home and did just that, but she ignored me. My Mummy wouldn’t speak to me. She shut me out while she dealt with Anna’s burial. I stood as an outcast through the funeral. I tried to repent to her, to Anna. I did what you told me and it got me nothing but scorn,” she said flatly.
“Angelus wanted to hurt you, not me! I wouldn’t - didn’t do that. Please, Dru, what do you want from me? What do you want me to do?” Angel pleaded.
Drusilla stared blankly at him, silent.
“Answer me!” Angel yelled at the apparition.
“What would you like me to say? The demon inside you created me,” Drusilla replied.
Angel ground his teeth in frustration as he shuddered. Maybe she was his girl after all. She always talked circles around him. She was flawed in that respect. Maybe Angelus should have let her keep a small shred of sanity for coherency’s sake.
“What did you do?” Drusilla urged, as she looked searchingly into his eyes. "Tell me what you did next. I want to hear how you would tell my story.”
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St. Mark’s Catholic Church, London, 1860
Midnight Mass was already in progress when Angelus silently entered the church and took a seat in the last pew. He glanced over at the adjacent row and several rows away sitting on the end was Drusilla with her head bowed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She sobbed louder whenever the cleric mentioned Anna’s name.
It was interesting that even though the years changed, the Catholic religion was still the same no matter where you were in the world. As a human, he never put much stock in the power of prayer and God. All that God-fearing drivel his father used to drum into him never really took. The sanctimonious rules and laws were hypocrisy, and meant nothing to him now. He’d been a demon for 107 years and still dared a chance of hellfire for stepping foot on holy ground. Unlike crosses and holy water, and perhaps an earthquake, the holy building wasn’t going to harm him and the grounds wouldn’t open up to swallow him.
Angelus took his eyes off a grieving Drusilla long enough to look at the body in the open coffin. Anna was faced toward the audience still wearing the black dress he had put on her with the added touch of a scarf around her neck to hide his bite marks. It’s just as well; the Victorian age was so sensitive about things such as murder and death. Yet, he had been around them in drawings rooms and parlors, attending lavish parties with Darla to know that what was seen in public were just a façade. Behind closed doors, the snobbish prigs were just as deviant as he was.
Paying closer attention to the body, he noticed that in the well-lit church, Anna was a blonde replica of Drusilla. She looked just like her sister, but with blonde hair, the features looked plain on her, whereas, Drusilla had an exotic ethereal beauty. Smiling, Angelus got up and quietly left the church.
A few days later, after they had buried Anna, Angelus took a stroll through the Kensal Green Cemetery until he found her grave. It was in a quaint part of the grounds, the tombstone was simple yet stylishly carved. A bouquet of roses rested in front of the marker. He took two of them and went on his way.
Angelus made his way back to Drusilla’s house and climbed the trellis. Entering her bedroom, he carefully plucked the petals off the stem and arranged them on her vanity. Then, he pricked his finger, let the blood well up and wrote Anna’s name on her vanity mirror. With his excellent night vision, he examined his handiwork: the blood dripping down the mirror from Anna’s name to drip onto the red rose petals that were arranged to spell out Drusilla’s name. With each drop of blood, the petals got darker in color.
Angelus caught a glimpse of a sleeping Drusilla in the mirror and turned around to look at her. Her brow was furrowed by her nightmares. In a mocking sense of tenderness, he went over to the bed and kissed her forehead. He stopped to scent her before disappearing out the window again.
The next morning, Drusilla woke to the sight of the bloody name and screamed. The sound brought everyone to her door. She curled herself into a ball against the headboard and stared at her vanity in horror.
Why was this happening to her now? Her visions were a danger to her family and her. The display on her vanity was a sign from God surely. He was punishing her for Sight that only He should have. She hurried to get dressed, not even looking at her Mum. She couldn’t face her Mum knowing she was the cause of the things that had occurred to them recently. Drusilla bowed her head, avoiding her Mum’s eyes when she walked past and left the house.
Part 2 Here