difficult to tell if Teresa was breathing from where Kennedy stood.
She flashed back to the night when she had found Brandi's corpse behind the dumpster and knew that the only sure way she would have of knowing if her mother was in fact dead was to go over and check her pulse.
Her legs felt as if they were lined with lead as she slowly stepped around her mother's body and tried to get close to it without standing on the blood. She looked down at herself and realized the idiocy of her actions. Her hands and legs were already covered in it.
She walked decisively towards where Teresa lay and knelt besides her body. She placed the push-light on the floor and her hand trembled uncontrollably as she reached out to touch two fingers to the side of her mother's maimed neck that, she could now see, was the source of the flowing blood. She pressed down and waited.
Nothing happened.
Her shaky breath was the only sound that could be heard then.
The faint glint of something caught her eye as she retracted her bloodied hand. She looked down to see a small section of a silver chain hanging from her mother's closed fist, inside the hand that was clutched tightly to her chest.
Acting on impulse, she pulled on it and was a little stupefied to find that it was a silver key. A very fancy key that looked like an ancient heirloom, one that she had never seen before. It dripped blood. She looked down and finally saw that Teresa was dead.
Her mother was dead!
Her mother was dead and she couldn't even find it in her to scream or cry. It felt like the oxygen that she tried to draw in didn't make it to her lungs. Still, not a single tear declared its presence. How could she not cry when her mother lay lifeless just a few inches in front of her?
She was a terrible, terrible person.
Not knowing what else to do, she dropped back to a sitting position on the bloodstained floor.
Anyone else would have surely called the police, the paramedics or something. Any other person would have called for help.
Kennedy just sat there. Her eyes fixed on the crimson pool beneath her feet. Talk about crappy birthdays and that one definitely got the cake.
10. For a Pessimist, I'm Very Optimistic
Damien felt like a stalker.
He had gone in and taken his usual perch at the big windowsill in his dining room. He used to do this almost every night since he moved into that house. But, he was doing it under orders before.
Now it was different, wether he wanted to admit it or not, everything had changed.
He had found an ally. His first real friend in over half a century since he came into his demonic heritage. Sure, he didn't act like it to her. The truth was that he just didn't know how to be one. Even more so when his new friend came with an expiration date. With her being a frail human that could drop dead at any minute and all.
The gist of the matter was that he was no longer posing as a spy for the Brethren. Granted, he still spied, it was just that now he didn't know why.
Whatever he saw, he had decided not to forward it to the Brethren. However, they still needed to believe that he was their lapdog so that he could get his shot at revenge.
He wondered idly how the Riser girl fit into any of that. Trust him to make a mess of something as simple as an observe and report job.
Looking out the window from his spot behind the green colored courtains, he noticed that things were too quiet at the Riser's. It had been nearly an hour since Kennedy had gone in and still no light was turned on and no yelling could be heard.
He had grown accustomed to not even having to make an effort to listen in on their conversations, given that every one that they had during that past week had been a very loud argument.
He found himself wishing that he had asked his new friend for her cell phone number so that he'd have it to dial right then, a thought that led him directly to his next conundrum.
Before agreeing to take on that stupid job, he had been living in comfortable terms with his anonimity. He had even come to depend on it, somewhat like a safety blanket.
Nowadays though, he often found himself wondering longingly what his life would have been like had he never known of the darker side of his bloodline. He'd probably be a very old and very wrinkled man with maybe a grandchild or two to his name.
He mused about how great his life would be like if all he had to worry about was taking his high blood pressure pills and eating enough fiber. But, there he was, enjoying his extremely fullfilling existence full of pointless staring and babysitting shadows.
Speaking of which, he remembered that Tyler – the shadow that he had been saddled with in that job – wasn't being very compliant to his comands, rather than someone else's.
He was most likely planted as a spy on him or as a means of mockery, no doubt appointed by Dante himself. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen or heard from Mr. Cueball since he'd dismissed him the previous night. What could his contemptuous little minion be up to?
The gears in his brain clicked.
All of the lights in the neighboring house were out. Everything was a little too quiet for his liking and he hadn't seen or heard anything from the Brethren's appointed minion ever since he himself had ordered him to leave Kennedy's house and wait for him at his own place.
Damien cursed loudly. How dense could a person get in such a short period of time?
If he hadn't been so preoccupied with thoughts of Kennedy learning of his true nature, he would have stopped to think what the dissapearance of the disobedient shadow meant for him, for them.
He imediately faded out with a growl. His destination, the Riser home. Damien just hoped that he didn't get there too late.
He faded in right before the front door, in case that he was just being paranoid and Kennedy had gone straight to bed. His hand roamed the wall, searching for the light switch that he knew was there somewhere.
“Aha!” He whispered triumphantly as he found it and flicked it up then down again.
His victory was shortlived as nothing happened, even after he repeated the motion two more times. He dropped his hand. Someone had cut the power and he had a very good idea as to whom.
He strained to hear something in the silence. The low sounds of a femenine voice huming a tune like some sort of nursery rhyme reached his ears. It came from inside the same room where he had talked to Kennedy, her father's study. He walked over to it.
The singing grew louder as he got closer to the room, the words became clearer, it was Kennedy's voice. But, it held a darkness that he had never heard in it before. Damien went in.
What he found in that room made his blood run cold.
He wasn't as old or experienced as most of the other demons that held active positions within the Circle similar to his own. Yet, he had expected that after a fair amount of years of witnessing carnage after carnage, not to mention having been the bringer of it once or twice himself, he would have been less affronted by the bloody sight that greeted his eyes.
Kennedy sat in a shallow pool of blood. Her body rocked back and forth with her knees hugged tightly to her chest as she hummed to herself while she stared at her mother's dead form without blinking.
Up until that moment, Damien could have sworn that no heart beat in his chest, that every single warm feeling that he had once harbored had been drowned by the ever growing darkness that settled inside of him.
However, although he was filled with the sudden urge to kill and maim something, it wasn't for the reasons he would have expected.
Kennedy was in shock, but when the time came and she awoke from that state of numbness, she would be utterly destroyed. Damien felt the need to spare her those dark feelings.
He warred inwardly against the strong and irrational desire to storm out and blow away every single person that had ever hurt her. It made absolutely no sense to him. He needed to keep a cool head if he was to protect her from those he served. Letting himself be torn between wanting to rip someone's head off and taking her som
ewhere safe wouldn't help.
Reaching some sort of stalemate with his battling emotions, he moved towards Kennedy, who appeared oblivious to his presence. He picked her up, not really caring if he got blood all over himself as he did, and faded back to his house.
He didn't breathe until they were safe within the religious surroundings of Mr. Nieves' old home. He faded into the master bedroom's bathroom. Which, believe it or not, was also themed with crosses as a creepy pattern on the tiles.
The stunned Kennedy that he still held craddled in his arms kept humming her woeful song. He looked down at her blood drenched clothes to make sure that none of it was her own. Then, he set her down gently on the closed toilet seat and grabbed her face between both of his hands.
He touched his forehead to hers.
“I am here.” He told her without knowing why.
He just needed her to know that she wasn't there alone, that he knew what she was going through. The singing stopped but there was no other indication as to her mental status other than her sudden silence. He began to truly worry when her eyes didn't respond to his closeness as they usually did.
Damien let go of her face and stepped away slowly. He started the shower and graduated the water's temperature, moving mechanically as he regarded her through the corner of his eye. He abselty mused about that being what being possesed felt like. Going through the motions, seeing yourself doing things that you would not have done otherwise and being unable to stop yourself.
Would she start screaming or bawling any time soon like most other humans that he had known throughout his long years?
He had seen grown men break down over less. Not Kennedy though, she just sat there staring at the pictures depicting the Passion of the Christ that where painted onto the tiles on the wall opposite of her.
He knew that she loved her mother, thus he came to the conlcusion that she was either extremely well adjusted or very deep in shock. He sat on the latter theory until proven otherwise.
When he decided that the water temperature was just right, he turned to look at her completely and mentally called Dante every ugly and offending word that he could think of for ever sending him on that damned job.
He then thought about who would have helped Kennedy if he wasn't the one there. She probably would have not even made it alive that long.
He felt guilty for ever thinking that, then wretched for being able to feel guilt in the first place and then guilty again for not wanting to feel guilty.
He would have most likely gone insane if he weren't certifiable already. Just another day in the pathetic life of Damien – the bastard demon hybrid – Leoni.
Catatonic Kennedy's eyes wouldn't leave the spot that they had fixed themselves onto, not even when he shook her softly. Taking in her still form, he was certain of one thing, the blood needed to come off.
Weary about her possible reactions and confused out of his mind by a set of bodily reactions of his own, he gently took her from where she sat.
Demons, or rather nephilims in his case, were certainly not celibate. In fact, their whole existence was plotted in the begining to ensure the survival of the species. In the crudest form, they had been originally intended merely as breeders to keep the fallen watcher's bloodlines alive.
As the centuries went by, the nephilim proved their place within their family's heirarchy and are as of today considered almost as powerful, in station and abilities as their forefathers. Almost, being the operative word.
Damien himself, much to Buer's dissapointment, had never been romantically involved with anyone. Not for lack of trying. There had been a girl, one of his classmates back when he was still ignorant of everything else. But, they had barely gotten past the hand holding phase when the crap hit the fan and he was taken from his home.
Even then, a few years after his training, he had tried to make a go of dating. Fortunately for him and them, no one stuck. Or more like, he never stuck on anyone. He had thought that he just wasn't very comitted to trying at first. But, that was before he realized that whatever part of him that had been able to love once had died in that living room alongside his mother.
So he got into that shower with Kennedy.
All of their clothes were still in place and he willed his body to stay quiet as he genlty manouvered her under the spray to wash away the already dried up blood that covered her arms and most of her legs.
It was when he was getting a stuborn clot that stuck to the skin a little ways above one of her knees that his traitorous body began to speak.
Damien looked up horrified, checking to see if she hadn't noticed. Kennedy's eyes were closed as the water fell on her face and cascaded down her neck to the rest of her body. Her head rested against the tiled wall.
His gut tightened, looking up was not the best thing he could have done.
“Damn it.” He hissed under his breath before he caught himself.
The last thing that he wanted to do was to alert her to his state. He had never been more thankful for anyone's shock as he was at that moment. The girl had just lost her mother and she trusted him, only God knows why, to help her through that.
Shame on him. He needed that water to be ice cold.
Kicking himself mentally one last time, he put his thoughts on check and tried to get some kind of reaction out of his grieving friend. Whom he had just mentally sullied. He needed to get out of there, fast.
“Kennedy?” He called out to her.
His voice, louder than he had intended, echoed within the walls of the small bathroom. It did the trick. She slowly opened up her eyes and looked at him as if waking from a dream.
“Hey.” She whispered.
“Hey there, you went away for a while – he whispered back – I was not sure if I would be getting you back any time soon.”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to bail on you like that.” She spoke calmly, too calmly.
“Do you remember what happened?” He had seen cases where people developed some kind of selective amnesia after a very traumatic event not unlike what she had just been through.
He truly wished that wasn't her case. He really didn't want to be the one to tell her that her mother was dead. The answer to his whispered question was affirmative. However, she didn't speak that time. She just nodded.
He knew that her calm words were just a front. He hated that she felt like she had to pretend to be brave with him, but it was better that way. It was necesary for what he was about to ask her.
“Did you see anything, or anyone?” He asked softly and she shook her head. Nothing, as he had expected, but he already knew.
He was convinced, that Tyler had reported to the Brethren and that they had comisioned the kill. The alarming part was that he had no idea what the shadow had to say and what was worse, they hadn't contacted him yet.
That could only mean that his subordinate had managed to drag his name into whatever web that he was spinning for the Circle, no doubt under Dante's command. He shook his head as well and tried to shake off the uneasiness that had settled over him.
“It is fine.” He lied. Nothing was fine, not a single thing. She knew it too, but she nodded anyway.
“I need to go take a closer look at – his voice faded – will you be allright by yourself? It will only be a few minutes.” Another nod from her.
“Right, then, I will leave you to finish off in here. My bedroom is right outside.You can put on whatever you want when you get out.” With that, he faded from the shower. Not missing Kennedy's gasp of surprise as he went.
Back in Steven's study, Damien materialized with a squishing noise. He wasn't sure if it was the blood that covered the floor or the water that dripped from him. He probably should have changed first before going there. Whatever he did, he had to do it fast.
Now that Kennedy wasn't around, he could focus more clearly on his surroundings.
Teresa's body was gone. There were traces of sulfur evident in the air. The foul smell
of it reached his nose, confirming what he already knew. A shadow had been there as recently.
The girl had been lucky not to have been there. That brash attack meant that she, just as her deceased mother, had been tagged a liability. She would be the next in line to be killed and if he so much as got in their way, he would finally give them the reason that they had so desperately been waiting for and mark him for destruction as well.
Somehow, he found that he truly didn't care. No harm would come to her while he breathed. He picked up and pocketed the athame he had given her that very afternoon and faded up to her bedroom where he packed a few random articles of clothing and got her cellular phone from her nightstand before fading back to his house once more.
He faded into his living room figuring that Kennedy would still be in his room cleaning up. The image that greeted him would forever be impressed in his mind.
The girl – no, the woman, definitely a woman – was sitting on his sofa, clad in a pair of red plaid boxer shorts and a single white tee shirt that left barely anything to the imagination and jumpstarted the workings of his own dirty imagination. Oblivious to his presence, she played with an old key attached to a silver chain.
He shook his head, his mind's eye fixed on the very cold shower that awaited him upstairs.
The movement startled her and she looked up at him expectantly. Her cheeks went pink nearly instantly. He dropped the bag that had been dangling from his hand and walked out of the room.
“Where are you going?” She called after him.
“Shower.” Was the only thing that he said. He went upstairs.
Damien came down dressed in some dark jeans, a black tee shirt and his boots. He was ready for the road, but Kennedy was not where he had left her.
He found her in the kitchen making a sandwich out of two chocolate chip cookies and half a slice of american cheese. She smiled at him and took a bite.
He looked on with a disgusted expression but she continued to eat her snack as if it was the most delicious thing in the world. Sure, everybody ate chocolate with cheese. Maybe the events of the day had finally unhinged her.
Kennedy had changed out of his clothes and into her own while he showered. She donned a very colorful combination of an extremely pink tank top with flowers on the front and green polkadot pajama bottoms. She glowed like a neon sign.
“What?” She asked self-conciously as she picked up another one of the little sandwiches that she had lined on top of the counter.
“Nothing, that looks tasty.” He said in the usual sarcastic tone he had come to reserve just for her.
“I'm hungry! That piece of Twinkie you gave me earlier was the first and only thing I ate today.” She popped yet another bite of cookie sandwich into her mouth.
As nasty as the bizarre food combination appeared, he realized that he was getting a tad hungry himself. But, there wasn't a moment to waste. It was a matter of time until whoever the Brethren had sent decided to make their move and Damien didn't want to be