Red Nightmares at Midnight

He maneuvered the car out onto the highway leading out of town. “You’re welcome,” he replied quietly, keeping both eyes on the road. He drove home in silence, actually hoping Douglass would fall asleep and so she did, right before getting there. But he woke her gently and both were suffering from a bit of alcohol poisoning so Dante bid her goodnight and went to bed forthwith. But the phone rang three days later, Lucille patching it through to the devil hunter. After listening intently, he located Douglass and brusquely ordered her to get her shit together; they had a job and it seemed like a bitch at that. A week later found the duo far north, the local cops knowing of Dante’s hunting skills and pleading for aid after half their force fell victim to the teeth of demons. For twice the usual fee, Dante had packed his bike with supplies and a few changes of clothes and headed north along the highway. What they found there was no less than a nest, the fuckers having bred over countless years and damn near depopulated several towns along the coastline. But the complacent hellspawn weren’t expecting the righteous wrathful fury of Sparda’s son that dispatched with extreme prejudice. Dante’s anger and rage knew little to no bounds as he killed indiscriminately. This was his world, by damn, and they could just toddle back to hell and suck Lucifer’s cock! But Douglass surprised him a bit by taking initiative and killing right beside him, along the right flank. Her training had paid off, it seemed, for no broken bones or massive contusions littered her skin at the end of the nightly killing spree. The miscreants that managed to escape God’s wrath tried to retaliate, but Dante had been hunting for years and knew better than to not expect the unexpected. There was little to no emotion behind blue eyes as he killed. Four nights later found the place quiet for the first time in years. After a brief scuffle with the local law enforcement about their laxness in dealing with the problem, Dante stormed from the headquarters, still seething. But he forced his temper to recede; these were still only humans and he supposed he expected too much from the simian animals. But as the days lingered, he grew even more moody and morose, often falling into somber silence for hours at the time. He knew what he had to do and partly dreaded it and looked forward to such. But one morning, after checking out of the motel at which he’d set up a base of operations of sorts, he mounted his bike and peeled out northward yet again. He spoke not a word to Douglass; didn’t think of her at all, actually. Which wasn’t evil on his part, just his mind was occupied elsewhere. There was a heavy weight on his mind and soul. His own private pain was catching up with him once more. But he rode north for a day, passing through small towns only to stop for gas and food, which he devoured then rode on. Finally he reached his destination; a small town just north of Eureka, California. He pulled up at the store, truly the only merchant place the town sported and filled the tank once more, squinting in the afternoon sun. Just enough time, he figured. As he went inside to pay, the eyes of two old men followed him; they’d been sitting in those rocking chairs for as long as he could remember on his yearly visits here. But the three men exchanged nods, it was understood. He straddled his bike once more and pulled back on the main road of the town, seeking and finding the little used trail that led to the coast. He stopped at the gate. It was locked. But he pulled from his coat pocket the silver key, it turning easily in his hand. Opening the gate, he left the bike and walked up the hill, steps slow and measured. Cresting the summit, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. The cliff was actually a huge escarpment, overlooking a gorgeous view of the ocean. About fifty yards from the edge rose another small grassy hillock, an open marbled canopy covering the center of the small knoll. Resting under the covering were two gravesites, lying side by side. It took all the will he could muster to walk up that hill. Standing beside the left site, he felt tears clouding his vision as he read the name engraved on the glossy headstone. Jayden McAlister And on the other, Jacksom McAlister. Brother and sister lay side by side. Dante fell to his knees, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. Pulling off his gloves, for such should not profane, trembling fingers drifted over Jayden’s name; he didn’t have to see the words chiseled below her name. Your love will light my way, Your memory will ever be with me, Until I hold you within my arms again. His lover, his wife, his other self, his made-match lay here beneath the wind and sky, staring out to see beside her beloved brother. He knelt there beside her, hot human tears splashing the cold marble as he bore his pain alone, for all his strength, all his power, he couldn’t have saved her from her own mortality. Upon the marble slab between the two adjoined stones rested a framed photo of his past: Jayden, Jacksom, Lucas, Trish and Dante. All of them, lost. But none struck his broken heart as did the memory of the lovely smiling redhead in his arms, grinning at the camera. He couldn’t even look at it. Just held his head in his hands and sobbed like a child; then threw back his head and howled into the coming dusk, the roar of a shattered soul, helpless and alone in the dark.




Douglass : After the night out, things had gotten tense; Dee couldn't hardly remember much of the evening after getting to the bar, only vague concepts of dance and song. What a fool she must have made of herself; but she couldn't dwell on that, not now or ever; it was back to work. The break was nice, but work felt good none-the-less. A few days passed, and Dante seemed increasingly moody, hardly speaking at all, which really didn't bother her; she could do well without the mindless conversation they both forced themselves into. However, there was a nagging thought at the back of her mind that she somehow did something wrong that night; but she just couldn't remember what. She couldn't begin to express the relief she felt when the order came to move out; she'd been waiting with utter anticipation for the opportunity to test her new skills. Test them she did, she even pushed herself beyond what she believed she was capable of; and no major injuries. Dante was distracted though, and hardly mentioned her improvement; it struck her as odd, he usually relished in the moments that he could cut her down. Then, when the job was done, she woke alone, no companion even in the city. Bitter and scorned, he hadn't even said anything; the fuck-tard. Sour thoughts possessed her mind; she was sick and tired of his menstrual cycle and was ready for some answers, never did she pry, never did she ask when it was apparent he didn't want to tell; but enough was enough. He had nearly a full day's start on her, and knew where he was going; it would be difficult but she'd find him, and if things came down to it, they'd finally duke it out. Her bike hummed beneath her, chewing up the roads as she went from town to town, gathering information as to where the fucker might have gone to. Twice the convenience store attendants were difficult, and both times it was a female who refused to inform her about the tall hunter; so she utilized a few other tricks she'd refined thanks to Dante. It was a long and tedious process, but thankfully he was such a sore-thumb in a crowd, if they hadn't seen him, they knew they hadn't; if they had, they knew it. Finally stopping in at one last town, she pulled her bike up to the pump, trotting inside to pay for her gas and ask the familiar questions. Two old men sat at a small table, and they eyed her wearily as she trotted in, just before sunup. Apparently they didn't have much to do. "May I help you?" the clerk chimed in, she turned to face him, cold daggers of hazel biting into him before another word was spoken. "I'm looking for a man, perhaps you've seen him…" she rattled off and explanation of Dante, unmistakable it was. The two elderly gentlemen began to laugh, chewing sweet straw between their teeth. "Something funny, old timer?" "You won't be finding him in this here town, he never stays too long. Why you looking for him anyway?" "We need to talk." "Well, if he's still around he'd be a few miles out of town that-a-way; if you miss it, that's your fault." The one who'd been speaking rocked back, placing hands behind his head in finality; there wouldn't be anymore information given. Douglass nodded as she left, dropping the money for the gas on the counter. Her bike purred back to life, as she rode out towards the sunrise, following the direction in which the old timer had pointed her. A mile or so out of town, she slowed her speed, eyes scanning carefully for any signs of him; any sign of Dante. As the sun threatened to peek over the horizon, she pulled sunglasses from her pocket, slipping them on the small computer inside began to scan and process the area around her. She was lucky, it picked up on a foreign metal, and honed in on the distinct shape; it was Dante's bike. Pulling her own up near where he'd left it, she dismounted, eyes looking about wearily. What is this place? The large gate was still open, did she dare? You didn't come this far to turn back now; slipping through, she inched carefully forward, eyes scanning the clearing. She wasn't quite sure what to make of any of it; the mausoleum in the center was the only practical place to begin looking for him; so she trod carefully, sticking to the poorly beaten path. Halfway up the hill she spotted him, hunkered down near what seemed like a grave; His parents? No, it couldn't be, his father had disappeared; then suddenly his words flashed into her mind, "She's gone forever!" A twinge of shame passed over her, written on her face like the brand of traitor; but she couldn't pull her eyes from him, not yet. He looked genuinely sad, mournful even, his face was streaked with the trails or tears. You're just a stupid girl with a dolls face Douglass, you know that. Turning away she walked back to the gate, leaning against one of the posts, arms crossed beneath her chest and one leg cocked while the other straight; fucking shit. Bowing her head, she said a silent prayer for him; you never should have followed Dee, if he would have wanted you here he would have said something. But what was done had been done, and there was no going back now. Silently she waited, hopefully he wouldn't kill her for this, but she wouldn't lie to him; she hadn't yet and she didn't plan on doing it anytime soon.




Dante hadn’t bothered to sleep; wouldn’t have even if he’d of been able. He merely sat beside Jayden’s grave, silent as a prayer. Even whiskey couldn’t help him here; his heart was lying in tiny pieces across the marbled slab. The sun was just hinting over the mountains behind him, casting eerie shadows on the water, but he couldn’t see it. All his senses were honed in on a peculiar piece of metal he was turning over and over in his hands. Two golden bands, one fused into another, making them connected forever. He’d done that, right after his wife took her last breath in this world. His pain and anger had been so great, the devil power within him lashed out through his fingers, melting the wedding bands into each other. Breathing was shaky; he just wanted to lay down and die, to be beside her forever. But she wouldn’t let him, she drove him on. But God, he missed her! Fresh tears formed in his eyes at her words to him, as she lay in that sterile hospital room, breathing irregular and broken. “You have to let me go, prince. My time’s over; Jacksom’s waiting.” He’d pleaded for her not to leave him, on his knees beside her bed, but she’d only smiled and stroked his cheek. “Dante…you’re so strong, so much stronger than I. Be glorious, my love…” Her last breath had escaped, his name gracing her lips. But he still sat beside her now, lost and alone. “Jay…I miss you.” Fingers closed over the bound rings. “I can’t let go…” Damn all humanity!! He’d stumbled through life, devoting his all to his job, just as she’d said. But he made pilgrimage here every year on the date of her death, to pay homage to the woman he’d loved. But something caught his sixth sense; what the fuck? Growling under his breath at having his sanctuary invaded, he rose to his feet, red leather flaring around his angry strides as he stormed to the crest of the hill, staring down at the unfortunate being that possessed a death wish. Bloodshot eyes blinked at recognizing Douglass, what in hell was she doing here? So he asked. “Douglass. What are you doing here?” His voice was empty, bereft of any semblance of emotion.




Douglass : Knowing eyes lifted to him; knowing but not accusing. "It doesn't matter, I would have left but it would have only upset you more." She didn't move, truth was, she was too afraid to; she'd invaded something dear to his heart, and she was upset with herself the way things were. Dim rays of light began to spill out over the countryside, illuminating the white marble beyond the gate. "I didn't mean to trespass, I didn't know." Her voice was low, respect for those who may lie for eternity beneath that graceful pew. Involuntarily she averted eyes away, if he was going to strike her down, she wouldn't fight it; she'd trespassed, and she'd pay for it.




White-hot anger and rage clouded his vision, his flesh rippled beneath the sibilant red leather. He damn near took the woman’s head right then, but reality slapped him across the face and he realized just where he was standing. That thought alone took most of the wind from his angry sails. Set shoulders dropped a bit as he shook his head and said, “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t know. Maybe I should have said something…” But he couldn’t finish the sentence. His throat closed and he choked slightly. Turning back, he whispered softly on the morning breeze, “I’m sorry for everything.” This was his haven, his place of pilgrimage, reverence. But he just returned to the grave and sat beside it, arms propped on splayed bent knees. He wouldn’t invite her, but he hadn’t forbidden her either. To do so would shatter the fragile trust of another human soul, but he wasn’t quite ready to roll out the red carpet just yet. The decision to inquire was hers; Dante would never offer, yet he vaguely remembered Douglass asking about “his story”. “Well,” he said quietly to no one, “it’s a bitch, that one.”




Douglass : She didn't know what to do; to go, to stay; it was a heavy weight on her mind. In a way she envied him; at least he had somewhere to go to mourn, somewhere to cry; she'd never have that. Kneeling down she plucked two California poppy's from a small patch near the gate, well here went everything. Walking lightly she twirled the flowers between her fingers, standing before the graves; she looked upon them with tender eyes, her own pain threatening to surface. Kneeling down, she placed one flower on each tombstone, holding a fist to her lips, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer; God never answered, but by damn she would still pray. She read the names upon the stones, and the words inscribed in each; and her heart dropped. Eyes focused on the picture, how happy they all looked, even Dante. She was ashamed of herself, ashamed for being here, and ashamed of her actions the few nights prior, she still wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but she was sure that she should be ashamed. Suddenly, she had more in common with him than just the job, they shared a pain that ran deeper than the deepest oceans. Her lips formed the words, but she couldn't speak, 'I'm sorry.' She wanted to flee, she didn't want to be here anymore, the smiling faces in the picture would haunt her, hound her dreams like a demon in the night. But now, she was real; all of them were real and she needed to know. "It's always a… bitch. But it happens." She was reluctant to swear in front of the graves, but her lips couldn't form any other word, it had been his choice. "What's happened to you, Dante?" her voice was no more than a whisper, she couldn't bring it any higher than that.




Dante didn’t look up at her as she ascended the hill; it’d been her choice, after all. But he kept his tears inside, by damn he would not cry again. He couldn’t help but watch from the corner of his eye as she placed the small flowers on the stones, God that nearly tore him anew. But he knew she could relate, had she not recently lost her everything? Douglass could understand, he realized. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Douglass. It’s all over and done,” he said hollowly, reading the words that couldn’t be given voice. “What’s happened?” he echoed, staring emptily out to sea. “Much.” He sighed and lowered his head, staring at his boots. “You think you know pain, Douglass, the pain of having everything you held dear ripped away in a single night. Well, imagine it lingering, waiting for death, but unable to finally rest?” He returned his gaze to sea, unable to stop the words that tripped from his lips. They’d been bottled up inside forever, it seemed and wouldn’t be stemmed any longer. “My father was a demon who turned against Hell and defeated the armies that threatened this plane. He was rewarded with the ability to live on earth for his service to Jehovah. He met my mother and they married, she giving birth to my twin brother Vergil and me. But the hordes wouldn’t allow descendents of Sparda to live, so my family was slaughtered when I was about five years old. My father disappeared and my mother and brother slain. I was left for dead, but somehow I managed to survive.” He went on, monotone about growing up on the streets, opening his business when he realized just what power burned in his blood, the insertion of Trish, a clone of his mother, into his life. The trip to Mallet Island, where he learned of his heritage and found the Alastor, the huge blade impaling him to the floor and he able to overcome her demon power by invoking his own. The blade had sworn to serve him from that moment on. The first trip into Hell to stop Mundus, a powerful fallen angel, from opening the gates to Hell once more. He and Trish had emerged triumphant from that adventure and life had gone on as usual. But he’d somehow run across a brother and sister, both hunters of the same caliber as he, and seems they had a contract on his life. He told Douglass of that first climactic battle with Jayden, related the woman’s background with her brother. “She was born with a gun in her hand. They were orphaned and found by a former hunter, retired. They were the best in the east, but somehow they ran afoul of me and it didn’t end well.” He had to laugh at the memory. “I think to this day she would have killed me and felt no remorse about it. I was a demon, after all, and Jayden had the ‘radar’ that tuned to demon blood. She could sense it. Made her damn fine at her job. But the six of us, me, Lucas, Trish, Jay and Jax, eventually found ourselves on the trail of the same baddie, and things just fell into place, I guess. It’s all fuzzy as to the how, but eventually I married the hellion.” He turned the rings over and over. “Trish and Lucas handled overseas jobs, while the three of us ran the organization in the US.” Brows rippled into a frown. “But about ten years after, Jacksom was killed on a hunt, and I don’t think Jayden ever recovered completely. He was her brother, the only family she’d ever known. But we went on. Then Lucas disappeared and Trish went crazy over it. I still don’t know what happened to her.” He sighed. “And that was about twenty years ago. Trish was a demon, she held my mother’s form, so it’s anyone’s guess. But I haven’t run across her yet. But Jayden…God, how I loved her”, he sighed, fingertips brushing the stone, “she was diagnosed with a malignant heart condition about twelve years ago. She was about forty three, I think. It didn’t stop her from hunting, though. God knows I tried to talk her out of it, but she was as stubborn as they come.” He paused, then went on. “When it finally caught up with her, she lingered, Douglass. All that strength and willpower caged by damnable human flesh. She lingered in the hospital for two years, till she finally…died.” His fists clenched as eyes closed, tears gracing his lashes. “And I couldn’t save her. All my power, all my strength, and I couldn’t save her from her humanity!” A strangled sob caught in his throat, unable to break free. He’d held his pain inside for eleven years; it had eaten away at him for what seemed like an eternity.




Douglass : She listened intently; eyes unable to break away from the smiling face of the vibrant red-head. To love that deeply, what did it feel like? Eyelids closed, holding back a tear of her own; internal pain and pain shared on this open field spinning a web around her mind, refusing to let go or to be sundered in any way. She stood, as if to leave, swaying slightly on unsure legs; but she didn't, she took a few steps and knelt before him, hazel eyes searching his face. She couldn't imagine the pain for that long, harboring it deep within the soul; no wonder he was Dante. Reluctantly a single hand reached forward, unsure about what she was doing, it advanced slowly, a single finger touching his cheek near the corner of his left eye, then following the path of a tear down his face. Words escaped her; she'd told him before that they had never worked for her. A single tear finally broke free of her eye; By damn Dante, I've cried for you. She took his free hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze; "We are but ashes and dust."




Somewhere in the misery, Dante heard Douglass move, he figured she was hightailing it down the hill to her bike and running screaming for the road. But it wasn’t so, as it appeared. Surprised glassy eyes watched with a bit of puzzlement as she rose and approached him, lowering to her knees in front of him. He nearly recoiled from the hesitant touch, so long had it been since a gentle hand caressed him, but he wasn’t fast enough in his shocky unbalance. Lashes closed over aching blue eyes as she stroked his tear-streaked cheek. Warm fingers curled around his own shaking digits; dimly he realized it was Douglass’s own hand gripping his fingers. It took him three tries to answer her quiet statement. “I know that, Douglass. Humans more than most.” Long strong digits gripped. “But why am I so damned?” He lowered his head, white strands falling to shield his eyes from the wide world, as if even God judged the man and found him wanting.




Douglass : She shook her head slowly, unable to break her eyes from his. She placed his hand against her chest, her heart beating rhythmically under the clothes and flesh that caged it; "We aren't always." Her voice a horse whisper, she placed her free hand against his chest, feeling the 'thud thud thud' of his heart; "I can't answer that, but what I can tell you is that you were there to pick me up when I'd fallen so far that I couldn't see anymore; you took me in when I had nowhere else to go, gave me a purpose when I had nothing left to live for." She released her hold on his hand, "For every life you think you've lost, you've saved at least that many. I know she's proud of you." She wanted to embrace him, cradle him like a wounded child; fight off all that had pained him, keep him safe within the arms of a friend. "You have a friend Dante; longer than either of us have known. I'll be right here."




Pain was such a friend; it and misery had kept the hunter well within their clutches for over a decade. Dante listened to her words, they registering dimly in his brain. He knew it subliminally, of course, but that still didn’t take the razors from his heart. Drawing in a shaky breath, he released it slowly, daring to close his eyes once more. “I know, Douglass, I know all of that. I even know the specs of my job. But it still doesn’t make the crosses any easier to drag. I’ve walked this miserable earth for almost a century. I’m damned tired of all the misery. It erodes resolve.” He slumped a bit, hunching his shoulders, the leather sliding over his broad frame. “And thanks…” He was so tired. All this exhaustion was enough to knock out an elephant, but where to lean? He honestly didn’t know of a rock strong enough. His previous sanity lay in the earth beside him.




Douglass : She slid beside him, down on two knees she wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders; quietly words began to pour from her lips, a simple melody carrying away on the sea breeze; "Lean on me, when you're not strong; and I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on, it won't be long; till I'm gonna need somebody to lean on. Just call on me brother, when you need a friend, cuz we all need somebody to lean on, I just might have a problem; that you'd understand, cuz we all need somebody to lean on."




He heard the lyrics, recognized the song and thought it vastly ironic. This one had started out hating his bloody guts. A soft laugh, a whisper of memory flickered in his brain. Touché, Jayden, he realized dimly. And history repeats, no? But the arm around his shoulders was real, not memory or nightmare. So tired… Dante allowed himself a small moment of reprieve; strong as he was, the waves eventually wore down the rock. With a soft nearly imperceptible sigh, he leaned his forehead to Douglass’s shoulder, eyes falling closed in his damnable weakness. But he couldn’t allow himself any more than a span of twenty heartbeats, else his humanity would damn him to endless pain forever. It took the demon to drown it out. But he sighed once more, this time heavily, the expression seeming to come from his boot heels and slowly got to his feet. Turning to the dual sites, he moved to stand at their feet, extending his hand and the Alastor, which had been resting quietly between brother and sister, almost imperceptible against the white marble, flashed and flew to her master’s hand, Dante’s fingers closing tightly around the grip. He wouldn’t speak the words aloud; he didn’t need to. As have I sworn, I shall not fail. Lightning flashed as he lifted the blade over his head, sharp tip pointed at the earth. With a mighty heave of shoulders and a forced exclamation, “Ha!” leaving his lips, the son of Sparda drove the mighty demon blade in the concrete, a violent crack and boom shaking the ground as the blade expunged its power into the very earth itself. So sealed was his vow, as it had been for a decade and more. Amethyst ripples of power snaked from sword to master, enveloping the hunter in writhing light. The demon blood he possessed absorbed the deadly energy and, after a long, long moment of renewing fealty to those he served, he jerked the blade from the earth, giving the cairn a salute before resheathing the huge blade along his back. Stepping back to leave, he gave Douglass’s shoulder a soft pat in passing. “…thanks, Dee,” he said quietly, striding past her and heading for the gate and home, his pilgrimage over.




Douglass : Soft notes fluttered away on the ocean breeze; carried to the ocean which had no memory. To have no memory; such would be a glorious thing; but damn her humanity, her need to remember, and her need to live; damn it all. Kneeling motionlessly, unmoving from her current perch, she watched in silence as Dante performed his likely ritual; no doubt he had done such in the past. Soft hazel eyes fell away, no longer feeling worthy of such witnesses; vision fixing intently on a single blade of grass fluttering about upon the hillside. A slight smile perked the corners of her mouth as he passed, kind words slipping from his usually vulgar lips; eyes lifted to peer at the grave-sites; the smiling face of Jayden and the others peering back at her, eyes accusing and unkind. Quickly; almost hurriedly, she rose to her feet and followed, certainly this was not a place to be alone in, at least not for her. The faces stared back at her, burned into her memory, and no matter how she tried they wouldn't leave. Silent as the grave she was, departing that place; and the silence carried over to trip home. They had stopped only once to rest; she offered little more than a half smirk the entire time. Late the following night the bikes rolled onto the lift, each greeting Lucille in their own way; Douglass's voice was quite and meek; she looked like hell, eyes swollen and sleep deprived. Slipping away into her bedroom, she closed the door quietly behind her, dropping her gear on the floor she went to the edge of the bed, sitting with face buried in hands she tried hard not to think of the faces, but couldn't shake them from her mind. "Douglass, are you alright?" "I'm fine Lucy, just a little tired." "Then you should get some sleep." "I can't; not just yet." "But, Douglass, if you're tired you need to rest." "I know Lucy, but I need to do something first." Standing up, she went to a laptop, perched atop her dresser, finally she'd brought one back with her, plugging a link cable into Lucille's dock near her voice box, Douglass quickly typed up a small note; saving it into a password protected file. "Lucille, if anything ever happens to me, I want you to open that file; call the number and talk only to the individual with that name. Give her the message that's typed there; can you do that for me?" "Douglass, your behavior is odd…" "Can you do that for me Lucille?" her voice had become stern. A moment of silence from the mainframe, then she hummed her answer, "Yes Douglass, I can." "Thank you Lucy." "Douglass, this file is password protected, how will I be able to get into it." Douglass whispered the password to her, warning Lucille not to ever open that file until she saw a death certificate. Lucille complied, storing the file away somewhere deep in her hardware. "Will you sleep now Douglass?" "I'll try."




The ride home had been uneventful, thankfully. Dante wasn’t in the mood for demonic bullshit. A long road, doubtless, and he was already tired. Upon arriving home, he bid Lucille hello and disappeared into his bedroom, the door automatically locking shut behind him. After slinging his duffel and equipment in a corner, he stripped and collapsed in bed to sleep blissfully for about sixteen hours, Lucille seeing adamantly to it that the hunter wasn’t interrupted. For once, his coma was quiet. He was just too tired to fight demons in his sleep, for hell’s sake. The phone in the study rang several times over the time frame, but Lucille refused to acknowledge without the specified password. Harris had it, and so did Williams. As well did a few scattered individuals who preferred to remain nameless. Anything else, Lucille would simply answer with a boring monotone of some bogus telemarking company, until the miscreant on the other end hung up. Harris in fact did call once, but the computer refused to patch the call through, being unmoved by blustering human threats. The mainframe merely cut the connection and blocked all incoming ports when the Sergeant got a bit too persistent. But finally Dante came out of unconsciousness and managed to stagger to the shower without opening his eyes, nearly falling over his gun belt in the middle of the floor. He felt like he’d been beaten with a truck. And upon finally opening his eyes to stare at his battered face in the mirror, believed it. But he miraculously managed to not topple on his ass under the beating water, finally waking up enough to see straight. Afterwards, he felt worlds better. Hauling on a pair of jeans, he yawned, running fingers through tousled damp hair and meandered to the kitchen, absently and automatically inquiring of Lucille of calls, disturbances, the bloody time of day and what not. She responded with alacrity, ever prompt and efficient. Dragging out cereal, as he didn’t think he could manage a sandwich if his life depended on it, he poured nearly a quart bowl full and wandered to his study, plunking down in his chair to eat and read the mail. It wasn’t till he actually finished the news before he wondered just where Douglass had gotten to.




Douglass : Rest had averted her yet again; refusing to be at her aid. A cold shower and a bit of coffee had been her evening companion; followed closely by a routine through the obstacle course. Lucille inquired politely about sleep; but Douglass refused answer; how could she? 'The faces of the dead won't let me sleep?' It sounded like bull-shit even to her, but what had ached her most were the individuals whose faces were haunting her. Of course there were the faces from the picture; she had known that was bound to happen for a night or two; but the faces of Conroy, Sam, Luis, Jackson, and all the others floated past her minds eyes, discontented they glared at her; but why? For two hours she'd dared sleep; trying desperately to fall into its sweet embrace; but it refused her. Hunched upon the bench downstairs, black workout pants and a white tank top hung lazily from her flesh. Hair went untamed, tussled and matted from lack of care and being drenched in sweat; good god she must smell like a locker. A soft, white towel hung draped from her shoulders, moist after a long workout. Her body was screaming for rest, but her mind would not let her eyes close; it was almost as though she feared the images in her mind. She had not betrayed their memory, she never would; but still they glared, accusing her in silence of an unknown misdemeanor. Sighing heavily she rose to her feet, unable to mount the stairs, she slumped against the wall of the elevator, as Lucille directed it's ascent to the living level. "Will you sleep now Douglass?" "I dunno Lucy, we'll see." Stammering out of elevator, she passed by the kitchen; her legs feeling like ten ton weights, a drink sounded wonderful; but fetching one was something else all together. Passing it by with a brush of the shoulder, she moved further down the hall, passing Dante's study as quietly as possible; a dim glow emanating from it meant he'd gotten up. Slipping into her own room, she couldn't even close the door; simply stumbled forward and collapsed on the bed. Three days with little more than an hour’s sleep; that would be rough on anyone; but to have even that tiny slice disturbed and unfruitful, made it only harder still. "I just need to sleep; just a few hours…" she whispered to the sheets; hoping that somehow her quite plea would be answered.




Lucille answered the quiet query as to Douglass’s whereabouts, a brow flicking idly as the hunter finished his “breakfast”. Frosted Flakes at nine pm? Well, wasn’t the first time, he thought with a grin, setting the empty bowl aside. But a yawn cracked his jaws again and he rubbed his nose, shaking his head a bit to clear it. Quick ears caught the quiet grinding of the lift’s gears; hn, must be Douglass coming back up from the training level. Well, he figured she’d stop by and knock if she wanted to chat, else she wouldn’t. Returning to his reading, Dante propped his chin on a palm and gradually became aware of the stark silence. He blinked, glancing at the ceiling. “What, Lucille?” he said, a bit of tartness creeping into his voice. She answered immediately. “Douglass is having trouble sleeping, Dante. My sensors indicate she hasn’t had rest since you returned.” He leaned back in his chair, lacing fingers over bare stomach. “And just what, pray, would you like me to do about it? Rock her to sleep?” Lucille merely ignored the sarcasm and continued. “Illness will develop if the body does not have the chance to rest and refuel itself, Dante.” Cerulean eyes rolled and he snorted. “Thank you, Dr. Lucille.” But he heaved a sigh and rose, striding quietly down the hall, noting with a raised brow that the door to her appointed room was open and he paused in the doorway, leaning an arm on the frame. “Douglass?” he called quietly, seeing her sprawled haphazardly atop the bed. “You all right?”




Douglass : Ugg, her head pounded; and his words didn't help much. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired is all." A bit? That was an exaggeration. Forcing herself into a sitting position, fingers found themselves lost in a tangled mess of golden wisps; dully, she replied, "Couldn't sleep so I figured I'd burn off excess energy." She turned confused eyes to him, the heel of her hand still resting upon her temple, "Did you need something?" It had struck her, he never ventured to her room for anything, kept to his study, bedroom, and the training floor so long as they weren't conglomerating in the kitchen or getting ready to leave, so why did he come now?




A bit? A brow quirked yet again as she sat up; the woman looked like death warmed over. “Excess energy’s one thing, but exhausting yourself is quite another.” But he blinked to her ‘need something’ question, resisting the urge to just mouth off and inform her that this was his house, by damn and he’d wander where he liked, God damnit. But he threw reins on his tongue, just not awake enough to start a fight. A shrug accompanied his answer. “Not really; Lucille mentioned you hadn’t been sleeping well and I considered it my “hostly” responsibility to inquire as to why, is all.” With that, he gave her a quick grin and turned, returning to his study, muttering about damned females and their nosy microchips.




Douglass : Falling back, she thanked the darkness that he hadn't set to motion likely what he'd planned. She hadn't missed that flash in his eye, the desire to spout off and stir trouble; if he'd done so, she'd probably just fallen back defeated. Oh Jesus, just let me sleep; so with reluctance she closed her eyes, doing her best to avoid the eyes in her mind. Long minutes passed before sleep finally came to her; however it did not envelop her tenderly like it so many times had, it grabbed her, yanking her down into restless slumber. For about a half an hour; in reality's time, she slept without disturbances; her body limp as a wet rag. That well needed slumber was soon thrown into a disastrous tail-spin, as images began to play across her sleep-screen. The images before her both enraged, and saddened her; Sam was marching out the rest of the team, Conroy leading with a blinder on, not knowing that things were out of his control; she tried to scream to him, warn him about what was happening, but no voice would grace her lips. Tears spilled down her dreamer’s cheeks as Sam looked back at her, grinning accusingly while pulling the trigger of an unseen weapon, killing them off one by one. She wanted to badly to kill him then, but she couldn't; she couldn't move, she couldn't speak; she could only watch. Finally looking away, she averted her eyes off to another direction as her final comrade fell. Pain and anger rushed through her, and in the real state of world, she groaned, squirming in the sheets despondently. As sleepers eyes rose to look out, away from her past, a lone figure fell into her field of view; Dante. Standing alone, his back to her; his eyes staring off into the memory-less ocean, she tried to call to him; to beg for help as she'd done before. She wanted to apologize, for accusing the innocent and damning him without cause, but a red haired figure slipped up beside him. He couldn't see her, he couldn't hear either of them; but Jayden saw her. Wicked green eyes glared at Douglass accusingly, much as Sam's eyes had; the red-head grinned, blood red lips peeling back to reveal white teeth, sinister little smile. She wrapped her arms around Dante, holding him tightly to her; he began to choke, his air supply slowly giving way to her strong arms. 'Get off of him! Let him live!' Douglass tried desperately to call to her, to call to him; to reach either of them; but to no avail. Jayden's eyes only turned to Douglass, the sinister little smile never faltering as she held him; held him to near his death. That's when she woke, darting straight up in bed. Her breathing deep and heavy; she couldn't rattle the images from her mind. "Lucy, what time is it?" "You've slept for about two hours Douglass; you should sleep more." She groaned, knowing that there was truth in Lucille's mechanical words.



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