Crystal Central Presents
"Thank you Margaret, Jack Turner here, Cold night in picturesque Beacon hill in all definitions of the word as it has been one chilling night here at the Alister residence where neighbours report to have heard several screams from the house behind me before, as they say, a strange figure couldn't be made out through the mist and snow walked out. One thing they are all claiming is that the suspect didn't look human nor animal. The residents informed the police of this incident who as I speak are now here at the scene of crime. None of the Alisters has been found and most mysterious to the men in blue and the spooked residents is that no body has been recovered as of yet. As you can see over there, just outside the door of the house, and sorry for the sensitive pictures, only what appears to be dried trails of blood and several spots of clotted blood are left. The question that everybody is asking now is, 'Where are the bodies of the family of seven who are reported have been home at that time?, and what exactly happened in there?' . We hope the Boston Police department will be able to shed some light on the events that took place earlier tonight. We will be giving you updates and any new developments as this progresses. We will also later be talking to the officer incharge of the investigation so stay tuned for more. Back to you over in the studio Margaret."
In the dark room Valentine Damoir lay down on the cushy three seater, where Daglaus had been seated a while ago. The only light in the room came from the kitchen through the half ajar door behind her and the wall-mounted Tv before her. On it, America Today's Jack Turner- the ' witness' as they called him for being one of the first ones at scene of headline news, like he happened to be around there somewhere, waiting- was currently reporting. Nothing in the state went past this guy's ears. And mouth and eyes.
Outside the single story red brick house the gentle wind sang as the snow danced in the night. A beautiful dark, cold and silent night. Valentine's favourite for a walk around Western Avenue. But not today. Not until the wind stopped chanting. She dreaded those creepy chants she heard when she went outside, the feeling of being watched and the statues that come to life. She only felt safe in here. Home.
Or maybe not so safe anymore as she was afraid. Afraid to sleep and invite the nightmares. She could almost feel their claws, caressing her, lullying her eyes to close. But she knew as soon as she slept they would embrace her into their folds. That dark place where she saw things she would not relay to a single soul. Even the ever calm Daglaus and fiery Melanie. She would keep them to her own. The same way she kept her past unknown.
Valentine knew tragedy as intimately as a lover. It was never far from her thoughts the massacre she witnessed all those years ago. Despite the wall of steel she built over these eleven years to ward her mind of those memories, they still rattled her when they surfaced. So Valentine knew fear too. Fear of the men with swords and masks. But now she was afraid of sleep as well. This because of what she saw in her dreams. What she saw herself as.
In a dream she saw herself standing in this red brick single story. This other Valentine was facing front in that she could only see her back but she instictively knew it was herself. ' The Valentine' stood right there by the triple seater, a dark red inky liquid dripping to the floor from her hands that had nails like claws, and below her laid a body over a pool of burgundy blood. The other Valentine blocked her from seeing the face of the corpse but she knew those clothes so well, even when they were bloody. The tropical shirt, white T-shirt and blue jeans. Dag. She saw a Valentine and the Valentine had killed Dag.
In another dream which still appeared to be in the house she saw the whole place- Or at least of the limited view she had- was wrecked. Wood splinters, broken glass, the wall furrowed with claw marks and the only source of light came from the street outside through the open front door, casting a dim light into the room that reflected on the broken glass on the cracked wooden floor. She only had the view of the wall that held the door. She couldn't turn or move. Her gaze was fixed to that location. A small while later a figure in a tight jeans walks into the door's frame and stands there, like a photo in a frame, looking into the room. Suddenly, from beyond Valentine's line of vission, a black shaddow flashed past and onto the figure at the door. Now the light brightens only to reveal Melanie at the door. The same Killer Valentine that killed Daglaus seemed to have her mouth on Melanie's neck while the bloody nails of her hand pierced the other side of her neck. As she looked into Melanie's eyes that seemed to see her through the dream, she sees anger, fright, confusion, and betrayal.
These dreams frightened her. The statues, the voices and the hidden eyes watching her also. It was too much.
For the lack of anything to do- unable to go for a walk and afraid of sleep- Valentine habitually switched the TV to America Today, a habit of hers this past month, where she found Jack Turner briefing on a homicide not yet on the other channels. ' Thats Jack the witness for you. Probably the last normal thing in this world' thought she as she looked at Jack Turner. Tall, slender, blonde, middle-age and elegant. When the Camera zoomed to the yellow door, Valentine saw three furrows on the wooden door frame, deep and crude. They hit her like a bucket of cold water as she had recently been seeing marks as such more than she wanted to. The claw marks in her dreams that marred the walls. The one in which she killed Melanie. Though these looked longer and more spaced out. Though the similarities were there. Her eyes widened and her breath caught as she hurriedly raised the TV volume. Unfortunate that Margaret the anchor moved on to other news, about police crackdowns on bootleggers and the state's politics. She was sure to catch it in the news later. When the other guys caught up to Jack that is.
Slowly things were starting to reveal themselves to her, almost sequentially and automatically like that one Skyline Jigsaw puzzle. She was now starting to feel there was more to Uncle Fate's stories than him just having too good an imagination for his own good. She knew Uncle Fate was not your ordinary Tom around the corner. He appeared to know the future like a prophet and know ones thoughts like a telepath. It was just a hot stone to swallow and believe that gods and creatures of lore, existed. Seeing those claw marks in dream and now in reality... Her fear grew deeper as she thought of her recurring nightmares.
The truth gives closure. No. Valentine felt this was wrong. 'The truth is ugly and it hurts' felt more right. The truth is that anyone can stab you in the back for personal gain, even family. Valentine knew this from experience. The truth states that maybe the crazy guy's tales are it, that you are the one crazy when you might wake up one day, throw away eleven years of friendship and kill the closest thing to a family you had.
It would feel good to dream of killing the men behind masks. Proud even she would feel. This truth was beautiful and satisfying but apparently, that was not how the truth works-at least for her it seemed.
Lingering on her philosophical thoughts, Valentine was drawn back to reality by loud steps that stopped before the door then the sound of a key rummaging within the keyhole. The door opened and in walked Melanie, her blonde hair and jacket shoulders a had a few white specks of snow. Valentine somehow always managed to stay in a position with a direct view of the door. It was like instict.
Valentine gazed as Melanie stripped off her leather jacket and hang it on the coat hanger to her left then stride into the living room, feet still in boots.
Melanie then stood on the other side of the couch. Her gaze a swirl of unstable emotions. Guilt, worry, anger, love, indignance, hurt. She was a mess.
This was Melanie! She either ran hot or cold. No in between. They had been living together for eleven years now and Valentine knew the fiery girl like the back of her hand. So now, seeing her as conflicted in such a way, it gannered all her attention.
"Mels?", began Valentine tentatively upon which she received a while of silence. "Were you ever going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me that you work for the Sinclairs" Melanie spoke at last after some hesitation how to start the conversation. Naturally that came as the easier choice. The other options like Aerth knowing Valentine's real name and his theory of her being some ancient vampire or something and the weird dialogue they had when he asked about Gigantes. Those seemed like a minefield, one she was not yet ready to run into. It was also a way of deflecting the fact that she had brought trouble home. Melanie continued.
"Well, is this the truth?"