During my week-long solitary journey, burdened by the weight of solitude, I embarked on a solemn mission. I returned to the stone slab, its heaviness imposing, and purchased another piece to add to my collection.
The cold air nipped at my skin, but I paid it no mind, my focus unwavering. As I perched upon the rock, my electronic carving pen hummed to life, charged and ready. With each stroke, the buzzing pen etched names onto the plaque, a secret known only to a few fleas. The scent of stone dust filled the air, mingling with the sound of the pen's rhythmic carving.
With every name engraved, a silent prayer escaped my thoughts, a plea for their deaths to hold meaning. I sought forgiveness from each and everyone I had lost. The wintry landscape stretched before me as I made my way back through the snowy terrain, the crunching of snow beneath my shoes accompanying my journey. Though the scenery was undeniably beautiful, solace eluded me. In my heart, more headstones now resided, a testament to those I had mourned.
I had devised a plan when I originally put Fleas operational. My plan ensured that everyone I cared for had completed a "what if" form outlining their burial wishes, financial arrangements, and notifications. Some had left their forms blank, but I had researched relatives or kindred spirits for each one over the years.
The "what if" form was easily accessible to our computer, allowing individuals to record their own details and desires. I always made a note when I updated something on the form, giving them the choice to accept or reject my suggestions. Occasionally, they would rediscover someone they had forgotten and reach out, but some deliberately omitted specific people from their forms.
Nicky's family still lived in Africa, their home filled with vibrant colors and the rhythmic sounds of the local wildlife. As I flew there, the warm African breeze brushed against my face, carrying with it the scent of exotic flowers and rich earth.
In Portugal, where Andy's sister and daughter lived, the coastal town greeted me with the salty air and the distant crashing of waves. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as I visited each relative, engaging in heartfelt conversations. I brought them bouquets of flowers, their vibrant petals adding a burst of color to the room.
Though some held me responsible, understanding their blame, most recognized the profound passion of a departed loved one to be a part of something meaningful in the world. I didn't always believe we could create an immediate impact, but we tirelessly saved those we could.
Later, I journeyed to the New York Police Department, accompanied by a detective, to present the identified victims. Prior to this, I informed them about the Sark facility, and the fire marshal had already discovered the bodies. Yet, I possessed additional information on their identities. The facility, once teeming with activity, now stood empty. Its operations halted. However, there was no sense of victory in the air, only a lingering heaviness.
There was very little proof that Sark was responsible for these deaths, as his crew had cleared all the useful records out. I promised to give this detective each and every lead piece of information that my organization could find so that they might have a chance to bring some blame to Sark—officially, this time. Since victims were human, there might be a chance for that. Humans still had the protection of the law, which we did not have.
Returning to Murdock in Washington, D.C., I recounted the events that transpired. I handed him two bullets, remnants of the encounter with Ruby, Mike, and Monroe.
As he examined them, he shook his head in disappointment. "Damn those new armor-piercing bullets, these can do such nasty things, and there are only a few armors that can protect against these and then submachine guns...." He muttered. "And then your drones and satellites are useless against the GHX-156. It's advanced technology, not easily attainable. They had to the roof to cover those men with machineguns. The military has employed it in dangerous zones, and Sark appears to have connections with them. This is troubling."
I nodded. Murdock explained this GHX-156 to me in more detail. That is not good news.
" It is a new form of protection, shielding against drones and even satellites. The intelligence technology deceives observers, making the rooftop appear vacant. In reality, an incredibly thin yet realistic film that also thwarts thermal cameras covered the roof. This is a direct blow to you. Sark's message is personal. They could have killed you upon entry, but their aim was for you to discover the deceased, to realize you were too late."
Murdock looked at me and saw my need to act in my expression. He didn't persuade me to drop my need to kill. He understood me loud and clear.
"I've come to that conclusion myself," I responded.
Then, I revealed the existence of Damon and Damien to Murdock, his silence speaking volumes. I was trying to find some help by telling about him about those I trusted, and Murdock was one of them.
"That is far beyond my area of expertise," he admitted. "I cannot offer any insight. However, it is undoubtedly extraordinary. Just because Damon knows means nothing."
I concurred, understanding the complexity of the situation. I said," So far, the only sign of Damien on the surface is a wet dog and ashtray smell. But when I think about it, he smelled like passionfruit in the shed. Does this mean that Damon is corrupted somehow, too? That he saw my situation but chose not to act?"
Murdock was silent, thinking, and said, "When you smell wet, dog, you know you are in trouble. We do not know how excellent Damien's control over Damon is, or vice versa. You just need to be very careful and use your pretender skills. Try to come up with something. "
I nodded. It was not encouraging to know that my life would be very complex, and I would almost always look out for Damien. It would bring problems to my relationship with Damon.
I conversed with Murdock at length, sharing the details of the dream world crafted by the demon.
He mused, "Sounds like the work of a female demon, almost like a romantic novel."
Indeed, he was correct. There was a delicate touch, a feminine essence to it all. However, the mere thought of what a male demon might have conjured up sent a shiver down my spine.
When I left Murdock's, I headed for Ohio headquarters. I didn't go back to the house. Damon was doing whatever it was he was doing, which was fucking other people, and it was Damon, not Damien. Adam was still watching the packs and his medical training, I guess. I just didn't know. He'd been doing it for a while.
I knew I was alone again, and those wonderful six months around America were fading away in my memory. I didn't spend all that time thinking about Damon, Damien, or the future; I had to be The Flea now, the Leader of my organization. I didn't want to be Mimi.
I continued my killing spree as Mimosa provided me with an extensive list of targets to snipe. Across America, I ruthlessly executed them, my mind consumed by a soulless urge to kill. My inner killer fully awake. Oh, I did enjoy snuffing them out, a few times shooting fatally but not killing them instantly, though my bullets weren't small so they did not have long to live but that few moments. It was just perfect.
In Kansas, at our base, Damon unexpectedly walked in. After weeks of relentless gigs, the never-ending list weighing on me, I couldn't help but remember the countless dead bodies. Despite this, I pressed on.
A gentle knock echoed through the room, drawing my attention to the door. As I glanced up, Damon stood before me, his presence commanding my focus.
He approached, his voice filled with sincerity, "I won't offer explanations that change nothing. I know I'm a bastard, and I see how unimaginably difficult it has been for you. But please, my baby, visit the house occasionally. Let's engage in simple activities together. Bake, lie on the couch. Let's just exist, side by side."
Taking a seat on the couch, he locked eyes with me, his gaze revealing a mixture of concern and longing.
But since I wasn't Mimi, now I was a flea, and the flea still had work to do. I didn't want to hear his apologies or be a lap cat. I sighed, feeling the weight of the moment, and looked at my husband. I told him the truth so he would understand what I was going through. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls.
I said, my voice filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Do you know what I went to do? What that trip was. First, I went to write on a secret stone slab the name and date of death of each of the deceased."
In my mind, I flashed how the rough texture of the slab felt cold against my fingertips as I carved the names one by one. I continued in a low voice, a leader's voice, as I looked Damon straight in the eye.
" I've written the names of everyone who's died in the fleas. Again, I carved more names. I had to get another slab already, with so many fucking losses coming. Not much more than that. I also went to all the relatives of the deceased to deliver a floral tribute, a gift card, and a chat and a coffee."
Damon frowned slightly. The crease between his brows was very subtle as he listened. Memories flashed in my mind, and I knew he could see them. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the floral aroma. I sighed as I continued my explanation.
" From Portugal to Africa and even Turkey. I listened to everyone accuse me and comforted those who allowed me to comfort them. The sound of their voices filled my ears, a mix of anger, grief, and gratitude. Did you know that Ruby and Sapphire had just had sperm donors? They were to go to a fertility clinic and there to get them both pregnant. Then they already had a wedding date set, but Sapphire is dead, and Ruby is alone. The weight of their shattered dreams weighed heavy on my heart. I sent Magnum to help her. She's got a vendetta. Goddamn, if I wish I could, but when I'm in charge, I have to be in control, setting the example all the time. Now, I have to be made to act. Now I really don't want just to be. Now it's time for revenge for everyone." The taste of bitterness filled my mouth as I spoke these words.
Damon's expression remained the same. He could not even imagine that this was what I would do. I do not know what he thought the trip was supposed to be.
My voice hardened. "That's not how you act. I'm going to go after the Sark's people, kill them."
The image of blood and violence flashed through my mind. I rise to stand as I walk by the window, and then I turn around.
"You don't see revenge as a weapon. I know you don't. Maybe it's because you're older or more of a vampire than I am. But this is how I do things now. So I'm not coming to the house now. I'm gonna do some work."
The tension in the room thickened, an invisible barrier between us.
I told him, straight in his face. " Now, leave me alone. Now, I'm not Mimi. I'm the Flea."
Damon looked at me, his expression flickering with regret because he did not know what I was actually going to do. Of course, it was quickly hidden under his usual vampire exterior—under his so-what shell.
But then it happened. The passionfruit faded, and the wet dog came out, subtle but obvious. The scent of damp fur wafted towards me, a sharp contrast to the earlier sweetness. I didn't react in any way and watched to see what he was up to now. The anticipation hung in the air, palpable and electric.
Damon let out a weary sigh, his voice tinged with frustration. His speech was slightly off; again, this roughness was heard, sort of uneducational.
"You've already had your revenge. Stop it already and spend some time with me. Let's go somewhere, even together. Don't be so fucking stubborn. I don't appreciate it, and I might get upset if you don't start correcting your attitude. And then you won't be to blame if you end up in medbay."
Oh, fuck me. This one even bothered to come and threaten me. Fine. I'll show you. I sighed and stood up, maintaining my character, as this person, Damien, clearly thought they had fooled me. I saw that look again, emotionless, as they stared at me like a piece of meat, but I refused to let it bother me.
Mirella had taught me a few new things, and now it was time to put them into practice. I approached Damon, or Damien, wrapping my arms around him and locking eyes. The scent of the wet dog intensified, but I brushed it aside.
"Damien, yes, you know me," I said, my voice measured. "I need to get this done. It doesn't mean I hate you, but I'm not a lap cat right now."
Damien remained silent, unable to find the right response. He had no access to Damon's feelings for me anymore, so now it was hard for him to fool me and try to act like Damon. I stayed in character, pressing myself against him, gripping his hair, and pulling his head in for a kiss. He didn't resist, but the kiss was chilling. This one had already decided to do something to me. Well, I would strike first.
Swiftly, I used my newfound move, crushing Damon's neck in one fluid movement. I laid him down on the couch and retrieved a potent anesthetic from the medicine cabinet, one that I knew would work well on Damon. I administered a large dose, ensuring his sedation.
Then I called Magnum, showing him the footage on the camera and explaining what had transpired with Damien. Magnum promised to take Damon away to a safe distance to give him time to calm down. I shared the information about Damien, hoping that Damon would resurface, but I couldn't be certain. Experimenting with Damon in this state would be too risky. It was up to him to regain control of Damien. Only time would reveal the outcome of this precarious situation.