Red Nightmares at Midnight

The weeks passed. Business slowed down a tad, for which Dante was thankful; seemed the underworld was all abuzz with the carnage that had taken place along one of their spawn-mouths. The hordes knew Sparda’s son still lived and slaughtered at will; thus they fell back and pondered and whispered behind their little claws, formulating new plans to destroy the evil half human princeling. Dante still went out every other night or so, merely to patrol and make damned sure the gate on this side stayed closed. Every now and then one little heathen would get ambitious and he’d have to actually work but he always emerged unscathed. He pretty much stayed out of Douglass’s way, letting her do as she liked. Something was bothering the woman, that was sure, but he wasn’t about to poke and prod; the man knew better. But she did her own thing, he merely took idle note of her comings and goings, since the monitors picked up and tracked all compound activity and relayed it to the central console in his study. Two weeks hence had him sitting idly in his chair, sharpening a few daggers he’d noted were losing their edges, boots propped on his desk when Lucille spoke up quietly. “Dante.” A glance flicked ceilingward. “What, Lucille?” Silence, then, “My mainframe circuits have noted in surveillance that Douglass’s body is growing increasingly weaker, despite all her training and exercise.” A shoulder shrugged. “She’s a big girl, Lucille, she knows how to take care of herself.” Silence once more, a few clicks and whirrs and then Lucille flicked on his computer monitor. “Images taken from Douglass’s area, Dante, yesterday.” He quirked a brow and glanced over, frowning as he realized he was looking at the cameras located in the bathroom. “What in hell, Lucille-!” he began to fume, but then stopped when he saw her open the medicine cabinet and take out three different bottles. “Freeze frame, Lucille and magnify.” The computer did as instructed, zeroing in on the small pill bottles in Douglass’s hand. Praise Christ for sharp vision; he asked, “And this has continued since?” Lucille clicked and whirred, calculating, then answered, “Ten days.” Blue eyes darkened to stormy indigo as Dante rose from his chair and strode down the hall, not even bothering to knock on Douglass’s bedroom door, even thought he knew she was inside, trying to sleep, doubtless, he thought snarkily. Well, if those were what he thought, she shouldn’t have any problem. Flicking on the bathroom light, he located the bottles and affirmed what he’d thought he’d read. Sleeping pills. What in God’s name…? Turning off the light once more, he just palmed a bottle and returned to stare down at the exhausted female, wondering aloud just what in all hell could be so bad about having insomnia that she needed medication for it? He was tempted to kick the bed and ask, but nah, he just shrugged and turned to leave, tossing the bottle to the coverlet.




Douglass : Little did he know what the simple act would do; as he tossed the bottle to the bed, a small bomb went off inside her dream; everything she'd ever known was fighting against her, and everything she hadn't known. For weeks now the faces of the past clawed at her dreams, tearing into her as she tried to sleep; medication had become a short-time answer; granting her sometimes five hours of sleep at a time; a drop in the bucket for a thirty-six to forty-eight hour day. As the bottle landed upon the bed, she darted upright; "STOP IT!" Dazed and confused she stared into the hollow black of her room beads of cold sweat clinging to her clammy skin; but something wasn't right. Eyes turning sharply to Dante, she almost broke down upon seeing him; so fresh was the dream of his slow death, so fresh the horrors of the closed eye. Lips parted as though to speak, but quickly closed as she glanced to the clock, three hours; damn it all. She shook the haziness from her vision, "Time for work?" She'd wake up more with a bit of coffee, or if time would not permit, the wind in her face from her bike tearing down the streets.




Demonic reflexes had him whirling as she shouted, but he realized she was just waking up from her drug-induced sleep. “Lights, Lucille,” and slow golden color flooded the room from the wall lamps. Dante looked at the disheveled Douglass staring at him, like she’d seen a ghost. “Work?” he echoed. “Nope, just was curious as to why there’re bottles for sleeping pills in the bathroom, is all,” he replied, with just a hint of steel in his voice. Crossing his arms, he lounged against the doorway and just looked at her. He didn’t have to say anything; the stark disapproval was stonily evident across his face.




Douglass : Eyes dashed to the speaker box on the wall; Damn you Lucille. She knew that the overly concerned mainframe had something to do with Dante's presence. Shit, she wished she was at least dressed in sweats instead of light cotton shorts and a thinly strapped tank-top; if that'd be the case she might feel a bit more ready; truly she'd expected him to find out sooner or later; but she couldn't tell him; not just yet. "I can't sleep Dante, that's all." Throwing the covers back, she tried to climb out of bed, stumbling like a drunkard on her first attempt; she wished that the pills wouldn't have worn off so quickly. A second attempt proved more successful, rising to her feet on trembling legs; she pulled shaky fingers through untamed tresses; by damn she would not let a lack of sleep keep her down. "I just need to catch back up, then I'll be fine."




He didn’t move from his nonchalant stance, merely said, “Amazing. Two weeks of pill-popping and you still haven’t caught up. That don’t strike you as a bit odd, Douglass?” Brows lowered as he frowned, lines appearing on his forehead. “Look at you; you can’t even stand up straight, woman. Work? Shit, the only work you’d be good for is just to lie down and let ‘em run all over you.” Mean, a bit, but by God, medication wasn’t the answer for insomnia, and he knew bullshit when it was thrown right at his face.




Douglass : "At least they make my eyes close," she was getting annoyed; by damn he hadn't shown any interest before, why now? "Tell me then, Dante, how am I supposed to sleep at all when I can't even close my eyes anymore." Fists clenched tightly at her sides as she turned away, shoulders moving up and down in frustrated exhaustion. "They keep dying in front of me; and so do you."




“Has it escaped your frazzled brain that those things are addictive, Douglass? You do not want to turn into a junkie, trust me.” But he blinked and pushed off the wall at her latter statement. “What in hell are you talking about? Who keeps dying? And, just in case I missed it earlier, I’m standing right here.”




Douglass : "All of them!" she shouted, whirling around with furrowed brows; "Conroy; Luis; all of them! He keeps killing them and I can't do a God damned thing about it! I should have seen it but I didn't, I should have seen the changes in his attitude, but I didn't; and they are all dead because of me! I was supposed to die that night; but no, you had to show up to the rescue." Did she make any sense; it didn't matter. "I was supposed to die, Dante; not them! The demon that night was meant for me!" Her body trembled in waves; her legs felt as if they were made of rubber but she would not falter, she could bend, but she'd never break. "I was meant to die, but I didn't; and so I moved on. Now you're dying too and I can't stop it."




Dante just stood there in the face of her fright and fury. Damn humanity one more time, he thought sourly. Pushing off the wall, he moved to stand in front of her, not touching her, but merely standing there. Looking down at her calmly, he answered, “Douglass, the dead are gone. Gone. And you can’t blame yourself for being human. No one ever really knows what lurks in men’s hearts. Humans are easily corrupted and all that shit. Sam can’t hurt you anymore. Lucifer’s seeing straight to that, I’d imagine.” Now he did lift one hand and push a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “No one’s supposed to die, Douglass. That’s not the way it works. There’s something you still have to do before you go. Just like me. I can’t go until I’m finished here…”




Douglass : "Then why are you still holding onto her? And why is she still holding onto you?" She couldn't look at him, she couldn't look at herself; all she could look at was the shag carpeting, eyes loosing themselves in the lush fibers. "If they are gone then why can't we let go? I can't let go Dante; I can never let go of him, I can never forget the way it felt when he held me." She wasn't speaking of Sam, Conroy, or any of the ATT members; she was speaking of the one person she truly held in her heart. Fingers curled tightly into a fist, long nails biting into the soft flesh of the palms until the point of blood. Tiny red droplets accumulated under her fingers, the familiar warm feeling slipping throughout her palms. She was close to the point of tears; the memory of a mid-winter day in the Rocky Mountains filling her mind's eye; but she couldn't cry.




Scenting the sharp blood, he reached out and took her hands before she could tear anymore skin. “Stop that, Douglass, mauling yourself doesn’t help.” But he sighed. She was right, but …damn. “I don’t know why. I guess some part of me still believes she’s waiting for me somewhere, even thought I know she’s not; she’s happy with her family. Which was all she ever wanted. We can’t let go because we don’t want to.” He too, lowered his eyes to the carpet. “I don’t have any wise words for you, Douglass, I’m not a philosopher. Gods know. But you’re human; you can’t carry around all that baggage forever without it running you mad. I’m half there already, that’s my excuse.” He grinned a bit, looking back at her.




Douglass : "Ten years Dante; that's how long I've carried it." She forced herself to straighten out, pulling her hands from him, she pushed her shoulders back, arms hanging limply at her sides. "Thirteen years old; and it's been with me every day since. I've never cared about another thing since that day…" she fell silent; eyes falling down and away, her body giving way to the exhaustion that had long held her tightly, slumping to the floor, knees turned upward as she hunched forward. "I can't care about anything." Her face had all the tell-tale signs of tears, but not a single drop fell.




He let go as she pulled away, knowing better. “I know the feeling, Douglass,” he said quietly, dropping to a knee in front of her. “Don’t for one second think I don’t know the pain. It gnaws away inside, making everything hollow and empty. But this,” he reached up and retrieved the pill bottle, “isn’t the answer. I don’t have one for you, cause my own past still haunts me. But you can’t keep doing this. You just can’t. Else you might as well just roll over and die.” But his brows lowered a bit as he finished. “And I know you’re stronger than that.”




Douglass : "What was I supposed to do? I can't function if I can't sleep; and I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes she's strangling you; strangling the life from your body. And every time I see it; it kills me a little more; every time I see them die." She looked to him, eyes pleading for something; what exactly, his guess was as good as hers. Hope maybe; or perhaps understanding.




He blinked at this bit of news. “Who is?” Perplexed, he tossed the pill bottle away, running an exasperated hand through white hair. “What in hell are you talking about, Douglass? No one’s choking me; I’m right here, for Christ’s sake.”




Douglass : "Her memory; it's killing you. Slowly but it's killing you."




Dante blinked, truly perplexed. Slowly he realized she had to be talking about Jayden, but that statement made no sense. At least, not until he thought about it. Slowly he turned and looked back at the past decade. Since her death, he’d done nothing but his job. Worked, ate and slept. Lived for the kill. Thrived on it. He’d grown incessantly impatient with the patheticness that humanity revealed to him, angered that one so strong should die and the others, the sheep, remain. A long, long sigh left his lips as he once more turned dark cerulean eyes to the thick carpet. He thought a bit before he spoke, but when he did, the words were slow and measured, tinged with sorrow of the devil. “…Douglass…Jayden was my humanity. She was all that was good and pure in my life. The reason I fought as I did and the reason I still do. …I feel like I’ll let her down if I forget…she was the haven at the end of the road for me. The sanity in the chaos.” His fists clenched as eyes closed. “…if I lose that…I have nothing…”




Douglass : "We have nothing together;" a strand of dry, individual chuckles left her bosom; shoulders moving lightly with each passing breath; "nothing together," she repeated. Fingertips played lightly on the open wounds of her hands. "Alone together; that's what we are Dante; alone together." Her eyes were glossy; glazed over and distant, reverting back deeply to a time when she'd once known happiness. "He's the one who taught me how to pull the trigger; I was five. I've been doing it everyday since. I feel closest to him when I have a gun in my hand. We're too much alike, you and I."




“Yeah,” he agreed, still kneeling there on the floor. “Probably why we don’t get along too well.” From her words, he discerned she was speaking about her father; he’d had a hint, but wouldn’t pry, it was her business, not his. But he said quietly, “He’s gone, Douglass. Nothing, no one, can bring him back. Any more than Jayden can come back. Just gotta live with it. Somehow.” Shaking his head, he slowly rose to his feet. “Just the ‘how’ is the catch.” Looking at the rumpled bed then back to her, he affirmed once more, “But you gotta rest, Douglass. Killing yourself faster won’t make the pain go away. And dreams can’t really hurt you, unless you let ‘em.”




Douglass : "The dreams hurt more than physical pain. Besides, I can't really feel anything on my right side anyway." With heavy limbs she pulled herself to her feet, unsure if she'd be able to make it to the bed on her own. Wobbling legs carried her a few steps before she started to stumble; stopping, she caught her balance, legs planted flimsily beneath her; it would be slow going; but she wouldn't give up; she never gave up. A long minute it took her, falling to the bed triumphantly; "Sometimes I forget why I do it; and more recently it was getting harder and harder to find a reason." She stared up at the ceiling, thinking carefully about what she'd say next; "Thank you for giving me one."



Douglass : The trip had been long; three times she'd nearly fallen asleep at the wheel, but the sense of responsibility kept her eyes open most of the way. Once she'd actually stopped, checking into a seedy motel near the freeway; strangely she felt safer in such places than in the Ritz or other hotels similar to the like; perhaps it was the fact that so many shady deals went on around such places, that everyone had learned not to ask questions; just smile and nod and maybe you'd get a tip. With the aid of yet another sleeping pill, despite Dante's warnings; purchased from the front desk of all places, she managed to sleep for three hours before the nightmares started; however she refused to give them headway, waking herself before the first shots could be fired. Several long hours later, she found herself pulling into that small town, the general store lights glowing like a beacon to the passing traveler; eyes moving skyward, just before dusk. Two elderly gentlemen sat perched at a small chess table, eyeing the sky and chewing sweet straw; they barely gave a glance to the passing truck. Guiding the automobile out of town, a few miles away she searched the shoulder for the small, nearly unused path. Pulling onto the shoulder, just in front of the gate she killed the engine, eyes venturing out to the gate; and so I shall find my truth. It took her a few good minutes before she could even start to think about mustering the courage to face this adversary, this adversary that had no place being such. Gulping down a lump in her throat, she lifted two white long-stemmed roses from the seat next to her and held them tightly between her fingers, eyes wandering over the shape and contours of the delicate petals; 'We are but ashes and dust.' "No time like the present," she uttered aloud to the impeding darkness. Slipping from the truck, she closed the door as quietly as possible; slipping the keys into the pocket of her jeans. Boots crunched lightly on the roadside gravel, the smooth edges of the gate just visible atop the grasses. Eyes fixated upon the ground before her; each step chosen with caution she made her way to that slender gate. Peering between the bars, the top of the mausoleum glinted in the fading light of the day, soon night would settle across the countryside; the stars would begin to twinkle in the deep, lavish blues of the night, and she would be here; here under the accusing eyes. However, to get 'here' there was still one obstacle that needed attending, the gate. Setting the roses upon the earth, just before the gate halfway in, she took hold of the bars, summoning all of her strength she somehow managed to hoist herself upward, slipping over the top of the fence and landed gracefully upon the other side. Pulling the flowers the rest of the way through, she sniffed them, their sweet aroma filling her smell sense. No turning back now, it's time to face them; all of them. It felt as though twenty ton weights had been tied to her legs as she scaled that hill, the tall rushes billowing gently in the ocean breeze. It brushed against her legs, seeming to pull at her jeans, begging her not to advance, but just like any other time she'd been told not to do something; she pushed on, daring the fates and damning the rules. Her breathing became increasingly labored as she reached the crest of that hill, fear slipping it's slimy digits around her heart and pushing it to beat more readily; but she hadn't come this far to turn away, she'd never turned away from anything before in her life. The names of the brother and sister glared out at her as she stood before them, the words beneath had been etched in her memory just as they had been etched into the rock; lasting for now and always. Setting a rose upon each grave, she knelt before the stones, the females more so than the other; the accusing eyes in the picture locking on her immediately. "I know we never met, but I come to you now as a friend; a friend of the man you once loved." Her eyes moved between the stone and the picture, the name and the face, the lover and the loved. "I've been having nightmares, something that hasn't happened to me since I was a child; nightmares about my own past, and now his. I know you loved him, and you loved him well; he remembers it everyday. He's told me how much he misses you." Swallowing down the lump that was forming in her throat, her eyes finally locked upon those in the picture, "He's still holding onto you, he can't let you go; and it's killing him inside. I know that you're still holding onto him too; and I've come to ask you; beg you to let him go." The eyes of Jayden glared back at her accusingly, and at that moment she wanted to run; but she wasn't finished. "He's a strong man, but even the strongest men can break under the right pressure, and I'm afraid that he's getting close. When he does go home; he's going straight to you; straight back into your awaiting arms, he won't even look twice anywhere else. But Jayden, he's got to live; he's got to finish what he was set out to do; as his friend I have to ask you to please let him go; help me show him what's happened to him, help me show him that he has to start living again." Tears welled in the bottoms of her eyes, but they would not move from the green gems in the photograph; "If you really loved him Jayden, you'd let him go; let him go until he comes home; but for now let him live like he did with you… Please." A single tear fell from her eye, landing upon the ground just before Jayden's tombstone; "I've realized what I've done, why my ghosts were haunting me; I've never cared about anything since my dad died; but for some reason, I can't not care about him. But I can't fight ghosts, and I can't fight memories. Please, help me." A clenched fist came to rest upon her forehead as silence overtook the small patch, the rushes brushing against her legs; in the distance the memory-less ocean rumbled against the shore. She wasn't quite sure when, but sometime shortly after speaking to Jayden, sleeps sweet embrace took her, cradled her lightly in that hollowed place. No dreams flitted past her minds eye; no disturbances hindered her silent slumber; she slept. Hours later, a gentle presence upon her cheek stirred life back into the still body; eyelashes fluttered open as the sun peeked from over the horizon. With sleep filled eyes she sat up, brows furrowed in confusion as red danced upon the horizon, slipping away as a lone butterfly flitted from her cheek off into the distance. Waking eyes watched calmly as the sun rose higher and higher in the morning sky; crimson shades turning to vibrant pinks; then to bright oranges and yellows until finally the sky painted itself blue. "Thank you Jayden," she whispered. Silently she said a prayer for them; all of them; everyone who'd ever died. Rising to her feet, she strode away from the gravesites; rejuvenated and ready to take on the world; you’re a strong woman Jayden, I hope that someday I will meet you.” Scaling the gate once more, she trotted to the truck, automatic lock popping open just before she pulled upon the handle. The engine roared to life; and she pulled carefully onto the road; flipping the truck around to head for home; home, it felt good to have one.




The dark shadow crouched on the edge of the building, moonlight glinting gently in the soft crimson leather. The warm night breeze ruffled tousled platinum strands gently, tossing them before hard icy eyes. Felt good to be back at work, he thought absently. Dante, gloved fingers resting between bent knees, watched and listened to the sights and sounds of the city below, looking for any abnormality. Harris’d told him earlier there’d been some ‘incidents’ and, after paying Kimmy another visit, Dante had decided the same. So he prowled. But alone. Seemed Douglass’d taken off somewhere, even Lucille didn’t know. But she’d been gone for about three days now; the hunter was slightly irritated and a bit concerned, even though it galled him to admit it, even to himself. But a sliver of dark movement caught his eye just then. Ah. A sharp brow quirked as he watched the tall humanoid figure getting from the cab down below. Nostrils flared as experienced eyes caught the nuances; the overly jerky movements, the odd stance. Little things, really, to the layman, but Dante’s demon smarts were screaming bloody murder. Besides, what business did a man dressed in a three-piece Armani have in this district? LA wasn’t all lights and glitz, case in point as to where he was sitting. The red-light district, in polite company. The whore-street, in not. He watched the man enter the tall complex building and, after his prey disappeared, decided to make his presence known. At least to what he suspected infected that human male. Rising from his crouch, he took a few steps back then ran and launched his body into the air, leaping from one building to the designated target across the street, rooftop two stories lower. The red leather coat flapped behind him as he spun through the night air, ducking his head and rolling on his shoulder to his feet as he landed. Absently flicking dust from his clothes, he shook his head a bit and patted the guns at his hips, the blade at his back singing her quiet melee song in his ears. A half smirk creased his lips. True friends, these. But to business. Kicking in the stairwell door, the hunter descended easily, all senses alert to the presence of the demonic. Blood called to blood, after all. Moving quietly, he exited the stairwell three floors down, emerging into a long carpeted hallway. Closed doors littered the hall, adorned with sleazy benches, mirrors and garish wall paraphernalia. These were of little interest to the hunter, as were the sounds emanating from the rooms, those of moans and grunts, heaving springs and loud thwacks. A true whorehouse, this, he thought with a snort. But his ears pricked and blood quickened as he approached the last room; shit, he’d been right. Not wasting the first ounce of time, as was his wont, he put his black-booted foot to the door, the cheap wood splintering under the impact. Swearing, Dante just stormed right through it, tearing the thing from its hinges. The three occupants of the room gasped and squealed in fright, the two naked women scrambling from the huge bed to cover their bodies. A fleeting thought, the devil hunter found that nuance a bit odd. Didn’t these women get paid to be naked for men? But his attention was quickly diverted by the man he’d been following for two days now, a gentleman of middle years, once possessing an athlete’s frame, but going a bit soft with age. Usually-neat graying hair was now standing at all ends around the man’s head, his human eyes wide and stark. But there was nothing at all human about the teeth that suddenly bared in a hateful snarl. They sharpened even as the thing hissed, spittle dripping from the jagged weapons filling the mouth. The women screamed and tried to scramble over each other to get away. Dante stared hard at the naked man hunched over on the bed, spine bowed. But the thing jerked back to the warm human meat across the room and leapt. One heartbeat later, Dante had both guns in his hands and fired, but the demon had anticipated that move and slung one woman in the gun’s path. The bullets meant for the damned struck her full in the chest, completely blowing out her spine. She shrieked then fell silent. Dante swore foully and leapt, tossing aside furniture as if it were mere bushes in his path. Seeing the demon covering the other female, he reached and grabbed the head, jerking the body completely off the woman, slinging the demon across the room to crash into the far wall. A quick glance was spared for her; and he snarled. Her throat, sternum and stomach were torn open. Sightless eyes stared up at the hunter. But he had no time to curse. For the demon was lunging at him. Dante roared and took the impact, snatching the talons that were aimed for his face and both crashed to the floor. By now, all sorts of commotion were gathering outside. Guests and whores alike were staring, trying to keep out of reach of some flying object. Someone had initiative and called the police. Dante kept the demon from escaping, but quarters were close, he’d have to beat it to death. Fine with him. He’d needed to give a good ass-whipping to something. Grunts and thumps echoed through the room, both the demon and Dante howled and roared, both in anger and pain. The others just watched, wide-eyed, but hurriedly jumped aside as a red-clad man was suddenly thrown out the door, crashing loudly into the wall. He bellowed, jumped to his feet and ran straight at the naked humanoid thing, both of them crashing from the window and into the street below. Both fell, ten stories to the concrete. The demon hit first, screaming as the impact shattered its spine. Dante, twisting to avoid getting a broken back, hit on his hip and shoulder, grunting at the pain that lanced through his left side. But he had a job to finish. Cars screeched and honked; he ignored ‘em. Struggling to his feet, one hip knocked completely out of joint, left arm hanging useless at his side, he hauled the silver gun from his right holster and emptied the entire clip into the demon’s brainpan. The wailing of sirens was hard in his ears, dimly he realized a crowd had gathered, but he didn’t care just now. Bleeding from more than a dozen lacerations, sporting what would later be diagnosed as six cracked ribs, one punctured lung, two out-of-socket joints, four slipped vertebra and countless contusions, Dante stumbled, hitting a knee as he slowly heaved and panted for breath. The paramedics and cops broke through; Dante dimly recognized Harris barking orders. “Get these gawkers back! Bring a clean-up crew in here for this shit! Move! Kathy, Allen! Get the man in an ambulance, NOW!” Dante felt hands on his shoulders; he dimly realized these humans were trying to get him on that damned stretcher, and he opened his mouth to tell ‘em to fuck off, but bloodshot blue eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled.




Douglass : Windows down, the wind whipped blonde locks about her head wildly; a soft smile etched upon her lips as she waited with great anticipation to return home. She missed Lucy's mother-like harping about messy rooms and poor nutrition; she even missed Dante constantly doing everything he could to get under her skin. By damn he was a force to be reckoned with; and she'd braved his storms, surviving all the while. She couldn't wait to show him what she'd learned; to share her revelation; maybe they both could move on. A green road-sign glowed in the trucks headlights; fifty miles to LA; fifty miles to home. Flipping the radio on, she needed something to keep her awake, sleep still hungered for her company, and she hungered for it's; but there was plenty of time for that. The voices of police officers cackled to life; the dispatcher checking with car after car; tipping off the officers on duty to mild disturbances; drug infractions and the other typical violations of the LA area. Sighing deeply, a crooked elbow rested against the open window, propping a head in a warm palm. Another twenty minutes went by before the radio exploded to life; "All units, all units; we have unidentified gunfire in the red-district; Harris wants all available officers there immediately." Only one thing could drive that much police interest; demon trouble. "Shit," she uttered, straightening up; both hands now on the wheel; she needed to get moving, no more of this seventy crap. Pushing the accelerator, the truck sped up, needle pressing ninety-nine; she felt guilty now about leaving, but she had to go; she had to try. Just over an hour later, the truck came to a screeching halt outside of the police station; dozens of officers' quirking brows as the messy-haired, tattooed woman pushed her way inside, some recognized her from a few months ago; she never even turned off the engine. "Where's Harris?" It wasn't a question, it was a demand, "In his office, but he's not seeing anyone right now." "Fuck you!" "Miss… Miss you can't go in there!" She wasn't in the mood for bull-shit; the radio had told the story of what happened, ambulances, clean up crews, a bloody fucking mess. The door to Harris's office slammed open, a stern faced blonde aiming a gun right at the man; people screamed, some ran, Harris just looked up; "Can I help you?" "Where the fuck is he?" "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about…" "Don't give me that shit; you have until the count of three. One…" "I'm very sorry miss, but I can't help you…" "…Two…" "…Put your gun away…" "…Three…" Douglass's slender finger pulled the trigger back, and Harris wet himself right there; he thought he'd called her bluff; truth was, he had. As the hammer fell to ignite the bullets flight, Douglass thumb caught it midway down, and eased it to a rest; "Tell me what I want to know, and I'm gone. Then you can clean your shorts." Reluctantly he revealed that Dante was being held at the closest hospital, and the condition he was in. Douglass took it all in; swearing at herself silently for not being there, but her face wouldn't reveal such. Cold hazel eyes nodded as Harris finished, "Satisfied?" "You'd never be able to satisfy me," and with that she left, dozens of officers pointing guns in her direction; but she couldn't hold back the smirk. "Stand down everyone," Harris gave the order as he went to find a change of pants; guess Dee finally made an impression on him. Hopping into the truck, she tore down the streets, scarcely stopping at any of the stop-signs and barely slowing down for turns, she made good time. Pulling the truck into the visitors' parking lot, she killed the engine, slipping out and locking the doors with the automatic lock. Eyes darted back and forth; she certainly wasn't dressed for a tumble tonight; tight fitting blue jeans; a white t-shirt covered by a gray high school sweatshirt and black boots. Trotting up to the front entrance, she went straight to the desk; "I'm looking for someone they brought in tonight; tall guy with white hair, names Dante." "Are you a relative ma'am?" "Sort-of." "That doesn't help; visitor hours are over, you can come back tomorrow between ten and six…" "I'm not in the mood for any bull-shit lady," she slipped the gun from the small of her back, setting it down on the counter, "Just tell me where he is." “What are you going to do?" "Nothing if you tell me what I want to know; it's that or I go searching; take your pick." Why was everyone so complicated? Again, with reluctance, the nurse directed her to Dante's room; warning her that he wouldn't be conscious and that security would be to his room in moments. Douglass just smiled; "Don't tease me; I could use a good fight." The nurse was flabbergasted, completely unsure what to make of woman. Leaving the gun in the nurses possession Douglass almost ran down the halls, Dante would have been in the hospital for about two hours now; so there was hope that he'd gained consciousness. Finding the door, she opened it slowly, quietly even and slipped inside. Without turning on the lights, she felt her way to the bed, looking down at his peaceful face, she wondered just how long she had before they'd kick her out. "I'm sorry Dante; I should have been there," gentle fingers brushed stray stands from his forehead; a futile effort as the locks slipped back to their original position; "I just had to go."



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