Red Nightmares at Midnight

The phone rang somewhere around daylight, but Lucille took care of that little nuance, knowing Dante damn well wouldn’t be answering phones at the ass crack of dawn. The compound remained dark and quiet as the exhausted devil hunter slept on, finally peaceful enough to do so. He’d not moved in six hours, the only life signs the steady breathing that was a little too deep, a bit too fast, as if running on borrowed time. But even his base body temperature was much higher than that of a normal human, it registered somewhere around a hundred and two degrees, thanks to the heated blood in his veins. He moaned and stirred a bit, but remained quiet and still otherwise, long arms still draped around Douglass as if clinging for dear life. But about mid-morning he drifted into half-consciousness, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings and realizing with a bit of surprise he wasn’t alone in his bed. Blinking, he lifted a heavy head to stare at Douglass, as if wondering just what in hell was going on. Shaking his head a bit to clear his fuzzy vision, he dimly remembered the nightmare previous, his body aching as if to say “Yeah, felt that,” and he sighed, realizing how he’d retaliated afterwards. But it’d been survival instinct. Disentangling one arm, long sensitive fingers drifted over the marks that still remained on her throat, they’d bruise probably, as had her eye. Although neither looked too bad, he still felt like the world’s biggest braying ass. Grinding teeth at himself, he slowly slipped from the mattress, carefully as to not disturb, sensing her sleep was light. Padding to the bathroom, he doused his face in cold water and let the icy liquid linger a bit, the cold shocking his brain into wakefulness. But he didn’t want to face the day just yet. Hauling on a pair of sweats, he just returned to the mattress, stretching back out beside the sleeping Douglass, head propped on his crossed arms. The marks on his shoulders hadn’t healed fully; his own demon wounds never did.



Douglass : Eyes were closed, but she'd never fallen asleep. As he stirred she remained still; better give him some time. Through out the night, she fought back emotions un-felt for years; loss, loneliness, failure. She'd been living numb; numb to the world and to herself; but with Dante's heated touch around her, she couldn't stifle them; she couldn't beat back the wolves at her door. As he settled back to the bed, hazel eyes drifted open; the left only partially, it was swollen and she could feel it throbbing just from the motion of blinking an eyelid; shit. Blood had dried over her numerous wounds, crimson flakes cracked as muscles moved beneath the skin; "Sleep any better?" Her voice was low; dry still from not being used in a few hours. She forced a half smile, for his sake; rolling onto her stomach, muscles whined in protest; arms instinctively shuddered close to her body, palms pressed together she rested her cheek upon the back of one hand, face turned towards him; the cold bite of the room sent gooseflesh rippling over her skin; and it pulled at the healing wounds; shit, that stung; her face winced a bit, she needed to clean up, wash away the coagulated blood that stuck to her flesh.



He pulled back from his doze as she moved and mumbled to her question. “Somewhat.” Blinking glazed eyes, he turned his head to look at her, kicking himself once more at seeing the marks on her skin. “Fucking gods, Douglass,” he muttered, one hand gently examining her left eye. “…I didn’t mean to…shit, I’m sorry.” He growled at himself, another loss of control. But he just dropped his head back to the mattress, lowering his hand. “Stupid, Dante,” he chided sourly with a forced sigh. But he just had to ask. Before anything else crazy happened. “Why, Douglass…why did you risk it? I could’ve killed you,” he finally said it aloud, damnit, “although not intentionally…but why?”



Douglass : She blinked her eyes a couple of times slowly; her tongue passing over her lips once before answering; "Because that's what friends do Dante; they take care of each other. Don't feel bad; I've looked worse." She actually smiled at him, though the motion pained her left eye. "Besides; when you really care about something, you don't stop and ask 'What's going to happen to me?' You just do." She watched his face as her words hit him; as they hit herself. "I told you last night; for some unknown reason I can't stop caring about you; maybe it's lack of options." The corners of her mouth pulled up in a slight grin, she probably shouldn't chastise him; but she couldn't hold the words back either.



Yeah, that little factoid was what had nearly gotten him killed in his own dreams. He knew it, and damned himself for it. But he had to try, just once, to make the effort. “Douglass,” he said slowly, deliberately, “don’t. Don’t care for me. Don’t love me. Remember what I said last night? Caring makes you slow, makes you vulnerable. It lowers guard, makes you open to all sorts of attacks. Attacks that can’t be afforded in this profession.” Unable to stop himself, if only seeking the reassuring warmth of another living being, his fingers laced with hers, threading silently, a gentle rasp of skin on skin. Hands were calloused, but warmth was shared nonetheless. Lashes closed over blue eyes. “If only for your own safety.”



Douglass : Brows furrowed in confusion; who'd said anything about love? But as his fingers interlaced with her own, she let it go; now wasn't the time. "I'm safer now than I've ever been. I'm not asking you to care about me Dante; I'd never ask you for that." She gave his hand the slightest squeeze; "You've uprooted emotions in me that I thought had died a long time ago; until I met you I was dead. You gave me life again, Dante and I won't ever be able to repay you for that." Her thumb drew lightly across the back of his hand, her own skin was soft despite the wear; woman's hands.



Well, he’d tried. Merely nodding, he just fell silent, unwilling to take the conversation any further than it’d already been. God, and he needed to get up and check the mail and messages. Fuck. Why couldn’t he just stay his lazy ass in bed for one damned day? Would the world really end if he did so? Probably, he thought irritably. But it soured his brain so much that when he pushed off the bed to rise, raking hands through his tousled hair, he just couldn’t stop the sentence that left his mouth. “You don’t have to ask for it, Douglass.” Shutting his mouth abruptly, he shook his head and left the room, heading for the study to lock himself behind the door for about a century or two, until he felt capable of dealing with humanity once more.



Douglass : Her eyes drooped closed as his sentence hit her; she couldn't tell if he had really said it or not. However with the abruptness with which he'd left his own room; her best guess was that he had. Five minutes after she heard the door to his study shut she forced herself up; muscles screaming in protest the whole time. Her own fingers blindly examined her swollen eye; should have iced it last night. Sighing heavily she looked at the bed; the sheets stained with blood; his or hers; who knew. If Lucille would let her back in; she'd change the sheets for him after cleaning up a bit. As bare feet padded down the hall towards her own room; she stopped momentarily outside his door; she thought about knocking; about just being in his presence; but decided better against herself. Once inside her own room she left the door open as she went to the bathroom, turning on the cold water. Carefully she used a wash-cloth to clean her eye; sharp gasps being sucked in through her teeth; well fuck that hurt. One down; only about one hundred more to go. Turing on the shower, she cranked the water as hot as she'd be able to handle it. Stripping was a labored chore; muscles crying for reprieve the whole time; soon, she promised them. She just stood there under the hot pounding water; the warmth gently massaging away the ache of her body. Wet locks billowed down around her bowed head, eyes drifting open and closed as she tried to stay conscious in the shower; she needed to sleep, even for just a few hours. After fifteen long minutes; she finally turned off the water; pulling her towel from the rack she padded herself dry; then achy legs carried her into the room. Pulling a pair of blue bikini style underwear from the top drawer, she somehow managed to get them on; the high cut revealing well the scar along the side of her right leg. She tried to put on a sports bra; but it was more effort than it was worth; abandoning the idea she simply pulled a white t-shirt over her head and flopped down on the bed; a stinging hiss pulled in through her teeth; not smart Dee. Eyes closed immediately; and she slipped off into the dark oblivion of the world of dreams.



Dante lurked in his study all morning, not emerging even for food. His dreams haunted waking hours, the remembered feel of teeth rending flesh a bit too much for even his stomach to handle. But thanks to Lucille’s progress reports, he knew Douglass had finally gone to bed herself, she should have, he thought sourly, after watching over his sorry sodding ass all bloody night. But he gnashed teeth a bit and went up to second level to tinker with a few firearms and the like. An hour of that had him growling once more and slinging the damned gun across the garage, shattering the metal against the wall with the force of his arm behind it. Stress, he told himself. Lucille, wisely keeping her microchipped mouth shut, just did as told, not offering sass once. She knew better than to interrupt Dante’s black moods. He did chores, regular maintenance and the like, servicing the generators to keep the engines in top performance level. Still he prowled. Too much excess energy, his beast lurked just beneath the surface, wanting, needing to hunt. But he snarled, he wasn’t some damned animal. But that was the very crux of his dilemma; in his own eyes he was just that, all he could see was the demon within, and not the man without. Jayden had seen it and his mirror had been her eyes. Douglass offered him the same view, he wasn’t so stupid as not to see it, but he simply refused to believe it. Hard headed and stubborn, oh yes. True to his bloodline. But late afternoon found the hunter on the training level, once more alleviating his black temper on the swinging bag, having been down there for about two hours now, completely focused on his workout, sweat streaming from his torso as he worked. The strobe lights flickered, hard music blasted from the speakers, drowning out all the black thoughts and made him focus on the ‘enemy’ before him, not the one within. Be damned he be reduced to a damned animal!



Douglass : Eyelashes fluttered lightly on cheeks; a sure sign of dreaming. Her dreams were not tainted though; they were peaceful, secluding. A warm sun; green lawns; butterflies dancing on a warm summers breeze; it was heaven on earth. She couldn't help but smile as she looked around; how peaceful, untouched by the corrosive hands of men. From somewhere behind her a familiar voice called her name; "Well there's my doll face." Joy overcame her as she whirled around, but she wasn't fast enough; strong loving arms embraced her; pulling her close to that familiar smell; the Old Spice brand aftershave. "Oh how I've missed you Daddy." His gentle chuckle wafted out upon the gentle breeze; "I don't see how; you've been very busy." "I had to keep busy…" "Conroy sends his regards." She pulled away, holding him out at arms length to look at him, "Conroy?" Her father only smiled at her, "Him, Luis, Jackson, all of them. Oh and Luis said to thank you for what you did for his mom." She couldn't believe her ears, or her eyes. "We're all proud of you Dee; they know what you did for them; what you're still doing for them. And I know that you're trying, and you're hurting; but the hurt goes away." She stepped forward, embracing him once again; her mind finding ease; "I'm not hurting anymore daddy…" "Yes you are Dee; you're hurting still and you will hurt again. But it's part of being a person; the very best part of it. If you didn't know how to hurt, then you'd never know how to love. You have a lot of love to give Doll face; don't waste it anymore." "He doesn't want me to love him daddy." Arthur Preston placed fingertips at the underside of his daughters chin, forcing her to look up into his eyes; "He may not want you to, but he needs you to. Be strong doll face; hold true." "You're leaving me, aren't you?" He smiled at her, "I've never left you baby; I'm always with you." He kissed her upon the forehead and she closed her eyes; "I love you daddy." The words were spoken in her dream; and uttered by her sleeping person. As lashes fluttered open in the dream world, they fluttered open in the real world also; what a dream. Sitting up in bed, she pushed the covers back, pulling knees to her chest. She could still feel his kiss upon her brow; it had all been so real. "Lucy, where's Dante?" The mainframe clicked to life inside her room; "Downstairs; he is not in a good mood Douglass." "I don't blame him." "He was concerned about you." "That's his business Lucille, you shouldn't pry." "My apologies, I shall refrain from further comment on the matter." Even though she chastised the machine, the idea felt good; to have someone concerned about her. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her muscles still protested use; "It's your job; get used to it." She uttered aloud. Going to her closet she pulled a sweatshirt over her head; and a pair of cotton tennis shorts over her bottom. Going into the kitchen, she started up the coffee maker; the smell daring her to wake up. Fingers ran through tussled blonde stands, and she grimaced as slender fingers snagged in tangles; shit. Before the coffee pot was completely done; she poured herself a cup, sipping the hot liquid carefully. "Lucy, have we heard anything from Harris?" She perched upon a kitchen chair, legs crossing Indian-style underneath her; she wanted to go to him, to try and talk to him, but Lucille had said he was in a foul mood; and talks with him then usually didn't end well. "Harris did call once, but Dante already saw to that." Douglass nodded, taking another long sip of the coffee. A few minutes passed before she just couldn't take it anymore; getting up a little too fast, her eye started to throb slightly; eh fuck it. Long confident strides took her to the stairs; upon opening the door she could hear the loud music; oh great. Sucking in a deep breath she descended the stairs; opening the door at the bottom carefully. The wild light of the strobe started to give her a headache; but that was just too damn bad. Coffee cup still in hand, she watched him; even anticipated some of his moves. Slipping to a seat on the far end of the bench she sipped the coffee; she could wait till he was done.



It felt good, the hard rhythm, repetitive movements, a soothing balm to aching muscles. Some folks used meditation, others used yoga, hell, some folks used cleaning for stress relief; Dante, he beat the shit outta things. Eyes completely focused on the swinging bag amid the bright flashing lights, Lucille automatically alternating colors from stark white, empty black, neon green, whorehouse red, dark purple and metallic blue. A veritable rainbow of colors flashed across the floor. Every punch he delivered knocked sweat from his body, but he wouldn’t stop; he wasn’t tired yet. And the fucker was still breathing. At least, in his mind’s eye it was. But Aerosmith screamed in the speakers, the driving music fueling strong muscles that just wouldn’t quit. Couldn’t. For their possessors purpose rested upon their readiness for battle. God he needed a barfight, or something! Blood to flow, bones to break. He’d never wanted to maul something so bad in a long damned time. But he settled for taking out his aggression on the unoffending bag, the thing already starting to show signs of wear and he’d only bought it about two months ago. The gradual sense of another awareness slowly penetrated his brain and Dante eased off, Lucille killing the lights and reactivating the cool white light. The music faded a bit, lowered to a decent decibel. Dante scented coffee and turned to see Douglass, seated quietly on the bench, watching. He chuckled at himself, realizing he looked like he’d fallen in the pool, but shrugged it off, shaking his head and sending sweat flying. Crossing the mat to the bench, he retrieved his towel and wiped his face and chest, offering a less-than-sullen, “Morning, sleep good?”



Douglass : "Had a visitor," she eyed him over the rim of the coffee cup as another long sip slid down the back of her throat; she knew that would quirk him. "My dad," she offered as she lowered the cup; gazing down into the brown liquid. "He came to say goodbye." Despite the sorrow in her voice, she smiled. "How are your wounds?" She stood then, something popping audibly from somewhere below the waist; damn that felt good. As she eyed the obstacle course, the weights and the treadmill; she wished to all hell that she'd put a bra on.



Indeed, a brow lifted in query. “Oh?” But a bit of human sorrow etched the lines in his forehead as she finished. “Yeah, those’ll kill you, if you’re not careful.” A smirk threatened his lips at the crack in her back, a bit of old humor sparking those icy eyes. But he shrugged and said, “Eh, not bad. Those always take longer to heal, for some reason. They itch like crazy, then just disappear. ‘S why I’ve still got scars, always will have.” Draping the towel around his neck, Dante plunked down on the bench, elbows propped on sprawled knees, head lowered to let his neck muscles stretch. “God, I need to kill something,” he muttered. “And keep your trap shut, Lucille,” he snorted at the ceiling.



Douglass : "What did Harris call about?" She set the nearly finished drink on the bench beside her, eyes flicking to the ceiling as was customary when thinking about Lucille.



Dante started to mumble through the towel, but finished mopping his face before answering with a shrug. “Dunno, didn’t check the machine. Must not have been important, he hasn’t bothered to call back. Probably worried about his precious payroll to have any real problem. The asstard,” he mumbled sourly with a snort. Standing, he jerked his neck from side to side, sighing in bliss as the bones cracked nicely. Ah, there we go. Stretching hands behind him, he jerked twice, feeling shoulder joints pop after that strenuous workout. “Jesus, I’m getting old…” But he gave her an inquisitive glance. “Douglass, you all right?”



Douglass : She loathed small talk; it's unimportance. But it seemed the right thing to do all things considered; however she couldn't take it anymore; the question kept eating away at the back of her mind, chewing a hole right through her head. "Dante; did you mean it?"



He fucking knew it. Just like a damned woman, to ruminate on the littlest things! Grinding teeth imperceptibly, he just lifted a prayer for patience to heaven and gave her a straight answer, he too loathed bullshit, belike. “Douglass, would I have said it if I didn’t?” Lips twitched in slight annoyance as he went on. “Which slightly irks me for reasons mentioned before. And so help me, if you’ve been pondering that all damned day, I think I’ll turn you over my knee and beat you,” he finished with a snort.



Douglass : She knew how he'd react; knew that he'd blow up and threaten her in some way-shape-or form; so she only nodded; lifting the cup from its perch beside her. Cradling it in both hands, she forced herself upright; "Thanks," her only response as she turned to leave.



Dante blinked. How long had she been here and she still couldn’t tell the difference between his seriousness and his teasing? What the living fuck-! But he just stood there, totally flummoxed but answered, still a bit grouchily, “You’re welcome.” Rolling his eyes, he muttered sour curses laced with his favorite animal parts as he moved to the bag and gave the unoffending piece of equipment a blistering kick. “What the hell, Lucille,” he inquired of the ceiling. “Is it designated Dante asshole day? Did I miss the fucking memo?”



Douglass : "Douglass is not a typical female." Thank you Lucille; Douglass made her way upstairs, leg muscles cursing her the whole climb. She went to the kitchen and disposed of her coffee cup; dumping out those last remaining remnants into the sink and rinsing it clean. She'd decided last night that one chore needed to be done; and by damn she was going to do it. Going to his bedroom door, eyes flicked ceiling ward; "Lucy…" The door slid open, wow just like that? "Lucy, where are clean sheets?" The mainframe directed her; after pulling a fresh set from his linens closet, she stripped the bed of the soiled ones; depositing them in a waiting washing machine. "Why are you changing his sheets Douglass?" "Because I bled in them too." Lucille didn't have a response for that. It took her a few good minutes; but eventually the chore was done; she felt better about it now. Slumping down on the edge of the bed, she glanced around the room; taking notice for the first time of the lush furniture. "What am I going to do about him Lucy?" "What do you mean Douglass?" "I don't know; I've never had to deal with this before." "As it is said; there is a first time for everything." Douglass glanced ceiling ward for a moment; "Thanks." She uttered.



Still needing to vent spleen, Dante just strode upstairs, thankfully not looking in his bedroom, else he’d have exploded right royally at seeing the clean sheets on the bed. That Italian set had been quite expensive and he was moody about his private space. But he veered to the kitchen, growling stomach finally making him seek food. Retrieving the huge pot of chili from yesterday, he zapped about a quart bowl full in the microwave, took a full box of crackers and a fifth of Jack Daniels whiskey and disappeared into his study, the door hissing closed behind him. And there he remained for the rest of the day. The TV blared, but he didn’t watch it. Harris called again, but was rewarded for his nosiness with a snap and a snarl, resulting in a rather snarky remark of, “Send the babies to kill it, Harris, I need a damned night off!” Harris yelled a bit, but Dante just cut the connection and hung up. But he finally lost himself in a book, Kafka’s Metamorphosis, swilling straight from the bottle. He could relate, really.



Douglass : She'd finally gone and really got dressed; donning a pair of black work-out pants and a white racing back tank top she headed downstairs; despite her body's protests. A good once through the obstacle course; about forty five minutes with weights, and a good one hour long jog on the treadmill sent her synapses a'firing; lactic acid building up in muscles she'd forgotten she'd even had. At the end she felt sated; well in need of some relax time. Other than the noise from Dante's study; the place was quiet; and the silence was comforting. After a quick change out of sweaty clothes she slumped into one of the living room chairs; a portable CD player in hand. The classic tunes of Billy Holiday blared into her ears; that sweet mournful voice singing of pride and prejudice; she could hear the sorrow oozing form every cord. Sighing contently she let eyelids drift closed; not sleeping, just imagining herself sitting in the middle of a crowded, smoky, pub with that wonderful woman belting out the anthems of oppression. Funny how she could relate.


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