Red Nightmares at Midnight

Douglass : Lucille had been scanning the news; looking for unusual signs that might point at demon activity both here and abroad; something in her programming. But even she stopped at the headline of the evening; a terrorist shooting in an Italian airport leaving several dead; wasn't Douglass to be flying home today? As soon as it was over, she found Dante's attention, "Dante, I know you do not wish to be disturbed; but I must insist that you watch this." She pulled the recorded images up to the screen; "In world news today, a terrorist attack on Italian airports has left several airport goers dead; and more in critical condition…" The news played on, giving false details about the incidents that had taken place, a few interviews with panic ridden flyers who'd either been in the air or in the terminals and then finally the reason that Lucille had insisted, "… The Italian government released this footage from the airport surveillance, caught on tape the panic and chaos the attacks had inflicted." The short footage played on, carefully edited so that no demon was present, and that "Daniela" had died in the arms of her partner; "Daniela Devoix, of the French embassy was returning home when the incident broke out; she had been caught by one of the terrorist and died shortly there after." There was no mistaking it; the tattooed face on the screen was Douglass.



The dock incident had been someone’s idea of a sick joke; Dante had been beyond livid when he arrived. After arriving downtown to the morgue just prior to Douglass’s exiting the country, Dante had taken one look at the victims and known right away that demons hadn’t been involved. The demonic left a presence behind, sort of an aura that could be sensed by one of the same blood. A crude analogy, one that made his lip curl, but like an animal pissing on a tree; marking territory. He’d informed Kimmy rather brusquely that this slaughter had been manifested by humans. Harris hadn’t believed him, but when Dante jerked the poor man off his feet and let him dangle nose to nose, he’d quickly seen the light. Dante’d gone along on the hunt, he seriously wanted to administer some justice to the disgusting fucktards and had been slightly disappointed and irritated when the murderers turned out to be a damned street gang, kids mostly. But, the way he figured it, if they were old enough to take up axes and hack people, other rivals, to death, then they were old enough to have their asses whipped. And so he did what their parents hadn’t. Handed them their asses on plates. Not waiting on the candy-assed cops, Dante just took their threats and bullets, dodging the rapid fire auto machine guns and just expunged his loathing and anger, not even taking his guns out of their holsters. He just beat the shit outta every little angsty teenager present in that house. The police knew better than to get in his way, some of the younger officers even joined in. Someone had to take back the streets from the filth. Harris, however, wasn’t very happy with the whole incident. He’d hollered and yelled and blustered, but Dante, in a slightly better mood, now that he’d broken a few bones and bloodied countless noses and whipped several arses, just ignored him and returned home, strangely content. But Lucille was clamoring for his attention as he exited the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumped, sauntering to the study. But the news flash stopped him cold. Shocked blue eyes stared at the television screen, frozen. All the blood drained from his face seeing the familiar face blinking across the screen. All emotion left him. He couldn’t even move, so great was his disbelief. But his knees finally shook and he hit the floor in front of his desk, catching himself before he smacked his nose. All that kept flitting through his brain was, Not again, please…not again… But the report went on, the blaring reality slamming between his ears. A muffled whimper left his throat as he began to shake uncontrollably. Lucille clicked and whirred in alarm, but there was nothing she could do.



Douglass : The flight had been agonizing; so long cooped up in such a small space with so many people; irked her right down to the bones. She tried to sleep, tried to close her eyes and rest some before the plane landed; but the unfamiliarity of it all refused to let her mind settle; Jesus first thing she'd do would be to get some well needed sleep; that was after she patched things up with Dante. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms; he was irritated, she was hesitant; not a good combination; then again little that involved the two of them was a good combination. Finally when the airplane landed, she couldn't get off fast enough; skipping customs she just left the terminal; hauled ass to the awaiting Durango. It was a good two hour drive home; and the whole way she couldn't push the image of Lucas's face from her mind; what in the hell was she going to tell Dante? As the automobile entered the lift; Lucille was unusually twitchy with the guns; "Nice welcome home there Lucy." "Douglass?" Why did the machine seemed surprised to hear her voice? "Yeah, who else would be pulling in at this hour?" "Douglass, you aren't dead?" This confused the hell out of her, it was almost as if Lucille was refusing to believe that she was real; "No, at least not last time I checked. Lucille what are you going on about?" The machine would have been a crumpled pile of human emotions had the damned thing had a body; she began to spout off about the news broadcast and believing her dead and so forth and so on; Douglass just became increasingly perturbed. Despite her flurry of mechanical emotion; Lucille still led her through the routine of getting inside opening doors and moving lifts. "Dante just fell asleep; or else I'd wake him. He's terribly distorted about this." "Wait a second Lucille; he doesn't think I'm dead does he?" "Yes Douglass, your body was shown on the news." Oh fuck; Pedro would be loosing a testis next time she saw the sorry fuck. "I should probably go say hello then huh?" "How could you not Douglass?" "Let me wake him up will you?" "Certainly." When the lift reached the living floor, Douglass padded quietly to Dante's room; Lucille opened the door without request. He was sprawled across the bed; moaning in disturbed sleep; she felt a twinge of sympathy for him; wonder if he slept at all in the last week? Going to the bedside she perched upon the bed next to him as he twisted and writhed on the sheets, face distorted in pain: Douglass's brows creased with concern as fingers slid through his hair, an attempt at comforting him; "You're not going to get much rest moving like that." Her voice was quite as fingers continually moved through his hair, stroking his temple lightly, coaxing him into wakefulness.



How he made it down the hall and into his room, he didn’t know. Nor would he ever. Maybe the same nuance that kept him alive in times of extreme stress, his demon fail safe. But the hunter didn’t give a blue monkey fuck. All he could see behind his tightly closed eyes was Douglass’s marked face flashing in and out of sight, only this time he was left holding the smoking gun. And he howled. He’d let her go, damnit. Let her got to her death. He might as well have pulled the trigger himself. But that’s what happens, his demon snarled, when you begin to care about the frail beasts. He growled back, suppressing the seething animal. But he tossed and turned, unable to shake the visual. Was he damned to endure this shit forever? Teeth ground together behind white lips, he mumbled and jerked. In his vision, Douglass’s hazel eyes opened and she stared at him, saying hollowly, “You killed me. You let me go. Why, Dante? I trusted you…” And so it began. Over and over. The accusations poured from her dead mouth, she wouldn’t stop. No matter what he tried, she kept repeating the words, making him nearly insane with grief and loathing. Then she reached for him, fingers sliding through his hair and he jerked, finally breaking free of the nightmare and jolting upright in bed, panting with heaving breaths. Wide haunted eyes, rapidly adjusting to the dimness, focused and jerked to the figure sitting beside him, the fear dissolving into confusion. First words from his mouth, lost as he was, were, “But…you had to go…I couldn’t stop you…” then his throat closed and he just stared at her, unbelieving.



Douglass : "You look like you've seen a ghost." She smirked at him slightly, fingers brushing the hair from his eyes as he stared at her in disbelief; "I told you that before I left, there was no way you could have stopped me Dante, and what happened in the airport wasn't your fault either, nor was it mine. But it's all over now, I kept my promise, I'm right here." The fingers of her other hand laced into his; squeezing tightly to help him realize that he wasn't dreaming anymore; God she wanted to kick herself for ever playing along with Lucas… that was the thing, how was she going to tell him?



The pain in his hand from her fingers’ strong grip assured him once more it was no dream, but reality. Honestly, he didn’t know whether to hug her, hold her, or beat her senseless for scaring him like that! Thinking it over carefully, Dante just thought fuck it and closed his eyes in profound relief, leaning forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder, breath leaving his lungs in a long sigh. “…yeah…” he managed to squeeze out. But one large hand slapped her hip. “Don’t fuckin’ do that anymore, woman!”



Douglass : She had to laugh as his hand came down on her hip as close to her ass as it could get; a spanking; it stung like hell but still she laughed. "You can't stop me Dante, if I get called I'm going; but I'll always come back, it'll take more than just a few bullets and one scraggly demon to put me down." She kissed his cheek, lips touching lightly; but again she seemed hesitant. Did she tell him now? Would she wait until after a nice long rest? No, it couldn't wait; he deserved to know. Swallowing with difficulty she closed her eyes as her forehead remained against his; "I don't know how to tell you this Dante, but…" the words lodged in her throat.



Dante grinned to her chortle, but grew very still under the gentle pressure of lips to his rough cheek. Still a bit odd, though relished. One hand slipped to her throat, long calloused digits spreading over skin to cradle the nape of her neck. “Yeah, I know. I have abandonment issues,” he teased with a grin, fingers gently kneading where they touched. “And there was a demon involved?” he asked, though he’d figured it. But that raised other questions, but she choked on her next statement, thus they were put on hold for the moment. “What can’t you tell me?” he asked softly. “You chipped a nail during the mad airport rush?”



Douglass : She tried several times to get the words out; to just tell him that Lucas was still alive, and seeming to do well, all things considered. But the words would not come; God how she hated words, the very concept of speech infuriated her at that given moment. Squeezing her eyes together tightly she swallowed again, difficultly; giving in and just saying whatever came to mind; "I missed you."



A brow rose. “Not that I’m not flattered, but I really expected something titanic, Douglass.” Relief at finding her alive left him a bit lightheaded, a bit more prone to tease than usual. Which was nearly none at all. A grin slithered his lips. “And as much as it galls me to say it…I missed you too.” He thought a moment, then added, “Lucille didn’t have anyone to bitch at, besides innocent little me.”



Douglass : She smiled; she wanted to laugh, but the pressure on her mind wouldn't let her. "I bought you some sheets, but I kinda lost them in the airport." She slid closer to him; pulling legs onto the bed; nestling against him. "That's all done with now; it's over. I haven't slept in damn near twenty four hours; I'm beat." She pulled back a little to look at him, "And you look like you could use a good nights rest too." Good poker face Dee, just smile and go to sleep; you can try to tell him tomorrow. The idea cut deep, but she tucked her chin to keep him from finding the laceration across her throat; no doubt he'd get perturbed by that too.



Dante chuckled. “Don’t matter, they end up on the floor most times anyways. I’m not exactly what one would call a nice sleeper.” He moved over a bit, allowing her more room. Sliding back down, he adjusted his pillow and sighed heavily. “Yeah, week’s been pretty shitty. No rest for the wicked and all that shit.” Yawning, he shook his head a bit and glanced blearily at the clock, time read nearly three am. Good God. No wonder he was exhausted. Turing back, he told her quietly, “Get some sleep, hm? No work tomorrow, damned sure seen to that.”



Douglass : Eyelashes fluttered closed against him; butterfly kisses donning his neck. A yawn of her own split her lips; "Good, Harris might piss himself again next time he sees me." Kicking off her boots, she opted to just leave on her jeans and tops; she just wanted to rest. But a heavy mind set to sleep yields fitful dreams. Within minutes she'd slipped off into the sandman's embrace, but he shook her by her very core. Lucas came in her dream; smiling and embracing Dante, but his knife dug deep into her throat; cutting away at her arteries, her blood streaming down her front and Dante unable to see her, all his attention focused on Lucas. She tried to reach for him, to call for him, to obtain his aid; but it wouldn't come. Every fiber of his attention was focused on Lucas's smiling face, his British accent biting her ears; "I told you next time you saw me you'd die."



The hum of the generator kicking on woke him, oddly enough. Dante blinked, automatically looking over at the clock. Five pm. Yawning languidly, he stretched a bit, then became aware of the body at his side. A puzzled frown writ his features until he remembered. Ah, Douglass had returned home from the wilds of beyond. On the heels of a nightmare, if he recalled correctly, and he usually did. But Dante refused to dwell on it and slipped quietly from the bed, meandering to the bathroom to brush teeth, face, and take care of all other necessities. His stomach growled, reminding him it hadn’t been fed. Emerging into his room, he mumbled gut-ward, “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” Pulling on discarded jeans, he took a detour to pull covers over the still-sleeping Douglass before meandering to the kitchen, rummaging for munchies.



Douglass : Sleep had come out of necessity; broken and fairly unfruitful. She opted to remain in the bed, even after Dante had left, legs and arms pulling in close to her center to keep warmth to her core; really how did he expect her to keep sleeping when he'd leave? She nestled into the pillow, half her face buried in the soft down; but as eyes settled for sleep, Lucas's face kept swinging into her mind; Damn him. After another hour of trying to sleep; she finally gave up; tossing back the covers and swinging legs out of bed with a discontented sigh. Snatching up her boots from the night before she went to her room; oddly enough, she tried to sleep in his bed, but wouldn't use his bathroom. Not like I actually live in his room or anything; I just sleep there sometimes. Attempting to run fingers through snarled blond hair, she winced at the snags and finally gave up; they'd all wash out in the shower. Not bothering to close her door; she began to strip just inside the door; first tops, by the time those were done she was inside the bathroom; pulling away pants and undergarments. Turing on the water, she waited for it to get warm, then slipped in under the pounding shower head. The force of the water felt heavenly on her muscles, pounding away at the stiffness. Fingers laced over her body, washing chest, hips, arms, legs, and all other surfaces. But it was her neck that was sensitively attended to; so carefully she washed the long gash that ran the length of her throat. God, how was she going to handle this? She could try to avoid Dante, for the rest of her life; but that didn't seem a plausible option. Sighing heavily as she killed the water; a nearby towel dabbed her body dry, carefully stilling the water that ran down her neck. Examining the wound in the mirror, she held her head back, fingers tenderly touching the coagulated wound, no way in hell she'd be able to hide this. Quickly pulling on a baggy pair of flannel pajama bottoms of all things, and a sweatshirt, she ran a comb through her hair before seeking sustenance; mind drifting back and forth in wonder of just where Dante was, and how she was going to deal with Lucas.



Dear God, give the man something deep fried and smothered in grease. Nearly a pound of bacon had been fried, along with about half a dozen eggs and several blueberry English muffins. He was just sliding the last of the hash browns out of the skillet when he heard Douglass petering down the hall, but didn’t bother to turn around, just set the used dishes in the sink and began hauling plates to the island. Looking up when he plunked down on a stool, a brow flicked to see the angry line across her throat. “What in hell, woman, that little incident get outta hand?” Of course, he’d figured it a mark left over from the airport and just accepted it as another war wound.



Douglass : "Out of hand? Yeah, just a bit." She plunked down in a chair across from him; the smells that lingered in the kitchen causing her stomach to growl; damnit all; she didn't want to get up yet. "Well, it's what I get for leaving one alive. Figured the Italian government could use a couple bitch boys to question, you know, try to put an end to that little organization; if that's what they call it. But no, they can't even handle all that; and the stupid fuckers show up at the airport of all places." Sighing discontentedly she propped her chin in her hand, "Then of course I can't keep my eyes off a demon when I see one anymore; I got lucky is what happened." There it was; all of it out on the table, details being left out, but if he wouldn't ask she wouldn't tell. "I'm just glad it's over." Hoisting herself up, she went to the fridge, pulling a carton of orange juice from the door and plopping it on the counter while she went to fetch a glass. "You planning on sharing, or do I need to whip something up on my own?"



A brow flicked. “There was a demon in the airport?” he asked incredulously. But shook his head. “I guess it’s a good thing you were there, dunno of any good hunters still operating that side. Hn.” He chuckled to her comment and pushed over a plate. “Yeah, I reckon I’ll share. Call it a welcome home present, or something of the sort.”



Douglass : Home; the word felt good on her ears. She'd come to accept this place as home, something she hadn't had in a long time; with the ATT she'd bobbed around the globe so much that no one place ever solidified into a point of meaning for her. Also, wasn't home supposed to be 'where the heart is'? Hard to find a home when a heart was restless, still it stirred beneath her flesh and bone, yearning for the freedom to love openly; but she didn't love Dante. True she'd come to care about him, more deeply than she'd ever cared about any of the ATT members, with the exception of Conroy; but to love? She'd not done that in over ten years, she was incapable of it; still she felt incapable of love. Hazel eyes slowly drifted out of the mist of thought; her stomach forcing her back to reality; it wanted to be fed damnit! "Thanks," she stated with a smile, a forced one but still it was there. Taking her glass of juice she began pilling the plate with a little of this, and a little of that, popping a piece of bacon between her teeth while settling back into a stool, eyes intentionally avoiding Dante's. "There was a hunter on the bastard; I just got to it before he did. After the shooting started; it was hard to move anywhere." Shrugging it off like it was nothing, she forked up a mouthful of eggs; eyes fixated on her plate as she chewed slowly; mind stirring uncomfortably.



That caught his attention and Dante quirked a brow, swallowing before speaking. “A hunter? Wow. I wasn’t aware of any still overseas worth a damn. Get a look at him, or a name, better yet?” Lifting his glass, he took a deep draught of orange juice, vitamins in the late evening. Nothing like it. He’d planned to head out tonight, a short sweep and didn’t want his growling stomach making him even grouchier than he already was when having to clean up human negligence.



Douglass : Eyes didn't lift from the plate; fork twirled mindlessly in her hand, spreading the egg mess a little further. She licked her lips, seeming to be thinking back on that evening; oh and was she. After a few long moments of silence, she finally parted her lips and spoke, "Tall, dark hair, aged; I didn't hang around him long." She silenced again for a moment; thinking back once more to the evening events; "He didn't give me a name. And I didn't ask for one. All I wanted was to get my ass on a plane and get back." Popping another bite of bacon into her mouth, she chewed idly, still refusing to look up at him.



Dante leveled a very speculative look on the woman seated across the island. “Douglass,” he said slowly, deliberately, “you’re fibbing.” He knew better. She’d worked for an organization that prized details; he knew better! Putting down his fork, he propped his chin on a hand and tapped one finger against his upper lip thoughtfully, a slow arched brow lifting in query.



Douglass : "I don't lie; you know me better than that." Lifting eyes to him, her gaze was stern; she didn't now, or ever, lie to him. "He didn't tell me his name." God how it ached, to want to say something so badly and be completely unable to say it. She tried to form the words in her mind; tried to piece together the sentences she might say; but no, the words wouldn't join. Rubbing her forehead with her palm she sighed heavily before shielding her eyes with same hand. "He was tall, somewhere between six two and six five; aged brown eyes with creases in the corners. His nose had been broken at least once, lips stern, not thin nor full. A small scar above his left eye, hidden in the brow; and he had an accent foreign of the area." Sighing again she uncovered her eyes, resting her temple against the heel of her hand. "He was wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase; no identification on the tag."



Dante met her eyes, he wouldn’t back down from her angry glare, especially when he knew he was right. And it was proved with her forthcoming details. “I didn’t say you were lying, Douglass,” he replied calmly, rising and depositing his empty plate in the dishwasher. “I just said you were fibbing. IE, not telling all the truth.” He fell silent and ruminated a bit on her words. Hm, sounded strangely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. His mind didn’t allow for impossibilities right now. But her tone made him pause. “All right, shit,” he said, rolling eyes a bit. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Douglass, I was just asking, for God’s sake. If there are others in the profession, I’d sorta need to know about it, all right? Might need help one of these days.” Truthfully, he knew of a few in the States, but he’d long since lost touch with those overseas.



Douglass : "Yeah," she responded; eyes dropping to her plate; infuriated. Not with Dante, he was right, but with herself. A persona so deeply rooted into her being that she couldn't even pull it up enough to choke out one little word; oh fuck this! Pushing herself up, Douglass scrapped the leftovers into the garbage and rinsed the plate without a word, depositing her dishes as well. "Leave the mess; I'll clean up later," dry and without emotion. Going back to her bedroom she fished out the clothes from the previous night; pulling out guns and other weapons that would need cleaning. Plopping down in the chair diagonal to her bed, she cleaned the knife and one of the guns. But as her fingers moved across the barrel of the gun which Lucas had removed from her possession, she could feel the anger seeping deeper into her veins; fucking asstard. Slowly, deliberate her motions as she cleaned away the oils and gun powder from the gun casing and out of barrel; Worry not, little one, I'll see you again. Probably one of the last things you will see. With a snarl the gun flew from her hand, skidding across the floor to find a dust sheltered perch beneath her bed. Slouching back in the chair, eyes fixated on the small movement of the bed-skirt where the gun had disappeared beneath the black; how do I tell him?



He was in the process of loading the dishwasher when she rather brusquely informed him to just leave it; so he merely blinked and did. Something’d obviously crawled up her ass and nestled burrs, so Dante just left it alone. Shrugging one bare shoulder, he exited the kitchen and sauntered easily to his room, whistling through his teeth as he dressed for his little jaunt. Same familiar red leather. A snerk. His trademark, that. But it was like taking the hand of an old friend. Comforting and familiar. Snapping buckles and zipping zippers, he pulled on his gloves and retrieved weapons, heading for the lift, shaking tousled white hair from his eyes as he informed Lucille of his departure and return. He knew better than to bother Douglass with it; females had the tendency to snap when provoked, for any reason.


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