Red Nightmares at Midnight

Douglass : She wasn't quite sure when sleep had finally overtaken her; but a good guess could be made. Precisely six hours earlier, never could she sleep more or less. Lifting a heavy head from a soft, down pillow, the heel of her right hand rubbed graciously at her eyes. Throwing back the blankets she whipped her legs out of bed, not the best idea. The sudden movements gave her head a little shake, and that, in turn, made it throb. "Shit," she uttered aloud; I shouldn't have drunk last night. Stretching the best she could without moving her head she looked around the room, nothing seemed out of place. Odd, for her it was; her pad was a mess, nothing had a place, and if it did it never stayed there. "Turning over a new leaf eh." Smiling at herself she stood up, daring the head pain. Making her way to her private bathroom she splashed cool water over her face, the sensation bringing new life. Using a towel to sponge it dry, she looked herself over, not bad for a bed head. Pulling off her top she moved to the shower, turning the water on and tinkering with the temperature until a happy median was found; piss warm, her favorite. Stripping of the rest of her garbs, she left them in a neat pile on the bathroom floor, about ten minutes and she was done; hair washed and body scrubbed. Using two towels, one for her hair and the other for the rest of her, she dabbed herself dry, purposely avoiding seeing her scars in any mirror. One towel wrapped around her head, the other around her body she went back into the room, opening up the closet and debating for a long moment on the day's attire. Long black pants and a white tank top; never could go wrong with that combination. Pulling undergarments from the top drawer of the dresser she quickly dressed and hung the dampened towels up to dry. Quickly running a brush through her hair, and she was set, socked feet padding towards the kitchen. Last night's dinner had left her only half full and unfulfilled, a big breakfast was the way to start. God only knew when Dante would stir, so she fished through the fridge until she found some eggs; scrambled with sourdough toast, it made her mouth water just thinking about it. Whipping out a skillet she tossed some butter in the bottom and started plugging away at the morning meal, "And after breakfast, a damn good workout." After eating, Douglass cleaned up her mess both from the morning and the night before; that done she took the stairs down to the gym. Three hours of a vigorous workout left her feeling rejuvenated, felt good to work out some frustration. After her last run through the obstacle course, she toweled off and took the elevator back upstairs. A quick shower and the day was left to the wind. Towel wrapped around her head like a turban, she walked back down the hall barefoot, what to do now? Glancing at Dante's door, it seemed as though he'd sleep all day, well whatever suits him. She stopped suddenly, then back stepped two spaces; "Lucille, would Dante get upset if I used his computer?" The computer whirled and clicked for a moment, as Lucille formulated her response, "There is a PC in the living room available to your discretion." "Thanks Lucy." "Who's Lucy?" "You are." "I'm Lucille." "Same difference." "No it is not." "Whatever." Blowing off the conversation, Douglass moved on to the living room, settling down in front of the computer. Fingers danced across the keyboard, logging into a protective network. "Lucy, do you think you could help me?" "To whom do you refer?" "You, you're Lucy." "No I'm Lucille." "Whatever; could you manage a data search?" "What topic?" "I'd like you to look up daily news; focus on articles regarding violence, aliens, demons, and the like. Check tabloids as well as the LA Times and other local papers." "Search initiated." A few moments later a list of articles popped up on the screen, "Thanks Lucy." "What service was just used for search?" "A protective service, the ATT database." "It is not familiar." "Well it will be soon." Quickly scanning the titles of each article, Douglass pulled up several and scanned the pages, nothing much popping out. On the tenth article, the information peaked Douglass's attention. "Lucy, could you print the article titled 'Dawn of the Demons' featured in The Daily Tabloid please." "I'm Lucille." "Well you just answered to Lucy, so it must be your name." Silence on the other end; "Printing completed." "Thanks a bunch Lucy." "You're welcome Douglass." Half jogging from the room, she snatched up the printout while heading to her room to change. Dressing in black slacks, her normal boots, and a white button down top with pointed collar she grabbed a single gun, tucking it deep into her boot. Minutes later she was tearing down the road, heading for the city. It was close to three o'clock, she'd have to work fast.



Dante slept until nearly dusk of the following day. God knew he’d needed it. His stress level was dangerously climbing and that was never a healthy thing. But the phone, for once, remained blessedly quiet; Lucille kept to her job, assisting Douglass whenever asked. The mainframe wasn’t ready to make friends just yet, as the processor could still read Dante’s voice print analysis about the stranger being here. But in time, perhaps. Dreams were sluggish for the tired hunter. They burned, as always, but his state of exhaustion kept most of the demons that howled for his flesh at bay, rendering them no more than noisy shadows in the dark recesses of his mind. He’d never moved, not in twelve hours, so great was his need for rest. But dusk saw him rising from bed, flicking on the bathroom light and blinking blearily. Realizing he looked horrible, he showered quickly, more for a wake-up call than anything, shaved and dressed casually, a bit more snazzy for home, yet not the sibilant red leather of work. Black jeans and a white shirt, complete with black leather jacket slung over his shoulder. There was something he needed to take care of, off the clock, as it were. He didn’t need Lucille to tell him the place was empty save for him; he could hear no other being stirring around inside. But Lucille’s next bit of information had his brows lifting a bit. “Dante, Douglass left something on the island in the kitchen. A bit of paper.” Swerving from his destination, that being the lift, he went into the kitchen and picked up the note, scanning the contents, which consisted of “Dante, I’ve gone to town for a bit, be back before sundown,” and signed with a large curly “D”. He didn’t even bother wondering why she signed the thing; she was the only other person in the whole place. But the sun set late in the early summer, so that was a toss-up as to time. But anon, he had things to do himself. Ascending the lift, he opted against taking the bike, which he still had to work on, and twirled keys to the rather swanky black GTO that resided across the garage. Getting behind the wheel, he started the beast and nearly swooned to hear the growling purr of the motor. Ah, such a man’s machine, this. Easing onto the lift, he rode to ground level and drove out of the compound, for once taking care not to kick up much dust. The car didn’t deserve such treatment. But once on pavement, that was a different matter entirely. He’d worked on his vehicles himself; he knew their limits and pushed them. Screaming across the California desert, he drove with one hand, the other resting in the door window. He had an appointment, and it never went well to be more than stylishly late.



Douglass : After reaching the city she went straight to a private garage. Selecting a red Dodge Durango, she pushed her bike inside and brushed up in the restroom. Hopping inside she started up the vehicle and drove the east side hospital. That's where she'd find a Miss Janie Monroe. Pulling up to the hospital she parked in a far space then strolled up to the front entrance. Stopping at the guest services desk she inquired about Miss Monroe and the nurse asked her purposes. "I'm here regarding an investigation." "Are you with the local authorities?" "No the government; please direct me to Miss Monroe's room." Reluctantly the nurse released the information, jotting it down on a leaflet of paper. Douglass took it with a thanks, and followed to the girls room. Knocking lightly upon the door, a younger nurse answered, "May I help you?" "My name is Megan Streaks, I'm here with the CIA special interest. I'd like to have a few words with Miss Monroe." Glancing over her shoulder, the nurse seemed to consult with the patient behind the door, a nod of approval and Douglass entered. "Forgive me for interrupting your recovery period Miss Monroe, but we've taken a special interest in your case." Douglass stood before the foot of the bed, the large eyes of a young girl no more than seventeen peered back at her harshly. Her hair had been dyed black, and needed to be done again; brown roots peeked near the scalp. It was apparent that thick black makeup had been poorly washed from her face, and her lip as well as her eyebrow was pierced. "It's about time you idiots listened to us." "And what idiots would that be?" "Everyone." Douglass smiled, amused by the girls brashness. "Miss Monroe, would you be so kind as to tell me in your own words what transpired last night?" "It wasn't just last night," she shifted in her hospital bed, "It's been happening for longer than that." "Please go on Miss Monroe." Sighing deeply the girl rolled her eyes before speaking. "Two days ago I was approached and asked if I'd be willing to act as the host of demon spirit. I agreed, of course, and was possessed. What happened after that I don't really remember just some foggy stuff. Next thing I know I woke up here in the hospital." "Miss Monroe, the information regarding your time of possession could be crucial, foggy or not. Please remember all that you can." The girl sighed again, seeming annoyed; but Douglass stood firm. "Alright, whatever," rolling her eyes once more, "I kinda remember being at a large building, like an office. I also sorta remember some phone calls, but I can't remember the numbers of the names of the people I called. That's it." Douglass shifted her weight, so far this wasn't helping. "What were the details regarding the possession?" "I'm a Satan worshiper, so I know lots of other people who are like me. One of my friends told me that I had the chance to serve Lucifer so I took it. All I had to do was show up at the clay mines on the far side of town. When I got there, I thought I'd seen someone, but I got possessed before I could really register anything." The girl smiled, and it put chills in Douglass to look at her, "It was a wonderful feeling to be possessed." "You try any of that crap again child, and the only possession you'll feel is my boot in your ass. Thank you for your time." Without another word Douglass left the room, stupid kid. She walked quickly to her car, slipping in behind the wheel she chewed over the facts. So there was some kind of plan going on; Bellina couldn't be working alone. Starting the engine she rolled easily from the parking lot, an ambulance with siren blazing tearing past her. She headed east, out towards the clay fields.



Thoughts of demons, their hordes or plans to take over whatever plane they possessed were uncharacteristically far from Dante’s mind as he roared across the desert. Arriving in town, he slowed his breakneck speed, more out of not getting pulled over than any want or necessity. He drove, not downtown, but took the bypass towards the beach. Arriving in Santa Monica, old habit directed him to a rather expensive condo right on the waterfront; the back doors spilled out on the sand. The beauty of the moon on water was lost to the devil hunter as he parked in the garage and took the elevator to the top floor. The place was snazzy enough to warrant an elevator-boy, one of those useless fops who had to push buttons for the pampered patrons who resided in the place. The youth gave Dante a stare, got a glare in return and lowered his eyes, clearing his throat. Putting hands in his pockets, Dante refrained from just slapping the idiot in the back of his curly head. Pointless. Just like most humans. But they reached the specified floor all parts intact and the tall hunter didn’t give the human a second look as he strode down the hall to the very last door. Room 899. Rapping with one knuckle, he waited. But not very long. A woman’s voice sounded sultry and the locks flipped, door opening to reveal a rather attractive woman, probably in her early thirties. Ringlets of chocolate brown fell down the slim back, even as the brown eyes widened a bit, then warmed considerably as they took in the male outside. “Why,” she drawled lushly, “been a while, stranger.” Dante smirked back, letting his lips curve just so. Guaranteed to melt female knees and this was no exception. “I’ve missed you, hunter,” she purred, reaching out to take his hand, pulling him inside and closing the door with finality.



Douglass : Although she obeyed speed laws, it didn't take her long to reach the mines. Pulling up the front gate, she killed the engine; it was gated and locked. Slipping from the vehicle she knelt down, examining a small sample of the clay for comparison purposes; yep same stuff. Eyes lifted to the dips and mounds just beyond, red, yellow and green colors paining a rainbow across the sands. Something didn't feel right, a chill deep in her bones. Going to the back of the Durango, she opened the rear door and then a hidden hatch in the floor; luckily her bike was far enough over that she didn't have to take it out. Nestled nicely in place was an assortment of weapons, one thing she could count on from the ATT. Selecting an automatic mini gun, she took an extra clip and slipped it down the back. Slamming the doors closed she turned her attention to the fence, eyes moving slowly from end to the other, she finally decided to put on her visual apparatus. Sticking the adhesive to her forehead the screen kicked on, zooming in on the fence as her eye moved along. After a long moment and a few feet of walking she found what she was looking for, a hole in the fence. Quickly passing through she scanned all detectable areas for signs of life, finding none she advanced cautiously, making her way around hills and down ravines. Thirty minutes passed of meticulous searching, and she was about to give up. Then something caught her eye, a small bit of a bright red color; odd. Brows furrowed as she moved closer, the screen covering her left eye analyzing the substance; cloth. When she was within fifteen feet she recognized the item as the body of a young woman; better be careful Dee. Advancing slowly, gun aimed at the lifeless specimen she inched ever closer. When she came within ten feet of the body, odor revealed it as such. "Oh Jesus," her nose wrinkled with the pungent stink of decay. Inching closer still she called out to the individual, all senses of her body wide awake and waiting for movement; nothing. Using the toe of her boot she pushed the body, it jiggled a bit, but nothing more. Finally kicking it over, the eyes of the dead woman were wide and glazed over, her mouth hung agape and bugs crawled from all crevices of her body. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she stooped down, turning the dead woman's hand over. Pulling a small plastic strip from her pocket, she pulled back the end until the adhesive was exposed; pressing it to the woman's forefinger she quickly flipped it back over, a perfect fingerprint caught on the strip. "I'll be sure to alert the proper authorities to your whereabouts." As Douglass walked back to the Durango, she said a silent prayer for the dead woman; it seemed that she'd fell victim to Bellina's plot. When Dee reached her automobile she set the gun upon the passenger seat and pulled a laptop from under the drivers. Plugging it into the Durango, she inserted the fingerprint sample into a slot just below the steering wheel. Immediately an identity search began, Douglass just sat back and waited. Within twenty minutes a positive ID popped up on the screen, "Well nice to meet you Margaret Jones, how do you fit in here?" With a few quick keystrokes all of the woman's prior information began to show up on the screen, Douglass's key interest, her phone history. Scanning through her calls, she found what she was looking for, a call to the child's family. Apparently Margaret Jones had somehow known the parents of the boy; hmm interesting. Starting the engine Douglass eased the Durango back away from the gate, turned it about and headed the long way back to Dante's. The sun would be setting soon, and she had a anonymous phone call to make before her demon friend arose, while out on the paved road, a black GTO tore past her; seeing that it wasn't Dante's bike, she paid it little never mind. Finally reaching her destination, carefully she maneuvered the vehicle around the blockades, or did the blockades maneuver around her? Either way, she made it to the lift, passing through the hologram front she pushed the window button so that it went down, "Douglass Gean McQue, authorized personnel." She didn't bother to wait for Lucille to request anything. As the car stopped moving the lift went down, dropping into the darkness below.



For the next four hours, the ocean breeze blew through the sheer gossamer curtains of Lilly’s penthouse apartment. Her low throaty moans echoed in the darkness, the occasional gasp and cry of her lover’s name piercing the shadows. Sometime well after ten o’clock, she woke and reached across the rumpled bed, only to find nothing. It was the absence that woke her, although she wasn’t really surprised. Sitting up in bed, she stretched languidly; her body well used and sated. Yawning, she turned to see Dante standing naked in the bay window, one arm propped above his head, lounging, staring out to sea. A slow smile curled her lips. Same thing, different time. He would never sleep beside her; sometimes she doubted he did. Hungry eyes roved his lean hard frame appreciatively, dear God the man could make her scream and did, every time he visited. Dante heard Lilly stirring but didn’t bother to turn. Afterward, he’d still been too restless; couldn’t just lie there gasping like a landed fish, so he’d risen and moved to the window to take appreciation of the beauty the ocean offered. The cool breeze was tender to his naturally heated skin, evidence of the demon fire that burned in his blood. The scents were clean and fresh from the wind, daring him to close his eyes and be lost on the night. But she called to him. “Dante…come back to bed, lover. It’s early yet.” A soft sigh left his lips. He didn’t bother to answer, merely turned and sought his clothes, dressing with methodic preciseness. Lilly pouted a bit, knowing it would be yet another wait before she saw him again. “You’re not leaving now, are you?” she asked a bit resentfully, crossing arms under her breasts. Once more, no answer, just the rasping of cloth as it was placed over flesh. She harrumphed and sat back against the head of the bed, miffed. Dante merely pulled on his boots and shrugged on his jacket. “Later, Lilly.” That was all he offered as he exited her apartment and made his way back to the car. Well, that was done. Driving though the city aimlessly, he merely rode, a bit unaccustomed to having a night ‘off’, as it were. But he didn’t doubt something would shoot that all to hell. Eventually. So, he turned for home, rocketing back to the compound and a long hot shower.



Douglass : Only after carefully maneuvering the Durango in the garage to a position where it would be out of Dante's way did she exit; her bike remaining in the back end. Taking a single disk of information below with her, she greeted Lucille and requested lights. Immediately the fluorescent glow hummed overhead, and Douglass passed easily to the living room. Settling down in front of the computer once more, she slipped the disk into the drive, and pulled up the ATT mainframe, the software pulling up the information she'd uncovered inside the car. This time she meticulously critiqued the deceased woman's call list, carefully considering the purpose or motive behind each call. Apparently she was somehow related to, or dear friends with the boy's family; numerous calls were placed to them daily. Although they seemed to be on intimate terms, there was something odd about the call patterns; midway they shifted from midday to late evenings, then to early mornings. "Odd," she moved on, checking bill records. In the last month not much was paid. "How long were you overrun?" Eyebrows lowered over soft hazel orbs, "Poor woman." A few more finger strokes and credit card statements and bank transactions flashed upon the screen. "Donations?" she read more carefully. In the last five months the woman had made donations to countless children's hospitals and orphanages; no wonder she couldn't pay her bills. One donation struck her, the first; a children's psychiatric ward. Shaking her head slowly, Wonder if Dante could piece this together faster, where is that bum anyway? Glancing over her shoulder, she didn't bother to rise, "Lucille, Dante isn't here correct?" It took Lucille a long moment to answer, "Correct." "Figured." She turned back to the screen, sighing deeply. "What in all hell were you doing?"



He made it home just before midnight, the barricades pulling back to let the GTO pass, as they’d done countless times before. Lucille greeted him, as usual, taking the car down to the garage. The red Durango caught Dante’s eye, but he figured Douglass’d come back with it. Only other explanation, unless God just put the thing in Dante’s garage. Which was highly doubtful, he thought with a snort. Parking the car in exactly the same spot from which he’d taken it, Dante entered the lift and Lucille once more welcomed him home. A brow quirked. Hn, seemed the females he knew were being overly solicitous tonight. The thought made him chuckle quietly. Exiting on his living floor, he immediately noted Douglass at the computer in the main room, but said nothing in passing, merely strode to his bedroom and hung up the expensive jacket and changed into more comfortable attire. That being worn jeans and no shoes or shirt. Fuck it, he’d shower later. Right now he needed a beer, or three, and to do some work online, shifting money around for certain things. So, he did just that. Retrieving booze and a bag of chips from the kitchen, he sauntered easily to his study, Lucille unlocking and opening the door for her master. Dante plunked down behind his desk, pulling up mail and checking the phone messages. Bless his heart, nothing. Hn, seemed the demon hordes had also decided to take the night off. A dry snort. But Lucille flicked on the television, it mounted on the far wall behind him. He listened absently while pulling up his bank balance. A brow quirked. Seemed Harris’d learned his lesson; the fee for last night’s little endeavor had already cleared Zurich. Maybe the miscreant could be taught, with the proper motivation and threat of the right body parts.



Douglass : She'd known he'd arrived long before he'd entered the lift; Lucille's mechanical noises actually seemed excited and happy; a sound Douglass doubted would be made for anyone but her lord. A smile formed on her lips, but it quickly faded as she thought on the night before, features turned somber, but she couldn't, no wouldn't, let Dante see that. The pain she'd seen in him the night prior, it just didn't seem right. He didn't greet her as he entered, nor did he greet her as he passed. She didn't turn around, instead continued with her work, compiling a data folder of useful, or suspicious, information that may be used to help tie together the ends of this little mystery. Stretching a bit, she hoisted herself up heavily; popping the disk from its drive. Slipping it into her back pocket, she moved to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, she sipped from it languidly, not wanting to bother Dante's 'business.' Boot tread across the hall down to her room, entering quietly she sat on the edge of the bed, laying face up, mind swimming with the nights newly acquired facts. "She didn't make any calls to Miss Monroe, so the one who contacted her would have had to been done face to face," she seemed to think on this for a bit, "I need to pay her another visit." Sighing heavily she rolled to her stomach, pulling the disk from her pocket and holding it before her vision. She seemed to be examining it carefully, it's shape, or lines perhaps. Whatever she was doing, she was thinking.



Dante crunched his chips, Ranch Doritos were manna from the gods, and swilled Killians until all three bottles stood empty beside his monitor. But he finished his work online, settling money in another dummy account for a rainy day. He liked having several bank accounts, kept down the questions. But he remembered his promise to his motorcycle and guns. Everything needed cleaning; he hadn’t been in the mindset to do so earlier. But after that little carouse into town, he felt a bit better. Just need to get some stress out of his system, he figured. Well, Lilly had certainly done that, he thought with a small chuckle as he rose from his chair and sauntered down the hall to his bedroom. Thank God humans couldn’t hurt him physically, else his back would be shredded. No, the only way humans marked him was emotionally, damn his human heart and soul. But he banished these thoughts with a snort, retrieving the guns and holster from his room. Returning the way he’d come, he subliminally knew Douglass had retreated to her chosen room, but he merely kept his silence, ascending the lift to his garage and workshop. She’d talk to him when she had something to say. He wasn’t known for his social skills, that was the God’s truth. Crossing to the right side of the garage, he retrieved gun oil and clean cloths, asking Lucille for music while he worked. She complied, the rock music she knew he liked filling the chamber. He straddled his work bench and leaned against the wall, whistling off-key through his teeth as he took the massive hand-cannons apart.



Douglass : About fifteen minutes of careful planning and she was ready to go. Leaping from the soft, down bed she kicked off her clothing and retrieved one of her uniforms. Slipping it on with ease, she then accessorized, adding lots of guns and outlandish looking equipment. As she passed the wall mirror on her way out, she stopped cold, shit my tats; Miss Monroe will recognize them. Rolling her eyes she went to the bathroom, retrieved a vial of a skin toned substance, and plastered the covering makeup all over her visible tattoos. When she was done she didn't even look the same, she'd look normal if it wasn't for the copious amounts of firepower dangling from her body. She laughed at her own image, "Damn, if only I dressed up for Halloween." Shaking her head with amusement she exited quietly, striding to the lift with ease despite the extra pounds of equipment. Entering the lift she requested Lucy take her up, and to tell Dante that she'd be leaving again. Lucille complied, again insisting that her name wasn't Lucy. As the lift settled on the garage level, she hopped out, and strode casually to the Durango, yanking the door open and piling equipment inside before noticing Dante at the work bench. She smiled at him, a sly smirk before crawling in and staring the engine. The Durango purred to life, and she slowly maneuvered it to the automobile lift, "Lucy, ground level please." Lucille complied and took her up to the exit, rolling slowly from the lift and carefully through the barricades, once past the daily obstacles her foot fell harder on the accelerator making the distance between Dante's pad and the hospital in good time.



It was odd, having to get used to the fact that there was another sentient being in his place. Hearing the gears whirring as Lucille lifted the elevator, he quirked a brow then remembered. Ah, another female permeated the place. He kept on cleaning his guns, the spare parts strewn about on the bench before him. But he actually paused in his whistling as he spied Douglass exiting the elevator, carrying enough firepower to take out a dragon. But since she was across the garage and obviously headed for her truck, he didn’t comment nor question. Wasn’t any of his business how she got her rocks off, he thought with a chuckle to her offered smirk. Shaking his head, he merely picked up the magazine of Ivory and rammed it back in the pistol, falling back to his whistling as he took up her counterpart, Ebony and began to administer the same treatment. Next, after he’d finished the guns, would be the bike, it was due for a tuning anyway. Then a shower and a nap. Sounded about perfect.



Douglass : Parking three blocks away from the hospital, she abandoned her automobile for a less noticeable approach. Scaling the fire-escape on an older building, she used a zip line between buildings until finally reaching the hospital roof. It was too easy. Miss Monroe's room was on the fourth floor of the five story building, and it was right on the corner; way too easy. Slipping the ends of zip lines to her climbing gear she dropped down to the appropriate story, shift changes would be happening any minute now, and that would be the perfect time to strike. Grinning wickedly, she watched the shadows through the blinds, as the lights were killed and the flash of light from an opened door faded, she slipped a pair of dark goggles over her eyes and removed the screen. A glass cutter etched a perfect circle just big enough for her to slip through and she did so quietly. Once inside she slinked around the room's perimeter, keeping a watchful eye on Miss Monroe. The girl stirred in her sleep, uneasy dreams likely; couldn't imagine why. Mini-gun in hand, and others trailing down her sides, the wicked grin slipped upon her features once more, she couldn't help it. "Wake up." Her voice loud and stern, she aimed the gun right at the girls head. Miss Monroe woke with a start, face crumpled up in agitation, "What?" However, upon seeing the single person arsenal hovering over her bed, the girls demeanor changed dramatically; "What the fuck?" "Shut up and answer my questions or else your going to fry in hell bitch." Shoving the gun ever closer to Miss Monroe's face, features set in harsh sternness, "What's your name you piece of hell scum?" "My name is Monroe…" "Fuck that shit, what's your real name?" "I was telling you!" "Don't play coy with me you devil dick sucking fuck, I know you're hiding in there, now show your ugly ass face." "I'm not lying to you, I'm not possessed anymore!" "Bull shit, you have to the count of three… one…" Douglass shoved the gun hard against the girls forehead, and tears welled up in her eyes, "I'm not lying… don't kill me I didn't do anything wrong!" A dry scoff, "Right you sold your soul to hell and now you're trying to take the easy way out, two…" "I'M NOT LYING TO YOU!" she was sobbing almost uncontrollably now, "I never should have listened to Damian, GOD DAMN YOU DAMIAN!" "What did you just say cunt?" Shaking violently the girl sobbed, "Damian told me I could serve Satan by letting a demon possess my body, he said I would be rewarded for it and now I'm going to die for it." Finally she broke down, no longer able to choke back her fear or her cries of fear. Douglass didn't crack, only stuck the gun harder against the girls forehead, "Who the fuck is Damian?" Miss Monroe shook her head, unable to speak; but Douglass persisted; "Who the fuck is Damian!?" "He's the leader of the Satanists church on Vineyard and Eighteenth." "Three." "NOOOOOO!!!!" But her cries were met by a hollow click, Miss Monroe was begging and pleading for God's forgiveness when the nurses finally came in, hearing her calls of fear and agony. Douglass on the other hand, was nowhere to be found, after pulling the trigger of an empty gun she'd jumped out the window, climbing apparatus catching her weight before she fell too far. Using entirely upper body strength she hoisted herself back up to the roof, and was long gone before Miss Monroe could start speaking coherently. Tossing the lot of her equipment into the passenger seat, she slipped in behind the wheel and started up the engine, tearing down the streets, she smirked as she peeked into the rearview mirror; police cars were already making their way to the hospital. "Well Dante, we've got a bit to discuss now don't we?" She laughed out loud, almost howling into the night.



He spent about an hour on his guns, making sure they were in no less than pristine condition before holstering them once more. Leaving them snug on the workbench, he moved to his bike, snagging a tool box and sandpaper. Working diligently on the machine, hands greasy from the oil and such, he fine-tuned the beast once more, getting it back to top working condition. One thing he did and well was keep his toys in perfect shape. Shoddy workmanship might one night cost him his life, so he was picky about it. And he liked knowing his things were capable of what he needed, so he did all his work himself. But after another two hours of grunting and fussing with the motorcycle, sweat beaded his forehead, as did streaks of black grease, also smeared on his torso. He even had streaks in his hair from dirty fingers trying to clear his vision. One of these years he’d break down and get a trim. Or something. He just couldn’t be bothered with it. But, snagging the water bottle he’d fetched from below, he took a long swig, wondering absently where Douglass had gotten off to. Lips twitched as he chuckled. She was a big girl; he trusted she could find her way back. She’d done so before, after all. A shrug and he went back to work on his bike, putting all the screws back in the engine, nearly done. All that remained was to touch-up the frame, get some of the scratches out.



Douglass : How long had she been gone? Almost three hours; holy shit. The drive was the killer, stopping in for gas every time she needed to make a run didn't help any, but whatever worked. She silently missed the private fuel pumps, the pampered life she'd lived in The Clinic; but somehow the way she was living now felt more real, she felt more alive. The days didn't consist of quite the same routine, not to say there wasn't routine to them, just not so cut and dry as before. Fingers dangling out the window as she drove ninety down the paved back road, she wished it would rain again. There was nothing like a good rain to set a soul; especially hers. Perhaps it was the fond memories of nights by the window with her old man, or maybe she just liked the dreary conditions the rain brought with it who really could know. Sighing deeply she ran over in her mind what she was going to say to Dante, he wasn't a man of bull shit, that she liked; so it would have to be laid out flat, no pretty pink fluff. Pulling up to the dirt road, she slowed for the turn, then accelerated back to a decent speed, seventy seemed comfortable. Not slowing again until reaching the barricades, grinned with anticipation; it almost felt like that time in grade school when she'd figured out the problem before the rest of the class and got to show everyone else how to do it. Slender brows furrowed; what made her think of that? Shaking her head slowly, she eased the Durango to the hologram entrance, rolling down her window she spoke out to the darkness, "Douglass Gean McQue, authorized personnel." Lucille didn't make a sound, only lowered the lift once Douglass made a full stop.



Ah, finally. The shiny silver reflected his own blue eyes. He was satisfied. Amazingly. Putting away his tools and equipment, Dante picked up his gunbelt and slung it over a bare shoulder, turning a bit as he heard the commotion abovestairs. Lucille’s generators powering up, but then whining down. Hm, the chit must be back from her ramblings amongst the civilized world. Wonder what she’d discovered or otherwise found out. Rather than ride the lift down only to have to send it back up, he did have a small twinge of sympathy for Lucille, he decided to wait and see just what’d been hatching inside Douglass’s brain. He had to admit he was curious to see how she’d handle this new profession of hers. But unable to just stand there, he resumed his off-key whistling and began gathering cleaning rags to take downstairs; Lucille would doubtless squawk about the nasty things in her washing machine, but she’d get over it. He saw no reason in throwing away a good piece of cloth just because it was dirty. The lights of the lift began flashing and he waited until she parked the truck to even turn around. He wouldn’t speak first; wasn’t his way. But he did give her somewhat of a cordial nod, he was trying, damnit! The wolf didn’t accept a new packmate easily, that was Nature’s law. Shaking his head to clear streaked damp hair from his eyes, he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, further smearing the slight grease stains over one high cheekbone. Christ, he needed a bath!



Douglass : After parking, she first gathered all her equipment before hopping out of the automobile, seeing Dante standing there somewhat surprised her. She didn't speak a word, only smiled at him as he nodded, a deviant gleam at the back of her eye. Striding carelessly towards the lift, she followed him inside, shifting her gear slightly over her shoulder. Tweaking her neck to once side it popped, cracking the silence for the fist time; but no words would escape her, not yet. First she wanted to get all her stuff put away, then she'd tell him what she'd found. The smile crept back to her face as the elevator settled at the lower level; this time she wouldn't wait for him, and was first to exit the lift. Going straight to her room she began putting all her belongings away, tucking them carefully into the duffel bags and hanging a few things in the closet. For a moment she debated removing her uniform, but after considering that she might be going out yet again this evening, she decided better to leave it on. Passing back into the hallway, she glanced around, searching for a glow from any given room, it was time to reveal what this busy little bee had been up to.



A brow rose in quiet query to that odd little sparkle in the woman’s eye. But he said nothing, merely followed as she entered the lift. The ride down a level was silent, save for the human movements of Douglass. Dante merely stood there, silent as marble. Not even his breathing was discernable. She exited in front of him; he’d rather thought she would. Trying to prove herself, find her footing in a strange and foreign world; he could relate. He did it at least once a week. Thus he just waited and exited after her. Figuring she’d head to her room, he was proved right as she swung out of the hall; he merely strode to his bedroom, the door automatically closing behind him. A shower was on the list, and a good one. But as was his wont, he showered quickly, making sure to strip any lingering traces of Lilly, gun oil and grease from his skin. Not so his brain, unfortunately, he thought with a snort. But after drying off and dressing quickly, this time sweats and a cropped t-shirt, he briskly toweled his hair and actually ran a comb through it. Lucille made a smart remark, to which he answered with another. But he left his room with a snort to his mainframe, harridan that she was. An imp of mischief slithered through his mind upon seeing Douglass prowling the hall like a sneak thief; undoubtedly looking for him. God, it was too perfect. His quiet steps muffled by the thick lush carpet, he just walked up behind her. He didn’t sneak, he didn’t have to; he was a hunter, he knew how to stalk. But he just couldn’t resist leaning over to whisper in her ear, breath warm on her skin. “Looking for me, Douglass?” Chuckling, he knew enough to take a step back lest she screech indignant and try to bap him a good one.



Douglass : Anticipations were proved correct, upon the feel of his breath on her ear, she whirled around, a hard backhand coming his way. If not for his movements she would have nailed him dead on the chin, natural reflex. "Yeah I was, but it seems you found me." Rolling her eyes absently, she turned on heal and began the short walk to the living room. "I have something I'd like to talk to you about; it'd help if I had the aid of the computer." Her strides were short, and her ear craned to listen as to if he would follow or not.



He’d been right. Therefore his stepping back. He’d have caught her hand should she actually tried to strike him, and probably bent it back behind her shoulder. Natural reflex, that. But he merely shook his head and chuckled, moving past her, only to pause at his study door as she said she had some news. A sharp brow quirked in curiosity. So he turned and meandered to the sofa, sinking in to the upholstered leather with a soft sigh. Kicking one bare foot on his knee, he waved a hand. “Feel free, I’m all ears.”



Douglass : She nodded to him, smirking devilishly, "Lucy honey, would you be a dear and tell Dante what we looked up this morning?" Lucille's present whirled and clicked to life in the room, "A tabloid article printed this morning, regarding demon possession… My name is Lucille." Douglass rolled her eyes as she pulled the printed article from a folder sitting next to the computer; in addition she popped in the disk she'd been working on. Taking one step towards him she handed over the article, "I paid the girl a visit this morning, found out she'd been told she could serve Satan by letting herself be possessed by a demon." Pausing for a moment, she watched his expression before moving on, "The rendezvous point was the clay mines." She turned around, bringing the keyboard to within typing distance and pulled up the profile on the woman she'd found. I must say I was rather surprised to find a dead lady out there; using a finger print I was able to pull up her information. Telephone records indicate that she'd been a friend or relative of that boy from last night's family. She called them several times daily for the past few months. Also, her spending habits had shifted; instead of paying bills she was dumping all her money into children's hospitals, orphanages, and psychiatric wards. However no records indicate that she had any connection to the girl in the hospital." She stopped talking, leaving the records pulled up on the screen and waited for a response from her male companion.



He took the article, leaning back on the couch and scanning it idly, ears still quirked to her explanations. At the possession incidence, he flicked her a glance, but went back to reading diligently, ‘hmm’ing under his breath. Lowering the paper, he waited until she finished speaking to nod assent. “Sounds about human speed,” was all he said.



Douglass : "I went back and talked to the girl again, just now. Let's just say it wasn't on quite as friendly terms as last time. This time I found out where she got the information about the possession. A guy named Damian who's the lead of a Satanist church on Vineyard and Eighteenth." She sighed lightly, "I have this feeling that Bellina wasn't working alone; somehow all of these incidents are connected. I think that she had some kind of connection with Damian, maybe she went to him after possessing the dead lady, had him tell young Miss Monroe to meet her at the clay fields, then used her body to go to the park; that tidbit is in the article, Miss Monroe was found in the bushes no more than five feet from the spot where the couple was attacked." She leaned against the computer table, hips resting lightly against the table edge; arms crossed just under her chest. "You seemed to know Bellina pretty well, is she conniving like that?"



Dante snorted, setting the printout aside. “They all are. And yeah, Damian’s getting his feet a bit wetter than he has before.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he made a sour face. “Seems I’m going to have to pay him another little visit, next time church’s in ‘session’. It’s not really a ‘Satanist’ church, the city won’t let those operate openly. But Damien’s another story. He’s a higher denizen of hell, actually, who’s been ‘feeding’ his worshippers to the underworld. I know about it, but since it doesn’t really harm the human population and keeps the hordes from making more frontal assaults, I allow it, but the bastard’s getting greedy again. There’s something more going on, though,” he said with a frown. “Marco hinted at something big. He wouldn’t tell me, and I don’t really think he knows exactly what’s going down; his master wouldn’t have let him come out to meet me if he did, but something’s going on.” He paused. “I can feel it. Like the quiet before the storm.”



Douglass : She shifted her weight slightly, rolling her shoulders a bit. "I know I just started 'hunting,' but for some reason that boy last night strikes me. How long would a succubus stay inside a host for any given time? Or a better question, how long could a succubus survive in a single host?"



He shrugged, draping an arm along the back of the couch. “Depends on the host. Or need of the invading presence. Or the demon itself. Some of the more powerful ones could keep a corpse alive for, say…a month or more. Of course, the body wouldn’t be very nice to look at or smell, but it’s possible, I suppose.”



Douglass : "What about a live host? A host that is willing to share with the invader, or one that doesn't know better than to give in?"



“Same thing, it depends.” He ran a hand through his hair, propping elbows on his knees. “Look, Douglass, this isn’t humanity you’re fighting anymore. There aren’t any standards, there aren’t any rules. There’s no book that lists all the sorts of demons and devils that prowl hell. Nor is there a magic spell book that lists all the characteristics and attributes of the fuckers. You just roll with it and slay the bastards where you find ‘em.”



Douglass : "Right." She slunk back, defeated. Fuck, I thought I was really on to something. Sighing heavily she glanced at him once more, brows furrowing slightly. "I really don't like the way this feels, I know I'm missing something." Eyes unintentionally diverted to the floor, full lips pressing tightly together.



God, was he doomed to endure females for the rest of his unnatural life? A small snort. “Probably,” he answered his own thought. But he got to his feet and crossed the floor, placing hands on her shoulders, peering down into her face. “It’s not as it was, Douglass. And you’re probably right, Damian needs his ass whipped, I’ll agree. It might all be connected, but if so, there’s not a lot we can do about it.” He released her and stepped back. “I realize you hate my guts, but for once, trust me. You can’t take on the whole of hell by yourself. You’re human.” Not a derogatory statement, just simple truth. “And neither can I, no matter how I may want to. My mother was human, and as much as I loved her, she damned her sons by passing along that human blood.” A shake of his head and a sigh. “I know you want it all cut and dried, but it’s just not.”



Douglass : As he placed his hands upon her shoulders, she slinked away from his touch; he wasn't the only one who disliked unwanted physical contact. A dry glare the only response she gave. After he released her, she closed her eyes, sighing deeply, something had to be said. "If you'd open your eyes, you'd see that I already trusted you." Turning bare, hazel eyes to him, they locked upon his cerulean visuals, "You’re so wrapped up in doing things alone that you don't tell me anything and look at me as just a human girl. If you'd stop for a minute and update me then maybe I could be more of a help than a burden to you."



“I like being alone, Douglass,” he told her curtly, turning away and heading for his study. “Everyone else in my entire damned life has vanished by some force of God’s infinite ‘mercy’, so I’m more or less resigned to being alone. It’s safer for my sanity that way.” But her last statement hit him and he turned, leaning both arms on the back of the couch, looming over it. “You’re not a burden, not the way you think. You’re still here, aren’t you? If you bothered me in any way,” his eyes were hard, “you’d already be dead. I don’t suffer irritations lightly, as you might have guessed.” Closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, he looked back at her. “Fine. What is it you want to know?”



Douglass : "Well you’re not alone anymore Dante, get used to it." She glared at him harshly, unmoved by his threats. "I just spent my whole day piecing together information from nothing, simply to find out that you already knew it all." Irritation laced her voice, the work didn't bother her, what bothered her is that it had been done in vain. "I recognize that you need your space, so I give it; not pressing for anything. What the hell did Marco tell you? You hint at it but you don't really say anything about it. If we're going to make any progress we need to communicate, I won't force you to, hell I won't even ask you to. But I strongly suggest you think about it."



“Did you ask me last night what happened? Somehow, even my good hearing failed to pick up that one. I know you’re not used to the whole concept of sharing space with a demon,” the contempt in his voice was thick, “but that’s what I am. I don’t work well with partners. If you don’t ask, you’ll get nothing. It’s not in my nature to offer information. That shit gets you killed eventually.” He shook his head and straightened. “Marco told me, rather unwillingly, that there’s been some unrest in the demon ranks of the lower levels. The gates are being assaulted more strongly. War’s coming again. Lucifer’s not just a spirit; the fucker has a physical body and uses it when it suits him. Activity’s picked up here on earth and that bothers me. Los Angeles is a hot spot, a place where the worlds meet. Sort of like a gateway. And the rip’s widening. All this shit with Beillina and possession is a part of it, I’m sure, a signal that the humans are getting more and more inured to the influx of devils. But think about it, Douglass, if they burst on this earth in their true form. It’s the end of everything. The humans now are meat, nothing more. There aren’t enough true hunters to hold back the masses, should the gates give way.”



Douglass : His words fell on her like a ton of bricks, although The Clinic had existed in LA since before she'd become a part of ATT, she'd only been there for just under a year. "Brings new meaning to the saying 'Ignorance is bliss,' is that why you agreed to teach me? Oh and I didn't ask last night because I somewhat got distracted by a red eyed Dante. You're only a demon when you want to be, I saw you fighting it." She wouldn't lie to him, not now, not ever. In all her years there was one thing she learned how to do well, and that was observe. A good observation could mean the difference between life and death, and it had saved her ass several times.



“Yes, it does, and most of the banal cattle will go out just like that, like cows to the slaughter. I agreed to teach you because I will not willingly murder a human, not without damned good reason. I told you that before, remember? And better you saw me for what I am then than when it really mattered, say in the middle of a battle and you shoot my ass instead of the enemy.” Just a hint of crimson flamed in those icy blue eyes. Praise God the couch separated them. Fingers tightened imperceptibly on the couch back. “And be thankful I fight it, Douglass,” he said, voice going dangerously smooth and low. “I’m capable of more horror than you can imagine. But I have my father’s honor to uphold, as well as my own.” Nostrils flared. “But be me for one second. Do you think it’s easy, what I do? Hunting my own damned kind? Knowing that in both worlds, I could never belong? The demon world hates my family, thanks to my father’s honorable betrayal of his blood. Which is why my mother and brother were slaughtered when I was just five years old. Sparda vanished, to God knows where, back to Hell, probably. And the human world?” He scoffed a laugh. “Do you really think they would allow something like me in their midst? The only one that ever did is gone forever, and with all my power and strength, I can never bring her back!” They faded with his self-anger then, those cerulean eyes flared to crimson with his pain and self-loathing. But he ground his teeth audibly, snarling under his breath and whirled around, planting his fist in the wall, thank God he’d covered the structure with steel reinforcing beneath the wood exterior. Muscles bunched in his shoulders as he fought himself, skin rippling with the force of his misery. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, tamping down on his raging emotion once more, forcing it deep inside where his demon blood howled. Shaking his head once more, he disappeared into his study. Such an uncharacteristic display of temper, that, but fucking goat balls!



Douglass : She let out a low growl, her own blood brewing just beneath her skin. She called after him, her voice carrying well through the halls, "You wronged me Dante, and I can't forgive you for that!" Her voice lowered, just below normal speaking, "But I'm slowly learning not to hate you." Anger fumed all around her, and she trudged haughtily to the lift, not pausing for a moment to enter. "Garage Lucille… Please." It wasn't Lucy's fault. The lift came to settle at the garage, still not hesitating Douglass walked onto the automobile lift, "Let me out Lucille, please." Again the lift moved, Lucille not saying a single word. Douglass strode out of the compound, then followed the base of the cliff. She needed to get out, get some fresh air and some time really alone. Hell only knew if Dante had surveillance outside of his compound, but Douglass didn't care, the envelopment of the night felt safe and secluded. She walked for at least an hour, finding her way deeper and deeper into the ravine. She wouldn't go back there, not tonight; there was too much to think about and too little space to do it there



The closing of the door cut off the words she flung at his head. He growled and flopped down in his chair, unable to keep from hearing when she ordered Lucille to let her out. Fine, go and good riddance, he thought with a snarl. All the stress relief from earlier was shot right to hell, thanks to the damnable machinations of a blasted female! It was damned intolerable. He growled and gnashed teeth a bit, wanting to rend something. But there was nothing close at hand he’d want to lose and he didn’t feel like getting sweaty from a frustration workout and having to take another shower. So he just tamped his emotion, God it was so easy to do, yet one of the most impossible tasks on the planet, and just turned off the computer and television, determined to just go straight to bed. Maybe he’d die in his sleep. Yeah, that sounded good. Then he could finally go home. Be with his family. Cause this pathetic little existence he was living just wasn’t seeming worth it anymore. With another irritated slap to the unoffending wall, he exited the study, the door automatically closing behind him and tromped to his bedroom, falling facedown on the bed. Tomorrow, he’d take out his frustrations on one Damian Sullivan, the posing priest of the Orthadox Church of Christ. Only his “Christ” wasn’t the Son of God, but the son of morning, Lucifer himself. Dante grinned before slipping into unconsciousness. Sometimes, though, throwing the bastard’s plans back in his teeth was so worth the heartache. Sometimes was all that kept him going, the taste for revenge. It was bittersweet, and he knew he’d never get tired of the palate. The fuckers deserved no less.



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