From Ashes ✗ Stiles Stilinski - Chapter 60: Chapter 60

"And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder
One of the four beasts saying,
'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse"
Sadie hated running. The whole thing. She hated physical exertion in general, but running was the worst. Burning turned to aching and what was the point when she still had her super strength? That's why it was so much better to teleport, but she couldn't exactly do that without her beloved and sorely missed amulet. She'd kick D'Hoffryn in the shin if it didn't mean she'd lose any chance of getting it back.
Still, Sadie ran. She rocked her best work out wear and jogged around the block a few times, if for nothing else to catch the eye of the girl she spotted walking her dog and smiling at her. Sure, yes, she hated physical exertion but considering the sheer amount of cute girls in this town, odds had to at least be sort of in her favor to find a few that also enjoyed the company of other cute girls. Besides, she could tune out the world with her favorite Pandora stations and forget about the absolute failure she suffered.
Allison, her father, and Max left town together.
Madeline Hayes went back to San Francisco.
And Sadie was still here.
There's a man goin' 'round takin' names
And he decides who to free and who to blame
Everybody won't be treated all the same
She focused on the beat of the song and tried to match her pace to it as she rounded the corner and passed the same girl from before. Her dog, long haired and short legged with fur speckled black on a gray and white coat, growled at her for the third time, its heterochromatic one blue eye bright in the dim light. She made a 'hm' noise and thought about the old man's eye in The Tell-Tale Heart. A ghostly pale watercolor. She didn't look at the girl this time, mostly because there was another girl there with her. They held each other like it was ages since they'd last touched.
She shot a warning glance to the dog as it started yipping at her aggressively. Sadie refocused her gaze ahead as bitter annoyance gnawed at her insides.
She was sweaty and her hair stuck to her face and neck. She probably smelled.
There'll be a golden ladder reachin' down
When the man comes around
When she finally slowed as she got back to her hotel room (oh yeah, like she was going to stay in that rat trap motel another week), her limbs burned and her stomach cramped. The last lap? Not worth it.
Sadie passed the front desk in the air conditioned lobby and smiled with a small wave to the bellhop, in which he returned and nearly tripped over the luggage cart. She passed and once she was out of sight, she rolled her eyes. Batting her eyelashes a few times usually meant better service overall but she knew he was already looking at her ass and would easily remedy the situation once she got her amulet back, mostly for the hasty getaway and evidence hiding.
Voices callin', voices cryin'
Some are born and some are dyin'
It's alpha and omega's kingdom come
The elevator squeaked as she got to the second floor, rolling her neck and groaning as she slipped the room key from the strap of her sports bra and slid it across the scanner.
Her room wasn't perfect. It wasn't a suite, but the bathroom was big and so was the closet space. Besides, her bed was comfy and the sheets were clean every night and that was really all that mattered. The moment the door closed, she peeled the sweaty clothes from her skin, grumbling.
She grabbed fresh clothes, wishing she could just change into her pajamas and hit the hay. If only she were so lucky.
The water from the shower was blessedly warm and her fancy new shampoo and conditioner from Sephora made her hair extra soft and smell like coconut.
And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree
The virgins are all trimming their wicks
The whirlwind is in the thorn trees
It's hard for thee to kick against the prick
Her jeans were a welcome change to the stretchy workout pants and her crop top was sleeveless and a perfect mint green. Summer was officially coming and her fashion thrived just as well in warm weather as she did. Her makeup made her skin glow, like it did that naturally. If anyone lived in the 17th century, they would certainly know how unnatural that was, but it was one of her favorite things about this new century - how the new and the impossible fit on screens and in bottles. So many normal things these days still felt not just like magic, they felt like witchcraft and that was kinda beautiful.
Besides, what was the point of scheming if you couldn't look cute?
She slipped her ankle boots on and made her way to the closet, humming Johnny Cash with a skip in her step. Maybe working out wasn't terrible after the fact, just during it.
The wall in front of her was blank, which under any other circumstance wouldn't be so alarming. When she couldn't spot the closet, she frowned. Panic only barely got hold of her when she remembered why the closet of missing in the first place and relief eased her back. At least she knew no one else would find it either.
She closed her eyes and extended her arm forward, the energy in her stomach reaching outward because it always started there before bubbling up. "Reveal."
Screw Latin. She wasn't some novice.
When she opened her eyes, there was a door on the wall and she opened it.
In measured hundredweight and penny pound
When the man comes around
"Hey! Did you have a good day, buddy?" she asked looking down. "One blink for yes. Two for no."
She pouted, folding her arms.
"What? Nothing? God, you're no fun. How about we go for a walk, huh?"
She bent down, raising her voice a few octaves like she was calling for a puppy as she grinned. "Do you want that? Do you wanna go for a walk?"
Nothing. Sadie blew out a breath and stood up before remembering something else and rushing to her purse. Sifting through the mess inside, she found a two vials marked 'holy water' and walked back to the closet. When she bent back down, she was sure her triumph turned the natural glow of her face into 1000 watt happiness.
"Hey, wanna see something funny?" Sadie doused a bit of holy water on her hand and the drops rolled across her skin with no effect. She grinned into the shadows of the closet. "See? Nothing. After the hundreds of deaths and dismemberments and a really spectacular amount of arsons. All that work I did and not even a little sizzle."
She sounded honestly offended. Maybe she was in a way, considering that the one thing her parents instilled in her - the one thing she was taught to fear - couldn't even punish her correctly. The hand of God couldn't even smite the wicked as well as she could.
She realized she was staring at the first vial when her gaze flickered to the darkness. "You think that'll work with you?"
Something grunted in the dark, frantic suddenly.
She held the vial up and began to tip it over as water poured onto skin and something in the dark was trying to cry out but the deep, hoarse sound was stifled as smoke rose from the wound Sadie created. "Did you ever think that what you were looking for wasn't something you could see? Or maybe you didn't. I was thinking your story was a little too...Amityville. Too perfectly appalling and vaguely gory, you know? Too Hollywood."
She could hear heavy breathing and laughed at the inconsistency. Vampires insist they don't breathe but it's a total cop-out. The early magicks of the first demons were contradictions.
She leaned closer and lowered her voice.
"I don't doubt you killed them, your mom and nephew and whoever the hell else. I think you just like seeing women and kids at your mercy. I bet you thought it was easy and ran. You probably thought no one would catch how much you liked the pain when you forced your way through the town's barrier." There it was again. Mercy. "But what do I know? Maybe you are some Michael Meyers rip off, but all I see is a fuck who gets off on his power complex. I propose we do something about that."
Sadie emptied the rest of the first vial in a swirling motion, like she was making a design and the creature bellowed an agonized scream. This was exactly how she knew he was full of shit - when the pain was out of his control.
"Now, either you play nice like a good supernatural bloodhound and help me find my power source, or..." She kicked open the door more to see his face and the one eye - the one bright blue eye. He was massive and there were no chains on him, but his wrists and ankles stuck together like magnets. She was grateful there was a spell to sew his mouth shut just for how ugly it was.
"...you can let me know when it hurts."
She opened the second full vial of holy water and quickly flipped it upside down directly over his ankle sealed against his Achilles tendon.
Brother Paul shuddered violently and tried again to scream.
And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts
And I looked, and behold a pale horse
And his name that sat on him was Death,
and hell followed with him.
☽ † ☾
Stiles felt his pocket buzzing and pulled his phone out. He grinned at the name on the screen and opened the text. There was no message but instead a photo of the San Francisco skyline at sunset. Even at night looked alive.
He typed up something and sent it almost immediately.
『 Don't tempt me 』
『 I might just show up one day with cheese fries and coffee 』
『 I'm serious I'll do it 』
Text spamming is probably the wrong way to go but he already missed talking to her and going places with her. Oh yeah, and kissing her. He missed that possibly more than he should.
He placed his phone face down and finished changing for bed, heading toward the bathroom. There was a faint buzz from the lights as he examined his healing wounds. He thought about the scab on his hand and the spell, wondering if it mattered that he participated. Stiles, the weakest member of the group, the guy that was usually bait or the sidekick. The most human of any of them.
He was washing his face, careful not to open the cut on his cheek, when a chill went up his spine. It wasn't out of the ordinary to feel like you're being watched when washing your face at night but it was usually easier to pass off as paranoia. This was different.
It never felt quite so...close, like a door creaking open.
Did he close the door?
Quickly, Stiles rinsed the soap from his face and grabbed for a hand towel, patting it dry. He looked up at the mirror and saw only his own reflection there and, behind him, a closed door.
He swallowed, thinking about the last time he felt this, standing in Sunnydale and thinking of the woman on the couch.
Stiles tried to shake off the feeling, scanning the corners of the room in the mirror. He quickly brushed his teeth, probably not using swishing around his mouthwash nearly as long as he should. When he was sure there was absolutely nothing to see, he turned off the lights and left the bathroom to cross the hall.
When a shadow in the corner of his eye mimicked the movement, he convinced himself it was his. He closed the door and locked it, hands fumbling before he made his way to the window and shut it tight.
He scanned the darkness outside his room as the silence enveloped him. When he started backing away, his reflection was again the first thing he noticed.
The second thing was the shadow next to him. He closed his eyes, repeating the same mantra. It was his shadow or a trick of the light and he was already panicking so it would be easy to overreact.
If he opened his eyes, he'd realize that. He'd see the distorted light and dark across his laundry basket and be grateful there was no one around to see him freak out.
This was nothing like the woman on the couch. The woman in the body bag.
The thing that pounded on the door and chased them.
Stiles opened his eyes.
He focused on the space beside him, just over his shoulder, and paled.
Short. Pale skin that wrinkled at the eyes. Dark hair.
"What is it, sweetheart?" a soft voice said into his ear, so close he jumped, and it couldn't be her. It couldn't. "What do you see?"
Right in his ear, the same side as the reflection.
There was a warmth in her words she always carried, until it got bad. Until there was nothing left of her except a body and the beeping heart monitor. Until the pressure of her hand was gone when the flatline woke him up and the disease took her away.
He wanted to look away but couldn't.
She might disappear if he did.
His voice quivered as his throat dried up. "Mom?"
Stiles didn't mean to blink, but he could feel the pressure behind his eyes. Fear and pain gave way to panic and his eyes were closed for less than a second.
He focused again on his reflection in the glass but the light and shadow had nothing to play off behind him. He was alone in the glass.
☽ † ☾
I always knew I'd end up in hell, or maybe I was always in hell already. Maybe I died as a baby and hell was just the default. Like, maybe we all start below zero and need to work from the negative. That would make sense, right?
I need it to make sense.
"Subject nine. Test fifty-two."
The metal voice followed me down here into the darkness. I'm sure I've heard it forever but that isn't right. Of course, I didn't.
It's the white rabbit, Alice. Can't be late.
Maybe that's my name, but...it doesn't feel right.
I'm floating. Maybe that's what death is, floating. Feeling nothing, suspended in everything. I can't see. I don't remember how but there are images in my head of what seeing might've been like. Shadows and light. Color, so much of it everywhere.
So much red at the table. On the floor.
Metal clanging and mechanical voices flood me and I remember what metal sounds like when it meets a solid surface. Clanging. Grinding. The sound of something soft splitting.
I want to move but you don't have a body when you're dead. You don't have a way to escape hell. I know that better than anyone.
Even with no body, I still feel pain. I feel it everywhere and don't know how to scream. I remember hands on me. Don't scream. Don't scream. No one hears you anyway. Screaming don't take away the pain, not ever.
Don't cry. They want you to cry.
"Transmutation analysis: gene modification 47% success."
A body isn't supposed to feel like this - something only half there. A body can walk and spin and leap. A body can lie down and rest. There is no rest.
The only way out of Wonderland is to wake up. The dead don't wake.
It took a long time to figure out what the images were - to realize I had memories. I had a body. There is a smile there, the cheshire cat, in my memory and I don't know if it's me. I don't know if its the monster in my dreams. Maybe they weren't dreams.
"Adjusting algorithm."
The faces in my head get clearer and I realize so many aren't moving.
"Recalibrating."
So many are lifeless.
"Dosage increase: 10%."
The smile isn't mine. If it was, I wouldn't love it nearly as much.
Or maybe I hate it. I can't tell.
Voices are increasing, multiplying and clearing. Muffled.
A man's voice. He laughs and speaks in a way I understand. Formal. Professional. A snake in the garden.
I hear a tapping but fall deeper and deeper. Something old and gone. A dinosaur in tar.
I dream about the faces in my head and there's a room stained red. I feel something wet on my hands and I want to scream again. I feel it in my chest. I feel it everywhere.
I can feel it.
"Dosage increase: 40%."
Everything is black but the images feel solid, never leaving. Never shying away. There is a scream but it's not mine. I don't know if I can or ever could.
Something booms in my ears and I'm bathed in white.
"Subject nine. Test one ninety four."
Pain rips through me and digs into bone. This is the price of death. This is hell. It's all I know.
The world in my dreams has more color every time. Saturated, but not always. I don't want to think about when it was gray. When the sky was thick and hidden. Gray stone instead of technicolor brick. There were ghosts. I think there were ghosts. I didn't believe in ghosts.
"Transmutation analysis: gene modification 87% success."
It's so loud now. The sound is clear but stifled. Breathing hurts. Everything hurts.
Bright white flashes. She's screaming.
Red. Deep red on my hands.
She's leaving me, fading away.
I see a smile and it burns me from the inside. It's not mine.
"It's been weeks. What are we funding you for?"
The man's voice is back and it's close. The other side of a wall. The devil coming for me. The queen coming to slice off my head.
"Hold on." He fades away but not completely. He's there, and I know he's watching me. They all like to watch me. They like to take. "Hello? There's my shining protege. Any word on the Nemeton project?"
Neh-mah-tahn.
I don't know that word. I don't think I do.
Silence. Metal against metal. Shining, glittering metal. Twins. I am an animal without claws.
"You can't be serious. We hand the old man all the tools and still he can't get the job done?"
Voices speaking, none of them to each other.
"Transmutation analysis: gene modification 92% success."
"Yeah, well, let him rot there. We picked up number three outside the Bay Area."
My head is full of color. Blue skies and bright neons. Hypersaturation. Spotlights in hot rooms. Music, loud enough to push out all the darkness. Keep dancing, keep moving. Forget, forget, forget.
Forget the gray. Forget the red.
Pretend she's next to you.
Pretend hard enough, you'll believe it.
Forget you hurt her. Forget you keep hurting her.
"Not to worry. Rituals like that are a breeze. Virgin blood, some elbow grease, and the Nyazian scrolls, and you're a hop, skip, and jump away. No, not actual elbow grease. Hellmouths aren't made with elbow grease. It was a metaphor."
Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood on my claws - but they weren't claws.
Blades.
Hell mouth.
The words reach for me.
"What about the Beacon Hills Slayer?"
Slayer.
"Subject nine unstable. Organs failing."
Slayer.
This is hell and I've always been here. Forever and longer. Hell inside my bones.
I am not suspended. The world is rushing in, finding the pieces I want to hide. This is not Wonderland. Alice is already dead.
"What's happening?"
"Vital failure. Transmutation analysis: gene modification 98% success."
Pain rages through my veins and I'm seizing up, limbs shifting and disjointing. Teeth aching. Knives tearing through my fingers.
Hell isn't where I live. Hell is what I am.
My neck cracks and I remember the sound it made when I thought I was finally granted rest. The Queen already cut off Alice's head.
She screamed for me. She reached for me.
I hate her for it. Let me rest. Please, let me rest.
Please take me away.
Take thought and sound and pain away. Take the damnation from my bones.
Don't cry for me.
"Vitals stabilizing."
"Hey, can I call you back? Looks like the Senior Partners just got some good news."
"Vitals stable."
The pain is there, I know it, but I don't. I hear tapping. Tap, tap, tap. A nail on glass and the pain ebbs away.
Hell is empty and the demons are here, because they live in us.
"Project Apocalypse. Kinda catchy, right?"
Do you hear the whispers? What they called us?
The girls with no home? The monsters with red coating our skin? I remember.
It wasn't Alpha. It was never Alpha.
"Transmutation analysis: gene modification 100% success."
"God, you guys are weird. Can't you just say yes or no?"
"Subject nine stable."
Follow the rabbit. Follow it down until there's nothing.
Until you feel nothing.
"Well, it appears that Death rides on the morrow as they say."
"Subject nine stable. It is ready."
The serpent draws closer. I wonder if he's offering an apple.
His voice is clearer. Easy and smooth.
"Now that's no way to address a young lady."
He's chuckling and I hate the sound. I think about how I would make it stop.
I want to see him. I want to aim for his throat.
"Although, young lady may be a bit of a stretch, wouldn't you say, Miss Drake?"
Drake.
My eyes open and the world is a blur of grays, dark at the edges. There are figures in front of me as my hair floats around me in golden waves. Dark shadows on the other side of dirty glass.
There's something else. Something other.
Something burning in the reflection of the glass. Burning blue. Bright and neon blue, burning and burning. I think they're my eyes. Mine.
Drake. The name is mine.
I never liked the first part. My first name. I hate the way Mom said it.
"Anne. Annie, get away from that!"
"Back straight, Annie. Hoodlums slouch."
"Annie, cross your legs. Don't be so obscene."
I liked my middle name. I liked the ease of it next to hers.
I liked what it meant.
Rebellion.
I feel the nerves in my arm twitch and I raise it, wanting to scream again. I can. I scream at the yellowed and razor sharp nails scratch the glass. Nails. Claws.
The sound they make dragging down is a high whine.
My voice is no longer mine as it bursts from my throat as a roar. As a howl. Something pained and mournful.
Mournful?
I wonder what I'm mourning. If I'll ever get it.
Hell is empty. I am the monster.
"Get her ready for transport with the others. I believe we're ready to begin."