Note: This does contain some violence.
The scene is far to familiar to Dee; the shattering of a glass as it hits the door, the liquid that’s running down the wood. It's going to be a bitch for whoever has to clean it later. It's a safe bet there was whiskey in the glass. Not that Dee can smell anything or see anything but shadows. The only sounds she hears are that of the shattering glass and the sniffles of the child in the corner, everything else is a deafening silence.
This is a scene like a thousand others but there was something different this time. No indication of whose time it is. Dee can't do her job if she can't even tell who is supposed to die. She would accuse someone of messing up if, mess up were even possible. New sounds enter her sphere but gives no further hint of why she is here. The sounds of flesh against flesh make her sick. Some people do not deserve to be parents, not when all the do is teach their children violence. Her gaze moves to the shadow of the child. Small, to young to be witnessing the fight currently going on. But she knows to keep herself small. They've done this in front of her before.
Her attention is far away from the fighting couple. They are of no interest to her. A sad cliche in a horrid world. Children though, they always have the potential to be anything. To rise above their circumstances and become better or fall prey to them and become worse. If they can survive their protectors. Dee would feel much better if it was the child she was here to guide.
Suddenly colors start to fade into Dee's world. She can clearly see the amber colored stain sliding down the white door and the parent's seem to almost be glowing with how bright they stand out against the shadows. The child too has changed, clearly a girl now, but she isn't in color. A black and white shape that seems like an intruder when her parents are so bright. It is all becoming so clear to Dee and there is nothing she can do but watch the horror unfold.
The child is young, eight maybe ten depending on how well her parents actually cared for her. Dee watches closely as the girl moves and grabs a knife from the kitchen. They aren't paying a bit of attention and she can get close enough to stab her father a couple of time before he pushes her off. The mother is screaming and the little child turns on her. She must have hit something important on the father because he can't make it to the phone. Dee stands there and watches the little murderess until it's all over. Their last breaths have been drawn and the girl drops the knife.
So, that's why she couldn't figure out who she was her to guide. It was the living, a girl who she had been once. Dee had been nearly twice her age when she had taken the lives of her own parents. Horrible monsters and she was the slayer. Approaching the girl slowly her eyes are furrowed. Dee hold out her hand with a smile and the child takes it. The two walk down the hallway, covered in blood but only one is visible to the neighbors who are watching through the cracks in their door.
The sound of sirens draws near. News trucks following behind them. They'll have a good story as a blood soaked girl walks out of the building. Flashes go off as people take pictures and once developed it's not just the child in them but a teenage girl holding her hand, drenched in the blood from another murder years earlier.
The residents whisper that the apartment must be haunted. Two girls murder their parents in the same apartment, twenty five years apart. Dee knows she’s no ghost. A reaper, a collector of souls, and sometimes a guide to the living but not a ghost. The apartment might be cursed but the only ghosts that hang around 1608 are the ones of memories.
The scene is far to familiar to Dee; the shattering of a glass as it hits the door, the liquid that’s running down the wood. It's going to be a bitch for whoever has to clean it later. It's a safe bet there was whiskey in the glass. Not that Dee can smell anything or see anything but shadows. The only sounds she hears are that of the shattering glass and the sniffles of the child in the corner, everything else is a deafening silence.
This is a scene like a thousand others but there was something different this time. No indication of whose time it is. Dee can't do her job if she can't even tell who is supposed to die. She would accuse someone of messing up if, mess up were even possible. New sounds enter her sphere but gives no further hint of why she is here. The sounds of flesh against flesh make her sick. Some people do not deserve to be parents, not when all the do is teach their children violence. Her gaze moves to the shadow of the child. Small, to young to be witnessing the fight currently going on. But she knows to keep herself small. They've done this in front of her before.
Her attention is far away from the fighting couple. They are of no interest to her. A sad cliche in a horrid world. Children though, they always have the potential to be anything. To rise above their circumstances and become better or fall prey to them and become worse. If they can survive their protectors. Dee would feel much better if it was the child she was here to guide.
Suddenly colors start to fade into Dee's world. She can clearly see the amber colored stain sliding down the white door and the parent's seem to almost be glowing with how bright they stand out against the shadows. The child too has changed, clearly a girl now, but she isn't in color. A black and white shape that seems like an intruder when her parents are so bright. It is all becoming so clear to Dee and there is nothing she can do but watch the horror unfold.
The child is young, eight maybe ten depending on how well her parents actually cared for her. Dee watches closely as the girl moves and grabs a knife from the kitchen. They aren't paying a bit of attention and she can get close enough to stab her father a couple of time before he pushes her off. The mother is screaming and the little child turns on her. She must have hit something important on the father because he can't make it to the phone. Dee stands there and watches the little murderess until it's all over. Their last breaths have been drawn and the girl drops the knife.
So, that's why she couldn't figure out who she was her to guide. It was the living, a girl who she had been once. Dee had been nearly twice her age when she had taken the lives of her own parents. Horrible monsters and she was the slayer. Approaching the girl slowly her eyes are furrowed. Dee hold out her hand with a smile and the child takes it. The two walk down the hallway, covered in blood but only one is visible to the neighbors who are watching through the cracks in their door.
The sound of sirens draws near. News trucks following behind them. They'll have a good story as a blood soaked girl walks out of the building. Flashes go off as people take pictures and once developed it's not just the child in them but a teenage girl holding her hand, drenched in the blood from another murder years earlier.
The residents whisper that the apartment must be haunted. Two girls murder their parents in the same apartment, twenty five years apart. Dee knows she’s no ghost. A reaper, a collector of souls, and sometimes a guide to the living but not a ghost. The apartment might be cursed but the only ghosts that hang around 1608 are the ones of memories.
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