The Transformation [Undergoing Editing]

Chapter Eleven: Tortured to forget....but is coming back to haunt me

Chapter Eleven: Tortured to forget.....but is coming back to haunt me

"Good-night, Jake," I murmured sadly into his hair, he stirred softly, and murmured back, "Nighty Night, Kenzie," his voice faded into a soft snore.

I smiled a little, then closed the adjoining door between our rooms. Today had definitely not gone according to plan, even thought there technically was no plan, but still I didn't expect all this. I was in a car this morning, driving to god knows where, and somehow I ended up here, heart half broken with grief for people I couldn't really remember.

I sat down on my bed, the feathers of the comforter forming around me. My head fell into my hands, I felt eternally tired, but I knew if I let myself fall asleep I would be, once again, assaulted with long forgotten memories. Most of which I would be better off not remembering.

I had thought about pestering Chris until he gave up the secret prophecy, but when I had come home I was in an almost stupor of sleep. I had become a zombie, walking without really feeling or hearing anything, dragging my legs one at a time. Chris had to slow down a little so I wouldn't fall flat on my face from being towed by my arm. I had to force myself to give Jake a proper hug and goodnight.

I pinched my arm, sending sharp pinpricks up to my shoulder, but it only made my eyes open slightly more. I gave up to the fight, and despite what I knew was ahead in the night, I surrendered.

I almost immediately fell into another world, one that was apparently my memories, my life, but could I really call them that if I had no idea how this could've happened or who these people were. These questions were shoved from my mind as the people in the picture came to life.

"She's waking up," voices murmured, the same ones who had knocked me out in the previous vision like dream. My anger flared at the sound of the woman who murdered my mother, and who as I know realized, destroyed the life I could have had. I snarl escaped my non-existent lips, echoing silently across the room.

"Great, just what we need. I hoped this little brat would stay quiet till be at least got out of the city lines, but no, she has to be stubborn like her mother. Waking up right on the outskirts of the pack is just something she would do." The woman muttered, her voice half in a snarl. My tiny twelve-year old form started mumbling and shifting in the male vampires arms. There was a third, unspoken small vampire child, holding the even littler Jake, who was fast asleep, cradled in the boys arms. The boy looked a little older than me at the time; a big goofy smile plastered across his face, as if this was the first time he had ever been allowed to hold a baby and was proud of himself for not dropping it. He looked almost two sweet and young to be hanging out with these heartless murderers, but the red glint in his eyes shown a strong resemblance to the two older ones.

"Mommy," I murmured, slipping into my twelve-year old form, but being controlled by the past, it was like going in a car on auto-drive, it already knew where it was going to go, you were just there. The man looked down on me with disgust and immediately dropped my body, waking me up abruptly. I was up on my feet spitting and swearing in a way that a twelve-year old shouldn't. My eyes sparked with flames as I recognized who I was with, and I would have lunged for the woman's throat if it hadn't been the man's hand restraining both of mine with ease. I thrashed, trying to break his rock-hard grip, but my efforts were useless. I looked straight into the woman's eyes, trying to pour every ounce of hatred into one glare; her mouth twitched a little, almost coming into a smirk.

Then her hand snaked out at a blindingly fast speed and slapped me hard across the cheek. I slammed into the ground, the collision re-opening my already starting to heal wound from the glass shards. My cheek throbbed painfully, and I think my jaw was broken. But I held on and came back up, looking her back in the face, where the smirk was now full out, "You have fun beating up people who are younger than you, well that proves a lot about your self-esteem." I said sarcastically. Her face contorted into another snarl and she socked me right in the nose with an uppercut, sending me flying back into the guy. The impact was awful, their skin was harder than granite, and my back cracked a little, but definitely bending. Blood started pouring out my nose, which was now certainly broken, and I had bitten my tongue, filling my mouth with the strong metallic taste.

She couldn't seem to think of a come-back as I peeled myself back up again, just glared. I got up shakily, my vision swimming slightly, for a moment or two; there were six of the woman. When it refocused, I noticed she was looking over my shoulder, and whatever she was seeing was making her very happy. I slowly turned around, and since apparently we were on top of a cliff, down below us was my father crying heavily at our ruined door-step. The home had been reduced to nothing but ashes, smoke rose high in the air, spreading ash and making the air around it murky and hard to breathe. Father was on his knees, bawling his eyes out, two men were behind him, kneeling also, tears slipping silently down their cheeks. I wanted to scream their names, but a firm and cold hand clamped around my mouth. Defeated, I turned my face away, so at least I wouldn't have to look upon the scene of our house and what was left of our family. "Oh, no you don't, I'm going to enjoy every moment of this." The woman whispered menacingly as the hand forced my face to look.

In that short time I had turned away, father had gotten up along with the others. Tears still fell, but quieter and more filled with loss then utter devastation. He walked into the rubble, carefully placing his feet away from shards of glass or metal, picking his way through. He settled on a tiny white piece, he tugged on it and out came a doll out of the ashes. It was the doll he had given me on my eighth birthday, I had kept it with me at all times, even towing it with me to go swim in the lake. Cradling the doll in his hands, he walked out of the rubble, and silently handed the bundle of stuff to the two men.

"There scent is on these things, if you have them you will be able to find the killers," he said softly, almost a whisper, cracking in a million different places. I had never seen father in such a state, he looked completely and utterly broken, drained of all life and porpoise. We had been his whole life, the reason for his being, now with all of us dead or supposedly so, there was nothing more in this pack to stay for, or live for.

They nodded solemnly, and quickly trotted away, leaving my father to break down again crying. He still held the doll, and held it tight; as if it were me and he would never let me go.

"Shoot!" the woman said, followed by a string of swear words. "They're coming, and they got a scent." Her voice then softened a bit, "But at least I got to see the expressions cross your face, your loss." She smirked, knowing I could do nothing about it.

"You're a monster," I said, and then spat a mouthful of blood in her face. She just laughed, "We all are, we all are deary, even you"

I woke up, in my bed. A cold sweat ran along my whole body, sending me shivering severely. I swore, and got up walking over to the chests, looking at the locks on them, wrong ones. I went to my closet, and on my very tippy-toes could just reach the extra blankets. I pulled the big, fluffy ones down and dragged them to my bed. As I settled in again, I thought over the dream, but forced the thoughts away, knowing they would only bring more bad nightmares.

I fell into a deep and luckily dreamless sleep.