His eyes, a pair of sparkling black gems, gleamed in the darkness. Abigail could see the hollowness in his cheeks with the shadow falling over his face, and in each shaky breath she took, he stepped even closer.
Abbi was rooted to her spot, unable to make a noise as he neared her, that smirk playing with his thin lips.
"Abigail," He hummed pyschotically, stopping that impercievable walk until she could smell the stench of decay off his clothes. Lucifer pushed a hand through her hair, then lowered his fingers down to the side of her face. Abigail could feel something sticky and warm smear across her cheekbone as he traced crimson fingers along the bridge of her lips, that reptile smile still carving his face.
She stopped herself from shuddering in disgust; remaining completely still, like her body was trapped in ice, frozen and unmoving. Lucifer grinned, bringing his other hand along the curve in her collarbone, then with a quick movement (movements too quick for Abbi to follow) had both his hands at the base of her neck.
Abigail opened her mouth, knowing what would happen next, preparing herself for the pressure that would soon follow. But before any sound - not that she could even make one in the first place - managed to escape, he constricted ten nimble fingers around her throat.
With a choke, the sudden pressure on her neck was inescapable, Abigail watched as Lucifer smothered her, a laugh at his lips and a flash in his hungry, murky pupils ...
Abbi shot up in bed, sweat making her hair stick to her face. She struggled for breath, her hands flew to her chest to make sure there were no pale hands suffocating her.
Bars of pale moonlight shone in through the blinds of the window. Abigail could barely see Evangeline in the corner, settled into her father's old leather recliner with her head resting on her shoulder. That's all the girl seemed to do anymore; sit in that chair, staring passively at some imagined object.
It had been two weeks since Patten had disapeared, two weeks since Lucifer's mansion burned down, and two weeks since Abbi had scrambled away from a life she'd thought would be permenant. And Evie, without the presence of her beloved, had completely withdrawn from the world arround her.
The only words that the broken Evangeline had spoken during those weeks was to demand that she stay with Abigail. And that in itself was a very short conversation.
She still blamed herself for everything, especially Patten's disapearence - and only she knew what happened in that dark room in the midst of the storm. Only she knew about the knife, Lucifer's presence, and Patten's martyred last stand.
Abigail swallowed down her guilt - a thing she did often since that night - and swung her legs out from under the tangled sheets. She padded softly towards her door, opening it cautiously, and then sneaking into the hallway of the small third-level apartment.
Transitioning back into her home was easier than Abigail had first thought. She refused to come face to face with Nathaniel, and in doing so, she'd also refused to get any of the clothing and other items still locked up in his house. It was as if she'd never even spent the summer there.
Evangeline was the one who brought her mother back to the safety of their Los Angeles "home". The girl had claimed that Marcee was still traumatized, and that wasn't hard to believe, considering the woman had come back in a catatonic state.
Abigail knew she should've stayed with her after the mansion was blown to bits, but with the pressuring guilt - all she could think of was getting away.
The hallway beyond Abbi's bedroom was empty. Just a few doors down, she could hear Todd, her father, snoring loudly through the thin walls, then the ice-maker in the kitchen, and the ventalation system shifting gears through the nighttime hours.
Of course, her dad was a completely different issue. Neither of them had forgotten the incident at the club that one eventful night - however long ago that may have seemed. But Abigail refused to bring up the subject with her mother's unhealthy state, and neither did her dad - so the problem remained unresolved.
She felt her hand down the wall as she walked, the familiarity was a relief after everything she'd been through. The apartment was cramped and tiny but it was easy to map out, and Abbi knew she'd never get lost.
As she moved into the living area, barely seeing the outline of the single sofa and assorted chairs set around the room, Abigail tried calming her heartbeat, which still raced like a hummingbird's.
The nightmares hadn't stopped since the night of Lucifer's vanishing. She thought of him when she wasn't thinking of Nathaniel, or Patten, or Evie. And then every night when she closed her eyes, he was there. Perhaps if she busied herself with getting back in the routine of a normal life, then his ghost would go away, but Abbi doubted such.
Lucifer hadn't gone away, and she didn't think he ever would.
So until then, Abigail was stuck shooting out of bed at eleven and forcing down four glasses of ice water, every night.
Abbi sighed as she entered the kitchen, going almost mechnically to the cupboards where her family kept the glasses. Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Abbi, out of habit now more than anything jumped, nearly dropping the glass in the process.
She turned quickly, her eyes wide, as she met Evangeline's curious stare.
Abigail couldn't help but feel torn over how different the once bright and beautiful girl looked. She wore a disinterested expression, even though her flaky eyes spoke otherwise. Her hair seemed more dull, her skin more peakid, and her lips set into a pout. But underneath even that, something had changed. Evie wasn't perky, and she certainly wasn't delighted at the world.
"Nightmares again, Abigail?" The girl said in a monotone.
Abbi nodded quickly, turning back around to fill her glass with tap-water. "They're still the same thing," she declared.
"Lucifer?"
Abigail bit the inside of her cheek, switching the water off. Holding the cup up seemed difficult; her hands were visibly shaking, and her lips quivered.
"Thought so," Evie said nonchalantly, getting all the information she needed by just a reaction. "What about Nathaniel? Do you dream of him?"
The name put a skip in her heartbeat.
Nathaniel. Truthfully, Abbi had tried her best to keep him from her mind. She didn't want to see the look on his face when she told him not to follow her. And she certainly didn't want to see him in her dreams, but as invetible as their romance, he was there.
Abigail had let two days pass before she contacted him. And even then, it wasn't direct contact. She'd wrote a formal-like letter addressed to him, then gave it to Evangeline to give to Nathaniel.
Childish, really, but Abbi knew that her resolve would immediately break if she were to see him again.
Truth be told, Abigail was punishing herself. Whether it was from guilt that had crushed and defeated her, or she was just too cowardly to face Nate after everything that had happened between them, she wasn't sure. But one thing Abigail was positive of, was that Nathaniel Drake wasn't going anywhere - not at least, in her head. He would always haunt her; those eyes, that voice.
But she wouldn't allow herself to have happiness while Evangeline suffered without Patten, or the family members of all those people burned alive and trapped in the manor. Abigail didn't want to be selfish.
"No." She said firmly, taking a small sip of the water. "I haven't thought about him at all."
******
Revenge was the desire to inflict pain on those who'd caused sufferage; it was a match to the flame, igniting retribution beneath the surface of such innocent acts.
Innocent, he scoffed; there was nothing innocent about it.
Stripped of his name, of his title, the man walked the shadows with a scowl twisting his features. Innocence and Insolence were two very different qualities. There was a difference between the two, a very fine line.
Insolence was not to be tolerated. Insolence was a weakness, but so was innocence.
And he'd grown tired of playing insolent games with the innocent.
The summer night made the air thick with humidity and the smell of the girl's pulse that much stronger. She walked alone, her arms crossed in front of her chest. The wind blew against her face, therefore making her scent crash against him.
He felt disgust toward the puny human.
The fight to control his rage proved difficult; it took his strength in trying to prevent himself from ripping the girl to pieces. But no, that would be careless, and one mustn't be too brash.
Revenge was to be taken slowly, sweetly; it was meant to be savored.
And savor it, he would. She would pay for the humiliation she caused, she would kill for the chance to take back those mistakes.
He hummed a tune to himself as he came closer to the girl, his prey, his victim. As he watched the dark swish of her hair, he thought to himself: another one of the innocent must die for the insolent.
And die she would.
******
THE END.