Author: Philip S.
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Prague March 2, 1910
It's been three years since we changed the world. Three years since we invoked magic the likes of which this world has never seen before and returned thousands of souls to their stolen flesh. What was once a race of blood-thirsty monsters with nothing but death and destruction on their minds has now turned into something else.
What exactly we have become I am still not sure, even though I've had nine years more to get used to it than every other vampire except one. The Restoration has affected all of us in different ways. Quite a few of us, especially the older ones, committed suicide, the guilt of centuries or even millennia of slaughter to hard to bear. Others seem poised to remain more or less the same despite having a conscience again. Still others are actually trying to make amends for the things they did while the demon held control.
I don't know what the future will hold for us, I can not even imagine, but right now I have something out of my past to deal with.
Spike is walking beside me, doing his best to look cool, calm, and collected, but he can not fool me. He is barely able to restrain himself from running down this corridor, rolling right over everyone foolish enough to stand in his way. It's been years since we last saw her and I know that the separation has been worse for him than for me.
Drusilla. She is my childe and I am responsible for her, now more than ever. Spike, though, is in love with her. He fell for her when he was still human and being turned into a demon did not change that. Nor did the return of his soul. Drusilla was never the average kind of vampire. That is my fault, of course. I drove her mad before I changed her, shattered her sanity and then made her a demon.
Ever since the Restoration we have been looking for her, the worry about how she will be able to handle having her soul returned unspoken between us. It' s been three years and I wonder how Drusilla managed to survive. Well, it seems we are about to find out.
"This way, gentlemen," the director says. Director is not the word I would have chosen. He is a prison guard, a keeper, tasked with keeping the undesirable away from the good people outside these walls.
The sign outside the gates read 'Asylum for the Incurably Insane'.
"She was given into our care about five months ago," the director continues as he leads us down the corridor. Naked stone, cold and wet. It stinks of suffering and human faeces. I have seen prisons that looked more habitable than this.
"We did not have a name for her before you came, but the orderlies started calling her Mad Hatty because she always goes on about tea parties. The name kind of stuck."
I have to work hard at containing my anger at this man's blasé attitude. It is not his fault. Those that society has labelled insane are less than human to them and cracking jokes helps to keep the fear at bay. The fear that someday society might label them insane as well.
"She never eats anything. I am honestly not sure why she has not died on us yet. Someone told me that she has been eating rats."
The cells are deep below ground, keeping us safe from the daylight. Rats are in abundance here, I can hear them scurrying in the walls. Still, if they never figured out that Dru was something not human I have to assume they never gave her any kind of medical check-up or anything. Just locked her in and threw the keys away.
No one deserves to be in a place like this. Even those who are insane.
We finally reach a room at the end of the corridor, a locked, rust-covered metal door barring our way. I would not have needed the director to help me find it. I can hear the call of my own blood, have heard it ever since we entered Prague. Drusilla is here and she knows that I am coming as well.
The director unlocks the door and we enter, finding ourselves in a padded cell, the padding worn and ripped in some places. A figure huddles in the corner, dressed only in a filthy white gown, a broken doll clutched in one hand.
"Daddy's home?" she whispers, her face still buried in her arms. Spike tenses beside me but does not move, torn between longing and fear.
I slowly walk toward her, kneeling down to place a hand on her shoulder. I can feel her shivering, cold skin slick with cold sweat. The link I share with my childe is filled with nothing but confusion and pain.
"Yes, Dru, I'm here," I whisper to her. "We've come to get you out of this place."
"No," she shakes her head, tears in her eyes. "Don't want to! So many voices out there, speaking to me. Telling me how horrible I am. What I did."
"It wasn't you, Dru." It's something I myself have barely begun to believe. In my head I know it is true. The demon held control, the soul was gone. My heart does not believe it, though, not when I remember using these hands to kill my own sister, remember how much I loved doing it.
It will take time. Time is all we have.
"Everything is ashes," she goes on, not giving any sign that she heard me. "All is grey and ugly. So much pain. So many voices. They never leave me alone."
Tears run down her face and it hurts so much to see her like this. All the things I did to her, killing her family, turning her world into a nightmare of blood and slaughter, then freezing her life in a moment of insanity by making her mine. I doubt God listens to the prayers I speak, but I pray nevertheless. Pray that I can at least save this one.
"We are here for you, Dru," I tell her. "Me and Spike. We are here."
"My Spike?" She looks up, her eyes darting back and forth, not focusing on anything. Slowly, hesitantly, Spike comes closer, kneeling down beside her.
"I'm here, luv. You're not alone."
He finally takes her into his arms, where Dru crumbles into a sobbing mess. She mumbles incoherently, telling us about tea parties where the tea has turned into blood, blood she can not remove from her hands, and how Ms. Edith tried to eat her. I sit back on his heels, wondering how we will ever be able to make this right.
Standing up I walk over to the director.
"What are you doing to help her?"
"Help her?" He looks confused. "My dear sir, this woman is clearly beyond our help. I do not know what has happened to her, but ..."
I have heard just about enough. Grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket I push him into the wall, barely able to keep my face from showing him exactly what he is dealing with.
"So you are just going to lock her away? She needs help, you bastard, not imprisonment."
It is so incredibly tempting. The demon underneath my skin is screaming at me to let it come out, to sink my fangs into this neck and drink my fill. Certainly this man deserves it, does he not? Locking away people like criminals instead of helping them deal with their sickness. This is my childe he is holding here and no one disrespects my bloodline. No one.
The moment finally passes as I regain control. I am not a demon anymore, I am a man. I do not kill humans, not unless there is no other way. This man is a bastard, but he is not to blame for the way society works. Human society. Something we are not a part of and I wonder whether we ever will be.
Neither Dru nor Spike noticed anything, it seems, too wrapped up in each other. Dru is still sobbing, murmuring about Miss Edith. I let go of the terrified man in front of me, straightening his jacket.
"We will be taking her off your hands," I inform him.
He opens his mouth to protest, no doubt about to say something about law and procedures, but I silence him with a glare. If necessary I will take this building apart brick by brick to bring Drusilla to safety, but it does not look like I will have to.
"I ... I will prepare the papers," the director simply says, slowly edging out of the room. Maybe he will call security or something. I don't really care. We will be gone before he gets back.
I put my hand on Spike's shoulder. "We have to leave now, Will."
He simply nods, picking Dru up in his arms like a child. She is haggard, little more than skin and bones. We will have to find her some food soon. Maybe the only thing we can do is take care of her body, but we will at least do that much.
A minute later we are out of this dark building, leaving the moans and insane yammering behind. If I never see such a place again it will be too soon. We might be demons, but humans are fully able to create their own darkness.
From where she rests in Spike's arms Drusilla looks up at the sky and the barest hint of a smile spreads on her face.
"I can see the stars," she whispers. "Do you think they will speak to me again, my Angel?"
I look up at the sky myself, see the thousands of stars sprinkled across the darkness. Maybe those stars are like us, I muse. Thousands of little lights dipped into darkness.
Maybe, just maybe, the light will prove stronger than the dark.
"I think they will, Dru," I whisper to her. "I think they will."
Some day.
THE END
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