Into the Night
Summary: Walking after midnight into the arms of a loving death and rebirth.
“We have no past– we won’t reach back–
Keep with me forward all through the night…
Until it ends there is no end–”
-Cyndi Lauper, All Through the Night
Some things you never get over.
He’s dead. Everyone’s dead. Almost everyone. Anyone who could help me is dead, long dead, and the worms are making nests out of their bones.
I stare at the mirror–always mirrors! how much easier would it be if I didn’t have to look at myself?–and I don’t see anything. I see a blank face. I see a shell, a ghost, a version of me that I didn’t agree to.
Not like this. Not like this.
Things have fallen apart. I don’t have anyone. I have my mother. That’s it, that’s all. Even Doggett has been transferred. He quit, actually. He went back to NYPD and told me that if he were me, he’d quit and tell the world everything, nothing more or less than everything, and then go hide in a little hole somewhere in the desert.
Such a nice man. I mean that. I think I would have liked him more if the world weren’t going to hell in a personalized handbasket. But it is and I’m about out of my mind and you know? I don’t care. I don’t have anyone to live for. My poor mom. She doesn’t know what to say.
Oh, God, not like this.
I have to get out. Go somewhere. I don’t know where. Walk. Go. Somewhere. I have to–
I don’t know where my shoes are.
Or my purse. I should have some sort of ID, just in case.
And shoes. Shoes would be good on the street. Yes. I need to get shoes.
The air is not nearly cold enough tonight. They said it was going to freeze overnight. I feel like I have a fever. I feel hot, way too hot, and too numb to be real.
At least now it’s dark. I can wander in the same darkness my soul is plunged in.
I can say that because I’m alone. It’s fair. It’s not silly. Oh, God. I have to–I need to keep walking. Yes. I shouldn’t stop. It’s dark. There are probably murderers and normal people out wandering the streets. They don’t need to hear the woes of crazy me.
Not me. I can wander and walk and cry alone. I don’t need anyone to hear me. All the hearers are deaf now anyway.
“I met the Bishop on the road,” someone calls, brushing by me. I feel soft material on my arm, women’s material, and I try to see the someone but she moves too fast, like a whisper inside a shadow. “And much said he and I.”
I don’t quite understand what she’s saying, and so I keep walking. And now the air is strange. Almost alive. The hairs on my neck are trying to warn me, but I’m beyond warning, beyond anything but my own dark thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” I call into the velvet black nothing. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Those breasts are flat and fallen now– those veins must soon be dry,” the woman tells me. Now I can feel the hint of breath on my neck. Something in me is trying to scream. I can’t scream. I only want to be left alone. Here, in this dark. But I’m angry. How could she know about my breasts? Maybe they are empty. Flat. Fallen. But is it any business of hers?
“That’s not very nice!” I cry. Nothing. Then I stumble and fall, landing on a patch of grass between the black asphalt ribbons of road and the dirty bottles and used needles. “You shouldn’t say such things!”
“Oh, but I’m only telling the truth,” the woman whispers. All of the sudden, she’s next to me. I realize she was always next to me, the entire walk. I can feel her lips on the very edge of my ear. “I can see it in you. Flying around your head. Death is walking behind you, like a jealous lover you’ve jilted at the altar. He steals everything when you blink.”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “Get away from me.”
“I think you’re losing your mind,” the woman tells me. Her lips stay next to my ear. They’re tickling horribly. I can’t think with them there. I want to scream. I don’t scream. I stay still, frozen in place.
“How do you know me?”
“I can see you. I can see all that delicious darkness that you’re hiding in your heart,” she murmurs, laying one hand on my chest. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. It pounds like a drum. “So much fear. It’s twisting your brain, like a splinter, pulling you into such lovely anguish.”
“Get away from me,” I say, but only half-heartedly.
“You want me to kill you, don’t you?”
“No,” I whisper. Tears are in my voice. “I don’t want to die.”
“Oh, you’re not going to die. There’s so much darkness– I can feel it. It follows you like a veil,” she tells me. My muscles are paralyzed. No, they’re not. They’re motionless, not frozen. I could move if I wanted to.
I don’t want to.
I want to die. I want this woman to kill me.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?” I ask. “My life is– you can’t know what my life is.”
“Lost your baby, lost your love. Lost your sister, lost your dad, lost everything you ever had,” she chants into my ear. “Lost your heart, lost your mind. And now all that you want is. to. die.”
She knows. Apparently.
“Please,” I plead.
“I can give you something you want more than death,” she murmurs. “I can give you the revenge you want. I can make you able to hold the world in your hand and ask how it can be so small. Death will be your friend.”
I shiver. “What are you saying?”
“Do you want it?” she asks me inexorably. Her grip is suddenly steely on my arm. “You have to tell me you want it.”
I don’t know what she’s saying. But yes. I want to say yes. My heart is going so fast and my arm is stinging from her grasp and yes, I’m going to say yes, I want revenge, I want more than death. I don’t know what that means, but yes, yes, I’m saying yes.
“Give it to me,” I say.
“Please,” I moan. And suddenly I feel it in my neck. I feel teeth in my neck and this is impossible. I feel my head go light and swimmy in waters of blue.
Blue blue superfluous blue. My mind is swirling.
This is death.
I’ve been here before.
More than once.
Mulder, are you there? Are you waiting for me?
I hear a voice, the woman’s voice, the woman from my walk, the bad woman. She’s calling from a thousand miles away. She’s put her wrist in my mouth. What am I doing?
“Come on!” she calls.
And there is blood then so very much blood more blood than fell on the floor and from between my legs and from my heart and from his head and I’m dead but I’m not dead and Mulder, where are you? Are you waiting for me?
How long will you wait for me?
I take a deep breath.
The world is still spinning.
“You don’t breathe now, silly,” I hear the woman say. “You’re one of us. Come on, now, stand up.”
“I’m dizzy,” I say. I rub my hand across my face. And stop.
What have I done?
“It’s just the change,” she tells me cheerfully. “And now you are new again. Free of all that dying.”
I blink. I can see her now and she’s not human.
Then again, neither am I. Not now. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now.
“What are you? Who are you? What’s happened?” I ask, unable to make sense of anything.
“I told you. I changed you. You’re a vampire now. You said you wanted it. And if you must know, my name is Drusilla. It’s very rude of you to ask when you haven’t offered your name, Dana.”
I gawk at her. Then I stand up. My brain has completely short-circuited. And I am not– I’m– I’m– not human. I’m not human. I’m something else.
“It’s Dana. But nobody calls me Dana. And it was Scully, but there’s no one left to call me that, either,” I stammer. “But I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re you. Just different,” Drusilla replies. “You’re hungry. Why don’t we find one of the bad men and eat him?”
I decide she means what she says. And I stand there and think. And think some more. And then even more.
I’m really hungry. And suddenly, the idea of taking one of those Consortium goons who handed the earth over to aliens, sucking him half-way dry, and then snapping his neck like a twig suddenly sounds delightful. Or perhaps I could crush his throat. Just like a bounty hunter. Maybe I could crush a bounty hunter’s throat. They don’t have throats. But I could hurt them. Badly. All of them.
And I like it.
“Yes,” I say.
And thus we begin.