The New Generation of Witches of West End

Soon We'll Be Found. The after math of Killian Gardiner before marrying Fraya

"Well I've been here before..."

The words fell from his lips in whispered song as Jack stood before the townhouse with his hands pushed deeply into the pockets of his worn, 'borrowed' jeans.

Behind him, the horizon slowly swallowed the setting sun, leaving the London air cold and crisp... and his skin freezing to the touch. It seemed that no amount of layers could keep the cold out anymore and unlike the past, where his cold skin played little concern to his body, now he felt it like any mortal would... and he instantly found himself longing for the sunlight once more.

But back to the matter at hand. The townhouse loomed over him with all its shadowy, painful regret and he knew this was going to hurt. Too many memories. Why had they been forced back on him? At that moment, more than ever, he wished for the time where he couldn't remember a thing... couldn't place a face... couldn't give directions to this bricked hell that stood there, encasing it's impending, reminiscent doom.

Finally, he took a few steps forward and scaled the steps up to the door. The stone beneath his feet was edged with moss, the planters along the windowsills overgrown with weeds. And, as he raised a hand to touch the door, his fingers were met by peeling paint and tired wood.

No one had been here in quite some time.

He pushed against the door, stupidly wondering if it might be unlocked but was met with a slight thunk and the creaking stress of the wood against his immortal strength. Taking another step forward, he pressed his shoulder to the surface and turned the handle beyond breaking point, feeling the bolt break within. Another nudge and he was in, the door still intact as he stumbled a few steps into the room.

Dust hit him first. Dust and the smell of... of everything. Closing his eyes, he closed the door behind him and slowly slid down to sit upon the floor, cupping his face in his hand as years of love, pain and anger washed over him.

It had taken an argument to get Bennie in the air and London bound. After the unsuccessful stops at Moscow and then Tokyo, Bennie had had it with memory lane. Everyone she knew and loved had died or left everywhere she cared about. Leaving, or rather returning should have never been part of her plan. The townhouse was important, though. She knew it to be empty (save a squatter or two) and would expect no less. Answers were less likely. All that awaited her in the townhouse were painful memories.

Now in a cab, leaning against the door, Bennie regretted it still. She should have sold it and been done with it. The furniture and memories haven't been required in all these years, she certainly didn't need them now. She pressed her heated forehead to the cool glass of the window, willing the cab to move slower. The mere thought of the townhouse brought back his face, his smile. Her stomach tightened and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep back tears.

All too soon the cab stopped and she had to wipe her cheeks dry despite her best attempts. Money exchanged their hands quick as that and Bennie stepped onto the curb, chin up and eyes on the rooftops. She did not want to face this with her head down. The good and the bad, she'd have to accept them all.

Taking a deep breath, she finally moved toward the house. If she closed her eyes, she could hear echoes of memories, of the laughter and good times. She stumbled on the bottom step, not quite prepared to take it. "Eyes open, Ben," she mumbled to herself as she reached for the doorknob.

Her hand shook, hovering above the busted, twisted piece of metal. She had anticipated vandalism but this shook her to her core. Looking at the steps, she saw slivers of wood, shaved pieces of metal. Recent. Her breath caught in her throat. This happened recently. Bennie looked up and down the sidewalk, but nothing seemed amiss. Nothing but the door. She swallowed her fear and instead leaned on the door.March 09, 2015 05:52 pm