Midnight Rising

Post-it Notes

The farmhouse sits in the middle of a field, the afternoon sun glinting off the tin roof. Cigarette butts litter the gravel driveway, a few with Diana's signature red lipstick mark around the edge. Blondie was quick with the address, sending me a text not thirty minutes after getting to work. Leaving Elena safely behind in the protection of Caroline, Ric and I slipped away, chasing another lead that's been nothing but a dead end.

My cellphone chimes, the electronic beeping scaring off a flock of birds that gather in one of the many oaks that fill the home's front yard. Elena's name scrolls across the screen. I let it ring twice before hanging up. Whatever crisis she's having back at home can wait. I need to be sure that this incident was Stefan.

"Elena?" Ric enquires as we walk up the drive towards a falling apart front porch. The stairs whine as we climb them, door screeching as it's moved. "I don't know why you just don't come clean and tell her where we are."

Sighing, I wander through the hallway. Blood coats the walls, finger tracks forever staining the yellowing wallpaper. This looks like something you'd see on one of those made for TV horror shows. The ones where they paint the killer as a mildly attractive guy that no one had any idea dismembered and ate half the neighborhood. "Cause my new pet said this was a half-lead and I don't want to get her hopes up."

"Yeah, well, they're all half-leads," Alaric answers, glancing around the house, careful to step over the bloody shoe prints that have dried on the floor. "And I'm your accomplice. What do you want me to say to her? I'm practically living there."

Since Jenna met her untimely end, Ric's taken up residence at the Gilbert house. He's drunk most of the time, but he does make sure Elena and Jeremy are eating and still going to school. He's also been informing me of any information Elena drags up, well, at least what he can remember of it. Jenna's death hit him hard. I figure helping me track down and possibly kill the man who orchestrated it will have him feeling like a new man. "Still sleeping on the couch?"

"You know, I keep waiting for them to kick me out, but they don't. I don't know why. It's not like I'm helping or anything."

I've heard it all before, the confusion, the guilt. Alaric is tearing himself up inside, trying to figure out why two teenagers need an adult in their lives. He can't look at either one without feeling some responsibility for the pain they're feeling. I don't want to get into it today. "Mm-hmm."

"It's quiet." He needs the conversation. It keeps him from losing it completely. I get it. That's why I keep the girls around, someone to talk to, to chase away the never-ending thoughts. What could I have done differently? I should have seen this coming. Katherine tried to warn me. Could I have stopped Diana from going down this road? Sometimes it's all just too much.

"Yeah. Too quiet."

The living room carpet is soaked with blood, squishing under the weight of Ric and my shoes. Two females sit on the couch, hands pressed onto jean-covered thighs. Each has a jagged cut around their necks, dried blood leaving a kind of necklace effect. Their heads have been set neatly back on their shoulders, eyes forever staring at the blood-smeared wall across from them. The local cops would have a field day with this. This kind of killing makes a town famous, scared, but not scared enough to keep it quiet. "This is Stefan for sure."

"How do you know?" Ric's seen enough in his time as a vampire hunter to not be phased by the scene in front of him.

I point towards the way the heads are situated, "It's his signature. There's a reason they call him the ripper. He feeds so hard he blacks out, rips them apart. But then when he's done, he feels remorse. It's the damndest thing." I nudge the girl on the right with the toe of my boot. Her head teeters for a few seconds before falling into her lap, hitting the floor with a soft thunk. "He puts the bodies back together."

"Back together?" Alaric stares down at the dead female's head, it's glassy eyes looking back up at him. At least she gets a change of scenery.

Nodding, I continue through the house. "Definitely Stefan."

"Any signs the others were here?" Ric asks as we enter the kitchen.

I shrug, pulling open cabinets, checking for clues. "Klaus is probably having Stefan do all the killing to keep the ripper alive."

"Diana?"

Shaking my head, I pull open the freezer door. "She doesn't do calling cards." There it is, the offensive, neon pink sticky note. I've found one at every single house or hotel we've searched. It's her way of saying that despite all the other feelings involved, she's enjoying this. It's Diana's way of saying that she knows I'm looking and that I'm on the right path. Grabbing the paper, I crumple it in my fist, shoving it deep in my pocket. I don't know if I should love or hate this little game we're playing.

"You sure?"

I ignore Ric's question, perching on the kitchen table, "She always wanted a house like this—" My fingers run over the small lump that is now weighing me down. My heart rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. "—Well, without the blood and the cliché country décor. She liked the big porches and the woods all around, old dirt roads. We almost got one, in upstate New York, right on a pond. There was a great little camping spot about five miles away."

"What happened?"

Shrugging I stand, suddenly the air feels too thick, the room too small. The sticky note in my pocket, once a glimmer of hope begins to burn a hole in my skin, trying to get to and destroy the last few shreds of humanity I still have left. "It all got too real. She skipped town, left a note saying something about being ready someday."

"It seems like not much has changed."

No. I refuse to believe that. Diana and I have come so far, gone through more than anyone should have to. We're strong and one day we're going to have the life we've dreamed of. "I think she's protecting Stefan."

"Maybe," Alaric answers with a shrug, not believing my words.

Getting up, I wander towards the back of the house, pulling doors open as I do. Once I've found the one that leads to the garage, I begin to search for the red gasoline containers every redneck in this part of the world seems to keep. Quite convenient really. It'd looked so suspicious if we had to go out and get these bad boys ourselves. "I just want to find her."

"What are you doing?" Ric questions, as I begin my way back through the house, spreading the liquid around, making sure to coat the walls and the floors. I empty out the last container over Stefan's newest victims.

"Covering their tracks. Clearly, they have no interest in staying in the dark. But I do." As Alaric steps backward, the floor creaks, echoing out for a few seconds. Curious, I set the gas canister down, pushing the rug up. A rusted hinge reveals an otherwise hidden door. Yanking it open, I shove my head through. The walls are lined with chains that have been secured to the walls with sturdy-looking metal attachments. Chuckling, I pull my head out, allowing Ric to have a look. "Well, what do you know? Werewolves."

Letting the door fall back into place, I strike a match against the mantel of the fireplace. The flame dances for a minute, pulling this way and that as if trying to decide what section of gasoline to devour first. Taking one last look around, I let the match hit the floor. Just another dead end.