Vengeance

16

Usually the moon is comforting, serene, but now the little light in the sky refuses to let her sleep. She's lost track of how long she's been lying here, sleepless. Her fight with Angel replays in her mind like a broken record, granting her no reprieve from the guilt.

Tired of her mind's taunts, Seraphim pushes herself into a sitting position and stands up. She tugs on a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. She exits the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

The humidity has not broken and within minutes the back of her neck is sticky with sweat. Seraphim stuffs her hands in the pockets of her jeans, her gaze rarely deflecting from the cracked and chipped concrete of the sidewalk.

Seraphim's words to Angel were nothing more than spite. She had no right to hurl such venom at him. Some callous corner of her mind resents him for being able to move past what Mistress Mind did to him, for being stronger than she is. Seraphim succumb to revenge. She has still not surrendered revenge, even though it hasn't made anything better. Her sleep is not free from nightmares and all she has gained is guilt. Yet, she can't relent.

Seraphim gnaws at her lip. Will Angel give up on her now? Abandon her? She deserves nothing less. Some faint, shadowy part of her may resent Angel, but Seraphim's love for him outweighs all. She can't bear to lose him. It will destroy what little is left of her.

Seraphim glances up to find herself standing before a missing persons board. It's one of several scattered throughout the city. The first popped up about forty years ago and they've since multiplied. There are at least one or two postings that date back that far. Seraphim scans the board. There isn't an inch that isn't covered in a missing persons flyer. There are so many they overlap, cutting through a copied photo or description. There are tabs remaining from ones that have been ripped away by the winter wind or cruel human hands. Many have been soiled by the rain, the ink has run, staining it like blood and warping the paper. Others are a pale shadow, the sun having consumed their color.

Seraphim used to visit one of the boards every week. There didn't seem to be that many back then or maybe there were and she just never noticed. They used to help, her, the Guardians, Angel, they used to search for the missing. Over the years they'd found several, runaways, ones that had been forcibly taken, and ones that had been killed. Sometimes the body bag proved to be a mercy compared to the living whose mental and emotional scars ran to deep to heal.

The deaths were always harder for Seraphim, but Rebecca would say it was better for the families to know than live wondering. Was it though? Was it better to know the truth even if it tore their world apart? Sometimes, it's better not to know. Wondering may kill slowly, but the truth kills painfully. She's seen it happen too many times, families desire to know more than anything - what happened, why? Once they know though, they can never remember their loved one in the same way again.

Seraphim steps aside as a mother with red-rimmed eyes pins another poster to the overcrowded board. The former vigilante steps closer to the board. The woman's daughter is obviously beautiful, luscious brown hair, pale green eyes, a stunning smile, probably talented and smart too, at least that's what her mother would say. According to the poster, she's been missing for two weeks. She's probably dead.

Seraphim glances at the mother trudging her way back to her car, her head bowed. Seraphim doesn't have the heart to tell the woman her daughter is probably dead or worse. There are many fates worse then, especially for young, beautiful girls.

Seraphim shakes her head. The girl is most certainly dead already and all her mother's hopes are false ones. At this point a dead body will only wound her mother further.

Like all the other people who don't give a shit, Seraphim turns her back on the board and walks away.

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