rain, rain, go away

<center>

...come again some other day...

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b9...doll/Julia.jpg

Julia de Vanue
<u>child of the underground</u>
</center>

Dear Gabriel,

It?s been ten years, hasn?t it? I wonder if you ever think of me, the child you left behind to be a victim of the cold, gray streets. I wonder if you ever thought I might survive. I wonder what it was you saw in my eyes that frightened you so badly. That flash of emptiness as I put the bullet in his head, perhaps. What were you expecting? You taught me everything I know.

Do you remember the good old days? I was so young, so innocent. But I took your lessons to heart; I learned to be the monster that I am. Your pride and joy. I would have done anything for you. Killed for you. Bled for you. Died for you. I just never expected you to be the one to end me. You had already ripped away my innocence. You shattered my independence before I ever had it, made sure I would need you to navigate the world. You loved me as a father and as a man ? protecting me in my early days, and then taking me into your bed when the curves of my body caught your eye. And then you left.

I remember the night you first taught me how to hold a gun. How strong and comforting your hands upon mine were. How sure you seemed, that I, this little nothing girl, could one day be what you are. I remember the love, how smooth your sheets felt against my back, and your weight atop me, crushing the breath out of me in a sweet.painful.beautiful moment of rapture. And I remember waking to a cold bed, wondering briefly why I couldn?t feel you beside me. In your hurry to pack and flee, you tossed about what little belonged to me, leaving everything strewn about our house in a rather insulting fashion. Money on the nightstand, as if I had been your whore for the night.

I was left with nothing but the cold sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of shame.

Only 19. Just a baby. I almost didn?t make it. But rage has a funny way of ensuring survival.

So tell me, my love, do you pray? Because if you don?t, I strongly recommend taking it up.

See you soon,
- Julia

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ October 23, 2005 04:48 AM: Message edited by: inner universe ]</font>

<center>The world was on fire
No one could save me but you.
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b9.../JuliaDark.jpg

What a wicked game you play
To make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do
To let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say
You never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do
To make me dream of <u>you</u></center>

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ October 27, 2005 10:57 PM: Message edited by: inner universe ]</font>

?I was only a baby when he took me, you understand. Two, maybe three, I?m not really sure. My father was a Mathematician ? how dull can you get, right? But he worked with sensitive issues, classified documents. The sort of things that get people killed.? A pause, followed by an amused snort. ?Apparently. Anyway, he was hired to take care of my Dad. Someone high up thought he was getting too close to something, I guess. Business types, you know? Always paranoid.

One night he follows my Dad home from the office. We lived on this completely dark, deserted street. No witnesses, no problems. Bang, bang, he?s dead. Just blows Dad?s head off without a care in the world. Mom must?ve been looking out the window just as it happened, though, because she starts screaming. Runs outside, attacks the man that killed her husband. ?Yeah, because that?s just the most brilliant thing to do when you?re a 30-something housewife who cries when you stub your toe. Moron. She got what she deserved, if you ask me. Anyone that stupid deserves a bullet in the brain. Apparently I?m somewhere in the house crying, though, the commotion having woken me up. He walks into my nursery, sees me, and decided that I?m too young to kill. Honor, and all that, you know? You don?t shoot someone in the back, and you never, ever kill chldren. That?s what he always told me.

My memory doesn?t offer me anything from those first couple of years with him, although I imagine he started training me from day one. I wonder if I cried when he told me my parents were dead? Hmm. Never really thought about it until now. I?ll have to ask him. He never lied to me about that, by the way, never tried to hide it. He told me what had happened as soon as I was old enough to understand it. By then it didn?t matter. As far as I was concerned, Gabriel was my father. He was all that mattered to me.

The lessons were the hardest. I was not to be spared pain just because I was young, Gabriel said. Though he stood by his rule of never killing children, I was different. I was his student, his lineage, I would be his reflection to the world when he was dead and gone. He was a strict, stern teacher. Demanded the best. Mistakes were not tolerated. There was no comrpomise, no in-between. It was not a matter of his way or the highway, it was simply his way. Period. ?Oh, you?re looking at me as if you can?t possibly fathom it, as if it must?ve been horrible, when truly it was not. I was like any other child attending school. English, Math, Science, Foreign Languages, Etiquette, Dance, you name it, I learned it. And then, of course, there were the guns and the knives and the hand-to-hand combat. Stealth and silence. Patience and reward. But I loved all of this, you see, adored being close to him and listening to his voice. When it was all over for the day he patted me on the head and sent me off to play with my dolls.

He was as generous as any father should ever hope to be. I was given everything I could ever possibly want. Toys and books and antique quilts and sparkling paintings of fairies and forests to hang in my room. One day I told him I wanted to learn to ride horses, and the next morning I was happily trotting around a gorgeous stable, the oddly nervous - he kept glancing back and forth between me and Gabriel - owner teaching me everything there was to know. Just before I turned nine I completed my first sucessful hit. He was so proud. I got a puppy for my birthday that year. We named him Oliver. Sadly, he died when some bastard with a grudge tracked us down and shot up the place. I was crushed, but Gabriel said I?d feel better after we killed the guy. He was right. Anyway, as I got older he started to parade me around on his arm, taking me to high-end boutqiues and jewelers and salons, informing the staff that I was to be given the best, no matter the cost, no exceptions. Finding a comfortable chair in the back, he?d sit and watch as the attentive women clucked over me, brushing my hair, cooing over my pretty face. Fashionable clothes, delicate jewelry, expensive makeup and perfume, all were piled high into shopping bags for me. And when I was done being dressed and styled and primped, Gabriel would flash his plastic, and off we?d march, in search of a delicious caf?.

Things changed when I was about 17. Suddenly I was no longer his daughter, no longer his dependant student. I was more of a Junior Partner in our business of choice. Where once I had been able to catch the briefest flicker of emotion in his face, there was stillness. Cold. For a time I thought he hated me, that I had done something wrong, but that belief ended when he took me into his arms for the first time. Nights in his bed were the sweetest of all, I think. Blood on the tip of one?s tongue is always best in the heat of passion and violence. We shared those kisses, you see, spilled our blood and scarred our skin. That was our marriage, our bond. That, my friend, was our love. But then one night I woke up and his arm wasn?t thrown around me. I couldn?t hear his steady, rhythmic breathing. Suddenly everything was cold and wrong. The house was empty, deserted. He?d left. Abandoned me.?

Running a slender hand through her hair, Julia sighed. Turning on booted-heel just slightly, she flashed the sweetest smile at the man that lay terrified at her feet. ?You?re an excellent listener, David. I have very much enjoyed meeting you. But you see,? shifting to face him fully, bending down to rest casually on the balls of her feet. ?Gabriel loves me. He always has.? The back her gloved hand trailing softly down the sobbing man?s cheek. ?That?s why I came here, to this city. To remind him.? Upperbody leaning forward, and then down, just enough to press perma-swollen lips against the trembling flesh of his forehead.

?As for you, darling, this is just business.?

Bang bang, baby. You?re dead.

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ October 23, 2005 06:45 AM: Message edited by: inner universe ]</font>

"You're insane." I tend to hear that alot. Usually screamed by some pathetic mass of tears right before I shoot them. When I was younger I took it to heart, would sit for hours contemplating that simple word, the aftermath of a fresh kill dulling away into some sort of cathartic throb in the back of my skull. I suppose that, for those who do not understand the peace in death, it would appear that way. But let me assure you my mind works as clearly as anyone's. There are no voices in my head telling me to do wicked things. I don't see demons or keep the company of angels. And I certainly don't believe I'm mankind's savior, sent here to rid the earth of those that would stand in the way of Armageddon. The truth is, I am all too sane. Perhaps too sane for society to comprehend. While they stare out their car windows, gawking at the death lining the pavement, at the burning reckage of the latest crash, whispering about the horror of it all and yet secretly praying to see the merest glimpse of a corpse, I bring life to an end. In all honesty, I think that's the only thing that seperates me from the rest of the world. They stand on the sidelines; I'm the fucking Grim Reaper.

Some would blame Gabriel, but I don't. Though I remember nothing of my life before him, I know I would have become this monster no matter who raised me. I would still be a killer. I would still be a demon. I would still feel nothing as I watch life drain from a body. The only difference would be that without him, I would be careless, sloppy, rushed. He simply showed me another path. A better path.

When we were together, things always ended in death. Now that we're apart, nothing's changed. I came here to remind him of what he lost - the only human being on this earth that would ever love him. For a while I wanted to kill him. Part of me still does, I think. We've fought before, obviously. With words, with fists, with knives. But never have I pulled a gun on him, or vice versa.

Lately, I'm wondering if that's about to change.

Could I kill him? I don't know. I've seen countless deaths in this world, yet I think his is the only one I would ever mourn. Could he kill me? I have no doubt. He's killed me before. Not physically, no, but in ways much deeper.

Pen paused mid-letter, Julia glanced up from the journal she was confiding in. Teeth, beautifully straight and white, gnawed savagely at her bottom lip.

Is it my blood he wants?

Rising out of her chair just enough to smoothly retrieve the glock that constantly rested at her hip - her twelveth birthday present from Gabriel, you know - she pointed the nuzzle solidly at the exposed wood of her desk. Shadows across her eyes, contemplating. And then, without the slightest bit of hesitation, she reached around and put a bullet through her left palm. The metal had gone straight through, lodging somewhere in the floor off to the side. Though she ground her teeth when the bullet first ripped through flesh, she didn't so much as flinch. After all, she'd been shot before, and in much worse places than her hand. Green gaze locked on the gushing crimson, a smile slowly creeping across her face.

Then let him have it.

<center>---</center>

It was a beautifully wrapped package of white paper and silver ribbons that he would find resting casually on his doorstep. The smell of a perfume worn for years clinging gently to every corner of the hallway. And inside, tucked against a vile of black-red blood, sat a little note.

"Quid pro quo."

"What happened to your hand?"

Young. Male. Curious. The voice that broke Julia out of her internal monologue was not an unpleasant one, but one that was not entirely welcome, either. Lashes fluttering like wounded butterflys when green-blue eyes glanced down towards her bandaged left palm. Dark brow arching in an annoucement of boredom when she turned on her heel to face him.

"I shot it."

The boy laughed, making no attempt to hide his disbelief or amusement. After all, pretty young women didn't just go around shooting themselves in the hand. Nor should they be wandering the dangerous streets alone at night.

"You should go home, lady. There's big, bad men out here. They'd have a lot of fun with someone like you."

"Mm, and I'd have a lot of fun showing them the error of their ways."

"Man, you're fuckin' insane." Shaking his head, the boy sighed. Why were all the hot ones complete basket cases?

"Quite the opposite. I know sanity with such shattering finality and truth, you couldn't even begin to grasp it." Sharp click-clack of heels when she took a few steps toward him, paying no mind to the fact that he backed away from her slowly, suddenly unnerved by her calm demeanor.

"Look, lady, I don't want any fuckin' trouble, all righ---"

"What's your name?" Sidling up to him, nestled up against his chest, close enough to smell the musk of his cologne and feel the heat of his blood radiating off of his neck.

"My---my name?" Nervous, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason. She hardly looked threatening. Tall, slender, attractive. Hints of French in her [mostly] American accent. Fragrance heady, warm. Like fresh laundry, spices, feminine skin, shampoo. No complaints about the feel of her body against him, and yet ...

"That's what I said, yes."

"D-David. My name's ... David."

"David. How cute. But tonight, your name is Gabriel." When he tried to protest, she pressed her mouth fully against his, letting the softness of her mouth and the warmth of her tongue melt him into oblivion. "And you're coming home with me."

<center>-----</center>

For the first ten minutes, David/Gabriel thought he was in Heaven. A gorgeous older woman [he was only 19, you know] was picking him up and taking him back to her place for what promised to be a night of unending sexual bliss. Despite the fact that she had seemed somewhat ... odd ... at first, by the time her mouth had found a certain spot on his neck just below his left ear [Gabriel had always gone mad when she'd kissed him there. But David/Gabriel didn't know that.] he was fairly sure he was in love. And when her hands slipped past his belt buckle and beneath the waist of his jeans, he knew he was in love.

... Until he felt a warm, thick liquid dripping down his thigh.

At first it was the panic of an inexperienced young man that washed over him. Certainly he hadn't finished that quickly? He would have felt something, would have known--- but it was an all together different panic that hit him when he glanced down and saw violent red staining the front of his jeans.

"What... what the fuck. I---" Looking up into the face of what he thought to be the woman of his dreams, he found himself shrinking back against the wall, screaming suddenly, scrambling to get away from her.

Julia sighed. One little knife brought about the smallest amount of blood, and suddenly he was turning into a pathetic, sobbing child? Clucking her tongue, shaking her head, silver knife twirled deftly in agile fingers. "Tsk. This is not like you, Gabriel. I'm disappointed." Coldness in her eyes. Logic gone, replaced by something that even Freud would shy away from analyzing.

"What? No, no, this is not happening." Poor boy. Holding his wounded thigh, curled up on her floor, sobbing, rocking back and forth. "You stupid, crazy bitch! My fucking name is David, not Gabriel. How--how could you? How can you? This is not.. not... it's---"

A solid blow from the back of her hand shut him up, sent him crashing to her floor. And then she was on top of him, pinning him down with her slight weight, but extrodinary strength. "Don't you ever fucking speak to me that way, Gabriel. EVER. I will make you hurt in a way you've never even imagined!" Rage building in her chest, twisting its cold hand around her heart, tugging at her sanity. Hair wild, eyes aflame, screaming at the top of her lungs. "This was all so fucking convenient for you, wasn't it? Poor Gabriel, so alone. Living by the gun. Then you found me and you had a companion. How nice for you! You made me what I am. And when my company stops being EXACTLY whatever the fuck you wanted it to be, when I stopped being your innocent little girl, you leave me to fucking die."

Rrrrrrip. Rrrrrrrrrrip. Splat. Drip.

"You did this. All of this. All of it! It's your fucking fault, you selfish son of a bitch, you goddamn souless bastard. I loved you, I loved you, I would have died for you..."

Rrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" Warm, salty tears streaming down her face, the beauty once held there destroyed for the moment by rage and sorrow. Body shaking, racking with sobs. Leaning down, resting her head against a chest that long ago stopped moving with the intake of breath. "I fucking love you."

<center>Walking, waiting
Alone without a care
Hoping, and hating
Things that I can't bear

Did you think its cool to walk right up
To take my life and fuck it up
Well did you
I hate you

I've slept so long without you
It's tearing me apart, too
How to get this far
Playing games with this old heart

I've killed a million petty souls
But I couldn't kill you
I've slept so long without you

I see hell in your eyes
Taken in by suprise
Touching you makes me feel alive
Touching you makes me die inside</center>

Strange, the things a blade could do to the human body. When the sobbing had stopped and the rage subsided, Julia pushed herself away from the corpse and rested easily on her heels, as if studying the poor, mutilated David. He'd died screaming, calling for his mother, and then his God. Neither had heard him, it seemed.

Smearing her tear-stained face with the back of her hand, Julia stood. Right hand dropping the knife and reaching back smoothly to retrieve the .45 at her back. No matter that the poor boy was dead; seven bullets were put into his pretty little head.

"One of these days, Gabriel, you'll learn. You can't live without me."

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. All good children go to heaven.

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ November 02, 2005 12:58 AM: Message edited by: voodoo lady ]</font>