A Chance Meeting
by Danii
And now:
The scene played over and over.
Over and over.
Over and over and over.
That day...walking in to find her, in the
shower...violated. Taken. Hurt. Damaged.
Over and over, I watched it as I'd watched it for
countless days. Or maybe years. Maybe centuries. I
couldn't really be sure. The pain seemed to blur the
time, played with it like a kitten played with string.
Sometimes making it longer, sometimes making it
shorter. For all I knew, it could be just a day after
I'd died in that robbery.
I hoped not.
I prayed not.
But, I reflected, perhaps that was a useless
excercise. Praying. Begging a God who had quite
obviously screwed me over to help me now. Who'd
screwed me over for one mistake. A mistake that I'd
already tortured myself over.
Yet someone had to be listening, because just as I
finished this thought, I could feel my spirit? body?
form? being moved. Moved to yet another agonizingly
hot room. The break room.
It was the place they put you to recover from what
you'd just been put through. To organize your
thoughts and fix yourself, which your mind did
automatically. Where you would let the wounds start
to heal so that they could open them up and pour more
salt into them. Apparently, if they didn't give you a
break, you got used to the pain and torture and it
didn't work as well.
I can't even start to guess if that was true. I never
want to know.
But this time, something was different.
For once, I could feel? see? another figure in this
place. A figure that I knew wasn't of Hell.
Dark-haired, with a heavy brow-line and a nose that
had been broken at least once. Large and muscular, I
could see the large sword? stuck within his torso and
wondered why the torturers here had resorted to simple
physical pain. Normally, such things were beneath
them.
He looked just as pained as I felt, so we sat there
together, two souls in deep and unending pain.
Neither of us spoke. We never even met eyes. Until,
after a century or so, he looked up to stare at me.
Soulful brown eyes were below that strong brow. Eyes
that had seen too much.
And we just sat like that, staring at each other as if
the other was just an interesting part of the scenery.
Staring. Staring at each other as we both realized
something.
We were different. We were different from each other,
but more importantly, we were different from everybody
else that was down here.
We were, some how, going to get out. Somehow,
somewhere, someway, sometime...maybe in a thousand
years, maybe now...we were going to get out of this
God-forsaken place. I didn't know how and I didn't
know why, and till this day, I will never figure out
how I knew, but I did. And so did he. He knew.
But then my own eyes went down to the sword in his
stomach, and as I watched his eyes move to the same
spot, I figured out that the sword wasn't for physical
torture. For some reason or another, the sword was
causing him such great emotional agony. And, I
realized, that it wasn't just for what had been done
to him, but rather what he had done to others which
was hurting him, and in the midst of my own pain, I
felt sorry for him.
You know, they say that Hell is other people, but as I
looked at him, I realized that it's just the opposite.
Hell is being alone. Alone with your own thoughts
and fears and pain and guilt. The only salvation, the
only relief, is other people. Other people allow for
love, and compassion, and all the other things that
make people what they are, that make life more than
pain. I guess that's why they put us together...just
so they could tear us back apart.
As this thought crossed my mind, our 'caretakers' came
in, and began taking us back to our tortures. They
did it quickly, however, before we lost sight of one
another, we were able to share one last glance, one
tiny bit of communication.
See you up there someday.
##
I knew she ran this way. I'm was positive of it.
I mean, when you see someone jump out of a seven story
window, then keep running, you sort of notice where
they go, but now I couldn't find her since she'd run
into the darkened alley, which bothers me more than
you'd think.
Sure, this thing is a job, a horrible, dangerous,
painful job, but sometimes I got that rush like when I
was live. That rush of righteousness. Of doing a job
that desperately needs to be done. Of sending back a
creature that shouldn't have even SEEN this world
again after what they'd done to the people in it.
But then the adrenaline faded, and I realized that for
tonight, at least, she had gotten away. He-...er,
Heck, I didn't even have any bullets left in my gun,
and despite the fact that I can usually find some
other way to dispatch the Damned, I really didn't want
to face this one without a full clip.
So I decided to head back home.
I made my way back out of the alley, and started my
trip back to the musty hotel that you could call a
home if you were really stressed to put a name to it.
However, as I was walking, I saw a figure in the dark
of the street.
Immediately, my sense went back into high gear and I
ran to follow the figure in the darkness who had just
made itself known to me. I wasn't sure if it was her,
but I figured I'd better check to make sure. And as
for having no bullets, I'd figure something out.
However, after a moment or so, the black shape seemed
to stop behind a dumpster, and I got a good look at
just who and what it was.
Tall, probably muscular body encased in a great deal
of black coat. Brown or black spikey hair on top, and
large hands sticking out of the coat sleeves. Sure,
it wasn't who I was looking for at the time, but I
needed to know the identity of this figure. Something within me
demanded it.
Carefully, I slipped towards him, but as I got within
five feet of him, his head cocked to the side and he
began to stiffin. Then, before I could run or get out
of sight, he turned to face me.
Dark-haired, with a heavy brow-line and a nose that
had been broken at least once. Soulful brown eyes
were below that strong brow. Eyes that had seen too
much.
We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us
saying a word. There was no sword sticking out of his
stomach now, but I knew him. Through all the pain and
the agony of my time down there, I remembered that one
time when we'd shared a break room. I remembered how
I knew we were different. I remembered our last piece
of communication. And from the look in his eye, he
remembered me as well.
For a moment or two, we looked at one another and
shared that pain. Found a fellow sufferer in the
other's gaze, and with that, felt a small release. A
release, and hope.
We'd both gotten another chance to escape that
horrible place. I don't know how he did it, and he
will probably never be able to guess how I did, but we
did. We got a second chance.
The two of us stared at one another just one more
time, then I felt a grin twist itself onto my face.
Quickly, even though it looked like more of a hassel
for him to do so, a smile found it's way to his. And
once more, we shared a message of certainty.
See you up there someday.
The End
(And if you didn't guess, it was Angel from "Angel" on the WB.)