Ｒｅｔｒｏｕｖａｉｌｌｅｓ

。⓪⑧

Gabrielle is conscious to not slam shut the door behind him as her frustration bubbles up to surface. She is brimming over, teetering on the edge of madness, inwardly chiding, 'Imbécile, you let so much slip.'

She paces back and forth, grinding down her nails in anguish. She surveys her surroundings for an object to throw and looks to the coffee table. The calculating rage in her eyes flickers out as her sights land on a forsaken book.

Taking up the printed work her tense countenance temporarily relaxes. She scans through the pages – the pages she could swear she's read before. A particular word catches her at unawares and upon reciting the first syllable she claps closed the book and hurls it to the far corner of the room.

Heaving heavily, she retreats to sit slump against the opposite wall.

➖➖➖➖➖

Secrets. They are the kind of thing that can bury you. They buried her. They suffocated her. They beat her down. Until she was nothing more than a mask and shell of her former self.

It is one thing to be haunted by ghosts. Quite another to be one. Then there are those who find themselves wedged in the medium. Like Gabrielle, for she is both.

Reading the clock that tells her it is time to face the demons, she cards a hand through her hair, clutching a fistful at the nape and sighing at the unbearable weight that is pressing down on her shoulders to the floor.

The force is formless. It isn't seen it's felt. It's a voice, a voice in her head. Not a ruthless scream that comes from a frowning mouth, but a sadistic whisper, from lips that smile.

Gabrielle fights to stay composed whilst her sanity is being drained from her body. It's hard to be several persons at once. So caught up in trying to convince everyone of who or what you are or aren't, pressing them into the sticky web of perplexity that you lose sight of yourself and realise that the one who is left most confused is you.

So every night she must start over and go all the way back to the very beginning.

Forcing herself to her feet she rises and warily makes her way to the single bathroom. She leaves the light off, surrendering herself to the clawing kiss of darkness. Turning the faucet on high, she strips of all fabricated articles. Stepping into the stall she exhales, watching as her breath is sent wafting up in a plume of hot air that dances with the steam of the shower. The downpour of droplets sizzle as they hit her skin. It is scorching, but she feels it not.

As soon as her eyes become lidded does the display she witnesses every night come flooding her sensory.

The woman is standing in a forest – a forest thick with pine and related conifers. All is quiet except for the wind and thump of her racing heart. She is frozen solid, unable to move, her booted soles grounded. Narrowing her focus as best she can in the chilling blizzard she observes the oncoming of five black figures, the smallest one in front with four larger, more fierce shadows in tow.

At first she thinks it just the infamous wolf chase of pack and prey, but as they near she concludes it is that... but with humans. A ingénue, no older than twenty is fleeing for all she's worth. Her marred feet are bare, leaving a trail of blood and crimson stains in the snow of its wake. The woman skids to a stop at the sight of Gabrielle, her eyes wide and glassed with tears. "He- help- help me," she whimpers pleading, shivering. "I- I'm lost. They ar- are after m- me." But Gabrielle can doing nothing to aid the young girl that is her.

In a blink she is sent plummeting to the forest floor, overcome by the onslaught of her attackers. They berate her with virulent phrases in their native tongue as she counters them with weak protests in her own. Their hold on her is without a doubt vice and vicious, surely strong enough to break a bone, and their innate disregard for the woman's well-being makes Gabrielle's blood boil as she stands watch.

"We are the head, you are the tail." they snarl, administering restraints to her mouth and wrists. In their radar she is no more than a confiscated vagrant. One that deserves no title and shall receive none unless earned by time and torture.

"You are nameless." The alpha sniggers in her ear, making sure it is the last thing she hears before being injected with a syringe and dropping unconscious. They haul her away.

A time lapse occurs and the ice that envelops Gabrielle starts to melt, to the point of clearing the white sheet on which she stands and revealing shrivelled, burnt grass below. Now free, she without thinking follows after the lead left by the bestial predators.

What she stumbles upon her arrival is the victim being roughly hoisted into a prison of iron bars. She watches as the little female begins to recover. There is more then meets the eye in terms of how much she the small sapling can handle and take before she breaks.

"What shall I call you?" she asks her captor groggily.

"I am мастер." he spats. "The master." The man clanks shut her metal confine. "Remember it or else you'll be sorry."

Watching with narrowed eyes as he exits she makes a promise to herself then, lying on the cold concrete of the dark cell's floor. "He will not control me." she says.

The day she broke that promise, was the day she lost everything.

Gabrielle's eyes flash open. The hazel orbs aflame and alert, unperturbed by the cascading body of water that is still running. She grasps the rounded handle, wheeling it right, cutting the flow to a stop.

Rising with purpose she makes her way to the bedroom and retrieves a specific ensemble, outfitting herself quickly. One glance at the phone that sits idly on the table is enough to remind her of what lays ahead – a date with the devil.

She murmurs one word. "Noctivagant."