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Roleplay Boards => Archived Roleplays => Climax Control Archives => Topic started by: Brother Grimm on January 29, 2016, 07:16:54 PM
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Previously...
West Stockbridge, Massachusetts. When last we were here, we saw but a small glimpse into the life of a woman who has been gathering attention of the wrong sort on social media, by the name of Belladonna Grey. She had been sentenced to the Austen Riggs Center, one of the top mental health care facilities in the country, for as-of-yet, undisclosed reasons. Something to do with the mysterious disappearance of her baby girl and the legal aftermath. Perhaps one day more will be discovered to tell This tale.
Yet for now we find ourselves in a rural setting in the village of West Stockton, on a lonely road surrounded by trees bare in This, the dead of winter. The lifeless branches that dangle overhead, seemingly threatening to draw down and snatch some poor, unlucky soul from the earth and draw them screaming into a world of mist and shadow. The sky is overcast in the deepening hours of dusk, gray clouds and the threat of wind and ice chilled rain nagging the minds of those that live in This quaint town. This small, country road seemed to stretch on, and perhaps would have were it not for the two story house, seemingly abandoned, here on the side of the road. Lights were off, the grass all but dead and the landscaping in dire need of repair.
A deep red Honda C-RV pull up to the side of the road, just off the wooden fence and gate that led to the dirt path, crusted with weeds and debris, that led to the house. The engine shut off, and the driver, Doctor Maureen Rosen, turned and looked to the woman in the passenger seat who stared out the window and at the house with forlorn eyes.
"Belladonna," The doctor said. "Are you certain that you don't need me to...?"
But her concern was all but waved off as her patient's head turned to her and she was gifted with a sincere smile.
"I'm sure." Belladonna Grey said. "This isn't the first time that you've brought me here Doctor Rosen."
"Those were brief visits." Doctor Rosen pointed out. "You've been released. This time is for good."
"I know." Belladonna turned back to look out at the house. "But I have to do This myself. It's as you said: This time is for good, and I can't fall back and cry for help every time things might look difficult."
Belladonna then reached for the door handle and opened the passenger's door and was about to step out, when her arm was grasped by the doctor who had been so kind to her these past several months.
Doctor Rosen said, "If you need anything..."
"I have your card." Belladonna smiled back at her. "But hopefully I won't have to use it."
And that being said, she climbed the rest of the way out of the SUV and shut the door behind her, the only belongings she had were the clothes on her back and what fit in the bag in her hands. Doctor Rosen watched her carefully as Belladonna slowly opened the gate in the fence and made her way towards the house, the one that at one point she, a husband, and a newborn daughter, had called their own. Only when the house's front door shut closed behind her patient was Doctor Rosen satisfied. She turned the engine back on, and slowly pulled away.
The moment Belladonna set foot inside of the house she had shared at one point with her deceased husband, she stood frozen. Her eyes transfixed on the interior. It all looked the same as she had remembered. She stood in a small foyer with the hooks for jackets just to the right, and a few steps further and she would be standing in the kitchen she had once lovingly prepared meals for Michael. Her hands gripping the lone bag in her hands, she finally forced her way further into her home.
She slowly walked through the kitchen, transfixed as if she were a zombie, and turned the corner and found herself in the living room. Everywhere her eyes roamed, she found memories assaulting her relentlessly. It all looked the same, save for the additions of layers of dust along the counters, tables and furniture, and the cobwebs in the out of reach corners of the home. The dining room was next. The burned out nubs of long dormant candles in the tarnished brass holders in the center of the table. It was at this very room, over a savory pot roast dinner where she had informed her husband that she was expecting their first child together. Such joy turned to tragedy only months later when Michael was the victim of a fatal drunken driving accident.
As she moved through this room, just wanting to familiarize herself again with the surroundings, her fingers glided over the sofa's soft, velvet-like cushions, stirring up the dust and caking her fingers with it. She then arrived in the darkened hall interior where her fingers subconsciously ran up along the wall, and against the light switch where the overhead candelabra Michael had installed just for her, was struck with illumination. Evidence that the doctor had indeed ensured the home remained prepared for her imminent return.
She stood there, stoically, for several long moments. She knew where she was, and she knew what she needed to do, to see. Her eyes turned to the stair case that led to the house's second floor and she glanced 'up'.
"Tell me about these ... witches."
Her questioning tone was unsurprising. There were indeed very few 'true' witches remain in the world these days. Most had been killed off over three hundred years ago in the European witch hunts where bodies of the men and women who practiced the craft were beheaded, salted and burned. The Salem Witch Trials? Please. That was but fabrication told for the amusement of otherwise repressed teenage Puritan girls. No woman or man that died in Salem could ever be considered a true practitioner, save for the slave known as Tituba.
"I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage madam." Brother Grimm said as he contemplated the situation he found himself in. "I have had few dealings with witches even before my imprisonment. They served me little interest. And now...?" He motioned toward her with his hand. "Now there is only you. But these two...?"
He started to pace the length of the floor of her cabin, one hand holding a sharp dagger with the point digging into the forefinger of his opposing hand. He said, "If I had to guess, I would think they something akin the hedge witches."
"Hedge witches that had skill enough to banish you?" Baba Yaga said in a statement, not a question. "That is an unusual estimation, if I'm honest. Most hedge witches are capable of little more than brewing salves and potions with little power to call their own." She set her knitting down into her lap, then clasped her hands over her legs and leaned in, staring at him. "And you're certain that they were there to protect your prey?"
"I would say that was indeed the case." Brother Grimm snarled, despite his best efforts to remain calm. He turned around to face her and said, "Just as I was playing with him, they show up out of the blue for the sole purpose to banish me from his home. I think it's safe to assume they were there to protect him."
"Or to oppose you." Baba Yaga said as she leaned back into her rocking chair. "Perhaps it would be best for now if you were to forget Timothy Staggs, and focus for now on this match you have set. Ben Jordan again, is it not?"
Brother Grimm only nodded silently in the affirmative.
"It is." He confirmed. "I believe he took offense to his loss to me a few weeks ago, and again at what I did to his precious new friend, Simon Jones, after I bested him as well."
"Well, it's his own funeral." Baba Yaga stated clearly as she again picked up her knitting. "It's not often that a poor fool wishes to dance with the devil once, let alone twice in one lifetime."
Brother Grimm only smiled coldly and said, "So long as the fool saves the last dance for me. It has always been my fondest pleasure to corrupt these paragons of virtue. This one will be no difference." Then the smile all but vanished and his eyes grew cold. "But forget young Timothy? What of his protectors?"
Baba Yaga glanced up at him from her knitting and said simply, "Leave them to me."
The door to the upstairs room opened with a subtle creaking, the aged wood and hinges coming into conflict. Before she could be settled, this was the one room that Belladonna had to see. The one memory she had to force herself to confront.
Her eyes remained closed as she drew in breath after breath as she set foot into the unchanged room of her daughter's nursery, her hands gliding along the walls to steady herself. Finally, taking one last, deep breath, she opened her eyes -- and gasped.
That figure cloaked in shadow stood over the crib as her ears heard the cries of her baby girl, not even a full year old. She stood, paralyzed, as the figure reached into the crib and picked the crying baby up and turned around, and she found herself staring into those cold, amber eyes brimming with evil...
She shook her head, then opened her eyes again and found the nursery abandoned. Dark and as with the rest of the house, neglected these long months being away. She wiped the tear from her eye as she stepped further into the room, the lights untouched, and looked around; to the mobile that hung over the crib, to the pastel colored wallpaper Michael had hung himself. Her eyes then fell to the floor of the crib, and blinked as she watched the small droplets of blood drip from where her daughter slept, to the hard wood below it.
She looked back up and ... smiled.