Fandom: Evil
Rating: E
Pairing: Kristen/George
Summary: Reeling after LeRoux’s death, Kristen finds she might be falling apart faster than a looming threat can overtake humanity.
Staring into the mirror, Kristen Bouchard swallowed against the breath that caught in her throat.
She’d had no choice – no choice, whatsoever. The police wouldn’t believe her. Even now, a surge of anger momentarily distracted her from the stinging on her palm, as memories surfaced of how Orson LeRoux had succeeded in convincing an actual detective that Kristen was the dangerous one.
She struggled to control her breathing, nausea overtaking her gut. She could do this…Laura’s surgery had turned out fine, Lexis would be fine, too. That blood coming from her mouth had been a dream, nothing more…
For some reason, her brain chose that moment to assault her with an image of Leland’s sneering face, an expression that screamed his enjoyment in seeing her suffer. That smug look stung more than all the times she had fallen while climbing...what made her really want to scream was how he had even been allowed to keep his fraudulent position despite the incriminating conversation that was played in court - not to mention the ability to somehow remove his voice from the recording he hadn’t even known was taking place.
No, Christ, get it together! She was not losing it. She would find Andy and David, starting tomorrow. She would talk it out, she just had to talk it out. Anything to not be alone with these goddamn thoughts…
Her timer going off on the bureau permeated the silence, as she somehow managed not to jump. Hurrying over to shut off the watch, she wracked her memory for why she had set the timer.
“Damn it, what was I supposed to…”
Trailing off, she froze at the sight of the swirling numerals on the small watch face. She failed to bite back the unbidden snigger of disbelief that escaped her at the ironic similarity to Dali’s famous piece, Persistence of Memory. The melting clocks. She imagined David would see her dream test as a fun trial to test his “visions”…while Ben would likely tell them both to quit playing games.
Any time now, she’d surely wake up. Placing the watch on the bureau, Kristen bit her lower lip at the tiny sliver of motion that reflected across the watch’s surface. No sudden movements. She could deal with whatever this stupid nightmare threw at her.
Blinking, she realized all too soon how wrong she was. In less than a second, she had moved from standing by the bureau next to the doorway to sitting on the bed. The sun had set far enough below the horizon that she suspected the stars might be coming out beyond the window. Overhead, the roar of the train sounded oddly distant. How much time had passed?
Breathing as quietly as possible, Kristen surveyed the shadowy room. Her chest fell at the slither of movement emerging from behind the bedroom lamppost.
This thing again. Just when had she even managed to fall asleep? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered a subtle, musky scent.
“I’ll keep my distance for the moment.” That mock transatlantic accent hit her ears, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Not in the mood for scissors.”
The words tumbled forth before Kristen could stop them. “What about your knife? How many times are you going to try to kill me before you realize you can’t touch me?”
“It’s true.” The thing called George inclined its head, stopping at the foot of the bed. “I can’t touch you with violence. You, on the other hand, seem to have quite the knack for it. Truly fascinating.”
Kristen frowned, realizing she could still move – if to a limited extent. Maybe if she screamed, it would wake her up? Or the girls or Andy would wake her up?
Glancing around, she spoke again. “My husband’s going to hear me talking in my sleep. He’ll wake me up.”
The thing grinned briefly at her. “Yes, Andy. Does Andy know about David?”
Kristen rolled her eyes. “He knows about everything, it’s called communication.”
Those amber eyes offset by black leathery skin trained for a split second on what appeared to be her knees before rising to settle on her dark gaze. “But not me?”
“We all dream weird crap.” She shifted the small amount this dream haze allowed, suddenly realizing her skin was itching. Or heating up, she couldn’t tell.
George hummed, a strangely soothing sound. God, was she sick of being stuck in her own head.
“Look, I said it before, I don’t know what you want. We both know you can’t hurt me, you can’t even affect the physical worl—“
Her words cut off at a blur, as she glanced up to see George suddenly standing on the left side of the bed.
“I could be like that human, LeRoux.” His tone rung with a low acerbity she hadn’t heard before. “And force the situation…or we could have some fun.”
Kristen’s hands shot up to her neck, as the heat and itching surged ten-fold, encasing her entire upper body in invisible flames. “What the hell are you doing?”
That grisly grin both irked her and pissed her off all at once. “This is all you, Kristen. You beat yourself up over something you knew you had to do. Over thoughts that are entirely natural - the desire to have some time to yourself away from family responsibility, the attraction to a coworker...What if that’s all your hell is…what you do to yourself.”
“What the f—“ She stopped short, as he moved once again, this time re-appearing before she could blink as a lump beneath the duvet.
Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to keep quiet despite the emerging paralysis. Within seconds, tears welled in her eyes.
Shutting her eyes tight, she blocked out all thoughts of the thing on the bed with her and reminded herself that this was her dream. To wake up, she had to cool down. She had to make the burning stop. Ripping at her top, she gasped at the relief of the cold air on her smarting shoulders. Drawing her knees to her chest, she had her slacks off in seconds…
Okay, right. She just had to take deep breaths and focus on the change in temperature. Jolt herself awake. Ignore everything else…
“Did the scar frighten Andy at first? I understand they cut along the same line every time – did you have all of your girls this way?”
At the sound of that voice, the burning returned with a vengeance, the unseen wildfire lighting a path that began with the branded cross on her hand.
“Just say it!” Kristen heard her voice shout, as flashes of Orson’s shocked face splattered with blood flitted across her mind's eye, brain feeling like it was unraveling by the second. “Scarred, dirty, maybe I am now. But don’t you ever, ever bring my children into this, you disgust—“
Her mind barely had time to register the tickle of her panties pulled to the side before her limbs convulsed at the sensation of something wet prod at her center.
Kristen once again shut her eyes. Her teeth came down so hard on her lower lip she tasted copper. Still, no sound of her girls’ voices calling for her to wake up. Nor Andy.
Maybe she truly was doing this to herself. Well, damn anyone who tried to convince her that killing to protect her loved ones was wrong. Eric’s mother had killed her son…Kristen killing someone who had already murdered to save her own was no different.
Did they both deserve to burn? Speaking of, Kristen’s limbs suddenly relaxed as she allowed her senses to register the lack of burning. Not a moment later, her relief faded at the realization that the – she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge that it was probably a tongue – still played at her core.
In the next second, her brain betrayed her – admitting to the fact that, compared to the fire from minutes earlier or the threat of severed digits and stab wounds, the languid tingle between her thighs could be worse.
Well, this was a dream. May as well wait it out and not give in to…
She couldn’t help her sharp inhale, as tepid fingers crept along her left breast, while another hand grasped her hip. Screwing her eyes shut tighter yet again, she refused to risk seeing what was causing those delectable sensations down below. The same pink muscle she had witnessed lick the blood from her severed fingers.
Perhaps primarily because she could already feel a tension coiling in her belly, as that maddening swirling at her center picked up the pace. Well, if this was truly her dream, may as well take it the hell back.
“Why do you have a saint’s name?” She wondered aloud, moments before gripping the sheets in her fists to keep from keening at the novel sensation that could have been a feather-light stream flowing lazily along the lips of her entrance, so much slower and yet just as infuriatingly delicious as the undulations from moments earlier.
“You tell me.” Came the gruff and only slightly muffled reply.
Already at a loss for a witty response, Kristen once again bit her lip at the sudden flick against that apex of nerves above her opening. Unable to mask the cry into less than a whine, she blinked away the tears that flowed forth moments later. Humiliation or relief, she couldn’t tell. Likely both. She barely had time to draw another breath before the unthinkable presence buried between her thighs began vibrating, sending her over the edge yet again as she recalled the similar vibrations that had accompanied her attacking the creature with the scissors...
“Kristen, what the hell?” Andy's voice along with the creak of the bedroom door opening brought her back to the present faster than lightning.
“It’s – it’s okay…” she managed before realizing that her center still pulsated, glancing frantically to the side to avoid the harsh light from the hallway.
Her chest fell, as the numbers on Andy’s bedside clock swam into focus through her tears. Once blurry only because her eyes watered, not because she was dreaming. Suddenly, her muscles felt like molten led, heavier and more drained than she ever recalled experiencing, even after the toughest climb.
Meanwhile, the sticky river between her legs flowed uninterrupted.
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