Chapter 34: 15.3 – Marry the Night ~ I’m not gonna cry anymore. I’m gonna marry the night. Leave nothing on these streets to explore!

*Marry the Night by Lady Gaga

 

The first thing Sara could feel was rusty dirt along her body when she woke up. She slowly gazed her eyes opened to the brown sky that gave off a muddy smell. She blinked a few times, feeling some grain in her eyelashes. She gazed her eyes open and rubbed them. She pushed herself up, feeling her body caked in dirt. She stood up and brushed off all the dirt from her clothing and then her hair.

Sara looked around the ashen world in front of her. Everything she saw was dried blood or blood seeping everywhere on the ground and the air was covered in dust and she coughed hard. She could smell iron in the air and the smell of corpses that hung in the atmosphere.

She gave a few timid steps forward, hugging herself tightly, feeling her usual luscious hair now into a greasy lump as it fell to the side of her shoulder, “Hello?” she called out shakily, her voice echoing emptily for miles. “Is anyone here?”

She gazed down at the ragged cloak that she wore for comfort. But now, she felt like she was wearing something heavy on her body, like amour. She remembered she used to dress up in her father’s armor when she was little and she felt the same heaviness.

But the more she thought of what she was wearing, the heavier it got. She yanked off her cloak, feeling it tightening around her throat and she stared down at her new clothing that was not her father’s amour.

She heard whispers through the air all at once of crying, screaming, begging, choking sounds, and sweet words, all in her head. Felt like someone turned up the radio way too loud and multiple of them at the same time.

She grabbed her head and realized that she was wearing a tight tank top that covered her breasts heavily. An iron skirt that weighed her walking down. She shook her head and knew this had to be some kind of sick dream. She tried to pry her clothing off. The tank top and skirt fell and she grabbed her cloak, looking around if anyone was there. “Dad?” Her voice croaked as her heart started to race inside of her. Her eyes darted around afraid “Dad!” She cried out. “Help.”

Dust formed around her like fog and footsteps walked softly in the dirt, “Sara?”

Sara looked up at Michael, his soft eyes gazing at her, “Dad!” She ran to him, holding her cloak tightly around her. She saw him open his hand out and greet her as she hugged him, “Where am I?” Sara felt like she had been here countless times, but couldn’t remember a single thing when she was here.

Michael’s hands stroked delicately down her hair and her spine, “You are so thin, sweetie.”

“Dad,” she said, nudging her face to him, feeling his warm body shed her from the coldness, “Where are we?”

Michael then gazed at her coldly, “Where I want you to be.”

Sara looked at him confusedly just in time to see him raise a knife to her. She gasped and tried to take a step back, but his arm clutched her and he let the blade plunge into her back, where her beating heart was.

She stared at him as she felt pain erupt inside of her and she fell to her knees, “Dad!” She sobbed, “Why?” She could feel her wound getting quickly infected from the disgusting dust air. Blood ran down her back and floated down her back. She shivered as it hit the nerves of her spine, “Why?” she repeated in a heartbreaking cry.

Michael squatted down and faced her with a sinister smile, “You think I actually loved you?”

He raised the knife and slammed it down her chest…

 

Sara jerked her eyes open into her cooled bedroom. She felt coldness in her bed and yanked up to only feel that it was her sweat covering her, and not blood. She patted herself down, not feeling any stab wounds, just her dread filling the room.

She buried her face in her hand, her long hair covering her face as she did so. She hated having that kind of dream of her father murdering her. It was nonstop and the worst nightmares she could have. Those dreams always seemed so real at the time. She rubbed her eyes almost feeling the dust particles in them. Her legs ached and she felt herself be weighed down by something.

She pulled the three-layered blankets she always slept under and revealed cuffs on both of her legs, chains holding them together. She gave a surprised shriek and then stared down at her clothing that wore a heavy tank top and mini skirt. They were the color of gold and so were the cuffs. She tried to lift her hands to her feet, but now saw cuffs on them that weren’t there seconds before. The chains linked the cuffs both together and all the weight she felt was slammed into her all of a sudden and made her unbalanced. She slid to the floor with a heavy thump.

“Help!” She screamed out. She looked around and felt her neck be restricted by a throat chain nearly choking her.

Now she remembered. This was the punishment she got when she didn’t kill her father.

Sal stepped forward with a glow of pairs of red eyes piercing through the dark room, “You could’ve killed him, but instead, you let him kill you.” He shook his head as he saw her scared expression face him. He smiled, “You look so beautiful chained up.” He touched the chains that wrapped around her, making her flinch “If only you would listen to me, I wouldn’t have to do this to you.”

Sara hissed between her teeth, “No matter how many times you put a trail on me, I will never kill my father.” She shook her body around, seeing if somehow the chains would disappear or loosen. Instead, they choked on her tighter.

“Tsk,” sighed Sal, “The more you fight me, the harder it will be.” He knelt down and faced her, tears coming into Sara’s eyes, “Just like in real life. The more you try to think I’m fake or just some kind of made-up fantasy in your head.” He poked at her head, “I’m real and you know it. The more you deny my existence, you think being tied up like this is hard? Metaphorically, outside your dreams, it will feel like your soul belongs to me the more you fight me.”

“Stop, please,” begged Sara, feeling a burn on each steel chain the more she fought against him mentally and physically on the chains.

He smirked at her and he did feel bad for Sara. But he had no choice. He tried so hard to get her to understand how much he cared for her, how much he loved her, but it wasn’t enough to please Sara. So he would have to try this method or the caring method. He would find out what would work better.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” sniffed Sara. She almost would do anything to stop what she was going through. But it had to be her burden and hers only. She didn’t want to hurt anyone else. She wished she had never asked Timothy to help her. “Sal...I’m begging you. I’m sorry.”

Sal turned to her and smile gently, ‘That’s more like it.” He snapped his fingers and the chains and her outfit disappeared as fast as they appeared. She was afraid in the next split second she would be naked, but she was clothed in her pajamas, “Sara,” he cooed and sat next to her, “I hate to keep doing this to you. But if you do what I want, I wouldn’t have to make you suffer like this.”

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Sara glared at him, her eyes pink, “What you want me to do then?”

Sal inhaled her lavender and coconut scent like a wolf, “You know what I want you to do. Kill your father in your dreams. Easy.”

And if she did that...killed her father in those dreams he made for her—and he could move on to the next step.

Sara sighed, curling up into a ball. She didn’t want to kill her father, but during those dreams, he wasn’t even real and she so badly wanted to stop this suffering.

Sal grinned: “That’s more like it,” as Sara remember he could read her thoughts.

***

Sara groaned as she flattered her eyes opened. As she became more awake, her body felt stiff as she knew she slept well. She stretched out her arms, starting to remember her dreams in pieces. She closed her eyes and grumbled. God, she felt so weak every time she cried and bitched in her dreams to Sal.

It just felt damn unfair.

Even waking up from her dream, being chained up like some victim, she had some guilt inside of her that she didn’t know why was there.

It scared her though. Even though she thought Sal was some illusion in her head, it frightened her. She felt the urge to use the bathroom and slipped out of her bed, afraid that the cuffs and chains might magically weigh her down; but they didn’t.

She gracefully went to the bathroom, seeing the stars booming brightly in the sky. She flickered on her night light and saw her back and chest throbbing. She pulled down her shirt, seeing a slight bruising where her heart was. She quickly turned and looked back at the mirror on her back, seeing an uglier bruise. She let her shirt fall back down, ignoring those bruises which she got many times the week.

She chugged down water from a cup and felt lightheaded. She drank some more water and glided back to her bed, not even turning off her night light, feeling tired. She stopped as she saw Sal messing with her phone, “What are you doing?”

“Playing a game,” he answered, “Words with Friends or whatever you have.”

Sara sighed and was too weary to even bicker with him. She went to her bed, “I haven’t played that game in like a few months now.”

Sal grinned, “I played over two hundred points now.”

“Who are you playing with?”

“Some random dude online,” he placed her phone down as she tucked herself in, “You want me to put some ice on your bruises?”

Sara winced as she heard what he said and clutched her teeth, “I’m good,” she finally replied.

Sal stroked a strand of hair out of her face, “You know, your blood keeps me alive.”

Sara’s memory went to Michael stabbing her over and over again. She shuddered, “You trying to play my father? Killing me? You think that’s so funny?”

Sal gave her a daunting look, but she couldn’t see in the darkness, “Sara, without your blood, I would die.”

“Maybe I should die then,” Sara said, aggravated without much thought.

Sal froze in his thinking for a minute and said, “Sara, don’t ever kill yourself.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, “You’re too special for that.”

Sara rolled her eyes and flipped her back on him, “Whatever.” For a few seconds beat, silence hung in the air and Sara asked, “By the way, what time is it?”

“One minute after twelve,” responded Sal and laid down on her bed. The bright moon glistened on the tip of Sal's pointy horns, creating a shine to them.

Sara didn’t want to take his word for granted and turned around, facing him, but peeled her eyes to her clock that read what Sal said. She felt like today—that barely started—was supposed to be something big.

Thomas Pitch is going to die...but what else? Michael had told her and Kate as they headed back to the headquarters. She hoped that Pitch could have some redemption from her father, but she knew better. He didn’t do anything during those years he freed himself. Her words of asking her father to give Pitch a second chance at the video, made her feel childish. He was dangerous...so was she. He had hurt people...so had she accidentally. Expect, she got those chances because she was Michael’s daughter; Pitch with no title—besides being the most powerful warlock— did not.

But besides that, today was something I was looking forward to. What was it? Her mind grated at her.

Sal read her thoughts and clarified, “Happy birthday, Sara.”

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