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    Katya Dee
  • Author
  • 1,140 Words
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

The First Lock - 29. Part 3, chapter 2

- II -


The blonde – Roxanne – wasn’t lying about the spell. Katrena could move again in ten minutes, and when she regained control, her first instinct was to phone Brent immediately. She almost did, but at the last second, she stopped and looked at the receiver in her hand. She will call him and say what, exactly? “Brent, a revenge-thirsty bitch from another world kidnapped Damien and is going to kill him in two-and-a-half days”? Oh, and then she would have to say something like, “She is dangerous because she can use magic, and she’ll probably kill you or anyone else for that matter with a lightning bolt the minute she realizes you are after her”? Yeah, that’ll fly...

She blindly stared at the phone, and then threw it across the room. The phone hit the wall and bounced off, falling onto the floor in several black broken pieces. She stood in the middle of the living room, breathing fast, trying to think. Then she started to pace around, her fists tightly clenched, teeth locked on her lower lip.

“Think, think, think goddammit! Son of a bitch, think!!”

She did. She thought until her head was about to explode. She screamed obscenities into the emptiness of the house; threw incredible threats and promises at no one in particular; she even asked for help from this world’s divinity – a thing she hadn’t done before. She could come up with nothing. She knew that even if somehow, she managed to figure out where that bitch took Damien, it wouldn't do her any good. Simply because Katrena was no match for her. Never mind the fact that she could knock that blonde out with a mere touch -- she would never get a chance to get that close to her. If she weren’t Locked, this wouldn’t even be a problem. The blonde bitch would be screaming in agony for the rest of her very short and extremely painful life. However, she was Locked, so that was out of the question.

She looked at the clock. 2:30. Today was August 31. That left her with two-and-a-half days. Two-and-a-half days before they find Damien’s mutilated (she was sure of that) body. “I can’t lose him,” she thought hazily. “God, I can’t lose him... Not Damien, please... I can’t lose him...”

“I can’t fucking lose him!!” she screamed and threw a table lamp into the wall.

Suddenly, she was hit by a huge wave of fear and panic, and she immediately knew those were not her emotions. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.

“Come on, Damien...” she muttered through her clenched teeth. “Come on, talk to me, kid!”

“Mom!!” she heard screaming in her head. “Mom, get me out of here! I can’t do anything! She figured that I was trying to make her let me go, and she hurt me! She hurt me so bad! Mom, please!”

“Where are you?” she said loudly. “Goddammit, Damien, where are you?”


Suddenly, the screaming stopped, as if someone turned off the switch, and fear and panic were gone.

“Fuck!” Katrena screamed.

She slammed her hands into the wall, without noticing the pain it caused. She did it again, cursing and crying, and beating the crap out of that wall. Finally, she slid on the floor and pressed her forehead against the leg of the small table. She sat there for almost an hour, eyes closed, tears dropping onto the carpeted floor. Finally, she opened her eyes and blindly stared into nothing. She concentrated on her head, on the invisible blue circle that was hugging it with phantom pressure. She knew it was useless – nobody could break all three Locks – but it was the only thing left.

She visualized that circle glimmering softly with pulsating blue light. She visualized it to the point that it was almost something material. She slowly scanned that headband, looking for a weak point, a glitch, a crack – anything, really. The damn thing was as smooth as it could possibly get. No weak spots there, she thought numbly. She pushed her will against that headband and felt like she was trying to break through a brick wall. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Try again,” she thought, and it was Jett’s voice saying it. “Try again, Kat... Come on... Keep hitting the same spot, don’t try to make the whole thing to explode - it will only exhaust you. Hit one single spot, come on...”

She concentrated harder. One single spot, she would only hit one single spot. The one right between her eyes. The same spot Miller’s bullet hit Paul three years ago. Blow a hole in there, she thought, her temples throbbing with dark pain. If she managed to at least crack the bloody thing, it would get easier. She imagined firing a gun into that headband, immediately seeing Paul again. Lying on that table, looking as if he was asleep, an accurate, round hole in the middle of his forehead... She groaned and squeezed her eyes tightly.

Her mind is a gun and her will is a bullet. Raise, aim, shoot... Nothing. Not even a shudder. Try again then. Raise, aim, shoot. Hit the same spot, don’t miss it. Just keep hitting the same spot. Right there... Raise, aim, shoot.

Paul’s face, his eyes closed, dry blood around the bullet hole...

Raise, aim, shoot.

The funeral, she is standing frozen next to his grave until dawn, ignoring unexpected rain...

Raise, aim, shoot.

Miller’s face after they were done with him... Not a face anymore, really. A death mask...

Raise, aim, shoot.

Jett’s eyes after their first time together in that alley...

Raise, aim, shoot.

I want to be with him... I don’t want to leave him... Don’t leave me...”

Raise, aim, shoot.

“When someone you love gets hurt, it hurts a hell of a lot more than your own pain...”

Raise, aim, shoot.

“Mom, get me out of here!”

Raise, aim, shoot.

“She hurt me so bad... Mom, please!”

Raise, aim, shoot.


Raise, aim, shoot.

“I am not going to hurt you... I am going to hurt him...”

She screamed and fired at that headband nonstop, without even bothering to reload. These bullets were endless; the supply was infinite. Until she killed herself with the effort, that was. The headache wasn’t even a headache by now -- it was a flaming, throbbing, skull-splitting bitch from hell. She ignored it; in fact, she almost enjoyed it. Suddenly, the image of Julian popped up in her boiling (“Raise, aim, shoot”) mind. The image of him in that small bookstore after his own spell bounced off onto him.

“Thank you...” the image whispered, and then something exploded with cold blue brilliancy, and the world disappeared into black abyss.

©Katya Dee; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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