The Return: Shadow Souls

she could into the words she sent.

Still no response from Damon, but she was floating now, down into darkness. And that gave her the vague thread of an idea.

Where are you? Are you here? she called, picturing the little boy.

And then she saw him, chained to his boulder, curled up in a ball, with his fists covering his eyes.

What’s wrong? Elena asked immediately, floating near to him, concerned.

He’s hurting! He’s hurting!

Are you hurt? Show me, Elena said instantly.

No! He’s hurting you. He could kill you!

Husshh. Husshhh. She tried to cradle him.

We have to make him hear us!

All right, Elena said. She really was feeling odd and weak. But she turned, along with the child, and cried voicelessly: Damon! Please! Elena says stop!

And a miracle happened.

Both she and the child could feel it. The little sting of fangs being withdrawn. The stop of energy flow from Elena to Damon.

And then, ironically, the miracle began to take her away from the child, with whom she really wanted to speak.

No! Wait! she tried to tell Damon, clinging to the child’s hands as hard as she could, but she was being catapulted back to consciousness as if by a hurricane. The darkness faded. In its place was a room, too bright, its one candle blazing like a police searchlight aimed directly at her. She shut her eyes and felt the warmth and heaviness of the corporeal Damon in her arms.

“I’m sorry! Elena, can you speak? I didn’t realize how much—” There was something wrong with Damon’s voice. Then she understood. Damon’s fangs were unretracted.

Wha—? Everything was wrong. They’d been so happy, but — but now her right arm felt wet.

Elena pulled away from Damon entirely, staring at her arms, which were red and with something that wasn’t paint.

She was still too worked up to ask questions properly. She slipped behind Damon and pulled his black leather jacket off him. In the brilliant light she could see his black silk shirt marred by line after line of dried, partially dried, or just plain wet blood.

“Damon!” Her first reaction was horror without a touch of guilt or understanding. “What happened? Did you get in a fight? Damon, tell me!”

And then something in her mind presented her with a number. Since she had been a child, she had been able to count. In fact. she’d learned to count to ten before her first birthday. Therefore, she’d had seventeen full years of learning to count the number of irregular, deep, still-bleeding cuts in Damon’s back.

Ten.

Elena looked down at her own bloody arms and at the goddess dress, which was now the horror dress because its pure milky whiteness was marred with brilliant red.

Red that should have been her blood. Red that must have felt like sword slashes into Damon’s back as he channeled the pain and the marks of the Night of her Discipline from her to him.

And he carried me all the way home. The thought came swimming in from nowhere. Without a word about it. I would never have known….

And he still hasn’t healed. Will he ever heal?

That was when she started screaming on all frequencies.

29

Someone was trying to make her drink out of a glass. Elena’s sense of smell was so acute that she could taste what was in the glass already — Black Magic wine. And she didn’t want that! No! She spat it out. They couldn’t make her drink.

“Mon enfant, it is for your own good. Now, drink it.” Elena turned her head away. She felt the darkness and the hurricane rushing up to take her. Yes. That was better. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

In the very deepest trenches of communication, a little boy was with her in the dark. She remembered him, but not his name. She held out her arms and he came into them and it seemed that his chains were lighter than they had been…when? Before. That was all she could remember.

Are you all right? she whispered to the child. Down here, deep in the heart of communion, a whisper was a shout.

Don’t cry. No tears, he begged her, but the words reminded her of something she couldn’t bear to think of, and she put her fingers to his lips, gently silencing him.

Too loud, a voice from Outside came rumbling in. “So, mon enfant, you have decided to become un vampire encore une fois.”

Is that what is happening? she whispered to the child. Am I dying again? To become a vampire?

I don’t know! the child cried. I don’t know anything. He’s angry. I’m afraid.

Sage won’t hurt you, she promised. He’s already a vampire, and your friend.

Not Sage…

Then who are you afraid of?

If you die again, I’ll be wrapped in chains all over. The child showed her a pitiable picture of himself covered by coil after coil of heavy chains. In his mouth, gagging him. Pinning his arms to his sides and his legs to the ball. Moreover, the chains were spiked so that everywhere they dug into the child’s soft flesh, blood flowed.

Who would do such a thing? Elena cried. I’ll make him wish he’d never been born. Tell me who’s going to do this!

The child’s face was sad and perplexed. I will, he said sadly. He will. He/I. Damon. Because we’ll have killed you.

But if it’s not his fault…

We have to. We have to. But maybe I’ll die, the doctor says… There was a definite lilt of hope in the last sentence.

It decided Elena. If Damon was not thinking clearly, then maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly, she reasoned out slowly. Maybe…maybe she should do what Sage wanted.

And Dr. Meggar. She could discern his voice as if through a thick fog. “—sake, you’ve been working all night. Give someone else a chance.”

Yes…all night. Elena had not wanted to wake up again, and she had a powerful will.

“Maybe switch sides?” someone — a girl — a young girl — was suggesting. Little in voice, but strong-willed, too. Bonnie.

“Elena…It’s Meredith. Can you feel me holding your hand?” A pause, then very much louder, excitedly, “Hey, she squeezed my hand! Did you see? Sage, tell Damon to get in here quick.”

Drifting…

“…drink a little more, Elena? I know, I know, you’re sick of it. But drink un peu for my sake, will you?”

Drifting…

“Tres bon, mon enfant! Maintenant, what about a little milk? Damon believes you can stay human if you drink some milk.”

Elena had two thoughts about this. One was that if she drank any more of anything, she might explode. Another was that she wasn’t going to make any foolish promises.

She tried to speak but it came out in a thread of a whisper. “Tell Damon — I won’t come up unless he lets