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Bad Moon Rising	By : Khaleesi-Of-Dragons Category: M through R > Raven, The (2012) > Raven, The (2012) Views: 1304 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Raven and I make no profit from this story

Chapter List
- 1-Bad Moon Rising
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-Epilogue
- 2
- 3
- 4
The baby girl without a chance

A victim of the circumstance

The one who oughta give up

But she's just too hard headed

A single mom who works two jobs

Who loves her kids and never stops

With gentle hands and a heart of a fighter

I'm a survivor

I'm a Survivor-Reba McEntire

Blake
I frown at the little girl sitting across from me, her constant sneering getting on my nerves quickly. She was only nine, for Christ's sakes, she shouldn't even know how to sneer! "What is your name," I ask, not taking my eyes off the annoying creature. She crosses her arms; looking exactly like a younger, stubborn Sarah. "Answer me or I'll personally remove your pinky from your right hand."
"Elizabeth," she mutters, sitting on her fingers as if to protect them. "Where are we going?" I smirk, looking out the coach window at the dull Baltimore landscape. I prefer the country to cities—it's quieter and less claustrophobic. "Answer me or say goodbye to your pinky." Her tone was mocking, but her eyes shone with fury. She had her mother's temper and her father's bravery; I'll have to fix that while she's staying with me. "My daddy's gonna make you sorry."
"I'd love to see him try," I tell her darkly," I want him to put up a fight before I make him watch everyone he loves slaughtered." Her hazel eyes widen slightly in fear, beginning to shake. "Your father isn't invincible, Elizabeth; you'll see that in the end." Gulping, she lowers her head and looks down at her bare feet. She's lucky to have her robe because Raphael wouldn't have given her the chance otherwise. His methods would disgust most people, but the assassin usually gets the job done well enough.
"Why do you want me and my mommy?" It was an innocent question, asked hesitantly as if she didn't really want to know the answer.
"The kidnapping of Sarah will break Emmett, and by having you I can control your charming mother through fear." The girl wriggles slightly, obviously growing uncomfortable under my intimidating gaze. I smirk, looking out the window again at the dark, stormy day that made everything look washed out and gray. "Perhaps I'll let your mother see you—let her know that you'll receive punishment if she misbehaves."
I lean back against the bed's headboard, ankles crossed and eyes narrowed as the little creature continues to squirm away from her guard. She ignored Jorge's warnings and touched everything she could get her grimy, little hands on. "Take the little monster out into the hallway—once you're sure Sarah has seen her take her to her room and lock it," I command lazily, turning my head to look out the glass doors. The storm has gotten worse, as though sensing Field's emotions.
"Yes, my lord," Jorge bows, roughly dragging the child out of the room and shutting the door behind him. We've been back for ten minutes; forced to wait to see Sarah until she finished bathing.Perhaps a few books would calm the woman's temper; I think to myself, then again, it could be used as a weapon. The room was beginning to cool rapidly, but if everything, but if everything goes as I planned I'll be warm soon enough.
"Elizabeth!"
"Mommy, let me go, Mommy!" There was a brief commotion in the hall before the door opened, Sarah was pushed inside, and the door slammed shut once more.
"Hello, Mrs. Fields."
Sarah
I glare at Blake, pulling my robe tighter around me. "How have you been today; treated well, I hope?" I don't answer him, moving to sit on the vanity chair instead. "Come now," he says with a fake pout," are you really going to make me talk about myself all night?" I don't get a chance to respond before he begins speaking again. "Well, let's see, I was born in London and spent three years in France and one in Italy; my father—"
"Lord Blake, please, for the love of God, shut that enormous mouth of yours." He glares at me, a predatory gleam entering his eyes that made fear cloud my mind—a fear I haven't felt since Emmett rescued me from Ivan. I remember his threat from my first night here about hurting my daughter if I didn't obey and instantly regret interrupting him. "Please, let Elizabeth go and I'll do whatever you want," I promise in a whisper. "I—I promise …." But I could tell my begging fell on deaf ears as he slowly got off the bed and began to advance on me. Self-preservation kicks in and I scramble to get up, knowing my door was unlocked, but only manage to trip halfway to my destination.
"That's enough," Blake snarls, grabbing my ankles and pulling me back towards him. "It's time you were taught a lesson in obedience!"
And suddenly I was back on the train with Ivan standing over me. I couldn't fight, he had me drugged; I couldn't scream, he had a gag in my mouth so as not to alert the other passengers of what was going on. "It's time you were taught a lesson in obedience!" He brings the belt down—the leather leaving red welts behind on my stomach … arms … thighs; wherever he knew would hurt the most. He's sadistic and took pleasure in my muffled screams; he continued to lash out until I couldn't scream anymore. "Maybe now you'll behave as a lady should—I don't need you to embarrass me again."
I can't remember exactly what I did to get him so furious, but I do remember that, whatever it was, it was small and wouldn't bother normal people. Ivan isn't normal though, normal people wouldn't do the things he's done or plans to do. "P—please," I groan around the gag, eyes quickly filling with tears. Ivan pulls me into a sitting position by the front of my dress and backhands me. He didn't look displeased anymore; in fact, he seemed ecstatic. A cat playing with a mouse just before it grows bored and kills it.
"That's enough, Sarah," he chuckles, dropping his belt on the floor," hold real still—this is the perfect time to draw you, you're vulnerable." I've found his other drawings—he drew me naked most of the time, made me look on the brink of ecstasy. He drew them from memory with stolen utensils.
Blake picks something up off the bed—papers—and looks through them with interest, peering at whatever's on them for long moments before moving on to the next. He barely glances at me, but when he does his dark eyes are burning with lust. "Well, well, Mrs. Fields, this little present wasn't entirely expected." I wince as my bruised cheek begins to ache. "These are certainly nice; very detailed and realistic." He falls silent again, walking over to me, drops the papers on the floor beside me, and walks out of the room—locking the door behind him. The papers had detailed drawings on them; drawings of a younger, naked me on the brink of ecstasy.
Emmett
I sigh, holding my wife's lock of hair in my fingers and hoping that it was the only part of her the kidnapper cut off. I was beginning to grow worried that I've not been contacted again in the past few days, especially since my daughter is now missing. Everything seemed to be falling apart around me and I can't find the person responsible! If it weren't for Emily I don't know if I could handle the inferno burning inside of me. Andrew and Edgar are terrified that they'll be taken in their sleep or murdered. It's all just ridiculous! People don't just disappear into thin air; I have men tearing Baltimore apart trying to find my girls. "Detective," Daniels says, poking his head into my office," we may have found something."
The place I'm taken to is a familiar one—my first real serial killer. The dark house's floor is scattered with trash and animal feces, the door had been kicked in, and the chimney had words painted in black across the bricks and an envelope taped just below the words. 'Life is a puzzle, Inspector, solve it and your wife's life will last a bit longer.' I grab the large envelope and tear it open; expecting another lock of hair or something worse, but not a drawing. Especially not a drawing of Sarah lying on an expensive carpet—left eye swollen, bottom lip bleeding profusely as well as various other parts of her body. The shift and thin robe she wears is torn in several places, revealing bright red welts on her skin. It looks as though Ivan has somehow risen from the dead and began his vicious beatings once more!
My hands clench into fists and I throw the drawing with a howl of rage. What kind of monster would do something like this to an innocent family? I didn't know of any that wasn't already cold in the ground and being eaten by worms. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I regain control of my emotions. "Daniels, try and figure out whom else was here before us and then report back to me."
"Yes, sir," Daniels nods, hurrying down the rickety staircase to talk to anyone who might have seen something. I look around me, remembering the horrible scene from nine years ago of a mother's neck being cut with a straight razor nearly to the point of decapitation and her young daughter strangled and shoved into the chimney. She and Sarah had similar features, I recall, rubbing my jaw and looking down at a bit of blood splatter; old, probably from one of the home's old occupants. How a man could enjoy killing innocents without feeling any remorse I'll never understand nor do I want to. Seeing such grizzly scenes is enough to make a strong man ready to break down, but to know that it could possible happen to my family makes me sick—as if somebody had just punched me in the stomach.
With a shudder, I leave the home to sit in the coach and wait on Daniels to finish up. I feel cold and shaky, not trusting my legs to keep me upright any longer. "The neighbors swear they didn't see anything," Daniels states before I could open my mouth to ask," But one man seemed to be out of place—someone named Blake, I believe." I nod, looking out the window and missing the cloaked figure standing just out of the shadows with a wicked grin on his face.
A/N: And there's a little glimpse into the mind of our newest psychopath.
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