Chapter 11: A Key
Monica leaned against the door to her small bedroom; she was trembling with rage.
Pierce was going to pay. She looked down at her shoulder, and ran her fingers over the scars, remembering it all. It had happened on the day that her mother died.
"Daddy…why?" Monica sobbed. Her father turned, and growled at her; blood dripping from his fangs. He came closer, and closer; her heart began to beat so fast that Monica was sure it was about to rip out of her chest. Rearing back on his hind legs, her father got ready to strike. Monica let out a blood-chilling scream, and then the claws dug into her flesh. She watched in horror as blood began to flow out of her. Shuddering, she collapsed.
When she'd awakened, she found herself lying on her bed, instead of the floor in the main room. She had rushed out, hoping that it had all been a nightmare, but no…her mother was gone, and she was going to have all kinds of scars to deal with.
Monica jerked back to the present; someone was knocking on the door.
Stumbling over to it, she opened it. Lupin was there.
"What do you want?" she asked in a raspy voice.
"Monica?" Lupin said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, struggling to put the edge back into her voice.
"Stupid Pierce, he's unnerved me." she thought, mentally cursing him.
"How was the full moon for you?" Lupin asked.
"Can you just get to the point of your visit?" Monica asked; she hated jargon.
Lupin sighed, shaking his head; "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I know this must be hard for you."
She glared, "How touching," she snarled. "Really though Mr. Lupin, I'm fine. Now leave, before my father gets here."
Lupin nodded, turning to go, but then he stopped. "Be careful Monica; the Order really needs you."
"Oh, don't worry." Monica said, her voice dripping with fury. "I'll make sure to die after the war is over." Then she shut the door. "Stupid git," she muttered, and then she sighed.
It really was nice of Lupin to care, but Monica didn't need people worrying over her. Only one person was allowed to do that, and she was long gone.
A half hour later, the door creaked open, and her father stumbled in; he reeked of fire-whisky.
"Morning, love." he muttered in Monica's direction.
"Good morning, Father." she said in a hard tone.
"Come 'ere," he slurred. "Got something for you."
"What is it?" Monica asked, coming a few steps closer. Whatever it was, she really didn't care, but for the sake of the mission, she had to act like she did.
"Hold out your 'and," he said, and Monica obeyed. Fenrir dropped a key in her hand.
"A key?" Monica questioned.
"It's what the key opens that's important." Fenrir answered. "Go get that small chest off the top of my dresser."
"Yes Father." Monica replied.
When she walked into her father's room, her nose wrinkled in disgust. The place was filthy, and dust-laden. Tip-toeing through the grime, and empty bottles, she finally made it to the dresser. Tucking the chest under her arm, she carried it back to her father, who had collapsed in a kitchen chair.
"Open it." he commanded. Monica felt tears come to her eyes went the lid of the chest popped open; it was her mother's things.
"Why?" she asked.
"You'll soon be 18," Fenrir answered. "The time has come for you to have all that she left you."
"Thank you." Monica said, albeit grudgingly.
"You're welcome," Fenrir replied. Monica picked up the chest, and started to walk away. "And Monica,"
"Yes?" she asked.
"Stay away from Pierce, understand? I don't want to see you near that maniac."
"Don't worry, Father; you won't." she said, closing her bedroom door.
She walked over to her bed, and sitting down, began to sort through her mother's belongings. "When this is all said and done, you'll never see anyone again, Fenrir." she promised.
A/N: Sorry, this a bit of a filler chapter. School is keeping me so busy. Ugh! I'm going to do my best to get this story back on track soon though! Thanks for your patience! -Bre