After he'd killed her family, she'd run to an uncle. That family had died as well, and then a set of cousins. Angelus had been surprised when yet another cousin had taken her in, but her family's fortune had been incentive enough it seemed. After that family had screamed long enough to suit his needs, Angelus found Drusilla in the drawing room, backed up into a corner, holding a fire poker like a weapon. He swatted it out of her hands, toying with her the way a cat might toy with a mouse. "What's this now, the third nest you've found to hide yourself in since your sweet sisters died at my hands?" He shook his head slowly from side-to-side. "Haven't you learned yet that you can't hide from me? Who do you think will take you in this time?"

He waited to see if she would respond, but she kept her thoughts to herself. That wouldn't do; that wouldn't do at all. "No one," he told her. He squatted down across from her. "What do you think you'll have to do to survive the streets?"

"I'll die."

"Ah, but suicide's a sin. God will send you to Hell, or perhaps he already has." He looked at her as if he cared about her answer. "Do you remember killing yourself? Do you recall how it felt when God cast you down into the lake of fire?" When he brushed his hand down her neck, she gasped. "My fingers, do they feel like flames against your skin?"

Hours later, when he rose and left her there, Darla was waiting in the street. "What about her?" she asked in a bored voice.

"I want to see what she'll do next."

"They'll lock her away in Bedlam," Darla predicted, "and you'll never get near her again."

Angelus picked Darla up and swung her around. "No, my pretty one, that they won't do. She's strong, that one is. You'll see."

Darla, her feet firmly back on the ground, pushed him away. "Strong enough to escape you then."

All her resistance melted away as he crushed her to him. "No one's strong enough to escape me."