Day 25: Dark Divinity

She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 25: Dark Divinity
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

Chapters: 25 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in April 2008.
Word Count: 2,685
Summary: A look into the home of author Rowan Bloodworth and his sister, Cheyenne, who have a very special connection to the curse of Heptamera.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series.
This chapter also contains fictional content based on the history of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.
Fanfic Challenges: Fits [info]50_darkfics Prompt #25 Destiny and [info]Coclaim100 Prompt #25 Truth.
Author's Notes: Just wanted to note that my character has the warm fuzzy feelings for the Nazi, not me. Cross-over with Supernatural.
Set pre-series for Supernatural, during Sam's years at Stanford.

        Approaching ten o'clock on the West coast, Rowan Bloodworth was already in his white satin pajamas, walking the grand hallway between his side of the house and his sister's in his bare feet. He passed one of the cleaning ladies on the way. "You're here pretty late, Rosalita."

        "I am just leaving, Mr. Bloodworth." The fifty-year-old woman gathered up her purse and coat.

        "Well, goodnight." Rowan absently thumbed through last Sunday's paper, which sat spread out on an endtable, underneath the big family picture on the wall.

        "Are you sure you don't need anything before I go?"

        "No, I'm fine."

        "Goodnight, Mr. Bloodworth." On her way out, Rosalita straightened a bowl of flowers sitting too close to the edge of a table.

        Rowan's personal assistant locked the door behind the maid and then turned in himself, exchanging more pleasantries with his boss on his way by. After scanning the newspaper a little longer, Rowan headed into his sister's wing of the sprawling mansion in northern California.

        Cheyenne sat in the large parlor closest to the main hallway. She looked up from her reading when Rowan entered. "Hey." Adjusting her reading glasses, Cheyenne returned her attention to the dog-eared pages of the paperback in her lap.

        "Hi. Have you seen my book?" he asked.

        Too distracted to look up, she muttered, "What book?"

        "What book do you think?" Rowan said in annoyance. "Do you think I'm talking about one of your romance novels with Fabio on the cover?"

        It was during these minor bicker fights that they most sounded like brother and sister. A great deal of the time, the distance between their respective living spaces in the house mirrored the emotional distance between them.

        "Oh, that book." Cheyenne gestured to a digest-sized book with a worn, black leather cover, sitting on the endtable beside her. "It's there."

        Her drink was sitting on top of it.

        Eyes wide, Rowan grabbed the drink and nearly slammed it down on the table. Small droplets of tea spilled over the side and plopped on the table and nearby arm of the couch. "You used it as a coaster? You used The Heptameradaemon Grimoire as a coaster?! Chey, are you quite mad?" He picked up the book and began to wipe off the water ring on the cover. "This thing is over two hundred years old."

        "Then you shouldn't have left it in here."

        "I didn't," Rowan protested. "Did you take it out of my room?"

        Cheyenne took a small chocolate out of a canister on the endtable and bit into it. "Why would I take your dusty old book?" She popped the other half of the chocolate into her mouth and licked her first two fingers while Rowan stood there, openly irritated, waiting for her explanation. "Rosalita probably moved it. You know how she feels about that stuff. 'It's a conjuring book. It's evil!'" Cheyenne waved her free hand in the air, imitating Rosalita's overwrought gesturing and accent.

        Although Rowan smiled lightly, he wasn't buying it. "Are you sure you weren't reading it?"

        "What use would I have for that book?" she asked, immersed in her paperback.

        He didn't answer at first, just reading her body language. Then Rowan cleared his throat and replied, "None, just thought maybe you were curious."

        "I can't even read Greek," Cheyenne added.

        Chuckling, Rowan said, "I didn't think of that." He looked at the old, crumbling book. "Remind me to have a talk with Rosalita tomorrow. This is a very valuable book. Alexandra Baptiste's hypomnemata about her rapport with her muse shouldn't be taken from its case and flung about the house."

        "Of course not." Cheyenne dug into the canister of chocolates again.

        "And you..." He pointed the book at her. " watch what you put your drinks on. We can afford real coasters, you know."

        "Oh gee, I forgot," she said sarcastically, and made a face at him.

        Shaking his head and chuckling, Rowan bent over to kiss his sister on the head. "Goodnight, Chey."

        "'Night, Rowan." Cheyenne smiled back pleasantly until he'd left the room. Then she stared off into space, no long so interested in her paperback, lost in thought. The look on her face was troubled and pained.

        It took Rowan a good minute and a half to walk back to his bedroom, on his side of the house. Along the way, he stopped to check the lock on every door he passed, but the distance was still considerable for a house mainly occupied by two people. Stopping only to lock his door behind him, Rowan headed for two identical bookcases against one wall, reached in to one of the shelves, and pulled at a book with a blue spine. There was a click. The bookcases began to slide apart on casters hidden in the floor. Between them, a steel vault door was revealed.

        Rowan punched a code into the keypad, then placed his hand on the scanner next to it. After his fingerprints had been scanned, a computerized voice said, "Welcome, Rowan," and the vault door slowly opened.

        Inside was the room Sam Winchester had dreamed about.

        Rowan closed the door after he had entered and picked up a Ziploc bag full of herbs from a nearby table, then walked over to a pedestal with a copper bowl on top of it. The large television in front of the wall ahead of him still broadcast the image of Samara's well with the countdowns descending in every corner. Sam had not allowed himself to look at these walls, but if he had, he would have noticed that there were more than paintings hanging on them. If he'd seen everything on those walls, he would have learned a lot.

        On the right wall hung a glass case purchased by Rowan and Cheyenne's mother many years before she died. The case held a black military jacket, the type worn by members of the Nazi SS forces, with the same medical corps insignia patches near the neck that Sam had noticed when he saw this jacket in his dream. A black military hat with the death's head insignia hung above it.

        The etched plaque under the jacket read:


        After consulting the book, Rowan carefully measured out several herbs, placed them in the bowl, and added some sea salt before setting the concoction on fire. A sea green flame danced inches above the bowl's rim. To finalize it, he went into a mini-fridge near the vault door and took out a plastic bag full of fresh fish guts; he tossed them into the flames. The fire climbed a bit higher. The fish began to sizzle loudly and smelled as if it was cooking.

        Placing his hands together before him as if in prayer, he said, "Great Heptameradaemon, Guardian of the Mediterranean Sea, grisly destroyer of your enemies, accept my offering, and appear before me now."

        The flame grew into a column of sea green energy that surrounded the bowl and the stand on which it stood. This misty column gave off the smell of stagnant water. It drifted a few feet from the bowl and transformed itself into the half-formed ghost of Alexandra Baptiste. She looked at Rowan with one eye, the other hidden by her hair. "I will speak for Heptamera at this time. Good evening, Rowan."

        He bowed his head to her out of respect. "Good evening, Alexandra. I don't mean to disturb you..."

        "It's alright, you aren't disturbing me." She looked upon him as a mother would look upon her beloved son.

        "I just wanted to know how things are going with reviving Samara's curse. As I understand it, she's been trapped in her well by Rachel Keller for a year, and Charlotte was recently able to let her out. A few days ago, this image appeared on my special TV." He gestured to the big screen television. "This is good news, isn't it?"

        Alexandra nodded. "Yes. Samara's curse has been revived. It will only be a matter of time before she's able to collect these souls, and become strong again."

        "That's good, very good." Glancing down, it was then that he noticed the footprints. Bare feet, bigger than his, had recently left perspiration prints on the marble floor. "Someone besides me has been in here."

        "We need to talk about that," Alexandra said. "I brought Sam Winchester in here. His astral body. I wanted him to understand what he's getting into."

        Rowan tensed up. "What happened?"

        "My girls are trying to get stronger. Revive dormant curses. Others have noticed. John and Dean Winchester will be alerted to these deaths," Alexandra began, pointing with one misty finger to the countdowns on the television, "and will start to hunt us. We are taking steps to discourage this before it begins. One of Samara's quarries is already dreaming about Dean Winchester as if he's some sort of savior. Her savior. I visited Sam Winchester in a dream of my own and unfortunately, it backfired a little. He's now building a file about the girls and me. For Dean."

        "You're afraid that the file might help Dean Winchester somehow?"

        "Well... we're being sure to plant many helpful clues. The older woman took the tape to a party -- we couldn't have planned that one better if we tried. Look at all those souls." She gazed with a pleased smirk at the countdowns on the television. "If even half of them are taken, it would be a good haul. If the Winchesters save the rest, why is that a bad thing? You know how they must be saved. Either way, we win.

        "No, what I'm worried about is that Sam is trying to help his brother. They must not be reunited. They must not hunt together again." Openly troubled, Alexandra looked at the painting, her painting, hanging on the opposite wall. For Quinn. Sam and Dean Winchester in profile, wielding guns, ready to go into battle with Heptamera's daughters. "Heptamera showed me this vision over 200 years ago. The people who would join together to end the curse of Heptamera forever. He told me to watch out for this. And right under my nose, they begin to come together. It's as if destiny is conspiring against us.

        "I'm not really afraid of the file. Let Dean Winchester know what we are capable of. If it doesn't scare him away, then we'll just give him more convincing. What I'm afraid of... is destiny."

        Rowan wished that she was flesh instead of ghost, so he could hold her and comfort her. Those ice blue eyes, the long black hair, even the features of her face... Alexandra looked like his dead mother. And why not?

        Ancestors and descendants often looked alike.

        "I understand why you're worried, Alexandra. But all we have to do is make sure the painting doesn't come true. Keep them apart." Rowan reached out and tried to stroke her hair. He thought he could feel it, soft under his fingers. "Sam Winchester doesn't want to hunt again. He wants to be normal."

        "But he does want to hunt. He's just denying it to himself. Sam's been reading your books about my art, and making copies of important passages. It could lead him to you."

        Laughing under his breath, Rowan shrugged and said, "So let him come. Technically, he's already been here. I'm not afraid. I don't believe that Sam would just up and leave college for this. He's happy there, making friends, studying for a promising career as a lawyer... his instincts may tell him to hunt, but that is only because his father raised him to do it." Swallowing hard, Rowan looked pained for a moment, obviously suppressing something unpleasant that came to mind. The memories rippled across his face, making his mouth twitch. "People can resist doing what they're parents teach them to do when it's not good for them."

        Wanting to comfort him, Alexandra reached out with a shadowy tendril and stroked his dark blond hair as he had hers. It felt like a cold wind to him. He leaned into it. "Maybe I am worrying too much," she said. "There is a girl Sam is interested in."

        Rowan seemed to think that was a promising sign. "Oh?"

        "Yes. If this girl becomes important to him, we may have nothing to worry about."

        He smiled gently at Alexandra. "You have my mother's touch."

        She smiled back, continuing to stroke Rowan's hair. "I know you miss her. And I know this is a subject you don't really like to discuss, but our numbers would be strengthened against the threat the Winchesters represent if... well, there is the matter of your sister."

        Rowan tensed up again. He almost moved away from the ghost. "The point is to end their suffering, not add to it."

        "The point is to make sure that everyone else suffers as much as they have. For us to have our revenge on humanity," Alexandra replied in an intense voice. "There is strength in numbers, Rowan."

        "I won't deliberately make Cheyenne suffer."

        "Everyone will suffer!" Alexandra hissed. "Even her. You know it's the truth, because of what she is. Cheyenne is a divine creation, born of mortal woman. It's a truth she will one day face. Maybe Cheyenne will prefer to do it our way."

        Then Rowan did turn from her, shaking his head. "She knows almost nothing about this. I'll keep it from her as long as I can. I'm sorry, but my sister can't join you at this time. It's too soon." He sighed heavily. "It's too soon."

        Alexandra, moving up behind him, stroked the back of Rowan's hair. "We will honor your wishes, for now. But you must face that there will come a time when Cheyenne will know. She may already know more than you think.

        "People like the Winchesters... they will see her as a monster. They may come for her one day."

        Quiet as he thought about that, Rowan's expression reflected the determination and anger that welled up in him at this possibility. He declared, "They'll have to go through me."


        Locking the door behind her, Cheyenne sat on her bed and brought out the pad of paper that she'd hidden from her brother when he came to visit her a little earlier. She looked over what she'd written down, then reached behind some books on the shelves built into her headboard and pulled out a hidden book. The book's title was Teach Yourself Greek.

        Soon, she had translated several sentences that she'd copied out of The Heptameradaemon Grimoire. She'd been doing this for months, swiping the book and writing down a few sentences (Greek wasn't an easy language to copy), and then translating them, alone in her room. Something inside told her that it wasn't just a book about myths. Cheyenne wasn't sure what to make of these new sentences, even after she'd read them five times over.

        There will be a daughter born in the late 20th century who will be named for a tribe of savages, and also cities, and she will see and project things for all to view, like the ones who came before her. Her bloodline has borne and will bear Heptamera several wives, as he savors the return. But the one who pretends to be her mortal father will hurt her, and allow others to hurt her, and study her, and it will make her suffer. One of the outsiders will stir her heart, and the song will stir her anger, and we may lose her to them. He will encourage her to tear it all down, and she will.

        She will bring it all down to spite them.
        Shuddering, Cheyenne closed the book, pulled her knees up to her chest, and spoke not a word for the rest of the night. She wondered if everything... the collecting of paintings by an obscure artist, her brother's late nights shut up in his vault with the Grimoire, all the strange things they had encountered in this house in their childhood... had been about her.

it won't stop

The Ringu film series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki. My fanfic is more based on ideas presented in the films, which were created by director Hideo Nakata and screenwriter Hiroshi Takahashi.
The motion picture The Ring is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture The Ring Two is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures.
I do not know if the prequel, The Ring 3, will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.
Supernatural is (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television.
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.

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there really is a tape