Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2013 1:27:18 GMT -5
Isaac Morgan
Name: Isaac Andrew Morgan Alias: Abel Age: Twenty seven Occupation: Reaper's ferry the souls of the dead. Member Group: Creatures Playby: David Giuntoli |
It was late at night on the open road,
Speeding like a man on the run,
A lifetime spent preparing for the journey;
Speeding like a man on the run,
A lifetime spent preparing for the journey;
I suppose you could say that I was born to die. Personally, I look at it a different way. I didn't learn how to live, until I had died. I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself though, aren't I? Sorry about that. It's been awhile since anyone has asked me for the story, but I'll tell you what I remember.
I was born human. My name was Isaac Andrew Morgan and I was the first born son of Darren and Penelope Morgan. They were good people, then anyway. Young lovers, newly wed and ready to begin their lives together. They were poor, but happy. Penelope quit her nine to five at the diner so she could look after me, and did women's hair and nails for some extra money under the table. Darren worked eight to four, teaching history to bored high school students.
Though I cannot remember but for a few photographs that stuck with us through it all, I know my life was a happy one then. When I was three, my sister Eve was born and though money got a little tighter, the spirits of Darren and Penelope did not falter.
A human does not become a Reaper by leading a life of merriment however. On the eve of my fourth birthday, an unusual thing occurred. Men broke into our home and killed my mother. They didn't touch me, or Eve. May not have even known we were there, sleeping peacefully together in our shared crib. Regardless, Darren came home as they were leaving. What he saw in their eyes, changed him forever.
He took me and Eve and ran. Everything changed. I remember being alone often, being told to watch Eve. Four years old and there I was, watching over my toddling sister like I had any idea what to do with her other than watch cartoons all day. I got older though. I remember Darren was stuck with three basic sets of emotions after Penelope died; sad, angry, and drunk. He could be approached when he was sad, and generally handed out 'pizza money' when he was drunk. I learned to save that; it paid for a lot of things, like birthday gifts and Christmas gifts for Eve, and the odd new outfit. She was a girl and I think Darren forgot about that a lot - she wasn't meant for a boy's cast off plaid.
I was six when Darren handed me my first gun and taught me how to shoot it. I remember I was crap, but what six year old without Duck Hunter on the '64 would have been good at that sort of thing? Nine when I first considered killing myself, and decided to go inside and tell Eve a bedtime story instead. Eleven when I got myself a girlfriend of thirteen - mainly to learn about a thing called menstruating that girls apparently had to go through every month. I figured Eve would probably wan't some help with that. (Thankfully, other than scrounging to purchase the necessities, Eve managed to figure most of that out on her own in the end.)
Thirteen was my golden year. Darren had settled us into a small town and actually seemed content to hang around for awhile. We even got a trailer, which was pretty much a house. Whatever nightmares were chasing him seemed to finally be buried. I'll never forget being thirteen, because it was the happiest year I ever had with Darren.
I discovered two passions that year. French and history. I took French as an elective and read as many history books as I could get my hands on. I studied hard, and took home economics so that I could pick up some tips on how to better care for Eve's clothes. Learned how to do some amazing things with hair, too. Eve loved it when I did her hair. Hell, Eve loved it when she got attention period. Doing her up as pretty as could be was the least I could do for her.
My French teacher really cared about me. She seemed to realize things weren't as good at home as they could be. When I showed up without lunches because I'd sent Eve off with what we had, she made sure I got a little something on the sly. She asked me questions sometimes, but for the most part, she just looked out for me. It was like having a parent.
Fourteen was when things began to slide a bit. My French teacher had to leave because she got cancer, and the new one had an atrocious accent. Eve came home from school one day and said her teacher's eyes had turned black in class. Her voice held a tone of wonder. Four hours later we were hauling ass out of town and Darren's sleeves had blood on them. I knew, without being told, that he'd killed that woman whether Eve had been right or not.
That was when everything turned dark. Darren started to take me hunting with him. Showing me what he'd been doing all this time he'd been leaving Eve and I to fend for ourselves. He never hit me, old Darren, but there were days when I wished he would. It would have hurt less than his condemnations and scorn when I missed a shot, when I wasn't quick enough to stab a creature with a human face. Eventually though, Darren found a tactic that worked with me. He convinced me they wanted Eve and suddenly, fighting them became a whole lot easier.
By the time I was twenty-one, I was as proficient a serial killer as Elizabeth Bathory. I'd also not lost an ounce of love for history or French, though Darren seemed to have long forgotten his love for one of those subjects. It was no matter though; I was loyal to Darren despite never really being given a reason to be. He was my dad, even though he never acted like one. His approval meant the world to me, so I didn't talk to him about history, or French, or the fact that by seventeen, I knew I was about as straight as a noodle in a hot pot. I left that all at the wayside and did what I could to protect Eve, fend for her and raise her.
It meant fighting with Darren from time to time. Saying no to hunts, so that I could stay back with Eve. I think that was the only time I ever really talked back to him, was when it came to her welfare. I was getting pretty sick of him by twenty-one though. Sick of constantly fighting for his affection, his attention. Sick of chasing monsters that may or may not have been what killed Penelope. Sick of fighting in a nightmare that should never have been mine to share.
So when the demon possessed me, I decided to make my ire known.
He is closer now and the search is on,
Reading from a map in the mind,
Yes, there's the ragged hill,
And there's the boat on the river,
Reading from a map in the mind,
Yes, there's the ragged hill,
And there's the boat on the river,
The demon's name need not be spoken, but his power came from a place we do not speak of. His was an ancient soul, white as snow and eager to go. He cloaked his eyes - our eyes - in black. Darren came at us and the demon wanted to run. He didn't want to hurt my father - but I did. My insistence bent the demon's will and we gave Darrin a good shake up. We didn't kill him - but we gave him Hell.
Then we ran. The demon blocked me out, tamped me down. By the time I cam too, months had passed and I was pissed. Eve! What about Eve? I couldn't leave her. The demon convinced me she was well - even took me to watch her a few times to confirm it. She mourned me, wretchedly. I wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but the demon couldn't allow that. Not yet.
For three years the demon and I traveled together. He taught me how to hustle, taught me how to get a job without an application and showed me things that don't need to be spoken of. The demon became, in many ways, a brother to me. A friend. We kept my cell - Darren and Eve called it constantly, but we never answered. We listened to the messages though and one day - one day the demon decided it was time I went home to Eve.
We got her out of a jam, my demon and I. Eve knew me instantly, but she surprised us both by reaching out to the demon too. We were an odd trio, but we were a happy one. I won't lie to you. We kidnapped her. Darren came home one day with nothing but a letter from Eve saying she was going to college whether he liked it or not, and an empty wardrobe. Together, my demon and I did what we could to make that letter a reality, too.
Except we lied. Eve didn't go to college. We hustled, we busted our balls - hell, the demon even went off and got another body so that two of us could scrape together the damn tuition. Eve studied day and fucking night and together, the three of us got her into the med program at John Hopkins University. I picked up a French History course, and the three of us settled in together. The demon seemed content with his new body - some guy who'd been in a drug coma on the streets, buffed up by the amount of eats the demon did. Said it was quieter in there, and I believed him.
So there we were, a hunter, his demon, and their daughter. The most dysfunctional damn family out there and the first to grin and say they were damn happy to be so. We would have stayed that way, too, if not for my goddamn sentimentality. If only I hadn't listened to that call. If only I had let Darren go without a fight, it may have all ended differently. What if's are not the tale of today, however.
And when the rain came down,
He heard a wild dog howl.
There were voices in the night - "Don't do it!"
Voices out of sight - "Don't do it!
"Too many men have failed before;
Whatever you do:
He heard a wild dog howl.
There were voices in the night - "Don't do it!"
Voices out of sight - "Don't do it!
"Too many men have failed before;
Whatever you do:
I ran to him, my dear old dad. Grabbed my gun and my hunting gear, called my demon to watch over Eve and made a trip down to get the old man out of a jam. If I'd known then how it all would end, even now I'm not sure I would change it. I rolled up to the warehouse and found him, covered in blood and being held up by a man as wretched looking as he was. He'd trained me to know them, to kill them. Yet there he was, Darren Morgan, my vampire dad.
I told him we'd figure something out, but I wasn't letting him near Eve. I wasn't even going to tell Eve about this shit. That was the plan. God that was the plan but the trouble was, Eve wasn't about to let me go near Darren without her. She convinced the demon to drive her down - and he convinced himself he could protect her. None of us were prepared for it, the moment Darren's bloodlust struck. He was fast - too fast - and the next thing I knew a strong pair of arms were holding me back as I screamed and a demon dragged my father off my sister's twitching corpse.
Darren was devastated by what he had done. Wrecked. The vampire who turned him vowed to fix him. I didn't care. I didn't. I told them both to go. Told them both that if I ever saw them again, I'd kill them. When they were gone, my demon and I picked Eve up and drove her to a place we had all visited once during march break. We burned her there, and held each other up as her ashes were carried away.
I fell off the rails then. I hunted with a viciousness I didn't even know I possessed. God if Darren had been a broken man, I was a howling, screaming monster. I hacked and chopped my way across the nation with nothing but a demon as angry as I was by my side. Even he left, from time to time, able to bear the sight of my rage and what it was twisting me into. I didn't blame him then and I don't blame him now.
He wasn't there the day I went after a couple of vampires. What I did to them goes beyond words. It was almost erotic, the sheer amount of destruction and brutality I rained on the female. The male though - the male was the real killer. When he held her broken body and begged me to kill him, so he wouldn't have to live with the memory of what I'd done and what he'd lost? That was when I realized I'd taken my humanity and pissed on it.
I cut his head off. He didn't suffer, I suppose. I did. I ran, found a drug house to hole up in. Called my dad. The only thing I had left. I wanted to apologize. For what, i don't even think I remember. Two men came into my room with bad ideas. I killed them. I had two fresh corpses bleeding on my floor when two fucking vampires walked in, and maybe it would have been okay - but we aren't here for maybe.
I saw it. The bloodlust on the one who turned Darren. I dropped my blade and ran at him. Offered my neck and begged for death that he gladly began to give. He tore me open and I felt the cold sink down on me. My soul had already begun to pull away when Darren fought for me. Begged for me. I stood, separated from my body and watched him. I hated him too much to return to that cold body for him, but the other one.
The one who was sobbing for his mistake, horrified. The one I'd never meant to catch in the crossfire. The one who turned Darren to save him. For him, I could return - and I did. My Reaper warned me it would be bad. He hadn't been able to explain how bad.
Don't pay the ferryman;
Don't even fix a price.
Don't pay the ferryman;
Until he gets you to the other side!"
Don't even fix a price.
Don't pay the ferryman;
Until he gets you to the other side!"
Being a vampire was horrendous. Not because of the killing - I was used to that. No, it was noise that bothered me. Everything was too loud - especially heartbeats. I was sick, in a perpetual state of dying because my soul had already departed. I was a vampire who was forever dying, again and again. I found solace in a coven of my heroes, French Nobles of all the fucking things. That's what he was, my crying vampire. A noble of the French Revolution who had never stopped being the aristocrat I dreamed of when I read of them.
I loved him, in many ways. He was beautiful to me in every way imaginable. Dying endlessly for him was something I was willing to keep on doing, but I knew it could not be so. All the same, when his guard fell, when he let me have his heart even for a little while, it brought me a peace I should never have known in that state. I could not keep what was not mine to have, but I cherished him every night we had together.
When it ended - for it had to end - I was not bitter with him but myself. I had known better, but I could not change my heart. Still, the one who truly had his heart did not take well to what I had done. We fought, hard, but not for him. It was not for my angel that I killed Darren Morgan, but for my sister. For myself. For every heart he had ever broken. And when I burned him and walked away, I did not look back but for the letter I gave. I never said who killed Darren - but I think my angel knew.
I left America then. Perhaps if he had wanted, he could have found me. France was hardly a surprise, knowing me as he did. I took from him what he loved the most, but he didn't hunt me. He let me go and that, I feel, was perhaps the hardest thing we both had to live through. Though for him, the pain likely lasted longer. For me, the end was near.
In the rolling mist, then he gets on board,
Now there'll be no turning back,
Beware that hooded old man at the rudder.
And then the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared,
And people calling out his name,
And dancing bones that jabbered and a-moaned on the water;
Now there'll be no turning back,
Beware that hooded old man at the rudder.
And then the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared,
And people calling out his name,
And dancing bones that jabbered and a-moaned on the water;
Now we come to the end of my story. The part where I finally learned how to live. It all began with dying properly. I set my affairs in order, sending a final letter to my angel with a seal I had crafted on my own. An ouroborous wrapped around a devil's trap, it was the mark of me. I told him if he ever saw it again, to know that what he found was his to have.
The mark I carefully chiseled upon a headstone that rested above a catacombs entrance, sealed for years by a landslide long ago. If ever he returned to France, he would surely find it, for I never hid my love of this place from him. Within the catacombs, the mark would lead him through to the room in which I died and laid to rest at last. It was not this which he would come for, but the journals I had left for him, recording everything I have ever been, all that I ever was. The very journals you just finished reading, as a matter of fact.
The one you read now is ongoing. Toward the end, you may even find ink still drying. How can this be, you wonder, if here is where I died? My life, my tale, all leads to this. My final form of existence. I laid here, where you now sit reading. I closed my eyes to the pounding of the world around me. When I opened them, my Reaper waited.
I broke the rules, he told me, but I wasn't ready yet. Now I was. He made me an offer. An offer I could not refuse. I was not evil, he said, though I had done many evil things. I was not good, either, though there was kindness and love in my heart. I understood the nature of life, of death, of love, of hate. I knew neutrality well. If I wished it, it could be mine eternally.
I could become a Reaper.
So here you are, and now you know.
I live for you still, my darling angel.