I am guiding myself right to the end. I can't learn. Come to terms - with the sickness that makes me crash and burn.

People seem to be surprised at my respect and possibly even borderline fear for authority. Like most of my quirks, there's a valid reason for this. A year or so after my Embrace, unsurprisingly, I came across a spot of trouble.

I uprooted from my hometown, avoiding recognition and the triggering memories. Not like those memories ever had the decency to avoid me. I had a haven and ample hunting grounds just across the state line. Until I hunted the wrong prey. I had no idea there was a organized Camarilla grouping in the city. At that point, I barely knew who the Camarilla was. Apparently the family I had just...ravaged, was a protected family. I was still taking care of some leftovers when I was interrupted by a half dozen irate Kindred armed to the teeth. I took a predatory stance. Pushing my spattered brown hair out of my face I growled. "Sorry to disappoint fellas...I'm not too good at sharing." 
The largest of the undead SWAT team approached me fearlessly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, little girl?!" 
I smirk and lick the residue of blood from my lips. "Enjoying my dinner. Clearly. At least I was, before you all interrupted me." 
My smart remark gains me a forceful backhand that almost cracks my jaw. Before I can strike back, two of the men twist me around and clamp my arms behind me with heavy duty manacles. The unyielding restraints ignite a flicker of panic in me. I start thrashing and snarling, until the leader jabs me with some sort of immobilizing steel rod. I drop, face first into the carpet while the men speak amongst themselves. "We've got to clean up here. Larson isn't going to be happy about this. The Anderson family were under his personal protection." 
"What do we do with this?" The questioner gives me a sharp jab with his boot.
My thoughts are an incoherent snarl in my head as I try to keep my sanity above the bubbling hysteria. "She'll be taken to Larson. For judgement." Judgement? Shit.

I'm thrown into some sort of reinforced paddy wagon. The six guards clamoring in and each looking at me like they just bagged a convicted puppy killer. I feel the effects of the paralyzing weapon wearing off in conjunction to the mindless frenzy taking over. Big mistake on their part for not securing a maniac better. I heave myself out of the seat into the lap of the closest guard. Biting at him like a Rottweiler on a fresh bone, the poor bastard loses a few crucial facial features before one of his buddies clocks me with what feels like a two by four and I'm out...

My arrival, awakening and the preceding few hours are a blur of delirium. I'm restrained and placed in a cell. Such conditions turn my paper thin lucidity into a full on conniption fit. Eventually a group of impeccably dressed Kindred come in. I'm beyond rational conversation at this point, making the leaders decision all the more easy. From what I manage to hear over my own pathetic keening, snippets of judgements.
"...a monster. Unable to keep the masquerade." 
"what she did to that family..." 
"..unstable..." 
"Too much of a liability to live. She is to be kept in this cell until dawn." This last sentence spoken by the leader, Larson. As the vampires file out of the cell, each gives me deep looks of loathing and disgust. All but one. An austere looking younger male. Through the panic induced haze I see something almost like pity. My mind displaces the moment as an illusion as the slamming door foreshadows my fate.

Eventually I sense the building getting quieter. I know it's late. Taking advantage of some short lived clarity, I glance around the cell. Looking at the ceiling, I see a stunning view of the night sky. Stunning indeed, yet I feel creeping dread instead of awe. Oh. No. No no no. This isn't good. Realizing what they meant when they said "...until dawn." Until dawn, when I will cease to exist. Whimpering to myself, I pull at the chains, trying to curl into a protective ball. This is it. All the suffering...this is how it ends? I struggle to slip my hands out of the manacles, succeeding only in losing a few layers of skin. I'm half heartily licking my wounds when I hear unhesitating footsteps approaching the door. My growls are cut off when the door swings open to reveal the austere male. His severe expression betrays his actions as he fearlessly steps forward and unlocks the manacles. I'm too astonished to fall into my usual attack mode. I tilt my head to the side questioningly as he places a finger on his lips and gestures for me to follow him. We silently move through the building and out into the dark parking lot. He hands me keys, a wad of cash and a few folded papers. "There's no time for questions, now. Take my car and take refuge at my home until tomorrow. When night falls, go to the closest store and get whatever you need for travel and something to alter your appearance. I will take care of things here, and meet you tomorrow by midnight." Before I can open my mouth he pushes me towards his car and briskly re enters the building. Still feeling more than a little shell shocked I glance at one of the papers with directions as I start up the car. I toss the rest of the paper and cash into the passenger seat without a glance and drive off.

A steady rain starts to fall as I pull into the driveway. I roll the windows up, muting the delicious scent of neighbors settling into bed. I attempt to shake off the hunger and grab at the small pile of papers I tossed aside. A newspaper article? Expression falls from my face as I take in the article.

Police Still Searching For Missing Teen.

Madelyn Alexis DeWittier, age 17.

The article describes the grisly circumstances surrounding my murdered family and the futile city wide hunt being held in hopes of finding myself or the monster responsible for this heinous act. Attached is a photo. My photo. Dressed in my junior prom dress, my innocent face smiles up at me from the now quivering paper. Another photo depicts the almost ridiculously cheerful, living DeWittier family. I'm staring for an indiscernible amount of time before folding the paper and stepping out of the car to enter the house. The rain on my face feels like tears.

I sleep through the rest of the night and preceding day. When I wake, I follow through with the unknown saviors directions. I have some skill in being unnoticeable, which helps as I pick and choose useful items from shelves. Passing a hair care section I pick up an eye catching box and smirk to myself as some true Malkavian logic passes through my head. I return back to the house and make use of my purchases. When my savior comes home, whatever explanation he has prepared is cut short as he regards my bright fuchsia hair and the lace and studded "goth kid" garb I've donned. "What...you? How is this? Why..." He mumbles something about failing at witness protection.
"No one stands out more than someone trying desperately to fit in. So..." I shrug and gesture to myself.
"That's so insane that it actually makes sense." I nod, and then look at him expectantly, holding up the article he gave me. Pointedly averting my eyes from the paper. In the next hour or so, he explains that he is on an overnight task force with the police department. It's apparently fairly common for the PD to have a Kindred or two on the force. He worked the crime scene at my former residence and recognized the attack for what it was. Recognizing it because it has happened before. Apparently my lunatic sire had put several young women through the same thing for years and years. I guess I was "lucky" for putting an end to his cycle of monstrosity. He tells me of how he hunted the beast, always too many steps behind to stop him. After finding my family, he sniffed out a trail that led him to the burned husk of my mortal prison and deduced the possibility of what happened. When the Camarilla guards dragged me in the other night it all came together. Somewhat rashly, he knew he had to set me free. I ask him why he didn't just let judgement fall upon me. After all, he must know from my actions that I truly never did escape my maker. He's almost as puzzled as I am. "What you've become, it's not your fault. Of all the women he did this to, you survived. However...damaged. There's something in you..." he trails off, looking flummoxed.
I shrug. "Well. Thanks. Maybe?Um...now what?" 
"You have to leave. Get as far away as possible. Larsen and the others will hunt for you, but he loses interest in the pursuit easily in his old age. You can take my car and cash. It would be unwise to collect anything from your haven." 
My indifference is clear. "I don't have anything worth taking with me anyway." My actions belie my words as I touch my pocket where the news article is folded. A minuscule part of me wants him to ask for it back. I'm sure it won't be healthy for me to hold onto this keepsake. He either doesn't notice or deliberately ignores it. "I guess I should know your name, now that I'm like, indebted to you." I can't help but scowl. As pleased as I am to not be a pile of ash, I don't like being beholden to anyone.
"Nick Pullman, and you don't owe me anything. If anything, you did everyone a favor by..." 
I cut him off. "Don't. I'm not some tormented martyr heroine. All of this came at a...fucking...COST." I clutch at my head, taking a deep breath. Keep it together. After a uninterrupted moment, I rise from my perch on his couch. "Sorry. Nick. If I'm going, I should go. Before I'm...gone." He looks a little concerned by my fragmented speech but nods in agreement. I take the car keys and cash from him and mumble some sort of gratitude. As I'm driving away, I wonder if he realizes what a mistake it was to "save" me. A faint smile crosses my face and I ponder the ease in which I manage to lure people in. Such a perfect little monster. A voice whispers in my head, wiping the smile away and causing my hands to grip the steering wheel too tight. I manage to keep control and shortly before dawn, take refuge in a seedy motel miles away from my little incident. I even catch some late dinner from a young woman in the parking lot at the wrong time. I close the room curtains, pull the blankets off the bed and drag them into the bathroom, turning the tub into my own porcelain refuge. When the sun rises, I'm dead to the world, my hand clutching the article with the DeWittier family's smiling faces.


Many years later. I'm impassively checking my email when I come across a subject less message from a familiar address. Nick_PullmanPD. Inside, I find a death certificate for Madelyn A. DeWittier and a brief article on the end of a fruitless search for the long missing teen of a slain family. The article is adorned with a picture of my family's tombstones, now complete with my own hunk of granite sitting over an empty grave. At the bottom of the email is a brief note from Nick, concluded with a phone number...If you need anything. I scoff as I program the number into my phone. Ring ring. Yes, Officer Pullman? I just killed a family of five. Could you help me dispose of the bodies? My laughter is disrupted by a faint groan. Oops. Must of left one of the hearts still beating. I spin out of the computer chair and walk back to the pile of bodies to finish my work, dried blood flaking off my skin as my lips span into a terrifying smile.