*She does not know how she got in her car let alone how she began driving crazily towards the district. All she knew was that something was chasing her...or was it that she was chasing something?

All the windows of her car are open, and inside her hair whips around her head in a frenzy. Her long dove-grey, satin skirt bellows around, trying to flee from her ankles. Her hand on the gearshift, loud Japanese rock blaring from the speakers.

The Shelby weaves though roads and past crosswalks, it enters alleys and hides behind a veil of shadows somewhere not too far from any building. It's past midnight and all is silent.

Abruptly the car is stopped, the music turned down into a whisper and Kara steps out.

Her hair is wild, long brown strands create a dark halo around her face. There is no sound coming from anywhere, there is no scuttle of rats, no crashing of garbagecans. Her eyes are wild as she looks around.

She should not have stopped here.

A shadow flickers before her, then the whinny of a horse...and another. In her mind something is crackling like static. Kara whips around yet there is no one there. Then shadows appear before her in mocking form. The sight of a man wearing a hat and long coat is cast upon her, then in an instant it is gone. As if someone put a spell on her she suddenly begins to feel a slowly growing terror deep within the marrow of her bones.*

There is a crackle from high up on one of the warehouse corners. An ancient looking speaker buzzes to life and an all too familiar and terrible voice will rain down on Kara.

'Kara-Miya.'

He says her name perfectly, as he always has.

'You really aught to just do as we asked. It breaks my heart to have to hurt Lucas like this...'

*The speaker sizzles against her ear, his voice bellows forth like some crazed Phantom, a monster in the machine.

She backs up against the car, her hands flying swift as crazed rabbits to her holster, need be she will draw blood from the cells in the speaker overhead.

Her eyes narrow, but she cannot deny the fear welling up inside. It swells and whirls inside like a hue of blue.*

Come, Luca...there is joy within rainbows, even inside of the sorrow of blues. Look outside, it is the same shade as your eyes. Flshbacks, thunder burn in the marrow of her bones. The child is goldenhaired, the woman as well. Twin angels seated by a large bay window of a lovely house.

Then in a shatter of though the wheels of a rickity old carrage begin to squeek behind the veil of shadows, in an instant the sound is gone. But he...he is still there. *

You dare touch him *she hisses low, like a serpent, threatening a man she cannot see...touch...wrap her hands around his throat. How good it would be to have him on his knees. She would use no guns, just her bare hands to rip him into pieces. Then when that is done she would shoot the little pieces then staple them to the wall...just to watch him die bit by bit, cell by cell the way she has ever since he took her baby away from her.*

His crib is empty, Ryo....Ryo! RYO! My baby! *The woman screams in her ear, over and over it echos, it's in her face, burnt in her blood. She cannot forget, she will not forget...or forgive.*

The speaker sizzles again, with a few clicks like the water damaged electronics inside are failing fast. The mans voice is gone, but for a few seconds Kara will hear the voice of her son, Screaming...

*The blood drains from her face. She stares at the speakers, then lets out an ear-piercing scream* Nooo!!

*Night-birds screech then flee from the sound. Her body feels like someone stole the stuffing out of her. Her knees buckle and she nearly looses her balence. Kara slides a few inches down against the car, palms planted on the cool metal.

It looks as though she is gasping as she stares at the speakers. Then finally draws her pistols and shoots the thing into oblivion. Sparks and sparkles fall. If there are any cameras in the visual area they get shot as well. ((need a roll?))

Smoke plumes from the pistols, they are lowered back into the holsers. The wheels of an old carrage are heard again, as is the laughter of three young, teenage boys.*

[Nope!]

As the last of the sparks settle Kara will be left very alone with nothing but the demons in her head for company and the echoes of her pistol fire in the distance...

*Red rims her eyes. Though the vision of Lucas is swiftly stolen by the sound of rocks being hurled against the wall. Shocked because she is unprepared and wallowing in her own self-pity, Kara flinched then stares at the stones that are starting to fall near the car.*

*A rainfall of stones falls around her, some shatter on the hood of the Shelby. She can hear the metalic clink. Her hands do not wander far from her pistols, ready to attack, need be.

An old man leading two horses and an old, worn carrage comes into plain view. He looks like he's about a million, his face leathery, wrinkled. Life for him has not been fair. His eyes are blood-shot, his balding head grey. There is one old, brown mare on the left, she looks tired, well-worked. On the right is a beautiful black stallion. His coat is shiny, his mane is decorated in roses...blood red roses. The stones have stopped.

The man walks slowly, hunched. The worn, brown leather reins lay loose in his hand, a gentle tug and the horses stop. He looks at one of the wheels and frowns. With haggared steps he walks to one of them and bows over it, gently shaking his head. A look of sadness fills his watery eyes. The axl has been bent.*

*She feels as though she has been shot up full of bad drugs...this is a trip she won't forget for a long time.

The man tries to kneel by the carrage but buckles and falls down, swiftly she runs to him and grabs him from under his arms. Whatever mortality is left in her sometimes dominates. Sometimes it makes her feel real.*

My carrage...the axl....*his voice is rough, whisky-toned and echoes in her ears even though he has not part his lips. Kara helps him to his feet.* Sir, I do not know of axels and carpentry....

*the look on his face is enough to break ones heart. He slumps against the rotted vehicle and burries his face in his hand.*

I will take you wherever you need to go! *is her reply. The raggedy horse looks at her and whinnies.* your animals, as well, sir I will find the scounderls who did this.

*The odd compassion she feels wells within her. She should not be acting as Miss. Nicey....but she offers her help, her hand, her time...even money. If the wheel needs and new axl she will pay for it, the best, only the best!

The horse's whinny begins to blend with the other's. Twin tones mesh and become louder and louder until they are ringing in her ear. Kara steps back, covering her ears with her hands...such a noice!

The man looks up, calloused hands lowering turning powerful. Where once he was holding the reins he know holds a sicle. Where he stood weak and grey he know rises, up and up, until he towers over her with hoods of blackened night. The animals screetch...she did not know horses could screetch!

She opens her mouth to scream, yet not words come out...there is no sound!*

*Though she has never seen this face before it has been etched in her brain from the moment she was turned. The monster, the beast, the nightmare!

Kara feels the side of the car on her back, she pushes against it trying to mould herself into the metal. She leans further and further back as his shadow mounds over her and arches his arm.

The creatures frenzy behind him, his pressence so large that he looms before the horses, hiding them from view.

Her nostrils flare, she can smell the scent of oil and stables and blood.*

'Ryo, what is this monster you speak of in your nightmares, even in the nightmares you have when awake...how can one dream such dreams when one is obviously awake? Tell me of this.'

'Kara Miya...my angel...ah, how does one begin to tell of such a horror. I fear to mention that you may see him one day too, though he will exist, ah yes. He will exist in the darkest realms of your mind, feeding off everything that is madness within you.'

'I don’t understand...'

'You never will, angel, but it will never cease to exist. It is a part of you now.'

'A part of me, how?'

'I bled you into Malkavian, my angel.'

'I need to know...tell me. I beg of you, tell me even if it haunts me forever.'

'It will Kara Miya...ah...it will.

It is said that he is the one who collects the souls of the dead and aids them on their journey to the next world, in his rickety old cart. The cart is pulled along either by two horses, one of which is old and thin while the other is youthful and strong.
According to some legends, he is tall, and wears a hat and long coat.

One says that there were three drunk friends walking home one night, when they came across an old man on a rickety cart. Two of the men started shouting at him, and then throwing stones, when they broke the axle on his cart they ran off.

The third friend felt bad, and so wanting to help him, first found a branch to replace the broken axle, and then gave him his shoelaces to tie it to the cart with.

'It sounds like a fairy-tale gone bad, Ryo.'

'It is much more than that, angel. It is Hell being visualized in front of you. I pray you will know of him in nothing more than a story.'

Ryo may have been there for her so long ago, but he is not there now. Like some lost child she begins to call out, screaming ‘Vincienso! Vincieeeenso!’ A few moments ago she had been drawing firearms, shattering the night with bullets. But with this thing in front of her it is as though she has had all the strength pulled out of her, every inch of power and persistence. She has been left with nothing but what she always swears she has no more, fear. Pure, brutal fear.

The shadow on him darkens her silhouette, the wheels of the cart make rough sounds as the horses tug and continue to screech. The broken axel makes one last snapping sound as the darkness coils around her, and sinks its fangs into her skin, while beast-red eyes glare upon her and the breath of the horses fans her face, hot as coals.

Then as it started, it ended, swift and violent. She finds herself bolting out of bed, unaware to how she got there, not realizing that her nightgown is soaked though with droplets of blood...hers or....?

She shivers as the bedroom door is thrust open. With a jolt she looks to the figure standing by the threshold, and in an instant he is there, right next to her.

‘Hush, child, it was but a dream.’ His Italian baritone is soothing. He sits on her bed and envelopes her in his embrace.
‘It was not a dream...’ a whisper, nothing more escapes her lips. She clings onto him; she wants to climb into his skin.
‘It is over now.’ But she is shaking her head to his words, she does not believe him, and with a deep sorrow in his silvery-gray eyes, he too knows that he will never be able to rid of her of the monsters in her head.