17. Twilight Time.

The next day, they went to work as the sun cast its golden rays through the office windows. A hushed silence filled the air as they gathered again in the great hall. Damon made his way towards the stone table, its cool surface beckoning him to lie down beside Mimi. He gently grasped her hand, feeling its warmth and the delicate touch of her fingers. Across the room, the Pope settled into a chair, his presence commanding, as he took Mimi's coined hand between his own, a tangible connection forming. 

Damon took a deep breath, his determination growing. The Pope's voice resonated, breaking the stillness. "My son, what lies before us is a dream world crafted by a cunning demon. It has plucked fragments from various realms, creating a distorted reality that aligns with Mimi's desires. Do not be disheartened; remember, allow nothing to sway you. The demon constantly observes Mimi's thoughts, manipulating them with deceit. Your task is to find the switch, the catalyst that sparks Mimi's resistance and compels her to remember the truth. Challenge her, for the demon grants her every wish, but you must dismantle these illusions. Be ruthless now, resolute, for you to battle Mimi and the relentless demon. Be strong, my boy. Be strong."

With resolve etched upon his face, Damon braced himself and delved into Mimi's thoughts. He witnessed fragments of their past in the vast expanse of her dream world. The sights and sounds of their engagement in Australia flooded his senses, the laughter, and promises of a future together filling the air.

But as he observed, something within Damon ignited - a mixture of anger and passion. The thought of Mimi discussing children with Adam stirred a storm within him. Now, kindness and gentleness were futile; he had to confront Mimi with the darkest version of himself that he could conjure.

The demon had twisted him into a just mere fucking machine, an unfaithful husband who indulged in vices. Yet Mimi's memory of his wrongdoings had faded, replaced by an idealized version of Adam. It was time for a jarring reminder of his true self, a testament to their shared history.

As we were leaving the conference, a surge of excitement filled me as I prepared to lead the entire group. The President himself was appalled when I revealed what Sark or Krycheck had done to me. Adam had assured me he would deliver Samuel's notes to the vice president and chief of staff, ensuring that charges would be pressed against Sark and Krycheck. The weight of those medical records revealed the harsh reality of my condition, a haunting reminder of the unpardonable crime committed against me. The President vowed to expose Sark and Krycheck's actions, not only for my sake but for the sake of everyone else involved.

Suddenly, the grand doors of the hall swung open, and Damon emerged, clad in a black leather jacket, a black shirt, and blue jeans. His piercing, ice-blue eyes scanned the room, locking onto me. His expression conveyed danger as he approached me with an eerie calmness.

In one swift motion, he seized me, declaring, "Baby, you're coming with me now. This charade ends here."

He effortlessly restrained my hands behind my back, his grip unyielding. His aura froze everyone in place, and their movements halted.

Then, without warning, he produced a gun and callously fired a shot at the vice president. The room erupted in a collective gasp of shock. The vice president slumped back in his chair, a fatal bullet wound piercing his forehead. The scent of gunpowder filled the air as Damon nonchalantly tucked the weapon into his pocket. Silence engulfed the room. I stood there, stupefied. He had actually taken the life of the vice president in cold blood.

With a chilling command, he proclaimed, "Now, I'm taking my wife and setting her straight. Anyone who dares intervene will meet the same fate."

He gestured toward the lifeless vice president as a grim warning. Still gripping my wrists tightly, he forcefully pushed me against the corridor wall, still keeping my hands restrained. Then he swiftly clasped tight, silver handcuffs around my wrists. The searing pain caused me to gasp. I couldn't comprehend any of this. The handcuffs burned my skin, and aching sensations coursed through my palms.

He propelled me forward, and as I struggled and kicked, he effortlessly hoisted me onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Carrying me towards the car, the world spun around me in a disorienting blur.

He opened the trunk, the rusty hinges creaking in protest, and callously tossed me inside. His voice, filled with a twisted sense of concern, echoed, "Now, my dear wife, whether you believe it or not, this is for your own good."

As I glanced back, I noticed his hand reaching behind me, the metallic click of handcuffs locking onto the hook at the back of the trunk. My feet were now immobilized, unable to shuffle free. In a detached manner, he secured my legs with unforgiving zip ties, first at the ankles and then at the knees.

The sharp scent of passionfruit mingled with an overwhelming sense of strength emanating from his cold, emotionless expression. The trunk slammed shut, engulfing me in suffocating darkness. The burning sensation from the handcuffs intensified, causing my right palm to go numb, yet the ache persisted relentlessly.

The tumultuous bouncing of the car, akin to a possessed being, filled me with disgust toward Salvatore's reprehensible behavior. It became clear that he deserved his comeuppance, providing a compelling explanation for my kidnapping. Eventually, the car jolted to a halt, and Damon, devoid of any emotion, appeared at the trunk, releasing my handcuffs from their confining hold.

Like a lifeless object, he effortlessly lifted me, resembling a rolled-up carpet, and carried me into a nearby house, depositing me in an uncomfortable chair. Each of his movements exuded an unsettling confidence, leaving me both astonished and unsettled by his behavior.

Damon, in a way I had not expected, displayed a side of him that felt oddly familiar, occasionally distracting me from the perfection of Adam. Methodically, he secured the tape around my waist, binding it to the chair, then securing my thighs. Gradually, he released the restraints on my knees and ankles, only to fasten my feet firmly to the chair's legs.

My upper body was then tightly attached to the chair with more tape, and finally, he freed my arms, only to securely bind them to the chair's armrests. With a purposeful motion, he rolled up my sleeve, exposing my forearm, and inserted a cannula with a sharp sting. The IV was opened fully, flooding my veins with its contents.

Damon tried to be strong. He tried to take control of the whole scenario and play on Mimi's fears or disgust. Because the demon would try to reset them, and somewhere in between, there would be a slip so visible that Mimi would surely notice. For some reason, the Pope felt stronger now than he did yesterday, Damon thought. "I wonder how far we have to go with this?" Damon wondered, then refocused.

Damon noticed the demon couldn't access any of the memories he'd blurred where his telepathic imprint was. So Mimi didn't remember the lessons, and there were no shed sessions, and it would have to, at some point, get big enough to slip up to make Mimi notice something. The demon tried to make Adam the perfect man and tried pushing it into Mimi's mind, but Damon kept going.

 The drug started working, so I could see double images, and sounds seemed to come out of the water. Oh, great. Truth serum.

Damon started, "Mimi, what did you do on the 12th of November? Tell me."

It was the day Mimi had most likely been caught, and according to Dresden, if Mimi herself could remember what had happened, then she might remember the truth of the whole thing; that's what had happened to Constantine; that's how Constantine had gotten the coin out.

"I don't know, just everyday life," I replied.

Damon grunted, and he pulled my hair. "12.11. start singing."

I strained my mind, desperately trying to recall. The memories of that gig were hazy. As I reminisced, a sinister grin crept across my face.

"I was on a killing spree," I declared confidently.

Damon paced around me, his eyes locked on mine.

"Tell me, where did you commit these acts of violence? 12.11 Baby, speak up or face my wrath. My anger, once untamed, now lies dormant," he taunted.

I struggled to recollect the details, my thoughts jumbled.

Damon pressed on, unrelenting. "Remember the shed sessions, darling. Try to recall."

I strained my mind, attempting to summon the images of my killing spree. But I couldn't decipher the cryptic reference to the shed sessions that Damon spoke of. As for the killing spree, it took place in South Carolina.

"South Carolina, eight victims," I finally recalled.

Memories of Reddington's list and the memory of slaying a weak demon named Nicodemus at the factory flooded my mind. But Damon persisted, demanding names and gruesome details.

"12.11, come on, Mimi!" he exclaimed.

The dizziness worsened as he injected a syringe into the cannula, distorting my thoughts.

"Reddington's list and Nicodemus. I shot him at the factory," I replied, struggling to remember.

Damon's hand suddenly struck my face with a force I had never experienced before. Shock coursed through me as I realized Damon's violence had taken a new form. He had always been unfaithful but never physically abusive. Confusion washed over me. What was Damon talking about?

No one had kidnapped me. In the depths of my mind, a fleeting image appeared - a red tranquilizer dart piercing my thigh, followed by distant footsteps. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the unsettling memory.

Defiantly, I locked eyes with Damon and retorted, "Nice try with the mind games, but they won't work. You may be a powerful telepath, but you're lazy. I killed a demon named Nicodemus at the factory."

Damon stepped closer, gripping my right hand, causing a sharp pain to shoot through my palm.

His voice turned icy, his words instilling fear within me. "You have been coined. Understand this. Coined. The demon will triumph if you don't fight back."

But as I reflected on my perfect life, the fear faded. Perhaps I could reason with Damon and convince him to join me on my trip to Australia. After all, his jealousy was the root of all this turmoil.

"Damon," I said, my patience wearing thin, "I wouldn't be here if I had been coined. According to Dresden, at least."

Damon let out a sigh. "You're still resisting it, deep down. You were drugged with a potent tranquilizer. I established a mental link with you while you slept, just like in that TV show," he explained.

I watched Damon closely, his seriousness clear in his gaze, his seriousness clear in his gaze. I couldn't comprehend what was troubling him, but I let it go for now.

Then I remembered when an FBI agent had told me about the problems of old vampires, paranoia, and delusions. I heard there was a sanitarium for them. The agent had asked if I was related since my last name was Salvatore. I was told that two months ago, Damon Salvatore had been brought to the facility with early symptoms of vampire dementia. After I told him that Damon was actually my husband, he had just shaken his head.

Then the agent's phone rang. He listened for a moment, and his expression tensed. When he'd hung up, he turned to me and told me that Damon had escaped from the institution. He would be extremely dangerous, and whatever he tried to make me believe would be nothing but delusions in Damon's head.

If I confronted Damon, I shouldn't get angry. I should try to calm him down and then call Adam to come and get Damon. There would be some medication and therapy that might help Damon, but I knew my life would be more with Adam than with Damon.

I took a deep breath, and now I had to be calm and reassuring. "Damon, you're not okay. Come on, untie me so I can help you. There is nothing to worry about. Look, I'm fine. Just take it easy." I tried reassuring him and felt the medicine wasn't working so much anymore.

Damon's heart raced, his palms sweaty as he desperately attempted to break through Mimi's defenses. But her words sliced through him like a piercing howl, treating him as if he were a feral beast. The haunting presence of that damn demon had poisoned Mimi's thoughts once again. Determination surged within Damon, his mind grasping for a solution amidst the chaos. As the air thickened with tension, he abandoned his approach, realizing that only even more ruthless tactics would penetrate Mimi's hardened walls. 

The Pope let out a weary sigh, his breath heavy with the weight of the task at hand. This battle was relentless, the demon's strength relentless as it slowly consumed Mimi's mind, claiming almost 70% of her sanity. Every time the Pope's resolve wavered, he could feel the demon's grip tighten, ensnaring Mimi in a twisted dream world.

A faint hint of a sickly green hue reappeared on the woman's skin, a visual reminder of the demon's hold. Gritting his teeth, the Pope mustered his inner strength and closed his eyes in fervent prayer, his words laced with unwavering faith. With each whispered plea, he poured his very soul into the woman, desperately willing her to break free from the clutches of darkness.

As his prayers echoed through the room, a subtle change took place. The green tinge slowly diminished, receding like a retreating tide. But the battle was far from over. The Pope knew that this was only the beginning of a grueling struggle that would test his spirit and endurance to their limits.

Damon's piercing gaze locked onto me, his intense eyes searching for a reaction. He slowly crouched down, his movements deliberate and calculated, bringing him to eye level with me. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the faint sound of our breathing.

"Baby, don't you find it peculiar?" Damon's voice carried a hint of frustration, his words hanging in the air. "Just as I disclose something that has happened to you, suddenly you remember my supposed madness? If there truly existed a condition like 'vampire dementia,' wouldn't there be more fitting victims, like dear Nicholas and Elias?"

I could feel the weight of his words, his accusations cutting through the air. My mind raced, desperately searching for a calm response. With great effort, I mustered the courage to speak.

"Damon, you appeared out of nowhere. You murdered the vice president, abducted me, and forcefully drugged me. Please understand if my thoughts are clouded. You've never physically harmed me, but your infidelity has taken its toll. I forgave you when our sex life was passionate, but we have drifted apart. You continue to seek solace in others, while Adam wants to be with me and only me."

A heavy sigh escaped Damon's lips, filled with the weight of his thoughts. He contemplated his next move, his mind racing with possibilities. And then, a glimmer of determination sparked in his eyes. He knew what he had to do, even if it meant taking a risk.