Interogations Finals

Her legs trembled, a violent shake she couldn't suppress. Every part of her screamed to retreat, but her feet were rooted to the floor. Her eyes locked on the corpses stacked behind Logan like discarded firewood a grotesque monument to the horrors of the night. She took a half-step back, but before she could move further, I reached out and gripped her arms, pulling her back into the moment.

"This isn't for you," I said, my voice low but firm. "Trust me this is not for the faint of heart."

Her eyes snapped up to mine, wide and brimming with emotions I couldn't place. Fear? No, not fear not this time. Instead, there was something fiercer there. A stubborn determination that made me question my own resolve. "You're not gonna like what you see," I tried again, softer this time, my voice almost pleading, a last-ditch attempt to spare her from the coming storm.

"I already don't," she shot back, her gaze flickering briefly to Logan's slumped form, then locking with mine. "But I can't just sit on the sidelines. If you're going to do this, then I'm coming."

A heavy sigh escaped me, torn between frustration and a reluctant admiration for her unwavering will. Logan groaned behind us, his body stirring on the blood-soaked floor. Time was slipping through my fingers, and I couldn't waste another second trying to talk her out of it.

The rumble of an engine cut through the still night air as Damon pulled up in the car, his signature smirk already forming. He leaned out the window, eyeing the scene with a casual, mocking detachment. "Can we load up Mr. Too much hair product and haul ass out of here?"

"Charming as ever," I muttered, slinging Logan's dead weight over my shoulder. Bonnie followed close behind as we made our way to the car.

Damon's gaze flicked to Bonnie, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "What's this now?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "You joining the team? I thought witches didn't get their hands dirty."

"I'm here aren't I? Damon," Bonnie said, her tone sharp and biting.

"Oh, I know," Damon replied with an exaggerated wink. "I'm just wondering if someone forgot to mention the part where this was supposed to be a solo mission. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love a good audience, but…"

"She's coming," I interrupted, my voice leaving no room for further argument. Damon met my gaze, one eyebrow raised, but he didn't challenge me. Instead, he fell silent as I started the car.

The drive was suffocatingly quiet, save for the occasional groan from Logan in the trunk, a constant reminder of our grim mission. Damon tapped his fingers against the dashboard, his boredom radiating off him. Finally, unable to hold back, he twisted in his seat to glance at Bonnie.

"So, Bonnie," he began, his voice light but laced with sarcasm, "What exactly do you think you're adding to this little field trip? You gonna scowl the guy into talking, or do you have some secret magic spell for that?"

"I'm here because I need to be," Bonnie said, her voice tight, but there was an edge to it now. She was no longer hiding her discomfort.

"Ah, of course," Damon said with exaggerated understanding. "Because needing to be here is just as good as being helpful. Silly me."

Bonnie's jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her eyes staring straight ahead. I fought the urge to smirk. Damon was a pain, but he had a way of making the tension bearable, even if it was at someone else's expense.

We pulled up to the house, and I immediately went to the trunk, lifting Logan's limp body with a practiced ease. Damon followed me, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, but his eyes never left Bonnie as she got out of the car.

"You want to explain to me why she is still here?" he asked, his tone mocking, gesturing vaguely in Bonnie's direction.

"She can hear you," Bonnie shot back, crossing her arms, her voice flat.

"That's kind of the point," Damon said with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

I ignored them both, focusing on the task at hand as I slung Logan over my shoulder again and moved toward the door. Bonnie hesitated at the threshold, her gaze flicking nervously toward the darkness inside.

"What's the matter?" I called over my shoulder. "Waiting for a formal invitation?"

She rolled her eyes and followed me in. We hadn't made it far when a voice rang out from above, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"What is she doing here?"

We turned to see Vicki standing at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed, her face a mask of disbelief.

"She's here to help," I said, keeping my tone neutral as I set Logan down on the floor.

Vicki's eyes widened in disbelief, and then the anger surfaced. "Seriously?!" She scoffed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You've got to be kidding me."

"She's not staying," Damon offered nonchalantly, raising a brow as though the situation was beneath him. "I mean, she's not really staying, right?"

Bonnie's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing, but she remained silent.

Vicki let out a frustrated breath and stormed off toward her room, muttering something under her breath. "Unbelievable."

Bonnie let out a weary sigh, and I turned to her, offering a smirk despite the heavy atmosphere. "Welcome to the family," I said dryly.

The cellar was colder than usual, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and the remnants of blood. Bonnie hesitated at the top of the stairs, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes scanned the room below. Damon had already tied Logan to a steel chair, vervain-soaked ropes cutting into his skin. His unconscious form hung limply, his breathing shallow, but even in that state, I could see the tightness in his jaw, the flickering consciousness behind his eyes.

Bonnie's gaze darted to the fridge in the corner, where blood bags were piled haphazardly. "What—"

"Snacks," I said with a casual shrug. "Care for one?"

Her glare could have melted steel. Damon, meanwhile, chuckled from his corner, tearing into a blood bag with a grim satisfaction. "Don't mind him," he said, gesturing toward me with the empty bag. "He's just trying to be funny. Key word: trying." I gave him the blood bag.

I ignored them both, my focus entirely on the task at hand. I grabbed a syringe, filled with venom. He looked at syringe and asked as he sucked on the blood bag. I showed it to Damon. "Insurance," I explained, my voice cool and detached. "Just in case he decides to get lively."

The injection sent Logan into violent spasms. His muffled screams bounced off the walls of the cellar, making Bonnie flinch visibly. Her hands trembled at her sides, and I could see the struggle within her to hold her ground.

Damon leaned against the wall, watching Bonnie with an almost predatory curiosity. "What's the matter, witch?" he drawled. "Can't handle the sight of a little blood?"

"I'm fine," Bonnie snapped, her voice wavering despite the harsh words.

"Sure you are," Damon replied, his tone dripping with mockery. "Look at you, shaking like a leaf."

Bonnie clenched her fists at her sides, her lips pressed tightly together. "There has to be another way," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to steady her nerves.

"Pain is pain, Bonnie… doesn't matter how it's inflicted." I replied coolly, picking up a scalpel and dragging it lightly across Logan's jugular. Blood sprayed in violent arcs, splattering the walls in a brutal display. Bonnie gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, as if trying to block out the sound of Logan's tortured cries.

"Yeah, you're just fine," Damon commented, folding his arms as he looked Bonnie up and down, his smirk unrelenting.

I leaned in close to Logan, my voice a whisper. "Let's jog your memory, shall we?" I picked up a pair of wire cutters, placing them at his finger with deliberate slowness. "I'll ask a question. If you say, 'I don't know,' I start cutting. Understand?"

Logan's eyes were wide with panic, his head nodding frantically, tears streaming down his face. I yanked the gag from his mouth. "Who turned you?"

"I don't know! I swear…" he begged, his voice raw and pleading.

The cutters snapped down, severing a finger. Logan screamed, the sound muffled again as I shoved the gag back into place. "Wrong answer."

I moved methodically through another finger, then another. The blood pooled around Logan's feet, his sobs mingling with the sounds of the metal clinking against the floor. By the time I picked up a spoon, his body was trembling violently, his fear palpable.

"How many are there? Who's in charge?" I asked, the cold metal pressing against his eye.

He shook his head violently, pleading, but I didn't wait for an answer. The spoon plunged deep into his eye. His scream reverberated through the room, a raw, guttural sound of desperation.

I held up the bloodied spoon, letting him see the ruin I'd made. "Eyes don't lie, Logan," I whispered, my voice cold, "But maybe I'll try something more invigorating next."

My gaze flicked to the overhead lightbulb. "I have an idea… that just might do it."