chapter ten — Jesus christ, Stefan, calm down with the human blood

      Through the warm lighting of the cellars, Gwyn casually inclined her jaded physique against the weatherworn walls, keenly observing the vivid images of Stefan's toiling head. His thoughts were clamoring and intense, saturated with his colorful memories of his previous life from 1864, a simpler time. Stefan was injected with vervain and as he became unconscious, he was brought to the lower level of the Salvatore home and locked inside the dimly lit cellar, left alone to his thoughts as he recovered from his dangerous addiction to human blood. His actions at the Founder's Ball and kidnapping a Miss Mystic nominee were deemed unhinged and he couldn't be in public for some time.

      Elena peered inside the cellar through the iron bars, a wistful expression plastered on her delicate features. "It's so hard to see him locked up like this." Her voice was almost breathless like she was still processing the severity of the situation. Gwyn was still dismayed by Stefan's previous actions. It was like she was hearing about a different person. Stefan, the one who preached about animal blood, taken a teenager hostage and nearly killed her. It was amusing to see him fall in a downward spiral.

     Damon was beside Gwyn as he leaned against the stone walls. "You're the one who locked him up," He said, and Elena was quick to remind him that he also helped with restraining Stefan. "I couldn't have him running around chewing on people while the town was looking for vampires, now, could I?"

      Elena moved away from the cellar door. "It had nothing to do with you actually caring about him?"

      He feigned contemplation. "Your thing, not mine." He pushed himself off the wall and disappeared around the corner without another word.

      Gwyn glanced inside the cellar, almost pitying the desolate and pathetic Salvatore brother. Elena did the same, appearing disturbed by the scene. Gwyn glimpsed at her. "He's not in pain," She began. She could see and sense the concern radiating from her. "He's mostly asleep, dreaming about his human life. I think it's easier for him when he's asleep."

      Elena hesitantly eyed her. "Is he gonna be okay?"

      "Eventually," Gwyn answered truthfully. "But not right now, and maybe not for a while. I could help him, but it would be dangerous. It's what he is, his nature, and if I were to take that away, I don't think he would be the same anymore."

      Elena nodded and she seemed to genuinely understand. "Could you help with the cravings?"

      "Magic isn't permanent. It would help for a while, could be weeks, months, even years, but at some point in time, that suppressant is going to collapse, and it won't be pretty." Gwyn explained, "Come on, let's leave him be." The duo ascended the stairway and through the foyer. Elena gathered her belongings, as she had been sleeping inside Stefan's room most nights, and appeared slightly more at ease after her conversation with Gwyn. Damon was examining the metallic item Pearl gave him on the night of the Founder's Ball. "Ever figure out what the hell that thing is?"

      Damon twirled the item around, hoping to come across some revelation. "Nope. Whatever it is, it doesn't work."

       Gwyn appeared beside him, her hand caressing his briefly as she pulled the item from his hand. "And the bitch didn't say anything else about it?" She disregarded the glazed stare he gave her as she became increasingly close to him and couldn't find any magical tether connected to it.

      "She thought she was stealing his vampire compass, but it was a pocket watch. Jonathan Gilbert was a crazy scientist." Damon inhaled deeply, eventually tearing his distracted gaze from her delicate face. "Have you spoken to your uncle lately?" He questioned aloud, hoping Elena would divert his attention away from the pretty witch.

      Elena was folding her word jeans inside her bag. "I've been avoiding him, actually. That, and I've been here most nights."

      Gwyn peered over her shoulder, glancing at Elena. "So, you'll be here again tonight?"

      "Is that a problem?"

       "Not at all," Elena seemed shocked by the genuine kindness in Gwyn's voice, and the witch rolled her eyes upon noticing. "Believe it or not, Elena Gilbert, I'm starting to tolerate you." Gwyn wasn't completely lying. Ever since they saved Stefan from the tomb vampires, Gwyn's view of her somewhat shifted. She wasn't completely obnoxious. And with that, Elena grabbed her belongings and left the boarding house with a surprised, but pleasant, smile.

      Damon placed the pocket watch inside his back pocket and grabbed a water bottle that was brimming with crimson-red animal blood. "I'm gonna go feed him, be right back." Gwyn didn't respond and perched herself on the couch, flipping open one of the hundreds of books on display on the dozens of antique bookshelves. But as she riffled through the pages, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

      It was an unknown number and she hesitantly answered. "Hello," She asked.

      "Hey, it's Alaric Saltzman."

      She rolled her eyes, tossing the book aside. "You have five seconds to explain how the hell you got my number before I hang up."

      "Doesn't matter. Listen, I've been doing some digging on Elena's uncle. Are you interested?"

      Gwyn raised an eyebrow as she thought about completely eradicating John Gilbert's life. "I'm intrigued. Continue." She relented.

      "I've got an old friend from Duke who studied criminology when we were there together. Let's just say he's become a very proficient digger."

      "Don't care. What did he find?"

      "Aren't you just a ray of sunshine," Alaric said sarcastically, "I had him run a track on John's cell records. He was getting a call from a number—the same number that Elena dialed to get Isobel. And then the number was disconnected."

      Gwyn examined her nails. "Are you gonna start telling me any information I don't already know?"

      She could practically see him rolling his eyes at her abrasiveness. "After that, he started getting calls from a new number and I had my friend run a geotrack. Got the address. It's an apartment in Grove Hill."

      She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Why would Isobel be in Grove Hill?"

      "I don't know. I thought you, me, and Damon could take a look and see what we find."

       She sighed heavily and dramatically. "Fine. Pick us up in an hour."

<<>>

      "This is the one here," Alaric said as the three of them neared the darkened porch of the residence. The neighborhood was filled with an unnerving stillness, almost as if the entire block was absent. "The records show this was paid three months in advance."

      As they ascended on the porch steps, Damon seemed apprehensive about entering the residence. "This is where it gets tricky," He said with a quick sigh. "I may or may not be able to get in." He gently knocked on the door, then shoved his hands in his pockets.

      "Yeah, how does that work?" Alaric inquired curiously. "You always have to be invited in?"

      Gwyn stealthily peered inside the window, searching for any visible signs of life "By the owner or the person of entitlement. Short-term rentals and hotels are a bit of a grey area. You kind of gotta play it by ear." Damon explained quickly. Upon receiving no response from anyone inside, he inched forward and wrapped his hand around the doorknob, carefully twisting it until it crushed beneath his hand.

      Before stepping inside, Alaric already seemed exasperated. "Could we not kill anyone tonight, please?"

      Gwyn chuckled as she pushed open the door and entered the lightless residence. She was cautious as she walked further inside. "Oh, come on, Ric." She said, casting a playful glanced over her shoulder. "Where's the fun in that?" She hesitantly entered the kitchen and there were obvious signs of someone currently living inside, but they weren't necessarily clean. She opened the fridge, the light inside poured into the remainder of the kitchen. Inside, there were dozens of blood bags from the Mystic Falls blood bank. "Definitely a vampire here, or a really weird dude with some kind of kink."

     And as she closed the small white door, she was nearly attacked by an irate, vampiric blur. She raised her open palm and the vampire froze, unable to retreat back into the shadows. Damon speedily rushed to her side, eyes raking over her body for any visible signs of injury. The vampire's expression eased, transforming into recollection. "I know you," He said, any source of wrath eradicated as his gaze centralized on him. "Damon."

      A flash of remembrance occurred in Damon's eyes. "Your name is Henry. You were in the tomb."

       Gwyn released him from her invisible grasp and he readjusted his clothes. "Yes, sir," But the confusion appeared. "What are you doing here?"

      She offered a charming smile. "Because of John Gilbert," She said, "Mind serving your guests?"

      It was as if her glittering smile was all that he needed to completely eradicate the bubbling suspicion. He retrieved a scotch glass and a blood bag, pouring the contents inside. "So, how do you know John Gilbert?" The man asked, his voice replaced distrust with a friendliness.

      Damon, who was now seated on the brown chair beside the wooden table, casually lied. "Well, I've known him for years. He's a good friend," Gwyn muffled a threatening chuckle as the words fell from his mouth. "How do you know him?"

      He shook the remaining drops of blood from the plastic. "I met him right after I got out of the tomb," He placed the bloody glass on the table across from Damon. "He's been helping me out."

      Alaric leaned against the wooden banister of the kitchen entrance. "Helping you out how?"

      "Adapting. It's a whole new world—cars, computers, Match.com," The man opened the fridge again, grabbing his own blood bag. "There's so much to learn. He helped me get this place."

       "So, do you live here alone, or is there someone else here?" Alaric questioned, his voice was knife-like, caustic.

      Gwyn crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she glared with a distinct abrasiveness. Her presence filled Alaric's mind, warning him. It shocked him. He was more than aware of Gwyn's abilities, but to see her invade his psyche effortlessly startled him. She eventually tore her gaze away, feigning a softness that surprised both Damon and Alaric. "Ignore him, he has no social skills. What he means to ask is if you know a woman named Isobel?"

      The man shook his head but was still on edge. "No, no. I don't know an Isobel. I know John." A small smile rose on his lips. "He's my only real friend. He really showed me the ropes—how to use a microwave, separate my whites."

      "What else do you do for him?"

     "I help keep an eye on things—you know, with the others." He said, "They're still pissed at the Founding Families for trying to burn them alive. I'm cool, but those tomb boys, they want revenge. John's just keeping an eye on them. Trying to make sure they stay out of trouble."

      Gwyn placed her hand on her chest. "Oh, John. Bless his soul,"

      The man's phone rang from his pocket, alerting him. "That's John now."

       Damon stood from the chair. "Oh, let me talk to him." The man happily gave him his phone, but when Damon allowed the phone to ring, his smile fell. "Are you gonna answer that?"

      "Am I gonna answer that?"

       Gwyn and Alaric glanced at each other, and in sync, shook their heads. "What's going on?" And when neither of them answered, the man lurched forward at Alaric, fangs on display, but Damon pulled him back, giving Alaric enough time to stake him. The man's skin transformed into a deathly shade of grey as the black veins appeared and he collapsed onto the floor, unmoving.

      "Let's not kill anyone tonight," Damon mocked, patting Alaric on the shoulder. "Your words. Just pointing that out."

<<>>

      Gwyn sprawled herself on the couch, resting as Damon filled his second glass of blood. Alaric descended the stairs with a defeated expression. "I looked everywhere. This place is clean." His voice was overcome with frustration. Gwyn could feel the defeat radiating from him as he sat down beside her.

      "Well, I found this behind the blood in the fridge," Damon said, tossing a green beer bottle Alaric's way. He caught the bottle mid-air, twisting the top off with a heavy sigh.

      "Man, this was a real-dead end."

"I wouldn't beat myself over it, man." Damon said, "What did you think you were gonna find? Isobel with a cigar and slippers?" He rifled through a pile of mail and papers.

      Alaric uncharacteristically laughed, which transformed into an exasperated groan. "I gotta stop this. I can't keep searching for her." This encounter made him realize this behavior wasn't beneficial for him. It was unhealthy to remain fixated on a woman who didn't want him.

      Damon took a seat across from him. "Really? After only two years? That's actually moderately healthy."

      Alaric chuckled. "What are you going on? 146?"

      "Well, I figure the 200 mark is probably a good stopping point."

      Gwyn shocked both of them with a soft giggle. "You both are pathetic," But her words weren't actually malicious. They seemed as amused as she was. "Alaric, I think it's time you realize that no answer is enough. You keep thinking you wanna know why, but I think you know deep down you can't keep searching for answers you don't really want. It's time to move on."

      And Alaric agreed.

      That was until Isobel arrived into Mystic Falls later that night.