Ten Years to Make and Break a Villain

I've always liked the character of Bela. I know I'm in a minority here, but it has always seemed to me that Bela's character had so much depth that was not explored thoroughly on the show. And I don't think they ever mentioned Abby's full name on the show, so I made one up.

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Chapter One

At fourteen Abigail Josephine Moncrieff killed her parents.

She wasn't even sure that she had done it until she got the news that her parents had been killed in a car crash. And then she knew. That little girl she'd spoken to on the swings had told her the truth.

"I didn't know," Abby whispered.

But she had known. That little girl had not been a little girl at all. That little girl had been… something unnatural. She'd known the second that girl's eyes flashed scarlet. And when they sealed the deal with a kiss—just a brief, very light peck on the lips, so quick that Abby hadn't even been sure that it had happened.

I could take care of them for you. And it won't even cost you anything…

And then the shivers traveled down Abby's spine, because she was just remembering the second part of the little girl's offer.

…for ten…

"…whole years." Abby muttered.

She was sitting in an office, dreary and grey, like all the offices she had been in for the past few days. She'd been to the policeman's office, to the social worker's office, even to the child psychologist's office.

Anyone who was watching her wouldn't have denied that she needed a psychiatrist. She'd been talking to herself; Abby hadn't even been aware that she was thinking out loud.

"Abby?"

With a start, Abby looked up. She'd been staring fixatedly at the oaken desk for the past hour-and-a-half, staring without really seeing, lost in her own thoughts. She glanced up at the woman with the too-sympathetic expression and the too-understanding smile.

She didn't understand at all.

"Abigail Moncrieff?"

"Yes." Abby cleared her throat; her voice was raspy from lack of use. "Yes?"

"I'm Rhonda Dent. I'm a social worker who's just been assigned your case."

"Oh." And how was she supposed to respond to that? Congratulate her, thank her, or what? Abby settled with a nicely ambiguous, "I see."

"I know you must be feeling very sad right now…"

…but Abby wasn't. Abby was feeling scared, guilty, elated, and freed; a whole myriad of mixed emotions, but sadness wasn't one of them. Her parents were dead. Her parents were dead. Happiness, rushed and unexpected, suddenly welled up in Abby's chest. Her mother, useless and docile, turning a blind eye to all that her father had ever done to her. Her father, her father, who hit her in the day and did unspeakable things to her at night. They were dead. They were dead. In that moment Abby didn't care about ten whole years. It didn't matter, whatever that strange little girl meant didn't matter. Whatever the consequences, Abby wouldn't have done it differently.

"…and I'm truly sorry for your loss. But we have to consider your situation, Abby. I've been told you don't have any family members who will take you in. Is this true?"

Abby looked up. "Yes."

The woman, Rhonda Dent, made an odd cluck-clucking sound with her tongue to indicate sympathy. "Abby, what has happened to you is terrible and unfair, but you'll get through this. We'll get through it together. Children your age who have lost their parents still go on to have happy and fulfilling lives, you know. You'll still grow up and go to university and get married and…"

Abby felt herself zone out. Her roaming thoughts landed on the inheritance. Her father had been an awful person but he'd had sharp elbows in the business world and that had brought him a huge pile of money. It was her money now. Hers. Now she could get that leather jacket she'd been too afraid to ask her parents to buy her for her fifteenth birthday.

Both Abby and the Rhonda Dent woman were startled out of their thoughts by the phone ringing suddenly. Dent leaned over the desk and picked up.

"Rhonda Dent, how may I help you?"

Ms. Dent listened intently for a few moments, and then nodded, smiled. "That's wonderful. I'll tell her now."

There was a soft click and Ms. Dent hung up.

"Well, Abby, I have good news. A foster family has been contacted and they are willing to take you in. Their names are Mr. and Mrs. Hart, they have a son and a daughter, and they live in Yorkshire."

Abby grimaced. "Yorkshire?"

"Yes, Yorkshire. Is that a problem?"

Abby shrugged. She'd lived in London for her whole life, and she found Yorkshire accents a bit hard to understand, but it wasn't really a problem. Besides, perhaps it was good to get out of London Town. Change of city, change of heart?

Dream on. You killed your parents and you're happy about it. There's no change of heart for someone like that.

"Abby?" Dent asked.

She shook herself out of her reverie. "No, no problem." She stood up; the chair creaked across the wooden floor as she did so and she winced. "When do I leave?"

Ms. Dent looked a bit surprised; Abby could understand why. A decision had just been made to shuffle her from London to Yorkshire, to stay with a new family that might or might not treat her well. Ms. Dent had probably been expecting, well, a bit of emotion, a bit of angst.

Abby's clear, impassive gaze gave away nothing.

"Tomorrow would be ideal," Ms. Dent said at last. "But if you feel it's too rushed, an allowance might be made, you could always…"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect." Abby interrupted.

Rhonda Dent gave the fourteen-year-old a calculating look. Abby felt she was being X-rayed. "Is there a problem?" Abby's voice was testy.

"Uh, no, I just…" Dent sounded taken-aback.

"Good. Where am I going to sleep tonight?"

"You can stay in my flat for the night…"

Again Abby interjected. "Then can we go? I'm awfully tired."

Silently resigned to her fate, Dent nodded and stood up. "Let's go, Abby."

Abby Moncrieff followed her out without a word.

The little demon girl's words rang out in her head again.

"Ten whole years."

Abby had to stop herself from screaming aloud.