AN: Hello folks, thanks to the wholesome goodness of S5, i've been sucked back in again.

This latest fic is loosely based on the book 'Horns' by Joe Hill and if you haven't read it, you should, it's truly magnificent.

Flashbacks in italics.

Enjoy.

…

You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him.

John 8:44

…

She's dimly aware that it's still raining, at least that's what her bones are telling her; chilled and stiff, back pressed against a slab of gravestone. She'd read the engraving hours ago, when the watery sun began to dip just out of sight, melting into the horizon.

Mary Rose Watson, beloved mother and grandmother, sleeping with the angels.

There was a time when Alex would have scoffed at such a clichéd epitaph, but now, she doubts she could even find a single person who'd write such a thing for her…and mean it (except for maybe Nichols, at a push and Diane) because, ever since the disappearance of Piper Chapman 12 months ago, this town has branded her a criminal…a murderer.

And some days, like today, when she wakes to a sky that's nothing more than a swirling grey mass, mottled with rain clouds, she can barely even muster the energy to believe in herself.

But there's not blood on her hands, just her brain and then there's her heart….

…..oh her heart….

….. a swollen, battered thing she can no longer comprehend.

But Nichols tells her to hang in there, so she tries. Her mother keeps smiling warmly, telling her it will all blow over and so she nods. And yet all she can see is Piper's eyes, all she can hear is her laugh

But all she can taste is blood….

Maybe she's starting to like it that way.

…

Church is more stifling than usual this Sunday, dry summer heat and too many bodies squeezed together in a confined space and Nichols keeps fidgeting, poking her in the ribs, or picking out sentences in the bible that can be construed as something lewd, juvenile even for your average 16 year old.

'Course me and you, we're going straight to hell' she whispers with a grin. Alex doesn't need to clarify why. Instead she kicks her friend in the shin, hoping it will get her to quiet down and flicks her eyes over the gathered congregation.

There's the usual suspects; the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker and just as she's about to make her excuses to her mother (who is only there out of politeness to the local pastor-a frequent customer at their café) something bright catches her eye. At first she figures it's just the sun glinting through the stained glass windows, the only part of the church that Alex likes. She's spent countless Sundays such as this, watching rainbow refractions dapple the canvas of the church floor, but after a minute or so it becomes apparent that's not what it is.

She cranes her head a little to get a better look and finally she finds the source- a blonde girl, around her own age, sat on the row of pews second from the front. She's holding a gold pendent and as the sunlight hits it, she's directing it straight at Alex. But then their eyes lock and she drops the necklace from her hand so it's lying back against her chest and she smiles. And it's so warm and lovely it's as if she is the sun.

'Hey jackass, I asked if you were coming to the arcade later' Nichols hisses, so loudly that Diane raises a finger to her lips.

'If you want', Alex mumbles, eyes still fixed on the blonde, who has now turned away and is listening intently to something her mother (Alex assumes) is whispering to her.

The older woman is all Parkslope- twin sets and Chanel and pearls. But the girl, she seems out of place somehow. And Alex is so fixated on this thought that it takes her a full minute to realise that the service is over and everyone is slowly filing out of the church.

Diane sidelines her as she's trying to escape outside and introduces her to Mrs Ormerod, the new music teacher at the local high school.

'I hear you're quite the pianist' she says to Alex. She seems pleasant enough, middle aged, slightly plump and mousey with rosy cheeks, but all this time chatting is time wasted, time she could be waiting outside for the girl. Her eyes glance back over to where she was sitting, but the bench is empty and just as Alex is about to sigh and write it off as just another Sunday, she spots something, discarded on the girl's pew.

After several more minutes of small talk, her right foot starting to tap in agitation, she excuses herself from the two women, she mentions a promise to meet Nichols and her mother tells her not to be too late back home. 'I think I dropped something out of my pocket' Alex adds, 'better check my seat'.

She ambles back to where she'd been seated earlier and then, when she's sure the women have left and no one else is watching, she darts over to the blonde girl's pew.

Sure enough, something has been left there- the pendent. A sunbeam is hitting it directly and it bends the light, causing it to bounce up onto the ceiling above Alex's head, as if it's some sort of halo.

And right at that moment, Alex Vause thinks that maybe there is a god after all.

…

The horns aren't what she expected, that is, based on pictures she's seen in bad horror films or storybooks. They're not long and viciously protruding, but instead smaller, barely visible under her long dark hair, but soft to touch.

But they are horns, of that there can be no doubt. So she carries on staring at them a little longer, hands gripping the sides of the sink, hoping against hope this is a bad dream, a terrible come down or both. The inside of her mouth feels furry and tastes of stale rum. Something she's gotten used to over the last year.

Her cell rings, she stumbles to the bedroom to answer it. It's Diane. She makes small talk, asks why Alex has skipped Sunday dinner the last few weeks. Alex cobbles together excuses about being busy with work, even though she'd been fired from that job months ago and is living off savings and Nichols' good will.

'So what's new with you then honey?' She asks it's tentatively, like she's lit a fuse for something and isn't sure when to expect the explosion.

I dunno ma, I woke up this morning and sprouted a pair of fucking devil horns, I think I might need to bathe in a little holy water.

'Nothing mom, I'm doing ok' she says, fingertips running over the horns.

'That's good baby, I gotta go, I've left Barb on the till by herself, why don't you come by for some Apple pie sometime huh? Don't be a stranger?'

The words make Alex's insides ache, because she so wants it to be like it used to be, when her mother didn't punctuate sentences with pity.

'I won't' she says. 'Take care' and then she hangs up and find herself surprisingly breathless. There's a half empty bottle of booze by her bed, she takes a couple of swigs, figures it's kinda like mouthwash and sits for a few minutes, trying to fathom what to do about the fucking horns.

She toys (very fleetingly) with the idea of going to church, after all, if a pastor doesn't know what to do in these circumstances, then who the fuck would? But as with most places in this town, she's pretty sure she's no longer welcome there. So she does what she always does these days when she's run out of ideas. She calls Nichols, tells her it's an emergency and ten minutes later she's at her door.

…

It's been three weeks since she's spotted the girl and every Sunday since, Alex has been first and last out of the church service. It's gotten to the point that Nichols is asking her if she's turned to the 'dark side' if she's gonna sign up to be a fully fledged member of the 'god squad', but Alex doesn't want to tell her about the blonde…..not just yet. It feels like something deliciously private.

But after week three comes and goes, she's not sure whether to write the whole thing off, although all she's done every night since, is sleep with the pendent underneath her pillow, as if it will somehow help make her dreams more ethereal and pleasurable.

And sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but more often than not they feature the girl, bathed in a golden glow and always, just slightly out of reach.

Today is the fourth Sunday of the month and she's turned up, as usual, with the pendent in her pocket and a giddy optimism in her heart. But the day gets off to a bad start. She overhears Jessica Wedge in the pew over from her making fun of her shoes, 'look at those fucking bobo's on Vause' she says to Riley Anderson, giggling loudly. Alex's green eyes darken like a brewing storm and she hunkers down in her seat.

'What's up with you?' Nichols asks.

Alex nods curtly towards Jessica.

'You're letting Wedge piss you off? Fuck her'

'Keep it down will you' Alex says, keenly aware the service is about to start.

'Seriously, don't worry about her, I heard from Chip Barker she's got a wart on her va…'

'Nichols!' the brunette hisses.

Her friend chuckles and flips open her bible, scanning it for more paragraphs she can make inappropriate jokes about. And just as Alex scans the crowd, ready to write off yet another Sunday (the pendent practically burning a hole in her pocket) she spots the blonde. And her heart leaps up so ferociously into the confines of her ribcage, she's sure it can be heard reverberating around the church hall.

She stuffs her hand in her coat pocket, curling her fingers around the cool metal.

And suddenly, everything seems ok.

AN: As you know, I don't leave incomplete stories, but I'm not sure how quickly I can write this, or how long it will be, because I have other writing projects on the go and life and all that Jazz. Plus I'm not a writer that ever has a story complete when I bring it here, largely because I don't work to a plan, so have no idea what's coming next myself. But I'll try not to leave you hanging for too long.