Mary lay spread legged on the couch, yawning loudly as she scratched her breast. 7 o'clock, already a new day. Nothing to really speak of, except that she'd been able to fit 2 whole waffles in her mouth for dinner. Also, she'd actually woken up early for the first time in like... ever. She flipped through channels boredly. Nothing good was ever on in the mornings, anyway. Not even on Cartoon Network. Frickin' Teen Titans Go, ruining the whole franchise. She threw her head back, letting loose an agonized sigh. She missed Dionysus, and Bridget too. Where'd they go? She was sure they must be having oodles and noodles of fun without her. She wondered how Bridget would be fairing especially. She was a nice kid, really she was. Still, she struck Mary as a prude, definitely.

"...al Scott was found dead in his bedroom this morning, at 3am."

"Hah?" Mary looked up. She'd accidentally switched to the News channel, which was boring as balls. All Obama lied this, school shootings that... A woman reporter with an 80s hairdo was speaking with a picture of an apartment building behind her.

"The 16 year old was discovered in his bed, seemingly asleep when his mother came to check on him. According to her, she believed she heard a scream from his bedroom and rushed to check on him. However, when she arrived, there was nothing out of the ordinary, except that she found that her son was not breathing. She claims that Micheal frequently suffered from nightmares and sleep paralysis. Investigators suspect that he died of a heart attack in his sleep..." The sound of the door clicking made Mary jump slightly. Dionysus came flouncing in, laughing gleefully as he slipped off his coat.

"Gods above, that was great! I didn't know you were an actress."

"Uhuh." Bridget looked tired. Her skin was pale, and her eyes had a kind of ferocity to them. Average night out, Mary guessed. She came walking stiffly behind him, and while the god of wine sunk into a chair, she remained standing a distance away. Mary squinted. Dionysus' cheeks looked like 2 blotchy dots against paper. He was smiling that smile, the one when he was in the mood to pick someone's nose. Drunkard.

"I can't believe it." She whined. "You guys snuck off without me. I bet you were having loads of fun, weren't you?"

"Want to guess? Check the telly." She did. Then it cut to another woman standing outside the apartment building. She was middle-aged and in tears.

"I just can't believe it." She spoke between sobs. "This has happened so many times before, but we never really worried about it. My Micheal had his faults, that's for sure, but he was a good boy. He always did his best in school and he had friends to support him. I mean, we're good Christians. I can't understand why all this is happening..." It cut back to the reporter.

"Meanwhile, we have another rather distressing report. It seems that the mysterious disappearance of Bridget Henshel may be very well be solved. Around midnight last night, 3 boys, David Peterson, Andrew Hughs, and Jose Garcia—respectively—reported themselves to the police as guilty of kidnapping 16 year old Bridget Henshel. 2 of 3 boys, coincidentally, attend the same school as both Micheal Scott and Bridget Henshel, Sacred Heart in Cincinnati Ohio. Perhaps there is a connection? Investigators are rather wary, though, as all 3 boys seem to be suffering from an identical episode of mania. It is a possibility that drugs were involved. More on that later...

"Meanwhile, we have Tod with the weather." A shudder wracked the sofa. Mary looked up and found it was Bridget, clutching the edges so tightly she may have ripped the fabric off. Her face was sweaty and so pale she looked a solid shade of green. Mary jumped up warily, not quite in the mood to be puked on.

"Are you gonna be sick again?" She shook her head slowly.

"We still have so many to go." Dionysus watched the screen blandly; he'd already sobered up. "But there's plenty concepts to go around. Next time, I'm thinking Human Centipede."

"Not that." Bridget mumbled. Meanwhile, Mary's heart sped up to a hundred miles an hour as her gaze crossed between the girl, the god, and the TV. Some super secret they were hoping to surprise her with?

"Are we going hunting?" Her voice was tremulous with excitement.

"You can tag along next time, if you like."

"Please let me come." She clasped her hands, practically begging. "I can do the centipede, too." She could feel Bridget's horrified gaze searing the back of her head but she only smirked to herself. If she couldn't be the first one to go, then she'd do even better the next time.

"You may." She squealed with joy and hugged him.

"May I go?" Bridget peeped.

"You may." She made a beeline for the bedroom. The door closed, not as loud as a slam but enough to make Mary wary. Dionysus was stony-faced, staring off somewhere in the distance as if he'd left his body, even though he was sitting up quite straight in his seat.

~*~

Bridget

I don't know what I'm doing here.

Housekeeping came around. I curl into a tight ball underneath the fresh sheets, sweet-smelling and uncreased. Everything feels soft and cushy, I make it so that I can't even hear the endless drone of the TV. Painful queasiness spreads over my chest.

I killed him. I killed that boy.

I do remember him, even though I don't want to because the nausea is returning as rapidly as water over a broken dam. Through a blurry haze he was on top of me, and he... I jackknife into a sitting position and run to the bathroom. I bend over the toilet and gag, but nothing comes out but a dribble of stomach acid. My body convulses as I sink into a bent position, clutching the edges of the pristine toilet seat. I killed someone. I can't deny that while I was being held captive, I made at least a 100 wishes a day that they would all die, or some calamity would occur where they disappeared without a trace and then I'd be free. Free and safe. But I... I never thought about killing anyone. The fear of God is so ingrained in me since birth that murder felt like something only people of a different species committed. I could never even picture myself doing anything like that but I did, just now. Only hours ago, I scared Micheal Scott to death—literally.

But I'd also had my revenge against him.

An icy feeling envelopes me. My stomach makes odd noises. I haven't eaten since that fateful breakfast date, but I can't think of doing anything, except hurling up my own stomach. I feel... terrible. But I also feel light, like a weight's been lifted off me. Is this how it will be from now on? He was horrified when he saw me. I'll be able to do the same, and much worse to whoever I like. The idea makes my head swirl.

I don't know if I can follow through with taking revenge. It would be much nicer if Dionysus did it for me, somewhere I couldn't see. But I know that he will absolutely make me do it. He hasn't flown into a rage once, but his eyes are as cold as dried blood. He's capable of awful things, I'm sure. He terrifies me, almost as much as I'm afraid of Hell. For a minute an horrible thought crosses me, wondering if that wouldn't be kinder.

The door creeks open and I shudder. Mary's in the doorway, but I can't think of that as comforting. Human Centipede is not a nice movie. To anyone who hasn't watched it, just don't. "Are you feeling really ill again?" I shake my head. It's nowhere as bad as before, but with this horrible guilt it sort of balances them both. She walks in, spots the little mess in the toilet, and makes a face. I blush as she flushes and flips the seat down, so she sits just opposite from me. I draw my knees up to my chin. For a minute we're quiet. "I can't believe you actually feel bad."

"I'm not cut out for this. I want to quit."

"You can't. Until he says so, you can't." My eyes burn. I don't just feel bad over Micheal. These people have been good to me. But they're not my people. They're apart of another world entirely. She sighs.

"At least you have it easier. I killed my parents, you know." God! She stares off into nothing.

"Did they do something bad to you?"

"Yeah. We were all dysfunctional. My dad only came home for money. My mom got drunk and she hit me a lot. They wanted to marry me to an older guy. I thought about killing myself or running away a lot. I ended up doing both."

"I'm so sorry." She shrugged as if it were no big deal.

"It's ok. I'm glad I did it, or else I wouldn't be where I am today. And he," She eyed the door. "wanted me to kill them, as proof of my devotion. At first I was glad to. He was everything to me, my only way out. So I didn't hesitate, but after that... I felt terrible. They were shitty, but they were still my family. That's the natural way, I reckon."

I end up really crying. For Mary, mostly, because I feel so weak in comparison. My parents never hit me. I can't even imagine it. And I would never, in a million years, kill my family. I wonder how they must be feeling, now that I'm back on the news. It must be hard. More than anything, I want to go to them and tell them I'm ok. "But I think he was actually helping me, by making me do it. I felt bad, but I felt light. Like I could do anything, nothing could hurt me. It's thanks to him that I never have to feel scared or sad anymore."

"It's not the same." I weep. I'm not acolyte material, I don't think.

But how different is it, really? She described all the things I'm feeling now. What's the difference? What's the difference? For the life of me, I can't find one.