The blinds hung closed in the fifth floor office, and as their problem guest entered the room, Vaggie made sure to twist them open, shining light directly into his eyeballs. He scowled and took a seat, coolly crossing one leg over the other. She knew him well from the sessions she taught, and had never liked him - contrary piece of shit that he was.
"Now, Kain," Charlie said sternly, standing up at her desk. "I'm sure you know why you're here."
He examined his fingernails. "Not really, ma'am."
"Don't even," Vaggie threatened, and stood beside her girlfriend. "Two guests told us you tried to kill them!" This wasn't exactly true. One guest, Ginerva, made the claim, and Leslie, for some reason, was reluctant to confirm it. Eventually they pushed her into talking, and the stories matched, which was all the evidence Vaggie needed.
"Kain, this is an extreme wrong we're talking about," said Charlie. "And I don't care that it happened off the premises. These two are guests, and they're trying very hard to better themselves."
"Well, so am I," Kain countered. "Don't I have perfect class attendance? Fuck, I turn up to class more than Leslie does."
"Why did you do it?"
He sighed lazily. "Field trip."
"What?"
"I thought it'd do them good to experience almost-death, maybe teach them a lesson about watching their backs."
"That's not how Ginerva tells it. This was a deliberately cruel act, and it's totally unacceptable," Charlie said, glancing at Vaggie for reassurance. Vaggie nodded. Just like I told you, she thought. Unacceptable.
The problem guest looked pensive for a moment, and stared off to the side, examining the wallpaper. "Well," he said, "I'm happy to apologize to the girls. Really, I am sorry for what I did. It was wrong. That's obvious now."
"Damn right."
"And I'm so grateful to be given a chance here," he went on, a little too syrupy for Vaggie's liking. "This place is, like, my last chance at salvation; I really appreciate what you're doing for my soul… especially with an extermination on the way."
Vaggie didn't buy it. This was a clear attempt at emotional blackmail, to guilt them into letting him stay. But Charlie dithered; the appeal to her softer side was working. Before she could capitulate, Vaggie pulled her away from the desk to talk.
"Listen," Vaggie reminded her, "you said everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be better. A chance. This guy had it, and he blew it. We're a private business - we can kick him out for whatever fucking reason."
"I know, but… what if he's really sorry?" Charlie whispered back. "That's the point of this place… y'know, atonement! Do we deny him that forever?"
"Think about Les and Ginny! It's humiliating for them to share breathing space with this asshole. If he wants to atone, he can work for it."
The two of them exchanged words, and finally turned back to the guest, who had taken a knife from his head and used it to chop a loose piece of rubber from the tip of his boot.
"You have two choices," said Charlie, in a tone of firm-but-fair diplomatic engagement. "Either accept a six-month ban from the hotel, effective immediately, or agree to a list of conditions."
The piece of rubber came free, and Kain chucked it close to, but not actually into, a nearby wastepaper basket. "What's the conditions, ma'am?"
"OK," said Charlie, counting on her fingers. "We move you to a different teaching group, and different classes to stop you harassing those two. You maintain your attendance, pick up some volunteer work…"
"Uh-huh…"
"And you'll be banned from taking Leslie's classes."
"Let's ban you from the bar areas too," Vaggie added, smirking, "since you're working so very hard on salvation." She turned back to Charlie. "Is there some way to stop him bringing women to his room?"
"Or going to theirs? Yeah, I think some sigils will do the trick!"
Kain sat up a little straighter. "Who am I, Sisyphus? C'mon now, you're just stacking up conditions because you can at this point. My car thing had nothing to do with sex."
"Nonetheless, those are the conditions. Do you accept?"
He sat there, more pensive than before, and stuck the knife back into his head with little care. "Feck it," he said, "I'll take the ban."
o - o - o - o - o
Leslie stood under the scalding shower spray as she washed off another coat of hair dye. Her back would likely be stained. To please Alastor, she'd let him shave away the fur there, so he could see the cuts, blood and bruises before healing her again.
"It'll grow back, right?" she asked, still face-down on his rug.
"In a week or so," he answered. "Demonical healing tends not to extend to the hair."
"Wait, what? Now you fucking tell me!"
At first she thought he was lying, simply refusing to fix her fur, but then Alastor insisted that she wear modest clothing for a while, to cover the evidence of his play. Strange, he was usually careful not to leave such evidence. Perhaps the prospect of seeing her injured was too tempting, and he got carried away.
The grey water cascaded from her in sheets. When it ran clear, Leslie drowned her fur in conditioner to keep it healthy, scrubbed her feet and sang to herself, the bathroom acoustics somewhat improving her voice.
"We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind..." Scrub-a-dub. "Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance, well they're no friends-"
The shower curtain brushed against her, and she shut up. It billowed like the wind was acting on it; but this bathroom's window was sealed shut, and the door, of course, was closed.
"Hello?" She felt silly for calling out.
Just the sound of falling water. Leslie peered through, then around, the translucent curtain and couldn't see anyone there. But she couldn't shake the feeling. Quickly she rinsed off the conditioner, then yanked a towel from the rail and patted dry, still behind the curtain. She picked up the tune again, this time undersinging it.
"We can go where we want to..." She wrung out her tail. "Place that they will never find…"
Perhaps she imagined a shift in the steam, a little extra darkness against the wall. Leslie strained her eyes, but couldn't see. Tension was thick in the air. If there were eyes on her - his eyes - then what did he hope to see? Or do, for that matter?
Leslie let out a breath through pursed lips. "I know you're there," she said uncertainly.
No response.
She couldn't let him know this was bothering her - if he was even there - because that might be what he wanted. The voice in her head willed her to do the opposite of what she felt. Staring at the locked door, she released the folds of towel at the front and let the whole thing fall. Her demon body was such a disgrace. It was so ridiculous, even with the dye. But she stood there, shaking, hugged by the warm fog, and let him look… if he was even there.
A minute passed. Peace and silence, apart from the thrumming blood in her neck. She'd scared him off. Good to know for future fight scenarios, she thought, all you have to do is drop trou. Picking up the towel, she made herself decent and left.
o - o - o - o - o
Still days later, Leslie was shaken by the ambiguity of this shower incident. Her insomnia and her memories of bygone pains didn't help. She couldn't tell if an invisible Alastor was toying with her, or if it was all her imagination. It was like knowing there was a bloodthirsty mosquito in the room… somewhere.
So she turned, as she always did, back to dancing, and threw herself into her work. Movement was what she needed. She needed to make everything blur around her. She needed her muscles to ache, to feel like she'd physically tackled her problems and won.
On one of these occasions, close to midnight, she rehearsed alone, spinning in place in the studio, when the heavy door creaked open, and a most unwelcome figure came in. It was Kain. Mercifully, he stood by the entrance as she backed up, glaring, towards the opposite wall.
"Relax. I'm not staying," he told her. "Actually they checked me out yesterday. I'm going to my new digs."
Leslie nodded.
"Though I was counting on you guys," he continued, "to be cool about our road trip. It's not like I did any lasting harm."
She scoffed. "No lasting harm? I'm having nightmares because of you!"
"You had nightmares anyway. We hear you screaming at stupid o'clock in the morning," Kain said. "Look, be angry with me, that's fine, but why'd you take away my chance at redemption?"
She shook her head, taking another step back. "Come on, dude! You didn't come here for your soul; you came for an easy ride! All you have to do here is show up to classes and they'll let you stay. Isn't that what you said in the car?" She was covered with sweat from her dancing, and her mouth was dry. "You don't even want to go to Heaven!"
"No… but the choice would've been good. Imagine God - imagine he admits that I exceeded his expectations," Kain said, stepping closer. "He rewrites his rules and offers to take me, and then I turn him down. I continue to flirt with oblivion. Not a bad philosophy, if you ask me, Les. I thought you'd see my point of view."
"Can you just go? This is a shit apology."
Now he was walking over in his heavy boots. "You sure you're not a hybristophile?" he asked. Was he blocking the door? Maybe she could run around him if he got nasty. Maybe not. He smiled as he approached, as if to say, Take it easy. Be friendly for your own sake.
"Kain-"
"I really doubt your story of smashing faces into that mirror," he said. "You're too soft for that. And the way you let that shadow guy lead you onstage... Tells me something."
Leslie was strong, and she had a dancer's legs, but there was no kidding herself; she could not fight off a grown man through strength alone. She glanced at the security camera. It was turned around, facing the corner! Why was it turned around?
Her back hit the broken mirror. Inspired, desperate, she threw back her fist, further splintering the glass, and yanked out a good long shard. Time to escalate.
He laughed. "Woah there! Bit much!"
"Get the FUCK out of my studio!" she barked, good and loud, like her mother always told her, and held out the shard.
"You think I'm afraid? I want a goodbye hug, is all. You owe me that much."
Leslie aimed the fragment down. "I'll cut your dick off, I swear to God," she said in a stupid high voice, shoving his shoulder when he got too close. "No! Get away!"
To be fair, Kain retreated, cheerfully bouncing his step with hands raised. "Alright, alright-" and then the rug, almost literally, was pulled from under him: something yanked Kain by the ankle. THWACK! He fell on his face. Leslie yelped in surprise from the sudden movement. They were the only two in the room - nobody else could have done this. Unless…
"The fuck was that?" Kain exclaimed, coming up on his elbows.
With shaking arms, she continued to hold out the piece of mirror. "Leave," she said, not explaining.
Kain gave her a dirty look and got up, his shoes leaving black marks on the floor as he stomped away. She looked at the camera. Now she knew why it was turned around: so there'd be no evidence of the poltergeist attack on Kain.
Though she waited for many minutes, her assumed rescuer never appeared. Certainly she was grateful for Alastor's help, and she'd find a way to thank him later. For now, Leslie stood alone, in silence, examining the cuts on her hand. That had been a close one… hadn't it? She wasn't overreacting to Kain's attempt at a hug?
Better safe than sorry.
Leslie caught sight of her reflection as she gathered her things: a dark-coated rabbit demon with the improvised weapon clenched in her fist. Absolutely nothing like she used to be. In fact, compared to her first day in Hell, the day she barely escaped a mugging, this was quite a step up in terms of confronting a potential threat.
Leslie reminded herself not to feel too proud. Things could have gone far worse, and the fear was still there; her arms continued to tremble. Rosie was right. She could do with some powers of her own.
