As a small, impromptu council of five attempted to find the missing guest, Husk for some reason got dragged along. He'd sooner curl up in the basement with a bottle of Randy Bishop, or maybe Tears of Bacchus. Then again, the basement was that much closer to Hell's molten core, so it was probably a bad idea.
Angel was in a bad way, chewing his nails. He'd been worse, naturally, but Husk could feel his concern from yards away. Poor old spider; he'd be better off if he didn't care so much. The girls were worried too, but they had each other, openly linking arms as they walked from room to room.
Now he'd nailed down the building, Radioface had gone ahead, teleporting around the upper floors. He was harder to read. When Charlie told Alastor to check upstairs, he'd shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes were distracted.
Husk suspected there was something going on with him and the bunny, something… transactional in nature. That was how most of Al's alliances went, including the one he held with Husk. In principle, Husk had no problem with business relationships, the old mutual back-scratching. But he and Al weren't equally matched. God knows how a tiny ball of fluff would cope.
He'd noticed certain things - Leslie and Alastor conversing together. Talking in code. But what could you do? It wasn't any of Husk's business. He had nothing to do with it, and not enough knowledge to go forward anyway.
The council briefly split to cover more ground, and eventually reconvened in the library, which was curiously dark, now its windows were blocked by the underground. Their view was of compacted earth and a few pipelines.
"No luck?"
They shook their heads.
Then Charlie started on one of her things. "I hate when this happens," she sniffed, sinking into a couch. "When I was a kid, I saw so many people go reeling into the street. They were sick of being punished, I think, or they didn't… they didn't believe things could get better." She buried her face in Vaggie's shoulder. "And my dad said it was just a part of living in Hell, but this hotel was meant to help people! It was meant to stop that from happening!"
There followed a group hug (excluding Alastor), but there was nothing much to be said. Most likely, Les had had enough. Husk wasn't exactly pro-suicide, but believed nobody should suffer more than necessary. Hell, if he had more bottle, he'd have tried it himself.
Angel broke out of the hug and hooked a pinky finger around one of Husk's. It was a small enough gesture. In the circumstances, Husk allowed it.
Meanwhile, Alastor stood apart, wiping some dust from a bookcase. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet. Just then he paused, apparently deep in thought, and leaned forward, then back.
"Hm," he said. "Getting on for five."
Before they could ask what he was on about (and it actually looked like Angel was going to punch him in the face), Al teleported.
"Fuckin' piecea shit!" Angel said, thwarted, and kicked a table, which upset a pile of books. The girls looked at him in surprise. "I'm sorry," said Angel, and he turned to Husk. "I'm sick'a this. I hate watchin' you an' Les, lookin' so sorry in his fuckin' presence. Why can't we jus' beat him the fuck up?"
Vaggie stood up. "OK… what the hell is going on here?"
"Wait 'til he comes back," said Husk, linking fingers again with his Angel - moved, daring for once in his damn life to do something. "He, uh… somethin' Al said drunk, but he might know where to find her."
Now they stared at Husk.
"I mean, if he returns empty handed, still bein' a fukken shit," Husk added, "then I vote we beat him up."
o - o - o - o - o
Fireworks burst in the sky over the Magne estate. Leslie didn't know what it meant, and she didn't care. She'd discarded her shelf and somehow made it to another street in Pentagram City. It wasn't really self-preservation; she just didn't want to see what happened to Karl.
She should have done differently - not left him. Given him the drugs. He might have been less scared. How long would it have really taken? She should have said some things to him.
God, she couldn't bear it.
The air carried the cries of other sinners, and in this new part of the city, it stank of ozone and petrichor. Eventually, Leslie collapsed and began rocking in place, back and forth like a crazy person. Not long after that, she saw the black shoes and slacks of the second-worst person in the world.
"I felt that spinny-turn you did," he said anecdotally. "And, well… this is almost a dance, I suppose! Up you get, darling."
Leslie shook her head, so he crouched down, lifting her by the arms. He had his cane hooked into his left elbow. That cane would have been just the thing to pry up a vending machine. Her eyes were streaming.
"Did you want to die?" Alastor asked. He got no answer. "Well, it's past five now; they're usually gone! And we still have a few hours to discuss our contract."
"Don't talk to me now," she wailed. "Karl is dead."
Alastor gave her an insulting pat on the back. "He's in a better place."
No he wasn't. No he wasn't.
"Look," said Alastor, "I don't think he merits mourning. Remember what he did to you!"
"No," Leslie said, snot running down her stupid pink face. "He wanted to change. He really tried! When we were alive, I had to do a terrible thing but he kicked it then, and he was doing it again now, and he was going to be better! He didn't deserve this!"
She looked him in the face, trying to impress upon him how serious she was. In response, Alastor gave a sly look.
"I think I know," he said.
"What?"
"Are you interested to know why you are in Hell?"
"Not now."
"Fornication, for one thing. I know you believed you were married, but I doubt God cares for that distinction. But besides that… something else," Alastor said, smiling. "I thought those imps had the wrong Leslie, back when we were researching you. One who was legally single. One with medical records showing an overdose of amphetamines." Alastor stepped closer. "That seemed unlike you… but then I recalled the night of Charlotte's birthday. Never Have I Ever. When I asked if the players had tried hard drugs, you covered yourself in fruit punch and fled the room."
"That was an accident," she protested.
"Next day, no longer bound to speak the truth, you could choose your words more carefully. Leslie did not use those substances 'recreationally'... and that is an important distinction," he said, slightly spirited with the reveal, like he was Sherlock fucking Holmes. "You used them to scare Karlton straight. You took what he was taking. Did he give a convincing story at the hospital, or did he dump you there?"
She shook her head.
"I know you, Leslie. Self-destructive to a fault! Drugs, magnets… petri dishes, I suspect. It's the only way you can affect change, because you're fundamentally weak." He stroked her ears, lightly scolding. "Attempted suicide, Leslie. Do you realize how serious that is? The contempt you showed for the body God gifted you, and you have the nerve to complain about your new one!"
Leslie collapsed again. Stop talking. Stop talking!
"On top of that, Leslie scared a man half to death, so he would commit to her. Then she found me, sinned with me, and wondered why she didn't go to Heaven! Silly, really. But it's alright, my dear. God may not forgive you, but I do."
He made no move to pick her up this time. Leslie gazed up at him, tall and smiling, and almost as dark as his shadow. Fresh tears were stinging her eyes, but she was so, so tired. Wanting comfort and knowing it wouldn't come. There was nothing she could do.
She struggled to her feet and fell against him.
"There there," he said - a superficial consolation. "Let go."
"Can we go somewhere?" Leslie found herself saying.
Alastor nodded, and the world lurched out of existence and back again. They were in a red-bricked alley she didn't recognize. Odd - she expected him to take them indoors, but at this point she was past caring.
"I need you," she said, "and then we can talk about the contract. Whatever."
His eyes flashed. "There's going to be some biting involved," he let her know, helping her to the ground.
Leslie almost didn't speak: revulsion was trying to stopper her mouth. "Fine, just… please. I'm starving."
"So am I," he said, "but this should help." And he put a finger of his left hand in her mouth. "You know, I met Decider once in this alley. He told me a little secret." But he refused to elaborate. Alastor only smiled wider, with that fear-loving gleam in his eyes.
She felt the point of his nail against her tongue. He was a loathsome, bloodthirsty wretch. Why couldn't Rosie have finished him off? His mouth came to her neck, lingering there. Before he could do anything, she slowly raised a clawed hand and spiked herself. Alastor grinned, then latched on, beginning the exsanguination.
Rosie. The words from her bedroom wall came to mind. The dolly with no eyes, with circles around its hands, areas of the face.
This was going to get her killed.
Leslie wrapped her arms around him. Then, she screwed her eyes shut. She didn't think. Her incisors pinched around his smallest knuckle, the joint at the end-most point of the finger.
Like a carrot.
She bit down.
The flesh broke and blood spurted. Alastor yelled, half-pain, half-shock, and he lashed out in thoughtless anger, boxing her ear four times with his free hand. Leslie saw stars, but didn't let go. Her teeth clamped harder, even as Alastor kneed her in her stomach. She gagged as her mouth was filling, but she held on.
Then Alastor hooked his claws into her nostrils, threatening to tear the nasal passage. In a panic, Leslie bit harder. There was a sickening noise, the feeling of torn muscle and sinew. He fell into her, still yelling through his teeth, and finally, the fingertip came loose. Unbalanced and dizzy, she rolled onto her side, into the fetal position.
"Eeuurp!" Leslie covered her mouth, fighting the nausea.
"SPIT IT OUT."
Leslie felt the ghastly presence of Alastor's deer-demon, the one from the bayou. Too furious now to be rational. Something told her not to do as he commanded. She tried to crawl away, covering her mouth. Long, dark spikes came from below, and they pierced her flesh at different angles, suspending her several inches off the ground. Leslie screamed through her nose. Trapped. Immobilized. God, the pain!
Alastor strolled over, dripping blood. The smile was frozen on his oddly-pale face, and his sprouting antlers had outgrown the velvet that covered them, showing irregular patches of gore. Without a word, he swooped down and bit a chunk out of her shoulder. Leslie's scream reached an inaudibly high pitch. Spikes penetrated the muscles in her right arm. She was weak, too weak to stop him prying her hand from her mouth.
"SPIT IT OUT," he repeated, leaning forward. A flare of panic. No, not the face! But he did. He bit her on the nose, then shook his head, twisting the bite. All she could manage now was a shrill rattle as yet more blood washed down her throat. He was killing her. He was actually killing her.
"Oh, Alastor?" a familiar voice sang.
The air changed. Leslie knew who it was without looking. Muted spindly shapes streaked across the ground, mingling with her spikes. She felt dizzy, as though stuck in a tall tree, gazing through the branches. Alastor stood up.
"There you are," Rosie said.