Thank you all for reading! Once again, in this chapter I take heavy influence from Schitt's Creek.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"He wants to interview us," Isabel muttered. The crackling of the fire that once was so calming was now so ominous. "What does that even mean?"
"Weren't you listening? He wants to see who is the most fit for survival." André was fed up with everything. They purchased tickets for the outpost; they paid their dues! They should be done fighting for their lives! But this asshole said that there is one more step? That not all of them could go to the Sanctuary?
Isabel rolled her eyes. "I know that. I'm thinking out loud."
"He looks like he's gonna murder us, not interview us," Gallant said.
"Someone has to be the sacrificial lamb," Dinah said.
Everyone eyed each other. Who would it be?
André broke the silence. "I'm not getting murdered first."
"Your boyfriend is dead. You've got nothing else to live for," Coco stated, either forgetting that Dinah was his mother and she was right there, alive and well, or not caring enough to remember.
"You were the one saying we should all just kill ourselves. You get murdered first."
"No, you get murdered first, André!"
"You get murdered first!"
"No, you!"
"No, You get murdered, Coco!"
"No, you get murdered first for once!"
"How about you both go so you can both be murdered?" Isabel snapped. The bickering pair immediately shut up, eyes wide. "Sorry," Isabel added quietly, shame crawling up her spine. She didn't mean that. While these people annoyed the shit out of her, with death being a very real possibility such words held power.
Only a few of them were going to be permitted to go to this place called the Sanctuary. The rest would be left to die in Outpost 3. The thought of being left behind underground made Isabel feel claustrophobic. Perhaps she had a fighting chance, though. She just needed to figure out who the hell Michael Langdon was.
"I'll get murdered first," Isabel decided.
She wanted to wait until the others had their interviews so that she could get a better idea of the man she would be dealing with, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.
When no one protested or said anything, Isabel was slightly offended. "Seriously? You guys are just going to let me go?"
"We thank you for your service," Gallant said with a mocking solute.
"You all suck," Isabel muttered bitterly, leaving the room.
The halls of the outpost felt eerie, more so than before. An uncomfortable heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach as she neared Ms. Venable's office, which Michael was borrowing to conduct the interviews.
She rounded the corner in time to see Ms. Meade walk into the office. There were muffled voices, and Isabel dared to come closer but stopped short when she saw Ms. Venable step out, the door slamming shut behind her. There was something different about her. She was still walking tall, but it was forced. Her eyes glistened with tears.
"Leave," Ms. Venable ordered Ms. Meade. From where she stood, Isabel could see that the back of Ms. Venable's dress was unzipped, and for a moment, Isabel was sure that Ms. Venable hadn't noticed her, until Ms. Meade was out of sight and Ms. Venable wordlessly looked at her.
Feeling daring, Isabel came nearer. "Ms. Venable?" She bit her lip when Ms. Venable averted her gaze, embarrassed and close to crying. It was very odd; Isabel felt like she was in the twilight zone. What the hell happened in the office?
Isabel moved to stand behind Ms. Venable, inhaling sharply when she saw it.
The curve of Wilhelmina's spine was painful to even look at. Almost involuntarily, Isabel's fingertips traced the crooked line. So this was why she had the cane… Isabel's own forearm tingled in remembrance; a scar, hidden by the sleeves of her dress, that had faded over the years but would never go away thanks to the demon baby that lived in her basement.
Slowly, Isabel zipped up the back of Wilhelmina's dress, catching the faint scent of midnight fleur; perfume used sparingly.
Wilhelmina shuddered; no one had been this close to her in years. She never allowed it. Damn that Michael Langdon. He not only humiliated her, but exposed her. Anger began pulsing through her veins. She was in charge here, and this man swoops in and tries taking over? She wasn't going to stand for it.
She turned on her heels to face Isabel suddenly, wanting to smirk when she saw Isabel tense. Even with her secret exposed, she was in charge. Mr. Langdon could play pretend all he wanted, but this was her outpost.
"Say nothing," Ms. Venable instructed, her voice low, almost a husky whisper.
"And if I do?" Isabel asked.
Ms. Venable raised her hand and Isabel flinched, expecting to be hit. Instead, Ms. Venable lay the back of her hand gently on Isabel's cheek. "Oh Miss Noble," she chastised. "When will you learn that I am a far better ally than enemy?"
Isabel didn't respond; she couldn't find any words. She didn't want to talk, she wanted to… Isabel bit her lip again as she watched Ms. Venable walk away. She took a moment to catch her breath before turning and knocking on the office door.
It immediately opened. Michael Langdon loomed over her. Isabel thought she would feel intimidated, but she didn't. There was something about him that was childish.
"I'm here to do the interview," Isabel said when Michael looked at her expectantly.
"How noble of you," Michael said with a soft chuckle at his dumb joke. "But it isn't your time."
"You sound like the grim reaper."
"For the time being I am." After all, he was the one who got to decide who was taken to the Sanctuary and who was left to rot. "Your turn will come soon enough."
Michael was eager to speak with her, but he wanted to savor it.
So Isabel was shut out of the office. She was irritated that her bout of courage was diminished.
What was she even supposed to do now? How long would the others take?
A long time apparently. A couple of days passed, and Isabel was given no indication that her turn was coming up. It was frustrating. She just wanted to get this over with; she wanted to know who Michael was!
Constance had never mentioned a Michael before. Was there any reason to? Maybe the last name was just a coincidence? A pretty big coincidence. There was something about him that looked vaguely familiar. And of course, there was the fact that the Angel of Death came to her and warned her about the Antichrist coming and lo and behold this dude with ungodly good hair showed up.
Well, Isabel supposed the quickest way to confirm was to visit Hell itself, as much as she didn't want to. Descensum was her specialty, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. She didn't see much of a choice though.
Isabel went back to her room so that she could perform the spell in peace. She lay down on her bed.
Was she really about to do this?
Not only was it a stupid thing to do, but the idea of going back to her personal Hell terrified her, even though she had better control as compared to her very first experience.
It was the quickest way to reach the person she wanted to talk to. She paused for a moment to make sure there were no approaching footsteps. When she was sure she wouldn't be disturbed, Isabel shut her eyes.
A deep breath.
"Spiritu duce in me est deduc me in tenebris vita ad extremum ut salutaret 'nferi. Descensum!"
She was plunged into darkness for a moment. The icy claw of death guided her soul down to the depths of existence.
When Isabel opened her eyes, she was back in that awful place that she always started in. Cracked stone walls, leather straps pulled tightly around her wrists and ankles; a patient cell in Briarcliff Manor in its heyday. A small part of her had been wishing that her personal Hell would have morphed into something else, but no. It was still the same awful, awful place. Fear gripped her heart for a moment, and then there was an overwhelming sense of calmness.
"I was wondering when you would try this," Shachath said from the doorway. "I don't suppose I can blame you for being so hesitant."
"Well now that I'm here, mind helping me out of these straps? I don't like being tied down when there isn't a safe-word."
Not amused, Shachath walked up to the cot Isabel was tied down to and undid the leather straps, which had already marred Isabel's skin. "The Antichrist, he's arrived," the angel said, answering Isabel's question before she even had the chance to ask it. "I can't tell you how to stop him."
"No, of course not," Isabel muttered, sitting up and massaging her wrists. "He says his last name is Langdon. Is he making that up?"
"No." Shachath watched as the despair settled in Isabel's face. She wished she could give a different answer, but the truth couldn't be denied. "You know who he is."
Isabel would beg to differ. She had never met Michael before. She didn't know who he was. He was just some weird man who showed up and had the same last name as her mother. "He's not like my brother or something, is he?"
Shachath shook her head. "You know who he is. Remember."
"But I've never met―" Isabel cut off. Remember. Maybe she couldn't remember right up front, but there had to be some part of her subconscious that recalled this.
Descensum was more than just traveling to a personal Hell. For those who were unskilled, then yes it was simply that. But to Isabel, a descendant of past Supreme Mimi Delongpre, the girl who lived with death, it was so much more. When she first came to this place, she was a slave to the rules of the universe; she had been nothing more than a lost soul. Now? This was her Hell. She was in control.
Isabel slowly turned around as the stone walls faded into oblivion.
She was on a street in Los Angeles. Drunk adults in half-assed costumes tried holding each other up as they stumbled home.
It was Halloween.
She vaguely recalled this night. How many years ago had it been now? Racking her brain for answers, Isabel was suddenly pushed into the street by an invisible force, and was immediately blinded by headlights. A hand clad in black latex grabbed her and pulled her out of the way of the oncoming car.
Isabel suddenly remembered. Halloween of 2012. She had been a student at Miss Robichaux's Academy when she had been granted permission to go home for Halloween. That was when she had almost gotten hit by a car (for the second Halloween in a row) and had been saved by a stranger in a black latex sex suit.
Where else had she seen him?
The world around her melted away and she was back in the cell, still not quite understanding. So Michael was connected to the Rubberman? But who was the Rubberman? She knew this; she knew that she knew this. But the answer wouldn't come―
"Tate," Isabel breathed, recalling her dream: the Rubberman taking off his mask and revealing her half-brother. But she still didn't understand how Michael was connected to all of this! If anything, she only had more questions!
"It's time to go," Shachath said. "You have an interview to get to."