Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Please enjoy this new chapter. Also, if you're a fan of my writing and open to more than just AHS, check out my other stories as I'm updating all of them; it should tie you over until my next update if you do.
Enjoy!
Run Little Piggy
Glasses clinked. Pulling another bottle of vodka off the shelf Liz Taylor turned around with a smile. "Ok, honey," she said as she sauntered back to the bar in her black Valentino gown. "One last shot."
Balding and deeply depressed, Tom, a guest at the hotel, nodded his head. "Sure thing, d-doll," he hiccupped. "Whatev'r you say."
Sitting just beside him, Sally took a long drag of her cigarette. This, watching people get shit faced, was her and Liz's favorite past-time at the Hotel Cortez. And when you thought about it, it was a blessing in disguise: the patrons were too drunk to see the horrors around them.
Secretly the two women took bets on how far Tom could get before he keeled over. And with the way he was acting, he wasn't going to make it to the stairs, much less to his room, which meant Sally would be receiving a new tube of blood red lipstick courtesy of Liz Taylor.
"Oh, I don't know," Sally murmured, exhaling a plume of white smoke. "It looks like you can take another shot."
Leaning on the bar, she tilted her head to the side, staring at the man with her famous teary eyed smile. "Throw it back," she tempted. "Throw it back and help yourself to another. After all, the night is young."
"It's four in the afternoon," Liz snapped.
"Close enough."
Tom's ears tinted pink. "C-c'mon ladies, go easy on me." Hands already shaking, he reached for the shot glass and clutched at air.
"Little to the left," Sally instructed.
"Oh!" He exclaimed finally locating the glass. He saluted it to Sally, "Much o-ob-oblige…"
"Just take the damn shot."
He threw it back.
Both women leaned further on the bar top, watching as he swayed in his seat. Giving Sally the side eye, Liz politely offered, "Need some help getting to your room, honey?" Prints were back in style and she was determined to have Sally's leopard print coat and would stop at nothing to win.
The man shook his head, waving the offer away with his hands. "N-naw, I gots it," he slurred. Pushing himself off his seat, he stood next to the bar. "Ladies, it's been a p-pleasure. G'night."
"Goodnight," they echoed.
Heads together, they watched him stumble his way toward the staircase.
"Remember," Liz reminded her, "I said he passes out before he reaches the elevator, you said the top of the staircase."
Still stumbling and hiccupping, Tom reached for the banister and ran smack dab into James. "Where in the hell did you come from?!"
James barely spared the man a glance before he shoved him aside. Crying out, Tom stumbled backward, the back of his head smacking against the carpet. Dazed he made to rise, but succumbed to gravity and passed out on the floor.
Biting the end of her cigarette, Sally inclined her head to Tom. "That counts!"
"Oh, that's bullshit!" Liz retorted. "If March hadn't pushed him, he would have fallen down the stairs, and into my territory. So that," she said with a wave of her finger, "does not count." As if to further prove her point, Liz snatched the bottle of whiskey beside Sally's glass and poked out her tongue. "Sorry, bars closed-" James snatched the bottle out of her hand and took a swallow.
Sharing a look, the two women looked back at him just in time to see him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I'm not one to pry," Liz stated, taking in his disheveled appearance, "but are you-?" "What the fuck happened to you?" Sally interrupted, getting straight to the point.
Back of his hand still pressed to his lips, James was forced to look at himself. Quickly his eyes darted down to his blood stained shirt and slacks. Wiping his mouth once more, he shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing that concerns you."
Ignoring both their eyes, he made his way around the bar.
Whiskey sloshed onto the floor when he absentmindedly tucked the bottle under his arm. Ignoring the mess, he searched the contents of the bar, moving bottles to the side, dropping a few in the process. Finally, he struck gold, or should I say, moonshine.
Liz gave off a low whistle.
Collecting the empty glasses on the table, she put them away, making herself busy so as not to incur his wrath.
Sally didn't pick up on the social cue.
"You must have done something really bad to reach for your generations greatest achievement," she told him. Stubbing out her cigarette, she reached for another. Bringing it to her lips, she lit a match, the glow of the ftire highlighting her features. "…or someone did something bad to you."
James' arm shot out, hand wrapping around her throat. With a force that terrified her, he pulled her upper body atop the bar, bringing her face up close to his. "Go on," he said when she began to claw at his hand, trying to pull herself away. "Fight me. Do it. I'm dead, my dearest sally, like you I can stand in this position forever!"
Drawn to her fear the Addiction Demon appeared. The second James saw it, he froze, thoughts drifting back to the accident.
xXx
Blood stained the earth. All throughout the construction site chaos ran rampant. While the plate of glass had hit its target, projectile shards went every which way, injuring many. Like wounded animals they cried out for God, for man, for anyone listening to assist them, their blood, bile, and excrement filling the air.
Clenching his jaw, James tore his gaze away from the carnage before him and focused his attention on Rosaline.
Tuning out the cries from the others, he took her face in his hands, pushing back wayward curls as he inspected her for injury. Blood trickled out from the corner of her mouth, the crimson hue he favored on her cheeks receding as a sickly tone crept upon her. "Rosaline?"
Staring at her abdomen, James watched as a crimson orchid took shape through the fabric of her white button down. How could I…? He cursed himself. How could he have been such a damn idiot? He should have known better: the dead can never take a hit that was meant for the living. Why had he even bothered?
Eyes rooted to that growing flower, he knew why: he just… He didn't want her to die. Raising his gaze to her face, he sought out her aura. It was fading.
"Patrick!"
Patrick Madden was lost, unable to take his eyes off the large blood splatter in the middle of the site, trying to make sense of it, the blood, and the plaid- "Patrick!" James roared once again.
"Come here," James instructed when Patrick finally looked his way. "I need your help."
Stumbling forward, Patrick only made it a few steps before he tripped. Catching himself he glanced down and froze. As if they had a mind of their own, his blue eyes wandered over dirtied fingers, a thickly muscled wrist, a plaid sleeve, rising higher until all he saw was bone.
"You yellow-bellied imbecile!" James spat, watching as Patrick fell to his knees vomiting.
Pulling his eyes away from the useless man, James clenched his jaw and pressed his bare hands harder over her wound, doing his best to stop the bleeding. Despite his aid, however, blood continued to pour out, coating his hands and fingers, staining them with her life.
"DOCTOR!" He shouted. "Someone call for the goddamn doctor!"
Unseen Ilmarinen bellowed at Valon from up above. "What have you done?!"
Still feeling the effects of her soul's whisper, Valon couldn't so much as advert his eyes.
What have I done? "I have done nothing," Valon spoke in awe, amber eyes beginning to glow from within. "It is her soul which has spoken, freely, of its own accord. Her soul that remembers-" 'Valon,' her soul echoed once more.
Storm clouds gathered overhead, threatening to blot out the sun as Valon, moved to ecstasy, kicked off the air, arms outstretched, diving down, heading straight for her.
Descending upon Rosaline, Valon enshrouded himself in hellfire, red-orange flames dancing across his skin and hair, burning him from the inside out.
"Come to me," Valon commanded her soul, "Release yourself from his hold, choose me—come to me."
Drawing his sword high above his head, Ilmarinen called upon God and the aid of the Angelic Hosts in his ancient tongue.
"Defend me in this day of battle," Ilmarinen called, a mighty wind running around him as his golden rays expanded. "Be my protection against the wickedness and snares of this devil."
Light pierced the clouds.
With a roar, Valon took the hit directly in the center of his back, throwing him off course, sending him straight for the scaffolding.
Feeling the earth tremble, James snapped his head up, watching as tools and piping went every which way. Gathering Rosaline into his arms, he quickly moved, with only seconds to spare as some poor unfortunate soul—splat!
Jarred awake by the people's sudden screams, Rosaline groaned.
"Rosa—Rosaline?" He spoke, relaxing his hold on her as though he had caused her further injury. The moment he felt the flow of blood he realized his error and corrected himself. "Yes. I know it hurts, darling." He comforted over her meek cries.
Eyes fluttering open, Rosaline tried to focus on the world around her. Everything had been blissful, dark, quiet. Now she felt as though she had been flipped on her axis, not sure what was up or down.
"W-what-?" She broke off, coughing up blood.
Inhaling raggedly, she squeezed her eyes shut, crying out as shooting pain raced up her side. With trembling hands she reached out placing her hands on top of James, clutching to him as though he were her lifeline.
"A-am I—I d-don't w-want t-t-"
"You're not going to die."
The level of conviction in his tone stilled her.
Blinking back her tears, she stared into his eyes, willing herself to believe in his words. One hand on his, she pressed her thumb into the crucifix ring she wore. Please God, her mind begged. Please God, help me. Even with James helping hands, she never felt so alone.
"You're not alone," James told her suddenly. "I'm right here."
Lips parting, Rosaline felt her mind absorb his words, felt her spirit… Looking into his eyes she became lost in the rich brown color. Just like that James disappeared from her line of sight as she stared at something only she could see: a tall black pillar tinged with maple, wisps of violet-lavender smoke wrapping around it as though it were a vine, making her feel at once safe and comforted. Protected.
Pulled into a trance, James watched as her eyes began to shift in color, flecks of violet appearing in their depths.
Was it—was her guardian near? No sooner had his mind posed the question when he received his answer. Every hair on his body stood on end, a sickening feeling rolling down his spine.
"Do not release her soul to him!"
Eyes nearly bulging out of his skull, James gathered Rosaline into his arms and surged to his feet. Pulled from her trance, she stared at him in shock. "W-what are you doing?"
James didn't answer, instead, he looked toward the Heavens.
Never had it occurred to him that a demon could be fearsome, after all, he had seen and could control the Addiction Demon. But this being, this… demon shrouded in hell fire, with black talons and burnt flesh, who was trying desperately to break a golden prism to get to him. Now that, was pretty damn terrifying.
Seeing the stark terror that graced his features, Rosaline followed his line of sight. Clouds. Grey clouds with beams of light breaking through, nothing obscure.
Rooted in place, James saw a bright flash of light head straight for the demon. At the last second, the prism broke and the demon fell free.
Massive canines showed themselves, the demons feature turning more ghastly by the second. "Give her to me, boy!"
That survivalist part of James said 'bend your knees, pull your arms back, swing around and release!' So why did he tighten his hold on her and take a step back?
"James?" Rosaline whispered fearfully when he kept moving backward, never taking his eyes off the sky. "James, what are you doing—what do you see?"
"A devil," he whispered.
Ilmarinen closed in behind Valon.
Watching as more and more rays of light broke through the clouds, Valon, in a last ditch effort, slammed his hand inside his chest, removing the unnecessary human skeleton from his frame. As though staged, the bones broke apart and came together, Valon using it like a massive whip. Swinging it around his head, he cracked it forward, straight to Rosaline.
Flames appeared, the bones blackening. Right before it could touch her James moved, his left hand shooting forward, dark purple light exploding as James took hold of the fiery whip.
"Impossible!" Valon roared, watching as the flames went out, bones disintegrating.
Staggered James fell back. With his vision blurring, he was just able to make out the demon being flung across the sky, as far back as the eye could see.
A nasty black bile spewed from James' mouth, his back connecting with the earth. Still lying half on his chest, half on the ground, Rosaline screamed his name. It was a beautiful scream; he carried it with him in his mind while everything else faded away.
xXx
Snapping back to the present, James stared at the Addiction Demon in shock, trying to comprehend the flashback. Had it happened? It had. But how—why—suddenly James had a sobering thought:if that indeed had happened, how had he found his way back to the Cortez?
"What's the matter, James," Sally taunted. "Terrified?"
Turning his head sharply to face her, James lost his breath. Sally's eyes were glowing a vibrant red, wisps of smoke rising from her skin. Suddenly his hand, which was still around her throat, started to burn. Quickly he tried to release her, to pull back, but she latched onto his wrist, fingers biting into his skin, holding him in place.
"Let me go!" He roared, struggling to pull himself free.
Cackling sounded from behind.
Looking back James watched in disbelief as Liz Taylor climbed along the bar shelves and jumped up to the ceiling, swinging from one of the crystal chandeliers, laughing madly all the while.
What—what the hell was going on? Swallowing hard, James looked back to Sally, his resistance increased tenfold. Lashing out, he smashed the bottle of moonshine against her head. Flames erupted, a sick black sludge pouring from her mouth.
"Ha-ha, better run, James," she sang tongue morphing into serpents and lapping up the foul substance from her chin. "Once Valon finds you, you'll be just like us, just like him," she said nodding toward the Addiction Demon.
"What's wrong, James? Did you really think that was a demon?" She laughed again. "Hahaha! Oh, no. Demons answer to no one but themselves, and that over there is just a slave from hell, freedom dangling before him to further torment him."
Placing his foot on the bar top, James pulled back, yanking his hand free. His hand was horribly burned, the flesh peeling.
"Run, little piggy," Sally chanted, hopping atop the bar, her nails, and teeth lengthening, body distorting. "Run as fast as you can!"
James bolted for the staircase.
Behind him, Sally and Liz began to chant in unison, "Run, little piggy, run as fast as you can. No escaping the beast when the devil's his right hand!"
Slowly the world around him began to morph into a wicked nightmare. No matter how hard he tried to ghost himself from the Hotel, he was pulled back, each morph taking him deeper and deeper inside until he was running the length of the halls, running for his life.
Rounding the corner, he collided into members of the engineering crew that he had killed nearly a century ago. They too were ghastly, eyes plucked out, mouths frozen in a silent scream. Pushing past them, James increased his pace running like the wind to the end of the hall.
"Run, little piggy, run as fast as you can. No escaping the beast when the devil's his right hand!"
Slipping on the carpet James pitched forward, the wind knocked out of him. Groaning, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees feeling as though he had collided with a brick wall. Shaking it off, he took a stumbling step forward and came up short.
In the distance a figure emerged, blackened and charred, flames erupting from its body and setting fire to all around him.
"Do you think this is a game, boy, a merry little chase?" The figure spoke, his malevolent voice making James shudder in fear.
All around the whispered chant increased its tempo:
"Run, little piggy, run as fast as you can. No escaping the beast when the devil's his right hand!"
Blood red eyes zeroed in on James. "This is no game."
"W-what do you want from me?" James shouted, not understanding the demon's words.
"Do not toy with me!" He roared, the ferocity of his words shattering the overhead lights. With lightning speed, the being raced to James, grabbed him by the neck and slammed his back against the wall, hoisting him up until his legs dangled.
"I want what you have taken," the being told him, "what's resting right there in your palm. And make no mistake, I will have it." James, who had been kicking and pummeling at the strong arm that gripped him, found himself frozen when razor sharp talons bit into his neck, shredding his skin.
Blood poured out onto his shirt, flowing like a river.
"There is no place that you can hide." With a blink the demon's red eyes disappeared, gapping hallows taking their place that seemed to peer into James' very soul. "I will find you, James Patrick March, and when I do, I will tear your soul apart."
How could such words be, feel, so absolute?
"Wake up, little piggy," the being taunted. "Wake up and…run."
xXx
Inhaling sharply, James bolted up, head banging against metal. Crying out in pain, he fell back, hands soaring to reach his head, yet slamming into steel. "Dammit!"
Frantically he tried to move, but he kept hitting—his body banging against metal, the echo of his struggle making his ears ring.
Falling back down, James breathed heavily, forcing himself to calm. Closing his eyes, he saw flashes of his nightmare, a demented Sally, and Liz, the Addiction Demon who had been no more than a puppet, and…
Opening his eyes James stared into the darkness that surrounded him.
Cold seeped into his bones. Slowly he reached out, fingertips tentatively trailing along his prison. And it was a prison; a cold, dark, metal box.
How many times had he sealed people inside walls? How many times had he been pushed into a closet, or locked away in the crawlspace? Too many to count.
At once James began to bang his hands, and stomp the soles of his feet against the walls, making as much racket as possible. "Let me out!" He bellowed. His movements increased until he began to sweat, heart pounding in rhythm with his fists. "I said let me out! Someone get me the hell out of-" A click sounded and James heard the turning of wheels, bright lights shining down on him as he was pulled free from darkness.
The coroner stared at James in shock. "How did—but you were just—you're dead!" Disbelieving gray eyes wandered over James, taking in the blue-tinted skin and shredded throat.
Bolting up into a sitting position, James grabbed the older man by his shirt and pulled him close. "Where am I?!" James shouted
"UCLA M-medical C-center," the man stammered. "More s-specifically the m-morgue."
At his words, James mind was assaulted with images: the explosion of dark purple light, Rosaline's wide-eyed stare as she looked down at him, the agonizing sound of her scream… Next came men in uniform who placed him on a stretcher, loading him into an ambulance; after that, it was fluorescent lights and the smell of cleaning solution, the squeak of sneakers as medical staff rushed to his aid. "No heartbeat," the doctor had declared.
"No heartbeat," James repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
Eyes blazing, James increased his grip on the man's shirt. Eyeing his ID badge, he asked, "Stuart, tell me, how long have I been here?" It couldn't have been more than a few hours at most.
"F-five d-d-days."
Lips parting in shock, James' hold on the man slackened, causing the man fall to the floor in a mixture of fear and wonder.
Five days? How could I have been under for so long? Was the entire dream five days long, or was he in darkness for most of it? Hands shaking, James fisted his hair in an iron grip. D-don't lose your composure, James. Think. Think!
He had no recollection of anything other than the accident, his dream, and the bit with the medical staff, all of which occurred on the first day. At least he thought the dream occurred on the first night. Five days… Had anything happened in-between?
Running his hand over his face, he paused, feeling an odd indentation. Pulling his hand away from his face, he stared in amazement at the scar on his palm: it appeared to be a square within a circle, possessing four distinct corners, knotted together in an intricate design. Running his fingertips along the scar, he found the skin to be smooth as silk, yet warm to the touch.
"I want what you have taken," the being told him, "what's resting right there in your palm. And make no mistake, I will have it."
"Oh my God, we have to tell someone about this," Stuart said coming out of his stupor. "This is just—you were dead. I tagged you myself, filled out all the paperwork. Now look at you!"
Stuart shook his head, in amazement. "Oh, the world is going to turn on its axis when they find out about this."
Closing his fist, James blinked, his eyes zeroing in on Stuart's. Dead and being sought out by a demon, James had no time for the living and their false ideas on the advancement of science. Until he knew what was going on, all of what was going on, with him, Rosaline, and… Valon, whoever that was, there would be no one left alive to speak a word of him, to draw attention to him.
"Turn on its axis, you say? That's such an interesting sentiment," James told him, eyeing the medical tools on the tray beside a cadaver. "Too bad it won't come to fruition."
Did you see that coming? Leave a review and let me know what you think!
