WARNING!

This chapter contains scenes of sexual assault and attempted rape! If such content upsets you, please stop reading after the story division line!

-BlueRaven 666

Chapter 5: Trust Issues

The rest of my day was, for lack of a better word, total shit. I wasn't taking being cut off from my cigarettes well, leaving me in a state of restlessness and irritability. It almost made me willing to pay up the ten bucks, if only to smoke until I had weened myself off of them completely. I knew how my addictions worked, though. I'd manage to get myself almost to the point of being able to quit, only to relapse back to where I had been before I started. Maybe quitting cold turkey would be good for me, and teach me better self-control and discipline.

At least I wasn't alone in my suffering. Niffty had returned with one hell of a stash that she found in Angel Dust's room. I had to refrain from making a comment about the wide variety of dildos, bottles of lubricant, porn movies and magazines, and bags of cocaine. And I thought I had a problem! Angel threw a fit, crying crocodile tears as he begged to at least be allowed to have one of each item, but was denied. He didn't have the money to cover himself for the day, and the only way he was going to get it was by breaking rule number six, which covered the ban of any and all sexual activity.

Husk now sat behind an ordinary-looking check-in counter. The shelf of liquor that had been sitting behind him was now gone, and Alastor had confiscated no less than eight bottles of booze from his room. The massive cat demon spent the rest of the day one nudge away from snapping at the nearest person. Honestly! There had to be something he liked to do besides drinking and gambling his money away!

Charlie started trying to think up ways to put the kibosh on Alastor's coffee abuse. He was always the first one in the dining area in the morning, usually long before anyone else was awake. Unless someone was up before him and was there to supervise while he was making coffee and breakfast, there wouldn't be any guarantees that he'd follow the two-cup limit. Alastor was plotting to work around Charlie's little rule; I could see it in his eyes. Maybe he would stick to the two-cup rule by sneaking in two 32 ounce cups, instead. Or he'd overload the filter with a pound of coffee grounds to ensure he got his fix. The caffeine crash was going to hit him eventually, one way or another, and it would hit him him harder than a pile of bricks. So we were either going to find him curled up somewhere, sound asleep, or he was going to find some sort of alternative to get more caffeine in his system.

I spent the majority of my day working with Vaggie to help her control her temper. Most of it stemmed from a lack of trust in the others. Of course, Angel Dust had already abused that trust, as well as Charlie's generosity, multiple times, so I was able to understand her lack of patience with the spider demon. What I didn't understand was her seething hatred for Alastor.

"What has he ever done to you?" I inquired, joining her in her room with Charlie for lunch, "It seems like all Al has to do is look at you funny, and you want to punch him in the throat."

Vaggie quirked a brow and leaned forward on the bed.

"He's shoved me, slapped me, and he's been insulting me every day since he arrived here!" she snarled, "He thrives on seeing lesser demons like us powerless before him."

"You threw a knife at him for simply welcoming me to the hotel..."

"Well... You looked scared, and it looked like he was going to spend at least an hour throwing sales pitches at you before finally letting you check in."

I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. I hadn't expected to see one of the most infamous demons in all of Hell greeting me when I walked in the door. Not to mention that he owned the territory I lived on, as well as the fact that he hadn't made the best of first impressions when we first met. Of course I looked scared!

"You've gotta start having a little more faith, Vaggie," Charlie stated calmly, resting a hand on the moth demon's shoulder, "Maybe offer him a smile and a compliment sometime. I bet it would make his day."

Vaggie scowled and crossed her arms, "I'd rather shove nails through my tongue."

Sheesh! Tough crowd! Not even Husk gave Al as hard of a time as Vaggie did, and it almost seemed like he straight up hated the fucker. The only wrong I'd seen the Radio Demon do in this hotel since my arrival was scare the living shit out of me by speaking through my radio. Everything else just looked like harmless mischief to me, but there didn't seem to be any way of convincing Vaggie that Alastor was anything but evil.

"Be straight with me, Vaggie," I piped up, "Why exactly don't you trust him?"

"He's a dangerous deal-maker," she replied, "He told us outright that he only wants to help Charlie run the hotel so he can watch demons fail as they try to better themselves. He doesn't believe in our cause. He's helping us along now, but for how long? How long is he going to provide his charismatic crutch before he pulls it out from underneath someone? What if we never succeed because of him?That's why I don't trust him."

So Alastor was being straightforward with me when he said he wanted to see me fail last night. At least that added up. Lies took all forms in Hell. They could be used to lead someone into a false sense of security, or turn someone's life into a living nightmare. I couldn't blame Vaggie for distrusting him after she'd been told something like that. Heck, I wouldn't have either.

"I still think you should try being nice to him," Charlie said, "It breaks my heart that you feel the need to get upset and constantly yell at him to get your point across."

"Yeah," I chimed in, "If anything, you can give him the benefit of the doubt; interact civilly with him while keeping your guard up."

Vaggie's expression fell, clearly torn between our words and her own instincts. She must have endured something traumatic to hold so little trust. Getting past something like that was more difficult than just saying 'let it go' or 'get over yourself', and I didn't expect it to happen overnight, but I wanted to see her have the confidence to put down her spear and smile a little more. She deserved that kind of confidence.

I went to bed in the biggest funk I'd ever been in. I felt like I was at crackhead level with my withdrawals, frantically looking in vain for my cigarette pack and lighter, or any source of nicotine that could give me my fix; to no avail. It took hours of tossing and turning until I finally wore myself out enough to doze off, and even then I wasn't given the luxury of a restful night's sleep as I found myself caught in the grip of another vision.

The darkness of sleep peeled back to reveal a bustling bar. Women strutted about in dazzling flapper dresses as men in creased and cuffed trouser pants and plain shirts stood close by with their drinks, tipping their hats to the ladies as they passed by. I no longer felt so out of place, as everyone here looked to be straight out of the 1930s.

Out of all the people in the bar, however, my attention was directed to an individual sat by himself at a corner table with a mug of coffee. I didn't recognize him at first, with his spiffy brown hair and the glasses that sat on his face. The only way I could describe him as was... Well, a dork; lanky, wearing a plain, white, collared shirt, tan trousers, black suspenders, and a black bowtie. A newspaper was spread out in front of him, and even from a distance, I could see its headline.

New Orleans Serial Killer Still at Large!

Almost immediately, I realized who I was seeing. There was only one man that I knew who was from Louisiana: Alastor. The vintage attire made sense now. Everybody looked to be straight out of the 1930s, because this was the 1930s. I was being given another glimpse into the Radio Demon's past.

I took a moment to get a better look at him. He looked so different from how I'd met him. It was different to see him without his deathly grey skin and crimson attire. The brown color of his hair matched the frosted tips he had now, and paired nicely with his mahogany-colored eyes. I think the biggest difference was due to his oval-shaped glasses, rather than the monocle he wore over his right eye. Even at this point in time, it seemed like that one eye was his only issue.

The biggest difference, though, was that he looked... innocent. He didn't radiate the shadowy aura of a sinner. I couldn't imagine him hurting or killing so much as a fly. He looked more like a helpful young gentleman that escorted his dates home after a night out on the town. What the fuck happened?!

As he sat there reading his paper, a curvy flapper girl with curly blonde hair sauntered up to his table.

"There you are, dearie!" she cooed, "I haven't seen you 'round here in days!"

Alastor rolled up his paper and set it aside, shooting the girl his iconic smile.

"Well, hello there, Mimsy," he greeted, "You're looking as radiant as ever."

Something was wrong. Alastor's words were kind, but there wasn't any energy or emotion behind them. He had that tone that said he'd rather be doing anything else than talk to this girl. Moreover, this woman, Mimsy, appeared to be older than he was at this time. Quite a bit older, actually; somewhere in the range of her late twenties to early thirties. Alastor, on the other hand, appeared to be in his late teens, maybe his early twenties, at most. Even so, Mimsy was talking to him as if she were head-over-heels in love with him, while Al sounded entirely uninterested.

"I heard your broadcast over the radio this mornin!" Mimsy continued, shivering with delight, "You were positively magnificent! I think you finally found your callin'."

Alastor's let out an airy laugh, "You think so?"

"Of course! You have a voice that was born for radio. Why, I could listen to it all day long!"

"That's very kind of you to say, darlin'."

The more I listened to them talk, the more the dreaded feeling in my gut grew. Alastor could carry on a conversation with himself all livelong day, if he wanted to, but it felt like he was trying to say as little to Mimsy as possible. I could sense a shadow looming over them, and a sinking feeling that something bad was about to happen.

"Could you walk me home?" Mimsy asked, "It's gettin' to be pretty late, and I just don't feel safe trottin' through the dark on my own."

Alastor smiled politely and stood up, towering over the flapper girl by well over a foot, "Of course."

Mimsy hooked her arm in his. Yup, Al definitely fit the appearance of a man that would always treat a woman with the utmost respect. He put on his best fake smile and straightened himself, shrugging off those that chose to ogle at them as the pair made their way towards the door. Although they left the bar together, however, I could tell that the little flapper girl was enjoying this a lot more than Alastor was.

I followed them down the bustling streets until the pair suddenly took a sharp turn into a patch of dense forest. It was almost pitch black out, making navigating the narrow trail they were taking nearly impossible to follow.

"Mimsy, where are we going?" I could hear Alastor say from up ahead, "Your house is that way."

I caught up with them just in time to see Mimsy wrap her arms around him. I watched as Alastor went rigid as her hands trailed down his abs and caressed his hips. She pressed herself against his back, her head coming to rest against his shoulder blades.

Oh, God... I hoped I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing.

"You know I love you, right?" Mimsy muttered, her voice heavy with lust.

Alastor let out a nervous chuckle, "What's there to love?"

"Only everything!" Mimsy beamed as she spun Alastor around to face her, "You have got to be the most mesmerizing man this side of Louisiana! You're polite, and kind, and you're so lively. Why, any woman would be lucky to have you!"

I didn't think it was possible to see Alastor be scared of anything, but he was clearly terrified of this particular predicament. He tried his best to maintain his smile, but it gradually slipped away bit by bit as Mimsy's hands found their way around his shoulders. He looked like he just wanted the ground to swallow him up!

"I love you, ya hear?" she said softly, "I want you, and I want to be with you!"

Alastor gently pried the little flapper girl off of him, and placed his hands on her shoulders, "I'm sorry, Mimsy... but I don't feel the same way."

The forest went deathly quiet. Mimsy's face slowly went from an expression of hopeful delight to a look of saddened shock.

"But... you've always been so nice to me..."

"'Nice' doesn't always mean 'love', darlin'," Alastor explained calmly, "Sometimes it means 'friends'. Just friends, and nothing more."

I couldn't help but feel a little bit sorry for the poor gal. I too knew the pain of rejection well. Granted, I always fixed it with a love potion and a fuck ton of booze before I wound up down here, but it'd never last. The effects wore off sooner or later, and the results were the same in the end; loneliness accompanied by that empty feeling in my chest that never went away unless blood was spilled. Another thing I hated myself for, and one more item on the long list of reasons why I went to Hell.

Mimsy's face held an expression of deep sadness before twisting into a look of maniacal rage. She grabbed Alastor by the front of his shirt and threw him onto the grass before pinning him down by the wrists and straddling his torso. Al kicked and twisted, trying to free himself from her grip and slither out from under her, to no avail. Mimsy held on for dear life, sitting heavier on top of him to keep him from moving.

"What are you doing?!" he shouted, "Let go of me!"

"You will be mine!" Mimsy chided, "You'll see. I'll make you want me!"

I don't know how she managed it, but even with Alastor thrashing beneath her, she managed to lock her lips with his. Al looked like he was about ready to throw up by the time she pulled away, his skin growing pale and clammy while his chocolate-colored eyes burned with something sinister. I desperately wanted to intervene; kick the flapper girl off of him and pull him to safety, but I knew that I couldn't. This was a vision, after all. Just a glimpse into the past. I didn't have the power to change the past; no being in Hell or on Earth did. I could only stand there and watch in horror, hoping and praying that it would end and I'd be brought back to the waking world.

Eventually, Alastor managed to free one of his hands and started clawing desperately at the ground. He managed to grab a hold of a nearby rock jutting up from the grass, and tried desperately to dig it out. It was uprooted with and earthy crunch, and Alastor swung it as hard as he could. The rock collided with the side of Mimsy's head with a sickening crack, and the flapper girl was knocked to the side and onto the ground. Blood trickled down her face from her temple as she winced and whimpered in pain.

I expected Alastor to bolt; take off running back towards town, and never look back. Instead, he straddled the still-twitching Mimsy, and wrapped his hands around her throat. She gasped and choked, trying with every last bit of her remaining strength to pry his hands off, but it was hopeless. Within minutes, Mimsy's limbs went limp, her face turning blue as her eyes rolled back in her head. Alastor only released his grip when he heard the sound of her larynx being crushed.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Alastor backed away from Mimsy's body and leaned heavily against a nearby tree. His once neatly combed hair was now a mess, and his clean, crisp clothes were disheveled and covered in mud and grass stains. He wiped the bit of red lipstick Mimsy had left behind away from his lips and spat into the grass before bolting off, vanishing deeper into the woods.

I woke up with a start, panting and gasping with the shock and intensity of everything that I had just seen. My hands trembled against the covers as my tail curled over the edge of my bed. My sheets were a mess of lost feathers from the heavy amounts of tossing and turning, as well as the ruffling of my wings as I sat up in bed.

What the hell did I just see? What the fuck was that?

I caved. Throwing my covers aside, I snagged a ten-dollar bill from my supply bag and snuck down to the main floor of the hotel. I slipped into the office, and crept up to the closet that held our confiscated items. I dug out my cigarettes and lighter, and tossed the money onto Charlie's desk with my name attached to it before stepping outside.

Nicotine really did hinder my ability to decipher visions. The less of it that was in my system, the more detailed my visions were. That was evident with my dreams of the Happy Hotel and Alastor's childhood memory when compared to this most recent dream, where I might as well have been there the very day it happened.

These visions weren't random; they never were. Each one served a purpose in aiding me. Had this vision given me a glimpse of his first victim? No, that was unlikely. The newspaper that Al had been reading had said that a serial killer was still at large, and he seemed to have been pretty absorbed in the story before Mimsy had walked up to his table. Details like that didn't show up clear as day like that unless they were connected somehow. Mimsy likely hadn't been Alastor's first victim, but she was probably the most significant. The events that I had just witnessed were traumatic and disgusting, and probably still haunted him to this day.

And there was one more thing that really sent a chill down my spine. I recalled seeing a short, chubby flapper girl somewhere along the way on my journey to this hotel; a flapper girl that bore an uncanny, yet demonic, resemblance to Mimsy. She was down in Hell with us. No surprise there, but of all the places she could have resided in, she was way too close for comfort.

I immediately thought back to what Niffty had told me earlier yesterday morning.

Alastor didn't want to be with anybody. That's just the way he preferred it, and now I think I knew why.

Men being sexually assaulted and raped by women was something that was typically glossed over by the public and the media, even in the twenty-first century. The headlines were always full of women who had been put through the same hell by some scumbag, and that scumbag would be thoroughly torn apart by the public, but you never heard of the men who had to endure the same torment, and their abusers being given the same treatment. If you did, then those stories were few and far between. Men were forced to suffer in silence, lest they be taunted and harrassed by everyone else for being weak, or however it looked in the public's eyes.

Alastor was just one of many lost amongst the silent screams, and if the memory pained him, then he hid it well behind his unwavering smile.