Chapter 21

Damnable Memories

The next day was very quiet. Charlie and Vaggie decided to spend the day together, mostly at Vaggie's insistence, because they had been so busy lately with the hotel that the two had no time to themselves. Alastor disappeared once again, but this time Angel thought to ask Husk what he was up to whenever he went away.

"If you really wanna know," Husk grumbled, "buy a fuckin' radio. But don't you fuckin' dare come cryin' to me when you regret it." For Angel, that was enough of an answer to make him decide that ignorance is bliss.

Being as it was Sunday, it was also Eliza's day off. No matter how full the hotel might become in the future, this was a day that she took to herself. As much as Alastor or Angel have tried to take advantage of it and talk her into doing things, she often spent these days her favorite way: With no interaction whatsoever. However, there was one creature who seemed very keen on being with her today; Alucard. He perched outside her window and pecked incessantly until she finally sighed and opened it up, letting him flutter up to her shoulder.

"Hey," she greeted wearily. "Since when are you so persistent?" The bird merely cooed at her, tickling her ear playfully. "Oh, cut it out you silly thing!" She scratched the top of his head and he leaned into her finger, twisting his head around so that she could reach his favorite places. She rolled her eyes with a small smile. "So needy!"

She went to her kitchenette and grabbed a small bowl. As she placed it down on the counter, she opened the fridge and took out an egg. Cracking it open, she put it in the bowl raw, leaving it out for the crow's pleasure. He fluttered down to the countertop and pecked at the yoke, leaving Eliza to meander into the shower. Normally she would clean herself at night, but today needed to start with heat, and lots of it. Anything to help her relax.

Last night's dream left her irritable that morning. Developing feelings for others was something she actively sought to avoid. Lust she could work with, it was simple enough to ignore, but affection? Figures she'd feel something for a man that lives by the five-foot rule, at least as far as others are concerned. Him? Oh, he could enter their personal bubbles all day. At least he honored her wish for respectful reciprocation.

The other problem was that she couldn't stop thinking about music. Alastor asking about her dancing and Fizz inviting her to sing brought up memories both pleasant and less so. Before committing to her career, singing had actually been a wonderful way for her to vent, but she never sang for an audience. Not since...

'You don' have the talent for this.'

Her father had such a wonderful voice. Between his sermons and his singing, he had the entire church wrapped around his little finger. She, however, was only ever allowed to be a member of the church choir, and even that he permitted begrudgingly. The only other person in existence that has ever heard her sing solo was the organist, a sweet older man named Carl, and he was the only person at that church that she wasn't ready to throw into a burning dumpster. In fact, he's one of three people in her life she's ever really given a shit about, and that's not including the addition of two more individuals in her afterlife.

He had been the only person to ever encourage her. Trying to get her to sing whenever possible, he even gave her private use of the practice room on occasion. There, she could sing whatever she wanted, and it was wonderful. Bringing her MP3 player with her, she put in a single headphone and sang her heart out. He had been such a good friend to her, and possibly the only person she knew who didn't think she was some kind of delinquent, like her father made her out to be.

Until a well-placed rumor made him leave.

Unwilling to let a positive male influence take his place in her life, her father set out to remove Carl's presence entirely. Everyone there knew the organist was gay; it wasn't something that was publicly discussed, but he made no attempt to show or hide it, it was simply a part of who he was. His husband never really came to their church, but that's because he stayed at the one the rest of his family was a part of. No one had a problem with any of this, until falsehoods about his 'infidelity' spread around like wildfire.

Then the hypocrisy came out.

It's all well and good to love someone in the name of progressive social pressure and religious expectation, but the moment even a hint of wrongdoing was heard, suddenly it was a sin again. People at the church started to shun him, and eventually her father played the 'peer pressure' card and fired him. She had no proof, but she knew her father was responsible. She knew how manipulative he was; she saw it all the time.

Adulterous bastard.

After that went down, it took nothing for her father to talk her right out of the choir. She sang only within the confines of her house whenever it was empty, and then when she moved out and chose to pursue psychology, she stopped singing altogether.

But she still took music classes. Dance classes, music theory, music history… If it didn't require her to sing, she went for it. Every spare credit she didn't spend on required classes was donated to the pursuit of musical arts. She loved being a psychiatrist, but if she was being perfectly honest with herself, it wasn't her first love.

And so she walked into the stage-room, making sure it was completely empty before hesitantly walking onto the stage to stand in front of the summoning pad, looking down at all the options curiously. Pressing buttons and swiping left, she was amazed at the sheer number of instruments there were. Everything from the common grand piano to something called a hydraulophone was present. The selection was simply mind-boggling! Then, the miscellaneous section had non-instrument options, such as the pole that Angel used last night, streamers, costumes-

The sex-toy section made her blush. "Sweet mercy…" Unable to help herself, she looked through a list of items that she never even imagined would exist, giggling the entire time. "What kind of performances need those?!" This… this was for stage performances, right?

Oh, yea, she's in Hell. Of course these would be here. Unable to help but contemplate whether or not Angel Dust was aware of this selection, she decided that it was perhaps best to keep this knowledge to herself, lest he be tempted to do something that would get him thrown out.

Unable to find any options that provided any form of lessons, she sighed defeatedly. Oh well; she could always just practice without them. It's been years, but she remembered the basics of posture and breath control, so perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. There was just one little thing she needed.

Going back to the top, she clicked the piano icon and finalized her choice. The instrument appeared behind her, and she thought it was gorgeous. Its classy black exterior shined as though freshly polished, and the keys were pearly white. Lucifer wasn't known as the King of Pride for nothing.

She sat on the bench and stared at the keys. It had been so long since the last time she sat at a piano, teaching herself the basics. The eighty-eight keys laid out before her felt rather daunting, and she gulped. She remembered how, when she was younger, she would always start by playing middle C to calm down, so she did that now. The sound was well-tuned and absolutely lovely. She fumbled a little as she recalled how to play a basic scale; it's amazing what more than a decade can make a person forget!

When she got the fingering down, a feat that took a frustratingly long time, she started to sing. Nothing special; just singing 'la' while traveling the scale, but it was a start. She heard her voice crack every now and then from lack of use, and her breath control was atrocious. At least breathing exercises she could do at any point, since they were quiet.

She switched from 'la' to 'do, re, me.' She looked over the room once more, as if verifying that she was, in fact, alone. Satisfied, she started stretching out the muscles around her mouth, making 'eee, ooo' sounds. In the grand scheme of things, singing practice could get downright silly. She giggled, grateful to have this space all to herself.

When the door suddenly burst open, she nearly jumped out of her scales.

"Get away from me, damn it!" Husk shouted as he ran into the room.

"But Husk, your back is so full of knots!" Niffty cried, chasing after him with a brush. "Just come here and let me clean you up!"

"God dammit, Kid, get off of me!" When she lept onto him he fell, and he tried to crawl away.

Eliza took that as her cue to leave before anyone noticed her, making her way out the door while Husk struggled to escape little miss OCD with legs. When she got up and walked to the exit, the piano shimmered slightly before vanishing completely.

"Hey, Eliza!" Of course Angel Dust was right outside the room. "Whatcha doin' in there?" His cocky grin spread as he leaned on the doorway, effectively blocking her escape.

"I wanted a change of scenery from my bedroom and figured I'd enjoy some quiet time in here."

"Quiet time?" Angel asked, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. "In the stage-room?"

Fending off her irritation, she maintained her polite smile as best she could. "Yes. And unfortunately it just became much louder, so I'm leaving."

"Wanna hang out somewhere?" he asked. "We can go club-hoppin'! There's a joint nearby wit' some real sexy dancers. Tip 'em good and they'd treat ya right."

She sighed. "No, thank you Angel."

"Aw, come on, girl! It's yer day off but ya just hide away in yer room all fuckin' day, and I know you ain't gettin' any. Even Bubbles has someone to pop her off, and she's runnin' this rehab joint!"

Wearing a mild expression caught between amused and annoyed, the therapist merely questioned, "And you would know what I do in my room… how?"

"No one ever goes in there, except maybe Alastor a couple times, an' we all know Radio Daddy's sportin' some kinda deer-themed chastity belt under that suit." Eliza couldn't help but snort, which made Angel smirk. "Hey, I'll get close and you shove me into him. That way, I can cop a feel and find out for ya. He's fond of ya, so he won't hurt you, and if it ain't my fault he won't try ta rip my arms off!"

Only able to huff at the sheer audacity that is Angel Dust, she smiled more genuinely this time. "That is a terrible plan; he'd suspect you immediately! Still, I doubt the chastity belt theory."

Crossing his arms, Angel chuckled. "Until he drops trou and shows me, I believe it's there. Although, you've been closer than anyone other than Husk, and Kitty ain't sharin', but…" As he leaned in closer to whisper, Eliza raised a distrustful eyebrow. "Does he have a tail? Ya know, a little red fluffy deer tail ta match the ears?"

"I honestly have no idea."

"Jeez! What do you guys do when you're together? I know you meet up some nights." Eliza stiffened slightly, and he added hastily, "I come and go all hours, lady. I see a lotta stuff. Ain't tryin' ta spy or nothin', but you guys seem like pals, so I figured you had the scoop on 'im."

She sighed in irritation, growing very tired of his prying. Not really feeling like going into detail about the writing lessons, she settled with, "Mostly we just eat and talk."

Angel's smile spread from ear to ear. "Sounds like a typical, boring virgin date ta me!"

What followed that statement was hilarious: A light blush, failed attempts to hide how flustered she was, and a hasty retreat to her room. Angel laughed his ass off as she disappeared, doubling over to the point where he could barely stand, though her rose sprouting an extra bud did not escape his notice.


After yet another successful and delightfully brutal broadcast, Alastor spent his last day off cleaning the recording booth of his radio tower. Blood splatter, filthy tools and a body hanging from the ceiling needed to be taken care of, but he enjoyed taking his time. All part of the process of returning to normalcy, he would only have his shadows dispose of the remains that simply weren't palatable enough to butcher. While he adored using his claws, he still had his knives and other such instruments, and they would need to be cleaned and sharpened. Oh the many simple pleasures of being a meticulous man.

Back in his youth, learning new things came naturally to him. School became dull, but the push for vocational studies and trades allowed him to cherry-pick what he wanted, and so he went for an unlikely subject for his status: Butchery. He would have pursued Culinary arts, but they were considered a woman's domain back then. That was alright though, because he had his mother to teach him. Hunting, however, was a man's sport, and as such he learned how to process his kills. That way, his mother only had the best to work with, and in return she would show him everything she knew. The kitchen had been his favorite place to be as a child; how could he not offer her something in return?

Of course, he only had freedom when his father got exactly what he wanted: a son who applies himself. Even as a child he felt no love for the man, but his every success brought his mother such happiness that he made sure to excel, fighting to focus on his studies despite how incredibly bored he was of them; all to bring her the slightest pleasure in her miserable life. Another favorable outcome of his success was that it made his father more agreeable company, and the man was less likely to take his stress and anger out on her. Alastor's every delight in his youth was in protecting her, and making her happy.

When she was murdered, his heart died with her. Now his pleasure comes from the brutal evisceration of anyone who reminds him of the man who sired him. Every broadcast brought back the delicious memories of the massacre he committed in her honor; killing him again and again by finding a new abuser to help him relive the glory of his father's death.

Though not a religious man himself, he honored her memory by praying for her soul to find peace after every broadcast. With the suffering his father brought to her, he knew she went to heaven in the end. No one who suffers so peaceably would be forsaken by God.

And if he ever found out otherwise, he would rend Heaven asunder in her name.

By the time he was done cleaning, it was well into the evening, so he retired to his room. Appearing in front of the door, his shadow opened it with a bow, and he nodded his thanks. Once inside he gave a flick of the wrist, and the servant poured him a shot of brandy. Coming down from his bloodlust was a process that had many steps, and now it was time to finish the day looking over Pentagram City in the distance. The tower remained secluded in a forested area that no one dared to trespass into, and as such he could enjoy the solitude of his existence. Being at the hotel, while a wonderfully entertaining distraction, often left him feeling overwhelmed by the constant presence of others. It was good that people weren't flooding in for redemption just yet, as it allowed him to become more accustomed to sharing space with the common rabble at a slower pace, but he still felt the need to distance himself.

Enjoying a sip of his brandy, he hummed along with a jolly little tune his inner radio produced. Many still tuned into his broadcasts, and it put him in such a wonderful mood. Yes, many in Hell appreciated the art he created for his own entertainment, though he made sure to share every dark, gruesome detail with them. A true host should never disappoint his adoring audience, after all!

Then a thought occurred to him that made his ears twitch. Six months he's been at the hotel now, but he never thought to give each room its own little radio! Oh, what a terrible oversight on his part. He's been denying the guests true entertainment all this time. They should all be able to listen and enjoy, and it would give him an edge as well. His station often played classy tunes all day and night, only interrupted for whenever the urge to broadcast a kill took hold. It would be good for them to enjoy a little culture in their empty, pointless existence. It would also allow him to listen in on conversations. Hell was a wonderful place to be a fly on the wall; so many entertaining things happen, complete with a constant supply of juicy conversations to listen to.

Which, of course, means that there's one room in the hotel he'd never be able to put a radio; the therapy room. If Eliza found out that he could listen in through the device, she'd be outraged. He adored annoying her or even making her angry from time to time, but if he stepped over her professional boundaries, would she go back to ignoring him like she did a few months ago? It had been such a light offense that triggered that response the first time, and it was followed by restrictions on their interactions. If he violated her work space in such a way, she might not even speak to him for quite some time.

And that thought held no appeal for him whatsoever.

It was so very entertaining to learn more about the young therapist that he was loath to drive her away. Despite a strange fascination with the many forms of sexual perversion, she made no action to seduce anyone, even going so far as to keep her hands firmly to herself. While a very calm and indifferent woman, she adores his tales of pain and vengeance. She even complimented the appearance of his demonic visage, and despite a distinct lack of the fear his presence and reputation often demanded, she seemed to go out of her way to be respectful of his wishes simply because she wished to be courteous. Somehow, her every contradiction intrigued him greatly.

Although, now that he thought of it, he never really gave her a reason to fear him. Even though he was learning to dislike her professional side in favor of her more genuinely emotional self, she always felt so comfortable to be around. She never broke his boundaries nor did she ask to, and she indulged his need for company. While he enjoyed invading the space of others, she presented her request to keep his hands to himself in such a way that it felt only fair to oblige. Her honesty and diplomatic disposition could give her quite the silver tongue when needed.

But then there was that smell…

His exposure to it was brief, but the thought of that rich, smoky fragrance stirred his appetite. The gust of warmth it was carried on was yet another mystery. Before that moment, her every irritation was accompanied by a cold draft, but this time had been… different. He wanted to see if he could draw it out again somehow, but unfortunately he wasn't sure what exactly he did to elicit such a strange response. If anything, hadn't he lightly insulted her? Normally that would instantly trigger a chill. Though admittedly the chill did come a few moments later, after she put that damnable polite little mask back on. She had shut down a heated response so easily that it frustrated him. Still, having to work for his entertainment was such a wonderful change of pace.

Looking forward to their next entertaining exchange, he would finally be able to ask about what happened when she tuned in to his song. He intended to ask her that evening, but her disappearance had been so sudden that he decided to give her time. As soon as he returned, he wanted her to tell him everything. What did she hear? What emotions did she experience from him?

And why did she run away?


The following morning, Eliza felt like absolute shit. The two sleep attempts for the night resulted in waking up in cold sweats as her brain decided to delve into a memory she simply wished she could bury into her subconscious, never to return to haunt her. As such, she gave up on sleep entirely. Normally when sleep evaded her she'd get out of her room and go somewhere to focus on something else, but this time she felt too… shaken.

It was the memory of the death of the only real friend she had in life.

His name had been Jeremy. They went to school together, and he was the only person who was really willing to approach her. Her personality had been simply too toxic back then for everyone else, and she preferred it that way. It kept everyone at arm's length, which was the safest place to be. It didn't stop him, however, and to this day she still didn't know why he bothered to try.

He had been the friend that brought her into the anarchist group. It was strange, the more she thought of it, because he wasn't a particularly violent kid. If anything, she was far more welcome than him because she had no problems with assaulting people. He had pretty bad depression, but his 'violence' was always directed at himself, usually in the form of cuts along his wrist or slamming his fists into hard surfaces just to feel the pain. At first she was indifferent to it, but as she started to care about him it made her unreasonably angry, even going so far as to make a threat of her own. Given his wish to feel pain, it wasn't a smart thing to threaten to inflict more on him if he didn't stop, but she wasn't known for critical thinking when flying off the handles.

But it worked for a while. The cuts healed, and the bruises on his fists disappeared. He even stopped insulting himself, at least around her.

The problem came when she would go home. Her father thoroughly enjoyed verbally prodding her into a rage from time to time, but it was becoming more difficult. Normally he could get her to yell, and if her mother was home she'd earn a smack for raising her voice at her parents. But after a bit of time she started reacting indifferently towards him, and he wasted no time in trying to find out why.

She covered her tracks well, though. Whenever she went out, it was always when he wasn't home. He didn't know who she was meeting, where she went, or how she got home afterwards. It was such a fun game to lie to her father. Never believing a word she said didn't change the fact that he had no evidence of the truth. For once in her life, she was winning.

Until Jeremy slipped up.

He was the getaway driver, despite being quite under age. His job was simple: Wait in the car, call if something goes wrong and keep his gun on hand in case shit went south. When they were inside a gas station creating chaos, he saw Eliza's father pull up to a pump. He knew about what happened in her house; he listened in under the window whenever he came to visit. The cutting words, the provoked assaults, demeaning everything about her…

He got out of the car, and didn't bother to call. If there was ever a person he wanted to be violent towards, it was him. The man may be a minister, but he was no man of God.

When her friend approached him with a gun, the man didn't even flinch. She knew, because she saw it from the station. Far in the back of the building, she had to make her way across the mess she and her friends had made, which turned out to be nearly impossible. Slipping on something, she fell to the ground hard, barely preventing her head from hitting but banging up her elbows and forearms instead.

She never did find out what her father said to her friend. All she knew was that, when she finally got out of the station, she was too late. Raising the gun to his own head, he pulled the trigger and fell, and the only reaction her father gave was a brief flinch from the sound, followed by trying to clean out one ear to stop it from ringing.

That's when she woke up, but she remembered the rest of it, and even being awake didn't stop it from haunting her. When she went to her friend's body, her father recognized her voice and unmasked her right then and there.

"Ah," he said, smirking down at her. "So this is why. Been running 'round with some friends, have you?"

She never saw those friends again, and her father saw to it that she didn't make it to Jeremy's funeral.

And all the while, her father's public face never faltered: Polite, serene and inviting. Ruining Carl's reputation, talking Jeremy into suicide, encouraging her mother's drinking habits and maintaining his choke-hold on his daughter, yet no one saw it. No one knew what was hidden behind that smile.

A viper.


Author's Note:

Ugh, I was not looking forward to going down memory lane for these guys, but hey, get it all over with in one chapter, though there will be more memory shit in the future. Too emotional, and I like keeping some humor in my chapters when I can. But nothing involving Eliza's parents goes down the 'humor' route. Thank goodness for Angel Dust!

Although, admittedly, I had a lot of fun writing about Alastor's cooldown period after a brutal murder in such a relaxed, almost mundane way. Because let's be honest: That's about how it'd go for him, lol.