Chapter 46

Alastor's Nightmare

Where is the blasted kitchen in this house?!

Alastor could only growl in annoyance as he walked the long halls that felt both alien and familiar all at once. It felt like it had been decades since he walked through here, but he lived here! Right now, his mother should be working on dinner, but God help him if he could find the kitchen. The first door he opened led into the heart of the bayou, so that wasn't it. The next one opened right into the middle of a speakeasy, so that was the wrong one. Then there was his study, the bathroom, a rose garden… But not the one place he was trying to find.

His mother was going to kill him if he wasn't there. It was an important occasion, after all, not that he could remember what the occasion was for the life of him. But it was important, especially to her, and that's all that mattered. Therefore, he was determined to navigate this cursed maze of hallways and doors.

When he walked by a mirror, he paused to straighten out his brown pinstripe suit. His brown hair was in need of some correction, and he adjusted his monocle over his right eye. For some reason, seeing his brown irises felt… novel, somehow. There was only one thing left to check. Turning to one side and then the other, he nodded when he was finally certain that his makeup covered everything from the forehead to the neck, where everything else was hidden by his collar, which stopped half-way up his neck. His leather gloves were taught, and everything was perfect. Mother wanted him to look perfect today; something she only told him when special things were in the works. He could only hope this time, it would be a pleasant thing.

When he came upon a door that stood ajar, he felt a sliver of hope. However, when he reached it, he found it impossible to open the rest of the way. He pushed, he shoved, he slammed into it with his shoulder… nothing. Why was everything working against him today?!

"Oh, Marie, do be serious!" When he heard a familiar female voice emanate from the cracked door, he paused as his lip curled. He knew that woman, and wherever he heard her voice, an even less pleasant one was soon to follow.

"I am serious!" Mrs. Foret cried out in frustration. "If that nigger marries and has a child, it'll ruin this family!"

"But no one knows, Marie!" her friend reminded her in a hushed voice. "As far as everyone is concerned, you're his mother!"

"Only 'cause I can't have my own," the woman huffed. "But if I do, I'll burn them papers and throw him out on his ear myself. Never did like that wretched, hateful child. Ya see the way he looks at me?"

The other woman made a disapproving noise. "Like he's gonna chop ya up and serve ya to the pigs."

"He's a demon; that's what he is, and his bitch of a mother-"

"Marie, language!" her friend interrupted, mortified.

"I'm speakin' English," she sassed. "You've seen her with that look in her eye. She thinks she's better than me, I know it, all 'cause she caught my husbands eye one time an' gave him an heir."

Alastor spat inside the door before moving away, unwilling to listen further to her ramblings. Mrs. Marie Foret, a jealous and spiteful woman that he was forced to call "Mother" in public, all because she was married to his father and signed off on his birth certificate. His only consolation growing up was that her blood didn't flow through his veins. He knew the truth, even though his father was livid when he found out. His mother, his real mother, was supposed to lie to him about his heritage, but she refused to do so.

Still, she told him that no one else was supposed to know. Of course, his false mother was supposed to keep the secret as well, but she confided in her closest friend the day after the papers were signed, or so his mother told him. He believed it; the woman was spoiled and foolish. In truth, he hoped she truly was barren; she didn't deserve to breed.

Returning to his search, he came across yet another stubbornly stuck cracked door, and he took a moment to listen. At first, there was no noise, but after a moment someone spoke.

"Have ya told him about this?"

He held his breath; he knew that voice as well. One of the servants in his father's house; a man of color who was always kind to his mother. Even so, he never knew how to act around Alastor, but that was nothing new. The young man was used to people being uncomfortable in his presence, and frankly it didn't bother him much. As long as he continued to treat his mother well, he left the man alone. What was his name again?

Then he heard his mother's voice, though when she called the man by his name, he couldn't understand her. "No, he doesn't know, and he won't."

"Jacqueline, ya deserve to be happy, and that boy would do anythin' ta see ya smile."

"He don't want to," she stated, sternly. "And I ain't gonna force him. I… can't force him."

Alastor's smile wavered; he knew what was coming. He's heard this before, though he couldn't quite place where. "Just tell him, sweet-pea. He won't mind if ya mean it."

"But it ain't fair ta guilt him inta marriage," she declined, harshly. "He don't wanna woman, he don't need a woman, plain an' simple."

"He'll need ta marry eventually; may as well be sooner than later," the man said, soothingly. "Then ya can enjoy-"

"I ain't gettin' grandchildren," she told him. "I'd rather accept it now than hope for later. He don't wanna give his pa an' heir, an' I can't blame 'im for that. An' he don't wanna put a woman through… what I went through."

After a painfully long pause, the man asked cautiously, "Is he..?"

"Nah, he ain't queer, either," she answered. "Don't look at men any more than women. Looks at 'em even less, matter o' fact."

"He could adopt!" he suggested. "He's set to inherit his father's estate; no one'll say he's unfit ta raise a child even if he's a bit… odd."

After a moment of silence, his mother conceded, "Maybe, but I ain't holdin' my breath on it. An' 'less he thinks of it himself, I don't wanna hear nothin' 'bout you givin' 'im ideas, we clear?"

"...As you wish, ma cheri."

Her words were a blade that cut through his soul. How many women had he declined before he learned of this; of how it hurt his mother to think she would never have grandchildren? Quietly he walked away, feeling far less excited about this special day, whatever it was. Perhaps he could give the next woman his father brought him an honest chance, if only to see if he could stomach the idea of… Of…

He shook his head as his stomach turned. It wasn't fair to her, denying her something like this, but the mere thought of being with a woman that way made his skin crawl. What should he do?

He walked by several doors, forgetting that he was supposed to be searching them all, until he came across a noise. It sounded like… crying? Peeking inside, he saw his mother on her knees, nursing a black eye and sobbing into a hanky.

"Ma!" he called out, opening the door the rest of the way and reaching out to her.

When she heard his voice, she looked up in surprise. "Y-ya ain't supposed ta come in without knockin'!"

"But you're-"

"G-get out, Alastor!" she yelled. "Y'ain't s'pposed ta see m-me like this."

"Ma, it's alright," he told her gently, trying to calm her. "I don't mind-"

"Get out 'til I'm presentable!" she cried, and after a moment of hesitation he obeyed, closing the door behind him.

He bit his lip until it bled. Was it really so terrible that he wanted to understand? Was she afraid he would think less of her for this? He understood her belief that emotions were for behind closed doors, but why couldn't he see it? He just wanted to know what she was going through; for her to tell him what was wrong, even if he couldn't comprehend her emotions completely. He would listen, and he wouldn't judge. He would never judge her, and yet she never confided in him. Not once.

He just wanted to see the real her; the woman behind the stern gaze and thin, flat line of her pursed lips. He's seen a softness there that she hides, and he thought that being her son meant that she would talk to him more, but she never did. If anything, it often felt like she kept more from him than others. That… other man, whatever his name, was allowed to hear what she wanted, to see her when she's weak, but not him, the child who would do anything for her. Even so, could he really give her that? Could he go all the way with a woman and give her a loving grandchild? What if they turned out strange and deranged like him, where bringing misery to others brought neither regret nor remorse? If they had strange thoughts or morbid fascinations, would they just bring her more anguish? He couldn't bear the thought of making things worse.

But maybe… it would be worth a try. Adoption is always an option in the end, but while his father's blood flowed like poison in his veins, it shouldn't condemn his mother's happiness. Like that man said, he would do anything to see her smile.

As he decided this, he opened another door and found himself in his father's office. Inside, the man was sitting behind his desk with a bottle of scotch next to him, and there was another person in the room, though he couldn't see him or her well.

"Ah, there y'are," the man greeted gruffly, beckoning him forward with a hand. "Sit, boy. We got a lot ta discuss."

In a low tone, Alastor growled, "Yes, sir."

"Don't go takin' that tone wit' me or I'll beat the strange outta ya," he roared. "Now have a seat!"

Being sure to hold the man's gaze the entire slow walk to his chair, he nearly told the man he would stand but thought better of it. It brought him no small pleasure to know that his unwavering smile unnerved the man who sired him, and some day he hoped it would be the last thing he saw before he died.

"Now I know you've got your head up your ass 'bout marriage," his father growled, "but this time, you ain't backin' out, got it? This woman is your betrothed."

"What?!" he shrieked, turning and finally seeing the other person in the room. Her heavily painted face, while lovely, made his blood grow cold, and her eyes were spiteful and coy. There was only one thought that went through his mind as he stared at her; he wanted nothing to do with this woman. "Sir, you can't just-"

"I can an' I did," he interjected, pointing a short, fat finger in his face. "Her experience will hopefully make up for your impotence, an' she's proven fertile. She'll give you an heir."

"Many heirs, sir," she promised with a giggle.

If Alastor's face wasn't caked in make-up, he was sure they would have seen him pale significantly. He raised his collar to hide his skin; he didn't want this woman to see any more of him than the rest of the world, particularly such an uncomfortable secret. No, he wanted her to see less. "I will not marry this whore."

"Hold your tongue!" his father bellowed.

"I will not-" Alastor repeated, starting to stand. But then he glanced behind his father, where his mother stood with her rigid posture and stern expression, hiding a truth he only knew through eavesdropping. If she were to show what she felt, he knew there wouldn't be a smile to see, but rather sorrow and disappointment. Though he refused to sit back down and completely submit to his father's wishes, he rose slowly to his feet and matched his mother's posture. "I… will court the woman, for a time, and see what comes of it."

Though not particularly pleased about only being met half-way, his father grumbled, "That's more like it."

"Is there anything else?" Alastor asked, looking down his nose at him.

"I'm gonna smack that smile right off your face some day," he answered. "Aside from that, no."

"Excellent!" Alastor cheered. "Then we're done here."

The young man didn't even acknowledge his betrothed as he turned on his heel and marched to the door. Straightening his bowtie and putting on his best smile, he opened the large double doors that had replaced the normal single, entering a large gala full of acquaintances from all over Louisiana. People he knew and some he didn't all came up to congratulate him on his marriage. At first he was a bit surprised, but when he saw the ring on his finger he realized they were right. It went by so fast, he barely remembered any of it. Huh.

As he continued talking to everyone, he felt like something was off. Unable to put his finger on it, he started looking around. Had the gala room always been this big? Since when did they know this many people? Why was no one reacting to the big, winged cat drinking at the bar? Why wasn't he more surprised by it? And… was he drinking saké? Since when do they keep Japanese alcohol here?

Something strange was going on, here.

Suddenly his wife walked up to him, distracting him from his thoughts as he swallowed a mouthful of bile back down. "Hey there, handsome."

He leaned slightly away from her as she took hold of his arm, pressing her chest against it until her breasts wrapped around his tricep. With a loud gulp, he yanked himself out of her uncomfortable embrace. "W-what do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm your wife," she reminded him in a seductive tone. "I'm just doing my duty, as should you." Grabbing hold of his arm once more, she pulled back hard and he lost his footing, diving head-first into a bed that hadn't been there before.

When he shot up and flipped around, he saw something terrifying; that wretched woman crawling on her hands and knees towards him with a sultry expression on her face, her kimono seeming to come undone by itself as she approached. "N-n-now hold on," he stammered, crawling backwards until he crashed into the headboard. "We're still in p-p-public for pity's sake!"

"We'll adjust," she said simply, perching herself on his lap. When she went to undo the buttons on his shirt, he grabbed her wrists with a snarl, his eyes glowing red. "Oh, come now, my pet; we mustn't waste time! Or perhaps you simply wish to remain clothed as we consummate?"

Sliding out of his grip, one hand lingered on his face while the other moved down to his groin. When she gripped him, he about jumped out of his skin before shoving her away. "NO!"

Laying there with a deeply affronted expression, she covered up as if to protect her dignity. In that moment he felt the weight of that action press down on him as everyone around them stared in silent judgment. He didn't give a damn about the rest, they could rot, but his mother…

When she looked away in shame, he jumped off the bed and bolted. Yelling after him, his wife gave pursuit, but was cut off by the squeaky voice of a very short maid. "Oh, are you alright miss? Can I get you some tea? Maybe a bathrobe? You're so indecent; who taught you how to dress in public? Honestly, you look like a hussy!"

Making his way to the nearest door, Alastor blasted through it before slamming it behind him, pressing his back against it just in case someone tried to follow. Out of breath and absolutely frazzled, his legs buckled under him, causing him to land hard on his tailbone. The pain didn't matter; he enjoyed the ambient noise of the bayou as he sat on a balcony. He didn't remember his house having a balcony quite this grand, but right now that was the last thing on his mind.

Confused, unsettled and utterly alone, he welcomed the solitude as he took a moment to think. What was going on? When did he get married? Was he so upset about it that he went through the entire ceremony black-out drunk? He must have, because he certainly didn't remember any of it. But with a wife like that, who could blame him? While he hated showers, her repulsive touch tempted him to jump in and scrub until there was not a scrap of skin left on his body.

After taking a few minutes to catch his breath, he took another look around. The starry Louisiana sky took his breath away, as though he hasn't seen it in decades, and the wild sounds of the swamp helped to calm his mind. Finally he stood up and walked over to the edge of the balcony, where he watched a pair of foxes dancing in the moonlight. They walked like humans, and their movements were graceful. It was… pleasant to watch, and the swing music coming from an unknown source lifted his mood.

"May I join you?" asked a sweet, pleasant voice.

Alastor grimaced, not turning to acknowledge the interloper that broke his peaceful moment. "I'm in no mood for company. Be gone."

"Oh, I apologize. Excuse me."

Hearing the woman's footsteps grow quieter, he glanced behind him to make sure she actually intended to leave him alone. His eyes widened when he saw the person he just dismissed, and he felt a strange pang of panic as he watched her walk away. Turning completely, he reached out a hand as he called out to her, "Wait!"

Pausing in her retreat, the woman turned to look at him. Her brown hair fluttered gently in the breeze, and her white scales glowed under the moonlight. Her black, slitted pupils focused on him, and she looked rather uncertain. "Is something wrong?"

"Forgive me," he apologized, quickly, "I… was rude just now. You may stay, if you wish." Turning back around, he muttered, "I am having something of an off day."

She giggled behind his back. "That's putting it mildly." When he saw her looking over the balcony a few feet away, he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "She's mocking you, you know."

Stiffening up, he asked quietly, "Who?"

"Jorōgumo," she stated, matter-of-factly. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Ah, you mean my wife," he spat, the last word turning rancid in his mouth.

"She's not your wife."

Alastor just blinked down at his companion as he raised his left hand. "An unfortunate falsehood, my dear."

Then, with an air of utmost certainty, she told him, "You would never marry her."

Feeling a stern gaze burn a hole in the back of his head, he didn't have to turn around to know his mother was listening. "I would, if only to give mother a grandchild who could love her properly."

"She'd never approve of her, anyway."

He huffed out a spiteful laugh. "And how do you know this, my dear? You've never met her!"

"It doesn't matter if I've met her or not," she said, smiling up at him. "None of this is real, remember?"

Appraising her with narrowed eyes, he asked, "I beg your pardon?"

"You should, when you wake up," she teased with a laugh. "You were very rude."

Feeling a tad flustered, Alastor looked away as he thought of a reply. Eventually he settled with, "I suppose I was, wasn't I?"

"Still, it's not good to stay here," she told him, sadly.

"Why?" he asked, genuinely confused. "I enjoy talking with you, my dear! I would like to stay and talk more."

After a moment of looking down, she sighed. "But you haven't been talking to me. You've ignored me since…"

When a page unfurled next to her, he growled. "Did you expect me to be happy with rejection? I worked very hard on that, only to have you throw it in my face!" Balling his hand into a fist, he threw it out to the side as he shouted, "Why would I accept that damnable clause you added? The whole point of it was to keep you to myself!"

"Why?"

Alastor faltered. "What do you mean, 'why'? What else would you do when you find someone you like? Do you think I'd ever let Husk or Niffty be taken from me? They are mine, and you were supposed to be, too!"

"Are you jealous of Angel Dust spending time with Husk?"

"What does that have to do with- Ugh! Why must you frustrate me so? No, I'm not!"

"Do you get jealous of Niffty always flirting with men?"

"No!"

"Are you jealous of my friendship with Angel?"

About ready to heave the entire balcony into the swamp, he cried, "Yes! It irritates me beyond measure that this… interloper is able to get you to open up in a matter of days about something when months of time with me means nothing to you! Why? What has that… that whore done differently?"

"It don't matter."

Alastor whipped around and faced his mother, who met his anger with calm poise. "What do ya mean, ma? It always mattered ta me!"

"It don't matter what he does," she told him. "It matters what you do."

"But I don't understand! What am I doing wrong? Why can't ya just tell me?!" Throwing out his arms, bolts of red lightning started to crack around him, striking the ground and breaking the balcony apart. "Ya know emotions don't make sense ta me! I just wanted ta understand, and ya left me out. Why? I know I ain't right in the head, ma, but… I tried." Unable to meet her gaze anymore, he felt his energy leave him. "Maybe I didn't love right, like the other kids, but I cared, ma. I gave ya what I could; why wasn't it ever enough? Why couldn't I make ya smile much? Were… Were you ashamed of me?"

"I told ya lots, son; I ain't never been ashamed of ya."

"Then why?" he asked, his eyes downcast. "Why wasn't it enough?"

"She can't tell you more, Alastor," the pale demoness stated. "We're in a dream. If you don't accept what you know, you'll only hear what you're afraid of."

"Like you're any better," he growled. "Every time I see something, you hide away from me. Why?"

"I can't tell you more, either. You have to wake up and ask me, remember?"

The world around him seemed to crack as his subconscious started to break through, but he willed the illusion to remain. "I… I don't want to wake up," he admitted. "I don't want to know what's happening outside. Please, I..."

Suddenly, his 'wife' appeared in front of him, pushing him down onto a chair that wasn't there a second ago. "Then stay here with me; I can give you bliss, my pet."

"Get. Off," he snarled.

"Stay in here with me," she repeated in a deep, sultry tone. "In here, you can do anything you want with my body. Devour me, if you wish; whatever brings you pleasure."

Then he had an idea. It was a terrible, wonderful idea, and when Jorōgumo lifted her arms to expose herself for his pleasure, he just lifted her off his lap, stood up and walked over to the other demoness, who was watching them curiously.

"Would you like to take care of this, cheré?" he purred, holding her hand up to kiss the back of her knuckles.

He rarely saw her smile like that, but that delighted glint in her inverted eyes brought him more joy than any whore could hope to. When her scales darkened and her wings spread out, he watched gleefully as she pounced on the exposed woman who tried to deceive him.

"Ah, such bliss," he teased, cruelly, the corners of his smile turning up as his mind slowly became his own once more.

"Ya know she's right," his mother stated in a cold tone as they watched Jorōgumo get ripped to shreds. "I'd never approve o' that woman."

Alastor chuckled. "A pity this is only a dream. The real problem still must be dealt with, and unfortunately Eliza is nowhere near me right now." Wilting slightly, he asked, "Do I gotta wake up, ma? I… I don't wanna feel what she's doin' ta me right now."

"What ya think she's doin', ya mean."

"Maybe so, but it just…"

Putting her hand up to his cheek, she gave a small smile when Alastor placed his face on her palm. "Ya gotta wake up ta get out, son. Ain't no way around that. You're a strong boy; you'll manage."

"I haven't dreamt of ya in so long," he confessed, sadly. "I miss ya, ma. I hope ya made it ta Heaven."

"Maybe some day you'll find out, if this redemption thing succeeds." Kissing his forehead, she backed away. "Time ta go, cher. I ain't one ta approve of hurtin' a woman, but if it helps…"

The world turned black around him, and her final words in his head left him with a feeling of validation for what he desperately wanted to do.

"That demon ain't no woman."


Author's Notes:

Dream sequences are hard, so I decided to keep it together instead of breaking it up into sections. It just made it easier on me, so that I wouldn't lose my place or forget details. I don't know about anyone else, but in my experience dreams are jumpy and disorienting, and I hope I conveyed that here.

Fun fact: When I first planned out this dream, the original idea was to have a line-up of all Alastor's female friends as prospective partners, and Eliza was going to be the one he picked because she was the only one who made him comfortable enough to consider it. I decided, for their current relationship, that this wouldn't quite work, and it was more appropriate for Jorōgumo lore to have her be the bride. Still, I think Eliza would be honored to be the mouthpiece for Alastor's subconscious. Seems a fitting spot for her, especially with her tendency to state the uncomfortable truth without batting an eye.