A/N: To all you wonderful people commenting, you are just amazing. AMAZING! If you are commenting as a guest on FFN, I always feel my heart ache, because I cannot write back to you and thank you for your feedback. It would mean so much to me, if I could get back at you personally. But if you read this, well, I hope you know I'm thankful and that I have a smile on my face, just like I hope that my story puts a smile on your face as well! ;)
Now. Back to said story! A new chapter awaits you and, as the title suggests, it's not gonna be an easy one folks. Be ready for angst and hurt galore. But that's what you're here for, aren't ya? :D Enjoy the read and make sure to have a listen to the recommended songs to support the atmosphere!
Recommended Songs:
Atrium Carceri - The Citadel
The Hate Inside - Tommee Profitt (feat. Sam Tinnesz)
Mount Shrine - Held Breeze
Apocryphos - Tenebrous
Chapter 7 – Abyss
[Atrium Carceri - The Citadel]
The scotch tasted good as it burned down Lucifer's throat and collected in his stomach. It was ironically symbolic as he thought of his core to be the bowels of hell themselves and the scotch made its way down like a searing stream of lava, tearing holes into his organs from within.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths, letting the breeze on the balcony wash over him. It was really odd. He felt torn between trying to evoke images from the previous day, while at the same time something buried deep inside of him begged him not to do it. And that made him even more anxious and angry at the same time. He hated that whatever was lingering in the black void of his memory was having so much power over him, that it could draw such extreme emotions from him.
He decided not to probe into that particular void just yet, but instead go back even further, trying to recall the whole day starting from the morning when he woke up.
It had been a great start into the day.
He had been up early and once he had showered and was dressed, he had started with preparations for an exclusive annual party at Lux where he was going to celebrate his retirement from hell. In roughly a month it will have been eight years since he arrived at the shore of LA and had his wings cut off from Maze. The day his true freedom began in the City of Angels.
Part of the preparations was always to pick a theme and gather the best dancers to heat up the crowd, because even after he left the place of eternal damnation, he still enjoyed raising a little hell with his guests. So he had gone through his contacts, skimmed through their social media profiles and called them to have them meet up with him, in case they'd be interested in a great party with a nice amount of cash waiting for them as a salary for their performances.
Only a few of them had actually declined, but only because they were either unwell or indisposed with another client they didn't want to drop. And those ultimately declined because of personal, not financial reasons, as Lucifer remembered he had assured them whatever they were granted as payment, he would easily excel. In the end twenty-four dancers, nineteen women and five exceedingly handsome men, had agreed for the job and looked forward to meeting up together with him to brainstorm, discuss ideas and make plans for the special night.
Next up on his schedule had been the refill of his club's inventory, including booze, lights-replacements, clothes for the staff and small decoration accessories. Checking the delivery and testing a bottle of the finest scotch he had ordered, he observed everything being carefully stored and paid the delivery guy. He remembered the young man's sparkling, surprised eyes at the sight of the one hundred dollar bill he gave him as a tip.
When he had waved the man goodbye, he remembered having made a routine call with his accountant before chatting with a few people who had messaged him for all kinds of topics. Favours mostly, but also some who wanted to catch up with him and a few with particularly salacious offers he kindly declined. The reason as to why he declined had made him linger with his thoughts on the Detective, knowing how she was buried in paperwork. He had wondered if she was nervous about their date, because as the day progressed, he certainly had been getting more and more impatient, thrilled and excited to see her again. He clearly recalled looking at his phone to check the time again and again, but the day seemed to drag on for an eternity.
And then he remembered having spent the early afternoon with various patrons stopping by. The memories of the first arrival, a sweet young lady in her twenties called Flora, he remembered very clearly. She had been expelled from her home, an elitist house with supercilious manners, because she had rebelled against her parents' wish for her to become a lawyer. Instead she wanted to follow her desire to become a cook which they thought was a laughable aspiration. They had left her with nothing to build on, saying, this is what it would be like to be a cook, looking for scraps to eat while making meals for others.
Flora had sought him out not for money, but for any help he could offer in her situation. Agreeing to the deal, Lucifer had arranged a connection with a chef in a renowned Italian restaurant, letting her become his protégé as a sous-chef in training. Of course this was also just possible because the chef still owed him a favour in return. It was always wonderful to see how things finally came full circle.
But the patrons following Flora became less crisp in his memory. The topics he could recollect ranged from the shrimp market, a photo shooting with lions up in the mountains to a cannabis testing laboratory in a basement. He could be mistaken, but he vaguely remembered the last topic had been coming from a high court judge. The faces, names and the details of his deals were all blurred though, which was very disconcerting, not only because of what had happened to him, but also because he didn't like to be in the unknown about his own deals, not knowing what he did and for who he did it. This was something that could end very bad very quickly.
He was intrigued to tap deeper and into the black hole his memories had been sucked into, which now seemed to have become bigger, more intense. He focused harder, pushed and forced himself into the abyss. He simply needed to know. He didn't notice his right hand's grip on the handrail twisting the metal or his left hand trembling, holding the empty glass. Didn't notice how his breathing became ragged, how his muscles began to cramp or how his body began to break out in cold sweat.
He knew that there was something, if only he dug hard enough to reach it. Something lurked in that obscure black pit of his memories, a boiling tar, ready to be poured out and pave the road towards things veiled to his consciousness. But he also knew that once he'd let the tar out, its seething mass would literally be one hell of a road to walk with likely abhorrent memories crashing down on him from all sides.
It was an inner conflict he battled. One part of him worried of what lay hidden, the other was determined to use all of his strength and willpower to seek the truth buried in the abyss. Both sides had a point because whatever he'd do, it would likely end badly and cause him harm. The first was able to cause him endless worries over the ifs, whys and hows and of course the ultimate who. Not to mention the ongoing side effects he knew he was suffering; flashbacks, nightmares and other physical signs of stress. And the second choice, while solving the issues of the first, would probably open a whole new bottle of demons he'd need to battle. The truth was just as likely to crush him as the unknowing of it was.
A sudden crack let his eyes shoot wide open.
[The Hate Inside - Tommee Profitt (feat. Sam Tinnesz)]
Confused, he blinked out of his prison of thoughts, torn out of his focus and drawn back into the reality of his surroundings. He glanced down on his right, cramping hand and spotted the warped metal of the handrail. With an unsteady movement, he let go of the handrail, his breathing still ragged. His eyes wandered to his left hand next, seeing its small tremors, and small splinters of glass quietly crumbled from his palm, raining down on the balcony floor.
His mildly wondering expression turned more curious and astonished in an instant, when he looked more closely at his palm.
There was no blood. No cut. Not even a scratch. Nothing.
It occurred to him that even his expectation of there being a wound was surprising, because of his usual invulnerability unless the Detective was around.
So I'm invulnerable again… But how could I get hurt in the first place? How did a needle manage to pierce through my skin? And how could he cut off my-
Biting on his lip, he forced himself to not follow that train of thought till the end and stopped the spill of tears that threatened at his eyes' threshold. Stepping back inside, lost in a pit of sadness, he unbuttoned his vest and shirt, and let both pieces carelessly drop to the floor. Upon reaching the standing mirror in the corner of his living room, he turned halfway to look over his shoulder into the mirror.
The two patches of marred skin looked even more gruesome at their edges than when he had asked Maze to cut off his wings. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had rid himself off of them willingly. Back then he had worn the scars with pride, the proof of his unyielding willpower and freedom from his Father's shackles of predestination. He had been enjoying the rebellious act of defiance. But now things were different. His Father had turned out to have little to do with his wings. It had always been about him feeling deserving of them, and therefore self-actualising them, which now raised the question, if he was still deserving of them.
He thought with a turning stomach of the dead man in the warehouse and his own hands being covered with blood.
So much blood… Did I thrust that knife into him like I did to Uriel? Why else was there so much blood all over them?
He started to shake again, feeling the tears viciously return in his eyes. His jaw clenched painfully tight as he tried to stay composed over the reality that sunk into him.
No. If he truly killed him, then no, he wouldn't deserve his wings to grow back. He knew that game all too well. He knew his Devil wings would likely return or perhaps his back would stay as marred as it was and no wings at all would sprout from his back ever again.
But not knowing if or if not, was all the same to him. Because not knowing made him presume the worst.
Releasing a shuddering breath, he brushed the back of his palm over his cheeks, removing the treacherous droplets that had spilled over despite his efforts to hold them back. Straightening up his posture, he squared his shoulders. The determination spread through him as if it had been injected into his veins, causing him to raise his walls of protection that would shield him from outer harm.
He'd deal with it, just like he always did. He'd carry the burden, the guilt, the punishment. He'd take the hit and the fall, without crumbling on the outside.
That was the one side of his situation.
The other side was a raging Devil, seeking to deliver punishment to the vermin that had butchered him. This was as personal as it could get.
For that very dark desire alone, he believed he'd not get his angel wings back, but it didn't diminish his determination one bit. He would hunt down that scumbag, and then he'd show him what it meant to have the Devil against you.
Eyes flashing up like glowing embers, he walked over to his desk. He needed to do something. While he had people assigned to find information on the external hints for him, he could focus on what only he could work on. His memories. Opening the top left drawer of his desk, he retrieved a spare cell phone and scrolled through his saved contacts. He hit the call button and waited until his therapist's voice picked up.
"Lucifer," Linda spoke surprised. "I haven't heard from you in a while. How are you doing?"
He took a deep breath through his teeth. This was not a question he would answer over the phone. In fact he preferred to not answer the question at all. "Hello doctor. Well, actually I'm calling, because I need to have an appointment. As soon as possible."
"Oh erm, well I'm in my office today for a few hours, so if you want to-"
"Splendid! I'm on my way then." Not giving her time to finish her sentence, he hung up and rushed to retrieve his shirt and vest from the floor.
He didn't want to wait for his memories to return, like both the spawn and Miss Lopez had implied. No. He had made a decision. He wanted to know. He'd take whatever pain there would be involved. The memories had to somehow emerge again, and what better way to help with that then by the support of his brilliant devil-therapist?
[Mount Shrine - Held Breeze]
"Thanks. Have a good day," Chloe said with a small smile directed at the locksmith, watching the burly man pack up his equipment and head off to his van.
The apartment from Zak Boone had turned out to be part of a run-down building complex. It was located in the middle of an area known for criminal activities, where the police were certainly not kindly approached, especially not when seen stepping into someone's apartment. Her wits, experience and instincts automatically reminded her to be on high alert.
Pushing open the door, she stepped into the apartment and switched on the lights. According to the available registry papers and a call with the landlord, Zak had been living there for the past five years and had no living relatives to contact about his passing. A sad but common truth among criminals. Nonetheless she called out, in case there was someone inside. "LAPD. Is anyone there?"
No one replied.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, letting some of her tenseness release from her muscles. At least no one came rushing around the corner to shoot her. With the first obstacle passed, she made a few more steps inside and let the door fall shut behind her.
The areas of the apartment were all open, except for the separate room to her right, which she assumed would be the bathroom. Around the corner on her left was an L-shaped kitchen, followed by a small table for two people. She could see from afar the remains of take-away packages and chopsticks. In the back of the room stood an old brown couch with a coffee table with magazines and some loose paper as well as an overflowing ashtray on top. Looking straight ahead against the opposite wall, two large windows were the only natural light source, but shrouded from thick, grey curtains. Between the windows, on a small cupboard, stood a TV, an old tube one, covered by a thick layer of dust. Based on the first looks, Zak Boone had not been a neat person.
Walking further inside, she opened the door to her right, checking the room behind and, as she predicted, finding it to be the bathroom. At last she stepped further back into the main room and looked around the corner where she made out a double bed with a nightstand on each side and to the right, embedded into the wall was a niche functioning as a closet.
"Alright then. Looks like there's really nobody home," she murmured to herself when the last corner had been checked. "Let's get started."
Reaching into her back pocket, she retrieved a pair of purple nitrile gloves and slipped into them. She worked through the apartment strategically from back to front, starting with the bed and wardrobe. The bed itself was as spartanic looking like the rest of what she had seen from the apartment's furniture, wooden, scratched and dated. The covers were crumpled to the side accompanied by a grey-hazed shirt and a woollen pair of black pyjama bottoms.
Opening the nightstand on the left side of the bed, she found a few playboy magazines and a box with tissues.
"Ugh… great…"
She shut the drawer, circled the bed and went on with the right hand's nightstand. Inside was a rectangular, dark grey block, some sort of tools, a little bottle containing a light yellow fluid, an old looking cloth and a piece of leather sticking out from underneath it. Deep in focus, she lifted the small glass bottle that had a red label reading Ballistol and right below it Universalöl.
Memories of her academy time surfaced, where one of her trainers, Marc Hearth, taught her how to properly clean her firearm. She clearly remembered him insisting on using a high value oil for it and praised the German oil she now held in her hands. He told her that despite their history, the German's knew how to take good care of their weapons. In fact he held a whole speech about the oil's history and how it could literally do about everything: protection against corrosion, greasing of metal, leather and skin, disinfection of small wounds. Hell, it was even used in treating the paws of animals. It was because of the absurdity of things this oil could be used for, that she remembered it.
As she silently wondered about why the heck someone would have this in his nightstand, she continued to roam through the drawer to check out the other items. The rectangular block turned out to be a whetstone with its upper and underside having different grits. An old fashioned sharpening tool and a very good one for those who were practised in using it.
A small spark of a hunch began to tingle in the back of her mind, and when her hand pushed aside the cloth from the leathery looking thing in the drawer, she exhaled a sigh. The leathery thing was actually a sheath. It was approximately 8 inches (~20cm) long, so quite the size for a knife. What struck her attention further though, was the little curve in the topside of the sheath.
Bowie knife, she thought, remembering Ella's little speech. Comparing it with the side in the evidence bag, this sheath seemed like a match. And now, the items in the drawer made sense. This guy took good care of his knife it seemed. Retrieving a few evidence bags, she packed up the items and continued her search at the wardrobe niche.
A small amount of clothes was hung up on a rail, one suit in the far corner, and a few t-shirts folded and piled up on a board above. On the bottom, beneath the hung up clothes, laid a few weight lifting accessories, dumbbells, a barbell and extra weight plates. Telling from the weight on the barbell, Zak seemed to have been able to lift 240lbs (~110kg). A considerable amount, not professional, but definitely trained. Looking over the closet as a whole she saw a small shimmer in the back on top of the shelve, embedded left and right from shirts. Getting on her toes, she reached up and fumbled until smooth metal touched her fingertips.
"Gotcha," she cheered to herself and pulled forward a small box just about the size of a cash box. It did have a keyhole, but upon trying to open it, it turned out to be locked.
Wonder what you keep hidden, Zak...
Setting the box aside to her evidence bags, figuring, Ella would enjoy forcefully opening it in her lab, she walked over to the living room area. The magazines on the table were crumpled and showed marks from coffee cups. There was a magazine about cars and motorcycles, one about business investments and another about the TV schedule from last month. Amusing to think that a guy like Zak was reading about business investments, she thought. Perhaps he wanted to have advice on how to better invest in his own housing… Maybe clean up from time to time… add a flower here and there…
Looking a last time over the living room furniture, nothing really struck her attention, so she moved on to the open plan kitchen. Roaming casually through the cupboards and drawers, she found only the usual kitchenware. The bin was filled with take away boxes and plastic utensils, and a crumpled piece of paper on top. Taking it out, she unfolded it carefully, finding a scratchy handwritten note written on ruled paper.
8358 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood
2.00 pm
Wait for him in the side street and do what he says.
60.000$
Chloe's chest tightened. It was the address of Lux. Her jaw tensed in anger as she realized what exactly she was holding in her hands. The hiring of Zak to help kidnap Lucifer. Apparently Zak hadn't been commissioned directly, but had some sort of a boss who delegated tasks towards him. So the new question was: Who's Zak's boss? Another person to find information about, but who could get them closer to the customer of his criminal skills.
She put the note in another evidence bag, labelled it and released a heavy breath. It wasn't much she had found, she knew that, but more often than not she had been surprised as items were further analysed. She hoped Ella would work out additional information to help with the case, to help find out everything that had happened to Lucifer. Deciding she was done for now with the apartment, she packed up the items she had found, sealed the door with the section 435 Administrative Code, and headed back to the precinct.
"So, what do you say, doctor? Do you think you can help me?" Lucifer asked nonchalant and innocently, as if his previous statement had been as simple as him asking for her to tie his imaginative bowtie. He looked at her expectantly, leaning back against the couch with his legs folded and hands resting entwined on his upper thigh. Of course he had been honest with her, however, he really hadn't told her much at all to begin with.
"I'm not sure, I really understand, Lucifer," Linda murmured, "You… somehow lost your memories of the previous day and now you want me to do what exactly? Conjure it back?"
Sighing, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, staring at her with big, brown eyes. "Do your doctor-mojo! I'm pretty sure you've got skills, I've read your bio, you know?" He arched a brow challengingly as she gasped in shock.
"You've read my bio?! That's- Wait… what? My mojo? What are you even talking about?"
"The whole hypnosis-mumbo-jumbo. You can do it, right?" he asked, a smirk creeping up his lips. "You have a certificate…" he added in a sing-song voice, knowing she could not deny that truth. He watched her pout and gasp for an excuse or for a reasonable explanation, but eventually he could see her falter with a sigh.
"You want me to hypnotise you? But that's not exactly how I could make you remember your previous day." She raised her hands, motioning for him to keep his remark for himself and went on. "I would be really interested in what was going on yesterday. How about you tell me of the things you do remember, and then we go from there, hm?" Linda folded her legs and grabbed her clipboard and pencil, ready to take notes. She knew she would have to direct Lucifer into session, otherwise he would just ask for a solution and not have any epiphanies he achieved himself.
"I… honestly cannot see how that's supposed to help me in any way, but, alright, if you really must know…" He sighed exaggeratedly, and began to list up his prior day's events, mentioning his mid-afternoon black hole of memories and then skilfully danced over how he ended up at Chloe's place for a hot shower. No mention of him waking up in a warehouse with his wings cut off, no mention of him being drugged against his will, no mention of the dead man and not a syllable slipping past his lips over how his insides were boiling with a feeling he couldn't precisely name. Red seething wrath didn't really cut it. He had hoped his skilful skip of the prior days' unpleasantries would slip her attention, but the little spark in her eyes and the way she pushed forward her jaw, added by her eyes narrowing in suspicion, were telling him she had seen through his omission.
"What are you avoiding, Lucifer?" she openly asked, making another note and underlining it three times. Emotions.
Frowning, he looked at her, a mixture of confusion and irritation written on his face. "Why would you think I'm avoiding something?" he tried to deflect, but immediately felt it was a weak attempt, doomed to fail.
"Well, you've been constantly fumbling nervously around with your fingers, you listed up your activities from the previous day avoiding your usual colourful range of adjectives and right after you mentioned your last favour-patron and skimmed through to the evening, your whole body tensed up." Linda spoke with all her professional gentleness and care, pointing up and down Lucifer's body. "You're still shaking, Lucifer."
Glancing down, he saw that, indeed, he was shaking. He hadn't noticed. He had leaned forward, had his elbows resting on his thighs, but still he could see the tremble in his hands, arms and legs. His shoulders had tensed up and curled forward, his head sinking into the hollow his torso had created for it to disappear in. He blinked and quickly leaned back, trying to force himself out of his cramped up position. Swallowing he tried to remove the sudden lump in his throat and brushed his hands over his thighs, to ease out the tension. "Sorry 'bout that, doctor…" he muttered, licked his desert-dry lips and threw her an awkward smile.
"Something big happened," she stated, noticing the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard to her words. "Look, Lucifer. I want to help you. You know I always do. But you need to tell me what's going on."
"I just-" He bit on his tongue, feeling how every fibre of his being resisted to speak, to share and open up. He couldn't lower his shields. "I just need to know what has been done to me. I mean-" Releasing a long breath, he corrected himself. "I know what has been done to me, but I need to know the details," he pressed, his voice hardening with frustration and the seething anger in his core.
Immediately hearing the despair in the undertone of his words, Linda froze and a dreadful suspicion rose alarm in her. It was very peculiar. She was used to Lucifer having trouble dealing with his feelings, but ever since the time he had opened up to her about himself feeling rotten on the inside and had become a tearful mess in front of her, she was overwhelmed with the extent of emotions that whirled around in him. He was capable of so much more than what he showed and to see how he was truly feeling was both a wonderful and a horrifying thing as well. "What happened to you?" she breathed, shocked to see the glisten of tears in Lucifer's eyes that he desperately tried to keep at bay, but the flutter of his eyelids betrayed his efforts.
Sucking up his composure again, his shields hardening, Lucifer tried to not let her empathy touch him. "I was apparently drugged, kidnapped, de-winged and then ditched in a warehouse, but that's not the important stuff, doctor," he summed up grumpily, his jaw hurting from the angry grinding it did. "It's about the fact that I can only remember those bloody fragments which don't help me finding the person responsible and I really, and I mean really, want to-"
Linda's mouth hung agape until her brain finally caught up with what he just said, and with a jump from her chair, she cut him off. "DE-WINGED?! Are you saying what I think you're saying, which I really don't hope you're saying?!"
"I meant that quite literally. Yes," he said matter-of-factly, nodding with his eyes wide and his brows up his hairline. "But doctor, that is not the point," he went on insistently. "I can't remember where he took me and how he looked like or really, anything that could help lead us to him. I need to remember!"
Tossing her clipboard onto her desk, Linda began to pace in front of him. "Jesus, Lucifer, you had your wings removed! Forcefully! Against your will!"
He rolled his eyes at her choice of exclamation. "That's what I said, but-"
"And you're wondering why the heck you can't remember the details?! Christ! Plus, you said you were drugged as well!" She was talking herself into a rage, her hands flying out in wild gestures. "Oh god, that was some crazy demon, right? Another one escaped hell and now he's after you. Should I call Amenadiel?!"
"NO!" Jumping up, he held his palms outstretched towards her like a policeman regulating the traffic. "Bloody hell, don't you dare talk to Amenadiel or involve him in any way. I can't stand him playing detective. And… I don't know if it was a demon..." Sitting down again, he looked up at her pleadingly. "Look, I want to remember. I know there is something. I tried focusing and forcing myself to remember, tried dipping into that dark abyss, but I just can't come up with the images. I just get those dad-damn flashbacks in the most inconvenient situations and they're just one hell of a nuisance and… and…"
Linda took a mental note of his mention of flashbacks, knowing very well how they were often a possible result from a heavy trauma. It would likely be important to figure out what kind of things triggered the flashbacks, if there were triggers and not just happened randomly. "Alright."
"... and... Alright?" He stopped his little rant and gazed back at her. "You'll do it?"
"Yes. I'll do it. Although it's not particularly called hypnosis, but PE, Prolonged Exposure Therapy. And I have to warn you, Lucifer. This won't be sunshine and rainbows. But I'll be with you all the way, okay? You need to be aware that you're safe. Nothing can happen to you here." Linda offered him a soft, reassuring smile. "You ready?"
Lucifer suddenly felt a wave of unease flood through him. He was about to do something, something that could help him remember, and it scared the shit out of him. His pulse started to thump in his ears with a rising panic attack. Again his body responded with tremors and cold sweat forming in his palms. Pensively, he brushed his palms over his thighs again and took long shaky breaths through his nose.
"Lay down on the couch," Linda said in a tender voice, seeing the discomfort and trouble in Lucifer's mimic and gestures. "Knees raised." She waited patiently, giving him all the time he needed and tried to give him security through the safety of their surroundings and her understanding. She watched as he gasped for air a few more moments, until he eventually calmed and shifted on the couch to lay down. "Make yourself comfortable," she added softly.
"What do I have to do?" Lucifer asked, feeling somewhat awkward as he folded his length at his knees to fit on the couch. He felt his pulse calm down from his position, but the uneasy tingling inside his limbs and the queasy feeling in his stomach remained.
Stepping up to him, she took a blanket from the side and covered him with it, tucking him in and making sure he was alright. "There you go. All you have to do for now is try to relax. Then I will talk you through the process, okay?"
Nodding at the doctor, Lucifer snuggled a bit deeper into the couch and folded his hands on his stomach, thankful for the blanket as he noticed his icy hands. He tried to follow her instruction, tooks deep, calming breaths and relaxed as best as he could.
"Good," she praised and took a seat in her chair not too far away from him. "Now, I want you to close your eyes. You told me about having flashbacks, so this is where we're gonna start. Think back to your flashbacks."
Swallowing thickly, he tried to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat at the memory of his last dip into memory lane. "I was having a nightmare over what happened... Does that count as well?"
"Yes, that's all your mind trying to process. Take a few more calming breaths and think back to your nightmare. What do you see?"
Doing again what the doctor instructed, he took several deep breaths, trying to let the knowledge of his surroundings slide away and have it replaced by whatever scenery he had been in during his nightmare. It took some time to have the feeling of the soft couch beneath and the blanket on top of him not distract him, but eventually he could let go.
[Apocryphos - Tenebrous]
~o~
Despite the terrifying feeling that creeps up inside him, he is encompassed by something bright. He grunts. "It hurts…" he winces through gritted teeth and pants heavily.
"What hurts?" Linda's voice rings softly, without sounding pressuring, just curious.
"The light. It's so bright," he huffs and grunts again. He tries to close his eyes, but somehow it doesn't work. He tries to lift his arm next, but that doesn't work either and it causes a rush of panic inside him. His heart hammers maddeningly. "I can't blink… I can't move…"
"It's alright Lucifer… Don't worry. You're with me. I know the light is bright and hurting, but can you see something? What is directly in front of you?"
He focuses, forces to not feel the sting in his eyes as the light burns like a blinding while veil. There is something in front of him, but his blurry vision makes it hard to grasp. But then there is a movement and his brain makes an instant logical conclusion. "There's a person in front of me. No, two. One is moving, and one is not. Completely still…"
"Good. Good, Lucifer," Linda praises, the warmth of her voice seeping into him like a warming cup of coffee. "Don't focus on the details yet, just continue telling me what else you see. Everything that draws your attention."
The brightness makes it appear like a figment, but when the one shape in front of him, the moving person, reaches out, he can see two patches of massive whites stretched out behind the second person. He watches the moving person and the panic inside him climbs to another high. He doesn't understand why though, only that he's utterly terrified. "No… No.. don't…"
Linda's voice rings slightly concerned. "Don't what, Lucifer? Tell me what's happening."
"I… I don't know… That person… it's moving… It reaches for something white and… I'm scared… I don't know why..." His voice cracks as tears start to add to the sting of his unblinking eyes. He feels the pressure. Then the dampness on his cheeks.
"It's alright Lucifer. Nothing can happen to you. You're safe and you're doing great. You're feeling what you've felt in that moment. But you are in control of it now. Remind yourself that you are leading this memory along. Try to focus on what the person looks like. Is there something that sticks out?"
He grunts and huffs, feeling his muscles ache as he tries to shift. But why does he want to shift? What's causing that panic to rise and rise, making him feel as though he would faint any moment? A sharp pain surges through his back and he screams from the top of his lungs. Or does he? More tears escape his eyes as he's unable to open his mouth, unable to release the pressure of pain that rips viciously through his body. The vision in front of him blurs to unrecognizability, the shape in front of him disappearing behind white.
"Lucifer? Lucifer?! Talk to me! You have to focus! You're safe. You're not there, but with me. Do you understand? It's just a memory. It's not happening right now."
Linda's voice is just a far away echo, drowned from seething pain etching itself through his veins and collecting in his back with a heavy pounding, all while his ear rings from a high pitched buzzing sound, as if a loudspeaker was having acoustic feedback. He's still expecting to faint, wants to faint, just to be away from the pain, noise and brightness, but his silent prayers aren't heard. Instead he's doomed to watch, to hear and see. But worst of all, he is doomed to feel.
There's another voice pushing itself forward, muffled, but he can hear it's different from Linda's. Firstly because it's male. And secondly, because it feels as if it's whispering directly into his ear.
"Such beauty, wasted on something so rotten. I'm happy I can help with that. People will be better off without you and your deceiving looks. God knows how many innocents you must've sent to hell. Can't do that without those pretty wings anymore now, can you?"
The taste of rusty metal lies thickly on his tongue and its smell is itching in his nose. It's like it's everywhere. He wants to swallow, but instead he feels it trickle from the corner of his mouth down his chin. Something on his back changes. The pain changes. It shifts from sharp to dull and then there is another feeling. It takes him a moment to understand what it is, because it's like it isn't there. Then the realisation sinks in and he understands that that is exactly the point. Something that should be there, isn't.
Weight.
Without him having control over it, his body tilts towards the left, a counterpart on his right side, missing. His nostrils flare from his rapid, horrified breathing. Eyes wide, he gazes ahead, watching the patch of white fall down. He feels sick. So sick. And then another feeling begins to settle inside his chest. Small. Weak. Trembling. But it grew.
Despair.
"One down. One to go. By god, they are beautiful… I'll make sure to put them to good use," the male voice mumbles. Now it's shifting from his right towards his left ear. "I had imagined them to be difficult to remove, but as they say, it's just been the first try. The second one should go more smoothly…"
And that's when he realizes something else.
The two people in front of him are himself and the man behind him.
He is looking into a mirror. And the patches of white are his wings. One of which has been cut off. And the second was on its way to join the first.
Eyes wide in horror of the imminent dread, he tries to scream again, tries to yank at his restraints, to pull free from whatever held him locked in place. His voice is stuck in his throat. His muscles burn.
And then something cold hits his face.
~o~
He startled up, and kicked and flung his arms in a frantic fight to regain his senses. Eyes wide, he gasped for air, whimpering and sobbing as he reached to his face and felt it dripping wet. Was it sweat, or water, or both? He couldn't tell.
A touch to his shoulder made him flinch. Staring to the side he gazed at Linda, who leaned over him with an empty glass in her hand.
"Oh thank goodness, Lucifer! I couldn't get through to you anymore," she said worriedly and observed him closely, waiting for him to recover.
He swallowed and tried to control his breathing, his emotions flooding through him and tossing him around like a ping-pong ball in a storming sea. Teeth clenching, he moved his legs to drop from the couch and sat upright. Everything was spinning. His mouth felt dry and he still had the taste of metal on his tongue even though it had just been a memory. "Could I get some water?" he breathed hoarsely and pointed at her empty glass. And with a wipe of his sleeve over his wet face he added, "…to drink, please."
Hardly surprised by the quick change of his body language, Linda refilled the glass and handed it to him. "There you go." She watched him take big gulps like a dehydrated man having been found in the desert. After he emptied the glass and looked down in thought, she quietly tested the waters. "Soo… You said you were scared and then you didn't talk back to me anymore..."
Looking up at her, he saw the expectation in her eyes. She was covering it with her professional thoughtfulness and patience, but he knew she wanted to know, wanted to hear what happened, what he had seen. The storm of emotions made him feel drowning and panic rose anew in him. He couldn't explain it to her. There were no words. "I'm sorry, doctor, I can't," he apologized in a tight tone, afraid otherwise his voice would crack. Standing up, he set the glass aside and pushed himself past Linda to aim for the door.
Trying to put herself into his way, she motioned for him to stop. "Lucifer! Please… You know this won't help you. You need to talk about it. If you don't, it will eat you alive and cause more harm than you can imagine."
The pleading from her was sincere and he knew she only wanted the best for him, to help him in her own ways. But he couldn't share the abyss he had tapped into. It felt too dark, too consuming, that he didn't want for anybody else to get close to it. Nobody should see that horror. That pain. He didn't answer her nor did he take a last look back into her eyes as he headed out of her office. He knew that his facade wasn't strong enough to work and hide his fear.
It had been a horrible failure of an attempt to get closure to what had been done to him. Memories were now unburied, laid fresh on the surface and very vivid in his mind's present. Images haunted him along with tastes, smells and sounds, and as he rushed to his borrowed car, a spine-bending pain shot through his shoulders, reminding him of limbs that wanted to move but weren't there anymore.
He needed to head home. Needed to rest.
He wasn't going to admit to himself though, that most of all, he wanted to hide.
A/N: There you go! Another eventful chapter! How do you feel? What do you think of Lucifer's little therapy session? It certainly was quite the experience. I'm so excited for your feedback and reactions. What do you think about the memory of what happened to Lucifer? Let me know! I'm curious as hell! :D
I leave you with this rather evil chapter and I'll see you in the next one.
- Luni