Charlie had told her it was best that they stayed separate for now.
Charlie had told her that it was best that they break things off now before things would get worse.
Charlie had told her many things, but she didn't expect that any of them would have a positive effect on Vaggie—or her.
For now, as Charlie huddled in the one place that no one would ever check (the rightmost stall of a bathroom in desperate need for renovation on a floor that was evacuated due to a brawl a few weeks ago), she would just relax and let none of her worries touch her now.
But that's what Charlie had been busy telling herself for over three hours. However, all she could do right now was sit and cry while browsing all of her albums featuring her beloved partner when they had all those good times trying to redeem fellow sinners or hanging out or that one time—Oh! Why was Charlie doing this to herself! This was torture of the sweetest kind! A part of her wanted to throw her phone into the deep, disgusting bowels of the toilet beneath her, but another part was too damn sentimental and wanted to hold onto that phone like it was the only thing keeping her sane.
Charlie loathed the position that she was in, but after the events of last night…
Suddenly, Charlie heard a disturbance in the darkness. It was faint, but repetitive. And it was coming closer.
Footsteps, she knew that it in the back of her mind. However, she didn't want to contend with the fact that either someone found her or worse, someone was just stumbling in on this part of the building. Whatever the case, she simply tightened her arms around her knees and stifled her sniffles. It wouldn't do for someone to see her so weak and vulnerable. Especially since she hasn't told anyone, save for Vaggie, about what happened.
The hands that clenched at her knees became unbearable; they were too tight. Her nails, always kept short to prevent them growing into claws, dug deep into her skin, almost drawing blood. There was only so much that Charlie could do before—
The bathroom door slowly creaked open and the footsteps from before clacked loudly on the linoleum. Ah, she could recognize that telltale click clack of dress shoes anywhere. It was Alastor and by God, she didn't want to have this on her plate as well. Holding her breath wouldn't work, Charlie knew that his ears could hear the most imperceptible of sounds. It was only a matter of time.
"Oh, Charlie," his voice was mirthful, but not unkind. He had stepped in front of her chosen stall. Thankfully, he didn't see fit to slam his fist upon the door or worse, force his way in. Having the Radio Demon also be a gentleman from a bygone era had its downsides, but for now, it saved her from seeing him.
For now.
"I know that I can be intimidating, but it's been years since you've last stuttered around me!" He chuckled and the low, mellow tones had Charlie minutely relaxing within the hold of her arms. Still, she kept her breathing quiet. There was a pause outside of the door, an audible one that was only signaled by the radio frequency stuttering around a bit before going back to its scheduled programming. "Darling, Vaggie told me to come find you, which is a miracle no one asked for in Hell, but oh well." Charlie could practically see him shrug comically in her mind's eye, the image of which almost had her smiling into the crook of her elbow.
"Ah," Charlie managed to croak. Her voice was shaky, like an old rickety building just moments away from crumbling away. "Did… Did Vaggie… Did she…" Why did it hurt to say her name so much? Saying a name shouldn't have held so much power, but here was Charlie, wasting away in a cell of her own making while her dearest love's name scratched and clawed at her throat while the pit in her stomach threatened to swallow her soul whole. A soft whimper left her lips and she nearly had an aneurysm. Alastor was here! He could hear her breathing, possibly the way her heart was beating at a rate that would have been harmful to humans. Of course he would be able to hear her!
Despite his excellent hearing, Alastor refrained from commenting on Charlie's state of mind. Instead, he surprised Charlie with an observation.
"It was Extermination Day yesterday. Was it not?"
"Er…I'm pretty sure you of all people know that." She didn't mean to sound so mean, but where was he going with this? On top of that, he didn't even bother answering her question. "What does that have to do—"
"And your…uncles came to visit you. Alone." Another observation. A stone cold fact that chilled Charlie to the bone. No one knew about that. Not even Vaggie. How could—? "Darling," he said easily, as if he could see her expression from the other side of the bathroom stall, "you weren't really that secretive yesterday. Vaggie had me tail you. A risky, but bold move. Entertaining, even."
Charlie felt like he should have laughed at that moment, he was an entertainer, he knew when certain beats and phrases were emphasized, yet… He kept his voice subdued. It was almost as if he were respecting the ordeal that she had gone through yesterday.
"So… you heard everything?" She chuckled bitterly. "Does… she know?"
"If you are referring to your dear lady friend, then yes. That woman put her spear to my throat and of course, I had to tell her everything lest you want to run this hotel all by yourself." His voice, even lower than before caressed her ears and had her looking up at the stall door in wonderment. "I know that I shouldn't pry into your affairs, but it's quite telling that I'm being the mediator between the two of you when it should be me stirring up chaos in my wake. Why don't you tell her how you feel?"
"Feel? Feel?" Charlie threw herself off the toilet seat and wrenched the door open. Miraculously, Alastor managed to avoid being hit as the door swung wide in his direction. Normally, Charlie would have taken care not to make such a fuss, but at heart, she was a soul that felt too much at times. She needed to let it all out, no matter the consequences. "How would you feel if your partner was destined to be taken away within a year because your stupid plan worked? How would you feel that no matter what you do, you can't join her because of your parents? Because of the place where you were born? How would you feel if your girlfriend who loves and trusts you so much decides to leave your side for good because—because—because—"
With every question she threw at Alastor, the Princess of Hell would poke him in the chest, all pretense of acting the fool in their business relationship thrown to the wayside. She didn't care that Alastor was seething underneath that damnable grin of his. She didn't care that her voice was loud and that half of Hell could hear her. She didn't care that water was dripping down her lashes and onto the full apples of her cheeks. She didn't care that heat was rushing towards her flushing face, how she wobbled and screamed for some sort of sign that all of this was a nightmare.
After what had seemed like an eternity of spewing out questions that Alastor couldn't have possibly known the answer to, Charlie had fallen silent. Her head was bowed low, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. Her hair, usually gently curled and vibrant, was matted down to her scalp, tangled because in her frustration, she would tug at her locks. For a moment, there was not a sound in the bathroom; for once, there was radio silence.
When Alastor spoke, the filter that masked his voice was gone. His words were crisp and clear, as was tradition of the Mid-Alantic accent, but there was another accent layered underneath his main mode of speaking. His consonants were rounded off, his vowels drawled and blurred together. Belatedly, Charlie realized that he was a Southerner, which matched up to his chosen cuisine whenever he would cook, but she had never asked. Never confirmed what was probably so obvious during their time together as business partners.
"Charlie, I wouldn't know how to answer any of those questions. To be honest, I don't think I would ever have the heart or the stomach to even try to attempt to phrase such sentiments." Charlie felt rather than saw that Alastor was looming over her, his shadow encompassing her much smaller frame. She shuddered when she felt his clawed hand rest against her locks, had tried blinking away tears when he began combing through them with a gentleness befitting a mother grooming her child. "But, my dear, you can. I'll be the first to attest that Vaggie was in hysterics when you ran away from her. She went from yelling to pleading with me to find you." He tugged Charlie closed and rested his head on top of Charlie's. "Imagine that, your dear love acting quite the sweetheart to me when she knew that you were going to fall to pieces."
Charlie sucked in a deep breath. "She probably hates me for doing this to her."
Alastor stopped his gentle petting before pulling away from her.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Have her fall in love with me. Allow her to date me. Get her sucked up into the hotel redemption schtick and then—and then—" She shrugged her shoulders, not noticing how Alastor's radio static seemed to grow erratic and imbalanced. "Well, you were there when Uncle Michael, Uncle Raphael, and whoever else was there when they told me. At least they gave me one year to say goodbye."
"I probably should have known this before I've ever properly introduced myself, but you are very conceited, my dear."
Charlie's head whipped up from gazing down at the floor and straight into the Radio Demon's eyes. For the first time since Alastor had stepped into her bathroom, she noticed that he looked…ragged, well more ragged than usual. His eyes were glowing a faint red, which only heightened the shadows that lay under his eyes. His clothing was bedraggled and torn, flecks of blood and an assortment of dirt was layered over his customary jacket. He was, in the words of one Husker, looking like shit.
She brought a hand up to her ashen lips, tears springing anew in her eyes.
He was telling the truth; he really had been following her to the meeting place with the angels. Had she known that he would have followed her into the forest where sinners first appeared from Earth, she would have picked somewhere closer. And cleaner.
Now, all her guilt over what happened last night was compiling into one burden.
"A-al! Have you slept at all?" She cried as she hurried to him. A hand brushed against his cheeks, another straightened the lapels of his coats. He was always well dressed—putting on the ritz, he would say. This was simply unacceptable for the Radio Demon! "I'm so sorry—"
He shook his head lowly at her. "You should know better by now, I don't sleep."
"But I'm worried and I can help you—"
"And therein lies your problem. You're so compassionate and wanting to do good by others; you want to bear the loads of everyone around you. Yet, you don't care. Not at all." He held up a hand, effectively stopping Charlie from demanding what he meant. "You claim to start redemptive therapy for the good of all sinners. You claim to want everyone to end up in Heaven. You claim you're doing this to stop overpopulation in Heaven. But. You. Don't. Care.
"You're doing this because you want to be there. Your blood that runs through your veins calls out for the sweet ambrosia of God's love and acceptance. You want it, you crave it. So you get an idea; do enough good deeds that are worth mentioning to the higher-ups in Heaven. Along comes someone who believes in your cause. Another one joins just to jumpstart the business. Another, another, another, and you feel like you're actually succeeding, but in reality, you're just gathering up the clout, the good points to get you into Heaven. Then, all of a sudden, the wish that you had been preaching gets granted.
"Do you feel proud of yourself? Do you feel the need to rejoice and celebrate? After all this hard work why not celebrate? Yet, you don't. You're here throwing a pity party in a bathroom that has seen better days. You want to know why?
"You're bitter and jealous. You're resentful that the one person who you thought would stay by your side until the end actually worked hard enough for the chance to be redeemed.
"Besides, have her fall in love with you? Allow her to date you? And what was that last part you said? Allow her to get sucked into the hotel redemption schtick? What do you take her for? I may not have the highest of opinions on her, but I do know this: she went with you because she utterly cares more about you than she does about redemption.
"That's why you're conceited, dearest Charlie. You're doing all of this because you hope to earn something after all of this. Vaggie did those things not only for you, but for herself. She wanted to fall in love, so she did. She wanted to get closer to you, she did. She believed in the redemption process and now—Look! She has it."
Alastor knelt down on one knee and clasped Charlie's hands in his own. His claws had retracted back into the supple leather of his gloves, allowing them to gently touch her skin.
"I apologize if I'm being harsh, but it must be said. You of all people should be happy—nay! proud—that Vaggie has earned her spot inside those pearly gates." His grip gently tightened around her wrist, pulling her gently onto the floor with him. "Go to her and talk. You have an entire year left with her before your uncles come to take her away on Extermination Day." He tapped a finger against her cheek. "Before that, I recommend you take a long bath. You're smelling a bit ripe."
Charlie… Charlie didn't know what to say. After so long, she knew that there were times when the Radio Demon had his moments, both good and bad, but this speech was unheard of! Without warning, Charlie launched herself into his chest and felt a fresh slew of tears escaping her eyes. She was probably adding to the mess that was already caked onto his clothing, but at that point, she didn't care that she was brought low and vulnerable in front of her business partner.
"Thank you," she murmured into his lapels. "I…your methods need some work, but it really got to me."
"I will look into better methods for the future. In the meantime—" He surreptitiously tried to move away from her, but the soft arms that surrounded him wound tighter than a cog in a well polished clock. A loud sigh fell from his lips. He should have expected more physical sentimentality than was reasonable from Charlie.
"You know, you could be a motivational speaker for some of our group therapy sessions. Who knows, you might be next for redemption!"
"Ha ha ha! Not a chance, sweetheart."