Chapter 3! I literally have a chart for all the characters who are going to come in later, you have no idea. This is going to be a long project, but hopefully it'll be worth it. In the meantime, i think I'll write up a couple of drabbles for this universe as it develops, especially for our dear Cenobites who are taking their sweet, sweet time showing up. Feel free to throw suggestions for characters you want to see!
As always, please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!
To put it simply, Frank was fucked.
He was hiding; he'd found an empty chamber and was going to mine it for every minute it was worth. This was worse than any nightmare, or even boredom, which he'd once thought was the worst sort of nightmare. Frank wanted to take a bath, but at this moment he was completely without skin. It probably wouldn't have been the most pleasant experience.
He'd spent two months in this place that could only be Hell. Two months since he'd taken the deal from Channard and gone back on it, and been taken by those things. Two months of being torn apart and put back together, only allowed to run long enough to start hoping. Then he would be trapped and torn apart again, all in the name of "transformation" and "exploration of flesh" and other things he didn't give a shit about. Two long, agonizing months.
A month and a half since he'd botched his escape.
Frank leaned against the wall; he should have hissed at the rock against exposed muscle, but now he was just thankful for the cool stone against his unbearably hot flesh. He had to catch his breath while he could, and he had to think. He'd been staying sane on nothing but half-planned escapes and some wild hope that he might get home, maybe even finish the deal he'd made for real.
Of course he'd gone back on the deal with the doctor. Who wanted to observe other people, perfectly fuckable women, reaching realms of pleasure beyond human imagination and being ruined for him when he could go himself? So he'd opened the box as soon as he'd finished sweeping one section of his attic and setting up the ritual candles, and now he was full of chains and devoid of skin. Fuck.
They were coming. He could hear the sound of leather and metal, and soon the hooks would be back in him. He was so sick of those stupid hooks. Why couldn't he have stuck to the plan with his brother?
He'd been counting on his brother. His good, well-behaved, curious brother, who would never open the box unless he didn't know what it was supposed to do. And he had, just as Frank had promised that one Cenobite he'd taken to calling Pinhead, but things had gone south before he could cash in on his luck. Larry had panicked, they'd fought, and Frank couldn't remember how he'd ended up standing over his brother's body. Now Larry was dead, and Pinhead insisted his soul wasn't here, so Frank couldn't go home unless he had another bargaining chip.
He could have gone for Julia, maybe, but she was a good lay and would probably be okay with some comforting as a recent widow. She didn't have to know, right? But that left him without options, aside from maybe Larry's kid.
…His kid who was 18, and would definitely have been fretting over her missing dad. And more importantly, was a young adult, prime for baiting these flesh-hungry assholes.
He could make this work.
Kirsty was not prone to memorable dreams. Whatever passed through her mind's eye was gone by the next morning; this was true even in the hospital, where she had been told she slept fitfully but could never remember why. Still, it taxed her during the day; she had felt slow and heavy, as if bearing a great weight on her back, and talking was hard. She'd been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed.
Mercifully, Joey seemed to catch on. The woman let Kirsty run up to her room without protest, and minutes later her teeth were brushed and an old t-shirt was thrown on on and Kirsty threw herself into the bed. She was lost to the waking world in seconds.
The attic was filthy. It stunk of old blood and cologne, and broken needles lay in the back corner. A dirty mattress sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by candle stubs and a few loose condoms. Frank's presence hung far too heavy for a dead man's. Kirsty hated being up here, but she had to.
That his home was a cesspool was less surprising than that he was dead.
She held her breath as she walked around, looking for the box. It had taken her father, there had to be a way to get him back from it. Kirsty stepped over a candle stub and kept walking, looking at the ground. Where had he dropped it? She tried to picture it in her mind, and her gaze travelled to where he'd stood.
She shouted.
"Kirsty-" the thing curled up on the ground was a man, but bloodied and pulpy and horrid. "Kirsty, please, stay away from it, before it gets you too-"
Kirsty's eyes opened to the dark of her bedroom. Her lungs ached as she tried to steady her breathing, her heart sore and thrumming loudly. The dream was fading fast, but she could still see the bloodied shape of her father, warning her off of… something.
She had been looking for something important, she knew that much. But for the life of her, Kirsty couldn't remember what it was.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. To see her father in such a state… she grabbed her pillow and sobbed, shoulders shaking. Where was he?
Sleep reclaimed her quickly, and she did not dream again. It was the smallest mercies she was grateful for.
Kirsty rose at 8:34, according to her alarm clock, and went to wash her face. As she splashed the cold water against her skin, she heard a small coo, and glimpsed up at the small round window overlooking the bathroom. There was a dove, pure white, peering in. It preened and ruffled its feathers before flying away.
That was odd, Kirsty thought, she'd only ever seen brown doves in this area. Still, it was a pretty sight, and was a welcome change from her dream. What had she dreamt about? She couldn't remember.
"Kirsty?" She nearly locked herself in the bathroom, before remembering Joey. She'd gone right to sleep on the woman, hadn't she? "Good morning!"
"Good morning," Kirsty called back, and smiled to herself. She was starting to like Joey; she seemed nice, and put together, like somebody's big sister. "I'll be down in a minute, alright?" She started to get dressed; seeing her actual clothes again was nice after a month and a half of hospital gowns.
"Take your time! Mind if I make coffee?" She didn't sound tired at all, how long had she been awake?
"Go ahead!" Shirt, jeans – jeans! – socks, and her boots were downstairs. A nice outfit; it felt better than she'd expected, almost hopeful in how normal it was. Things could be normal, maybe. She'd have to write that down. The thought was cheering her up immensely.
Kirsty took one last look in the mirror, and smiled at what she saw. She felt normal again. She pushed her hair back and ran for the stairs, ready to see Joey. They would find her dad, and Terri, and the deal with that white light. Things were going to be okay.