3

Pip was not fond of Damien, not at all. However, he did not dislike him, either. While Damien's reputation was a good one for only his mistreatment towards him in the third grade, he had long set his vendetta aside. He had not forgiven him, but merely accepted the fact that it would be much better if the both of them set aside a meaningless grudge of their childhood. In so, Pip had eventually managed to bid Damien a polite gesture here and there, as he tried so often to do with all people. However, these "polite gestures" would always end up a simple "Hello, how are you", and would never amount to any actual conversation. That being said, Damien had never called Pip a friend, nor had Pip ever called Damien anything of the like, either.

With such thoughts in his head, Pip entered the back room of the bar where all the extra bottles, glasses, supplies, and otherwise were kept. The change in appearance compared between the actual bar and the bar's backroom was overwhelming. It was like a rich business owner's office, what with what could have been expensive pieces of art hanging on the wall. Pip couldn't recognise any of the artwork, and they all seemed to have some detail or character pertaining to the demons or Hell. Despite the plethora of piss, blood and other disgusting slimes, which seemed the be the only real common factors, the garbage that was left lying around, and the foul stench of decay, the paintings were in perfect condition, as if the storm of muck seemed to have missed the artworks entirely, however odd that seemed. The room was lit dully by a ceiling lamp that dangled from the roof pitifully. Not a single person was in his sight, but then again, much of his sight was blocked by a large amount of crates that sat stacked on top of one another. The crates seemed to have once had red print upon their sides, but it was long faded.

Pip bit his tongue and tried to push his pessimistic mindset away from him. Ready to blame Wendy, he sucked in a breath with trepidation, then, he called, "Damien?"

"Yes?" said a voice, one he knew as Damien, coming from behind a tall stack of crates.

Keeping his distance, Pip glanced behind the boxes. Damien was most definitely behind them, working busily with a corded phone with its receiver mounted on the wall with two cell phones in his other hand.

Damien was a short, broad, young man with a constant air of classiness and intimidation. His eyes were piercing and knowing, but the rest of him was simple and actually quite boring. His short, dark hair came down in a standard, short crop. His eyes were dark, boring, and held no unique or ethnical shape or quality. His face had long lost its boyish shape and turned mature and hard, much like his voice, which had once been an intolerable shrillness, but was now tame and manly. His growth was quite agreeable, something Pip was always secretly jealous of.
"Pip?" inquired Damien as he quickly shoved one of the cell phones into his pants' pocket.
"Damien," uttered Pip, raising his hands with a stern sense of control as he spoke in a tone most serious, "You see everything in this place differently, right?"
Damien frowned and said, "Differently, how?"
As he threw his arms agitatedly to his sides, he said, "Everything looks like some twisted nightmare version of South Park! Surely these bloody puddles of piss and rubbish weren't here this morning!"
"Relax," said Damien, "Yes, I see it like that, too. Have you seen anyone around? You and Wendy are the only people I've seen in this place."
At this, Pip composed himself. With a deep sigh, he said, "I saw a young woman. Her name is Estella; she's an old friend of mine."
"Where is she?"
"I haven't got a clue. She ran in here, but when I came in after her, Wendy told me she hadn't seen her come in."

Damien frowned again as he thought for a moment, rubbing the nape of his neck with his hand. After a moment, he moved his hands away and folded them politely across his waist as he said, "Is Wendy still sitting out there?"

"Yes, why?" asked Pip, cocking an eyebrow with suspicion.

"No reason," said he, quickly adding, "We should find your Estella. You said she ran in here last?"

Pip nodded.

"Come on, let's go out the back and see if she's around," instructed Damien, gesturing for Pip to follow him.

Pip followed closely behind him as they retreated out a door he hadn't noticed beforehand, putting a piece of abandoned brick between the door and its hinge for a quick escape, lest it be needed. When he stood back up and turned to Damien, he could help not but notice a change in setting between the back and the front of the bar. The front had been old fashioned, "old" referring to over a hundred years old, yet the back of the bar was old fashioned in a sense that it merely belonged to the back of an office building in the late 70's. There a plethora of signs, fliers, and plaques, unreadable now due to the amount of filth and the faded nature of the text. He ignored them and stuck close to Damien as they continued.

Even Damien seemed tense. His body was stiff. His eyes scanned the entire area with care, scrutinizing every last detail of every last piece of space. He took tentative steps, and it was obvious to Pip that he was in a constant wavering of decision – move or don't? His nervousness only made Pip grow hesitant as well, and within only a minute or two, Pip had joined him in darkly inspecting the area around him. Pip had mixed feelings on this careful inspection, for he deeply wished to see what dangers Damien saw, but he also most definitely enjoyed the possibility of neither of them not having time to contemplate the agony they'd feel from their attacker before it could actually happen.

Eventually, he grew more comfortable and was able to take more than a single step at a time, but still kept on his metaphorical toes. This, in turn, also calmed Pip down as well. They had made it five buildings away, but everything looked the same. Everything was either rubbish or well upon its way to becoming so. Plants grew wickedly upon the sides of buildings, in between the cracks in the concrete, and all around. It was still very dark, their only light source being small lamps upon the sides of the buildings beside the back doors. Their light was dim, but the two bothered not complaining.

But then, the ground began to make a strange sound, one very similar to the one Pip had heard when he had awoken. It was not loud; rather, it was a gentle and soft sound. It sounded like distant machinery, or perhaps like an old AC unit as it worked loudly beneath the earth's crust. It hummed just loud enough for them to notice when it had began and make them stop in their tracks. They stopped by a tall and narrow building, of which was not very different than the others. A single window was made into the building, exposing its dark, seemingly abandoned viscera. As the sound grew louder and they stood, Damien asked, "What does Estella look like?"

"She's very womanly," said Pip, "She's pale and delicate, and she has blonde hair and rosy cheeks."

He then grew very still. He grabbed Pip by the wrist and tugged him behind him, wordlessly. His expression grew grim and full of anticipation, yet he said naught.

Pip struggled to smack Damien's hand from his wrist. When he was released at last, he stepped in front of him and gave him a most criticizing glare. He muttered in a scolding tone, "What's wrong with you? Are you trying to break my bloody wrist off?"

Damien's gaze was hard on something in the behind Pip, unmoving to meet anything else. This agitated him, causing him to clench his teeth and groan as he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. When Damien still refused to acknowledge him or so much as move his stare, he barked at him, "Move!"

Without budging his gaze, he turned his head toward Pip, leaned close to him, and gave a most discomforting command. In a soft, composed tone, he whispered, "Look behind you."

He did so, but quite immediately wished he hadn't.

There, not too far off in the distance, stood a young woman. She was petite. Her jacket of forest green hung loosely upon her frame, leaving her bony, right shoulder uncovered as the neck slung around on her forearm. She wore no shirt underneath, revealing a bit of her cleavage as it hung, zipped only most of the way up. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows to reveal the dirt splotches, and handprints made of purple and yellow bruises and dry blood. Her jeans were black and folded up to her knees, thus exposing her hideous legs, thin and bony to an unhealthy degree. They, too, were littered with splotches of dirt, bruises and dry blood stains in the shape of handprints, and then some scrapes upon what could be seen of her knees. Her hair of brown was messy and knotted, spits of blood and mud and pieces of sticks and leaves were caught within its tangles. Her head hung to the side, her lips curved just barely into a bored frown, her brow was relaxed, but her eyes were wide and distressed as they gazed only at Damien.

Her presence invoked very different reactions from the two young men as they watched her, watching them. Pip gazed at her with healthy pity. His eyes reflected a longing to help and aid, yet he dared not. His lips curled into a frown, his eyebrows pulled up to complete a sympathetic expression. Still, he dared not move from Damien's proximity.

Damien, on the other hand, could look at her only with a feeling of being intimidated. His hand found a place upon Pip's back, right between his shoulder blades, where it gripped his shirt in an insecure grasp. His other hand tightened into a fist as his side, his fingernails dug painfully into his palm, tearing into the skin and allowing for just a pinch of blood to touch his fingernails. He bit his lip, causing his pearly, white teeth to go get blood on them as well. A minute or two passed, no one saying anything, no one moving, and then finally Damien leaned over to Pip yet again and whispered unto him, "Do you know her?"

"Do I," whispered Pip, almost laughing, "That's Kenny's little sister, Karen, 5 years his junior. How do you not know her? Weren't you a companion of his?"

He said naught. Rather, he took a step towards the building. But, just as he did, Karen broke into a fit of laughter. He paused and looked back her with horror, only to spot Karen chortling oddly. It did not so much as sound odd, but moved her oddly. It made her throw back her head, moved her shoulders up and down forcefully, and caused her to suck in deep breaths every so few guffaws.

Pip dared take a step closer to her, but Damien kept him near with his grasp upon his shirt. However, Pip's movement invoked yet another reaction from her – she threw her head forehead to hunch over her feet as she vomited loudly onto her grubby boots. He said unto her in a disturbed voice, "Karen, are you alright?"

Damien pulled him closer, unclenching his fist and instead grabbing Pip's arm as gentle as his stiff fingers could allow.

"Karen?" said Pip. As if in response, Karen's vomit turned to bloody spit. She coughed it out onto her vomit, some even got on her clothes, but still her hands remained at her side, and all she did was heave.

While Pip was stalled with disgust and perplexity, Damien wasted not a moment to hurry away, tugging Pip in tow as he began to fumble with the door to the building they stood by. With only a moment's delay, the backdoor was thrown open. Pip was thrown in, Damien following him inside and slamming the door shut behind him.

Pip recovered quickly, but still grimaced as he covered his mouth with his fist. Sickened, he said, "Did she make you that ill?"

Damien shook his head, but said naught.

The building was in shambles. Store racks were tossed onto the floor, spilling their contents and allowing them to decay into rubbish. It looked as though, judging by the contents of said rubbish, it was once an old book store, selling books exclusively on religion. Old movie and band posters from a similar era were hung messily upon the walls, looking extraordinarily out of place. It was surprisingly well lit, and the front entrance remained uncovered, allowing them to peak out to the streets of South Park. There was another door to the men's right, left open by only a crack. Damien inspected it, noting how the other room was dark, with only a flickering light inside. He gestured for Pip to step closer, and the two of them listened and peaked inside.

Through the crack, they could only see a dark room and a television that turned on and off repetitively. They could hear soft mumbling, feminine and bland, joined by a woman's voice, curt and brusque. The sound of a glass container opening echoed throughout, and then quickly sounded again. The woman's voice immediately hushed and the television remained on, but from what the two men could see, it was only static.

Damien scooted closer, but in the process, hit the door open. They watched with horror as the door opened wide, revealing a slight frame sitting at a television that only showed static. It was tall and feminine. One of their hands combed through their hair, a vibrant red, the other was wrapped around their waist. They slowly turned their head, looking to the two men with a frightened, apprehensive expression. Quickly, they mumbled in a womanly and insipid tone, "Which one of you knows a woman named Avisham?"

"Do you mean Havisham?" said Pip, taking a single step into the room.

"Isn't that what I said? Avisham?" they said again.

Damien sighed and said, putting great emphasis upon the H, "Havisham."

They laughed nervously, rubbing something unseen that rested upon their lap, and said, "What an accent."

"What about her? Is she here? Tell me!" cried Pip, taking another step inside. Damien kept steady behind him.

They sucked in a breath as though she were about to speak, but then looked unto Damien and breathed out slowly. They gazed unto him with wonder. When Damien looked at them with a grimace, they said, "Aren't you Damien Thorn?"

He hesitated, but reluctantly answered, "That's correct."

"I'm sorry."

Damien pushed Pip out of his way and stomped over to them angrily, shouting at them, "What does that mean? What you are sorry for?" Roughly, he grabbed them by the shoulder of their shirt and forced them up from their seat upon the floor, turning them around to face him. Their hands secured themselves around a white container, holding it for dear life.

Their eyes were wide and petrified as they cried out, "No! No! I mean nothing!"

Pip hurried to Damien's side, stepping in between them and pushing him away from them. "Relax, relax," said he to him, and then to them, "Please, tell us of what you know about Estella?"

Once Damien was away and Pip was facing the red-haired person, they said, "Was Estella her name? Yes, she didn't say anything about you."

"She didn't?" said he, disappointed.

"No. She said something about England, though. I think she mentioned not going back."

"I would never make her go back!"

They gave a sudden gaze of interest. Then, they said, "Are you her brother? I thought your sister was way older than you."

Pip shook his head and muttered, "No, she's an old companion of mine. I love her very dearly."

"Oh," said they, "I can see why. I think she said she was headed towards Hell's Pass."

"A hospital?" Pip inquired, "Why is she headed there?"

They shook their head and replied, "She didn't say. Hurry, though. Oh, but wait, I have something for Damien."

Damien looked over to her curiously, but said naught.

They reached into the pocket of their skirt and pulled out a cassette tape. They held it out for him and told him, "Kenny told me to give it to you. I don't know why."

"I don't even know who that is," said he, eyeing the tape with perplexity, "Do you have a cassette player?"

They shook their head.

Pip groaned impatiently, "Damien, we have to go find Estella, now! I don't want her to get away from me. I need to know what happened to her."

"What happened to her?" asked them.

"She ran away six years ago," said Pip, "No one's heard from her since then."

"Oh."

"Nice to see you, then. Thank you for your help," said Pip as he shook hands with them and led Damien quickly out of the room and then out the front door of the store.