The more control she gained, the more she realized the beauty that had been administered by some secret force of will and determination, most definitely manifested as a physical goddess. But it was a goddess only Pamela could see and feel. By now, the search for Officer Patterson and Kevin had been pushed aside for a more pressing matter: the theft of countless chemicals from the biological storage containments on campus. Officials were questioning professors and janitorial staff alike due to the nature of what they knew to be theft: no broken windows or doors forced open. Whoever was stealing the components was an insider, someone who had a key, because they were very neat and never triggered the silent alarms.
Pamela had never been happier. The control over her "androids", as she liked to call those ensnared by the pheromones, was powerful and caused severe mental deficiencies: mostly, memory loss and brain damage. She had long ago registered that the pheromones themselves were a weak cloud of poisonous spores: not poisonous enough to kill, at least, not in the dosages she administered, but strong enough to cause neural stress. She'd kept one, to see for herself the effects of long-term exposure: she and Alissa had rented out cabins on Lake Gellawae one weekend in February, and along with them had come William Pidell, freshman biology major and resident paintball expert (more often than not, their battles would take them close to Pamela's apartment). His punishment for decking her window (intentionally) with red paint had been most severe: a weekend as her test subject. She kept him insolated in a closet, dedicating herself to administering dosages at half-pints every thirty minutes for ten hours straight. By the end of the ten hours, Pidell had gone mad, clawing at the wood of the closet and audibly howling his head off, screaming about something within, eating his brain and running through his body with "feelers, lots of feelers…"
His manic behavior did not cease, and Pamela was forced to abandon him, letting him run loose in the woods without a scrap of clothing, sending him howling in his agony into the darkness. He had not been seen for three months. He had never returned or shown up on the druggie arrest reports. He had just…vanished. Most likely he was dead, she figured, out there in the woods. Maybe he had drowned in the lake, or been attacked by a bear or bobcat. Whatever the case, her experiment on him had driven him insane… and she had enjoyed every second of it.
Because of Pidell, she now knew the extent of her power, and had thus set herself down the scientist's road to immortality. The homeless and the destitute were many in Gotham City, and were more than eager to accept the presence of this beautiful, perfect redheaded woman who brought them such elation and lust with the very air she breathed… she would gather them by bundles, as she would refer to the mass groupings, fours and fives in beautiful combinations of heroin abuse and methamphetamine junkies clawing at the ground, begging for a sweet taste of the pleasures she promised them so highly… They would be taken to a special place once they were rounded up: Sionis Steelworks in the Industrial District. There, after closing hours, in the dark of the night and the solitude of early morning, Pamela learned the truth about herself: she had been correct about her position as a bounty hunter in the name of Mother Earth.
There, in the Steelworks, she was able to kill many, many birdies with many pretty stones. Namely, she would run a series of tests, having the drugged abusers performing all manner of activities, from trivial jumping jacks to wrestling each other over the promise of sex. What she gathered was this: under the influence of the pheromones, they dared not disobey any command given to them. When she told them to jump, they jumped (even a crippled veteran, who broke his ankle upon doing so). When she told them to run, they ran. The pheromones did not put them under her total control, for that was impossible: rather, they put them under her "spell", as she called, opening up the mental shafts of lust and desire and magnifying the biological constructs as such, making them completely vulnerable to suggestion as long as there was a reward that they could interpret, namely sex and other such pleasures (after all, her beauty was all too evident to those even without the pheromones encouraging them, and she all too quickly learned to use this as a weapon).
So, when she said, "Alright, that's enough… now, just one other thing: as your final test of love for me… jump into that pit there. Jump into that pit, and afterwards, you crawl out and you come for me…come for me and take me…" you could bet your ass they were going to obey, and so they did, casting themselves into the fires of the steelworks… into the molten, incinerating flames of house-sized boilers, burning to ashes and leaving no trace of their existence. Gotham City cared not for the junkie waste of the reviled drug wars on the streets. The city would not miss them… why should it know they were ever around?
Pamela realized all too soon that she had been given a gift: to destroy the human race and create for it a new utopia, one that would restore Eden and give her the chance to allow for this planet…a new start. Of course, this was the long-term goal, a desire and a necessity that would only be realized after years and years of hard work. Her hatred for humanity grew deeper and deeper by the day, and she became quite disgusted with herself that she, too, was a human. As such, she reviled herself, no longer holding on to that old, beautiful doctrine of self-perfection: as this was adequate, too, because she could not bear to lie to the Mother. Pamela swiftly realized that one day, one glorious day, she would have to find a way to escape her human form and transcend… but just how in the hell that would ever be possible, she had not a clue.
Thus, for now, she began her genocide of the human race with junkies off of the street: they were the easier prey. By the end of the second month since the mysterious disappearance of Officer Patterson and Kevin, Pamela, unable to hold herself back, had been killing every week. Most of the time, it was junkies and homeless vagabonds who came into town temporarily via the trains. There were always one or two. On average, she exterminated three to four a week, nearing forty victims by the coming of April.
And with each kill came more happiness that she had finally discovered her place beneath the Mother.
But Alissa… Alissa had been an issue. She had promised to help Pamela remove Otto Rock and his bitches… but she talked seldom to Pamela as each day passed, sometimes avoiding her for days at a time, isolating herself in her room, studying hard to avoid conversing with the outside world. When Pamela did run across her, she was pale, sickly and shaky. When Pamela would speak to her, she spoke in quick, nervous mumbles and rarely stayed long enough for anything that could be called a genuine conversation. Which was a shame, too, because Pamela genuinely liked Alissa: she had been there for her since the start, and she wanted Alissa to share in the glory of Mother Earth's vibrant future: Pamela had no doubt that Mother Earth would allow Pamela to "choose" humans who would transcend with her, and she wanted Alissa to be the first to do so alongside herself. She wanted Alissa as a partner: as a co-exterminator. With Alissa's blonde beauty and athletic energy, she could double the extermination periods, and the human race could step one minute closer and closer to its ultimate annihilation. As such, Alissa could not see this grand plan in all of its extremities, and thus a compulsion haunted Pamela on Alissa's behalf: that Alissa, in her dire fear and anxiety, would finally collapse and betray Pamela.
And that could not happen.
So it was that after Pamela had taken her fiftieth victim into the flames of Sionis fires, and neared the start of May, she came to visit Alissa in her apartment. At Pamela's own home, her lab awaited, bubbling new vats of the pheromones by the day, along with more creative ventures… No such interesting array awaited at Alissa's. Alissa did not comprehend the imaginative forces that compelled one to create life, as well as take it away. Pamela knew a thing or two about creating life… and soon Alissa would see that…
"Knock, knock," said the door, but Pamela only heard, "Heh heh…" Sometimes wood jokes, sometimes wood sings, sometime it predicts terrible, terrible fucking things…
Alissa opened the door, and her expression turned tense at once. Pamela smiled softy, wiggling her fingers in hello.
"Hi, there," she said provocatively, placing her sandal-clad foot upon Alissa's bare one. She began to play with the latter's golden hair casually. "Fancy a walk?"
Alissa pulled her foot away quickly and backed away a few inches. "No," she said quietly, looking at the floor. "I'm studying. Big test, you know…"
"I think you should get some air…" Pamela reached into her pocket and pulled out her perfume bottle. Alissa's eyes snapped onto it at once, and she paled considerably. She made a move to close the door, but Pamela caught it fiercely with one hand and raised the bottle to Alissa's face. Alissa's expression was terrified. Then, it was joyful. Pamela gave her no time to say anything antagonistic. The pheromones crippled Alissa at once and the blonde woman was suddenly quite enthralled with Pamela. Her eyes glazed over, and she began to eyeball Pamela's body with a ravenous hunger: exactly as Pamela had intended. "Fancy a walk." It was not a request, but a command. No question marks needed here.
"Oh, God, yeah…" Alissa gasped, reaching out for Pamela, who sidestepped her and locked the door of Alissa's apartment behind her. They walked arm in arm, strolling down the concrete lane in the direction of the gardens. Pamela's new apartment had been secured only a month before… the Dean had been most adamant about giving her new, fine accommodations… one could only wonder why… Now, every morning when she awoke, the sunshine would allow her eye-opening bask to present the botanical garden directly. It was almost the first thing she would see upon awakening. The apartment was also beautifully isolated on the grounds, hidden in a little grove near the biology compound. Usually, only teachers could ever afford such housing, and those students who had the money to do so would find better places to live. Pamela, however, found the secluded little house her personal shield from the rest of the humans.
"Such a beautiful day," Pamela commented quietly, brushing her hands along a brick wall that was covered in New England ivy. Alissa smiled sheepishly, blushing.
"Yeah…" she agreed, her head slightly swaying. Pamela, intent on keeping the spell alive, learned forward and kissed Alissa gently on the lips. Alissa gasped audibly, and moved in for more, but Pamela held her head back, revolted. It was disgusting, doing that… but it would only be for a little while longer.
"I've missed hanging out with you, Alissa. We don't see each other hardly, not anymore. I've been thinking about so many things. Otto. Archibald. Donovan. What about you? What have you been thinking about?"
"Flower… you're so beautiful," Alissa gasped, sniffing the air around Pamela. Such an exotic perfume… such a powerful, hypnotic perfume… Pamela smiled.
"Yeah, me too. All the time, I'd have to say, for the most part…" I'm alone in the world. I'm completely…utterly…alone…
"Going to your place?" Alissa breathed, clawing at Pamela's shirt and bouncing up and down. "Going to your place for privacy?"
Pamela chuckled. "I know, right! He said the same thing to me, and I was like, 'No fucking way, you douchebag, get your own soda…' But I guess…. I guess in the end, he, well, he kind of was cute so I decided to give it to him anyway…" Me…and the plants… me and the plants, and these pheromones… all I have are the pheromones. Doorways to friends. Doorways to conversation. I am utterly alone…
"I'm so glad to be near you, Pamela… I'm so glad…"
"And then this morning," Pamela whispered, her expression blank, "a cat snuck into the house and I nearly had a heart attack when it leapt on my chest. I was still trying to wake up… I really don't like cats-"
"You know what I want to do to you?"
"-they get fleas everywhere-"
"I want to take you close to me, onto some soft surface, Pamela… you know what I want to do?"
"-and they smell bad. They shit on the bed, and they… they just deserve to die…"
""Pamela… Pamela, I love you…"
So utterly alone, aren't you? Aren't you, Ivy? Aren't you all alone? All alone? All alone. Not a question. A fact. All alone. Always alone. Is that why you kill people? You're a mass murderer, Pamela. A true serial killer. Not quite as up there in body count as the Joker, but…give it a few years…
"Every time I see a cat, I just wanna strangle it," Pamela whispered, wiping away her tears. "I think I will, next time I see one. Even if it's just minding its own business, you know… I'll snatch it up and break its neck…"
They had reached her apartment, and Pamela quickly shushed Alissa up as she whisked her away into the house. The apartment she had left dim, save for burning UV lamps situated across the house in tangles of positional awkwardness. The interior of the home was turning into a jungle. Hundreds of clumps of ivy, flowering pods and shrubberies were hanging from the ceiling and settled upon the kitchen bar and window sills. Green was everywhere, abundantly taking over the house, entwining furniture and lights. The house was steamy, and smelled heavily of the strong, lust-worthy perfume. The strong fumes of pheromones were ascending from the open basement door. Down there, smell was a fine word for many fine examples…
Morning glory brushed their heads as Pamela led Alissa into the dark living room, escorting her confidently in the direction of the basement.
"Alissa…" A few moments passed as the two of them stood at the top of the basement stairs, both staring at each other through the dim, both containing their own form of excitement. "How are you feeling right now, Alissa? How are you physically feeling?"
"Hot," Alissa breathed, squeezing Pamela's hand hard. "Hot and energized."
"How about sickly? Do you feel sickly?"
"Oh, no, not sickly… I feel alive and prepared… oh so prepared…you're so beautiful, Pamela… you're so beautiful…"
"I thought I told you what you are to refer to me as, Alissa."
"Ivy. I'm s-so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you! Please forgive me!" Alissa fell to her knees as Pamela's feet. Pamela was enthralled. "Please forgive me Ivy! Forgive me…"
Pamela pondered for a moment. This, after all, was an experiment. She finally decided to respond with a "No…"
"Oh, God!" Alissa wept, tears filling her eye at once as her face constricted. She looked utterly mortified, and distraught beyond repair. "Oh, God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry! I didn't mean to!" she bawled, gripping tightly Pamela's shins and shaking hard. "You mean everything to me…"
"You've…disappointed me." Pamela grinned as she said it. Her hypothesis had been correct. The next stage of the receiver disposition experiment was in effect now: rejection. The junkies… all of the junkies… they had proven their worth to her during the testing trials for the receiver disposition acceptance stage, but Alissa was the first in the rejection like. Negative reinforcement seemed to have severe consequences on the mental state of the entranced. This is why Pamela preferred the isolation for this experiment: no matter the severity of the reaction, this place was a haven away from prying ears. Pamela had already accepted a basic fact: anyone who ever showed signs of suspicion concerning any of her unusual behaviors… they would have to be removed. She was more than prepared to kill again, and again, and again, as long as it took to remain safe. There were far darker dangers in Gotham City than the police. There were those who pranced about above, in the dark of the night, whisking people like her away…
"GivemeanotherchancepleaseI'msorryI'lldobetter!" Alissa was madly jumbling a bamboozlement of babbling bablongaties in her insistence to gain acceptance once more by her governor. Pamela was quiet as she watched the woman stew… and decided to take the experiment into the risk setting.
"I do not know you, Alissa… I do not love you…" Her voice was cold and cruel, but her heart was warm and joyful. "I think you should kill yourself."
"NO!" Alissa sobbed hysterically, gripping the sides of her head frantically as her eyes bulged. "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"
"You should be," Pamela retorted. "Now, do me a favor, and go drown yourself in the sink. Now." She gestured at the kitchen sink. It was still filled with water from earlier when she had been filling restock restoratives for the children that grew along the walls… Alissa looked at the sink, choking loudly as she bit back her tears, and Pamela placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Go. Drown. Yourself. Now."
Alissa quivered, whimpering loudly as she stared at the sink, rooted to the spot for the longest moment…before she stepped forward, her head hung low, towards her fate…
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" she kept mumbling to herself, as she placed both hands upon the counter top and dipped her head into the filled sink of cold water…
And almost immediately, a few seconds into her attempted suicide, she wrenched her head backwards, gasping loudly and nearly falling over in shock. She held herself against the counter, dimly supporting her weight, and looked around fearfully. Pamela was scribbling notes into a red notepad.
"WHAT THE FUCK, PAMELA!?" It was as if Alissa were awakening in trueness of realization. Her face was savage, her blonde hair hanging in wet clumps around her dace. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"
"Call me Ivy…"
"NO, YOU ANSWER ME NOW! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"
Pamela finished jotting down her notes and tossed the little book aside, focusing her attention back on Alissa. "I almost made you commit suicide… but I knew the water would snap you right out of it. Cold water, in a mass amount like that, directly applied to the nostrils… the spores would die off quickly. They're not water resilient."
"You drugged me!?" Alissa's teeth were fangs, and they were gritted.
"Correction: I enraptured you. You were my slave. My most devout worshipper." She blew Alissa a kiss. "You recognized me as the goddess… you recognized me as the divine…"
"You…you can't do that! You can't do that!" Alissa stormed forward, and Pamela followed suit, holding up the perfume bottle at once. But Alissa moved fast this time, twisting her body with a fierce hiss as she slapped the bottle from Pamela's grasp, who did not expect such suddenness from her slave. Pamela made to grab for Alissa's hair, but Alissa jerked herself backwards, raised one fist into the air, and promptly sunk it into Pamela's face.
The impact of punch sent Pamela screaming as she spun in place, crashing into the dining table and collapsing onto the floor, along with several of her potted plants. Dirt and ivy rained down upon her as she sported a bloodied nose. Alissa, meanwhile, stepped forward, and as she did, she grabbed something from the bar: Pamela had left out a kitchen knife.
The knife was set against her throat at once, and Alissa held her down, their eyes locked in intense fire.
"Now listen to me, Pamela," Alissa hissed, her eyes dark and deadly as the knife she held, "I'd like to cut your throat. I could cut your throat right now. Right fucking now. All of those you've taken, the missing druggies, the officer and Kevin… I could expose all of that right now!"
And she will, if you don't handle the situation immediately…
"You come to my home and you drug me! You come to my home and you make me your slave! You make me stick my head in water, with the idea of drowning me! You've really screwed up this time, you freak! You murderous freak!"
Every word was like a knife to Pamela's heart, and all of the sudden, her newfound confidence that had given her so much power and promise began to collapse upon her. She felt her world break away: felt herself on that lonely island of dark and cold isolation, and all around her, the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Isley, Otto Rock, Archibald Helan, Donovan Ventimago, Officer Patterson and so many more began to swim around her, taunting her, calling her a freak and other vile names.
"-degenerate-"
"-whore-"
"-psychopath-"
"FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!
FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!"
"And you expect me to help you!? YOU EXPECT ME TO GIVE YOU JUSTICE!?" Alissa banged her fist down upon the floor next to Pamela's head. "You are nothing! You're a freak who can't even make friends unless they're drugged to do your every fucking bidding! You're alone, Pamela! Completely alone! If you didn't have those pheromones, you would have NO ONE, because no one would ever want to spend a minute with you! Not half a minute, not ten seconds! You are nothing!"
She banged her fist against the floor again, making Pamela wince, breaking her out of her mental catatonic state.
"And these fucking plants? These green pieces of shit don't make you a goddess any more than those pheromones fucking do!"
Now's the time.
Pamela screamed like a banshee, and her hands flew upward, forcing against Alissa's temple. The suddenness of her movement and aggravation took Alissa by surprise, and this allowed Pamela to throw the woman off of her, even as the kitchen knife cut the skin on her throat. But even through the pain and blood that trickles down from the small wound, Pamela was no longer present to acknowledge it: a mighty demon she had become, a monster hungry for destruction. She had become feral, a wild agent of Mother Earth, and threw herself upon Alissa', fiercely beating her fists wildly against Alissa's chest, who tried to raise the knife again to attack… but Pamela's grabbed her wrist and twisted it with unknown strength. Alissa's cried out, dropping the knife onto the floor, and Pamela brushed it across the room, continuing to wail upon Alissa with a barrage of fierce fist drumming and wild saliva.
Alissa became incapacitated very quickly, so weak from Pamela's fierce barrage of onslaught that she simply lay there, taking the savage beating as Pamela relentlessly pummeled her face and chest. By the time Pamela had finished, Alissa was severely bruised, bloodied and unconscious…
But Pamela was not even close to being finished. Savagely hissing, she yanked Alissa by the arm and drug her victim down, down, down into the darkness of the basement, into the foul-smelling abyss and wretched hive for experimentation. The basement was illuminated by green lanterns, hundreds of little jade bulbs on strings, entwined by ivy. The floor was completely dirt, and in the center, a single, long table, covered in beakers and boiling receptors. Chemicals bubbled and wafted out foul fumes. The largest container bubbled some faint pink liquid, not unlike Pepto, but that which gave off a most alluring, inviting scent… Pamela ignored this table and instead drug Alissa towards a table at the back of the basement.
This table…was different. Far different. The table in the middle of the room crafted love, and desire… this table, however, crafted something fouler. With her arisen interest in hallucinogenic plant-life and stimulants had come as side-exploration as well: poisons. There were many poisonous plants in the world, some terrible fatal and others slow-acting with lesser effects, but no matter the potency, she had always been fascinated by these particular plants: Oleander and hemlock, monkshood and nightshade tyberius… Their effects were beautiful within themselves: passionate killers who use their beauty, who induce a lust of their own, and claim life itself with their own biology. Even from an early age, Pamela had always loved the poisonous plants over the "safe" ones, much how young children prefer dinosaurs over puppies any day. There was sisterhood in the bitterness of them: foul, yet adored, much like herself.
The table was littered in monkshood and nightshade tyberius, and cuttings of hemlock. Extracts were preserved in little bowels. Three beakers contained three differently colored liquids, lavender, turquoise and dark green… each poison its own right, its own presence. Not yet had she used these in her exterminations… but she was slowly building up the courage to test them out on the humans that Mother Earth implored her to remove. In particular, she was currently working on a very important side project, and as she dropped Alissa onto the floor with a hard thud, she leaned over the poisonous plants and picked up something from the tabletop: a tube of lipstick. The pigment was a faint yellow-green, almost transparent, but glossy in shining abundance. She balanced it in her hand and pressed it beneath her nose, taking in the foul scent of the poison hidden in this alluring décor.
Cuttings of hemlock and nightshade tyberius had created a dangerous hybrid, diluted slightly by extracts taken from manifold glitterus. The glitterus was a natural anesthetic. The result of these compilations had been a thing of beauty: a little number she had come to refer to as Nyrox, which she had named after the Nyroxius calastor, a rare flower from the shores of Baltic Sea in Poland. The flower, of course, had been extinct for nearly two hundred years now, but historical records of the flower's usage during the Peninsular War had been preserved in university library. 'In its time, the Nyroxius calastor, named for the man who discovered it, Adler Nyrox, was a highly poisonous flower found growing within the sea-side caves along the Baltic shorelines. Its potency has been confirmed by historical accounts that, during the Peninsular War, the Nyrox flowers were used to sabotage food supplies being transported to Napoleonic forces. Casualties from this silent assassination method were very high and caused a food scare…' It was enough fascination for her to acknowledge the existence of the Nyrox flower at one time, and it had set her on a long term goal: to resurrect the Nyrox in the form of new plant-life, which she wanted to be personally responsible for. To that effect, she had studied gene splicing in her free time, reading about the complicated processes of mitosis and cellular degradation: but there would always be a way.
The lipstick she held in her hand was deadly enough. She could not touch the stuff with bare hands. The poison was very acidic to human skin. She knew. In addition to having a key into the biological compound, she also had managed to steal access to another special place within the biology building: Storage A-77, otherwise known as the Cadaver Room. These rooms were used by the upper classmen in biological studies: she was not there, yet, only being in her second year of university, but eventually her degree would allow her to experiment with those bodies for a grade… she intended to know all about corpses by then, in her own, personal way…
It was no secret on campus that a cadaver had been stolen, along with several experimental supplies. 'Who would steal a cadaver?' they would ask. 'Who would steal a dead body, what's the point?' Science was the answer. After all, junkies were unpredictable, and until she purchased for herself a proper home, with a proper, private yard, she could not be farming her fellow humans. Not yet. For these experimentations, the dead were needed… but soon, she intended to test these poisons upon the living. Research had been to be taken to all grounds. And she already knew the first victim… he would be her first… the first to be poisoned…
As of now, she could not put this lipstick to use. It was too dangerous for her. She was currently working on a lipguard gel, something to counteract the poison in the lipstick, acting as a barrier between her lips and it. It needed a few days more before she was brave enough to test it: she would be risking her life in order to see if this weapon could be used.
And if it could? Then, she would be able to make her long awaited dream come true. The death of Archibald Helan. As the youngest and most outgoing, he was never hard to track down, and often took long runs by the edge of the woods. The day was coming very, very soon for him…
She glanced down at Alissa. Alissa, her best friend and the agent who was meant to stand beside her and fight the rest of the world in the name of nature's uprising… Alissa, who had finally decided to betray her.
It took around then minutes for Pamela to clear the pheromone components from the middle table, during which Alissa continually stirred and moaned. By the time Pamela had hoisted the woman on the table, Alissa was mumbling, "What? What did you say?" Nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense. Alissa's limbs were bound with thick rope, courtesy of the Gotham University Spiral Gym, and the infatuated janitorials who would have no memory of the woman who had come and seduced them, taking the keys from them and leaving them in a state of complete inebriation. They had, of course, been carted off to Arkham Asylum, howling madly, running about the gymnasium nude and sweating, quite mad… goodness, they all wondered just how they seemingly sane men had suddenly just…lost it…
But those pheromones leave no trace. They dissipate, and become one with the air… but the damage is already done by then…
When Alissa finally, finally regained consciousness again, she found herself completely bound to the table, and Pamela standing over her with a large grin.
"Comfortable?"
Alissa's eyes narrowed. "Let. Me. Go." Three words. Deadly voice, deadly promise. Pamela shook her head.
"No."
"Let me go…" Again. A soft whisper. A deadly promise.
Pamela grabbed her chin and kissed her cheek. "No," she whispered into her friend's awaiting ear. She pulled back, and prodded Alissa's nose gently.
"Why are you doing this?" Alissa asked, her voice shaking… but she was suddenly so calm. Pamela was not sure if it had something to do with the pheromones in the room. Were they calming her? Perhaps if she brought them closer and closer… but she wanted Alissa sane for this talk…for this session… for this rehabilitation…
"What do I want more than anything else in the entire world, Lissa?" Pamela asked her friend calmly, sitting in a chair next to the table and picking up something from her tool drawer: a little white syringe. Alissa saw the syringe, and paled considerably. Pamela decided to answer for her. "It is to be loved, Alissa. 'But how, Ivy?' you would ask me. 'How, Ivy, do you wish to be loved? How can you be loved?' The answer, Alissa: not through pheromone extracts from hallucinogenic plant-life. Through genuine admiration and recognition. That is the answer. I want there to come a time when the pheromones are no longer needed, when the desires and obsessions that our kind will rain down upon me are…genuine." She stepped over to the table of poisons, and began to fill the syringe with one particular essence: a baby-blue component from a little glass vial.
Alissa struggled against her bindings. "Just…just be yourself… just be yourself…" She was panting, her voice filled with dread. "Just…just do things that people will really love…"
"'And you'll make an impression, Pamela,'" Pamela mocked, imitating Dr. Stefan's voice. "Yeah, he said the same shit too. And do you know what? I believed him." She walked back over to Alissa and sat down again, cradling Alissa's hair. "I believed him during my time at Coreman's and a little afterwards, thinking I could overcome reputation itself if I could only do something amazing in the eyes of others… how fucked up I was back then. No. Do you know who really showed me the truth? The way of the world? Do you know who truly showed me what I had to do, how I had to do it? It was Otto Rock. Otto Rock, Archie and Don… the three of them were-are-my gods. I worship them daily. They give me truth, and meaning. I know because of them. I see because of them. They showed me truth: that to gain love, that to gain worship, you must take it. Take it, Alissa. By force. By your own power. And then… and then eventually, they'll love you for real. Do you know how I know that?" She leaned in, and whispered gently in Alissa's ear, "Because I love Otto, Archie and Don… I love them, Alissa. So. Very. Much."
She pulled back and relished in Alissa's expression of horror and disgust.
"So you see," Pamela insisted, "I'm not going to take them because I hate them. I'm going to take them… because I love them. So much." She placed a hand over her very swiftly beating heart. "And guess what, Alissa?" She placed her hand upon Alissa's stomach. "I love you, too…"
"Don't!" Alissa hissed through gritted teeth, eyes widening as the syringe lowered. "DON'T."
"Hush, now, Alissa… don't spoil this for me…"
"NO! NO! HELP! HEL-" But the syringe entered her head, then, and her scream for help merely became… a scream. The most terrible scream imaginable, a monstrous cry of agony and suffering. Pain is considerate, by an average range: we see the levels of intensity and understand the lengths to which our bodies will suffer, and what proper biological functions will enact to repress the pain when the nervous system is attacked in such terrible ways… but there was no such blessing here. The poison that Pamela injected directly into the bottom of Alissa's right eyelid was a phenomenal suppressant, neutralizing the protective walls around the lower hemisphere on the right side. It was a creation of her utter pride, a poison that had been successful in form and purity: destroying the natural painkillers and sending static-like pulses directly through the cerebral cortex.
Alissa collapsed into exquisite, merciless agony, her veins on fire, her eyes burning and her skin paralyzed in sensory output. She was frozen in place, with no hope of restoring movement, and when she screamed, her pain increased by such small, small gestures… and yet she could not help but scream.
Pamela withdrew the syringe, emptied of its non-lethal, pitiless poison and tucked it into a trash can nearby. Alissa writhed in her torment, flooding tears through her terrible screams… and Pamela pulled out her notebook and began to jot down research points, noting the verbal and motor reactions and footnoting the various levels of pain intensity. Every time Alissa screamed, she jotted down how long the scream was maintained, the tear output levels and how much Alissa was able to move through the slight paralysis of the poison, which she, in that moment, decided to jot down a name for: Nemesai. Derived from the word "nemesis," she added the sai part because, well, frankly, it sounded effing awesome.
"Sai," she pronounced calmly, and giggled. "Nemesai." She liked naming her poisons. She liked creating her poisons. Her poisons were her life now, as were her plants. As they had always been.
Poison... The word alone was an art form. It just sounded fun, and professional in whatever personified mannerisms she could acquaint with it.
After ten minutes of observing Alissa, Pamela found that everything was in order, and promptly switched off all lights, leaving Alissa screaming in the cold, merciless dark, Pamela locking the door to the basement behind her. The screaming continued for an hour, and then went silent. During that hour, Pamela walked about nude, tending to her children and whispering sweet, soft songs of love and care to them. She folded the laundry and drew sketches of flower people, drunk wine and casually drowned a few rats in the sink (she had around thirty of them stuffed in a large cage in the laundry room, all babies… all fodder for her experiments…
All the while, she thought about going on a date. She could have any man on campus, at any time… She casually went through the yearbook from the previous year, scouting out the men who physically appealed the most to her. Thomas Woolman had some fine, pale blue oculars… Stan McCormick was biology nerd and had the adorable, overlarge spectacles to match it… Dennis Terrance had the same shade of crimson hair as she did, and his skin was oily and pale, just the way she preferred it… So many decisions to make. Perhaps all… yes, all three, at the same time… She could have them take her to a fine, luxurious dinner, a boat ride on the Gotham River and then a trapeze through Gotham Funland. Yes, that sounded good. But first…
She went back downstairs, down to the silent, still Alissa, who was breathing shallowly, her eyes wide and bloodshot. She could only look up at Pamela in sheer terror, whose expression was blank.
"Had enough?" she asked her prey, feeling Alissa's heartbeat. So fast. So frantic-like. Alissa moaned loudly, and Pamela sighed.
"I think we'll go for another hour," Pamela told her. "Another hour and I'm sure you'll be ready for the next stage of transcending. You should consider yourself blessed," she said in a raised voice as Alissa began to whimper loudly, "that I have chosen to give you Ascension before me. Consider it my gift. After a few days down here… you'll be more loyal to our goals, I promise." She kissed Alissa on the forehead gently. "I love you…"
She left a few minutes later, locking the door once more and slightly drowning out Alissa's tormented screams after the next injection had been administered. Whether Alissa would survive the coming therapy, she knew not… but Pamela had better things to attend to. A night on the town, with three very sexy young man… She left Alissa screaming and waltzed out into the sunshine world.
Therapy was essential to the human spirit's recognition, she knew this now. Dr. Stefan's tormenting sessions had shown her the vulnerability of the human spirit in regards to discovering one's destiny: something self-made and sufficient. His torment had educated her. Molded her into Ivy, a woman who could, would, must, should, change the world. But she could not help but feel like something was missing from that name. Ivy, alone, was only half of her essence. The plants were one part… what was the other?
You know what the other part is, Pamela, that little voice would tell her. You should learn to accept it.
But what did she know? What did her soul know that her heart did not?
A part of your passion is a part of your Ascension.
On the way to find her first lover for the evening, she passed by the botanical, so that he could visit more of her children through the glass… And that… that was when she first laid eyes upon him.
He was standing near the entry way to the greenhouse, and he was talking with another man, whom she recognized immediately as Dean Phillips (the previous Dean had…vanished one day… very, very strange…). Phillips had a serious expression as he spoke with the man, and she could not help but admire the fetching stranger. Tall and slender, and adorned in a fine, periwinkle business suit, he listened to the Dean with a fierce, intent expression. The man's skin was beautifully painted a lighter auburn, and she thought he must have some kind of Hispanic in him. Perhaps some Portuguese? His eyes were almost scarlet, an intense brown with flecks of light red, and his hair was walnut. A stylish beard and goatee wrapped around his mouth, and it twitched every now and then as the Dean whispered urgent things to him. He was a perfect man, and that expression… that expression was so fierce.
Pamela, despite herself, hovered about the entrance, examining petunias while carefully trying to catch word of their conversation.
"-no need to worry," the stranger said in a soft voice. He had an accent about him, almost…was it Russian? Some very distinct, subtle Russian. Russian and English… "I'm really fitting in comfortably already. I don't care about these incidents."
"Look, all I'm saying is that we've had a serial killer on the loose. Students and faculty going missing, or going insane… these cases aren't natural, and we've had a mixture of high profiles and low profiles. I'm obligated to give you fair warning. It's why Dr. Myrtle quit, after all."
Pamela's heart leapt. Dr. Myrtle quit? That stinky, wasted old prune who often forgot half of his lecture notes and got formulas wrong all the time during lessons? At last! She'd been planning on murdering him herself… but it seemed like her actions had scared the old bastard away. Yes! So, then, this new man here…
"You're replacing Dr. Myrtle?" She decided to drop the illusion. The man turned to her, and smiled. He had that knowing look.
"I knew you were eavesdropping. Next time, try to move around a little more, and make the movements natural and loose. "
Dean Phillips had paled considerably. He had not noticed her. "Pamela…"
Pamela winced… but she could not argue, not that. After all, 'Ivy' was a sacred name between herself and Alissa at the moment. "Yeah… are you the new Advanced Botanical Analysis instructor?" she addressed the new man.
He grasped her hand and squeezed it gently, his eyes twinkling, his smile poised. "Jason Woodrue. Dr. Woodrue, to you."
"Pleasure," Pamela replied, nodding curtly and giving a small smile. These eyes…perfection. "I'm in your class. I'll be in your class tomorrow."
"Miss Isley, if you don't mind," Phillips cut in, "I'm still in the middle of-"
"I don't believe I asked," Pamela cut across him shortly. She did not take her eyes off of Woodrue. "What do you know about the principles of Janus law?" she asked him, testing the intensity of the man with core. Woodrue, raising his eyebrows, smiled strangely.
"Only everything, Miss Isley. The principles dictate that plants are naturally designed to combat obstruction through adaption to fibers and enclaves."
"Yes, they are. What about you? Are you prepared to combat obstruction through adaption to fibers and enclaves?" She winked as she asked it, noting Woodrue's twinkling eyes.
"My lord… you're a special breed."
"Flower."
"A special flower, then," Woodrue said, nodding. Phillips was turning red in the face. Pamela, confidently, turned to the Dean and offered an option to him: "Fuck off, maybe?" She said it in a curt, authoritative voice. Woodrue chuckled, and grinned at the Dean.
"All of them like this here?"
Dean Phillips stepped forward, a finger in the air. "You listen to me, Isley: you can't talk to me like that. I'm the Dean of Academic Affairs. I'm not going to stand here and be talked down to by you of all people."
Pamela popped her neck loudly, and raised a gloved hand. Administering pressure from her right palm, the little jet of invisible pheromones issued into the air around the Dean, and he suddenly calmed right the fuck down.
"Let me talk to this man in peace. Go wait in the garden, go." She jerked her head at the greenhouse. A dumb smile overtook the Dean at once. Woodrue, frowning, watched on with interest.
"S-sure, fine… I'll do that…" He chuckled stupidly, and walked away, glancing around at them with that dumb grin as he vanished beneath the shade of the glassy Eden. Pamela shrugged at Woodrue, brushing some hair aside as she beamed up at the man.
"I'm sorry about that boring asshole. You need someone to show you around the campus highlights?"
Woodrue stared, looking back and forth between the Dean, who was standing…eerily still in the middle of the greenhouse, not really doing anything, and Pamela, whose confident features were inviting and firm.
"How'd you do that?" was his first, casual question, adding a subtle little chuckle at the end that Pamela honed in on at once: an illusion, to cover up his intensity. His eyes betrayed him. She grinned.
"I have a way with people like him. They can't resist this adorable face!" She threw her arms up and put on a dopey expression, like Shirley Temple being apprehended for breaking open the cookie jar. Woodrue raised an eyebrow.
"But you didn't make that face…did you?" His voice was suddenly confident too. Confident, and cold. Pamela's grin faded a little.
"Y-yeah," she said awkwardly, lips pruning as she glanced away. "Er, you know, just playing-"
"And what kinds of toys do you play with, Pamela Isley?"
Her eyes snapped to his again. "What toys?"
"That is what I asked. Clearly, you must have a wondrous array. Some inflated ego, too, it's an obvious aspect. Bitter, on the insider…" He examined her up and down. "Hair ruffled and clothes hurriedly dressed, you forgot one button on your shorts: so, a desperation to appeal aesthetically… have I marked Pamela Isley?"
Pamela could only stare, in a beautiful combination anger, humiliation, and…awe. He saw right through her hazy screen, detecting her intentions instantaneously and addressing them as such. Her barrier shattered, and her control broken, she became desperate and, as calmly as she could, unleashed the pheromones around him.
His smile was…almost too knowing, almost too quickly. "Your perfume is a fine number. Do I detect…" He inhaled deeply, and looked pleased. "Anassa flower?"
Now the spell truly was broken. He watched her calmly, his collected demeanor terrifying. The pheromones… they were doing nothing to him. No effect. No… no anything.
"Anassa flower… yes, I thought so. I've used it a few times myself. You make your own?" he studied her closely. "Oh, naturally… look at you. Of course you do… of course you do…" He stepped forward and clapped her on the shoulder lightly. "I expect you not to disappoint me in class tomorrow." And with that, Jason Woodrue left her standing there, stunned and silent. Stunned, and terrified. She glanced around quickly, distressed. He stopped before the Dean, and obscured the man from her view for a moment… and then he moved, and the Dean was shaking his head, as if… as if awakening from a deep slumber. Woodrue put an arm around the disoriented man and led him on, continuing their conversation, but as they vanished deeper into the greenhouse, he glanced around only for a moment, smiling contentedly at Pamela, as if saying, Don't try it again. Your embarrassment is as much a black mark as any other...
What… what did he know?
What did he know!?
WHAT DID HE KNOW?