((Music: Sleepwalk by Santo & Johnny))

The hot water Violet soaked in was silken with milk bath, the surface hidden under a thick blanket of white bubbles that smelled like vanilla and roses. It felt like a dream. Tension melted away and for a while she let herself unwind in the illusion that everything was all right.

A light rap at the door startled her. She had allowed her eyes to shut and nearly dozed off in the comfort of the huge tub.

"Violet?" Dandy's muffled voice came from the hall. "I've left some nightclothes and a robe on the bed for you whenever you're done. You can wear them to dinner if you like."

"Thank you," she called back.

He didn't say anything more. She lingered for a bit longer, reluctant to abandon the embrace of the first nice bath she'd had in months. But her fingers were wrinkled, and she shouldn't keep Dandy waiting too long. It was only by his good grace that she was there in his house enjoying luxuries that had seemed beyond even dreaming of just days ago.

With a sigh she pulled the plug. The drain gurgled and snarled like a monster, glutting itself on the milky water. She stepped out onto the fluffy bath mat and grabbed a towel, marveling at the way the thick terry cloth sucked the moisture off her skin. How had she gotten so used to the horrible conditions at Briarcliff?

After drying herself off she wrapped her hair in the damp towel. She grabbed the other bath towel from the bar to tuck around her body. She started toward the door and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She didn't like her reflection. She was too skinny, too hollow-eyed. The towels looked too white and new. The sunny yellows and ivories of the bathroom were too vibrant compared to the asylum's stony cold grays, where she would have fit in better with her surroundings. It just reminded her of how out of place she was in the outside world now. She hated that she even thought that way.

Turning away from the mirror, she let herself out into the hall. The house had felt warm when she first arrived but now, while she was still damp, the hallway felt chilly.

There was less light out there. While that was soothing on the eye it also made her feel ill at ease. It was as though thinking about Briarcliff somehow summoned its presence into this posh location. The master bedroom was just a few feet away, yet she practically ran to it. Anxious to be out of the hall and away from her paranoid feelings.

When she got to the master bedroom she was impressed all over again at the luxury of the home. The bed was a fancy four-poster positioned in front of a blazing fireplace. A thick oriental rug spread between them and on the thick bedspread were the clothes Dandy had promised: A white nightgown of slippery satin and lace, and a fluffy floor-length bathrobe. The kind silent movie stars used to wear. She didn't find any undergarments but that was understandable. She wouldn't want to put someone else's intimates on anyway. She'd had enough of that at the asylum. The robe and nightie would be concealing enough.

She pushed the door shut and let the towel drop.

—

When she emerged from the bedroom, she was much warmer. She had found a pair of feather-toed slippers along with the robe and truly felt like another person. Like Grace Kelly in Rear Window when she slept over at Jimmy Stewart's apartment. Violet found it hard to believe she wasn't dreaming.

In a bit of a daze, she found her way to the dining room thanks to instructions Dandy had given her before leaving her in the bathroom. The enticing scent of food helped lead her, too. He was waiting for her at the table. When she came into the room he rose from his seat. Despite his facial scars, his smile was warm and welcoming.

"Feeling better, my dear?" he said solicitously. He held out a hand to invite her over.

She smiled back. "Much better. I'd forgotten how nice a decent bath could be."

There was a place setting where Dandy was and another just to his right. He moved to pull out the chair there. Once she sat in it, he gently pushed her in. Then he moved back to his own chair to sit.

"There's nothing a good bath can't cure," Dandy agreed. He reached for a decanter and filled the wineglass at her place before doing the same with his own. The liquid was rich red and had a heady perfume.

"Wine?" she asked, reaching for the glass.

"Vermouth," he corrected. He lifted his glass. "Cocchi Storico Vermouth di Torino. Sweet, herbal, fortified with Artemisia. Absinthe's kinder cousin."

He lightly tapped the rim of his glass to hers and, after raising his glass to her, he had a drink. His dark eyes watched her over the gold-plated rim. She followed suit, having a little sip to taste it.

"It's strong," she said, surprised. "But sweet, yes. It tastes like...like..."

She had a bigger drink then, shocked anew at the herby citrus. Though she was no expert, she had raised a cup or two in the past. This was nothing like the wines she'd had before.

"I thought you might like it," Dandy said. "Are you ready to eat?"

"I—yes. Yes, I am," Violet decided. The vermouth warmed her middle and left a mellow spice on her tongue. "Thank you, Dandy. I didn't realize how much I needed this."

He beamed, pleased. "You are very welcome." He reached for a small bell that was on the table to his far side. It tinkled lightly.

Motion from the far doorway drew Violet's attention. She saw a man shuffle out carrying a tray laden with two plates. The dishes were heaped with rare roast beef, potatoes, and some sort of green vegetable arranged around the meat. The food steamed as the man set the plates down carefully. Despite the fact that he was dressed in a nice suit, his head didn't match. His hair was scraggly, and he had a mess of ragged whiskers. He didn't make eye contact with either of them.

"Thank you," Dandy said politely. It was the servant's cue to leave.

Violet watched him go, curious. Once he was out of the room, she looked at Dandy again. "Was that...Was that Roy? From Briarcliff? The one who works kitchen?"

Dandy took up a silver fork and a sharp steak knife. "Oh. Yes. I thought his talents were being squandered there so I hired him as my personal cook."

"Is he on work release, too?" asked Violet. She picked up her fork as well and speared a chunk of potato with it. It was buttery and hot, steeped in some of the salty blood from the roast. It was heaven in her mouth.

"Mm," Dandy acknowledged as he carved off a bite of meat for himself. "He is. He's a marvelous cook when not restricted to the asylum's supplies. Wouldn't you say?"

She nodded enthusiastically and tucked in. She got two more bites in before her manners crept up. "What about your mother? Won't she be joining us?"

Dandy's expression flickered then he donned a smile. "Mother is on holiday. The house, for now, is ours."

He sliced off another wet chunk of beef and shoved it in his mouth, smiling at her as he chewed.

She smiled back and had another gulp of the herbal alcohol before tucking into her meal in earnest.

—

The cold from earlier was completely forgotten. Violet felt incredibly warm, almost hot. At some point dinner had ended and she and Dandy moved to the master bedroom. The fire had died down some, flickering low in the hearth. The rug they were seated on was surprisingly soft and springy under her fingers. She kept finding herself petting it.

"What's this song?" she said. Her tongue felt thick; it was tricky to say so many S words. The effort made her grin.

"Besame Mucho," said Dandy with perfect enunciation. "Charlie Spivak and his orchestra. It's from Mother's collection. Do you like it?"

Violet tilted her head, listening to the warbling trumpets and high strings. The volume was turned down low, making it sound more intimate than it might at a louder volume. "It's a gas."

"It's from the 40's," he explained. His hand caught her nearest one, his thumb petting lightly over the back. "No words to complicate things. Just...music."

She giggled, prompting a curious look from Dandy. She waved her other hand. It felt floppy.

"I was just thinking... what the common room would be like if they played this instead of that old nun song. God. Briarcliff. I'm so glad to be out."

Dandy smiled. "I'm glad you're glad. And I'm glad you're here. With me."

"Me too," said Violet.

His face was very close to hers and she noticed his scars again, starkly shadowed in the firelight. The song on the phonograph faded away, replaced by the opening strings of Etta James' At Last. She reached for his cheek, tracing her fingers lightly over one of the puckered scars.

"Does it still hurt?"

He looked down for an instant, then his dark eyes met hers again. "Only when I see my reflection."

In her tipsy state, the earnestness of that confession struck her. "They don't look bad. You're too han'some."

"And you're too kind," he said with false modesty.

He leaned in close and gingerly kissed her. When she didn't retreat, he pressed the kiss. She melted into it, feeling more relaxed and at ease than she had in far too long. Everything felt right in that moment: The kiss. His hands petting over her body beneath the fluffy robe. The taste of vermouth on his breath.

The world melted with her, swirling around in a pleasant way. The kiss extended and her hands began to explore his body, first over and then under the satin smoking jacket. The kiss grew more heated. Time seemed to blur by, and their clothes got lost with it. The alcohol haze lifted briefly when he penetrated her, then the warm veil slipped back in place, making the sex languid and delightful. So very different from the horrible experiences she'd had in Briarcliff.

She pushed back the intrusive thoughts of Max, drowning them in a sloppy kiss. She drank up the taste and smell of Dandy, hugging and petting him, running her fingers through his hair as he orgasmed. She never reached climax herself, but it didn't matter. For her, the psychological pleasure was enough.

He lay atop her for a while, catching his breath. The record ended and only the crackle of the dying fire could be heard for several long moments. Then he kissed her again.

"Let's go to bed," he said quietly.

—

It was completely dark in the bedroom when Dandy woke, disoriented. He was in his mother's room and at first he mistook the figure sleeping beside him for her. Turning his head, he caught sight of long brown hair and remembered everything from that night. His stomach soured and he felt cold.

After a few moments of lying there in the dark room he slipped out of the bed, moving slowly and carefully so as not to wake Violet. He grabbed his robe and shrugged it on. Let himself out into the still hallway.

His goal was the finished attic, with a stop first by the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey. He almost left with it then went back to the cupboard. Fishing around, he found one of the ornate glass bottles Mother used to give him his "juice" in. He filled it to the top and screwed the nipple on.

The attic was dark, with a long beam of white moonlight cutting through the gloom to orient by. There was an old couch there in the pool of light, bleached in the dimness. He went over to it and sat down beside a rumpled wardrobe bag that was propped up against the left arm of the sofa. He sat there beside the black, dusty bag for a bit just staring into the dark recesses of the attic, the bottle clutched between his knees.

Eventually he blinked and then lowered himself so that his head rested on the lower part of the wardrobe bag. He could feel Mother's thigh through it against his cheek. It had grown bony and hard but the measures he had taken to preserve her kept her from smelling bad. He could ignore the boniness.

"I love you, Mother," he said quietly.

Then he pushed the nipple of the bottle into his mouth and suckled the hard alcohol, taking comfort in his game of pretend.

...

Author's Note:

This is another one of those chapters I didn't plan out, but was just along for the ride. I have this outline I try to follow, but with this and my Armageddon fic, the characters just aren't following my notes.

I'll be migrating my stories over to An Archive of Our Own soon. I won't be deleting anything here, just making it more accessible to those who've set up over there. I've been meaning to do it for a while. Things just have been so freakin busy here, it's been on the bottom of my to-do list for a minor eternity. But the film I was working on is finally starting to tour the indie circuit. I was expecting some down time this Spring, but Hollywood called me up for a spooky secret project I couldn't say no to. I can't say much about it except that the filming project involves me being at an old mansion with some creepy-but-awesome people. (Edit: We got the project wrapped up! Migration of my stories to Archive of Our Own is underway.)

Next time: Ben's going to do something rash. What'll happen when the press finds out an inmate is running Briarcliff?