1990
The Pentagram View Diner bustled with patrons clamoring for food, coffee, and an array of assorted dishes. Amidst the lively atmosphere, Cherri strolled casually, her gaze sweeping across the bustling scene until it settled on the very person she had been seeking.
"Party of how many?" inquired the goat demon waitress, her tone tinged with an air of annoyance.
"I'm actually meeting someone," Cherri responded unapologetically to the waitress's inquiry. "And I see them, so I'll just go find my seat. Keep up the good work, though." The waitress rolled her eyes, a silent expression of not being paid enough to deal with such situations. Cherri gracefully approached the booth where Angel was already seated, immediately taking the chair across from him. Angel sported a casual look, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt under a dusty pink pullover sweater, accompanied by a pair of white denim jeans. A dark-haired wig adorned his head, with a portion of it playfully falling over his slightly darker eye. He had gone to great lengths, even concealing the freckle-like marks beneath his eyes. To an unsuspecting onlooker, he could easily pass as someone other than Angel Dust.
"Hey," Cherri greeted as Angel acknowledged her presence.
"Hey yourself, babe," Angel responded with a hint of a playful smile.
"It's not every day that your asshole boss actually gives you a day off," Cherri remarked, her tone lighthearted, as she lifted the menu to peruse the options for brunch. "Hmm, decisions, decisions... I can't decide what I'm craving more."
"Yeah," Angel responded, his gaze shifting around uneasily. "But lemme tell ya, I wouldn't go blabbin' 'bout Mr. V too casually. Feels like he's always got a pair of peepers watchin' over my shoulder."
"So, what are you thinking of getting?" Cherri inquired. "I'm torn between getting an omelet or some delicious French toast."
"I'm keepin' an eye on them banana's foster flapjacks," Angel replied.
"Ooo, I must've missed that," Cherri exclaimed, refocusing her attention on the menu. "And check this out, they've got cinnamon roll French toast too, sounds delicious." Just then, the sound of a group entering the restaurant caught their attention. Angel's demeanor shifted noticeably as he seemed to become instantly alert, his gaze fixed on the newcomers.
"How many?" inquired the female goat demon, her voice carrying a hint of impatience.
"We're not here for a meal," one of the newcomers declared as they simultaneously brandished guns and hand-held assault rifles. "Listen up, folks. We're gonna keep this simple. Just hand over your wallets and valuables, and no one needs to get hurt. But if you feel like being difficult..." In an instant, the speaking demon shot the female goat demon, leaving her lifeless on the floor. Throughout this shocking turn of events, Cherri had discreetly noticed Angel slipping a knife from the table. Swiftly sliding out of the booth, Angel rose to his feet, his second pair of arms concealed behind his back in a tense stance.
"Hey, you there," one of the muggers addressed Angel, aiming his gun directly at him. "What do you think you're up to?"
"Oh, just takin' in the scenery, ya know?"Angel responded with a sly grin. "But if you gents ain't lookin' for a one-way ticket to trouble town, I'd suggest you mosey on outta here with your little shindig."
"You must have dropped in to Hell just yesterday," one of the thugs retorted, attempting to project an air of toughness. "We're the infamous 'Brass Needle Gang'. If you've got any wits left, you'll slide back into your seat before you lose your damn head."
"'The Brass Needle,' huh?" Angel mused, as if pondering the name. "My apologies, been hangin' around down in Hell for a solid forty-three years, and your gang ain't never even sniffed the headlines. Let me tell ya, I've bumped into some true bastards that could make your bunch seem like absolute chicken shit."
"He's gotta be spewing crap," one of the thugs objected. "We're the nastiest crew the Pentagram's ever dealt with."
"You're the mug who sayin' it, not me."Angel retorted with a snarky grin. "But, I catch your drift, ya know?. You end up in Hell with zilch to your name, and you reckon knocking over a couple of schmucks and pluggin' a few noggins will turn you into a big shot. Well, let me break it to ya: it don't. It just makes you come off as... sad."
"Big words from a scrawny twerp," another thug chimed in, also aiming his weapon at Angel. "Let's see what you're hiding behind your back."
"Oh," Angel cooed playfully as he unclasped his hands from behind his back and displayed them to the thugs. "Just a pair of bare mitts." Beneath the table, Cherri had surreptitiously positioned herself, ready to take action. She watched Angel with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, knowing he had retrieved a knife from the table. However, if it wasn't concealed behind his back, then where was it?
"Trying to be cute, huh?" One of the thugs sneered
"Nah," Angel retorted, a third set of arms suddenly emerging from just above his hips. In one of these extra hands, he held the knife he had slipped off the table. "Cute ain't my gig. But mark my words, you sacks of manure are up against a genuine article." Swift as lightning, the six-armed demon flung the knife at one of the thugs. The blade struck with a glancing blow, causing enough of a distraction for Angel and then Cherri to nimbly dive behind the cover of the kitchen bar.
"Where the hell did he go?" One of the thugs exclaimed, scanning the area frantically.
"What the hell just happened?" Another thug questioned in bewilderment. "It's like the guy sprouted a damn third pair of arms outta nowhere." Concealed behind the bar, Angel had swiftly seized a nearby kitchen rag and began tearing it into strips. Meanwhile, the majority of the kitchen and waitstaff had discreetly slipped out through a door at the rear of the kitchen, capitalizing on the distraction Angel and Cherri had created.
"You got the know-how to rustle up Molotov cocktails?" The Spider Demon inquired, his fingers deftly weaving braids from the torn strips.
"Do I?" Cherri responded with mock offense, a wry grin on her face. She swiftly reached into the fridge beneath the bar and retrieved a couple of beer bottles. Slipping in the braided fuses, Angel ignited them using a disposable lighter before hurling the makeshift incendiary devices at the thugs. Cherri followed suit with the second bottle. The thugs let out anguished screams as they were engulfed in flames, causing panic among the diner's patrons who rushed to evacuate. Amid the chaos, the thugs thrashed on the ground, desperately trying to extinguish the fire consuming them. Seizing the opportunity, Angel and Cherri discreetly slipped out through the restaurant's back door, making their escape as the scene grew increasingly chaotic.
"Thinking it over again," Angel quipped with a self-satisfied grin as they found themselves outside. "The chow in this dive is lousy. I got a way better joint in mind."
"So, I'm guessin' you're a spider demon?" Cherri inquired. Almost immediately, Angel retracted his third set of arms.
"You might just put it that way." Angel responded. "Is that gonna ruffle any feathers?"
"Nope," Cherri replied with a chuckle. "It's just that when you've got that extra set of arms tucked away, you kinda give off this cricket or grasshopper vibe."
"Well, I am a jumping spider," Angel explained. "Just in case it crossed your mind."
"Here is an opiate-based sedative," Dr. Abaddon calmly elucidated as he gently introduced the needle into Angel's arm. "This will alleviate the most severe short-term symptoms of your withdrawal. As we observe your progress through the detox period, the opiate dosage will gradually be reduced."
"So, how long can we expect this process to take?" Cherri inquired.
"The duration of this process varies for each individual's circumstances," Dr. Abaddon affirmed. "Considering Angel's intermittent drug use since arriving at your hotel, he might have already made progress in alleviating the short-term symptoms. Charlotte, have you determined how long you intend to stay at the Cabin?"
"I've planned to stay there for approximately two weeks," Charlie explained.
"Is it possible for you to extend your stay for a longer period?" Abaddon inquired.
"I had initially planned for a two-week stay," Charlie replied. "I'll certainly inform the others back at the hotel that we'll need an additional week. However, I can't extend our time here beyond that. Our intention for coming here was to find respite from the city and address the issues Angel faced with his previous employer."
"I'm afraid that a handfull of weeks might not be sufficient," Abaddon explained. "Withdrawal symptoms stemming from substances like PCP can persist for several months or even up to a year. Even after the detox phase, Angel could continue to experience lingering effects. Additionally, there are the extended symptoms to take into account, including depression, mood disturbances, cognitive impairment, memory issues, and sleep disturbances. These effects are influenced by factors like the frequency, duration, and intensity of use. Furthermore, ongoing rehabilitation is crucial to minimize the risk of relapse."
"So, lemme get this straight," Angel sighed as the effects of the Benzo injection started to take hold. "You're tellin' me I should head on over to one of them rehabilitation clinics."
"That seems to be a likely scenario," Abaddon affirmed.
"I won't let that happen," Cherri stated firmly as she rose from her seat.
"We still have a bit of time before we have to head back to the hotel," Charlie chimed in, trying to ease the tension. "Perhaps there's an alternative we haven't thought of yet. Let's focus on what we can do here and then determine the best course of action moving forward."
"Agreed," Abaddon concurred. "In light of that, it would be wise to let Angel rest." Angel was grappling with the struggle to remain awake, his senses clouded by the induced sleep from the drug. The experience eerily reminded him of the haze that enveloped his mind whenever Val's cigarette smoke filled the air. Yet, the drug's potency was prevailing. Cherri stood steadfastly by his side, her hand gently resting on his forearm. While she had witnessed Angel's moments of vulnerability and expressions of frustration before, there was an added fragility now, as if he could shatter with the slightest touch. Witnessing someone she knew to be so resilient reduced to such a fragile state pained her deeply.
"I want to stay here with him," Cherri asserted.
"We..." Charlie began, comprehending Cherri's concern. However, Vaggie had informed Abaddon that only one person needed to stay with Angel for the night to ensure he didn't wake up disoriented and alone—a provision that had already been granted. Having an additional person with him during his sleep would likely disrupt the process and distract from his recovery. "We can't do that, I'm sorry," she continued, addressing Cherri's desire to stay. "He'll be safe here; Dr. Abaddon is someone I trust to take care of him, and if there's any change, he'll inform us. The best way you can support Angel right now is by looking after Nuggets. You're the one who knows how to care for his pig the best."
"I suppose you're right," Cherri responded with a somber tone. She looked back at Angel as he slept, a mixture of concern and sadness in her eyes, before turning and walking away. "I'll catch up with you in the car," she called to Charlie.
Charlie approached the hospital bed where Angel lay in deep slumber and lightly placed a hand on one of his arms as a form of gentle comfort. Many of the physical wounds inflicted by Valentino were gradually healing, even the bruising around his right eye appeared to be subsiding. As Charlie extended her hand to gently sweep a lock of fur from his face, she unexpectedly felt something papery and raised beneath her fingertips. Confused, she examined his arm closely, finding a long, thin scar that traced its way along his fur-covered limb. She ran her fingers along the hair, discovering more scars along his chest and stomach as she lifted his shirt slightly. These marks were old, telling a story of pain and resilience that Angel had carried for a considerable time.
Leaning in, she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek and then left the room without uttering a word.
The journey back to the cabin was marked by silence, with no words exchanged between them. The car ride felt unnecessary, and the prospect of a twenty-minute hike, even carrying the large muffins Tetra had provided, might have been a welcomed physical release. Upon their arrival at the cabin, Cherri promptly headed downstairs, seeking solitude. Charlie gravitated to the living room, where she retrieved her Hellphone and dialed the hotel's number. Vaggie, needing something to occupy herself, prepared some coffee. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the weight of the recent events.
"Hello, Husk," Charlie greeted as she dialed the hotel's number. "It seems like we might need to extend our stay here for a third week." She paused, listening to Husk's response. "Angel's holding up reasonably well, considering the circumstances. But when I saw him today, he appeared quite miserable." Another pause followed by a reply from Husk. "I don't think it's just the withdrawal causing this. There's something about being in a medical facility that seems to be triggering him. For instance, you mentioned that during his past, corrective therapy was used for those with same-gender attractions. Do you have any idea where such treatments might have taken place?... I understand... Yes, I see." Charlie wiped away a tear that had welled up in her eye. "I believe it might not be best for Angel to return to the hotel, especially not until he's fully through the withdrawal process. There's also the issue with Valentino and the other Vee's. I've informed Val that Angel is no longer his employee, but I anticipate he won't let go easily. This estate belongs to my family and is intended as a private retreat for us. My dad also has his rule about not intervening in the matters of sinners, which is part of his hesitation about the hotel. It's too early to make a final decision, but I'll have to return to the hotel eventually. I'm considering seeking outside help for this situation, perhaps from Angel's older brother."
Vaggie's hand faltered as she reached for a coffee cup, causing it to slip and crash onto the Blood Quartz countertop at the mention of seeking help from Angel's brother. The cup shattered upon impact, but she paid it no mind, urgently signaling to Charlie that this was not a viable idea to entertain.
"I understand he poses a threat," Charlie reasoned, "but considering the circumstances, I'm not sure we have many options. It's possible we might run into his family eventually, so perhaps it's wiser to initiate contact ourselves. I get your concern... I'll make sure to keep everyone informed about the developments."
"Charlie..." Vaggie's voice elevated in frustration. "What are you even thinking?!"
"I don't know," Charlie responded. "I just feel that considering Arackniss as a potential option should be part of the discussion."
"Angel's brother is a hitman," Vaggie protested vehemently as she left the kitchen, her focus solely on conveying her concern. The shattered cup and the black-tiled floor were left unnoticed in her wake. "What part of that don't you understand?"
"I understand, Vaggie," Charlie sighed. The entire retreat was starting to feel like a mistake. She had believed that taking Angel out of the city, away from Valentino's immediate reach, would be beneficial for his well-being. A time for him to heal physically and perhaps even address issues he felt he couldn't confront in the city. Yet, the unexpected storm the previous day had triggered his sensitivities, followed by the intense drug withdrawal and its traumatic aftermath. The memory of his body rigidly convulsing and then going limp haunted her still, even though it had lasted only a few excruciating minutes.
"But the truth is, Valentino won't simply let Angel go, no matter what orders I give," Charlie continued, her voice tinged with frustration. "We're going to need external assistance to prevent the Vee's from coming after him. I'm uncertain about Angel's relationship with Arackniss. And I don't want to rely on him if it isn't needed, but having him as an ally might be necessary, even if it's just temporarily."
"Relying on organized crime for assistance is far from advisable," Vaggie emphasized. "While each faction may operate under its own set of regulations and strategies, it's crucial to remember that, despite any facade they maintain, they ultimately remain entrenched in criminal activities."
"Perhaps," Charlie agreed contemplatively. "I'm not inclined to turn to them as a solution unless it becomes an absolute necessity. Nevertheless, Arackniss is a part of Angel's family, and that factor must carry some weight, right? I understand that family bonds don't always translate to genuine care or obligation, but there must be some inherent significance to familial connections." Vaggie remained silent, focusing on tidying up the scattered porcelain fragments. With the present discussion concluded, Charlie switched on the smart TV and launched Voxtube. She was curious about Angel's musical performances and their content. Tetra had mentioned how Angel would immerse himself in his music, even though the performances might not perfectly align with the hotel's message. Still, Charlie felt a need to experience the songs firsthand.
Entering "Angel Dust Songs" into the search bar, a considerable array of options surfaced. Most were renditions of Angel's more popular acts, while others ranged from lyric videos and reaction clips to fan-generated edits. Opting to select a song Angel had performed—specifically, one titled "911"—Charlie began her exploration. This particular track wasn't an original Angel creation, but rather a cover of an artist based in the Human World.
The opening sequence commenced with Angel's gasp, followed by a chilling and harrowing scream that sent shivers down Charlie's spine, causing her to momentarily halt the video. Her reaction was one of uncertainty, as if she needed a moment to decide whether she should proceed and watch further.
"Was that Angel?" Vaggie inquired, her attention drawn to the TV by the piercing scream. She had completed the task of cleaning up the kitchen, but the sound that emanated from the screen immediately grabbed her focus. It resonated with the screams they were accustomed to hearing within the hotel, typically when Angel would awaken from a nightmare. The distinction lay in the fact that within the hotel's layout, certain rooms and corridors didn't entirely muffle the echoes of Angel's distressing cries. Thus, on the first guest floor, these distant wails were impossible to overlook, yet no one could offer any remedy. However, what they were now hearing held a more intense and immediate impact—a visceral cry that wasn't being filtered by any walls or corridors, unignorable and chillingly real.
"Yeah," Charlie confirmed with a shake of her head, then proceeded to press the play button again just as Angel's scream began to subside.
The opening sequence unfolded with Val's voice, initially seeming to be a jumble of incomprehensible words, which then gave way to a resolute command of "Get up." This was followed by the loud cry of "ANGEL!" from the moth demon. In response, Angel sucked in a massive breath of air, subsequently rolling off the bed with a suddenness that suggested he had been deprived of breath for several minutes. His actions were accompanied by violent coughing and desperate gasps, as if he had ceased breathing for a significant stretch of time. Despite the obvious distress the porn star was experiencing, Val disregarded it, treating it as just another element to amplify the drama. "Fucking typical," Val remarked, displaying a lack of concern while Angel's turmoil played out, all while reminding him of his professional obligations, stating, "And while you're still on the clock too."
"What the..." Angel exclaimed, his voice tinged with bewilderment as he grappled with the task of emerging from his disoriented state. "What the fuck?! Where the fuck am I?!"
"You know where you are," Val retorted, his tone carrying an air of casual dismissal, as if he had witnessed Angel indulge in excessive drug use one too many times. "You only took enough for an elephant to OD on shit. Too bad that sort of thing don't stick down here, huh baby? Clean yourself up!" Val's words had a sharp impact on Angel, causing his breathing to hitch, though he staunchly resisted giving Valentino the satisfaction of witnessing him unravel into a puddle of despair. With Val's departure from the room, Angel heaved out a slow exhale, deliberately working to steady himself in solitude.
The song commenced with a haunting melody reminiscent of a music box, setting an eerie atmosphere. As Angel's voice intertwined with the music, it held a breathy and melancholic quality, amplifying the emotionally haunting essence of the composition. His singing carried the weight of someone ensnared within a toxic relationship, desperately yearning for liberation. This desire manifested on multiple levels—both in the symbolic refuge of drugs or oblivion and in the tangible yearning to sever the chains of captivity that bound him. The song's essence resonated with the entangled emotions of entrapment and longing for escape.
Don't think I can take it
With every drama, a piece of me dies
Like some kind of sadist
I think that he likes to see the pain in my eyes
He knows that I'm lovesick
He kissed me and promised I will be alright
We both know it's bullshit
The longer I'm with him the less I'm alive
The song's resonance tugged at Charlie's heartstrings, inflicting a palpable ache as she listened. As Tetra had said, Angel seemed to immerse himself fully in the music, yet beneath the surface, there was an unmistakable plea for assistance woven into his lyrics. It was as if this artistic expression provided him with a sole avenue to voice his yearning for liberation. Even if his anguished cries were destined to be unheard, he channeled his desperate wish to break free from his tormentor through this haunting melody. Shutting off the TV, Charlie stood up and began moving toward the door.
"Charlie," Vaggie inquired, a note of concern evident in her voice. "Where are you going?"
"I can come with you," Vaggie offered.
"No, Vaggie," Charlie stated firmly, her gaze fixed ahead as she closed the door. "I need... I need to be alone right now."
Charlie walked through the estate's grounds, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort as she strolled. She didn't harbor any sense of danger since the Morningstar estate was fortified with an automated weapons system designed to eliminate unauthorized intruders on sight. Moreover, armed guards maintained a constant watch, ensuring that only individuals with proper invitation or clearance could access the mountain estate. Those who managed to evade the initial security measures were promptly intercepted and taken to holding areas for interrogation. Finding herself at a rocky outcrop extending into the lake, Charlie settled down upon it, her gaze troubled as she studied her reflection on the water's surface.
The video she had watched left her with a somber understanding. Though it was clear that the scenes were carefully orchestrated, they held an unsettling degree of authenticity rooted in reality. The interaction portrayed was executed too smoothly to be mere fabrication. What struck Charlie even harder was how Val had perceived the situation as a suicide attempt, yet he treated it as if Angel himself was the issue. Val's mocking assertion that overdosing wouldn't work because Angel was already a soul in Hell underscored his dismissive stance. Even the genuine pain and humiliation Angel had experienced, up until he managed to force a smile for his performance, resonated as undeniably real.
In her reflections, Charlie recognized a relatable element: how Angel was perceived versus the reality he lived. People saw him, yet they didn't truly see him. They perceived the persona he projected, conforming to their expectations and desires. Even when she had first met him, amidst his playful banter, his performance seemed an extension of this public persona. It was only when he interacted with her in particular that he allowed glimpses of his authentic self to surface. The predicament lay in the fact that he had played a specific character for so long that he wasn't even certain if he could be someone else.
In her heart, Charlie recognized that an immediate return of Angel to Pentagram City wasn't a viable option. Given his status as a sinner, entering the other rings of Hell was out of the question. Thanks to Vox, there was nowhere in the Pride Ring that Angel could hide without being tracked down. Keeping him within the hotel would essentially confine him, transforming him into a prisoner. On the other hand, allowing him to move freely around the city would require either Alastor's constant presence or a persistent shadow trailing him. Both scenarios were less than desirable—though implemented for his safety, they would likely make him feel like he was imprisoned or perpetually under surveillance. This wouldn't be markedly different from the situation he had endured under Valentino's dominion. Moreover, the possibility of Val reemerging to forcibly extract Angel from the hotel or worse, erase him entirely, remained a looming threat. Rising from her spot, Charlie carried on along the paved path encircling the lake, lost in her contemplations.
"Hey Charlie," Tetra greeted with a wave from her position outside the estate's kitchens, where she was seated and enjoying a beer.
"Oh, hi," Charlie responded, momentarily snapping out of her reverie. She realized she had inadvertently wandered to the clinic area, her thoughts having consumed her to the point of distraction.
"Here to visit our patient," Tetra remarked with a chuckle. "He was still out like a light the last time I checked."
"I might just do that," Charlie replied with a smile. "And thanks for the muffins earlier, they were delicious."
"You're welcome," the female Hellhound responded, flashing a toothy smile. "If you'd like, I can have some muffins sent over to the cabin for you and your friends to enjoy."
"You don't have to go through the trouble," Charlie remarked as she joined the Hellhound.
"It's honestly not a bother," Tetra reassured. "Around here, the Doc doesn't have much to do except read, and I'm only useful in the sense that I keep the guards well-fed. Besides that, there's not a whole lot happening. Our little world here only really springs to life when Queen Lilith decides to throw one of her extravagant parties."
"I see," Charlie mused, appearing lost in thought for a moment. "You mentioned enjoying some of Angel's music performances, right?"
"Yeah," Tetra nodded. "I find them quite enjoyable. Although, his rendition of '911' is a bit difficult to watch. I assume you've seen that performance?"
"Yes," Charlie replied with a nod. "I'm aware that the initial scene was scripted, but I can sense that there was a real undercurrent to it. The reason my friends and I are here at the estate actually stems from a situation with Valentino."
"Ah, that explains the black eye," Tetra noted, her gaze drifting upwards towards the second floor where the clinic was located. "I'm not personally acquainted with any of the Overlords, but Valentino does strike me as a genuine piece of work. Although, I have to admit that Angel can also display unexpected bursts of violence from time to time."
"I assume you caught that turf war," Charlie remarked. "The one that was unfolding during the interview I used to promote the hotel."
"Oh, I wasn't referring to that," Tetra clarified. "In one of his music videos, he starts off by taking down a whole bunch of thugs in a bar, most of them way bigger than him. Since Vox apparently has a hand in a lot of the media business, I wouldn't be shocked if they used some real footage mixed with staged music performance scenes. And then in the 'Addict' video, there's a quick line where he sort of hints at how he died."
"Huh," Charlie looked up, her curiosity piqued.
"Yeah," Tetra continued. "It's easy to get caught up in the music itself, so you might not really focus on the lyrics. But there's a line in the song where he sort of hints that he OD'ed on some kind of drug, slipped into a coma, and just never woke up."
"I'll definitely check out those music videos when I'm back at the cabin," Charlie replied, rising from her seat. Her gaze shifted to the window she believed belonged to Angel's room, and she noticed the Spider beginning to sit up in bed, indicating that he had just regained consciousness. "I think I'll pay Angel a visit," she declared, her intent clear.
The whole opening to the 911 music video was adapted from a cover video performed by Paranoid DJ, please go check it out on youtube.