As Angel opened his eyes, an inexplicable sense of companionship washed over him. The sight of Charlie in the room didn't startle him; rather, it was the unfamiliar expression of loss and sorrow etched across her face that caught his attention. This demeanor seemed almost out of character for her. Unaware of his awakening, she appeared to be engulfed in some somber introspection, as if grappling with a profound inner turmoil.
His growing concern for Charlie likely stemmed from his brotherly instincts, a natural impulse to protect and care for those he held dear. This reaction didn't surprise him, given that both Charlie and Cherri exhibited qualities that reminded him of his twin sister. Much like Charlie, Molly had always radiated a kind-hearted nature, always seeking the goodness in others. Yet, akin to Cherri, his younger sister possessed a fierce spirit, an unyielding force of independence that rendered her capable of standing up for herself without relying on anyone. Moreover, he couldn't help but acknowledge the similarity to Vaggie as well—Molly's readiness to safeguard those she cherished, even if it meant putting herself in harm's way.
He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the sensation of grit that clung to them. A burgeoning headache signaled the impending need for another benzo injection, a predictable routine to counter the tumultuous waves of withdrawal. He comprehended the necessity of this approach, given that the opiate-based sedatives were strategically employed to temper the most distressing aspects of withdrawal. However, a persistent sentiment gnawed at him—ever since this journey commenced, it seemed as though he had been caught in an unending cycle of slumber. While he appreciated the opportunity to finally find respite from Val's overbearing presence and the constant anticipation of encountering yet another enigmatic client, the notion of remaining bedridden for the duration didn't sit well with him.
His body echoed with yearning, a relentless ache that craved the soothing solace the drugs offered. An involuntary groan escaped his lips as a sudden spasm coursed through his frame, an unwelcome reminder of the internal struggle he was enduring.
"Angel," Charlie's gentle voice broke through as she noticed his awakening. Rising from her spot, she approached the bedside with a compassionate expression. A tender touch landed on his shoulder, a reassuring gesture that communicated her unwavering support during this agonizing ordeal.
"I guess inquiring about my well-being is kinda pointless, ain't it?" Angel quipped, his tone carrying a touch of dry humor. He pushed himself to sit upright once more, only to bow his head between his knees as a surge of weakness swept over him, momentarily overwhelming his senses.
"Wait," Charlie's voice resonated as she moved to leave the room. "I'll go fetch the doctor." Angel felt the urge to call her back, to urge her to stay by his side, but he opted for silence. He understood that she would return soon, yet a disquieting sense of unease lingered in his mind. The loneliest stretches of his existence had occurred during times of solitude, like that one year spent within the confines of a mental hospital. Much of that period remained a haze due to the numerous insulin-induced comas prescribed by doctors, supposedly for his correction. The remaining memories were fragments he'd rather have remained unconscious for. And, of course, he had been alone in the hospital room when death had claimed him.
After a brief interval, the fair-haired figure reappeared, the unease in Angel's heart dissipating at her return.
"Dr. Abaddon will be here shortly," Charlie reassured him with a comforting tone, settling down on the mattress beside him.
"I suppose this ain't exactly what you was hopin' for, huh?" Angel sighed apologetically. Charlie responded with a gentle smile, shaking her head in understanding.
"I'm relieved that you're getting the necessary assistance," Charlie's voice carried a comforting reassurance. "Your priority should be your recovery for now. I had a conversation with Dr. Abaddon earlier about the injections, and we've been considering the idea of you going back to the cabin. Cherri, Vaggie, and I can manage the medical aspects. In fact, we've even discussed the possibility of you and Cherri remaining here instead of returning to the city." Angel tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity rising within him as he sensed there was a specific motive behind Charlie's words. He didn't need to inquire further; he instinctively grasped her reasoning.
"I watched one of your music videos," Charlie began, her gaze not quite meeting his. Angel didn't require specifics to understand the context; the troubled expression that crossed her features gave him a good inkling. Despite his semi-conscious state, he caught snippets of the conversation Charlie was having with Tetra outside the room. Her words and the emotion behind them provided insight enough. Charlie was already well aware of the extent of Valentino's cruelty and the lingering scars he had inflicted. The painful truth was visible in her eyes.
"I'm beginning to question whether all of this was a mistake," she continued, her tone weighed with uncertainty. "It feels like my efforts to bring about positive change have only led to more harm. Tell me this, Angel: would Valentino have committed the atrocities he did... if you hadn't been at the hotel?" Her inquiry hung in the air, laden with a complexity that mirrored the tangled web of emotions surrounding their circumstances.
"It's..." Angel began to respond, but then halted himself, his mind swirling with Charlie's words from the previous night. The memory of her admitting, "I thought I had understood my subjects, maybe... maybe I never actually did," resounded in his thoughts. This realization was at the crux of the issue. Charlie's upbringing had been sheltered, and if his speculations about her father were accurate, it was potentially to her detriment. Lucifer might have been shielding his daughter, an act that may have been borne out of paternal desire to protect his child. However, in doing so, he might have prevented Charlie from comprehending the true nature of her world and the suffering of the Sinners. This deliberate blindness could have set her on a collision course with bitter resentment once the truth inevitably came to light. And the consequences of that discovery were unpredictable at best.
With a renewed sense of determination, Angel's gaze flickered towards to the celestial orb of Heaven that hung in the darkening red sky like a distant moon. The time for dancing around these matters was over. He knew that if Charlie was to genuinely understand the lives of her subjects and effectively lead a place meant to help demons shed their sins, then honesty was imperative—even if it meant swallowing back a torrent of painful truths.
He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and resolved that if there was anyone who should impart these lessons to Charlie, it should be him.
"It ain't something he could use as an excuse." Angel's voice emerged with a strained undertone. Charlie's gasp of astonishment resonated through the air, the revelation from the white-furred demon catching her off guard. If she wished to offer a response, the words remained trapped, for at that very moment, Dr. Abaddon arrived with the awaited benzo shot. The air seemed to hold its breath as the scene unfolded. Charlie observed intently as Angel shifted his gaze away from the locust-like demon, a deliberate movement as the opiate injection was administered. His expression didn't brim with anger or resentment; rather, there was an air of resignation, a familiarity with a situation that had played out countless times before.
"Everything's in order now," Abaddon's calm voice broke through as he skillfully administered the injection, his deft touch ensuring the sedative's thorough diffusion into Angel's system. "That should take effect soon. Rest well, Angel." With a nod towards Charlie, he continued, "Charlotte, I've arranged for transportation to take you back to the cabin. I've also informed Vaggatha of your whereabouts, just in case she was worried."
"Thank you, I'll let you know when I'm headed back to the cabin," Charlie expressed her gratitude sincerely as Dr. Abaddon departed the room. Once he had left, her gaze returned to Angel. The white-furred demon's attention was fixated on the darkened crimson sky, a hue that enveloped the surroundings in a velvety blackness. In this moment, the two sat in companionable silence, a shared presence amidst the quietude that embraced the room.
"No need for you to hang around here." Angel suggested gently as he eased himself back against the pillows. His eyelids drooped slightly, a telltale sign that the injection was already beginning to exert its soporific influence.
"If that's okay with you," Charlie responded, "I'd like to stay until I'm certain you're asleep."
"Your call," Angel replied, his tone relaxed. "But just so you know, I won't be the most talkative company."
"We don't have to talk," Charlie reassured softly, her touch tender as she enveloped one of Angel's hands in her own, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Just having some company might help." Angel regarded her with a quizzical look, the deeper shade of his mismatched eyes holding a hint of inquiry before he returned his attention to the panorama beyond.
Charlie found herself pondering the dynamics of his gaze. It was as if his darker eye held a unique insight, an ability to perceive nuances that were invisible to others—a capacity to gauge motives and intentions hidden beneath the surface. If that were true, it might offer insight into why Angel struggled to trust. He could, in a sense, see through people, discerning their true nature. But beyond that, it was undeniable that Angel had suffered a barrage of pain—physical, emotional, mental, and verbal—from others. His ability to endure and maintain a semblance of sanity was a testament to his inner strength.
Even the flamboyant and self-centered persona he donned to shield his vulnerabilities was no longer an impenetrable defense. Charlie recognized that beneath that façade was a soul that yearned for connection and healing. And perhaps, just perhaps, her presence here could serve as a small step toward providing some of that solace.
With a soft sigh followed by the steady rhythm of Angel's breathing, Charlie could tell that the white-furred demon had finally succumbed to sleep. He lay in a deep slumber, his face turned toward the window. Rising quietly from her seat, Charlie moved toward the door, her intention to inform Dr. Abaddon that she was ready to leave for the cabin. As her fingers were about to flick off the light, a subtle shift in the room drew her attention back to Angel.
In the dim light, she observed him stir in his slumber, his body curling into a protective ball beneath the blankets, as though seeking refuge from an unseen torment. His breathing grew uneven and ragged, his eyelids twitching as if he was wrestling with distressing thoughts. It was a poignant reminder of the previous night, when she had found him in a similar fetal position after he had fainted, a child-like voice desperately pleading with his father to cease whatever he had been enduring.
Recalling the Spider demon's responsiveness to gentle gestures of comfort, Charlie reapproached the bed. Her hand extended, she delicately brushed aside the cascade of fur obscuring his face. Yet, her act was met with a sharp gasp of astonishment as if a jolt had surged through her. The instant her skin made contact with his fur, an overwhelming torrent of emotions coursed through her, a flood of pain, grief, fear, and humiliation that emanated from Angel as though he was engulfed in an intense emotional fever. It was a revelation that transcended her previous understanding of his struggles.
She was acutely aware that Angel had been in pain since the moment they had met, but this was an intensity beyond anything she had anticipated. As she gazed at him with softened crimson eyes, she recollected the conversations she had overheard—the mention of Angel Dust as a drug people turned to when they sought to numb their anguish. Cherri's candid admission about Angel's use of the drug to cope with the horrors of Valentino's actions became increasingly significant.
It seemed evident that, without the crutch of his drug use to shield him from his anxieties, his emotions were coming to the surface with unabated force. And in that moment, Charlie realized the magnitude of the challenges that lay ahead, but she also recognized the importance of her presence in his life, of helping him find healthier ways to confront and overcome his pain.
With a tentative resolve, Charlie extended her hand once more, her fingers lightly traversing through the delicate strands of fur that doubled as Angel's hair. The connection rekindled the undercurrent of pain and distress that enveloped him, but she also noticed a subtle shift as time progressed. His tumultuous emotions seemed to recede slightly, the wave of agony gradually giving way to a modicum of tranquility.
As her touch persisted, Angel's restlessness appeared to subside, his tense form gradually relaxing against the bed. Charlie's presence, her gentle touch, seemed to resonate with him on a deeper level, fostering an environment in which his tormented soul could find a measure of solace. It was a simple act, yet it held the promise of a bond formed through empathy and understanding—an unspoken alliance to confront the scars of the past together.
In his slumber, Angel whimpered softly, "Please... don't ditch me alone here."
"I'm here for you, if you want me to stay," Charlie said in a calm and reassuring tone. Leaning down, she gently placed a sisterly kiss against his temple. She pulled up the chair she had used before and settled into it, taking one of Angel's hands between her own so he could feel her presence as he slumbered. The emotional turmoil he had been going through was no longer evident, but that didn't mean it had disappeared entirely. How long had he endured and carried this burden? Was it the seventy years in Hell or a culmination of the hundred years he had existed in general?
Respecting the boundaries, she refrained from curling up beside him, recognizing the physical connection Angel shared with Cherri. She chose not to check if the bed Vaggie had used was vacant, knowing their history of clashes. While her offer to be a comforting presence during his sleep was genuine, it underscored the emotional distance between her and Angel. Charlie folded her arms over the mattress, rested her head, and closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of repose.
As Dr. Abaddon passed by, he discovered Charlie in a serene slumber, prompting him to wonder why she hadn't signaled her readiness to depart. He calmly reached out and switched off the light, about to leave when he noticed a subtle glow surrounding Angel's figure. A smile, tinged with a lack of surprise, curved across the lips of the Locust Demon. He turned and made his way back to his office, carrying with him a knowing assurance.
Muttering to himself, Abaddon remarked, "Your daughter is quite something, Luci." He continued, "But so were you, after you took over my post following your rebellion. Before your fall...I used to be master of this realm." Seating himself in his chair, he gazed up at a portrait where he stood alongside Lucifer, who proudly held Charlie as an infant in his arm. Calmly, the doctor lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke. "I wish you had revealed your true nature to her...sooner or later, your siblings in Heaven will uncover the truth about their niece, especially with this Hotel she's running. Not all of them will assume she's as harmless as she appears."
Charlie's eyes fluttered open as the early morning reds of the Pride Rings Sky brightened the room. The first thing she noticed was the crick in her neck, a result of sleeping in such an uncomfortable position for several hours. She massaged the spot where her spine met her skull and rolled her shoulders to loosen them, gradually becoming aware of her surroundings. She remembered choosing to stay at the clinic and turned her attention toward Angel, who was peacefully asleep.
Reaching out, she gently picked up one of the strands of hair that ombred from white into a soft dusty pink. Just a couple of days ago, she had noticed the color had dulled to a grayed pink tone. Even the freckles on Angel's face had faded considerably due to recent events, but now both his fur and freckles had regained their normal healthy color. Letting go of the strand of hair, she lightly began to run her thumb over the reddish-pink dots beneath Angel's closed eyes. She recoiled as the sleeping demon winced, as though her touch had caused him pain in some way. He rolled over, now sprawled on his back against the pillows.
To Charlie's astonishment, much of the darkened and swollen bruising around Angel's right eye had healed. At best, there were only patches of yellowish discoloration left. She carefully lifted the neckline of Angel's shirt and noticed that many of his injuries had either faded significantly or vanished entirely. But how was this possible? Angel was just an ordinary sinner, right? Why would he suddenly heal so rapidly? It didn't quite add up. While some injuries could heal quickly, especially with proper diet and sufficient sleep to fuel the healing process, Angel's injuries had been so severe that it was a wonder he had even managed to make it to the hotel before passing out.
"I'll be right back," Charlie announced, rising to her feet, a mixture of needing to stretch her legs and the pressing urgency of her bladder prompting her movement. She gave Angel's face a gentle stroke, conveying reassurance. The spider-like demon responded by tilting his face into her touch, akin to a cat enjoying a tender petting. Charlie's smile, touched with a hint of melancholy, made her ponder how few times Angel had likely received any form of affection.
Stepping away from the bed, she cast one final look at Angel before exiting the room, her thoughts wandering as she walked.
Brushing away unshed tears from her eyes, she walked out onto the deck and drew in a deep breath of the morning air. Her gaze wandered, taking in the beauty of the lakeside estate and the sprawling wilderness that stretched across Hell's landscape.
"Can I axe ya somethin'? How did ya come to da idea dat demons can be redeemed?"
Angel's recent question echoed in her mind, the query from just days ago about why she believed demons could be redeemed. It felt peculiar to hear such inquiries coming from him in particular. While the majority of Hell regarded her hotel as a joke, even Alastor had openly stated his skepticism about the possibility of redeeming Hellbound souls. However, the memory of Angel looking toward the celestial expanse of Heaven during their conversation the previous night lingered. She sensed a longing within him, a yearning for something or someone he believed to be present there. Yet there was also an awareness of the potential sacrifices that might be required if his aspirations didn't bear fruit.
Reflecting on her response to Angel's question, Charlie grappled with the balance between her desire for honesty and her concern for the well-being of her people. While she wished to be truthful, she recognized the need to protect her residents' interests. Yet, a nagging doubt tugged at her, questioning whether she was merely creating excuses and justifications to mask a deeper truth. Perhaps she had failed to truly consider if she should have pursued more than merely holding out the promise of Heaven to those she aimed to aid.
Husk and Niffty crossed her mind. She pondered their perspectives on the hotel's purpose. Husk's attitude seemed tied to his association with Alastor; he wasn't particularly fond of the job or the establishment, but as long as he could indulge in his drinks undisturbed, he seemed content. Niffty, on the other hand, appeared happy just to be of use and showed no strong opinions about the hotel itself.
Vaggie offered unwavering support, yet her approach often bore an air of caution, particularly concerning matters concerning the Hotel. Doubts sometimes crept into her mind regarding the feasibility of her girlfriend's ambitious redemption project. A twinge of skepticism arose from within her, a result of her own experience as a sinner, acknowledging the peril that came with the annual exterminations.
Charlie held a strong conviction against the ruthless erasure of any sinner by the Exterminators. However, it was Vaggie who held the greatest place in the Hellborn Princess's heart when she envisioned her grand hotel. The thought of eternity alongside Vaggie was a cherished aspiration, yet the looming reality of her eventual ascension to Hell's throne and the responsibility of producing a suitable heir couldn't be denied.
Even with her immortality, Charlie recognized the inevitability of Vaggie's departure. This understanding didn't quell her longing for her beloved, but it prompted a bittersweet acceptance. Her desire for Vaggie's everlasting happiness prevailed over her own selfishness. The idea of her partner finding solace in a tranquil and contented realm, far removed from the entwining agonies of Hell, offered her a measure of comfort.
Thus, Charlie's devotion to Vaggie led her to hope for a harmonious afterlife for her, away from the tapestry of tormented demon souls forever stitched into the fabric of Hell.
Cherri had expressed her thoughts with a directness that bordered on bluntness, her criticism cutting through like a blade. She had dissected the hotel and deconstructed Charlie's efforts, leaving no stone unturned. But as the Hellborn Princess contemplated Cherri's words, a pang of empathy washed over her. Cherri's critique wasn't born out of malice; it was rooted in fear, an instinctual response to witnessing her dearest companion, Angel, wrestling with torment in the depths of Hell. In the face of such powerlessness, Cherri's fears manifested as a barrage of harsh words.
The bond between Angel and Cherri was one forged through trials and camaraderie. Years of shared laughter and unspoken support created a connection that was as delicate as it was strong. Charlie, with her heart as wide as her ambition for redemption, understood the undercurrent of Cherri's apprehension. It wasn't just about the hotel; it was about the shifting dynamics of their friendship, the growing cast of characters in Angel's life, and the unease that perhaps she was no longer essential in the demon's world.
In the wake of Cherri's unfiltered honesty, Charlie's once bright eyes dimmed with sadness. While her and Vaggie's concerns about Cherri's impulsiveness and brash reactions held validity, they now found themselves questioning their own approach. Maybe, just maybe, they had been too swift to exclude Cherri from the call with Valentino upon their arrival at the mountain estate. Their intentions had been valid, aiming to shield the delicate situation from unnecessary derailment. But had they missed the mark in understanding Cherri's loyalty and her potential to be a staunch ally?
A sigh escaped Charlie's lips as she contemplated the past events and her own actions. In the larger tapestry of their challenges, it was easy to overlook the finer threads of their relationships. And as her empathy resonated with Cherri's unspoken fears, Charlie wondered if she and Vaggie had overlooked an opportunity for open dialogue. Perhaps they could have included Cherri in the conversation, communicated their intentions, and highlighted the need for discretion. Instead of jumping to conclusions, they could have shown faith in Cherri's understanding and loyalty.
Yet, Cherri's previous outbursts had seemed incongruous amidst the current turmoil. Admittedly, she had raised valid points – her knowledge of the sinners was limited to their human past, and her grasp of Heaven's true nature was equally uncertain. Her logic rested on a simple assumption: if Hell housed the wicked, Heaven must surely cradle the virtuous. But could it genuinely be the serene sanctuary she envisioned, or a realm veiling its corruption beneath an illusory calm?
Even Angel in his own way had advised caution, suggesting Charlie was hurtling into this concept recklessly. Her zeal to validate demon redemption blinded her to the scarcity of tangible evidence supporting such a notion. Could it be that Heaven, perhaps adopting a complacent approach, annually purged demons under the guise of population control? If so, their willingness to accept redeemed demons remained questionable.
A solitary tear traced a path down her cheek, borne from the frustration of her internal struggle. She yearned for an emissary from Heaven, an interlocutor to unravel the enigma of the celestial realm. Charlie longed for a presence to confide in, to gain insight into the fabric of Heaven's existence.