13

*** Trigger Warning: This chapter contains depiction of violence. Please take care when reading. ***

The club enjoyed much success in the coming weeks, and Isobel along with it. She became somewhat of a novelty. Her green eyes and living appearance struck a chord with the citizens of Hell. They came to gawk, but stayed for the entertainment.

Isobel allowed herself to fall into her new found role. The time she spent obsessing over finding a way back to the land of the living became smaller and smaller. There were even a few days she didn't think about it at all. She read her books by day, sang her songs by night, and seemed to discover a very unlikely contentment.

After one particularly good night, Isobel met Angel and Cherri at the club's bar. The two were generally there until closing and then they all would walk back to the hotel together.

"I got to grab my stuff, real quick, then we can go," Isobel said, heading backstage.

"Take your time," Angel said, obviously drunk off his ass and practically falling off the barstool. Cherri laughed and ordered them both one more shot for the road. As Angel threw his back, Cherri drew his attention, pointing toward the door Isobel had just disappeared through.

"What do you think is going on there?"

Most people had already left. The show was over, the dinners and drinks consumed, and it was time for the various couples to move their evenings behind closed doors. Or out in public, whatever, no judgment. However, a band of 6 rat faced sinners lingered behind. They were talking to one of the club's bouncers.

"Oh hey, I know them," Angel said, though he had drunk so much that he wasn't sure if there were actually 6 of them or if he was seeing double. "Yeah, they were at the studio the other day."

"Oh, you know them, huh?" Cherri emphasized the word 'know' to clearly indicate her double meaning.

"Nah, not like that," Angel was not his usual joking self, something was bothering him. "Val, sold them a 'private screening' with a few of the girls."

"Sounds like a party."

"Not really," he now looked very serious. "Not for the girls anyway. I don't know what they're into, but whatever it was, those girls came out of it with black eyes and bruises."

The head rat then produced a large wad of money from his breast pocket and handed it to the bouncer, who looked at it with a crooked smile. He flipped through the bills and then, when satisfied, pocketed the money as he opened the backstage door. The 6 rat boys smiled sinisterly as they entered. Angel looked back at Cherri, they each shared a look of deep concern.

"I gotta do something," Angel said, standing up, but as he did a dizzy spell overwhelmed him. He had self medicated too much and now he would be useless in a fight. Cherri was in the same state. She held onto Angel as he sat back down.

Think, Angel, he frantically said in his head. Through the heavy fog of alcohol, he got an idea. He fumbled with his phone and tried to text. No good, he wasn't seeing straight. He instead hit a contact with his thumb and the phone started to dial.

"Who are you calling?" Cherri asked. Her singular eye had not left the door this whole time.

"I'm calling Husk."

Cherri sneered. "What's he going to do?"

"It's not about what he's going to do, " Angel said, holding the phone to his ear. "It's about who he's going to tell."

Isobel hummed to herself as she collected her things and placed them in her bag. She was just about to change to her boots when she heard her dressing room door open and close again. She looked up and saw the same rat faced sinner that had been haunting the club all week.

"I think you're lost," she said darkly. This was getting out of hand now.

"Not lost," he assured her. "Just came back to tell you how great you were tonight." He looked her up and down. "You looked great."

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Isobel moved past him to the door. "But you're not allowed to be back here."

She grabbed the knob of the door and pushed it open, but it didn't move. It was stuck like someone from the other side was holding it closed. She slowly turned around as the realization of what was about to happen came crashing down on her. She immediately started to search for something, anything that could make a good weapon.

"Don't worry," he said, drawing too close. "It's just you and me." He reached out to touch her, but Isobel jerked away. She grabbed a chair and moved it between her and the rat. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears now as her adrenaline coursed through her muscles.

"Get out," she said as forcable as she could, but he did not heed her words and continued to advance.

"I don't like playing games." He placed both hands on the chair, Isobel's only barrier. "And this playing hard to get thing is old." In one quick movement he tossed the chair aside, sending it careening across the floor. Isobel tried to back up and retreat, but she was met by the wall at her back. There was nowhere to go and he was now between her and the door.

She tried to say 'stop' but before the word was out of her mouth, the rat had her by the throat. He squeezed hard, and Isobel's fight reflexes kicked in. She clawed, first at his hand and then at his face. He was too far away to reach his eyes, so in desperation she grabbed a handful of whiskers and pulled hard.

It was obviously a sensitive area as he flinched back and loosened his grip. Isobel coughed and gasped. She tried to kick out, hoping to push him back and put some distance between the two. However, it didn't land and instead the rat grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the ground. Before she could scramble away, he was on top of her. He grabbed her jaw to hold her still and punched her in the face.

Stars exploded in her vision. For a moment she lost all sense of where she was or what was happening. All she felt was pain in her face and all she heard was a ringing in her ears. As the ringing quieted and her senses came back to her, she could suddenly feel a weight on top of her, hot breath on her neck, and a hand up her skirt.

Her brain screamed, do something, do anything! Her hands reached out, blindly searching. Her fingers finally found something sharp. In the scuffle, a bottle must have fallen off the vanity and crashed, leaving glass shards. She grabbed one and with all her force sunk it into her attacker's shoulder.

He yelled out in pain and frustration. He sat up long enough to pull the broken shard from his muscle and for Isobel to crawl away. She got to her feet, but had no time to react as he was on her again. He pushed her over the vanity and pinned her against the mirror, the force of which caused it to crack and splinter.

Isobel tried to punch, and claw, and kick, but her mortal form was no match for the strength of an immortal soul.

She screamed, "get the fuck off of me." To which she received a slap across the face. She was dazed again and could do nothing as he wrapped his hands around her throat.

All feeling left her at that moment. She knew she was bleeding. She knew he was slamming her over and over against the wall, but none of the pain registered. All she could feel was the desperation for a breath.

Her vision started to blur and her brain went numb. This was it, a violent end in a violent, wretched place.

But then suddenly the grip strangling the life from her released. A loud roar from just outside the door had distracted the rat. As he turned, the door blew open with a force that tore hinges apart.

Behind it, silhouetted in a green glow, a formidable figure appeared. Both hands placed neatly on his cane before him, ears tall and alert, a glint of light winked off of his monocle.

"My, my, this is quite the scene," Alastor said. The buzz and crackle of his radio seemed to be turned up to eleven. "I would suggest you unhand the lady. I believe she has made it very clear that she is not enjoying whatever it is that you are doing."

The rat snarled back, "this ain't any of your business."

Alastor shrugged, "I supposed not. I guess I can leave then." He turned to walk away and Isobel's heart sank. But then, as if he had just thought of something, stopped. "Or," he turned back to face them, his eyes now flashing radio dials. "I could destroy you for the fun of it. One option sounds far superior than the other."

"Fine, fine." The rat said it like this was just a mild disappointment. He released Isobel and she took several shaky steps forward. She didn't want to turn her back on him, but if she could just get to Alastor, put him between her and this piece of filth, she would be ok.

She took a few more steps and looked up at Alastor's face. His eyes were firmly locked on to the sinner behind her. As she looked up, movement just over Alastor's shoulder drew her attention. Out of the green fog one of the other rat gangsters appeared. He had a scowl on his pointed face and a 45 revolver in his claw-like hand. He pointed it point-blank at Alastor's head.

Isobel screamed and covered her eyes as the shot rang out.

Oh, God, what was happening? Her mind spiraled out of control. It couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening, not again. She thought she had out ran it, the disaster that always seemed to follow her. But here it was again, always creeping up behind her leaving victims in her wake. Now Alastor was one of those victims.

She sank to her knees. She wanted to cry, puke, scream, anything to rid herself of the pit she felt inside.

Arms wrapped around her waist and she was lifted off the floor and dragged out of the dressing room. She kicked and screamed and fought like a wild cat, but she could not free herself. When she finally opened her eyes she was in the front room of the club amongst tables and chairs. Everyone had long since been ushered out at closing time.

The six rat faced sinners surrounded her, and Isobel knew this was the end. Breathing heavy and completely exhausted from fighting with all her might, she had nothing left in her. They dumped her on the floor. She sat panting and miserable.

Her eyesight started flashing and it took her a moment to realize that it wasn't eyes, but actual lights of the club flickering and then failing one by one. In the gloom a faint 'tsk, tsk, tsk' could be heard.

"Ah, guns, the great equalizer," Alastor's voice floated out of the darkness. "Or a compelling facade used by those who do not wield any true power."

A single light sparked, cutting the darkness like a knife. Like a spotlight, it pooled in the middle of the dance floor where Alastor stood patiently waiting. Isobel didn't believe her eyes.

A rat grabbed her by her hair, now fallen and tangled, and pulled her to her feet.

"For fuck's sake." he said, dragging her to the dance floor. "No snatch is worth this much trouble. You want her so bad, take her."

He threw her forward, and she stumbled into Alastor who caught her easily, holding her fast.

Her eyes had not lied to her. He was real and alive. The cloud of disaster that followed her did not claim him as its victim after all. He was, of course, too clever and powerful.

She put her hands on him making sure that he was tangible and not just a mirage. She didn't know why, maybe it was because she was so relieved that he was alive. Maybe she was overwhelmed with gratitude. Maybe the events of the night put her sanity over the edge. She didn't know why, but Isobel rocked forward onto her toes, wrapped her arms around Alastor's neck and kissed him.

She kissed him with all of the strength she had left.

Alastor was surprised by her reaction. He did not expect for her to let emotion get the best of her, but he did not reject her, instead he kept his eyes fixed on the 6 miscreants before him.

As she pulled away, he could taste her blood in his mouth from a split lip. He glanced down and made connection with her eyes. There he did not see fear or panic as he had expected. Instead a terrible fury raged making her eyes glow like green fire.

She looked at him with a meaningful glare and said in a strong, clear voice, "do it."

Alastor's lethal smile widened as he reached out a hand and snapped his fingers, then the whole of his power broke loose. The shadows themselves came alive like tentacles. The shot out like spears impaling all in their path. Some writhed like snakes wrapping, squeezing, crushing.

Alastor wrapped an arm around Isobel as she held on and buried her face in his shoulder. She clasped her eyes tight as a mighty wind blew up around them whipping her hair. Unfortunately, she could not close her ears, and through the roar of the wind she heard the shattering of glass, breaking of bones, tearing of flesh. She heard the cries and pleas for mercy. And above it all Alastor's wicked laugh.

Eventually, the wind died and Alastor relaxed his hold on her. Whatever had happened was over.

Isobel blinked and released her grip on Alastor's jacket. Her knuckles cracked as she did, she was holding on so tight. She stepped away and turned in a slow circle, surveying the destruction that surrounded them.

Every piece of glass was shattered including windows. The tables and chairs lay in broken piles. Holes were punched through walls. And then there was the blood. Splatters ran up the walls and across the floor generally accompanied by body parts. Isobel looked up and saw an oversized rat head stuck in one of the chandeliers. She took a step back and slipped in a puddle of blood.

Looking down at herself she realized she was not immune to the carnage. Splashes of blood trailed across her dress and bared skin.

"I… I," she stuttered as she turned back to Alastor, who's expression was that of quiet satisfaction. He smiled at her and adjusted his coat.

As he studied her face in that moment he saw something that truly surprised him.

Without a word, she suddenly turned away from him and walked, bare feet over broken glass, as fast as she could out the door. She didn't stop when she got outside. She didn't even realize that Angel and Cherri were waiting, both with perplexed expressions.

Angel tried to call to her, but Isobel broke into a run. Only one thought pushed her onward, she had to get back to the hotel. She had to get to her room, lock the door, shut herself away.

A pain in her chest made her stumble. It felt like her heart was imploding. She made her feet continue and started counting her breaths.

One, two.

The streets were a blur, she couldn't focus on anything but her need to get to the hotel.

Three, four.

Her feet left a trail of red smudges.

Five, six.

She threw herself through the front doors.

Seven.

Up the stairs.

Eight.

Down the hallway.

Nine.

And into her room.

Ten.

She stopped as the door locked behind her, and collapsed on the floor.