Masquerade

When Delilah awake, Jameson isn't waiting for her. Concerned and curious, she makes her way back through the woods the same way that Jameson took her the night before. When she reaches the creek she steps lightly onto the shallow bed of rocks and slips through, landing once more next to the little boy with the melted finger and missing jaw. She spots Jameson's familiar figure a ways down the path and hurries to catch up.

He's startled to see her, and she's not entirely sure he's pleased. They eye each other for a little while before he gives her a worn smile. She instantly goes on the alert, noting his pale features (pale for a vampire) and drawn face. Leaves are scattered in his hair.

"What happened to you?" she inquires.

"Don't worry about it. Come on, I'll show you a little bit more of the world tonight." Jameson replies, avoiding any further eye contact.

This time they walk past his family's house and soon they're surrounded by fields and hills. Delilah sighs, bored with the scenery two minutes into the tour. If she'd known that the rest of the world consisted simply of fields and grass, she wouldn't have bothered. She could be using this time to search for the curious little head witch she connected eyes with the other night. A man rides by casually on a horse with a missing eye and torn nose.

"This is it, countryside and broken horses with demons atop their backs?"

"No there's more over this hill. There isn't just one town down here, Delilah." he informs, his voice tired with a hint of annoyance within. She scowls at him but he doesn't see.

When they've ascended the hill, a gasp struggles its way out of her lips. The town below is larger than the one they've just come from, and it resembles her initial suspicion of what an underworld should look like. But it's a small resemblance, else living there would be impossible. Shaking herself of unnecessary fears, she follows Jameson down the steep hill.

Quicker than anticipated they arrive to the village and the looks they receive aren't curious but hostile. The demons, witches and supernatural’s inhabiting this town are unlike the previous ones. They have no urge to get to know the pair of them, though she suspects Jameson already knows quite a few. A thought strikes her then and she grabs his sleeve eagerly.

"What if my murderers are here, Jameson?"

Jameson eyes her carefully before shrugging, leading her farther into the town. The deeper they get, the hotter the temperature is. The people milling about inside are filthy and weak looking, their hair hanging on in random clumps. There's nary a person who isn't smeared with some sort of substance be it dirt or feces. Wrinkling her nose, they trek up to a man seated on the filthy dirt road. Horns you'd see in a child’s description of the devil stick from the mess of hair atop his head.

"Charles it’s good to see you. How's work been?" Jameson asks, nudging the man with his foot.

"James, how ya been? Works been slow but ain't it always?" The man, Charles, responds.

Jameson nods slowly before grasping Delilah's hand and dragger her further inside. Once they reach what must be considered the town square, he sits at a picnic table and Delilah sits across from him. She's eager to learn what he has to tell her now, things he didn't have time to inform her of the night before.

"So do you think my murderers could be in this village?" she asks hopefully.

Jameson sighs wearily, running his fingers across his face and through his hair. Leaves fall to the ground around him. "They could be but don't get your hopes up, Delilah. If they were in the world above back then it means they were the select few people who actually escaped this place in death; which means that they aren't stuck here, and they've no ties to the place."

The hope inside Delilah deflates and she feels as bitter as she did three days before when she never even knew Jameson or of this world. Suddenly the last place she wants to be is down here, sitting across from someone who let her get her hopes up only to crush them. She scowls at his face for a good, long moment before speaking.

"Where do you sleep at night? You always disappear without a trace and always at moments when I have no time to follow you. Are you one of the wicked, Jameson? Or have you stayed down here past dawn, destined to reside down here for the rest of eternity?"

He stares at her, his mouth slightly agape. "You're just full of questions. Where do you come up with all of these? Do you dream them up in your sleep?"

"Don't avoid the question, Jameson. Where do you sleep? Are you damned?"

He chuckles darkly. "We're all damned, Delilah."

"Just answer my question."

"Yes, I am one of those. But because of who my father is, I'm allowed to roam the world at night, which is how we've stumbled across each other."

"So you have to spend forever down here, stuck with the same people until another damned person dies, another vengeful person full of hate?"

“You got it," Jameson replies staring off over her shoulder. "It's a horrible life to live, actually. Because though I'm cheerful most the time, I have hate and vengefulness coursing through my veins, replacing the blood that was once stolen from me so long ago."

"How were you murdered?" Delilah whispers, her hand absently sliding across the table towards him. He ignores it gracefully.

"Do you really want to know? because I'm not going to tell you unless you want to know. It's a horribly bloody tale, and one that rarely gets told. In fact my father tells it better, the expert story teller that he is."

"Let's go see your father then, I want to know. You know how I died," she pauses, mulling this over. "In fact everybody knows how I die and yet I know how nobody else has died."

Jameson smiles slightly at this, a ghost of his familiar smile. "Like I said yesterday, you're quite the celebrity with how effortlessly you've escaped this place. Add to that the fact that you never let a chance to kill a look-a-like of everyone you once knew, plus men at masquerade balls."

Delilah's eyes widen, startled at this newfound knowledge. "That's it? That's why I'm famous, because of my vengeful rage? But everyone down here has that amount of murderous intent inside of them, and I'm not the only one who has escaped this place. What makes me so different, why are people so interested in me down here?"

He blinks rapidly, an eyebrow raised high above one bright blue eye. "I just told you, Delilah. Would you perhaps listen to me sometimes?" he laughs and stands from the table.

Annoyed, Delilah follows suit and together they head deeper into the most evil of villages. Once they've reached a river of boiling water, Jameson glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "This river doesn't lead to the world above, but to another further below us. This is the river that the most condemned go to. We waste no time in housing the most terrible of demons and supernatural’s here. They get sent to the devil himself."

Laughter bubbles within her chest but when she realizes he's serious she swallows it back down. "So the devil really does exist? It's not just something the bible and God freaks make up? Or all those atheists, they're really worshiping the devil and not some imaginary being?"

This time he does crack a smile and as they turn away from the river he responds. "They worship the devil and sometimes they worship us. On days when we're feeling goofy, in the mood for a good laugh we actually answer back. If you listen really hard you can hear faded chants of those trying to contact anybody down here."

Delilah strains her ears, listening hard for the said chants. She hears none but shrugs it off. They walk in silence for a little bit longer until a short man with a balding head approaches them. Jameson seems aggravated and nervous, but Delilah merely smiles at the little man.

"You're her, the woman who slays all. The one that they wa-"

"Leave us alone man, we're not interested." Jameson interrupts, grabbing Delilah's arm and yanking her forward. "Crazy people down here, mumbling nonsense all the time." he informs when they're further away.

"My skin is getting tingly, Jameson. Dawn is coming, and it's approaching fast. How far away is the river?" she asks, fear creeping into her voice.

Jameson's face blanks and he continues walking in silence, his head bent slightly. When he doesn't answer after awhile she shoves him hard in the back. He glares hard at her, his lips lifted in a toothy snarl.

“What the fuck was that for?" He demands, stepping towards her in a threatening way.

"How far is the river, Jameson? Why did you take me so far in when dawn was approaching all the while? That can't honestly be the only way in and out of here..."

He shakes his head sadly, a sarcastic smile stretching his lips. His eyes sparkle mischievously and an unsettled feeling takes hold of her stomach.

"No, no, no. You did it on purpose. You're a traitor; you've been a traitor all along. They don't let you above because of who your father is, they let you above because they wanted to capture me. Once damned, forever damned, right?"

"You'll never make it to the river before dawn, Delilah. You might as well not even try to fight. There's people stationed all around down here, waiting to stop you if you try to leave. They've been trained to delay you however long it takes. You belong down here, D. You're damned and vengeful like the rest of us." Jameson replies his voice flat and without emotion.

"I don't want to be down here!" She shouts and her voice cracks. "I don't belong down here; I shouldn't even exist right now. If I had lived past my twenty-first I would have raised a generation of kids who would've raised another generation, continuing the line in my family. You're a treacherous jerk."

He laughs coldly, his eyes hard. "That's the best you have? I'm a 'treacherous jerk', huh?" his eyes roll around in his sockets, landing once more on her. He spits the fangs in his mouth out, wiping his hand across his lips. "Do you realize how easy it was for me to make you think I was like your kind? I'm better than your kind, Delilah. I'm a wizard, and you're nothing but a filthy slave to me."

Shocked, she backs up quickly, her head shaking back and forth vigorously. "No, you said witches and vampires are alike in power, that we share the top of the ladder, the totem pole, what have you."

"Honestly!" Jameson says, erupting in laughter. "I lied about everything else; you think I'm going to have told the truth about that? You have to be the biggest idiot I have ever captured in my entire lifetime!"

As the sun above them lowers further, dipping dangerously low to the horizon, Delilah's skin becomes abuzz as if insects were crawling beneath the surface of her skin, trying to get out. There's no way she'd make it to the river, with or without the people stationed to distract and delay her. If she had a heart it would be breaking and shattering, upset at the sudden unseen trickery.

"You seemed like a decent person at first, Jameson Benedict. I thought I found someone to share secrets and wonders with, but you're just as indecent as everyone else down here and up there. You're in it for yourself and yourself alone, you don't care who you hurt."

"That's what happens when you're damned to an eternity of ruling an underworld. It's kill or be killed, that's the way of life Delilah. And your life up above, amongst the humans, is over."

Upon his last uttered words the sun sets completely, and Delilah collapses to the dirt below into a deep slumber, one that is impossible to wake from until the moon, or rather sun, rises again.