A Hand in Hell

The kitchen ceiling above me was beautifully familiar, if a bit blinding, lit up by the overhead light as it was. I sat up with a groan and tried to remember just what had happened, just why I had to pretty much pry my fingers apart, just why every little tiny fiber of my being throbbed with a dull pain. It was easy to figure out why my fingers were stuck together and my limbs stiff — they were coated in dried blood and caked together — but this raised more questions than it answered, and I groaned again.

"Fuck, I hate days like this," I mumbled as I slowly got to my feet, cringing all the way up. My eyes landed on the half-full glass of booze on the counter, and I ran to it like a privileged, alcoholic white girl who had been stuck in the Sahara for a week straight without her daddy's scotch to steal. It was warm, and it burned all the way down, but I didn't think I'd ever had a better drink in my life.

I came up for air only when the bottom of the glass came into view, and panting, I sent my gaze over the kitchen. It was clean but for the spot where I'd been lying, even the place where Dexter's body had —

Fucking hell. Dexter.

"Dexter!" I called, my voice rougher than I'd been expecting. Jesus Christ. Maybe I should've taken the time to drink some water or something. "Are you still here, baby girl?" I clinked the glass back onto the counter and strode quickly out the kitchen door, lips pursed as I scanned the living room for any signs of life. "You made me all excited that I might come to with your pretty face nearby. Where have you gone, my pretty pet? Are you just trying to take an old woman's last joy away?"

I heard the creak of a door opening behind me, and I turned just as Dexter's voice filled the room. "I said I would stay," she said softly, and I found her standing in the basement doorway. She held up her cell phone, the screen glowing to show the list of contacts she'd just called, and the cold determination in her nearly expressionless face sent an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. "But I'm not your prisoner anymore."

"And you expect this to go well for you?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. She was wearing a new outfit, a pair of clean jeans and a skintight green T-shirt with faded white writing, but the purple collar with the bell on it was still around her neck. I wasn't sure why I noticed. "If you've given away my location, I'll kill you where you stand."

The corners of her lips twitched upward in a gentle smile, and the shift in her demeanor made me both uncomfortable and confused. "You won't," she said, and her phone's screen faded to black before she shoved it in the front pocket of her jeans. "It'd be a waste after you nearly died saving my life."

I felt my lips tighten, a glare furrowing my brow. "It's not like I did it for you, you silly bint," I said haughtily. "Don't let it go to your head."

She laughed lightly, and her boldness only further soured my mood. I needed another drink. Like, now. "Whatever," she said, leaving the doorway to hop onto the bar stool she'd been occupying earlier, and I made my way to the counter where Jose awaited me with quick, angry strides. "It doesn't really matter, anyway. I didn't tell anyone about you or your precious abode."

I pulled a clean glass from an overhead cupboard and clunked it onto the counter. "What did you tell them, then? And who did you even talk to?" I turned sideways to look at her as I unscrewed the bottle's cap. She was still smiling, and I felt my blood pressure spike. It was official: healing her had been the worst decision of my life — and I'd done some damn questionable things in my hundred-plus years on Earth.

"My mom and dad, my sister, a couple of other friends." She shrugged and leaned against the counter, resting her chin on an upturned palm. Her smile had vanished, replaced by something less sure, and I smiled to myself as I filled my glass to the brim with tequila. "I just told them that I was all right and that I…I…" I watched her throat shift as she swallowed, her downcast gaze dropping to the counter top, and I plopped the open bottle back on the counter while I savored the moment. "That I felt horrible about what happened to Vicky, but that I had no idea who would've done such a thing to her."

I put my back to the counter and leaned against it, one hand resting on its edge while the other lifted the glass. "You know, that has me wondering." I paused to take a swig of tequila. "I killed your friend right in front of you. I tortured you without a care in the world. Yet here you sit, in my kitchen, after you could've let me die alone and been on your merry way. Care to explain that, baby girl? 'Cause it sure as hell ain't Stockholm syndrome, and I can't think of a single damn explanation beyond that."

She sighed. "Look, I hate you. I really do. You're a terrible person, you've done terrible things, and I hope you die an incredibly painful death sometime in the near future. But…you saved my life. Whether you admit it or not, why ever you say you did it, the fact remains that I would've just died if you hadn't risked your life to save me. And I…" She searched my eyes for a moment, that same softness to her gaze that had made me uncomfortable only moments ago returning in full force. "I owe you for that."

I smiled darkly down at my tequila, giving it a little swirl. "You also owe me hell for everything else I've done to you up until now." I peered at her between the strands of blood-caked platinum blonde that had fallen into my face, and she was frowning at me, unsure once more. Perfect. "How do you plan to do both?"

She was silent for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as if tearing little bits of skin away would offer her salvation, until she finally said, so decisively that it brought my eyebrows high and my eyes wide open, "I'm not going to let you kill those humans, but I'm going to help you get rid of those demons."

It was hard to believe she was just a human sometimes. It was hard to believe that she was someone I'd tortured.

"And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?" I asked, eyeing her across the counter. "You don't have the strength to stop me, and you sure as hell don't have the strength to stop them."

"I'll figure something out," she said with a shrug, then she paused for a moment to look me over, expression souring. "You need to shower."

I glanced down at myself, taking in the sight of my clothes stiff with dark blood and my skin caked in it like dry, cracking paint, and I shrugged as I let my gaze return to her face. "I've looked worse. I think finishing this glass of tequila is a bit more important, to be quite honest." I took a swig of it, smiling, and her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Why do you drink like that?" she asked, lip curling further as I tipped my head back and downed the rest. "If you were human, you'd be dead from that by now."

I shrugged, smiling sweetly as I plopped the empty glass on the counter to my right. "I like it. Why else would I do it?" I pushed my body away from the counter and started across the kitchen. "I suppose I'll go shower now, if it'll please you, Your Highness," I quipped, grinning at her over my shoulder. "Make yourself some dinner while I'm away, if you'd like."

"All right, but I'm making something better than grilled cheese," she called after me. "You're a terrible hostess!"

"I'm a terrible everything, my dear," I said pleasantly as I began my ascent up the stairs. "Everything but a terrible drinker." She grunted, unimpressed, but said nothing else, and I sighed as I passed onto the second floor landing.

I'd lost control of her. Completely. She no longer feared me — but really, had she ever? — and I no longer felt it in my power to toy with her, to torture her, to go against her in every way possible.

I did enjoy her company, though. I enjoyed her boldness and that spark of life that my victims always lacked.

But what was the point of it all if she was no longer my ragdoll?

What was the point of it all…period?

-?-

I opted to take a bath instead of a shower — and to leave the door wide open so that I could yell down to Dexter whenever I so desired. And so that I could make sure she wasn't wrecking my kitchen, of course.

But it was in such beautiful condition when you woke up, I told myself ruefully as I sank lower in the lukewarm water, my narrowed eyes glaring daggers into the wall opposite me. Why would she wreck her own handiwork?

I should've been grateful that she'd taken the time to mop up the blood and dispose of the debris, or at the very least indifferent, but just…What gave her the right to jerk me around like this? What gave her the right to treat me like this, like a…a…a fucking friend or something? I'd kidnapped her, tortured her, killed her best friend, threatened to kill her, for Christ's sake!

She was plotting against me. She had to be. Or maybe she was just that naive and blatantly stupid.

And what about you? I asked myself, letting my head fall back to rest on the tub's edge and my eyes land upon the empty white of the ceiling. Saving her life like that, nearly killing yourself to save your pet. "Proving your power to that demon bastard," you say, but what would it have proved if you'd died healing a human toy?

That I was weak. That I was going soft. That I was keen on this human.

My nose wrinkled in disgust. "No," I snapped, the volume of my voice startling me in the stillness of the room. "We do not get attached to our prey, Vera, especially when it's so whiny and foolish and displaying such a monumental case of Stockholm syndrome."

"Did you say something?" the girl called from the bottom of the stairs, and I twisted in the tub to glare at the wide-open door. How would she know? Had she just been waiting for me to speak? Was she planning something?

Goddamned human.

"Could you bring me a fresh glass of tequila, please?" It was going to be a long bath. It was going to be a long night.

She didn't reply, but only a few seconds passed before I heard her footsteps creaking on the stairs, and she soon peeked around the door frame. "You don't mind if I see you naked, do you?"

I eyed her for a moment, gaging every inch of her face, every wiggle of her features — but she was watching me calmly, not a hint of a blush to her cheeks, not a single sign of embarrassment. Not even a single sign of fear. Had she forgotten that I could rip her fingers off and sew them back on just to do it all over again? And didn't most humans show at least a little unease when seeing one another naked?

"I don't mind anyone seeing me naked, least of all you," I told her coolly. "I might be a bit more hesitant if this were my true form, but a pet is a pet, and does anyone really care if their pet sees their naughty bits in the bath?"

She rolled her eyes and stepped into the room. "I'm not your pet." But she didn't sound frustrated, not even a little bit annoyed, and when she leaned down to hand me the full glass of tequila, I could see nothing in her eyes to suggest otherwise. This human…Ah, this human!

I jerked the glass from her thin fingers none too gently and waggled the fingers of my free hand at her in dismissal. "Thanks, Dexter dear. Now get back to making your dinner or whatever it is you're doing down there and leave Mummy in peace."

She straightened, pursing her lips. "My name is Lauren."

"But I hate the name Lauren, remember?" I asked, then took a sip of tequila and slid just a bit lower in the tub, my attention already far, far away from her.

"My name is Lauren," she said again, more firmly this time, and I turned to find her glaring brazenly down at me. My eyebrows shot up so fast that it made my forehead hurt.

"Dexter, honey, whoever told you that you could talk to me that way was lying," I said evenly, though my thoughts were far from calm. "Watch your tone with me or I may very well lose my temper, and we wouldn't want that, now, would we?"

"I have a name, and I want you to use it," she said, her determination never wavering. "Why is that such a horrible thing to ask?"

The splashing of bathwater and the thud of a body hitting drywall reached my ears almost concurrently as I pinned the girl to the wall, my fingers wrapped tightly around her throat and her feet dangling a foot above the floor. The glass of tequila remained intact in my right hand, and I made sure of that by taking a quick sip as I stared Dexter down, finally finding a hint of long-desired fear in her pretty blue eyes — the eyes that had sealed her fate only one night ago.

"I saved your life for my own selfish reasons, baby girl," I said lowly, "and I have no problem taking it back now. You cannot, you will not, lord this over me, just as you will not continue to act as if your staying by my side while I passed out on my kitchen floor for a few minutes earns you some sort of respect." I paused to take another slow swig of my drink, gazing into her fearful eyes and letting the pure pleasure, the pure satisfaction of it all, roll through me in warm, tingling waves. It was hard to stay mad when your query was being so beautifully obedient to all of your unspoken desires. "You're starting to make me want to torture you again. And you know what? The more you try to tell me I'm not your captor and that you're not my pretty little kitty cat to play with, the more I feel like keeping you strapped to a table in my basement." A wicked smile spread across my face, and though she tried to glare down at me, she just couldn't shake the fear etched into every single line and curve of her face. "You're mine, Dexter. You've been mine ever since I picked you up in that alley, and you will stay mine until the day you die. I don't know what made you think that staying here would garner you my affection, but whatever it was, it was wrong. Behave or your stay here will be hell, baby girl, and I know a thing or two about hell."

"You can't make me stay," she choked, wrapping her small fingers around my wrist and scowling fearfully down at me, and I took a slow, careful sip of my drink. "Everyone knows I'm alive now. I can tell that…that human group thing where you are, and they can come get me back."

I chuckled and shook my head, damp hair casting a cool breeze across damp skin. "Even if you manage to get away from me, even if you leave my side, you'll always be mine, baby girl. I'll be in your head, whether I'm there or not. My scent in your nose, my voice in your ears — and you'll never escape it." My smile faded, and I sighed, staring down into the ripples on the surface of my drink. "And I hate to be the one to tell you this, my dear, but I'm starting to like you a little bit. All this antagonism is keeping me young, I think." I raised my eyes to hers, but the innocent wonder I found in those ocean-blue depths had me glancing toward the window, covered in deep blue curtains. "Don't take it the wrong way, though. I'll still snap your neck and leave you lying in the gutter if you give me a reason to. I'll still kill your mother and your sister and your dearest daddy if you do something that warrants more than your own immediate demise." I sighed again and paused to sip my tequila, hoping the burning at the back of my throat would take the edge off — but nothing ever would. Not now. Not with this one. "You're just too fun for your own good," I said, finally, after nearly half a minute had passed, and my eyes met hers once more. "You've piqued my interest, and it's never good to pique a demon's interest."

For a moment, I just stared at her, gazing into her eyes caught between fear and wonder. Such an odd expression that was, with those warring emotions in wide, red-rimmed eyes. I'd never seen anything like it. I'd never seen anything tinging the fear.

Finally, I released her, my fingers spreading open abruptly and leaving her body to slide down the wall and crumple into a heap on the floor, her shoulders heaving and jerking almost instantly as a fit of coughing began. "Oh, come on, now," I sighed, exasperated. "I wasn't holding you that hard." But she didn't answer, only just now beginning to catch her breath, and I dropped into a crouch before her, only a couple of inches standing between her eye level and mine. "Now, I'm just curious, but why is that name so important to you? I don't expect that I'll be using your name much regardless of what it is, so what does it matter?" Absently, I let my eyes drop to the collar about her neck, reaching out to take the bell gingerly between my thumb and forefinger. And why, my dear Dexter, are you still wearing this?

She knocked my hand away, glaring up at me. "Because I'm a person, and I have a name of my own that I want you to use. You can't just rename me like a stray cat."

I chuckled lowly. "But to me, baby girl, you really are just a stray cat. Or have you forgotten how this relationship works already?"

She sighed harshly, rolling her eyes — the wonder gone. "I already told you, I'm not your freaking pet anymore. Just treat me like a person, would you?"

A lopsided smile curved my lips. "All right, then. We can make a game of it. But which game shall we play?" I rose to my feet in one swift, sweeping motion and turned away from her, tapping my chin in mock thought. "Shall we play House? Doctor? Shopkeep? We could be a married couple, or a mother and daughter pair, or a doctor with her patient, or a boss and her hardworking employee, or…" I trailed off ponderously, but the shuffling of the girl's ascent to her feet soon drew me from my thoughts, and I turned to face her. "Do you have a preference, Dexter dear?"

She pursed her lips. "Whichever one will get you to call me Lauren."

"Hm," I murmured, drifting off in thought once more. Did I give in to her demands? The name "Lauren" truly grated, as did the mere notion of giving such a bratty slave her own way, but this game…This game was one I'd never played before. I'd never had a willing slave — and no matter how hard she protested, that's just what Dexter was: my slave, my pet, my dolly. Yes, I would give in to her demands. But only so that she might soon give in to mine. "House, it is!" I cried jovially, and she cringed as I smiled down at her. "We can be a lesbian couple — Lauren and Carly Kay."

"I thought your name was Vera?" she said, eyeing me grimly.

I smiled. I hadn't expected her to notice — or to care. "Well, if you want to get technical, my name is Verapaini, but that one's a bit conspicuous here on the surface." I took a quick swig of tequila and held a hand out to her, emerging from my glass to say pleasantly, "You can call me Vera, Carly, Demon Bitch, whatever floats your boat."

Her suspicious gaze dropped to my proffered hand. "And you'll call me Lauren?"

"Among other assorted endearments, of course," I answered with a nod.

She studied my hand for a moment longer before she finally took it in hers, her skin smooth and warm against mine and her grip tighter than I'd expected. "It's nice to officially meet you, then, Vera."

"And you, my dear Lauren," I said, smirking, and gave her hand a hearty shake. "I'm sure our time together will be absolutely fantastic." She nodded, and I could tell from her uneasy stare that she'd already begun to second guess her decision, to regret this tenuous partnership. Why had she done this, anyway? Why was she still here? I couldn't shake my own nagging feeling of mistrust. Stockholm, I thought to myself in unsure answer. Stockholm syndrome.

"Now, our first order of business as wife and demon," I began as I slipped my fingers from hers, doing my best to keep my shaken thoughts from my voice and my face. "Finish making your dinner. I'll finish up here, and then, we can discuss our preferred course of action."

"Course of action?" she asked, her eyes carefully following my every move as I threw my head back and downed half of my remaining tequila. "Course of action for…what?"

"Why, everything, my dear!" I cried cheerfully. "We're married, now. Or dating, I suppose? I'm not sure how your race is handling marriage these days. Either way, there are plans to be made, baby girl. Plans for handling the demons, for handling the humans, and for handling my ongoing abduction scheme!"

"Ongoing abduction scheme?" she all but cried, eyes wide in surprise. "You're not supposed to mess with the humans anymore! Those demons said so!"

I grinned wickedly, that familiar thrill racing through me as fear danced to life like flames at the back of her eyes. "Exactly. If that bastard from the bar doesn't come through," — and it had been almost an entire day since I'd spoken with him, so I doubted much information would be forthcoming — "kidnapping shiny new humans would be a good way to lure the demons out for playtime."

"You can't hurt people just to bring those demons out!" she cried, appalled. "They'll kill you, anyway! The one alone almost killed you, and there's a whole army behind that, isn't there?"

"Lauren, honey," I said softly, resting my hand on her cheek, and the name felt weird rolling off of my tongue though I didn't fight it, "just go make dinner. We'll discuss this later."

She slid along the wall to escape my touch, grimacing at me over her shoulder as she slipped from the room. If she was still here when I went downstairs, if she stuck around even after I'd admitted my plans to make more girls like her — and I knew she would; I just knew it! — I didn't know what I'd do. I didn't know what I'd think.

Stockholm syndrome, I told myself, taking another sip of my tequila and listening to her rapid descent down the stairs. It's just Stockholm syndrome. It can only be Stockholm syndrome.