Grace
I’ve never been so frightened in my afterlife, and that includes being kidnapped and nearly tortured by a psychopath named Camden. Nothing’s actually happened to me yet, but I’m not sure why—and that’s exactly what makes me uneasy. I know whatever Lucifer has in store is going to be the worst thing I’ve experienced yet, which means it’s got to be pretty bad.
Rhett’s real name is Corbin, but I’m not supposed to know that. The name won’t help me find him now, anyway—all I have to go on is that he’s in the same hotel. Or at least I hope he is, since he was gambling there the other day. He’s not the only one I have to worry about, though. My first determination is to avoid Randy and that whole debacle at all costs.
Lucifer deposited me back at the hotel in the restaurant overlooking the tiger’s enclosure. I’m dressed in a tiny little skirt and halter-top. He seems to like me in the Daisy Mae look. I pick at a sandwich and tea, but Corbin never shows, so I walk around the entire hotel and grounds.
Still nothing.
Maybe Lucifer’s setting me up so I won’t find him and he can punish me for that, too? That doesn’t seem like his style, though, so I approach the front desk and glamour the receptionist.
“Corbin Treymark. What’s his room?” I whisper. She immediately checks the computer.
“There is no Mr. Treymark registered.”
I think for a moment. “Try Rhett Butler.”
She types again. “Room 953.”
“Give me a key.”
I slip the card in my bra and head for the glass elevator. I repeatedly press the gold-colored button for what feels like an eternity until the lavish doors open and I nearly run headfirst into Randy, who doesn’t make eye contact.
“Excuse me,” I say.
He holds the door for me without a word, then lets it slide shut. Did he recognize me? Is he angry? Hurt? By the time I get to the ninth floor, I’m both embarrassed and depressed. But on the plus side, I’m not nearly as edgy as I felt downstairs.
Corbin’s room is the last one down the hall—a private suite. It’s probably not as nice as our penthouse, but it can’t be too shabby, either. I guess the man has some money. Though I should have figured, having seen him at the high rollers’ table.
Despite the DO NOT DISTURB sign, I knock.
Nothing.
So I take out the keycard and glance around before letting myself inside.
The sitting room is exactly as I’d expected: TV, sofa, minibar, small kitchenette. But what I see in the master bedroom sets my pulse racing.
The floor, bed, desk, and walls are covered with printed photos. At first I think it’s me, but then I realize the girl is shorter and a bit heavier, with blue eyes. Still, the resemblance is uncanny. This was no coincidence. Lucifer sent me here for a reason.
I begin searching frantically, though I’m not sure for what. At least half the pictures are defaced; the girl’s eyes blacked out with marker or cut with precision by a knife or scissors. Finally, my eyes rest on the one photo in the center of the bed. It’s the girl in a wedding dress with another man.
Both of their eyes are covered with black Xs, and their bodies are slashed innumerable times so that the picture is practically in shreds.
Shit.
I turn to leave the room when something catches my eye on the corner of the desk. This time, the girl in the picture looks slightly different. She’s wearing a flesh-colored gown that barely covers her body, very different from the more conservative look she’s sporting in the other photos. Only it isn’t her. It’s me. Me from the other night.
And my eyes are missing.
I gasp and run from the room, heart racing as I reach the hallway. There’s no sign of him. So I run back down the hall and to the elevator, which takes me down to the front desk, where I don’t hesitate to glamour the same girl into giving me a room on the first floor. I’d rather run straight out the door and as far away as possible, but if I try that, Lucifer will only make it worse. But maybe I can do something to make this a little easier.
I head to the shops lining the main floor where I charge as many “normal”-looking clothes as I can find to my new room. Then I find the salon. It’s time for a physical change.
* * *
By the time I arrive at my room hours later, I’m sporting a short-cropped, straight haircut dyed brown, and I’m wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. I let myself in and head for the bathroom to inspect my new look.
A stranger stares back at me. I square my shoulders. I guess this is the new me.
I decide I need a shower to clean off what I saw earlier, so I run the hot water and take my time, trying not to think too hard about Noah or Josh or any of it. When I finish, I wrap a fluffy white towel around myself and head back out to the bedroom to pick out some of my new clothes.
Except they’re gone. All the bags are gone. I assume Lucifer took them until I realize what’s been placed there instead. Photos are lined up on the bedspread. Pictures of me in the elevator. Me at the tiger’s enclosure, balanced on the edge near Randy. Me at the front desk a few hours ago. Me holding the keycard in an envelope with my room number on it.
I’m nearly blind with fear when I remember that, no matter what, I’m not alive anymore. He can’t kill me if I’m already dead, right? And I’m a Demon for Heaven’s sake. I nearly laugh with the silliness of it.
It’s pretty clear why Lucifer sent me to him, though, and what he meant by “be yourself.” I guess I already blew that by changing my appearance.
But when I turn around to try and find something to wear, I find my old self reflected back at me, long golden curls and all. I touch my head, letting go of the towel, which falls to my feet.
Lucifer must have done this—but I still doubt he was the one responsible for the pictures.
I’m stooping to pick up my towel when the closet door swings open and Corbin strides out, a wicked-looking knife in hand. “Don’t bother, Scarlet. We both know you won’t be needing that.”
Standing slowly, I swallow and long to cover myself, but know Lucifer well enough by now to realize that as long as I’m uncomfortable with my body, he’ll force me into these situations. And so I resist as best I can, standing straight and leaving the towel on the floor. It’s the only way I have to fight back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, deciding to play dumb. “Are these your pictures?”
He winks. “You like to dress for attention, Scarlet. You got mine. But you’re just like her, aren’t you? You prefer that black man.”
Randy. I swallow hard. I don’t want him dragged into this. I’ve done him enough damage already.
“He was just a passing fancy,” I say. “I’m actually a little flattered you went to all this trouble.” I gesture toward the pictures. “So put the knife down, and we’ll talk.”
“That’s just it,” he says, stalking toward me until I’m nearly forced onto the bed. “See, I’ve always had these…feelings. I know they’re wrong, but I’ve always wanted to try them out, these fantasies of mine. I thought maybe she could change that, but it seems to be my destiny.” He sets the tip of the knife against my cheek and draws it lightly down to my shoulder.
“What sort of fantasies?” I ask, trying to remain steady. This guy is a psycho. I doubt stopping that wedding would’ve helped prevent him trying out these “fantasies” for long. I guess Lucifer wanted it all to happen faster.
He bites his lip, not even pretending to stare anywhere but at my chest. “I want to do things to you, Scarlet. I wanted to do them to her when she chose someone else, but still, I wasn’t sure I could. I wasn’t sure I was capable until I saw you parading around in those clothes.” He draws the tip of the knife down farther, running it against the curves of my body, ending next to my belly. I try not to move, but I can’t seem to quell my trembling.
“I wear the clothes I wear for myself. Not for you.” Actually, I wear them because Lucifer makes me, but still…
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. You were meant for me.” He leans forward, breathing the words over my face, and I turn my head, closing my eyes. The tip of the knife presses into my flesh, pricking me. I flinch as a drop of blood trickles, hot and fresh, down my hip. “I know it. You were created to show me the way. You leave broken hearts everywhere. That’s the truth of what happened to the man you were with. But you don’t have anyone who truly cares about you in your life, do you, Scarlet?” he asks.
I keep my mouth shut tight. What do I say? 'I know an Angel, but I can’t call him because I don’t want him to fall from Heaven?' The thought digs an empty hole in my chest.
“It’s okay. No one will miss you. You’ll always be my first. It’s perfect.”
It’s the same thing Cam said to me. I feel ill. “You don’t want to hurt me,” I say, trying glamour. But I know it won’t work. Just like I know Lucifer’s taken all my Demon powers away again, for this. His punishment. Layers. I almost laugh. Almost.
“Oh, but I do. I want to hurt you so badly that I hurt thinking about it. And it’s all I’ve thought about since last night when I bought you that drink. I just didn’t know how easy you’d make it for me. I wouldn’t mind a little challenge, Scarlet.” He leans over me when he whispers the last sentence, his breath hot on my cheek, and I cringe.
His free hand finds my hair, smoothing it back from my forehead. “I think I’ll keep some of your hair. It’s so much like hers. You know?” He flicks his knife so fast, I gasp. He smiles, holding up a lock of blond curls for me to see. Instinctually, I touch the side of my head.
“This is going to take time. Lots and lots of time, but we have all the time in the world. I put the DO NOT DISTURB sign out for us. Oh, and I brought tools.” He holds out a finger excitedly, like he wants me to wait while he shows me a puppy or something.
He pulls a black bag from the closet and tosses it down on the carpet between us. “I’ve been buying it all bit by bit for years. Collecting. You know, just in case I ever really got the nerve to do it.”
“You don’t want to. You won’t.” I say it with much more emphasis than I feel. I know it’s a lost cause. Lucifer knows it, too. He’s probably munching on a bowl of popcorn somewhere while he watches.
“Put this on the bed,” he says, tossing me a plastic sheet. I comply, slowly, trying my best to think of something I can do to stop this. To change it. Change him.
“Now lie down on it.”
As if I’m going to do that. I pretend to faint, dropping down and grasping the side of the bed. He rushes toward me, and I spring up, dodging past him toward the door. He catches my ankle, and I go down hard with a shriek. He drags me back toward him, and the knife slices into the sole of my foot. His hand muffles the sound of my scream, and he lifts me, one-armed, onto the bed with some difficulty. But the second he slices into my other foot and the pain shoots up my leg, I know it’s over. There’s no way I can walk now. And no one’s coming to help me. Not when Lucifer himself is making this happen.
Corbin mutters angrily at me for bleeding on the carpet as he rummages in the bag. He pulls out handcuffs, which he uses to cuff my wrists and ankles to the bedposts.
“Seriously,” I beg. “You don’t have to do this. You can still change your mind and no one will ever know. I can get you help.”
“You think you’re better than me.” He smiles down at me, smoothing my hair back again. “That’s why you tempt me with your body but never mean to let me get anywhere. But now you’re mine. Just mine. You’ll always be mine. No more screaming.”
He stuffs some kind of material in my mouth and ties something else around it, preventing me from making a sound louder than muffled grunts.
“This is exactly how I pictured it.” He sucks in his bottom lip with a look of pure ecstasy as he runs the tip of the knife up and down my body. Over my legs, my arms, my stomach. Every inch of me, never quite pressing hard enough to draw more blood. I tremble but can’t go anywhere.
“Please,” I try to beg, but I can’t even do that. I’m basically just a plaything now. A Demon sent by the Devil for Corbin to slice up and practice on so he won’t hesitate on his first real human.
“First I have to decide how I’m going to take your eyes. They’re the things that help you lead other men astray.” He presses a sweaty hand over my eyes. I keep them closed tight, but in my mind I see all those photos with the eyes blackened or cut out. I feel the tip of his knife on top of my eyelid. I cry and tremble. This is even worse than the 'pin cushion' torture chamber Cam tried to close on me. The anticipation of what Corbin’s about to do to me makes me want to pass out. I try to roll my head to the side, but he grabs my face and holds it steady, fingers cutting painfully into my jaw.
So this is Lucifer’s torturous punishment for my failure to comply: letting me become a serial killer’s first victim. Letting me go through the pain and horror of being murdered in the most gruesome way possible and knowing that, even though I can’t die from it, I will have started this monster off on a rampage.
“Or maybe I should do it a different way?” he asks from above. The pressure on my eye lifts, and I’m left breathing hard, but still intact. For the moment.
“I wonder how long it will take to blind you with a flame held close to your eye? Or better yet, how long you have to stare at the sun before it happens. So many possibilities, how to decide? I suppose it can wait until the end while I mull it over. We have a long night ahead of us, Scarlet.”