Beyond Hell and Back Ch. 03

SMOKEY SAGAS #13:

Beyond Hell And Back (Part 3):

"When The Morning Comes"

***

May 31st, 2:36 a.m.

"Yes?"

"HELL-o there..."

"Well now. This voice sounds familiar, does it not? Little Holly Greentree, I presume?"

"Yes, yes, it is Holly, actually."

"Well, I'll be damned!" the chilling voice dripped through the phone, delightfully surprised to hear from her. "A figure of speech with an ironic double meaning in my case, of course. Well! My, my, my, the Holly doll herself, one and the same! And how has my little pet been recently?" Her chuckle echoed with her trademark demonic malice.

"Uh, well, as it turns out...I need your help, Miss Farrah."

"Oh?" Even Farrah's inquisitive voice was seductively sinister.

"Yes, ma'am. May I visit you in about thirty minutes or so?"

***

By evening and twilight, the Hellmistress presided over her dungeon of condemned youthful souls, passing harsh judgment and severely sentencing those who wandered into her path, becoming ensnared in her web. Once having abducted her prisoners, she set about to terrifyingly invade their innocent minds and pure, fresh bodies, exposing and taking ruthless advantage of each and every sexual weakness uncovered, forcefully relieving them of their fledgling virginity.

Farrah's daylit hours were spent masquerading as a normal 41-year-old dirty-blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman, who ate and slept, laughed and wept, bathed and strolled, rocked and rolled. It was once the sun bid adieu and slipped beneath the horizon that she crossed the boundary of immortality and assumed the identity of The Devil.

Just after their initial dead-of-night escapade ten years before, Farrah had promised then-young, then-helpless, then-scared little Holly Greentree that she'd stay in contact with her, and subsequently, up peeked the sun, and her reflection reappeared. She didn't necessarily intend on maintaining said contact; it was more of a manipulation technique to remind Holly that Farrah could manifest her presence at any possible moment it struck her fancy, to haunt her. And to remind Holly that Farrah could control her mind, and now owned Holly's virgin soul.

But while she possessed the ability to commandeer Holly's mental activity, she only exercised her psychological sorcery to the extent such that Holly's rollercoaster ride through her brimstone palace remained buried below the depths of her mind. Holly never forgot who Miss Farrah was or where she resided, and while she also never actually forgot the incident itself, she might as well have. Her aforementioned virgin soul having been forcibly confiscated from inside of her also robbed her of the capability of resisting Miss Farrah's seizure of her mental faculties. Farrah ordered her not to share their impromptu tryst with any other individual, and so Holly had no choice but to obey.

Farrah inhumanly usurped her victims' very beings with such subtlety, they had no idea what hit them. So undetectable was the involuntary soulbotomy, that once released, the objects of her prey resumed daily existence where they had left off. The only differences were stolen virginity, and an instilled susceptibility to being mentally tortured by the sorceress' powers. In other words, the previous owners of the souls Farrah had taken from them could essentially, presumably go on and continue to lead normal, contented lives, as long as Farrah allowed it. This allowance served as the compensation for their silence; if one's encounter with The Devil remained secret, then one's life and mind remained safe.

Holly Lil Greentree was a perfect example. Once Farrah had gotten through with her, she felt scared, drained, empty and cold. But when she let her go, Holly fearfully concealed the truth, and when enough time passed, forefront events put her disastrous 21st birthday surprise behind her. Oh, Farrah made certain the memory always remained there, just to keep Holly cognizant of who was in charge, but Farrah also allowed it to be put away and left alone, so that Holly could revive, recover and move forward. Holly alone knew the truth, keeping it locked away in a dark, desolate area of her memory, never to be divulged, even to—especially to—the woman with whom she planned to spend the rest of her life, Rachel Keri Millerstein.

Rachel was the reason Holly was reaching out and summoning Farrah during this particular twilight. Just a few short hours ago while Holly was sleeping, Rachel had ventured out by herself to a convenience store on eastbound Kent Street, a perilous downtown boulevard, for her preferred brand of cigarettes which weren't available anywhere else. On the way back out to her car, a mugger had attacked her, robbed her and slashed her arm with a knife when she tried to escape. She tried to keep Holly from finding out, for reasons she now wanted nothing but to put behind her, but Holly did find out. And even though Rachel had gone there of her own volition, Holly was now determined to get The Devil in her corner, hunt down this assailant and fight fire with much deadlier fire.

The 20-year-old Holly would have heaved up and cried helplessly over such a catastrophic turn of events, not knowing what to do. But the 30-year-old Holly...

You accosted and wounded the woman I love. BIG mistake, foolish bitch. WRONG move.

You're dead.

***

May 31st, 3:08 a.m.

Returning to the warehouse dungeon at 666 Kent Street at the intersection of Kent and Juniper was surreal and intimidating. Even though she knew Miss Farrah was on her side, just revisiting to the original scene gave her a benign case of the shivers. She took a few quick glances back and forth, exited the car, snuck stealthily down the alley and gave the door a rap.

"It's Holly," she stated in a moderate voice.

The door slid open, and Holly was presented with a silhouetted portrait of the entity that haunted her dreams for years. The dirty-blonde tresses were barely visible. The ominous ice-blue eyes glowed through the darkness.

"Were you followed?"

Oh, that voice. It still sent a small chill up her spine.

"No."

"Good," The Devil whispered. She drew the firearm, spun the canister, made sure it was fully loaded, repacked it, grabbed an extra case of bullets and a pair of handcuffs. "Let's rock and roll."

Farrah ferried them east across Kent Street. Holly explained the rest of the situation to her. She told her how she had asked Rachel a series of questions on the way to the hospital, and Rachel's answers. Farrah listened intently, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in her head.

"Got the picture?" she asked Holly.

"Yeah." Holly took her cell phone from her purse and sorted through the contents. Before she'd left the house, Farrah had instructed her to get a photograph of Rachel's bruised arm—even though it had already been cleaned and bandaged up—which she took with her cell. It was a fortunate thing Rachel slept like a dead log, because Holly had to turn the light on to get any kind of visibility. "I don't understand what it's for, though," she said.

"You'll see," Farrah uttered.

They kept driving. "The only thing I'm worried about," said Holly, "Is that we won't be able to find her. She's probably not at the 7-11 anymore."

"Not if she's got an ounce of brains," commented Farrah. "But don't worry. You said she didn't have a car, right?"

"Right—well, that's what Rachel said," answered Holly. "She said there were only two cars in the parking lot: hers and the one that must've belonged to whoever was inside working."

"And the chick took her phone?"

"She took everything. The only thing she let her keep was her clothes."

"Gotcha. Okay, here's the deal," Farrah explained. "She's not gonna come back this way. Again, not if she's got any smarts. Too much light. The street lamps and the lights on in the buildings would make it too easy to spot her. And she's also not gonna wanna go across the street. You've got the rest of your 24-hour mini-marts over there. She's not gonna hit another spot just like 7-11 right away. And she's definitely not gonna wanna go anywhere near The Twilight. Her best course of action is staying on this side of the street, and going further east. Fewer buildings and much less light."

"So that's where we're going?"

"You got it. We'll take a quick peek by the 7-11, just in case she doesn't have any brains."

They stopped in the 7-11 lot for a quick minute. "Okay," Farrah said, "You said she came at her with a knife, right?"

"Yeah."

"A'right, so it's highly unlikely she's packing heat; why use a knife if you've got a gun..." They looked around. "Looks pretty empty," said Farrah. "Just in case, here. I'm gonna park the car away from the light and turn the headlights off. Get out, stand under the streetlight and start going through your purse like you're looking for money. Look like a victim."

Stand still under a streetlight, on Kent Street, looking for money, in my purse. THAT sounds familiar. I'm not sure I'm gonna like what'll come after that...

She did as Farrah directed. Nothing happened. After a few more minutes, Farrah restarted the car and she got back in.

"A'right, so she's not here." They pulled back out onto Kent and went further east. "Now what was she wearing again?"

"Uh...Rache said some kind of...horror mask."

"Interesting...okay, it was probably one of the scream zombie ones, they're some of the most popular," said Farrah. "So we know she's smart enough to flee the scene and to have a mask on...which means she's probably also smart enough to cover her tracks. Do you know what kind of shoes she had on?"

"No."

"Damn. All right, anything else at all?"

"Black hair," said Holly. "And she didn't think the girl could've been older than 20."

"Gutsy young broad."

They eventually passed The Twilight, which was just as wild and noisy as any other night. A few more traffic lights later, they'd almost completely exited downtown. Once the traffic lights ceased, the streetlights faded in brightness and the buildings turned into foliage, Farrah slowed down.

"Okay, roll down your window," she ordered Holly in a whisper. Both the car's front-seat windows down, they coasted through the forest nice and slow.

Holly slid her voice down to the level of Farrah's. "How will we know if it's her or just some forest animal?"

"I've got that all taken care of," Farrah assured her, pulling off to the shoulder of the road and parking under one of the dim streetlights. "Right here's about halfway through the woods. Odds are, around this time, presuming she's been moving in this direction, and she should be at least somewhere nearby. Now just get out and follow my lead."

Farrah gave Holly the handcuffs, popped the hood, and they got out. "What are we gonna do?" Holly asked her.

"We're gonna make ourselves vulnerable." Farrah raised her voice and hollered out into the open forest air, careful not to be too loud or obvious, "OH NO, I'M AFRAID OUR CAR HAS BROKEN DOWN. I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE'RE GONNA DO NOW."

She held up a finger to hold Holly temporarily silent. At first they didn't hear anything. But then, as faintly as could be, within earshot came moderately paced footsteps. They seemed to be approaching, then momentarily stopped.

"MY CELL PHONE'S ALMOST DEAD, AND I DON'T KNOW IF WE'D GET ANY RECEPTION OUT HERE ANYWAY," Farrah continued yelling, only slightly less voluminously than before. "I THINK WE MIGHT BE IN REAL TROUBLE."

They waited another moment. Sure enough, they again heard the footsteps picking up. Turning in the direction of the nearing figure, they noted its shadow skulking towards them. Holly began to get nervous, but Farrah made her keep cool. Finally, as Farrah predicted, they indeed saw the screaming zombie mask staring at them, a backpack over its shoulders, its gloved hand brandishing a menacing-looking dagger.

"Gimme the purses, bitches!" came the threatening voice, shaking the knife at them. "Now!"

Farrah drew the piece and retaliated in one quick, fluid motion.

Click.

"Not quite."

The attacker gasped and backed up.

"That's RI-ight," Farrah sang to her. "Say hello to MY little friend."

The attacker didn't say anything at first. She continued holding the knife, but withdrew. Farrah continued. "Now here's what's gonna happen, scumbag. You're gonna drop the knife, and you're coming with us."

Though intimidated, she held on to the knife for another moment. "How do I know it's loaded?" she asked Farrah.

Farrah didn't believe in holding back or being subtle. She lowered the gun to right between the attacker's shoes, took very quick aim, and fired.

The attacker yelled and jumped.

"That's how," Farrah replied. "Now dance." She fired a few more shots around her feet. Finally, the attacker dropped the knife.

"Cuff her, doll," Farrah ordered Holly, who grabbed the attacker by the arms, yanked her hands behind her back and shackled her. "Good," praised Farrah with a smirk. With her free hand, she took hold of the mask and ripped it off the girl's now frightened face. The tables had turned on her, she realized. "Now let's try this again, you little bitch. Would you like to come with us?"

Farrah gave Holly the gun, and Holly shoved her into the back, climbing in beside, as Farrah picked up the knife and the mask to toss in the trunk, slammed both it and the hood, and resumed her position in the driver's seat. She started it up and flipped a U-turn.

"Blindfold," Farrah reminded her. Holly went into her purse, found it and tied it tightly over the girl's eyes.

"What are you, undercover cops?" she asked them.

"Not exactly," Farrah answered. "But that'll be enough of that; we're asking the questions."

The windows were rolled back up. Farrah reversed course and shuttled them back to the warehouse.

***

May 31st, 3:57 a.m.

"And, uh, I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you, young lady," Holly advised the girl as she opened the car door and yanked her out. "Unless of course you want a five hundred-mile-an-hour tongue piercing."
Farrah laughed, amused and impressed. "Ha! Looks like I'm rubbing off on you, Holly doll!" she said, leading them through the back alley to the door. Holly put the girl in front of her, held on to her by the handcuff chain and stuck the gun in her back. "March," she ordered, steering her in Farrah's direction.
They got inside. Holly gave her a push in, and Farrah locked the door behind them. Holly deposited the gun in her hand.
"Well, then," began Farrah, turning the attacker to face her. "And what's your name, little girl?"
Holly gave a slight shiver. Also heard THAT before, she recalled.
"B-Becka," the girl stammered.
Holly knew what was coming next. She said it right along with Farrah: "A pretty name for a pretty little girl." Just between her, herself and she, Holly guessed Farrah said that to everybody, no matter what their name.
"Becka what?" added Farrah.
"...W-Weeks," she responded. "Becka Weeks."
"Well, it's a joy to meet you, Becka Weeks," rejoined Farrah in her chilling voice. She nodded to Holly. "Cuffs off." She undid Becka's hands. "Backpack, please," was Farrah's next request.
Becka didn't move for a moment.
"You heard the lady," Holly prompted her. "She's got enough bullets to make you dance all night."
Becka complied. Holly took it and handed it to Farrah. "Good girl," said Farrah. "Now cuffs on."
Becka wanted to ask what was with the cuffs, but she had a pretty good idea of the answer. Hands stuck behind her back, she couldn't take the blindfold off. And without taking the blindfold off, she already had a less than zero chance of escaping from this place.
Holly reshackled her, and she and Farrah proceeded to look into the backpack for Rachel's purse. The search barely took five seconds. "Badda-bingo. Right there," Becka heard Holly say.
"What's going on?" she asked them warily. "If you're not cops, who are you?"
"I told you, little girl, we're asking the questions here," repeated Farrah. "But as far as what's going on...Holly doll? You wanna field that one?"
"Delighted." Holly reclaimed Rachel's purse and put it on one of the piles of boxes along with her own, returned to Becka and fixated her hand on the back of her head. Standing close enough for Becka to feel her breath, she established a point-making grip on her black hair and said, "Little Miss Becka, I want you to think back a few hours. Right down the street. 7-11. Remember anything?"
A sickly feeling oozed through Becka's every cell. It was evident, someone had informed on her to them about her most recent mugging activity, and now they had tracked her down to...
...To settle the score, she had to believe, as the queasy feeling swelled.
Oh, God...what were they going to do?
Holly was continuing. "Remember anything like, say, for instance, wounding a young blonde-highlight-haired woman with your little knife...and taking her belongings?"
Becka was beginning to shake and swallow nervously. Farrah silently explored the remainder of the backpack's contents as Holly began reading her chapter two of the Riot Act.
"It just so happens...buddy girl..." said Holly, "That young blonde-haired woman is very special...and very important to me."
The grasp on her hair tightened. "As a matter of fact...she just happens to be the woman I love."
Becka turned in Holly's direction with a bizarre expression on her face. What the...? she thought.
Holly tilted Becka's head backwards to dominantly look down into her face.
"I cannot allow you to get away with that, Becka."
Becka was beginning to become very scared, especially after what Holly said next. "You've fucked with the wrong woman. And I'm afraid that now you're going to have to dearly pay for it..." She slowed down her pace and finished the sentence in a low voice. "...you filthy little sewer rat."
She continued to impress Farrah. NICEly done, Holly doll, she thought. I see I've taught you well.
Becka gulped. "Mm...wha-...what're you gonna do?"
"Well!" Holly said, loosening her grip on her again. "For this portion of our symposium this twilight morning, Becka Weeks, I turn you over to your hostess, Miss Farrah."
One of the items Farrah'd found in the backpack was Becka's own mini-purse, which contained, among other things, her identification. The first thing Farrah said to her following Holly's little speech was, "Yes, let me ask you something, little girl. Just for establishing purposes, allow me to first pose the question, how old are you?"
Becka wasn't sure it was the best idea to fib...but she did, trying to sound confident. "22."
It wasn't. Farrah shot them both a look. "22?...Gee, y'know, that's pretty interesting, Becka, my girl...because your birth certificate seems to indicate otherwise."
Becka turned red and she looked at the floor, caught in the lie. Holly shot her the same look. "'Twould appear your girlfriend was right, doll," Farrah told Holly. "This baby chick is eighteen and a half years old."
"What??" exclaimed Holly, stepping away from Becka for the moment. Farrah showed her the certificate. She did the math herself, and whipped back around on her.
"Dirty liar! Oh, you are a little delinquent, aren't you! Okay, kiddo. You're officially in detention," said the teacher. She marched back over to where Becka stood. Turning back to Farrah, she quipped, "Guess that makes you the principal."
Farrah stepped in. "A'right, little girl, you've got two choices. One, we uncuff your hands and you get your clothes off for us..."
A look of shock came over Becka's face as she looked up.
"...Two, we take 'em off for ya."
Suddenly, being handcuffed and blindfolded didn't matter too much to Becka. She flipped around to where she thought the door was. She knew it was virtually impossible to escape, but the fact still failed to stop her. "Let me outta here!" she shouted.
Unfortunately for her, Holly was again standing right next to her. Once she started running, all Holly had to do was slip her foot out in front of her, to send her to the floor—an especially rough fall, without the use of her hands to cushion her landing.
"Ooh, you landed right on your boobies! Ouch!" remarked Holly with a wince. She took her by the arms. "Come on, up. Now, first of all, I didn't want to have to do that. If you just cooperate, we'll all get out of here a lot quicker."
Back up to her feet, Becka didn't know what to do or say. She pouted out the words, "I don't wanna take my clothes off."
"Y'know, that's funny, Becka," Holly went on, "See, I didn't wanna find my girlfriend in my bathroom, in tears, with a slashed arm tonight. Sometimes things just happen that we don't want to happen, and we just have to roll with it. This is one of those times."
"That's RI-ight," Farrah sang again. "One way or the other, little girl, you're gonna be naked in five minutes. Don't you fucking dare take that blindfold off until we tell you you can. And if you think you're getting off with just a disciplinary spanking...think again."