Alice

"Um... Layla?" Silvie's voice is cracking; she looks lost in her clothes. They're rumpled, like they've been jammed in the bottom of a back pack, and are so baggy they look like they were bought for someone else, all Silvie's clothes look that way, it's why Lucy Sumner and the rest of the cheerleaders won't give the poor girl a second's peace, Silvie thinks I'm one of them because I'm a cheerleader, too. It's guilt by association, but who can blame her, really?

"Yeah?" Lips pursed and breathing heavy, little droplets of sweat flying from my mouth as I answer.

"Here." She presses a cool towel into my hand; I push my face into it, welcoming the cold cloth against my fevered forehead. I'm trying my hardest to call to Alice in my mind, begging her to come and take the pain. Silvie half helps, half rolls me onto the cot, I have enough time to force a deep breath and a slight smile of thanks before that sadistic giant wraps his hands around my abs and rips my insides to bits.

Rolling back off of the cot and crawling, with shaking limbs, I barely make it to the bathroom and into the handicap stall before the blood lets loose across my thighs. With the site of it, comes that sweet release on my exhale, Alice has come, at last, to save me.

~x~

I let Layla take the first part of the pain because she needed it. I knew it was coming. My smiling Lord has made me stronger since that first beautiful night, a gift for pleasing its need. When I come to take the pain for Layla, I use this new gift, I send her completely away. I see her, in our mind crawling, between the walls in our old house, to that special place only we knew about; I make her hide there. The pain I let her feel makes her grateful to do it.

Layla's internal giant begins to push its poison from our body; deep cramps force my breathing into shallow gasps the pain is coming in waves now. I pull myself up, hugging the toilet, reaching in to bring some of the cold water in the bowl to my skin. There is a deep pulling from within me as the thing inside finally breaks loose and finds its way out of my body. There is a soft, wet splash on the tile as it comes to rest between my knees.

Sweet Silvie is just outside the stall and hears the small thud made by the dead thing as it lands. I hear her gasp, telling me she's peaked under the door, she knows what was happening, just like I've known for weeks now that it would.

I figured it out while I was in control, making plans to silence that cur in the park. The blood wasn't coming when it was supposed to, and the calendar confirmed. For weeks, every night, while Layla slept, I worked the pressure points at the insides of our hips, first fingers of both hands pressing deep, trying to choke our ovaries, to end the thing inside us.

It lays there, now in its puddle of blood, that salty wine covering what would have been a face, if given time. A life that has never been is not the same as one that I have taken; this fleshy blob will not make a good gift for my grinning God, and therefore will not have a place with my other treasures.

Coming back together, using the locker room showers to clean my body and free my mind, I decide on the next step. Dressing, and telling Silvie to get back into street clothes, I take her hand, without another word, and lead her off campus, a few blocks from the school to a park nearby. Unlike the park by our house there are no willow trees here, just a few medium sized apple trees, and one old and gnarled oak.

This park stands near the center of town, and this tree has to have stood for nearly a hundred years. The roots are as thick as your arm and sticking up in places, crisscrossing on themselves, leaving you with the impression of knotted ropes. Up close to the trunk there is a place where the roots entangle; with a little imagination you can see the shape of a heart. Layla and I found it when we were little, and as far as we can tell, we're the only ones who know that if you lift carefully from the center point of the heart and slide the roots to the left, there is a hollow in the trunk beneath it.

Silvie catches my eye as I reach for my bag, she's confused by my silence, and moves her mouth as though to speak, I hold a finger to her lips and pull the package free. I'd long been keeping my pot stash in my gym locker, to keep the Mommy's thieving hands off of it. Away from Silvie's curious eyes, I'd emptied the blue aluminum box into my bag and placed the fetus, wrapped carefully in bandages from Mz. Feinlin's first aide kit, inside. For close to three months this thing had tried to live inside me, the fleshy result of it's attempt is not longer than three inches and the weight of the bandages swaddling it are more than that of the thing itself.

I hear Silvie gasp as I lean close and kiss the lid, before placing the box, carefully inside the tree. There is a new kind of pain in this action, something so much more real than any pain I've ever felt. As the tears spring from my eyes and make their salty tracks I realize the difference in this pain is that it comes from within. The wound that has caused it is not something one can dress, or suture, it is the pain of a human soul, and it is entirely new to me.

Chapter 5- Sitting for Tea

We've been juggling a lot. It's more me driving than her now; Layla's kind of stopped trusting herself. I was able to get us rid of Seth, she still doesn't really know what happened, but I was able to convince her we're better off without him. 'Besides', I told her, 'it's senior year and all those pretty bitches and their pom-poms need you.' She hates it when I call them that, but she agrees with me, they need her now more than ever. I only care about the team because the training has proven useful to my smiling Lord.

Something happened to Lucy, she went missing from the mall. They made a really big deal out of it, it was all over the news 'What happened to Lucy Sumner?' her Daddy's big leaky blue eyes, looking desperately into the camera, begging, "Anyone who knows anything, please ..."

And there's us, it's Layla on the screen, but those are my words she's whispering, "She said she was going to meet someone, a college boy, she was real excited about it, bought a new dress and everything, I asked her not to go..."and then she turns our face, looking a little more determined now, a little more sure, "Lucy, please, if you're out there watching, please come home, at least call your folks?"

I even had her start a 'Finding Lucy' hotline, it worked like a charm. The cops did only a cursory line of questioning, and for weeks Layla had to endure all manner of people telling her it wasn't her fault Lucy disappeared. It made it easy to talk her into letting me have a few more turns. She knows it's me that has kept us safe, she can trust my decisions.

Silvie knows she doesn't have to be afraid of us, now. Layla and I talked it over; she knows we need a friend. Silvie's different, too, she's not different the same way we are, but she has her own special strangeness. She's got the market pinned on rage, it's almost creepy to watch her when she really lets go.

It was an even bigger deal when they found Lucy. Words like 'monster' and 'depraved' flew around like pigeons in Trafalgar Square. I'll agree, we got a little carried away, maybe had a little too much fun, it had to be a shock for them to find her like that, tied to that bicycle, with all those things Silvie left inside her, and all those pieces missing. Silvie serves her gods with a certain artistic grace; it was a celebration, a baptism, if you will. She laughed when we talked about it, "If they'd really known Lucy, they'd use words like 'fitting' and 'punishment'."

I know there was more than just Lucy in Silvie's rage that day, but for Silvie, Lucy was the poster child for high school tormentors. I put Silvie on the team. Of course, those dumb whores took some time to accept her, but with a little grooming Silvie's almost normal looking, and the one thing that makes Layla invincible is our gymnastics. No one can pull off the stunts we can, well with a little training, now Silvie's got a few tricks up her sleeves, too.

It's kind of nice to hear my name aloud, in a voice that isn't Layla's. Silvie understands about the moon, she sees the same smile I do, but it doesn't own her. Anger and pain are her masters. I'm growing quite fond of this particular human; she's the only one who hasn't made my skin crawl at her touch. The three of us talk for hours in the park, naked in Silvie's arms, under the fan of that old willow. This place is special to me, Silvie understands why, she can't wait for her own temple to be ready, she knows it may be a while before they get the place cleaned up and stop watching it, though.

And, still, something needs to be done about Layla. With Seth out of our picture, she's back to swinging our ass around and flirting with every boy she sees. Silvie and I going to Tainted Flesh on the weekend, she wants a tattoo to remind her of Lucy, I think it's silly, but I have an idea that will keep Layla chaste. I can't let her do something stupid again. It's been months since my grinning God has given me orders, and I know that in a few days, I'll be allowed to serve again. There's no way I'm gonna let her screw it up for me.

Chapter 6- Crossing the Chessboard

That horrible grin hangs foreboding in the sky tonight, as if mocking me and I feel that chill, that rush of need, and the pain that comes from its denial. I feel the restless thumping from the thing inside me, that part of me I must never again allow to escape. My shoes make a hollow sound that echoes off the alley walls, other than me, and the restless chronic coughing coming from inside the shelter, this night is perfectly still. The fog rolls in from everywhere, it's December in the city, and fingers of ice try to grab me with every step. I reach the spigot and begin to clean the filthy buckets and brushes, used so often to clear the vomit and human waste from the floors inside. The freezing water turns my fingers an angry red as I work; the pain twists my lips into smile. The payment for today has begun. Once I ran from even the slightest pain, gratefully letting Alice take the wheel, now I make myself feel it, because not giving in means a small victory.

For years I thought that Alice was my better half. She was stronger than me, and quicker to know the answers, it took me a long time to realize that just because you have an answer quickly, doesn't mean it's the right one. I was weak, and needful, I thought that she knew how to make us strong; I didn't listen when everything else inside me was screaming that we needed to be good as well. I let her drive for so long, and watched as she tore at the walls of our little world until they came crumbling down. I watched her destroy a transient in the park, because he tried to make a victim of us, I watched her tear apart one teenaged girl to help another feel a little more real, and then turn, disloyal as a serpent, and betray her as well. She thought I couldn't see from inside that place, she thought I had no idea what she was up to, but I found a window, and sometimes I peeked. I'll never forget the look of panic and shame on my sweet Silvie's face when she realized that Alice wasn't human. I let her do these things because I thought I was not strong enough to stop her. These are my sins.

I have sought forgiveness the traditional ways; I begged a meeting with a priest. Unable to be completely honest with him, but wanting desperately to find hope in his words, I learned that as far as his God is concerned, I'm a lost cause. I guess it's better anyway; you can't pay penance something you're sure is a lie. I've always kind of admired the type of people who can believe in things like Gods. It's like getting to believe in magic forever. Even Alice had something to believe, her 'Smiling Lord', often guided her to things and acts that normal people would have no part of, but at least she has something to blame, something she believes in that will exonerate her.

I had to create my own means of salvation. First comes sacrifice, I must relieve myself of all pleasures; that means cold food, uncomfortable furniture, and I must never so much as make eye contact with a man. I must pay back the carnage she dealt with my hands, so I work at the shelters and at the high school, doing the most disgusting, most degrading, things I can find, and return my pay to these causes. Atonement means a lot of things. Tomorrow I'm scheduled for a visit with my darling Silvie; her doctors think it will be good for her; they gave her a pass. I think it's a sweet irony that we'll meet, nearly unsupervised, in a park. I must face her and accept all the things I'm sure she has to say.

"Just a reminder, gentlemen, it's curfew in 15 minutes." I say in a clear voice, without looking up, as I slip past the walking dead and through the back door, their cloud of nicotine swirling in my wake.

My thoughts unbroken I begin to strip the beds, the musty air from too often soiled mattresses creating a foul wind across my cheeks. I breathe deep, payment comes in many forms. After Silvie comes confession. I must find a way be done with half truths and whole lies. I'm smarter than to go anywhere near a therapist. All those afternoons, bored with Dr. Ashton, trying to find something to say that sounded real and didn't lead to Alice, taught me therapists are either idiots, or not to be trusted. Alice had served her master twice before we met the good doctor and he never took his eyes off my tits long enough to see that we were lying.

There are guards around the palace; even as the commitment of speaking her most guarded truths sets its dark chill on my heart, I feel an absent twitch in my left hand, her hand. The movement is unnerving, it draws my suspicion that she will strengthen as she stews, but those horrible dreams filled with pain-ridden gore and moonlight celebration come less often now, something is working. That gives me hope that someday I will finally claim ownership of this body. Unbidden to the front of my mind come two images; the first is almost comforting in its familiarity, her face, not so different from mine with just subtle changes, she has green eyes and a more slender chin, high cheek bones and bright red hair, cut close to her head in the back and lengthening to points at her collar bones. She is a powerful beauty; one I am hoping very much to miss.

The second image cuts into my heart with the implication it brings, the thing I found in the nightstand drawer. So small I hoped it wasn't real; I couldn't even bring myself to touch it. The tiny white triangle not half the size of my pinky nail, the slender cone and point of the canine, a trophy from that opossum eighteen years ago in Grandma's woods. A trophy I thought I had destroyed; she must have ripped this tooth out of its skull before I cleaned house.

Chapter 7- The Jabberwalkie

Somehow the narrow hall from the stage to the dressing room collects all the air from the club. Everything from the stairs to the lobby, even the smell from the private showrooms gathers here. I leave the stage and move toward the hall, breaking the vortex of smoke, bravely spinning its silent witness to the desperate fantasies we sell, as I pass. Upstairs I pull my next outfit from my locker and make sure Layla's mousey brown hair is still hidden beneath my wig, while trying not to really see the mirror, sometimes you see too much when you look too hard, and sometimes someone else looks back.

Layla thinks she'll win; Layla has always been a little blind. She gives every day to her little plan, she thinks she'll kill me, or fix me, or something. Six days a week it's high schools, shelters and old folks homes; servitude. Those hands the Mommy insisted were bred for holding tea cups and babies are getting rough and red from the scrubbing and scraping Layla fills her days with. I use strong lotion to fix the damage. Six days a week she pays. She pays for what she thinks are my sins and Silvie's, she pays for her compliance. She keeps herself elbow deep in shit, and cries herself to sleep every night from loneliness. And she'll keep paying, even though she knows there's no one manning the till, as long as she thinks its working. She hates us that much.

Finished changing, wearing the blue dress now and having traded the black leather knee boots for clear sling back stilettos, I make my way back downstairs and into the lobby, different dress, different shoes; same animals drooling in the dark on cheap vinyl benches and lounge chairs. I missed last month's moon, but tonight one of these dogs will bleed for me. Three nights a week I steal her sleep. Before she locked me in, I tried to tell her that it doesn't matter what we want from this life; my God has a plan of its own, and true deities can't be denied. She might have found a window, but I was given a key. My laughing Lord is proving its plan, paying back all those years with Layla's band of jumping whores in green. And with the green It brings me choices, oh so many choices, all those dirty dogs and filthy bitches that need to be put down. It wants them all, but I discriminate, sometimes less is more.

Phoenix is up next. She's a cute brunette with a tight ass and great moves, I hate this music, but I love this bit. She's playing schoolgirl to Britney Spears, and sporting that classic catholic uniform, knee socks, glasses, pig tails, lollypop, the works. Its camp, but the spoons love it. With her back against the mirror, and her hands on her knees, she lowers herself, its one fluid movement that finds her squatting, knees open hands crossed, and lifting her skirt just enough to let the cat tease the dogs. Then she rolls forward and begins crawling, shoulders so low her pigtails drag against the stage, that crisp white top opening to give the spoons a peek at her artwork. At the edge of the stage she tucks her head and pulls a somersault, landing legs open, straddling the shoulders of the dog sitting at the foot of the stage. Pulling his head into her navel lands her another five spot, and with a nod and a wink she's got him on the hook for a private show when she gets off stage. Anyone can use these moves, but Phoenix takes the time to use the music, to actually dance. Just for that she takes more tips off the stage than almost any other girl here. It's with a slight edge when she tells me that she makes less money when I work; I tell her she needs to use the pole. We're both only half serious, she's got moves to spare up there, but when it comes to the pole, I fly.

After Phoenix is Candy; awkward as always with shoes as cheap as her name. Her song is short with heavy bass and lyrics that barely meet the rhythm, she moves like she's never heard the music she chose; no commitment to the character. She looks like a girl trying to be sexy instead of one that just is. She doesn't understand why she doesn't make the kind of money we do, and often begs Phoenix and me to teach her. Phoenix might help, but I settle the girl with a dismissive glance, the last thing I need is another Silvie. I was watching from the window that day, I heard her trashing me to Layla when she should have been thanking me for sending her there instead of making a gift of her. That twisted fuck almost ruined everything with her 'Legacy of Pain'; if I'd let her play her cards she would have gotten us both the hot needle. Layla couldn't see it, but when you're as close to your monster as I am, these things get easier to see.

Silvie wanted everyone to see her pain. I thought at first she cut herself because she was lost and hurting, but she needed the badge. She said 'People won't learn, Shadow, until the scars they make on the inside cut so deep they show on the outside too.' After Lucy came the tattoos; smiley faces, each with some injury or defect, a scar, a bullet wound, one of them had a cancerous tumor bulging from its forehead. One smile for each of her 'lessons', she was eight deep by the time I had to stop her. The calling I've been given made it easy to understand most of Sadistic Silvie's punishments, but when she wanted to take those two little boys for fighting in the park I knew I had indulged her too long. I nearly threw up when I saw those twin smiles on her hip; she had them clawing at each other's eyes. Lucky for me, Silvie could barely maintain, when they came for her she broke quickly and began to rant so deeply they soon stopped paying attention to anything she said about me. It hurt to have to lose her, she was the only human that ever knew me, but I need to be free to serve my purpose, I have a higher calling.