strangetomato | Strangetown: Chapter Seven

Warnings: violence, death

Chapter Seven

When Nervous came back to his senses, he found himself down in the pit. It was completely empty. All of the objects that had been in the room were missing, and he had been lying on the floor. He felt cold, hungry, tired, and empty. The room slowly came into focus around him.

Above him, Circe and Loki stood watching.

"Good morning, Nervous." Loki said. "It's about time you got up." How long had he been out? Hours? Days? Weeks? He really couldn't tell.

"You'll notice that all of "your" things have been removed." Circe said through her teeth. "I've decided that you really don't appreciate them, so you don't deserve to have them. I did pay for them, so they're mine to take back, of course."

Nervous limped towards the stairs.

"I wouldn't touch them if I were you." Loki barked. "I've designed those stairs to give a high-voltage electric shock to anyone who touches them when they are turned on, and you'll find that they'll now be turned on indefinitely."

Nervous fell to the floor in despair. He realized that he was to be kept in the pit for as long as the Beakers felt like it.

"You poor thing." Circe purred. "You must be hungry. Don't worry, we'll get you something to eat... once we're sure that you'll really appreciate it."

Nervous wasn't going to cry. He didn't have any tears left to shed, and he wouldn't give the Beakers the benefit of seeing them anyway.

"Oh, and another thing..." Circe stepped out of the room and came back carrying something.

"I found your puppy." Nervous' heart sank.

"Such a vile little creature." Circe curled her lips in disgust. "He's so terribly cute... couldn't you just eat him up? You must really care about this awful little thing, don't you, Nervous? It would be a real shame if something bad happened to him..."

"Why don't we prepare Nervous something to eat?" Loki mused. "He looks like he's really starving."

"Yes, that's a great idea." Circe grinned. "He looks hungry enough to eat just about anything right now..."

She left the room, carrying the puppy with her.

Olive Specter was pleased. Everything had been working out for her, now that the girl was gone.

Ophelia Nigmos. That awful girl, her sister's brat. Taking her in had been a very bad idea, even though it had been necessary. After her parent's death, what choice did Olive have but to take in the girl? Ophelia was even worse than Willow. Such a good little girl. So perfect. So beautiful. Olive couldn't bear to look at her. The way she fed all the stray animals in the neighbourhood. Her good grades, and her little pair of friends. Both boys, of course, the little slut. Ophelia must have thought she was so special, with those two lads hungrily trailing her around. She was just like her mother.

Olive's days were nearing their end. She knew this for a fact, but she didn't mind. Olive Specter didn't fear death. People only fear what they do not know, and Olive was well acquainted with death. She knew death very well indeed. Most of her business in this life was in order, and she was just about ready to die. There was only one thing left for her to do.

She had to find her son and bring him home.

She had named the boy Osiris, after his father. It had been a name he had gone by at one time or another, and it was a good, strong, princely name. He deserved at least that much.

Having the boy had not been her idea. His father had implored Olive to bear his child, and she loved him so much, she couldn't bear to disappoint.

Olive hadn't been prepared to raise a child. She deplored children even more than most other types of people. She was prepared to take it on, despite this, for his father's sake, until it became clear that the boy would have to leave for his own safety.

The ghosts simply wouldn't tolerate his presence in the house. They knew what he was. They grew very agitated, and haunted much more than usual. They hounded him day and night, and his screaming pushed Olive's patience to the limit.

Osiris had been a handful. He would often wander out into the graveyard, where he would be in the most danger. Though it frightened him terribly, he would always innocently wander back into harms way. When Olive would come to his rescue, he'd flash his shy smile at her, but she didn't return it.

Despite his parentage, the boy was just too soft hearted. Olive found this rather disappointing. Had she been someone, anyone, else, she may have found it all a little sad. Instead, she found it irritating. Surely, any son of her's should have more of a backbone. Considering who his father was, it was downright shameful.

So she had given him up for adoption, with the intention of bringing him home once he'd become a man. She figured that he'd be able to deal with the ghosts by then. She would give him his rightful inheritance, which was everything that she had. All the money she had inherited from her husbands, her estate, and the cemetery. She thought that this should more than make up for his years as an adopted child.

Olive had kept track of the years as they passed by, and she knew that Osiris should have transitioned to adulthood by now. Perhaps he had gone to college, but either way, he was surely old enough by now to learn about his rightful heritage.

Ophelia would likely try to return to the Specter estate after college, or maybe she would have the sense to move on. Olive really didn't care. She'd be gone by that time, and Osiris could deal with the girl himself.

Ophelia would be sorely mistaken, however, if she expected to inherit the house, or even anything at all. She meant no more to Olive than her mother had, and she wouldn't be inheriting a single simolean. Ophelia had already been granted a significant reprieve. That was all the kindness that she could expect from her dear old aunt. Olive's only concerns now were for her son.

She called the adoption agency. It was time to track him down.

"Well, Nervous..." Circe smiled. "I thought you were hungry."

Nervous eyed the plate suspiciously. "What did you do with the puppy?"

"Oh, I think you know that, as well as we do, Nervous Subject!" Loki roared. "Now eat up."

Nervous paused. The Beakers obviously wanted him to think that this meat they had served him was what remained of the puppy, but he knew for a fact that this wasn't true. He didn't know why, he didn't know how, but he did know that if the puppy had died, he would know it. He always did.

With this in mind, he picked up the plate and started eating. Of course, the Beakers could also be poisoning him, but he decided that they would probably much rather torture him, and that would require keeping him around. That, and Loki needed him. Loki needed Nervous Subject almost as much as Nervous needed the Beakers.

"Is it good?" Circe asked. "I'll bet that little thing is really tender."

"It is good." Nervous said. Then he suddenly decided to make a move of his own. "But where is the puppy?"

"That is the puppy!" Loki fumed. "You're eating him right now!"

"No, I'm not." Nervous said it abruptly, almost involuntarily.

Loki shook with rage. "How did you know that?"

"I don't know how... I... " He'd made a mistake. "I don't. I don't know. It was just a guess."

"No... That's not what you said. You knew." Loki curled his lip. "You knew it, didn't you?! But how did you know it..." Loki's mind was racing, and pieces of a puzzle that he'd been working on for quite some time were beginning to fall into place.

"Yes. You knew." Loki smiled. "You... know." He laughed a little bit. "Well, well, Nervous Subject. You're not quite as useless as you look, are you?" He paused, considering. "I think it's about time that I did a little testing on you. About you, and only you. You've been hiding something from me, and I'm going to find out what it is."

"I'm not hiding anything, Loki."

"No, maybe not." Loki said. "That makes sense." He smiled. "You don't even know what it is, do you? All those dreams... " Nervous shivered. "But there's something going on with you, and I'm going to find out what it is. But first..." He looked around. "I'm going to do something that I should have done a long time ago." He turned to Circe.

"Circe, would you be so kind as to fetch your surgical scissors for me?"

"Yes, of course, Loki, darling." She left the room. Nervous pleaded with Loki.

"No. Please, Loki... no..."

"Here you are, Loki."

"Thank you, my love."

"Loki... please..."

"Relax, my nervous one. This won't hurt you a bit." He smiled the widest of grins. "I'm just going to relieve you of a silly little affectation that takes up way too much of your time, anyway."

"Oh no, please, Loki..."

"Go ahead and beg all you want, Nervous. It won't change anything." He grabbed Nervous. "I've been meaning to do this for ages." He wrapped his fingers around Nervous' mohawk and pulled on it hard. Nervous dangled from Loki's hand, biting his lip to avoid crying out in pain.

"This hair! This ridiculous hairstyle! It was amusing for a while... and then merely tolerable... but, now..." He shook Nervous by his hair.

"Well, now I'm just sick of looking at it."

Olive's search wasn't going well.

"What do you mean, you have no record of such a person? He is my son!" Olive fumed. "I trusted you!"

The person on the other line was making excuses. "Well, even with a name change, you should know that! How hard can it be to do your job?" She waited impatiently for the excuses. "Disappeared? You mean, he ran away? Then why didn't you find him?"

Olive thought about how satisfying it would be to set the adoption agency on fire, or start a gas leak in the building. She smiled as she imagined every sim inside of the organization falling to the ground, dead. Choking, suffering, and begging her for mercy. None would come. They should all die. They deserved it. It's not like it would even reduce their productivity, since they were clearly braindead already. The person was offering more excuses, but Olive had reached her limit.

She slammed the phone down without another word.

Olive Specter was angry. She was furious. People were so useless. So expendable. She loathed each and every one of them.

There was only one way to get the information that she needed now, and someone would help her to get it, whether they wanted to or not. Olive always got what she wanted, one way or another.

Yes, there was only one remaining way for her to discover where her son was located. She would have to speak to the boy's father. Olive would have to speak with him directly, but that, of course, would involve some measure of messiness.

Someone was going to have to die.

Nervous slept fitfully on the cold stone floor, and his dreams came to haunt him, as they always did. This time, they were more vivid than usual.

That same dream with the shears. Cutting, cutting. The sound of a woman's laughter, taunting, and directing someone.

A struggle. An internal struggle. I won't die. I won't let her do this to me. Not me. Not now. God, I won't go quietly like this. How can I go like this? Me. I'm not going to let her kill me! Please... No. That figure came again. Death surveyed his work and sighed. He smiled, and... he spoke. Wait. He... smiled? Then the dream changed.