Chapter 13: The Power Of Hate

It didn't seem Alice could turn the water up hot enough, nor scrub her skin hard enough. No matter what she did, sobbing in the shower, the scent of Mrs. Talbot's nasty little dog's waste clung to her, a bitter, mocking reek knocking down all the new walls of confidence she'd built.

She almost missed the sound of the door creaking open through her tears, but the chuckle that followed was unmistakable. Alice screamed at Evan, but she was too late, forgetting in her horror and humiliation to lock the bathroom door behind her. With a flick of the toilet's flusher, he plunged her into an icy downpour, laughing out loud as he retreated.

"Smells like shit in here," he said. "Why am I not surprised you're full of it, Lice?" With that, while she huddled as far from the freezing water as she could, he slammed the door behind him.

Hate rushed through her with the return of hot water as the old toilet finally filled its tank and shut off. She shook from the intensity of her emotion, hands pressing against the wall to keep her steady as her sobs went on, this time fueled by so much rage she felt like she would explode from it.

Evan. Mrs. Talbot. Claire. Louisiana. All of it, everything. And that stupid little freaking dog, too. Alice's toes curled under as her entire body tightened into a single, quivering mass, blood pounding through her body, the need to destroy something with her bare hands barely contained as she dug her fingertips into the cracked tile wall.

The hate left her in a slow retreat, washing back like a retreating tide, but by the time it did the water was only lukewarm. Shaking, drained by the intensity of the experience,Alice hugged her softly plump body with her arms and drew a shaking breath before turning and tossing aside the thin shower curtain.

Utter hopelessness replaced her hate, apathy so thick it choked her as her eyes settled on her towel, half-clogging the toilet outtake. She'd only brought one in with her.

Forgotten clothes, forgotten everything, even her robe.

Her eyes skimmed the filthy sweatshirt, the curdling scent of heated dog feces burning her nostrils as the humid air in the bathroom added to the reek.

No towel and only her filthy clothing to cover her.

Alice sank to the bottom of the tub and brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin there, all the strength leaving her body. A gray mist seemed to close in on her, wrapping her in nothing, pulling her down toward the dark, black hole she'd visited a time or two. The one she'd hidden in every time Evan trapped her in a closet. It saved her from losing her mind, she was sure of it. But the phobia was worse when Betty finally came home to find her, rocking and vacant, in the back of the tiny space. Of course Betty had been mad at Evan, but her punishment fell on deaf ears and he got away with it.

Many, many times.

It would have been very easy for Alice to sink into the hole and let it protect her, keep her safe. There were times she wished it would just show up and swallow her, carry her off so no one could ever hurt her again. But this time, this time was different.

She fought it with her newly won anger, the budding confidence she'd been nurturing. It was easier to hide, to stay gray and safe, and finally fall into the black. More despair, as the gray faded, when she realized she'd lost her retreat, the one thing she'd been able to count on to protect her.

In a whiplash of temper, Alice lurched to her feet and jerked on the shower curtain. It came free with a tinging song, bits of the plastic rings holding it in place ricocheting from the tile walls as they shattered under the pressure.

Screw Evan. Screw Mrs. Talbot and her asshole little dog. Alice wrapped the curtain around her and stomped to the exit, feet sliding over the slick ceramic as she wrenched the door open and stalked across the hall to her room, dragging the sheet behind her.

No snickering. No snatching at her covering. Evan didn't even stay behind to enjoy the end of his joke. Because Alice wasn't worth it, was she? Not worth the effort. Her slamming door vibrated in tune to her anger. Alice stood in the middle of her room, curtain dangling from her dripping body, glaring out the window at Mrs. Talbot's house, gaze skimming over the tangle of foliage, the angel, the pond. Dark, dead earth. A ball of blonde fluff bounced over the grass in the next yard and all of Alice's hate focused on that damned little dog.

A whispered sigh broke the intensity, jerked her head around. Alice listened, mouth open, barely breathing, holding perfectly still. Waiting for another sound.

It never came. But it succeeded in shattering the spell her surges in emotion held over her. Alice sagged on the end of the bed, pushing back her wet hair, still clutching the curtain to her as she calmed down.

A fresh towel around her hair and clean clothes on her body, Alice returned to the bathroom at last. A garbage bag welcomed both the sweatshirt and the ruined jeans, as well as her soaking socks. She sighed over the broken curtain rings, tossing the curtain itself into the tub to be dealt with later. Betty would want to know how it happened.

Would give Alice her money lecture, blaming it on her clumsiness.

By the time she returned to her room with the towel from the toilet rinsed and squeezed to damp, Alice's temper had risen again. Not to the same level, more rational this time. Less out of control.

More frightening, in a way. But while the old Alice would have huddled and hidden from the fear, she wasn't that girl anymore. Why, Alice didn't know. Didn't care. Her eyes landed on the voodoo doll, settled on the bed. A surge of need drove her forward to scoop it up, look down into its button eyes, finger the dress, the stitches for a mouth.

Before she knew it, she was kneeling beside the bed, the box out from its hiding place, a pin in her hand.

So many people to punish. And though Alice knew it was all make-believe, that the little doll couldn't possibly do what the website said, the thrill of thinking maybeÑoh, just maybeÑsuch a thing could be done made her grin over the limp creation.

Alice sat back on her heels and sighed. The pin dropped back into the box, the top slid firmly shut and the wooden casket slid back under the night table. The doll she carried with her to her desk. And her computer. She needed a distraction. Something to carry her away from the burning ache she felt to pick someone and hurt them by jabbing the doll with pins. Silly. She should just do it and get it over with. But the logical, practical part of her rolled her eyes and did what it always did.

"Let's see what we can find about that carving in the wardrobe." Alice grinned at the doll. "And maybe more about where you came from."

A few of the words were easy to Google, but nothing about the others made any sense. Frustrated with a handful of useless bits and pieces, the odd "with" and "not", Alice sat back with her arms crossed over her chest, frustration rising. She had a feeling the words were important. And maybe even connected to the doll. That made sense, didn't it? Alice picked it up again, examined it closer. The stitching seemed coarse, thick black thread instead of something that would hide against the pale, natural fiber of the thing's body. The slash of a mouth, several X'd shapes crisscrossing over its face, looked like sharp teeth waiting to bite.

Her fingers stroked the dress again. Stopped as drowsiness overtook her. Limbs suddenly heavy with fatigue, body pushed to its limit from the rush and ebb of so many powerful emotions, Alice left her search to crawl onto the bed, laying the doll next to her on her pillow, eyes sliding shut.

The last thing she saw were its shining button eyes staring back at her.

***

It is bitterly disappointed, but not in her. It has failed to give her what she needs. The mistress was so close to calling on Its power, to taking her revenge. It must push her harder, it seems.

For her own good.

***