Chapter 5: Man in the Mirror

Beth tumbled gently to the floor beneath, flipping her body at the last second to land on her feet. Staring up, all she could see were the clouds she had passed through on the way down. She had several red marks on her left arm, each one from a nasty pinch that she gave herself to try and wake up from this strangest of dreams. Now that she was on the ground, she saw that she stood in a beautiful garden with a large marble gazebo in the middle.

“How peculiar,” she said, expecting her voice to echo, or come out low, or do anything that would make her realize that she was, in fact, lying in her bed. Her sanity had already taken too many hits recently, and she felt like she was one crack away from using a safety crayon to write legal briefs for dead celebrities. Turning in place, she realized that the garden itself was a giant floating island. Walking to the edge, she frowned at the large amount of sky beneath. Whatever ground existed was somewhere beneath the distant mists below. Squinting, she thought she saw the ripple of waves through the gaps in the fog.

Smoothing out her nightgown, she turned to the garden.

“Okay, dream logic. Clearly the gazebo is meant to be my destination. Probably reminiscent of my latent sexual frustrations or my father’s inability to express his love.” Beth turned toward one of the nearby hedges. A small statue of a bird with a top hat turned its head to face her. “What do you think Mr. Bird?”

“Nevermore?” The statue shrugged its wings. Beth saluted the bird statue, who returned the gesture in kind. Beth wandered through the shorter hedges, stopping to smell the crimson flowers that sprouted above their clipped tops. They smelled of cinnamon and sulphur, the scent burning Beth’s nostrils. Other small statues of animals in top hats greeted her, removing hats or waving pleasantly when she walked past, her nightgown catching on some of the thicker branches.

The hedges had no discernible logic, but Beth was content to drift between them. After all, she would probably wake up the moment she reached the center, no matter when that happened. She greeted more of the statues, which had become larger and more intricate. An elephant used its trunk to tip its hat to her before resuming its gentle spray of water on the foliage.

Beneath the gazebo, a picnic style lunch had been spread out on a soft, red blanket. Wines, cheeses, and a tray of meats awaited her. Soft red cushions surrounded the picnic, and Beth sat down on one of them. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she poured herself a drink.

“I see that someone has joined me.” His voice was thick with an accent very similar to Russian. Taking the cushion opposite her, he lifted the tails of his jacket before sitting. He wore a bright white button down with a purple coat and a matching top hat. His skin was dusky with hints of red in the shadows of his eye sockets, and when he removed his hat a tangle of black and red hair spilled around his shoulders. Two large horns protruded from the upper part of his forehead, and his toothy grin was full of daggers. His bright yellow eyes glowed in the shadows of the gazebo. “I am always in the mood for some good company.”

“Ah shit.” Beth set a piece of cheese back down on the blanket. “That’s just fucking great. Now I can’t eat any of this.”

“Why not? I assure you that the food here is very good.” To demonstrate, he popped a piece of cheese in his mouth. “Delicious.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s delicious, but not immortal soul delicious.” Beth crossed her arms. “‘I’m guessing that if I eat the food, I get stuck here. Simple as that.”

Her host never broke stride, his smile fixed. “Come now, why would I want to trap you here?”

“Duh.” Beth held up a finger on each hand and stuck them to her forehead. “Demon.”

The demon laughed. “Come now, you really must try this food, I picked it out just for you.”

“Well, maybe just a bite.” Beth lifted the glass in a mock salute. “After all, it isn’t every day that a demon makes you a meal. What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, I wish I could tell you,” the demon replied. “Frankly, I am a little surprised to see you down here. Generally I am informed of my guests prior to meeting them. Your arrival was a bit of a shock.”

“I see. Yet you have quite the spread.” Beth spilled a bit of wine on the back of her hand. She wiped it off on her gown, licking her thumb clean. “Doesn’t strike me as uninvited company.”

“It does take you roughly half an hour to fall through the portal,” the demon said. “That gives me some leeway.”

“So why a garden?” Beth asked. “This place seems like it was ripped straight from Victorian England or something. Hello, the 1800s called, they want their garden back.” Here, in this strange place, she was finally feeling like herself again. She lifted the wine glass to her lips.

“Oh, it was. I was trapped here some time ago by a very powerful man, but I managed to bring some real estate with me.” The demon leaned forward, suddenly vanishing and appearing at Beth’s side. He placed a hand on her wrist, stopping her before she could drink. “I’m afraid I avoided your question earlier. You definitely don’t want to drink that, otherwise your soul becomes trapped here.”

“Oh.” Beth set the glass down. “Does this have to do with the man who sent me here?”

“That would be Master Sebastien. I’m afraid that per terms of my imprisonment, I often must do things I do not particularly find pleasant, such as trapping humans in this place.”

“And eating would trap me here?”

The demon nodded. “It would.”

“I don’t see anybody else here,” Beth noted.

“Oh, that’s because most people don’t last very long here.” The demon frowned, taking Beth’s glass from her hands. He sipped gently at the wine, his thick lips spread thin on the crystal glass.

“You kill them.”

The demon nodded. “Usually. Or I wait until they throw themselves off the island. Whatever I find more entertaining.”

“But why not me?” Beth asked. “Isn’t it your job?”

“Not technically. The exact language involving my imprisonment here dictates that I must answer my master or his associates any three questions once every lunar cycle. Naturally, I try and get out of it if I can. I only have to answer yes or no. However, Sebastien has been gracious enough to provide me visitors on occasion, and I keep them alive as long as they interest me.”

“So you can answer three questions? Any three questions?”

“Well, I can answer any question actually, without limitation. I could give the Society all the details they want, but someone forgot to put that in the language of the spell that bound me here.”

“So I could ask any question and you could answer it?”

“Only if it pleases me.” The demon grinned. “Go ahead. Try.”

“Who was my first kiss?” Beth asked.

“Human or non-human? Family, non-family?”

“Are you stalling?” Beth leaned back on her cushion, her breasts pushing up against the fabric of her nightgown. She saw the demon’s eyes flick down at her figure and then back.

“Hardly. Your mother was your first kiss. When you were three days old, she kissed you on the mouth. Out of reflex, you tried to suck her lips. It counts. Non-family and human was Victor beneath the bleachers in the seventh grade. You did it on a dare. Non-human was Mr. Beary, the teddy bear. You kissed him several times as a child, but when you were eleven, you planted a kiss on that bear in the hopes that he would turn into a prince. You even tried to use tongue, because you saw it in a movie once.”

“Holy shit.” Beth stared at the demon. She hadn’t thought about Victor in years, and she had completely (or deliberately) forgotten Mr. Beary. “Is this a dream?”

“Hard to prove it isn’t,” the demon told her. “No matter what I tell you here, you could argue that the dream made up the memory. In a way, maybe you could think of your actions here as- DON’T DO THAT!” Beth had picked up one of the forks on the table and jabbed it into her leg. She screamed, pulling the fork free as blood flowed freely through the fabric of her nightgown.

“Holy fuck, ow!”

“Well, that settles it.” The demon shook his head. “Not dreaming.”

“Oh, fuck!” Beth balled up her fists. “That really hurts.”

“Yeah, well I prefer you intact.” The demon waved a hand over her leg, and the burning stopped. Beth lifted her nightgown, wiping away the blood with a cloth from the table. Four tiny dots had scarred her legs. “And definitely much quieter.”

Staring at the demon, Beth shook her head. “I thought this was just another one of my weird dreams.”

“And what kind of dreams would those be?” He asked.

Beth blushed. “I think I’ll keep that to myself.” Staring out across the garden, it suddenly dawned on her. If this was real, the thing in her room had been real. What did Sebastien want with a copy of her?

Oh no. Beth thought briefly of Mike. How was this whole mess related to him? Looking at the demon, she smiled politely, a feeling that was only skin deep. She was going to find a way out, and she had a pretty good idea how to make it happen.

“Alex!” Dana sat up, scattering an array of metal tools onto the floor of her apartment. The sound they made upon striking the ground was deafening, causing Dana put her hands over her ears. It had been the life support dream again, the sound of Alex’s last breath being drawn, watching the nurses leave the room with a look of defeat on their faces.

“Fuck,” she whispers, staring at the mess on the floor. Hours of painstakingly crafting gears, modeling them on her computer and then using the 3D printer at school to make them. She had brought home several prototypes, hoping to find the proper combination that would allow the clock to work again She had even visited an antique clock repair downtown, letting the octogenarian owner show her how they ticked, but to no avail. None of the obvious patterns fit, and research on the clock itself yielded nothing, which made her think it was a one of a kind creation. She stared at the random assembly in front of her, the strange stack she had formed that now lie scattered across her floor.

She needed a drink. She went to the fridge to grab a beer, her eyes instead settling on the bottle of vodka tucked in the vegetable crisper. A beer sounded nice and cold, refreshing even.

She didn’t want refreshing-she wanted something with bite. She pulled the top off of the vodka and sucked greedily at it, wondering how long it would take for fire to fill her belly, for the edges of the world to blur. Staring over the railing at the motorcycle on the floor of the garage, Dana poured a tiny bit of vodka over the railing, watching it splash on the cold concrete.

“For Alex.” She drank again, stopping herself before she took it too far. She knew better than most what would happen if she kept drinking. The vodka would catch up with her, and who knew where she would wake up. Picking up her keys and wallet, she tossed them in the back of her sock drawer. She didn’t need to go anywhere, and she didn’t want to be tempted to.

What time was it anyway? Picking up her phone, she frowned at the clock. It was almost one in the morning. There really wasn’t anywhere for her to go after all. She saw that she had a voicemail, so put the phone on speaker, setting it down on her desk.

“Hey Dana, it’s Rick!” The voice from her phone was friendly, but tired. Rick was a college dropout who was trying to support his mom and little sister by working sixty hours a week. He spent most of those hours slinging pies behind the counter. Dana stripped out of her pants, tossing them on the bed.

“Hi Rick,” she muttered, picking her pants back up and checking the pockets. She found the tube of chapstick she had been looking for, and set it on the desk. She threw her pants even farther, the legs catching her comforter just right that her pants now dangled over the other end of her bed.

“Hey, look, so the reason I called was some guy came in here tonight asking about some deliveries we made. It was to that creepy old house, the one everyone says is haunted. Anyway, he wanted to speak with you, but I couldn’t give him your info directly, I think it’s a company policy thing. He left his number and all, so next time you come in, it’s inside your locker.”

Dana stared at the phone. Why would somebody want to talk to her about Mike’s house?

“Okay, so I’ll see you when I see you. Take care.” With that, Rick hung up his phone. Dana took off her shirt and slid into a tank top. Looking at the bed, she found her gaze drawn once more to the clock.

How many hours had she lost already trying to fix the damn thing? She moved closer, tugging gently on the minute hand. The clock face swung open, revealing the complex machine inside. When properly assembled, there would be nearly no room for anything else. Dana had devoted hours to carefully removing the cracked and broken gears, documenting where each one went on a large piece of butcher paper she had taped to her desk. Her protractor, triangle and compass had received more use in the last 48 hours than they had through high school and college. There was something soothing about the diagrams, imagining how all of the pieces fit together, wondering what sound the chime would make.

“What the fuck?” Dana ran her fingers along the edge of the paper. Several lines had been drawn on the side, tiny arrows that pointed off the page. She untaped the butcher paper and flipped it over.

An exploded diagram of a clock assembly had been drawn on the back. Expertly shaded and heavily detailed, Dana realized that she couldn’t tell if she was looking at a drawing or a photograph. In awe, she put the paper back on the desk, the new image toward her, and taped it down.

Breathing heavily, she knelt to the floor and picked up one of her new gears. Hovering over the image, she found its counterpart. Setting the gear in place, it was a perfect fit.

Had she drawn this in her sleep? Grabbing some more parts from the floor, she put them in place, finding where each one of them went. Older parts were shaded differently, their drawings colored slightly darker than the rest. Setting her beer to the side, she began moving the pieces around, figuring out which ones worked and which didn’t.

Though she worked in silence, the steady ticking of a clock filled her mind as she continued working into the night.

“So what should I call you?” Beth asked. “I’ve read enough books to know that you won’t give me your real name. Or at least that you shouldn’t.”

The demon sipped at his wine and smiled. “You can call me Oliver. I once had the fortune of working with a man by that name, and have been fond of it ever since.”

“Okay Oliver. I was hoping we could play a game. You see, I notice that you said you would answer me any question, but only if it pleases you.” Beth picked up a piece of cheese, put it near her mouth, then tossed it back on the table. “You see, I get the impression that you don’t want me to leave here. However, I do not wish to stay. So there must be something I can offer you in return for such information.”

“You mean other then amusement?” Oliver set his wine glass down, and pulled off his gloves. The dusky red hue of his skin was like merlot, and his fingernails were black and glossy. He traced a line down Beth’s chin, across her neck, and then along her bare shoulder, toying with the strap of her nightgown. “Hmm. Give me a minute to think about your proposition.”

“While you think, may I look around your garden?”

“Please.” Oliver smiled, his horns glistening. Beth stood, wandering out into the small maze of hedges. She lightly touched the foliage, greeting the statues again as she passed.

She needed Oliver to take the bait. The thought that the demon was real sent a chill down her spine, but lit a fire in her groin. She wondered if he had a tail, or if his horns were sensitive. Something about his skin made her want to taste him, explore every inch of his body, find out what a demon liked. His attitude wasn’t unpleasant, and she was sure he was bored out of his mind waiting for something to do. A large hippo statue waved at her enthusiastically from the other side of a small hedge, so she waved back. The garden was charming, but she felt like there was a far more sinister side to the demon and his methodologies.

God, the thought of him was making her wet.

“I have decided.” Oliver appeared before her, the air reeking suddenly of matches and coal. “We shall play a game. Winning the game means that I will tell you how to leave. Losing the game means that you remain here with me.” His hands were on her, a fresh prize in his sights. She felt the power of his touch, the heat of his flesh through her nightgown. “What do you say to the terms?”

“How can I trust that you will keep your word?” Beth asked.

“Demons cannot tell a lie when directly asked. We can twist the truth, or deceive, but the nature of any indentured servant such as myself is the inability to lie.” Oliver shrugged. “It is quite the inconvenience, but it makes me very good at what I do.”

“Winning means that you allow me to leave unhindered. You nor anything here will attempt to stop me.” Beth winked. “I also accept your terms on the grounds that the process for leaving is actually possible for a woman of my abilities. I would hate to discover that leaving requires the use of magic or transforming into a bird and flying away.”

Oliver’s grin faltered. “What are you, an attorney?”

“Oh, I’m much worse.” Beth moved close enough that she could smell the wine on his hot breath. “I’m a woman with an education.”

Oliver laughed, his eyes crinkling in delight. “Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you!” He waved his hand and they were back in the gazebo. Curtains hung from the windows, transforming the gazebo into a room. The food was gone, replaced by a series of soft, leather chairs.

“We have a deal?” Beth asked.

“Absolutely.” Oliver bowed, indicating with his hands that she should sit on the couch nearest to him. She did his bidding, crossing her legs slowly. “Now, the rules for this game are simple. You are allowed to ask me any three questions, which I will answer truthfully. However, I will ask you to perform a task for me before I answer any of your questions. You will use these three questions to figure out how to escape from this place. The game ends when you either refuse to complete a task, or you figure out how to leave. Do these rules make sense to you?”

“I think so,” Beth told him. “However, prior to the game itself actually starting, I want to clarify a few of these rules.”

Oliver’s face twitched again. “You do?”

“I do. You see, my concern is that the task you give me may also be impossible to complete. For example, task one may be “remain here forever,” in which case I can neither complete the task or get my question answered. Now, doing such a thing would, I believe, be in direct violation of the nature of the game, which is to permit me the opportunity to earn my freedom. In that case, however, this would not be a game at all, but a way for you to torture me for your amusement, thereby invalidating your statement about honesty from a demon.” Beth examined her fingernails. “I have a hunch that you were hoping I had a question about the rules, thereby using one of my three allotted questions and earning you a free task.”

Oliver’s grin faltered, then returned even bigger than ever. “Oh, you really will be fun! Okay, I’ll give you this as a freebie. None of these tasks are impossible to complete, though you may find them distasteful. However, I will test you to see how far you will go to escape this place, and I intend to win.”

“Sounds fair. But there’s no reason we can’t be friendly about it.” Beth patted the cushion next to her. “So, let me see. I want to get out of here, but I know if I ask you that, you will find a way to stonewall me.”

“Perhaps.” Oliver slid onto the couch next to her. “It seems that you are taking the game to heart. Trying to predict how your question can be twisted to serve my own needs. Very interesting. I rarely encounter a human who puts this much thought into things.”

“I’m sure you have some interesting stories.”

“I do.” Oliver smiled. “I must admit, this game is a favorite of mine. I have played it many times before. I enjoy watching the human psyche at work, whether it is building itself up or breaking apart.”

“I’m sure you do.” He was so close to her now, she found it distracting. “Has anyone ever won the game before and left?”

Oliver’s eyes lit from within, his yellow eyes dilating. He inhaled deeply, taking in Beth’s scent.

“Masturbate for me,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to watch you lick your own cream off your fingers.”

“Interesting choice,” Beth told him, turning on the couch. She spread her legs, revealing her cotton blue panties to him. A damp spot had long ago formed in the crotch, and she massaged her swollen labia through the fabric. It was like taking a drink of water after eating a pepper—it eased the burn, but only for a second. Beth squeezed her breast, gently massaging the underside and lightly twisting her own nipple.

Oliver’s gaze was intoxicating. He never blinked, his grin a permanent fixture on his face. He had turned to see her better, sitting on his knees. Beth realized that his jacket was long gone, and he wore just his button down shirt and a pair of black slacks. Rubbing herself through her panties, she let out a tiny moan.

“Good,” Oliver told her, licking his lips. Beth saw that the end of his tongue was forked, and she wondered how it would feel between her legs, if he could capture her clitoris between its folds, massaging the sides of her engorged clitoris while he parted her lips with his fingers.

Beth shivered, the muscles in her pelvis squeezing. She pressed up through the fabric, teasing her opening with her covered fingers, moving them from side to side. Her labia parted gently beneath her touch, the soft fabric of her panties sliding across the entirety of her sex, stimulating her everywhere at once.

“Mmh,” she moaned, staring deep into Oliver’s eyes. She focused her attention once more on her slit, tugging her clitoral hood upward, causing her swollen clitoris to drag across the underside of the fabric. The cotton was just rough enough to send another thrill up her body.

Oliver watched her for several minutes, a grin fixed on his face. She could see him growing hard through his trousers, make out the long, thick shape of the cock hidden beneath his clothes. She wondered if it would be a weird color, or if it was extra thick, maybe it had thorns, or two heads, or...

The first wave of pleasure passed through her body, and she flooded her panties with more of her juices. Releasing her breast, she pulled the fabric of her panties to one side, teasing her hole with her other hand, running her fingers along the edges of her vagina, dipping her fingers in gently. She would barely go in farther than an inch, swiveling her fingers around, pushing against the inner walls to stretch them out. The muscles in her ass twitched with anticipation, and Oliver drank in the sight, crouching down to get a better look.

“You are good at this,” he told her.

“Plenty of practice,” Beth said, switching to two fingers. Her hips rose of their own volition, attempting to force her fingers even farther in. She angled her hand upward and allowed her pussy to swallow both fingers, moaning out loud. Pressing tightly against her clit with her free hand, she rubbed herself furiously, pushing her fingers up as far as they would go, spreading them apart inside. She pictured the demon pushing himself into her, then a dragon, then a werewolf, her mind blending together any number of fantasies, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck ... fuck...” Beth panted, pulling her hand out long enough to add a third finger. She rubbed her clit hard now, her orgasm building, her pussy tightening against her own fingers. “Fuck ... fuck ... FUCK!” Crossing her legs, she used them to push her hand up into her pussy, the inner walls clamping down on her fingers like a vice. She let out several moans, cries that broke free of their own volition. She felt the rush of cum on her hand, a sticky pool forming just beneath her ass. Gasping for air, she stared through Oliver, her mind in another place entirely for over a minute. Suddenly remember her part of the bargain, she pulled her soaking wet fingers from her aching pussy, and held them before her eyes. Long strands of her own cum clung between her fingers like spider webs. Making eye contact with the demon, she stuck her fingers in her mouth, letting out a delicious moan of approval.

Oliver watched her come down from her orgasm, his hungry eyes on her body. Beth pulled her fingers free from her mouth, dipping them once more between her legs, catching a tiny bit of cum on her fingertips. He took her hand in his own, his skin warm to the touch, and his forked tongue slowly licked her fluids clean. He sucked her finger into his mouth, which immediately stoked the fire in her belly once more.

Oliver watched her come down from her orgasm, his hungry eyes on her body. Beth pulled her fingers free from her mouth, dipping them once more between her legs, catching a tiny bit of cum on her fingertips. He took her hand in his own, his skin warm to the touch, and his forked tongue slowly licked her fluids clean. He sucked her finger into his mouth, which immediately stoked the fire in her belly once more.

“Yes,” he answered. “Somebody has won this game before, and they did leave.” His eyes glowed softly. “I didn’t expect you to do it. Not without some hesitation at least.”

“I’m not like the other girls,” Beth said, winking. “I was happy to put on a show for you.”

“I could tell.” Oliver’s grin had reappeared, but there was more behind it. “I wonder what else you’d be willing to do for me?”

“You only have two more chances to find out,” Beth told him. “Make the best of them.”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that. I have a feeling that you and I will be spending plenty of time together in here.” Oliver licked his lips again. “What is your next question?”

“I’m not in a rush to ask.” Beth sat up, putting her face near the demon’s. “And I want to give you plenty of time to think of what you’ll make me do next.” She placed her lips against his, sliding her arms along his waist. His body felt hot through the fabric of his clothes, and he responded, his arms sliding around her waist.

She was in no rush at all.

The gears sat before her, intricately linked to one another, held together by small metal posts. Using a pair of tweezers, she delicately slid the last one into place, experiencing an enormous amount of satisfaction watching the teeth slide past each other.

“Holy shit,” Dana muttered, giving the gear a gentle push. The whole assembly rotated smoothly beneath her fingers, the crisscrossing motion of the metal gears instantly soothing her heart and relaxing her soul. She kept pushing on the gear with the side of one finger, delighting in how easily the whole assembly spun. It was nearly soundless.

“Hmm?” Dana looked at the clock. It was nearly five in the morning. She had been up all night, and her whole body suddenly felt it. Her spine cracked when she extended her hands backward and stretched, her shoulders popping loudly. Yawning, she examined the inside of the clock, gently picking up the gear assembly. She separated it into three pieces, smaller bits that she could install. Sliding the first one in, she felt a sudden sense of elation watching the cogs in the back adjust to allow the repaired piece in. The second piece moved in just as smoothly, lining up dead center behind the face of the clock. A shit eating grin on her face, Dana picked up the last piece and pushed it into place.

The final gear caught the lip of the inside. She spun it until it was lined up and then inserted the rest of the assembly inside the clock. Squeezing her hands tightly in anticipation, she closed the clock face and used the key to adjust the hands. She twisted the dial until the time was current, and then pushed the key into a different slot, winding up the spring within. She could feel the gears resist, and she only gave it a couple of turns before pulling the key free. Kneeling down, she gave the pendulum a push, watching it sway back and forth.

Tick, tick, tick, said the clock, the second hand moving around the face.

“That’s right motherfucker!” Pumping her hands victoriously, she jumped up and down, yelling in triumph. She had done it, she had fixed the clock! Rubbing her hands together, she sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at her handiwork. The pendulum swung gently back and forth, Dana’s eyes suddenly heavy.

She needed to tell Mike she had fixed it. She would probably drop by tomorrow, have him come over and help her move it onto a truck or something. She pictured the look of surprise on his face, maybe an invitation in to explore the old house, help repair some other antiques in his house. She could finally afford to fix up the bike and go on her road trip.

Lying down with a sleepy smile, she allowed the clock to lull her to sleep. Sinking into dreams of Alex, she listened to the ticks as they came slower, eventually becoming the gentle waves of her dreams.