#all of our food is packed away where mice can't get to it

[seth-the-giggle-fish]

Had a mouse sighting tonight, confirms why Rocket was climbing up onto my desk (a place she rarely goes) to stare at the ceiling and why she had all kinds of dust on her face earlier today.

It's way too late in the night to do anything about it tonight naturally so tomorrow when we go to the post office we'll pick up some mouse traps and finally* go around the house to plug up any holes in the siding and so on.

*we've all been sick with Covid, the original plan was to have that done a few weeks ago but here we are with what we've got

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #11: Dollhouse

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The bed was bought from a garage sale, a cheap but sturdy thing from somewhere downtown. It came with a matching nightstand, so Heather had that taken care of. She considered buying a lamp, but giving Jackie anything close to a weapon was a bad idea. 

“What do you mean, a brush that isn’t sharp?”

Heather tried her best to sound polite. “I mean, if someone tries to stab me with that toothbrush, they won’t get very far. Something like that.”

The general store employee gave her an odd look, so Heather gave up and bought the least dangerous looking one. The mattress was ordered online. Heather was able to buy a few sets of clothes, alongside gloves and a new pair of black boots that would fit better than the old shoes Heather had let him borrow. She acquired a stronger light bulb, a nicer blanket, a pillow, and a shell-white bedsheet. A writing desk would be necessary for certain experiments, so she blew a few bucks on that. And a better chair, of course. Heather knew she was getting carried away when she almost bought a rug.

Three days passed before she could acquire everything. She didn’t visit Jackie in that time. She had left him food and water, obviously, and assumed he would figure the rest out by himself. She had enough on her hands with all the boxes in her living room, and the incessant calls. There were so many calls.

Heather lifted the phone for what must have been the sixth time that hour. “What is it now?”

“Heather, please!”

She heard that word a lot lately. Heather hung up without a moment’s hesitation. The phone rang again, however. It would keep ringing unless she answered. Her old boss was a determined man, even if he was a tad oblivious. 

She lifted the phone again. “Listen, I’ll let you talk once. But this is the last time you call me, or I’m placing a restraining order.”

“Yes, of course.” There was a deep exhale on the other side of the line. “Heather, the organization needs you. Nobody else can work on that project. You were our best asset, face it. Half these idiots don’t even know how to operate a Bunsen burner. We need you.”

“Nice speech, but don’t kid yourself. You need my money.”

“So what? Maybe we need your money. The coffee machine ran out of coffee three weeks ago! Come back, and we’ll give you the highest position possible. All the benefits. Come on, you’re a reasonable person, you gotta come back.”

Heather brought the box cutter out of a drawer. “Yeah, thanks, but I’m legally not allowed back there. Go find someone else to leech off.”

“You tried to drug one intern, who cares?”

“The police!” she snapped. “If the higher-ups hear of this, the authorities will get involved, and I know you can't afford a lawyer. Don’t call me again.” 

“Fine, fine. But it doesn’t have to be official, you know, just come with the money and we’ll collaborate in private. No more drugging the interns, but we’ll get some monkeys, whatever. What else are you planning? You aren’t working with someone new already, are you?”

“It’s been a month. What did you expect?” Heather ran the boxcutter along the taped edge of the bedframe’s box. “I’ve got another project. I’m not coming back. Goodbye.”

With that, she hung up and cut the last of the tape off. Damned bureaucrats. Sticking their nose where the money was like a pack of bloodhounds. Had all the politeness of a stray dog, too. Heather was done with them.

The research facility she used to work at had been dreadfully boring. Her colleagues shared different interests, to say the least. Benevolent, but horribly tedious interests. It was challenging, working on curing glioblastoma cancer, but she didn’t really care about curing diseases. She wanted to break the boundaries of what was considered science. She wanted to tear the universe apart and mesh it back together by her own design. Curing cancer was fine, but it was nothing compared to immortality. Those mice pumped full of steroids and painkillers were nothing in the shadow of Jackie Rockwell. 

Speaking of, Heather was ready to check up on him. A thick, black scarf had been tossed aside on a sofa. She grabbed it, made her way across the hallway, then knocked on the basement door.

“Who’s there?”

She rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Very funny.”

“Very funny who?”

Good to know he was awake, at least. She turned the lock and swung the door open. Jackie lay sprawled on the floor, still tangled in the blanket, surrounded by empty granola bar wrappers. 

Heather waved her box cutter at him. “What are you doing?”

He froze. His neutral expression shifted into slight alarm. It reminded her of the incident, as she’d taken to thinking of it, after she had cut him open. That made her guilt weigh a little heavier. And that made her anger burn a little brighter. She had no idea what past Heather was thinking. Hugging her test subject was one of the most unprofessional situations she could think of. The worst part was that it had actually felt nice—but that didn't make any sense! Heather was not lonely. She was alone, but not lonely. 

All she wanted was to forget about that mistake and move on with the experiments. That was nothing but a misstep, a fumble in the first half of the game. Nothing more.

“It’s not for you.” She pushed the blade closed and pocketed it. “Unless you decide to do something stupid.”

He relaxed, sighed, and sat up. “I’m not doing anything. There’s nothing to do here.”

“You’ll be happy with the change of scenery, then.” She stepped down the stairs. “Close your eyes.”

“I'm getting deja vu.” He closed them anyway. 

Heather stepped behind him and wrapped the scarf around his eyes, twice. “Can you see anything?”

He shook his head. 

“Excellent.” She pulled him up by the arms, and he staggered to his feet. “Follow my lead. Don’t take the blindfold off.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Exactly.” 

With her hands firmly on his shoulders, she steered him up the stairs and out of the basement, then up another flight of stairs and down the hallway to her bedroom. There, she led him into a closet.

He felt for the walls, pushing his hands upon the sides. "Is this another experiment?"

"No. I have business to attend to. I don't want you running off in the meantime."

"The blindfold's a bit unnecessary."

"Is it?” She shut the closet door, then locked it. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t make too much of a mess.”

First of all, his room was filthy. The basement was splattered with blood and ash, filled with junk, and smelled like a slaughterhouse. The empty mirror was easy enough to move. The old dresser was pushed out without much effort, as were the remains of the table. The freezer was harder. She rolled it upstairs on an appliance dolly, as slowly as possible. 

Bloodstains weren’t hard to clean. Piles of peroxide powder scattered over the floor broke down the copper-red splotches, while she cleared out the garbage and rotting food. Dusting and sweeping took a good ten or fifteen minutes. Clumps of dust and flakes of charcoal soon lay in the bottom of a black garbage bag. 

The smell was harder to get rid of, now that it had time to seep in and settle, but she managed to cover it up with a few sprays of air freshener. Twenty minutes were spent on setting up the furniture, building the bed frame and putting the mattress on, then moving everything else into place.

By the end, Heather had to admit she was proud of her work. She never knew interior design could be so entertaining. That stillness, that empty perfection—it was all so fascinating. It reminded her of a diorama. After all, the room was primarily a safe environment for her subject. A contained space to observe him. An insect in a glass jar. A doll in a dollhouse.

Jackie was leaning against the closet wall when she came back. “Took you long enough.”

“Did I say you could take the blindfold off?”

“It’s a closet, what’s the big deal?”

She ripped the scarf from his grasp and placed it back over his head, despite his irritated expression. “Stop complaining. Come on.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Once they reached the basement, she lifted the scarf away. 

He rubbed his eyes. He walked around the room in sprawling circles. He sat down on the bed, at last. His arms fell gently into his lap. Then, he looked back at her over his shoulder, eyes full of an apathetic uneasiness, and did not move. There was something very candid about it.

“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s stupid,” he replied at once. “Do you wanna know why I think it’s stupid?”

“No.”

“You’re putting so much effort into this,” he continued. “You think this is going to be a permanent thing. It’s ridiculous. It’s a waste of your time. It’s a waste of my time. You can’t keep me here forever.”

“I can’t?” She smiled, faintly amused. “You’re right. Forever is a long time. It’s only until one of us dies.”

“I will kill you.” That candid air snapped as he rose to his feet. 

“Oh, you can try. If you need me to teach you another lesson—“ She pulled out the box cutter from her pocket, pushing the blade open—“I’d be happy to help.”

He sat back down, simmering with rage. “I can’t wait to see you rotting in prison, you fucking creep.”

“Oh, boo hoo. I’m a monster because I gave you a home. You have to live here, so what? I’m the one doing all the work. I’m the one taking care of you.” She pointed at him with the blade. “All you have to do is sit there and be quiet.”

“I have a home!” he snarled. “I already have a home! I don’t want you to take care of me. I didn’t ask for you to fucking kidnap me and keep me in your fucking basement. I don’t want to be your fucking test subject. I want to go back home, back to my home. I want to leave.”

“We don’t always get what we want, do we? If whining about it makes you happy, then you can keep whining. You can kick and scream the entire way. You’re still not leaving.” His glare only dug into her harder, and she sighed. “Try thinking of this in a positive way. It’s not all bad.”

“Yes, I’m sure a positive attitude will fix everything,” he replied tartly.

“A positive attitude will make you less insufferable. Just a suggestion. Maybe there’s a reason you used to live alone.”

“All because I didn’t say thank you to the psycho who kidnapped me.” He crossed his arms. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that? That’s a great way to make friends, isn’t it? Hey, maybe people would like you more if you didn’t rip their intestines out. Just a suggestion, you know. Maybe people wouldn’t think you were such a freak if—“

“Do you want to eat dinner or not?”

“I want to break your neck. Go to hell.”

Oh, how dare he. How dare he. Heather wanted to make him suffer for that. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to—but she needed to take her own advice and think logically for a moment. Of course he was angry. Who wouldn't be? He was scared, she knew that, and anger was how he tried to protect himself. Anger was his tooth and claw when he lost all his other weapons. It was only natural, even if it was idiotic. He'd see her point eventually. He'd get used to it. She didn't need to starve him. 

"It's alright," she said. "You're upset. I'll get you something to eat."

"You want to drug me again, don't you?” He scoffed. “I'll pass."

"You'll change your mind."

His expression said otherwise, but he would cave in eventually. Like rusted metal, all things could be worn down with time. Like frayed fabric, like rocky shores, like entire mountains. Who was Jackie in the face of all these things? Only a man, only an animal without any claws. Even an immortal couldn't win against the nature of things. The second hand would wear him down, sooner or later.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl