|nathan rothstein is dorian's (grayfaust) wrote in doorslogs,|
@ 2012-04-17 22:49:00
|Entry tags:||dorian gray|
Who: Dorian Gray & Nathan ("Desert")
What: The last hours of Hannah Montgomery
Where: Out in the desert somewhere.
Warnings/Rating: Some fairly awful terribleness, violence, and character death.
Dorian's control over Nathan was nonexistent. Dorian found, over the many months that he found himself sitting in a limbless, sensationless limbo experiencing the thoughts and emotions of a monster. Being Nathan Rothstein was far, far worse than experiencing his own oblivious fall into selfish madness. For Nathan, there was no fall, no transition. Everywhere he looked, the madman only saw animals, potential victims of his sadistic insanity. Nathan wanted to reduce the people around him to their natural state of animalistic terror, especially the women, and when he couldn't do it, he imagined it, where only Dorian could see. Nathan enjoyed having an audience for his fantasies, an secure audience that could not reveal him or get him caught.
Over time, Dorian discovered ways to isolate himself. First he got away from the emotions, the sadistic glee that was absolutely unholy, and that was some relief. With time he got away from the anger, which burned with an alcohol burn, like aftershave on an open wound. Ultimately, Dorian was able to separate himself from Nathan's thoughts, though Nathan was always willing to share them with his invisible audience, and even close his eyes to the sensations beyond, what Nathan saw, what Nathan felt.
Nathan didn't visit the door very often, when he wanted a relaxation sweeter than drugs, or he was afraid of something his father would say. Dorian's longest reprieve had been after the Masquerade, when Nathan had been afraid that his attack on the ballerina would be traced to him. The bloody act of spontaneous violence had frightened him because the monster hadn't had time to plan, to ensure his work could not be found. Most recently, Dorian had tried to warn the girl that made Nathan's anger burn its blackest, with little success, he suspected. It was a risky endeavor, because he did not want to earn Nathan as an enemy--he'd never see the light of day again.
Dorian tried to stay away from his alter wherever possible, therefore. He checked in occasionally, trying to keep distant tabs on what was going on, perhaps check for sightings of people that particularly interested him, like Loki or the Parisians, when Nathan was mocking someone on the journals.
This time, he wished devoutly he had stayed deaf and dumb.
Nathan had finally found the right moment to strike. The foolish child from the church had followed him most trustingly, meeting him somewhere where Nathan's father would ensure the new technology would not be watching, and he had rendered her senseless with some cocktail in a syringe. Dorian was horrified by the absolute desolation of Nathan's chosen hunting ground, a baked desert plain off the highway and in a direction where the trail could be easily hidden.
By the time Dorian was even aware of the situation, he already had the girl in the hole. It was some kind of mine, and he'd buried her up to her waist so she could not escape. Dorian tried to think of a way to thwart him while Nathan gloried in the total power he had over her situation, thinking of struggling white mice and other things that made Dorian wish that he was conscience-less as he had been before his death. Why did his painting not ease this horror, too?
Dorian saw his mistake at withdrawing from sensation and control. Now he could not find it even when he wanted it, desperately. This slow torture was not Dorian, not the horrible things he had done. Dorian's nature was selfish, his crimes of passion, not this cold, building madness. Dorian tried to pull back the bloody hands, even imagine phantom aches, pains, anything that would make it stop.
The journal made it worse. Nathan loved the attention he felt he could find in safety, and he increased the girl's pain so he could make a show of it. Dorian tried to stop him, this time by whispers to his paranoia as the people in the journal stirred up like mad hornets, but it backfired. The girl's mind appeared to have broken entirely, as the fear had made her unresponsive and the drugs numbed her to the situation.
Dorian fervently hoped so, because he was unable to stop the monster as he took the rusty shovel and, scrape by scrape, filled in the hole.