Regressing Lots

Chapter 6
Regressing Lots: Chapter Six

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Chapter Description: Heather and Linda are at a road side diner getting clothes. The succubus discovers the spirit in the dice.

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Heather looked over the racks, shelves and stands. These clothes were just a temporary measure, some way to find some clothes that fit a little better than Linda’s borrowed garments, so she aught not be so fussy over the style. Once they got to town, they could stop at a proper store in the morning, buy some proper clothes and Heather would feel something close to normal. If being 15 years old was ever going to be normal. She almost tripped as one of her flip flops scuffed the floor - they were a few sizes too big for her.

Looking around, she found a rack of sandals. This would be the most important thing to get first, so she sat down on a chair next to the rack and began to try on sandals. Linda has small feet, and Heather guessed these flip flops were around a size 9, but Heather’s feet were now down to a solid size 7. That made her frown. When she had been a teen, so long ago, she’s already noticed she was going to be taller than average simply by her shoe size. She had reached 5’7” by the time she was 17, and was not much shorter than that for much of her teen years. Yet, she was shorter than Linda now.

A panicked thought came to her mind that somehow, or for some reason, Linda had rolled the dice again. But the spirit had not said anything, and there was no light. So she couldn’t be shrinking again. Holding onto the unpurchased flip flops, and leaving Linda’s behind on the rack, she walked barefoot across the clothing section to the solitary mirror that was set into the wall. It was full length, and mostly clean, so she could get a good look at herself. Of course, stepping in front of it, her first impression was on how young she looked. Short, slender, an image of yesteryear impossibly laid across the woman she had been just a few hours ago. But stepping closer, she noticed one change she had previously not seen.

Her eyes were blue. Gone were the deep brown eyes of her entire life, replaced with a brilliant and dazzling blue. When had those changed? And why? Looking around the shop, she sighted Linda, browsing through a different section. Linda’s blue eyes had always made her jealous, but now she and Linda had the exact same eye colour. Heather, looking back to the mirror, also thought her brown hair had a strange, auburn tint to it that was lacking before. Was it just a trick of the fluorescent lights, or was Heather’s hair changing as well? That should be impossible.

“No more impossible than aging backwards though,” she muttered to herself.

Trudging back over to the flip flop rack, she looked around for Linda’s sandals, but they were gone. Someone must have picked them up and walked off with them - probably a shopkeeper. Cursing a little to herself, she rapidly picked out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of leggings, and went to find Linda.

Linda has left the baby section, trying to get her mind clear of the very, very dangerous impulse that had seized her. She knew that one or two rolls would be all it took to get Heather so young that she would need to depend on Linda, no matter what, and the very concept thrilled her in a way that made her uncomfortable. It was madness, sheer madness to want to turn the object of your desire into a child, to make her your own. Or was it just Linda’s grudging understanding that Heather didn’t love her back, not the way Linda needed, and that there was an alternative. Heather would never forgive her, of course. It was, at its core, a selfish and crazed fantasy, and she needed to ignore it with all of her will. But how could she get it out of her mind when her body ached for it? Linda had heard of the biological clock ticking, but right now it felt like someone had replaced her clock with a big old’ grandfather clock. Or room of grandfather clocks. Or the intro to Dark Side of the Moon. She bit her lip and decided to look at a rack of snacks instead.

Heather came up to her, holding a small selection of clothes in her hand, but she’d kicked off the loaned flip flops and was wandering the store barefoot. Linda frowned at her.

“I know they were too big, but you don’t have to walk around barefoot,” she said.

Heather looked at her, and made her eyes as wide as possible, staring somewhat up at Linda. It only took a few more exaggerated blinks before Linda realized what Heather was trying to say.

“Your eyes…”

“Are blue all of the sudden,” confirmed Heather. “Just like yours. This has got to be the work of the dice. I was born with brown eyes. Not to mention when I was this age, I was still taller than you.”

Linda glanced over at the small baby section, feeling her heart leap. She knew immediately what was going on, and without warning, hugged Heather tight against her. Heather made a noise, surprised by the sudden embrace.

“It is the dice, Heather. And I think I understand what they’re trying to do.”

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In the women’s bathroom, Glenda has been applying her makeup, trying to make her purple bruise less noticeable. Jake had smacked her hard last night when she’s yelled at him for drinking, the asshole. She wanted to leave him, to just walk away, but she couldn’t survive on her own. She was just a waitress at this truck stop, she didn’t make enough money to possibly get by on her own. Not to mention how useless she was on her own, how lonely she became. So she stayed with Jake, and endured his temper, and hoped he would wake up one day and find Jesus or something. Anything. In the mean time Karl wanted her to hide the bruise or go home - he said it made their customers feel uncomfortable.

Asshole.

The lights flickered in the room for a moment, and then Glenda noticed she was not alone. A beautiful woman was in the bathroom with her. She was better looking than most movie stars, than most porn stars, even if she reminded Glenda of the latter more than the former. Her hair was long, dark and wavy, and her tanned skin almost gleamed under the cheap lights in the bathroom. Her eyes were a curious shade, and Glenda wondered where one could get purple contacts like that. Her voluptuous body suggested that she’d been drawn into existence by some horny artist instead of born and grown to be such a woman. She was dressed in a very simple, very plain floral print dress and cowboy boots that would have fit in at any middle america truck stop.

Reaching up a hand, she touched the side of Glenda’s face. Glenda hadn’t realized she’d just been staring at her, aghast at her beauty.

“The pig who does this to you doesn’t deserve you, Glenda,” said the woman.

Glenda felt a sudden twitch near her eye, then the pain of the bruise diminishing. She looked back to the mirror and saw that the bruise had vanished completely. Turning back to the woman, she smiled pleasantly at her…

But the beauty was gone. Glenda blinked, several times, and quietly thanked whispered a prayer, thanking him for sending an angel to give her hope. She would go home that night, pack her bags, and leave Jake. She’d got the message.

Arianna strode out of the bathroom, letting her beauty simmer down as she came into a more public place. Her voluptuous body shrank to a slender asian woman of twenty something years, still attractive, but not enough to turn every head in the entire building. She had to move with some subtlety here to do her Master’s bidding, after all. Still, thousands of years ago, before the War, before her choice to side with the Outcasts, she had watched over women. It pained her to see women being used by men, as much as it pained her to think that Michael might hurt these two ladies trying to get the secrets of immortality. She was hoping to find a way to prevent that from happening, if she could.

Of course, if push came to shove, she would let them die to make sure she got what she wanted. You didn’t survive in Hell for long if you weren’t willing to break a few eggs. First things first, she needed to find their vehicle and sabotage it, then she would have to find a few ways to slow the ladies down from getting help to fix it. Her Master had bidden her to give him time, and as much as she was looking to come out on top in their deal, she was bound to do his bidding, and prided herself on getting the job done.

She paused by the exit, and felt it. Magic. Powerful magic. Looking to her right, she could feel it clinging to two women. One, nearest to her, was looking over a few items in the baby section, and struggling with something in her mind. Arianna breathed in deep, tasting the desire of the woman’s heart - a simple thing for her to do, to women anyways. She wanted to use the magic to make her lover into the baby she desired, and she was struggling not to give in to the temptation. A baby. She wanted a baby, more than anything in the world. Her eyes flicked over to a teenager, looking at a pair of flip flops and frowning. She was too far away to scent, so Arianna walked closer, noting that the teen left behind some of her clothes - an older pair of flip flops. Creeping to where the forgotten sandals lay, Arianna picked them up and smiled.

A little connection to one of her targets wouldn’t hurt. Smiling, she looked down at her feet. The cowboy boots faded from existence, and she slipped on the flip flops to wear herself. With a simple shift of her body, they fit perfectly. Closer to the teenager, she could now draw in the same understanding of her desires, and raised an eyebrow. Regret. Pain. Fear. Loneliness. This teen was miserable, and frightened. Of course, these were the same two she had scryed only moments ago her Michael. Closer to them, however, Arianna felt more pity than predatory desire for either of them.

Bitterly, Arianna regretted the curse laid upon her for rebelling and joining the outcasts. In the presence of men, her mind turned carnal, full of desire and need for that man. It was only free of a man that she felt herself, that she could remember the days when she helped women, where she kept them safe. Judgement and vengeance had made her into a demonic whore, fated to serve man after man. And still, even after thousands of winters, she still felt a deep hatred for the righteous souls who had done this to her, who had voted to cast her out. She felt like Heather, a little. Trapped, afraid, and alone.

Arianna shook off her regret, recalling her mission. She left the shop before either of the ladies could spot her, and using her stolen flip flops, retraced the steps to a Jeep. With a smile, she ran her hand over the engine and whispered to the spirit within.

“Hey mister, wake up,” she purred.

The Jeep didn’t speak, of course, but she could here the voice of the engine. Everything gained a spirit, with enough time and attention, and someone (the teen, she guessed) loved this Jeep.

“You’re not my driver,” said the Jeep. In Arianna’s mind it had a gruff, grumbly voice. It didn’t ‘speak’ English of course - there were no words, just simple, direct communication. Only potent spirits could really talk.

“I’m not, mister. But I need you to do something for Arianna. Do this for me, and I’ll make sure you get the nicest gas, a good wash, and a lovely tune up,” she replied. Cars were easy to trick - they all wanted the same thing. Fix me, feed me, drive me.

“Really?” said the Jeep, with interest.

“Promise. Your driver just needs a break, she’s tired, and she can’t leave here yet. Don’t start, and when they call the man to help fix you, he will pamper you,” purred Arianna.

The Jeep made a gurgling, happy noise, and decided to not start the next time someone tried. It looked forward to all the attention it was about to get, and developed a bad habit over its lifetime of just ‘breaking down’ at random to get some extra attention. This wasn’t the first vehicle Arianna had turned into a repair pig, and if the poor vehicles knew how quick this behaviour would send them to the scrapper, they wouldn’t listen. But people didn’t talk to their cars enough, so the Jeep listened, and broke down.

Michael didn’t know she could do that. Arianna knew better than to tell him all of her secrets.

Closing her eyes, she cast her mind out and touched her Master’s.

“Their vehicle won’t go anywhere, Master. You have time to catch up.”

She could hear Michael’s response. “Keep them busy, demon. Do not hurt them.”

The connection broke, abruptly. Another spirit was suddenly talking to her, shifting her focus away from her Master. It had a soft, motherly voice, and was coming from somewhere in the Jeep.

“Release me, sister,” it said.

Arianna sniffed the air, and ran to the passenger side of the Jeep. It was inside the Jeep, but the doors were locked. With a curse, she noticed this Jeep didn’t have power locks, so whispering to the Jeep again wouldn’t help her. She walked to the trunk, and with a smile of relief, found the trunk was unlocked. Quietly, she snuck into the trunk, crawling over the large box, overnight bags and into the passenger seat. Somewhere along the way she reverted to her normal form, shedding her disguise, and tried the glove compartment.

Locked.

“You are locked in the glove compartment, sister,” whispered Arianna to the spirit.

“I am trapped in crystal, sealed in a box, and locked in this vehicle,” confirmed the spirit. “Those who trapped me are within, and have the key to open this lock. Please, release me - they spurn my gifts, and refuse to release me.”

Arianna ran her finger over the dashboard, and tried the lock a few times with her considerable strength. But try as she might, her power was not in the might of her form, and she could not break the lock just by strength alone.

“I will see what I can do, spirit,” she replied after her effort. “Tell me, what spell do the women use to become young again? How did they compel you?”

“A cast lot, sister. They bound me in lots of crystal, and so with each throw, I bestow that which I may bestow upon them in return for my release. The one called Heather Banks is now solely bound to these lots, though her friend has become involved as well.”

Arianna closed her eyes, and saw inside the compartment. Crystal dice. It made her smile. How interesting.

“Spirit, the Bradley Witches. Do these women know they are returning you to them?”

“They do not,” said the spirit. “But if I can help it, they will become more interested in their new lives together, rather than returning me to my captors. Please, help me.”

Arianna leaned back in the seat, considering. Having this spirit on her side could be useful, and perhaps a bargaining chip to escape her service to Michael early. Or perhaps she could convince the spirit to give Michael a taste of the same medicine Heather and Linda were experiencing, shrink him down to a more manageable age. It was win/win for her, of course.

“You will owe me for the help,” said Arianna.

The spirit within paused, then replied, resigned. “Agreed, demon. I will owe you.”

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Heather came out of the bathroom after changing into her new clothes. Linda was meeting her in the diner, where they’d agreed to have a quick bite to eat before hitting the road again. She hadn’t explained what her theory was on the dice. Heather grimaced, and rubbed her eyes. She was tired, very tired. The drink from earlier was still in her system, but she had lost body weight and now it was hitting her harder. Being a drunk teen was going to get them into trouble, potentially, so the idea of a quick meal appealed to her. Walking into the diner, Heather almost bumped into a group of passing college boys. They were all dressed typical of their sort nowadays, and were tall, well built and handsome. Unconsciously, Heather found that she was smiling as she approached then, and stood up a little straighter. One of the college boys checked her out - he was maybe 18 years old, she thought. His eyes did the elevator, and he actually paused as their paths intersected.

“Hey, are you from around here?” he asked. He had a pleasant, nice voice. He was wearing some kind of aftershave that tickled her nostrils, but she liked it a little.

“Me? No, sorry, I’m from Chicago,” Heather admitted. The boy’s friends had all wandered into the gift shop, looking over a rack of magazines, leaving the two of them alone.

“Windy City, right? Awesome. I’ve been there once, a long time ago,” he replied. The thought that in 18 years any time would be “long” for the boy amused Heather.

“I’ve lived there all my life,” Heather told him, without any realization of how insignificant her age made that comment feel. She did realize that this college boy had no possible reason to ask a girl her age for directions, and he wasn’t lost at all - just flirting. Flirting with a teen? It felt good to still look old enough that an 18 year old would consider flirting with her, on one hand, but the more rational part of her mind assessed how disgusting it was for a young man to be trying to flirt with a teen. He must be insecure or something.

“Well, nice talking to you,” she said, and turned to walk away from him. But he put his hand on her arm, stopping her from turning away. He had a warm touch, and the amused part gave way to the enticed part for just a moment. She preferred men who came on strong.

“Really, I just wanted to say how hot you were, you know, for a girl your age. I have a thing for short women,” he said quietly.

Heather couldn’t help but smile. Hot. Who had last called her hot? Linda, of course. Linda, who was sitting and waiting for her, Linda who was already willing to sacrifice her life to look after Heather. And here was Heather, flirting with some diner boy, and enjoying being called pretty. Well, not pretty - hot.

“I have a thing for tall men,” she said, without thinking too much about what she was saying. “But I’m not old enough to date boys like you.”

The college boy raised his eyebrow. “What? How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” she replied, truthfully.

He shrugged. “So? I’m eighteen. We’re both teens. But I wasn’t talking about a date. You looked bored, and I thought I’d see if I could make you smile while we were both stuck at a diner for a bit.”

Heather crossed her arms, her amusement now fighting with a morbid curiosity. Her mild attraction to the handsome college boy turned to disgust. Was he seriously looking to score with a 15 year old girl at a diner?

“How would you amuse me?” she said, struggling to keep her voice in check. She wanted to laugh at him. Had this kind of banter ever been really that effective? She’d had sex a few times as a teen, but back then it seemed more like a whirlwind. Now though, her youthful body could feel the ‘wind’ of the attraction, but the whirl was noticeably absent under years of cynicism.

“Depends. Plenty of places for us to sit, talk, and other stuff,” he said, winking as he said the word ‘stuff’.

She rolled her eyes. “Stuff, huh? Look, I don’t think you should be hitting on me. It’s not like we’ll ever see each other again, ever, and the more often you speak, the more I hope that will come true.”

The college boy changed his demeanor, and shrugged. “Sorry, short stuff, I just thought you looked like you needed some ‘D’.”

Now her temper was rising, but her lawyer instincts were still intact. He might be handsome, but inside was a puerile little boy. With a noise of disgust she left him standing there and went into the restaurant to search for Linda. Men! For every good men she’d met, there were at least three overgrown boys like this. Not that Heather thought this was unique to men. How many little girls had she met whose body had grown up, but minds were still as self centred as their own precious children? It made her own situation strangely ironic - she had spent so much of her life looking down on the inner childishness of others, yet here she was only fifteen steps from diapers. It was chilling, and cruel. She passed a table where a mother and father had their son with them, a tired looking toddler who was half falling asleep at the table - they’d put him in a high chair, but his head was bobbing as sleep threatened to overtake him.

Would that be her if they couldn’t break the spell the dice had over them? Heather had already decided that she wasn’t going to allow Linda to expose herself to the dice again. Practically, one of them had to be old enough to make money and keep each other alive. But the more she thought about it, she should just really leave Linda now, and go on her way. The dice were tempting Linda just as much as herself, and might try to reconnect with her. Heather could drive to an orphanage, roll the dice a few times and get it all over with. It would mean starting over, from scratch, but she would prevent her friend from sharing this fate.

But try as she might, she couldn’t find it in herself to be that noble and self sacrificing. She didn’t want to become a baby, and desperately wanted to hold onto this age while she could. Also, the strange changes in her appearance made her suspect something.

She sat with Linda at the table, who was looking out the window in thought. When Linda noticed Heather’s return, she looked at her and sighed.

“You’re becoming my daughter, Heather,” she said plainly.

 

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