Maid For Each Other (Story)

By StickyScribbles/Scape Goat

Editor: Mana Ray

Steven stared up at the clouds, counting them like he counted all the misfortunes in his life. In his mind, they became frowning faces, glaring at down him. They were judging him – their faces as menacing as the man who had just beat him with a length of chain. Steven wished he was somewhere else, or someone else…

His nose was bleeding profusely, and there was violent brute blocking the only way out of the alleyway. Steven's misfortunes went deeper than that. Blood poured down his face, ruining his only clean set of work clothes with its arterial red splatter. Was he seriously about to die just hours after being fired?

The psychopath approached. Steven's crappy life flashed before his eyes.

The bar had burned down during his shift, and it was the fault of the very guy who was about to bash Steven's head in with a rusty chain. Steven had identified the guy in a police lineup for a “drunk and disorderly” charge, and the psychopath responded by hurling a molotov cocktail into Steven's bar. The wicked smile on the guy's face made Steven think he was an arsonist in addition to being a murderous asshole. His hands trembled and his blood ran cold. Who would mourn Steven's death? His abusive family?

I'm going to die here and he'll probably get away with it… He thought dryly.

The chain in the man’s hands rattled ominously as he neared. He was taking his time. There were no words; no threats, no gloating, just as there had been no warning before a chain wrapped fist had sent Steven careening into a stack of boxes. The same stack that he now stared up at the pouring sky from. The man came to a stop before him. That smile; that grim rictus of excitement etched across the man’s face was all Steven needed to see to know that his life was about to end.

He was going to die, and even his death was going to be senseless and stupid…Maybe he’d become too jaded, been mugged too many times. No; most of his life things had seemed boring and lackluster. Now, even as the swinging chain crashed into his ribs, even the cries of pain he made felt forced and fake. He could taste blood on his lips as his vision began to darken around the edges. The last thing he saw before everything went dark…was a pink haired girl in a maid’s uniform standing at the entrance to the alley.

“Excuse me.” A girl’s voice called out and the huge man turned. “I’m looking for the bus stop. Is it nearby?” She asked, turning to scan the street in either direction.

The man beckoned her over with a wave of his hand and she lifted the edges of her skirt, stepping carefully through the trash strewn alley. She crouched down suddenly, poking at a glass bottle on the ground, narrowly missing having her head taken off as the chain whipped over head by less than an inch. “Everywhere I go there’s a mess to clean up. I really should ask Mistress to hire more help.” As she spoke her eyes drifted to the boy unconscious on the stack of boxes.

“What are you?” The man rumbled.

“I’m the maid. I clean up messes.” She said with a cold smile that made him take a step back.

“Wrong answer. Your dead is what you are.” He said, dropping the chain and pulling a shiv from his back pocket. With a cry he lunged at her, swinging wildly.

She deftly sidestepped the attack, and the follow up, as well as the third. “My, you’re a big one.” She said, joyous anticipation in her voice as she dodged the knife by bare millimeters. “Careful, a big guy like you could hurt a little girl like me.” She teased as he gasped for breath.

“I’ll rip you in half!” He yelled, coming at her again. She sidestepped and he slipped, falling face first onto the concrete.

“That’s it. Show me how big and strong you are.” She cooed, a blush appearing on her face as the veins in his arms began to bulge. He lunged again and she sidestepped, moaning in anticipation as the knife pierced through a steel dumpster, leaving behind a small hole and a fist shaped dent from his overly zealous attack.

Over and over he swung at her, missing each time, until he was bent over, hands resting on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. “Aww, tuckered out already?” She panted. Her body was quivering with excitement as she reached behind her, sliding a hand under the huge bow of her apron.

The man blinked, a sense of impending doom building in his gut. He’d used cleavers before, even used them to kill before. But none of the blades he’d ever handled compared to the one he was staring at now. It was as long as the girls forearm, longer than the small bow it had been hidden behind should have been able to conceal. The blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight, not the gleam of steel, but the bright mirror like glow of silver. Ornate carvings decorated the spine of the blade. The handle was strangely long and ended in an actual pommel.

The girl took a stance, both her hands fitting on the elongated handle. She was in front of him in an instant, a wide smile on her face as she swung the cleaver in a two-handed sword swing. The man barely jumped back in time to avoid the tip of the blade. Something warm seeped down his chest and he looked down. An angry, jagged ran across his chest, bleeding slowly. “The wind off the blade struck you.” She smiled, savoring the dawning looks of understanding and panic on his face. “This cleaver is a family heirloom.” His eyes flashed to the edge of the blade, suddenly noticing the faint nicks and scratches along the edge attesting to its use. “It weighs more than you do and can slice through stone like butter.” She announced proudly as she took her stance again.

The man turned and ran. Taking a moment to savor the sounds of his panicked pants echoing off the alley walls, the maid looked down and lifted the toe of one shoes bringing it down on the lip of a discarded beer bottle. The bottle flipped up into the air and she spun around. The blade of the cleaver didn’t shatter the bottle, it sliced cleanly through it at an angle, sending two perfectly cut halves flying towards the fleeing man, each with a razor-sharp edge. One half embedded into the back of his right calf, while the other half pierced into the back of his right thigh.

He tumbled face down onto the ground, the shiv sliding from his hand. Crying out in pain, he dragged himself forward, ever mindful of the footsteps approaching softly from behind. Risking a glance back he was confused to see the alley empty. He turned back, reaching for the knife.

A pair of black maid shoes were standing before him, the surface polished to such a mirror shine that he could see his reflection moving as he glanced up towards the wearer. The girl stood over him, the spine of the cleaver resting on her shoulder in one hand.

“So big, so strong, so helpless.” She smiled as she shrugged the cleaver into the air.

“W-wait! Please, I won’t do it again!” Tears ran down his eyes as he begged.

“That’s a given.” She replied with a wicked smile. “Don’t worry. I know some people who are going to love you.” She added, bringing the cleaver down.

=---=

Steven blinked awake to find himself staring up at a wood ceiling. Everything hurt as he pushed himself up, staring around at the stone walls and flickering torches. He was resting on a bed in a small stone room. A long wooden table covered one side of the room, a pitcher and basin resting on it, next to his clothes.

The door opened and the pink haired maid stepped in. He was aware of his nakedness before he was aware of the bloodied leather apron she was wearing. She was carrying a steaming bowl of soup in one hand and a large box balanced in the other.

“Awake, I see.” She said setting the boxes on the table and walking over to hold out the bowl of soup for him. He glanced down at the soup for a moment, then leaned forward, staring at her. He made wincing noises of pain as he moved, but kept his eyes on her, staring over every detail of her. From her hair, to her eyes, to the blood covering her. “Uh, hi, I’m Steven.” He said, staring into her eyes. She blinked, staring back. “Hello, Steven. I’m Molly. Why are you staring at me?” She asked, still holding out the bowl for him.

He blushed hotly and turned away. He couldn’t just tell her she was beautiful, or that she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. A small smile crept along Molly’s face as she watched him redden more and more by the moment.

“Eat. You will need your strength.” She said, standing and turning towards the door. “And do not open that box.” She added, pointing to the table before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn echoed through the room.

A wall of surveillance monitors glowed brightly in the dark security room. A pair of eyes were set on one monitor, watching the actions of the young man in one of the holding cells. The door behind her creaked open and Molly stepped into the room.

“Quite the interesting specimen you’ve found.” The woman at the monitors smiled, revealing long fangs that gleamed in the light.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m not sure if he’ll pass though.” She said, staring past her mistress to the monitor. “Let’s just see…”

=---=

Steven set the bowl on the small table and gathered his clothes. They had been expertly cleaned and folded, even the blood stains were gone.

Everything ached and hurt as he put them on, his movements stiff. Once he was dressed he glanced over at the box. It was a plain wooden box with a small latch. He neared, desperately curious about what was inside. He started to reach for the latch, but stopped. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the box.

Molly opened the door to find Steven smoothing down the blankets on the bed. “Oh, hello again.” He blushed. She said nothing as she stepped across to the bed, leaning down to examine the tight, hospital corners.

“Habit.” He said nervously. “I worked at a retirement home for a couple weeks.” He added.

“I thought you were a bartender?” She said, eyeing his uniform up and down.

“I was…until yesterday. Just another one in a long series of failed jobs.” He sighed dejectedly.

“What else have you done?” She asked, arching an eyebrow. Steven sighed again and held out a hand.

“Retirement home, bartender, funeral home, butcher, zookeeper, housekeeper, short order cook…” On and on the list went. As he counted off dozens of eclectic career paths, he failed to notice the glint in Molly’s eye, like moonlight off a sharp knife.

When he’d finished, he hung his head. “I’m starting to think I don’t fit in anywhere.” He said with a mirthless laugh.

“On the contrary,” Molly said, turning to walk towards the box. “I think you would be a fine addition here. Only…” She paused, lifting the lid of the box. “You would have to wear these.” She said.

Steven peered inside to find a pair of black maid’s shoes sitting innocuously.

“The mansion’s dress code was created with only women in mind. As such if you wanted to stay, you’d have to wear these.” Molly explained, reaching in to pull out the shoes.

Steven looked from the shoes to her, back to the shoes. “So, if I put these on? I can work here? With you?”

She nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he reached into the box.