Disclaimer: USA owns this version, thankfully. No money is being made, blah, blah.

Notes: This is an alternate universe version of 'Slash 30'. I've never seen the episode, but I did see the original show it was based on. So, this was spawned. Because I doubted that the actual episode would be anywhere near as creepy as the original. Yes! I'm biased. Bite me.

And the Devil Came Round for Tea

by Ana Lyssie Cotton

It had been a long time since FBI Agent Susan Branca had felt this helpless. A long time, and last time, there had been someone to save her. Someone to stop what could happen.

This time, it was only her. She had to rely on wits she wasn't sure she had.

The shack was so dark around her, them. So full of shadows and lack of light that it seemed like the mouth of hell gaping open. David Laney was standing near her, not touching, just observing. And it gave her an odd, almost sexual thrill, to be there. But it shouldn't. God, it shouldn't. "Where am I?"

Keep him, start him, talking. Talking wasn't death, wasn't killing.

A laugh, short, then, "You know. You always know. They always do, you know."



"This... This isn't you."

"Like that night on your floor wasn't you?" His voice is snide, full of dark sexual overtones which twist in her stomach. And she feels sick, remembering the slick feel of him beneath her.

So uneducated, so quick, and yet she had felt oddly fulfilled. "No. No. That was me. That was real."

"Just like all of the others, aren't you."


"Have we gotten to the begging for your life stage, yet?"

"David, please--"

"So predictable." He was closer, then, his breath ruffling the skin at the back of her neck, and she twisted slightly, wondering if the ropes around her wrists were loose, or if she was just kidding herself. "Plead for your life, then."

"No." Had she really said that? For a moment, she wondered if it was a fatal blunder. But... There had to be someone coming to save her, someone who could stop the man from killing her. There had to be.

It wouldn't be fair, otherwise.

"Aw, Susan. How sad. Emerson would be so amused."

"Emerson." Yes. Keep him talking, get through to him. "You're not Emerson, David."

"Of course I'm not. I'm me. David Laney. And you're Susan Branca--the soon to be late Susan Branca. And Emerson is Emerson. And he's right, y'know."


"Women. How you all need to be controlled, to be made to see what's really the truth."

"And what is the truth, David?"

A hand slid around her neck, and something cold and metallic followed, caressing. "That we are right, and you are wrong, and--"

"No! David, you don't--"

"Oh, but I do." Lips touched her cheek, and they were smilng, "You see, I don't think they can save you. Not this time, Cinderella."

"Ple--" Her words ended in a gurgle, the pain not there yet, the hot blood spilling out of her neck so sudden that it couldn't be real. Had to be fake. But the world was changing, and dizzily, she could feel the blood sliding down into her lungs, as it streamed down her chest.

The knife slid in again, more blood spurted. And Susan couldn't see anymore. There was hearing, wet sounds, like raindrops falling on her head. And she could remember stupid 80's songs about rains in Africa, and it isn't so stupid anymore because she can't feel her legs or her hands. And her nose is so fucking cold. And it's not supposed to be like this. Dave--Creegan, where the fuck is he, he's supposed to save her, to see patterns that aren't there.

And he's failed so miserably this time.

A whisper of sound touches her ears before it all spirals away. A gunshot.

It echoes and echoes and echoes until there's nothing but the loud blast of it. And then nothing more.