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“Where is she?” She applied more pressure. Bailer grunted but did not speak. He could feel the dull ache from the bullet wound her partner had given him. It had been months; but for him the wound was raw still. She’d killed his family; she’d said so at the start. And that was her mistake. Had it been a choice between his wife and son, and Eunomia, he’d have chosen his family in a heartbeat. But now it was only him, and his life that the woman held in her grasp. He was telling her nothing. He grimaced, but was resolved. Besides, he did not know.

“Jenny, what are you looking at? What’s wrong?” An exasperated mother ran across an empty patch of grass; to where her daughter stood still, at the very edge looking down into the piffling stream.
When she saw what it was she clapped a hand over her mouth; partly from shock and partly from necessity. A large number of fat, droning flies wheeled round. The woman grabbed her daughter and pulled her away. Hours later the police had roped off the area.

Her ear was pressed to the floorboards; she could hear him under there. She stamped her feet and heard him scramble for the wall. She had him trapped. The walls were of her making and no one could hide behind them now that she did not want. She had found that out with the first one. She pressed her hands over her ears; comforted by the fact that the next scream would be the last she heard from him. The walls closed over him, folding back bones until he was flat and gone. She pressed him into dust and then she scraped him out; every last trace, and forced him from the place. Her castle was hers once more.

Bailer could hear the woman in the next room. She sounded angry; which seemed like bad news for him. He could barely feel anything other than pain and numbness, alternating over every patch of skin. His insides felt like they’d been scrambled and his skin was the colour of a peach which had been used as a tennis ball. He heard something smash. He tested the straps holding his arms to the chair. The mere movement caused a wave of pain to radiate up his arm and on to the rest of his body, but the straps were loose. He could have pulled himself out, but it hurt too much. His legs felt like jelly. He could not walk. He heard footsteps. She was coming back. The door was flung open, striking the concrete and resounding like a bell tolling.
“She killed him. Your ******** creature killed him.” She snarled like an animal, stalking towards him and burying her heel in his gut. The chair was nailed to the ground, and if it hadn’t been he would have fallen back onto the concrete floor. Bailer knew what was coming. Any minute now she’d make the final shot and finally kill him. He could hardly see for swelling, and instead he heard her turn; her shoes scuffed the floor.
“You-“ She started, but did not finish. There was a sound of air rushing, filling a space. He looked up and found what he expected; and also something he did not. The woman had gone. Standing in her place was a girl in white, with deathly toned skin and blonde hair. Bailer blinked painfully, and she was gone. Seconds later he felt a hand touching the back of his neck.
“Come with me.” The voice was sweet and gentle; much changed from when he had last heard it. He smelt flowers; felt a warm summer breeze on his cheek. The chair disappeared and he found himself lying on a grassy bank beneath a rustling tree which chuckled in the wind.
Eunomia lay beside him, smiling. There was blood under her fingernails, but she kept those hidden.
Bailer closed his eyes and was lost in unconsciousness.

He woke surrounded by clean, white linen, with sunlight shimmering. He sat up, and was shocked to find that he felt no pain. His eyes were no longer swollen and sore; but the light stung them still. He looked around and saw a silver tray balanced on a side table. There was toast, and a full English breakfast which looked rather more appealing than most things Bailer had ever managed to cook. He got up, noticing the furnishings about him. All was ornate, expertly and carefully carved. The bedposts were shaped into the forms of wolves, heads thrown back in an exalted howl. Bailer looked on it in wonder and, thinking that perhaps he was swathed in the fabric of a dream brought on to mask the agony of death, reached out and touched the wood. He could have sworn he felt the texture of fur. Turning to the food by the bed he breathed in deeply; able to discern the different scents; fried mushrooms, sausage, bacon etc. It was all real.

“You made this?”
Eunomia was sat in a small study, her feet curled up under her on a red velvet sofa. Her skin was clearer than Bailer commonly saw it; her hair more bright and shining, and her fingers and neck more slender and more like a portrait of an eighteenth century lady. She smiled with a skill she had never before displayed; a delicacy of expression.
“Yes. I did.”
Bailer sat down on the sofa next to her; surveying with mute wonder all that was around him.
“It seems Stern was mistaken when he thought I was possessed of no great and useful talents.” Eunomia laughed. Bailer had never heard her laugh. It was not something entirely pleasant.
“I control this space; everything within it, even you, is here only upon my wishing it to be so. It has taken me very long to master this power, though for you I imagine it has only been a few days or weeks since you saw me last.”
“Months.” Bailer said, in a paper-thin tone. New clothes, healed wounds and a full stomach did not make him forget all that had happened.
Eunomia was quiet. A shadow of her former awkwardness flitted over her face as she seemed to wonder of the various ways in which she could endeavour to comfort Bailer. She hesitated; and then the hesitance became a choice and she did nothing.
“I am sorry about what happened…” Eunomia said. The practised, lady-like quality was evaporating.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Bailer muttered. He wondered if Eunomia could hear the sarcasm in his voice.
Eunomia seemed to be considering something.
“What did you do to the woman?”
“I killed her.” Eunomia didn’t sound ashamed or unhappy; but then again, Bailer knew her emotions were not always easily expressed. “I killed the other two as well. I had to; or they wouldn’t leave.”
“Does that mean I’m stuck here too?”
Eunomia appeared reluctant to speak. Eventually she nodded.
“But, you can be happy. I can give you everything you want.” She said, hopefully.
Bailer sighed and held his head in his hands. “What difference does it make? What did I have back there anyway…”
Eunomia finally moved. She wrapped her arms around Bailer and hugged him tightly. Outside rain pattered dismally against the window pane.
“Please stay and be happy.” Eunomia said, her voice muffled by Bailer’s shirt.
Bailer could have explained something about the nature of emotions and happiness, but he didn’t.
“I’ll try.” He murmured, looking out at the rain summoned from the artificial girl’s mind.

The End, for now.

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