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For All The Wrong Reasons	By : darqstar Category: G through L > House of 1000 Corpses Views: 4942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House of 1000 Corpses, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way own any part of the movies House of 1000 Corpses or The Devil's Rejects. I do not own most of these characters. They are the property of Rob Zombie, Liongate films, and whoever else holds a commercial or property license over them. This is fan fiction, intended for the sole purpose of entertainment. No one has been paid to write or host this story. No one is paid or will have to pay to read it.

THE STORY ITSELF DISCLAIMER This story is rated NC-17, for disturbing images and excessive violence as much if not more than sexual contents. If stories involving murder, rape, extreme violence, cannibalism, humiliation, and so on, are not your cup of tea, DO NOT READ IT. If you are under the age of 18 don't read it either.

I have made no attempts to �glorify� the events in this story. I have tried instead, to make it as realistic as possible. I make no apologizes for language I use. If the violent acts describe in this story make you uncomfortable, then I've accomplished what I set out to do. Hell, if the whole story makes you uncomfortable, then I've succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. I do not condone in any way, shape, or form, violence against women or anyone for that matter. This is fiction, it is not a blueprint for how anyone should live their lives. If you think it is, then please, for the love of all things holy, turn off the computer, walk down to your local hospital and tell them you're a danger to yourself or others and you need help right away.

While I do not own the Firefly gang and Sheriff Wydell, I did create Karen so the pathetic little wimp is mine. Various rather unimportant characters who pop up to keep the story flowing are my creations.

PICKYASS DISCLAIMER: It seems that every single �fact� that has been established about the characters from The Devil's Rejects and House of 1000 Corpses can be disputed. While the website claims that Otis is a drifter who joined the family, in the actor's commentary, the actors claim they're related. It seems to me as if the best thing to do is just "Pick what you like and run with it." This story doesn't really deal with those issue, but when I wrote this, I thought Otis was family by blood.

Reviews appreciated I love to know when people read my stuff and what they think. While I love lengthly reviews, I also appreciate even a quick, "Read your story and I liked it." I love hearing from people who read my stories, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

If you want to argue/debate and so on anything, I would much prefer you emailed me. (darqstar@livejournal.com) It just makes it easy to respond and address specific points (if needed) than to try to go back and forth on a "review" board.

Special thanks to my beta readers. I like to look at stories as gems and beta readers as the cutters/polishers. Stories are little more than interesting stones until gone over by a beta reader.

For All The Wrong Reasons

Written by: Darqstar

Editor/beta readers: The Painted Duchess / Skye Boriqua / Dramatha

Chapter 1

Deliverance

�Wydell, sir! We have another live one!�

They're talking about me, I know they are. Except for me, all the living ones were taken out of here. The people clearing the place out now have been doing it with body bags.

�Get her in the ambulance with the rest of them,� I assume this is the mysterious Wydell speaking. His voice is demanding, authoritative; as if he's used to calling the shots and having others scurry to do his bidding.

�We can't do that,� the voice that first announced my status among the living informs Wydell. �The ambulances have all left. Do you think we should send for another one?� His voice sounds much less confident, but friendlier.

�No, I think we should make this one get off their lazy butt and truck themselves down to the hospital,� Wydell says, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. �Coggs, get your head out of your ass and think. Of course we should get another ambulance here, if we have another live one.�

�I'll go radio for one,� someone else calls out.

I've pushed myself in the corner as far as I can; curled up into a ball, trying to keep warm. It's always warm in Texas, but not for me. I'm always cold, unless...

�Darlin', can you hear me?� the one called �Coggs� asks as he kneels down beside me.

I want to nod, but I can't. I want to scream, but I can't. I want to die, but I can't. I manage to move my head slightly, so I can see my rescuer. He's a nice looking man; not in a handsome sense, but in a personality sense. He's middle-aged, his hair shot with silver. When he sees that I'm looking at him, he smiles. Deep lines etched around his eyes tell me that he is a man who laughs and smiles a lot.

I'm very aware now that I have no clothes on. Funny how little that has bothered me lately. Modesty used to matter to me, but it doesn't anymore. I have no modesty left. Besides, I've got enough dirt, blood, and other bodily fluids on me; I'm not exactly naked, am I? Lately, I have missed clothing only because it can help to keep you warm. But now, with this fatherly man looking at me, I can almost remember what it was like to be modest.

�Aw, honey, it's going to be all right,� Coggs says. He reaches out and gently puts his hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. Underneath those warm fingers, I begin to shiver. �Crap! Yeah, you must be cold, little girl, you can't weigh more'n dandelion fluff. Let's see if we can't find something to warm you up.�

Looking around the cage, he realizes there is nothing inside that can help, so he takes off the light weight jacket he was wearing and gently drapes it around my shoulders. �This'll do for now, sweetie,� he murmurs. Terms of gentle endearment roll so easily off his lips. I'll bet he has children. Maybe even a daughter my age. He looks old enough to have a daughter in her early twenties

He stands up. �Anyone got a blanket we can wrap 'round this girl? Poor thing don't have a stitch to her name and she's freezing.�

�I'll see if I can scare something up,� someone says.

�Thanks, Joe,� Coggs says, and kneels down beside me again. �We're gonna get you a blanket, keep you warm while we're waiting for the ambulance, darlin'. You'll see, it's going to be okay. Can you say anything?�

Can I speak? That's a good question. I've spoken since my �new� life began, that fateful night when my car ran out of gas. I used to speak a lot at the beginning. At first to cry, to scream, to beg. Then I learned to say the words my captors wanted to hear; one in particular. But lately, I hadn't spoken much at all, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Last night I'd tried. Or maybe it was the night before. Time moves strangely in this new life. �You're trying!� he'd said, laughing as if I were the funniest of people. �I can see yer mouth moving. Okay, I'll cut you some slack tonight, bitch; but if you don't die before the next time I take you, you'd better be ready to say it.�

�How about your name, darlin'?� Coggs asks. �Can you just tell me your name?�

This Coggs is trying so hard to be nice; I want to tell him my name, but I can't even remember it anymore. Isn't that pathetic? Can anyone really forget their own name? I concentrate, tuning out the issues that take up so much of my mind at times - hunger, thirst, cold - and try to remember my name. The name �Karen� seems familiar. Is that my name? Then I remember; it was my name, but it isn't anymore. I've been renamed, and even labeled, so I don't have to say my name anymore. Slowly, painfully, I manage to turn my body so my right leg is visible and point to my new name, which is carved deeply into my thigh. I point to it and then point to myself.

He reads my new name and winces. �I'm not going to call you that. No one is ever going to call you that again, darlin'. That weren't never your name, I don't care what they told you.�

I want to cry, but I probably don't have enough fluid in my body. My lower lip trembles though. Coggs notices and puts his hand on my shoulder again. If his voice and actions weren't so fatherly, people might think he was flirting with me. �Aw, it's all right. Your name'll come to you soon enough. In the meantime, I'll just call you Honey, ' cause I'll bet once we've got you cleaned up, we're going to find out you have pretty honey-blonde hair.�

If Coggs were to find someone to bet on my hair color when clean, he would lose. My hair is a light brown color. There's nothing wrong with my hair, but it is not the sort of hair anyone would describe as pretty. Not like Baby; she's the one with the beautiful, honey-blonde hair.

A thick, colorful blanket is brought to Coggs. The person who brings it whispers to him, thinking I can't hear him. �I took it off one of the beds upstairs. Hope nobody busts me for tampering with evidence, but they've already gone through that room. It was on the Mama's bed. It looked somewhat clean.�

Coggs thanks him and wraps the blanket around me, over his jacket. �It'll probably take a bit for you to warm up, your body ain't exactly producing a lot of heat. But, it'll start working soon. I wonder where that damned ambulance is?� The last part, I know, was just observation. He doesn't really expect me to know where the damned ambulance is. The blanket draped around me smells like sex and perfume.

Someone comes over to us; a guy with dark hair a mustache and cold blue eyes. He looks down at me. I see no pity or concern in his face. Unlike Coggs, this man's expression holds disgust and contempt; as if, deep down, he believes that I'm the one responsible for my condition, and not the people who indoctrinated me into my new life. �Don't worry, Miss,� he says. I know from the voice that this man is Wydell. �You have been delivered from Hell.�

His words should comfort me, but they don't. The words might say comfort but the tone of voice is stern, as if I'm not really worthy of being delivered from Hell, and maybe he should just send me back.

Coggs stands up to talk to Wydell. �I'm amazed she's alive,� he says. �She's got something carved into her skin that's been there so long, it's pretty much just a scar, so they've been messin' with her for quite a bit, and ain't killed her yet.�

Wydell looks over at me again, his gaze running over me, as if he's trying to see me in a different light. However, the new image he is trying to form of me isn't exactly complimentary either. �You don't think she's one of them, do you?�

�God, no!� Coggs says, also shaking his head empahtically. �If she were one of them, she'd be in a whole lot better shape! But I do think there's something special about her that helped keep her alive.�

�I'm not sure that being considered 'special' by that pack of demons is a ringing endorsement to the type of person she is,� Wydell says. Even though he is talking to Coggs, he hasn't once taken his eyes off me. I still see disgust in them; if anything, it has deepened. I wonder; can he read my mind and see everything I've done in my new life to survive?

�Yeah, but when she's feelin' better, she might be able to give you some insight about them,� Coggs suggests. �Somethin' 'bout them you can use to help you track them down.�

Wydell's gaze breaks away from me and focuses on Coggs with such intensity that I wouldn't be surprised if Coggs burst into flames. �By the time this one is able to do any serious talking, we will have already found those assholes and rounded them up like the animals they are. Do you doubt that, Coggs?�

�No, sir,� Coggs says. �I was only thinking - just in case - you know? If they're able to elude you longer than you've figured.�

�They will be rounded up in twenty four hours or less.� I can hear the anger in Wydell's voice. He bites off each word like it is taking everything he has inside him to control himself and not scream into Coggs's face. I've seen a lot of anger lately and none of it is that controlled. It's harsh, it's violent, it's explosive, and no one apologizes for it; if anything, they consider it a badge of honor. After spitting out his prediction of the fate of the ones who survived, Wydell stomps off as though he can no longer stand being around me and Coggs anymore; as if we might contaminate him.

Coggs kneels down beside me again. �Don't you worry, Honey. He don't mean half of what he's saying. He's just upset that he didn't get all of 'em.� At those words, my lips begin to tremble, and if I could whimper again, I would. Coggs notices and puts his arm back on my shoulder. �Aw, I didn't mean to get you upset. You don't have to worry. Wydell is the best. He'll get the ones that got away and you'll never have to see them again.�

I should find those words comforting. I want to find them comforting, but I can't. I pull the blanket tighter around me.

�You must be a brave woman to have gone through all the hell you have, and still be alive,� Coggs says. �You must be pretty remarkable.�

If I could laugh, I would. Brave? Remarkable? Words that have never been used to describe me. If Coggs really knew me, he'd probably be laughing too.

Author's notes I know this chapter is a bit slow, but I had to lay the groundwork. Things do start picking up in the next chapter, I promise.
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For All The Wrong Reasons

For All The Wrong Reasons

Deliverance