Author Notes: Hello. I haven't written anything concrete in a while, and thought I'd get around to finishing this piece off that I've had in progress for quite some time now. I'm usually more for writing Pinsty, but I do also enjoy writing for Joey - the protagonist of Hellraiser III, from time to time. This takes place almost a year after the events of the film, and somewhat serves as a prequel to Tainted Bonds, a Joey/Elliot/Pinhead story I published three years ago. I somehow feel Joey - as incorruptible as she appeared in the movie - could have grown more tainted and obsessed by the box and its wonders as time wore on, and Tainted Bonds delves straight into that. This fic intends to dip its toes into that domain, despite Joey's lack of understanding and hatred of Pinhead brought across. I hope you enjoy it! - Laura

Remembrance and Regrets

"You are stronger than you think."

It had been almost a year to the day that Captain Elliot Spencer had spoken these words to Joey Summerskill, former journalist and sole survivor of a mutilated creature's attempts to spread his craft of suffering from beyond the walls of his own realm.

Joey placed the small leather-bound book she had been reading upon her lap, and leaned back into her comfortable armchair. She glanced to her left at the colossal bookcase chasing height up the wall, and her eyes fell upon the three slender books she herself had authored. She smiled grimly and tried to shake away the memories that spurred the inspiration for them, memories that were all too vivid in her mind.

After the nightmare had ended, Joey had pushed to report on the very Hell she had experienced first-hand, but her pleas fell on the deaf - and rather concerned - ears of her station manager, who had dismissed her claims as a symptom of an ambitious colleague had had simply been working too hard. With so many people unwilling to believe her story, Joey decided to write down all she could remember about the Lament Configuration, the creature it swallowed, and its human counterpart who had saved her life...Elliot Spencer.

Elliot.

It was more than a push for the truth. Logic could easily distort facts over time, and those memories - as fickle as they were - had to be recorded for her sanity at the very least. It was important for her not to forget that there was something, a place that existed which went far beyond her own comprehension, this something that had claimed some of her friends. She missed them, but could spare no more tears for them. It would be a waste.

The books she had published about this period in her life came in the form of a warning treatise masquerading as fictional novellas. They were not bestsellers, but there were buyers at least. She wondered if some of her readers were survivors like her, and if they would gain comfort in knowing they were not alone in their experience. She hoped so. It was a comfort to believe that there might be others like her who had escaped the torments of the Cenobites. It was a selfish thought, but she could not bear to be alone in that God-awful club she had unwittingly joined.

In addition to the real-life accounts disguised as fantasy stories, she wrote articles in various magazines ranging from current events to vapid fashion pieces, to local hero news, all of which helped supplement her income which she had used to research that box that haunted her. For three years of writing and chasing leads, she had successfully managed to hide herself away in her apartment, not caring about big current events that were not confined within the accepted norm. All the important news remained separated from this reality and so simply smiling into the camera after interviewing local politicians or trying to catch the next big scoop by following emergency vehicles left her cold. When she quit the station and her burgeoning career, she left her old life behind, along with her luxurious apartment with the glorious view of the New York skyline...with that window.

Joey smiled and thought of Elliot. He had first appeared to her as a ghostly Knight in a decorated military uniform. Captain Elliot Spencer was a fighter, and survivor from the Great War, ultimately to become a lost soul in the aftermath of Hell on Earth. She raised her hand and touched the cheek he had caressed when they had met in the window of her mind. She thought of him often, and in doing so her memories would awaken the fear of his unbound darker self. Even now, she felt the hairs on her arms prickle and the air in her cosy room felt decidedly cooler.

She had named this vicious yet beautifully elegant being Pinhead. It was intended as a derogatory term and it seemed like childish name-calling now, but she hated him- no, not him, it. Still, the insult stuck and the thing with nails hammered into its gridded-head would always be known to her by that description. She couldn't bear to think that Elliot had joined together with this thing, and was still a part of that unhinged character, perhaps suffering somewhere another world away. Naivety was not part of her life's training and she knew that Elliot was human and had faults, but the fate that had befallen him was a punishment too far and too cruel.

She blinked a few times in an effort to contain her tears, and carefully moved the book from her lap to the side table, taking care not to touch the current centrepiece. The book was old and ragged with dark splattered stains on the cover, which she suspected was dried blood.

It was an item she had stumbled across whilst searching for information on the Lament Configuration; that small, expertly crafted puzzle-box that acted as a gateway to a dimension of otherworldly experiences. Following her own experience with the box, she became intrigued by it and gradually and obsessively gathered all the information she could muster regarding its secrets. As it wasn't in the concrete grave as it should have been, she felt the need to arm herself with as much knowledge as possible in case the thing was ever opened again, and its contents released.

All the writings, journals and snippets she had amassed so far had all professed that the LeMerchand box contained pleasures beyond human capacity. Joey knew about those so-called pleasures and scoffed at the deceptive term. She had replayed Pinhead's words in her mind over and over;

'I will enjoy making you bleed. And I will enjoy making you enjoy it.'

She couldn't imagine where that enjoyment would come from. It seemed like a massive contradiction, and yet maybe it was just another one of Pinhead's seductive oratories to lure the disenchanted to his world.

It could have been that simple, but where that particular Cenobite was concerned there was no black and white, but shades of red. Perhaps with his warped sensibilities the pleasure was a product of the pain; she wasn't all that naive...she was aware the two sensations were a part of the same spectrum but of opposing ends that could be meshed until neither could be discernible from the other. But she could never begin to fathom why anyone would want to do such a thing in the first place.

She sighed and pulled her feet up onto the armchair, tucking them beneath her. It had been another long day of research and writing, and the light in the room was dimming. She scanned her poorly furnished surroundings and felt a sharp pang of loneliness as she heard the sound of lovers laughing in the street below. After Pinhead had effectively destroyed what friends she had, she chose not to develop close relationships with anyone else, although she occasionally longed for some form of human contact and carried a longing acquiesce to the gilded life she had lived before.

She also found herself longing for the man from Limbo, the handsome officer with the kind smile and twinkling blue eyes...the apparition from a war-torn Limbo who had saved her from his darker self.

Sighing once more, she reached for the book on the side table and thumbed through the decaying yellow pages, eventually finding the last journal entry of Captain Elliot Spencer.

'For all I have seen, for every friend I have lost in this madness, I can count myself lucky to have retained what is left of my soul. For all the pleasures, for the burdens I have felt from each kill for survival and the demands they placed on my conscience, I can spend the remainder of my days knowing that my life is mine alone and if I do venture forth into that dark night, I will do so with strength of heart and the experience of one who has fought the good fight.'

Joey closed the book and looked to the table, staring with longing towards the lone item placed upon its chipped surface. The box sat upon the wood, polished and full of promises that she knew would be tainted with hurt and regret as well as pleasure and longing.

"You're stronger than you think."

She withdrew her hand which was tentatively outreached and ready to grasp the puzzle box. Elliot's words might have saved her again, and perhaps in time Joey would see him once more.

Listening to the patter of rain hitting the guttering outside, Joey rested her head back in the seat and gave the Lament Configuration one last irresolute look before closing her eyes, where she gradually drifted into sleep.

The End

As I say, Tainted Bonds follows on from this. At some point, I will get around to writing an actual sequel, and explore what happens to Joey following on from...the events of that story which I won't spoil if you've not read it yet. If you haven't, then go look it up and have a read. :) I hope you enjoyed this, and it makes some sense. Thanks for reading. I'll try and write some more soon. :)