Damned and Divine

an everyday man with a darkness inside

"Darling?"
"Yes dear?"
"Did you happen to see my reading glasses in the bathroom?"
"They're on the nightstand."
"Thank you very much."
"You are very welcome."
The basement gave soft whispers of another's presence. An eerie cloud hung throughout the house, but Mrs. Falls pretended not to notice for her own sanity. Since the day of their wedding, she had always been reminded about how eccentric Mr. Falls could be. For the most part, it had never bothered her. However, on nights like tonight, it seemed as if droplets of unease were leaking from every pore of his body. In all honesty, it was far easier for Mrs. Falls to bury her head in the sand.
At that exact moment, Mr. Falls spoke.
"Tea darling?"
She shook her head yes, just like every other night. Most nights were almost always the same at the Falls residence. The couple would prepare for bed, Mr. Falls would search for his reading glasses, they would read for a while, Mr. Falls would fetch Mrs. Falls her nightly tea, and then they would both retire to bed. And tonight was no different.
Mr. Falls returned only a moment later with a mug in hand, his expression carefully neutral. Mr. Falls muscles were tensed as he passed the mug to his young wife. He hoped, yet again, that she would drink just enough of the mixture for him to carry through with his night without a hitch. It was a frivolous worry, and he knew it. It's not like the concoction didn't get the job done every other night. Why would tonight be any different?
Mr. Falls settled into their queen sized bed next to Mrs. Falls. Despite his nerves, he made his pulse be near silent and willed his heartbeat to calm itself. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched her take her first sip. He lay on his side, facing away from her as if he had already fallen asleep. Through the silent air, he could hear her nursing her drink.
Crash!
Mr. Falls didn't even flinch at the sound of the mug breaking on the dark mahogany floor. The drug acted fast, so he was always prepared for the possibility of her dropping the mug mid-motion. He cautiously looked over his shoulder to find an unconscious Mrs. Falls slumped against her pillow with her arm hanging off the bed next to the broken mug.
Understanding that he couldn't wait any longer, he decided to pick up the broken shards later. He stood and maneuvered his way to their closet where he dressed himself in his finest suit and shoes. A prisoner to his routine, he then proceeded to shave and adorn cologne. It was only when he was certain that he was at his prime, that he proceeded to the basement.
Mr. Falls could hear the girl's screams before he even unlocked the door.
"Hello Christine."
Christine Jackson felt her screams boil up inside her and release themselves in the form of shards of broken glass. The Demon held a small object in his right hand as he stalked into the shadows that housed her. It had only been a week since he had taken her. She had been walking downtown at the wrong place.
At the wrong time.
"Now now Miss Christine, don't struggle," he crooned as the a glint of silver became visible in his hand. "It will only make it harder."
Her shrieks pierced the silence of the night for hours upon hours.
It was nearly two in the morning when Mrs. Falls woke to find her husband missing. When she went to go find him, she received a foot full of broken shards. Tears streamed down her face as she tried her best to pick out the shards protruding from her bloody flesh. Once finished, she proceeded to the basement in search of their emergency medical supplies.
It was on the way down the dimly light staircase that the muffled screams of Christine Jackson hit Mrs. Falls.
She stormed down the staircase, leaving bloody footprints behind her. When she reached the basement door, she found it locked. The screams increased in volume, giving her the ambition to knock the door in with her shoulder in a sudden burst of adrenaline. The door gave away like a flimsy sheet of paper, and Mrs. Falls found herself stumbling into a room.
Not a room, a dungeon.
There was hardly enough time to process it all. A girl, bloodied, chained to the wall, and sobbing hysterically in the incompressible language of the distressed. A table full of cruel looking tools. Bloodstains and odd looking refrigerators reeking of unspeakable odors filled the room. And most terrifyingly of all, her husband.
He stood there caught in mid-motion, the bloodied knife in one hand. The expression he wore was shocked, and something indescribably sad. As if he had just lost everything in a matter of seconds. Even his words were tinged with the most inexplicable depression when he said, "Oh darling. Why did you have to do it?"
Then The Demon came at her.