A road trip with the devil

A damned soul works for the devil to track down his masters other escaped experiments/souls

A Road Trip With The Devil
By Thomas Wilkerson

The rain was a soothing backdrop of sound as it pounded on the old 67’ mustang on that particularly watery afternoon, creating a screen of white noise that Declan gladly used to help him slide into a lazy nap in the backseat. He had his head resting on a comfortably plush pillow, his dark hair creating a crown of spiky thorns around his head that moved and stirred when he angled his neck to look out the window.
Rain, rain, and more rain greeted his glowing brown-green eyes. The droplets thundered on the roof and slid down the window pane, racing each other to the sill before falling out of sight. Declan watched these races with ample curiosity as he drifted into the arms of sleep, they wrapped around him with gentle fingers and softly shut his eyes with complying silence. He had just about drifted off to the pounding beat of the rain, when a most peculiar thing happened. A hand had pressed itself up against the window out of the rain, accompanied by a shrill yell and a banging that made the arms of sleep push Declan back into his body. Sighing through still closed eyes, he gave a half-assed “what is it?” before the gunshot rang out louder than any crack of thunder.
Declan bolted upright in a burst of adrenaline, sleep forgotten with the crack of the second gunshot cutting through the rain like a hot knife through butter, and apparently into the stanger pressing against his car, as they gave one more gasp before falling out of sight below the sill. BANG BANG, two more shots cracked out through the night as the attacker made sure their quarry was incapacitated. Sloppy, should have gone for one shot to the back of the head, Declan said to himself as he listened and watched from the backseat of his car, careful not to make any sudden movements to make the mugger aware of his presence. Silence followed, a deafening roar compared to the sudden outburst of sound that came before. One, two, three, four, five heartbeats later, Declan slowly peeked out into the rainy night, curious to find the culprit who might’ve bloodied his car.
A dark shape rustled over the corpse of a middle aged white man with fine blonde hair, sprawled across the paved street without a shred of human grace remaining in his lifeless body. The mugger, on the other hand, was rooting through the dead man's pockets. Upon finding his wallet the man gave a little cry of triumph. The only reason Declan heard it, was because he was a foot away from the armed figure, with only a steel door barricading him from the rain and blood. The man stood up and looked around quickly, and upon being satisfied no one had seen him, he ran into the night with his prize. Didn’t even check for a watch, or look in the wallet for that matter, sloppy. Amature was the first thing to pop into Declan’s mind, and it was the name he gave the man on the spot for his sloppy work. Careful not to disturb the body, he slowly opened the door of his vehicle, letting in the night like a flood, and a flood it was as he was pelted by the rain coming down from the stars. Closing the door behind him, Declan kneeled down to look at the bloody man, noting that he did indeed have a watch on him, his eyes were still open and staring from the shock, but now they were windows to an empty house. Closing the man’s eyes softly, he carefully pocketed the man’s watch without touching his skin, and looked up just in time to watch a shadowy figure disappear around the next corner. Acting on instinct, Declan slyly moved after him with the grace of a trained fighter, strong muscles moved and writhed under his wet jacket as he stalked his prey.
His heart pounded as he rounded the corner, spotting the dark blur out of the corner of his eye as it rounded the block at a brisk pace, causing him to speed up to keep after his benefactor. Adrenaline burned in his veins, his breath came white cold in his throat, and his skin itched and prickled with excitement. Rain still continued to tumble down from above and splatter across his shoulders, creating a nice massage as well as a curtain of sound to mask his approach. His soft steps directly opposed his quarry’s loud splashes as he ran down the sidewalk and across the dimly lit street, swiftly entering a small cafe Declan had driven past earlier that day. Still shaking with adrenaline in the downpour, he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do.
The warm chime of a welcoming bell rang in his ears as he pushed open the door, revealing a nice little family owned coffeehouse that resembled a converted 60’s diner. Instead of red and white, black leather with dark brown wood gave the room a cozy feel to it, like you had just come home from a long trip. A counter of dark granite stood opposite the front door, with leather bar stools lining its edges, and the only one occupied had a dripping wet man sitting in it. He was in a coat too big for him as it drooped over his shoulders like a blanket, covering most of his body while leaving his head free. He was about 50, with brown hair that was dripping wet from the rain, a nose that hooked over the coffee he was drinking, and a nervous demeanor that seemed to fill the rest of the empty seats in the house, like he was expecting someone to call him out in front of large crowd of no one.
Fresh out of the rain, check. Declan walked over casually, the man twisting to look at him, but calming down with seeing he was the only one and went back to his coffee. Nervous, check. Amateurs were always nervous, and usually with good reason, as they never bothered to cover their tracks or case the subject. Sitting down, he casually cracked his neck while looking the man over, noticing his right hand was in his pocket, and said pocket was bulging too much to just be a hand. Gun? Maybe, need to keep an eye on that. Declan sat down on the right side of the man, careful not to bump him and maybe set him off like a bottle rocket left in highschool locker room. A waitress made her way from the other end of the bar where the register was, she was a nice woman, about 50, with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and tired blue eyes that lit up a little at the prospect of a customer.
“What can I getcha, love?” Her bright voice was a stark contrast to the man sitting next to him, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying her presence. He met her gaze with one of his own, accompanied by a wide, lazy grin and heavily lidded eyes that made her blush. “I’ll take a coffee darlin’, two creams and two sugars if you’d be so kind.” She almost forgot herself in the moment, but she quickly gathered her thoughts and skipped back into action with a flurry of motion. While she grabbed Declan coffee, he glanced back at the nervous man, who had buried his head in his coffee. “How’s the coffee?” It seemed like an innocent enough question, enough to get a conversation going at least. “Fine.” OK, maybe not a great conversation starter. They sat in silence a while longer, Declan waiting for his coffee, and the man just staring at his. Remembering something, Declan called out “Waitress? May I get some steak and eggs while your back there?” Normally getting called from the front like that would send the waitress into a bad mood due to the impudence and rudeness of the customer’s impatience. This time however, she just called out “sure hun!” in a colorful voice. Something about him made her want to see that smile again, but this was all in the back of the restaurant, where she was currently grilling the steak and cooking the eggs, while the man she was thinking of sat in silence, next to a murderer.
Well, this is awkward. Thought Declan, as he sat next to a mugger with what he recognized as blood on his coat sleeve. To pass the time, he marked both the front and the back exits in his mind, the bathroom, the silverware next to each seat on the counter, and the smell of cooking food wafting in from the back room.
Finally deciding to break the ice, Declan said “you’re an ameture you know.” This prompted a curious and angry look from the murderer, not knowing what Declan was talking about, he assumed he was just being an a*s. “F**k off” was his response, but that didn’t dissuade Declan as he pushed on through with a quiet nonchalance. “One to the back of the head, or, if you’re actually competent, you would want to use a piece of wire to wrap around their neck, kick out their knees, and put your own knee on their back while pulling back on the wire. Easy, simple, and no mess.” The man was staring at Declan with wide eyed amazement, he could tell the man was wondering, does he know? “Yes, I know what you did, and to be honest, I’ve never seen a sloppier kill in my life. And messy isn’t the same as sloppy you know, my dear ameture.” He had turned that wide, lazy grin toward the murderer, his heavily lidded eyes glowed strangely in the dimness of the cafe. “W- Who are you?” “Ah now there’s a question, who am I? Well my name is Declan, or Dain, though people usually prefer Declan. If you didn’t know, Dain means violence in celtic, and not to give anything away, but it’s fairly fitting.” That lazy grin became less lazy, more feral, more wild and strange to the human eye. The murderer was speechless, caught, and staring as Declan’s coat seemed to, unfold, into a huge pair of jet black wings. “Are you from hell?” This caused Declan to pause, then reel back in laughter. It shook his sides so much that he had to clutch the bar for support, lest he fall to the floor. Wiping tears from his eyes, he giggled maniacally to himself for a few more seconds before saying “if I was, would you believe me?” The man’s “yes” came out in barely a whisper, no more than a puff of air escaped his lips. But this gave Declan a new interest in the murderer sitting next to him, a man who, with only knowing him for less than five minutes in a random cafe, was asking him if he was from hell! Although he wouldn’t necessarily be wrong to assume so. “I am not from hell, but I have been there.” He leaned in till his face was inches from the man’s long, hooked nose, staring straight into his eyes. “Crowded is the word I’d use, bodies slick with sweat and blood pressed on all sides, limbs reaching out for something, anything, to hold onto, and the smell… Well, you’ll know it soon enough.”
While he was talking, Declan had slowly moved his left hand to the bar, where the steak knife sat, gleaming dully in the light of his glowing eyes. With supernatural speed, he grasped the blade and drove it through the sinew and muscle of the man’s gun arm, destroying the joint and sawing through the tough tendons that resided under the skin. He would have screamed, but Declan’s speed was too much for him, he was already in his embrace. Declan’s jaw dislocated with a sickening pop, revealing teeth with jagged edges lining his gullet like a shark. He tore and dug into the murderer’s throat, giving off a sound not unlike when boning a particularly stubborn chicken leg. Declan growled into the man’s esophagus, holding onto his arms and wrapping his wings around him to keep the man’s twitching body in place. I’d say have a nice trip all the the way down for me Mr. Ameture, but it’s not a very long way down anymore.

Steak, eggs, and coffee with two creams and two sugars sat in front of Declan. He looked at them with hunger, but waited. The woman had brought them out and had thought nothing of the blood covered body on the floor, her smile glued wide on her face, while her eyes still held that warmth, that niceness that only a good natured soul can have. Declan sat wiping his face and clothes of the blood, and started to reminisce, as he waited for his old friend. He remembered when his friend had sewn the night black wings onto his back, how each morbid stitch had made him scream in pain like he never had before. As his veins and bones broke and regrew to accommodate his new bodily design, he had been flipped over onto his writhing back. His jaw had been broke with a pop that reverberated down to his ribs, and he kept on screaming as the newly formed teeth broke the skin of his esophagus, causing him to turn his head to the side lest he gurgle and choke on his own blood. Just like Mr. Ameture over on the floor. The name had come next, a branding that marked him forever, even if he pried the teeth from his maw and had cut the wings from his shoulders, which he didn’t, he would still be Dain on the inside. The word was carved into his ribs, his contract spiraling down his bone structure with an elegant hand. He knew he was a monster, a beast, an experiment of one of his friend’s bouts of indulgence in torture and creation, mimicking his father’s own works in twisted ways. Ding, the shop bell brought him back from his memories, causing him to look up at the friend he had been waiting for.
“Hello Dain! Fancy seeing you here my friend.” The figure stepped up and spread his arms with a grin, the light revealing a handsome man in his 20’s, maybe 25, with short black hair that framed a face with hard planes, high cheekbones, with a small nose and mouth. All of that, and with pure black eyes that were glassy, like oil on water. “Dishing out a little vigilante justice?” “Only to pass the time.” He grinned and gave the figure a hug, he smelled of burnt stone and old wine. “I got you something,” said Declan as he brought out the gold watch he had picked up from the dead man. “You shouldn’t have! Oh Dain, you’re the sweetest.” With a wink and a smile the man pocketed the watch, and, grinning like a child on christmas day, walked up to the waitress standing by the counter. “She’s a beautiful one, isn’t she?” She didn’t respond as he said this, or as he walked up to her and put his hand on her chin, turning her head side to side like he was inspecting her. “Yes, this one’ll do nicely, won’t you, love?” No response. The man with the black eyes slowly drew her face close to his, he spoke a few words close enough to be kissing her, but then a white light escapes from those lips, a wisp of smoky light that burned to look at. The man drew out that light, and when it drew close he breathed it into himself like when smelling a fresh scent of perfume. The light swelled in his throat, and disappeared into his gut. Without another word, he jerked his hand right, then left, snapping her neck with easy precision. She fell, dead. Her eyes held none of the goodness that Delan had grown to admire in the brief few minutes he had had with her.
Now, Declan knew he wasn’t a good person, hell, he didn’t even know if he could say he was a person anymore. But the waitress had been kind to him, and it made his hands and jaw clench to see her good natured soul be consumed by his old friend. The man smacked his lips like he had eaten a particularly good snack, licking his pale lips with his blood red tongue that was forked like a snake’s. He turned back to Declan, and gave a bright smile akin to the waitress’. “I know you Dain, I know you’ve got that wanderlust you love so dearly about yourself, so why stay in this place for so long? Don’t tell me you've found a girl, or a guy, here in this shithole. You’re supposed to be hunting down your friends, remember?” They both sat on the bar, legs dangling over the dead at their feet. “Actually I’ve just been taking it easy. But I also wanted to talk to you about my situation, I’ve worked for you for how long?” “I’d say it’s getting close to 50 years my friend.” He grinned and patted him on the back. “And how long had I been in the pit before that?” He paused. “A long time, a long long time my friend.” “And throughout all of it, when have we ever sat down and had a drink?” “Now that’s an interesting question my dear Dain, I’d say this can be the first!” He hopped off the bar seat with childlike glee, careful not to touch the corpses as he made his way behind the counter. We’ve gotta have some alcohol around here somewhere…” He trailed off as he made his way into the back, searching for something to make the fire in his stomach burn hotter.
Talking to the Devil was no easy thing to do, his outbursts could come at any time, but in general he was actually pleasant to talk to, as long as you were on his good side. Declan had been on his good side for a while now, and he knew what it was like to be on his bad side, he shuddered at the thought. “Found it!” He heard the call from the back, and the devil himself came out grinning with a bottle of old scotch. “It was in the back on the bottom shelf, funny because this is top shelf stuff.” He giggled at his own joke, as did Declan. They set about eating the steak with eggs, and drinking the dead woman’s superb liqueur.
“You promised to give me my soul back once I had tracked down the rest of your children, my brothers and sisters, and I’ve done as you’ve asked for as long as I can remember.” “The devil swallowed another round of the liqueur and nodded, curious as to where this line of questioning was going. “What happens after I’ve finished?” He paused again, staring intently at Declan as he thought. “Well...” He took another shot of scotch to wash down his steak. “You’d get your soul back for starters, actually you’ve already got your soul, but you wouldn’t be contracted to work for me anymore. My signature on your ribs would be forfeit, and you’d be free. But with all that you’ve done for me, I might be obliged to owe you a favor.”
` This came as a surprise to Declan. A favor? From the devil? He had worked for the devil for years now, and even though it was a very queer set of circumstances, he had come to think of the devil as a friend. A fierce, uncanny, insane friend, with whom he worked for and with. He bowed his head to the fallen angel, “thank you, I don’t know what to say.” The devil laughed, “don’t get ahead of yourself! You’ve still got to find the last of your kin before I do anything of the sort.” Declan nodded, and drank down another shot of the glowing scotch. “Wanna make it a road trip?” Declan almost choked on his liquor when he heard that, turning around, he found the devil grinning widely at him. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I can watch you work, and, It’s not everyday you get to have a roadtrip with lucifer!” Not wanting to say no to the devil himself, Declan smiled and nodded, a bit scared, but also excited and curious, he was about to take a road trip of a lifetime.
“This is the police, put your hands in the air!” The voice cut through their conversation, and they both turned to see an officer pointing a gun at Declan from the doorway of the establishment. Well now it’s even more awkward. Another thing that bugged Declan about the situation was that apparently the man didn’t see lucy standing directly next to him, apparently he could only be seen if he wanted to be. “I’m sure you can handle this my dear.” He said, watching attentively from his seat on the countertop. “I said, put your hands in the air!” The cop apparently thought that being louder would help, and that only irritated Declan more. Sighing, he put his hands in the air. Despite working for the devil, and being a sort of knock off angel at that, he was not technically “immortal.” He could come back from death, yes, but it hurt, a lot. Dying and crawling back out of hell again would not make him very happy, and he was kind of on a hunt at the moment. “Playing the good boy, Dain?” Looking back at the devil, the king of hell had conjured a box of buttered popcorn to munch on while watching the cop point a gun at his hunter. Seeing as his partner was being of no help at all, Declan turned back to the man pointing a 9mm straight at his chest. “I’m afraid there’s been some sort of mistake officer-” he started, but he was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot crashing through the air and into the ceiling above him. “Shut up! On the ground!” Declan realized he was still in a diner with two dead bodies, both of which were directly behind him and clearly very, very dead. He didn’t want to hurt the man for just doing his job, but he had done worse for less, and he definitely didn't want to go back to hell with a bullet in his skull. Seeing no other option, Declan did what he had to do. Being already about 5 steps away from the officer, he ducked hard to the left, right as a shot was squeezed off. The bullet missed him, imbedding itself in the counter next to the devil, causing him to munch excitedly on handfuls of popcorn as the action finally started.
Ducking left brought him another step closer, but he was still four steps away from his target. Closing in fast, he got another step before the gun was trained on him again, this time with the intention to kill. Not really thinking, Declan unfurled his wings in the blink of an eye, the wingspan from tip to tip was enough to fill most of the diner. He batted them once, enough to launch himself into the air and to dodge the bullet that had been meant for his head. It sailed right under his feet, through the space between his wingtips, and into the bottle of scotch, splintering the bottle and sending shards of glass raining everywhere. It was of no concern to him, he was already above his target, and with the closing of his wings, he landed right on top of the ill fated cop. He grabbed the man’s face in his hands, using his falling body as leverage to topple the man onto his back. Taking the man’s head, he drove it straight into the floor, shattering the tile and immediately knocking the poor cop unconscious.
He got up, panting, and heard clapping from behind. Looking back revealed the devil, once again, excitedly bouncing on his haunches and clapping like he had seen a very good movie or play. “Good show! Good show! There’s the reason you’re my hunter, Dain, and not some lowly demon. Ruthless, cunning, and fast to boot! You’re quite the package my dear.” He added with a grin, hopping off the counter while strolling past the sleeping form on the floor and out into the night.
The rain had stopped, but the gentle wetness covering everything reflected the moonlight beautifully, lighting up the dim street with a natural glow. A police car rested on the street, slightly skewed and run up on the sidewalk. Declan walked over and checked the door, it was unlocked. He ducked inside and searched the glove compartment, and upon finding the spare gun he knew police cars had, he grabbed it and ducked back out as quick as he had ducked in. Now armed, and with his new buddy, he and his friend started to make their way towards his car. “Wanna get this show on the road? I call shotgun!” Declan smiled at the devil’s excitement. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Reviews

[HalloweenBaby_1031]

This was fascinating. I love the deatil, and I love how dark it is. Well done. Thank you for sharing this.