Tales from the 13th: Symphony for a Sinner

     

                                                         

    Symphony for a Sinner

            Jacob Wendell lay in his bed, slowly disintegrating from ALS, better known as Lou                Gehrig's disease. Not only was he riddled by it, but he also had the end stages of single-cell lung cancer. The combination of his pain medications, all now taken intravenously, only made his pain level unbearable. The morphine drip that they had attached to his vein was already at the legally acceptable dose. It was doing little to no help at all. The pain seemed to be a constant reminder of how vile his life had been.            

Perhaps that was why he was afflicted with these two diseases simultaneously. The muscles in his throat were useless, rendering him unable to speak. It wasn’t as if he could, as he had to use a breathing tube. On top of that, he had lost the use of both his arms and could not even write anything down. He felt so helpless. So alone. None of his family wanted to see him; he had burnt those bridges long ago. He betrayed everyone he ever was supposed to care for and turned their lives into an absolute nightmare.

            If it were not for the breathing tube jammed down his throat, he would have been dead weeks ago. The doctors were amazed that he was hanging on by a thread. It could have been that he had just been in excellent shape before this all happened. Or it was just that he was stubborn as a mule. Jacob lay in his dimly lit gray room, waiting for death's embrace. The days seemed to have lasted forever, blending into one another. The nurses tried to give him some relief by leaving the television on for him. But there was only so much daytime television that one man could endure. During this lonely time, he reflected on everything he had done wrong. 

            The first and foremost thing that had always been on his mind was himself. To say that he was narcissistic would have been a grand exaggeration. His heinous actions alienated both his sisters and his only brother. He accomplished that by dividing up their mother's estate after she had passed away. Towards the end of her life, he made sure that she had signed papers making him the sole executor of her estate. She was unaware of what he was doing, but she trusted her eldest child.

 Now with Jake in absolute power, he rewrote her whole will. He was able to dictate the small fortune that his parents had amassed over the past fifty years. Upon his mother's death, he made sure that she received the cheapest funeral that could be carried out. There was no obituary run, nor were any prayer cards issued. The well-known woman hardly had anybody show up to the funeral, since it was not published. While his siblings wept, he had no remorse. As far as he was concerned, it was good riddance to bad rubbish. When his family asked where the luncheon was, after she was buried, they were informed that there would not be one.

When he presented the power of attorney and the new will to the judge, he overturned their world. The family house, which was supposed to go to the middle sister, Charmaine, was now being sold at half the market price. The once family fortune, which was supposed to be divided into four ways, was now solely his. Jacob made sure that he received everything of value, while his siblings received a few worthless trinkets and clothing, except for a statue that his sister, Delilah, had requested. It was a statue that she used to stare at, all day long, as a child.  

The statue wasn't worth anything. It was simply that it held sentimental value for her. It was a painted gold statue from Boys Town. It was the famous statue of the boy carrying the smaller boy on his back, and at the bottom of the statue it read, “he's not heavy, father, he’s my brother.” There was something about the statue that she liked, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why she was drawn to it. Maybe it was the way that it looked. It is also possible that her paternal great-grandmother had passed it down. She had passed it down to the oldest child's spouse, spanning three generations. Even without the change in the will, it would have been Jacobs’ wife, if he had one. 

            When she called Jacob to ask for it, he went berserk. He replied with rants about how she wanted all the money for herself. Through all his frantic jibber jabber, she tried to explain to him that money was not the reason behind her request. But he wouldn't hear about it. He was consumed by wealth, not wanting to share a single penny. All the while, he spent it on wasteful things, as his family struggled with great hardships. He had sold the family house for a lot less than it was worth. Jacob purchased a home that he felt was better suited to him. Not to mention the cars and the clothes, all of which could have fed his siblings' families for years.

But then one day he called Delilah, and she wasn't sure why he gave in, doing so with great reluctance. He told her that there was a break in his schedule and that he’d be able to drop the statue off at her on October 12th. That happened to be on a Saturday, a day she usually had to work. They had worked it out that they would meet up at nine in the morning, so she would be able to work that mid-afternoon until close. But nine came, and her brother was a no-show.  He told her that he was hung up and that he’d be there shortly. Soon it was ten, then eleven, and then twelve. Still, the brother continued to lead her on. 

Jacob finally explained that he had been in the board meeting all day, and he couldn't have afforded to miss it. After wasting the whole day and missing out on a great deal of pay, he convinced her to stand outside at four that afternoon. He was in a rush and could only drop it off if she was waiting outside. She was okay with that, as there would be no time for idle chit-chat. She was already in trouble at work, and Delilah had to accept his terms; otherwise, she would never have received it. She wasn't pleased that he had chosen that day, knowing that it was her daughter's dance recital that night. As much as it would kill her to have to show up late, just to appease him, typically, she would have told him to go straight to hell, but the statue was significant to her.

Four o’clock came, and she was waiting outside on the porch. She was on her patio chair, looking at her watch as the minutes slipped by. Delilah looked in both directions, as she didn't know which way he would be coming from. Then, suddenly, racing down her peaceful street, Jacob came racing in a brand-new cherry-red sports car. He had the convertible top down and was waving the statue in the air. He was hooting and hollering like a madman. Delilah stood up and went to the driveway expecting him to park, but he didn't. Without even slowing down, he passed by the house and tossed the statue behind the car so he could watch as the statue hit the asphalt and shattered into at least a dozen pieces. The last thing that Jacob heard and saw was his sister crying on the front lawn.

The so-called meeting that was so important to him, that could not be avoided, was a rendezvous with another man’s wife. Since he had auctioned off all his mother’s stuff, adding to the family fortune, he was able to quit his job. He decided to focus on the simple pleasures of life. Besides the world revolving around him, the ego centric millionaire only wanted to become what others would call a “MILF conqueror.” It didn't matter if the women were married or not. Each one of them was all fair game. Boy, did he love to have the proverbial forbidden fruit. The bored housewives were the easiest to score with. All he had to do was make them feel desirable. 

 To add more excitement to their “adventures in sex,” Jacob took to videotaping the escapades. He figured that it was the husband's fault that they ignored their wives, and they didn't take advantage of the fact that they were constantly craving sex. If the husbands didn't fulfill their jobs, he was more than happy too. Being the one person responsible for shattering a marriage vow was his favorite part of this game. He would follow the women home and then the husbands to work. Then, out of the blue, the spouse would bet a copy of the tape. There would be a note along with it, emasculating the husband.

Then, while on the trip to New York, he had lost all feeling in his legs. He then found himself falling down a flight of stairs. When he came to a stop, he was unable to pick himself up.  He lost feeling in his arms and was too weak to help support himself. Naturally, the people in the area came to help. They started asking him if he was okay, and that’s when it became known that he was unable to speak. Unbeknownst to him and the people trying to assist him, he had a grade two concussion. This was the result of his head bouncing up and down the escalator as he tumbled. Fearful, they rushed him to the nearest hospital.

While he was there, Doctor Catherine Davies was the physician in charge. She had the unfortunate task of telling Jacob that he had ALS. He looked at her, confused, as he didn't know what that meant. Or even what it meant. It took her to refer to it as Lou Gehrig's disease for him to register some recognition. He had heard of it but knew nothing about it. The only real thing that stuck in his mind was the fact that Dr Davies told him that he had the disease. The patient was more concerned that he received something, from one of his many whores. The kind doctor went even deeper into it, conveying that it was not sexually transmitted.

 Relieved, he let out a sigh, but then didn't comprehend why such a well-conditioned man of his early 30s would contract a non-sexually transmitted disease. His body was one of his tools to get the MILFs in the bed with him. And that was because more than half of their husbands were entirely out of shape. Dr. Davies told him what the disease did to his muscles in his arms and legs. The ones in his throat usually took anywhere between three and five years to deteriorate. Then came the million-dollar question: how long had he had it?  he only thing that he could do was shake his head and shrug his shoulders. 

After learning all about it from Davies, disbelief of her diagnosis set in. He was too young and in peak condition to be cut down in his prime. He worked hard to make his body a living masterpiece. After a few days of feeling better, Jacob insisted that he was fine and was discharged from the hospital. He wasn’t going to spend his time in that depressing place more than he had to. Not believing her, he chalked it up to her youth and naivety, setting out to live his life as he always had.

            He hadn’t made it less than a mile away from the hospital when the subsequent altercation happened. While he was driving this car, going only the speed limit, his arms and legs went out again. The car veered out of its lane and went into oncoming traffic. Jacob looked on in horror as he passed by an oncoming semi-truck and then a school bus. It was the most surreal experience that he had ever had. By some stroke of luck, he missed them both and ended up hitting a brick wall. If it were not for the airbag and him wearing a seatbelt, he would have ended up with a big red stain on the wall.  

Naturally, a crowd once again gathered around him, inquiring about how this had happened, as he slowly faded into unconsciousness. For the second time, they rushed him to the hospital, but this time, the emergency room found that he was internally bleeding. It was during the operation that they discovered that he had cancer. There was nothing more that they could do. They didn’t know how they missed it the last time. It was highly aggressive, and along with ALS, it was a death sentence. When he finally woke up, he couldn’t move anymore and was hooked up to machines to help him survive. 

Jacob was lying in a hospital bed, with his breathing tube in place. He would have thought that the pain would have been more excruciating, but he felt fine. He felt better than acceptable, and that was all due to the morphine drip. It wasn't until he tried to sit up that he realized he couldn't. There was no strength to do so. Frantically, he looked over at the bed railing and saw that there was a nurse's call button on it. Jacob desperately pushed it, but neither hand nor arms worked. He started to worry that the accident had left him paralyzed. It was that damned Dr. Davies' fault! She cursed him by telling him that he has ALS. She made him believe it, subconsciously, and caused the crash he’d been in. 

He refused to listen to her, shaking his head and turning away from her whenever she spoke. He was unable to talk, even without the breathing tube. Seeing that he wouldn’t listen to Dr. Davies any longer, they had the doctors switch out. That’s when, after another boring day of talk shows and soap operas, the door opened, and a male doctor walked in. He looked small, with a thick pair of glasses and neatly parted hair. He was wearing a white lab coat and a shirt, along with black trousers. Finally, he had someone who could tell him exactly what was going on. 

The doctor began checking all the machines on the right side of Jacobs’ bed. He didn't even bother to acknowledge that the patient was awake. Instead, he just went about his business. After scribbling down a few notes, without any concern of Jacob, the patient formed the opinion that this doctor's bedside manner sucked. There was even a point when he’d looked the doctor square in the eye, but the physician still ignored him. Jake was cursing Dr. Davies in his mind when the new doctor finally looked down at him and smiled.

Introducing himself as Dr. Ito, he said that he was a pain specialist. He explained the same things that Dr. Davies told him, but Jacob still didn’t believe it, rolling his eyes at the medicine man. Seeing that nothing was settling with the patient, he told him that he was thinking about cutting the pain medication down, since he didn’t have any of these problems, he wouldn’t need it. That made Wendell’s eyes pop open. He was finally listening to them and having to accept that he had a minimum of four to six months left to live. That was swell. After establishing a code, blinking once for yes, twice for no, they agreed to leave the morphine at the exact dosage it was at. Dr. Ito left, and the room became darker due to the rain outside.

 Jacob lay there; he was astounded that he would have two diseases, both life-threatening. He could have been remorseful about his condition. Thinking about how he’d affected other people's lives, however, all he could think of was himself. The pity party that was going on in his head was immense. Woe was him. He didn’t deserve any of this to happen. He was in the prime of his life. There were so many more women that he had to conquer. That was the part that he was going to miss most. The videotaping and husbands finding out that their wives were cheap little hussies that would do just about anything he wanted them to. They were that sexually deprived.

            “Mr. Wendell, how are you this afternoon?” A voice came from the foot of his bed.

            There stood an older man with a peppered pencil mustache on his face. He was wearing a brown suit, with a checkered waistcoat, and a carnation in the lapel. Upon his head was a brown fedora, which he was tipping towards the patient. Jacob was curious as to why he hadn’t seen the gentleman beforehand. Regardless of why he couldn’t see him, he was curious as to why this stranger was greeting him so politely.  The man walked around to the guest chairs and tipped his hat. Then it dawned on Jacob that he was the mortician.  

            “No, Mr. Wendell, I am not a mortician.” The man said, taking off his hat.

            How? How could he have known what he was thinking? There was an array of names he could have chosen. Coroner. Undertaker. Those were just a few that popped into his mind. But how did he know the precise word that he was thinking? Looking at the older man, he had dark brown eyes. They were almost black, like a doll's eyes. They seemed lifeless, as he was staring a hole through him. Then there was the man’s smile; it was as if he were hiding something behind it. As the man fiddled with the brim of his hat, Wendell was questioning what the man wanted.

            “You’ll find that I’m a man of many tricks, Mr. Wendell. Oh, I’m sorry. Permit me, my name is Warwick, Preston Warwick.”

            “Preston Warwick? Who the fuck was that?”

            He could see that he sparked the kid's curiosity. Good. That was at least a good start. The elder man told him that he was a fan of your work. The stunt he played with his sister’s favorite statue was stupendous. Swindling your family out of all their money, brilliant. He couldn’t have pulled off a better scheme if he devised it himself. Say, what gives? Jacob thought. How was this man inside his head? At least he thought he was in there. Whenever the patient asked a question, an answer was waiting for him.

            “I’m explaining myself to you, Mr. Wendell.”

            If you can hear me, call me Jake, he thought.

            “As you will have it, Jake.”

            For the second time that day, he was surprised by a visitor.  One was the vengeful husband of one of his many conquests, and now this Mr. Warwick.  Jacob wasn’t sure as to where this was leading, but it had better be good. Preston went on to say that he was one hundred percent legit. He was there to offer his services to people like him. People like him, Jacob thought, the older man smiled and said, that people like him don’t go to heaven. This statement didn’t shock the heartless man, but hearing it out loud scared him for a change. Wendell grunted as Warwick told him that he hadn’t been on the path towards heaven since he’d murdered that nest of bunnies when he was twelve.   

            The patient just looked at the kindly older man, who clapped his hands together and said that it was settled. He should fear not, for his new best friend was there to take care of him. Jake thought about how he was his new best friend, when the man snapped his fingers and removed the breathing and feeding tubes from him. At first, he was terrified, as that was what was keeping him alive, but no sooner had he thought this than he was able to breathe on his own. Wendall was in shock and thankful at the same time. He didn’t like the tubes and found them to be inconvenient. Then the patient discovered his voice. He was able to speak just fine. It was a miracle.

Asking Warwick what he wanted, assuming it was his soul, the older man said that they already had that, but he was being given a reprieve because he was a fan of his work. He told him that he was under the impression that he already figured that out, and who he represented. Jake asked why he was being given this offer. Preston told him that it was because they had an offer that he couldn’t refuse... that he was truly a big fan of his work. All he had to do was do what he’d been doing for the rest of his time. That was something that Wendall knew he didn’t have. He had less than five months to live.

“Look, Warwire…”

“Warwick.” The man interrupted Jacob.

“Whatever. I don’t know if you got the memo or anything, but I’ve kinda been issued a death sentence.”

“Plagues are one of our specialties, Mr. Wendell. They can come and go at our amusement.”

“So, why me?”           

The older man smiled as he informed him that he was doing one hell of a job and that the master recognized that if he kept him alive, the young man could continue sending him fresh souls, ones that teeter on the cusp of sin. Jacob responded that it was all fine and good hearing about it. However, he was dying. That hindered him from performing said job. Warwick informed him that part of his deal would be immortality for his services. That piqued the man’s interest, and he became an engaged customer. Jake asked him what he had to do for all of this. The older man told him it was an opportunity, and that all he had to do was keep doing what he had been doing.  

“What?”
            “Yes. Have all the fornication that you can have with as many wives as you can. Keep recording it and sending it to their families. We cannot tell you how much that pleases the boss.”

“And that’s it?”
            “That’s it, Mr. Wendell.”

“Bullshit!” He said, not believing the deal was real.

“Well… There is one small provision that we require.”

“I knew it.”

“It’s quite small, believe me. In exchange for your immortality and riches beyond your wildest dreams, all you must do is kill one person on each full moon.”

“What?”
            “We told you; it was something small.”

“That’s not a small thing.”

“Come now, Jacob.  It’s not like you haven’t done it indirectly thus far.”

Jacob asked what he was talking about. That led Warwick to ask him if he genuinely thought that his sexual escapades hadn’t had any ramifications. Clueless as to what he meant, the older man said, "Twenty-seven." Shaking his head, he asked what that number meant. That was the number of deaths attributed to his minor operation. Twenty-seven people, including the wives and husbands, couldn't take what he did and killed themselves. This shocked Jacob, especially the number. He didn’t think that anyone had killed themselves, and that their deaths were attributed to him. When he was asked if there was a problem with their deaths, he had to respond with no, honestly.
            “But I’m not a murderer.”

“How is there any difference between you doing it directly or indirectly? I’ll tell you. None. Your soul is tarnished with sin either way.”

“What if I don’t want your offer?”
            “Jake?” Warwick chuckled. “I’ll put the tube back in, you’ll suffer A LOT, and then you’re destined to arrive in hell anyway. The thing you should be asking yourself is this…You’re going to hell either way. You might as well prolong the inevitable for as long as you can.”

“Is it THAT bad?”
            “It is called hell for a reason, Jake.”

Jacob sat there, contemplating the proposal placed before him. He had no clue that twenty-seven people had taken their own lives because of him. The worst that he thought would happen is divorce, but suicide? That was another matter altogether. He’d felt the pain his condition gave him, and the morphine drip only did so much for him. Given that he had a low tolerance for pain, he didn’t want to go through more of it, as Warwick claimed that he would. That’s when he asked, Why did he have to kill someone. Preston told him that it was a small detail that they required. One innocent soul of their choosing, in exchange for his health and wealth.

“Innocent soul?  You don’t mean children?”

“No. We don’t mess with them, not in that way anyway.”

“You choose who I kill?”
            “Consider it a perk to our deal.”

“How is that a perk for me?”
            “It’s not. I meant for us.” He paused. “Here… Maybe this will persuade you.

With that, Warwick snapped his fingers. A rush of pain came over Jacob like he’d never known before. His body was crushed up, going into a tormented fetal position. There wasn’t a spot on his body that didn’t feel like it was on fire. He tried to yell in pain, but it was muted, thanks to his wonderful visitor. Then, as quickly as it started, and after Preston snapped his fingers again, the pain stopped. Wendell was out of breath. Sitting back up, he looked at the deceitful older man. 

“What the hell was that?”
            “That, my friend, is your illness, without the pain killers.”

“I thought it was bad with them?”

“You have no idea.” He smiled at the young man. “That was just a small sample. It’s only going to get much worse.”

“And this deal of yours, I won’t feel any pain?”
            “Why would we torment you when you’re working for us?”
            “Now, when you say immortality…”

“I mean that you’ll look and feel like you do this very moment.”

Jacob looked down and started giving it some thought. Warwick told him that time was not on his side. He needed to make a decision right then and there. To reconfirm, Jake asked if he had to kill whoever they said, and no children. He said that without question. He was on the fence, as this was a big step. He’d never killed anyone with his bare hands before. He was just about to speak when Preston told him that they had other beings that would die for a chance like this. he finally said enthusiastically, “Yes.” The older man thought that this was splendid and extended his hand out to the new acquisition. They now had a new warrior for evil, and the full moon was just two weeks away.

Jacob took hold of the older man’s hand, and it started to burn. It burned with a fire he’d never known to have existed before. His face contorted in pain as he tried to pull it back. But the older man had a vice-like grip. Putting his other hand on Preston’s wrist, he tried to pull back, but it was no use. The older man had his hand, and their pact was being sealed. When Warwick finally let go, the man fell back and stared at his hand; there, burned into it, was the pentagram. Around it was a strange writing. It glowed for a few seconds and then faded away. He looked back up at his recruiter, and he was gone. Vanished.

“How the hell am I supposed to know who you want me to kill?” He said, kneeling up on the bed.

“We’ll be in contact.”  The disembodied voice said to him.

Just then, all the lights came back on, and the nurse came in to check on him. Seeing that the patient was up and without his breathing tube, she called for a code red. She thought he was trying to make a break for it. The other nurses and Doctor Ito came rushing into the room. Surprised by the remarkable recovery, the doctor started running tests on him. It was a full recovery. He showed no signs of the cancer, the ALS, or any other infection. It was as if he were perfectly healthy, which he was. Now a minion of darkness, he was destined for a long life of servitude to the horn.

Jacob left a few days later, with a clean bill of health. He quickly returned to his old routine of debauchery. Living life to the fullest, his first rendezvous was with two women. They were best friends and led boring housewife lives. Convincing them into a threesome, and having the time of his life, he upped his game. Things were going great for the first half of the month. Sex had never been better, booze seemed to be flowing, and the women were easier to get. The young man was indeed living life to the fullest. That was, until the first full moon. He wasn’t keeping track of time; he was having too much fun.

He was sitting at home, watching the game between the Bears and the Packers. Chicago was up by seven in the third when Preston Warwick appeared in the chair next to the sofa. Jacob was sitting on the couch, smoking a cigar, and nearly jumped out of his seat. Warwick just smiled at him, took off his hat, and nodded. The foot soldier for hell jumped off the couch, gripping his heart. He was not expecting to see his recruiter. In all the commotion, he missed the fumble by the Packers and the recovery by the Bears. He had three hundred riding on the game, and so far, he has been winning.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Jacob told his unexpected guest.

“I should hope so.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s that time of the month, so to speak.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, what happens to the months that have two full moons?”

“Double the pleasure, double the fun.”

“You mean that I have to kill twice.”

“Please, Jacob. The first time will be the hardest, after that it gets easier.”  

“How the hell do you know?”

“I wasn’t always a kind old-looking gentleman.”     

“You mean you…”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright. What do I have to do?” He asked, just wanting to move on.

“Come with us.”

“Where are we going?”

“You didn’t expect us to bring the victim to you, did you?”
            “No. I suppose not.”

The duo left the mansion and walked to his newly bought classic sports car. It was cherry red with a white racing stripe down the sides. They got in and took off in the direction the little older man pointed. It took them an hour and a half to get to the location where the victim was to be. The clock told him that it was eight o’clock, but it looked more like ten. They pulled into the Super Save grocery market and parked in the boondocks. He had always seen them but never thought that they were beneath him. They were just some commoners’ store, while he had someone else shop at the top-of-the-line grocery stores. Everything had to be fresh and organic; he felt that his body was a temple and wasn’t about to have someone ruin it for him.

“Why do we have to park out here?”

“The employees have to park out here,” Warwick said, smiling.

“And who’s the victim?”

“Just wait.”

“For how long?”
            “For as long as it takes.”  The older man corrected him.

They waited. And waited. It seemed to be going on forever when, at half past ten, the victim was expected to appear. Jacob could tell that she was a woman and was limping. The woman had been working five sixteen-hour days straight. She was wearing a hoodie, which covered up her face and hair. Each step seemed labored, as if she were exhausted by the shift she’d just left. Warwick pointed her out, smiled, and disappeared. The killer sat in the car, watching her limp towards an old beater of a vehicle. It was so dilapidated that everything that made up Jacob’s car was worth more than hers.

He grabbed the knife that he had brought from home as he got out of the car. Quietly, he stalked his victim. It wasn’t like he had to; the parking lot was quiet at that time. Finally, and with a long, drawn-out sigh, she made it to her vehicle. The only thing she looked forward to was going home, making dinner for the family, and doing it all again the next day. The woman opened her trunk, tossed her reusable lunch bag inside, and closed it. It was while she was walking to the driver’s side door that Jacob made his move. Grabbing her mouth, he moved the knife closer to her throat.

“Don’t move, bitch!”  He demanded.

“Jakie?” The woman said, startling him.

It was enough to make him back off and lighten his grip. She spun around to get a clear view of her attacker. He could have kicked himself. He didn’t do anything to change his voice, nor did he bring a mask. Next time, he thought he should bring a mask. That would at least prevent situations like this from happening. Then, they came face-to-face. The look of surprise was evident on both of their faces. Not only did she know him, but he knew her! After all this time, and after what he’d done, it was his sister Deliliah. 

She slapped his chest, several times, telling him how it was a dick move on his part, destroying the statue like that. He would never know how much that statue meant to her. Jake was always a horrible brother, and whenever he did something horrendous to her, she would stare at that statue and think on the words, “he’s not heavy, Father, he’s my brother.” It wasn’t just a saying or a motto; those words meant something to her. Deep down, they were etched in her soul. The shattered statue couldn’t be put back together, she tried, but she had to buy a copy, this one in green, to replace it.

She was yelling at him that Great-Grandmother Wendell had brought the statue when she was at Boys Town; it meant something to every woman who held it. His cruelty and brashness were beyond being a deplorable human being. She cried over that statue for days. She repeated that it was for days as she punched him in the shoulder as hard as possible. Jacob didn’t know what to say to her, as she was his chosen prey. Delilah told him that he wasn’t such a tough man now that he wasn’t behind the wheel of a car. She thought it was a ballsy thing to do, showing up at her job and confronting her. Then she looked down and saw the knife.

Right away, she assumed that he wasn’t there to gloat about the statue. She thought that he had the knife, which was pointed at her, because he was attempting to rob her. She punched again, as he stammered over his words. Looking back at his car, hoping that Preston would be able to help him, he wasn’t there. She wanted to know what the knife was for, as it wasn’t like he hadn’t drained the family enough already. Was the rotten sibling out for physical blood? She wasn’t about to roll over and give up. She wasn’t about to put up with any more of his shit. The sister was pushed too far, and she had reached her limit, beyond being tired of dealing with this.
            “Now see here…” he said, holding up the knife.

            “No, you see here, you bastard. I’m working eighty hours a week at two different jobs, trying to keep my house and family fed. I haven’t had a day off since you decided to trash the only thing that I wanted, which was my mom's. I didn’t care about the money. It was never about money. I wanted that statue because it made me think of you. After all the struggles we’ve been through, Jakie, I’m still looking out for you.”

            He stood there in shock.

            “What, don’t you have anything to say?  Is the big tough Jacob Wendell too much of a pussy to confront his sister face to face? Did you know I had to go and buy a new statue to replace that one? That little statue means something to me because it’s about us. It’s about family and NEVER leaving them behind. You left us behind, Jake. You screwed over your whole family over money?”

            “I DESERVED IT! ALL OF IT!”

            “WE deserved it. We’re family, you butt-plug. Like it or not!”

            “I…” He started to lower the knife.

            “Kill her,” Warwick said, as it came from out of the shadows.

            “What?”  Delilah asked.

            “I…”

            “We had an agreement, Mr. Wendell.  Now, kill her.”

            “Is that why you’re here, Jakie? You’re going to kill me.”

            “I…” he raised the knife back up as his sister was getting closer to him.

            “Mr. Wendell…”

            “Can’t it be someone else? Someone I don’t know.”
            Mr. Warwick reminded him that the agreement was a soul of their choosing in exchange for his health and wealth. This confused Delilah, as she asked him what the strange man was talking about. Preston urged him to kill her. This made the cocky man snap. Yelling at them both to shut up, he told his sister not to come any closer. She told him that he was scaring her, and he held the knife up higher, trying to show her that he was in charge. Warwick sighed and cracked his neck from one side to the other. He told the servant that he needed to get it over with. That it would only take a second, and from that point on, it would be easier. Jake pulled the knife back like he was about to stab her, but hesitated.

            “Yeah, Jakie. Get it over with.” She said, drawing closer to him.

            “I said, stay back.” Jake nearly shouted, torn between two options.

            Sure, he’d screwed over the whole family, royally, but this was his sister. His kid sister. They played on the same playgrounds, ran the same streets, and had the same friends. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but now he was being asked to murder his sister. Why the hell did they want to have him murder his sister? A look of confusion ran across his face as he stared at the Preston Warwick. Delilah asked who the stranger was, trying to see if he was in some trouble. She didn’t have a lot in savings, but she would do her best to help him out if he needed it.

            “I said, SHUT UP!”

            “Mr. Wendell, we had an arrangement,” Warwick said, looking at his fingertips.

            “Not her.  Anyone but her.”

            Grabbing his lapels, the older man arched his head back, sucked on his teeth, and nodded his head. He told Wendell that they had made a particular arrangement. And in that arrangement, he agreed to kill any soul that they deemed necessary. The deal was that when the full moon came, it was here, and so was the soul. This moved Jake to ask if he killed her, and what about his siblings? Were they next? This was something Warwick didn’t know, as he wasn’t notified about the soul until the last minute. He didn’t like that they could be the next souls on the list, let alone having Della on the chopping block right now. Preston told him again to move forward with the killing, as no one was around who could see. Calling him out on his “bullshit,” Jacob demanded that he choose someone else.

            Preston told him that that wasn’t how it worked. That the “big man” picks the soul, tells him, and he provides Jake with the place. That he’d already wasted enough time arguing with him, and that if he didn’t do it sooner rather than later, someone would see him and then he’d have to kill the witness. That being would not count as one of his souls, so he would be required to do it on his own. Delilah asked him to let her help him, and she reached her hands out to him. He snapped again, telling her to stand back. Didn’t she see that he was trying to save her life? Warwick said to him that there was no one else; she was his assignment, whether he liked it or not.

            Jacob pleaded with him, wanting to kill anyone else but her. Preston told him that he was there to end her life, and that he must do it, or did he need to be reminded of the consequences if he didn’t fulfill his end of the deal. Turning to the older man, he asked why there couldn’t be someone else. With a sinister smile, he told him that he could, and that was a remote chance, arrange for his other sister or brother to die. Jake refused, telling him to choose someone else. Warwick told him it was a member of his family, that is, his assignment. Besides, he handled the situation so well that he laughed for a good fifteen minutes on that one. Why does it matter now that she’s in front of him?

“Yeah, Jakie?  Why is it difficult with me being right in front of you?”

He ignored the question and asked why it couldn’t be a cousin that he didn’t know. An aunt or an uncle twice removed, or something similar. Preston told him that the victim was to be his sister, or he could arrange for him to feel the outcome of his indecisiveness. Jake started to question, but fell to his knees. His pain returned tenfold. Delilah wanted to run to his aid, but he forced his hand to keep the knife up, keeping her at bay. He looked up at Warwick, tears running down his face. The older man had a stern look on his face; his displeasure radiated off him. The sister, seeing that the man had some control over her brother, ran up to him and started pounding her fists on his chest.

Delilah demanded that he let her brother be, running up to the older man, but he smacked her to the ground. Fighting through the pain, Jacob told him not to touch her. Preston asked him why he was trying to defend her. She was the one from whom he took the money. He’d chosen to screw over. What’s the difference between her or some other Tom, Dick, or Harry? As he writhed on the ground in pain, he begged, saying that she was his sister. Warwick asked him if he wanted to feel the pain at twenty percent. The servant said that he couldn’t do it, and the pain increased just as the older man said it would. The pain was unbearable as he screamed in pain.

“I said, leave him alone,” Delilah said, as she threw a punch, connecting against the elderly man’s chin.

Jacob was hoping that her punch would have knocked the man out, ceasing the pain that he was going through. But nothing happened. It was like water off a duck’s back. The older man looked up at his sister and smiled. In retaliation, he struck back, knocking her down next to her brother. Delilah didn’t know what was going on, but she knew that, despite everything her brother had done to her, she still had to protect him. As the statue said, “he ain’t heavy, Father, he’s my brother.”

As Jake convulsed in pain, she reached over and picked up the knife. He had let it go from shaking so much. Seeing that it was her only means of defense, she took the weapon and lunged at Preston. The blade pierced his chest and went right into his heart. With her teeth gritted, Delilah thrusted until the hilt was pressed up against Warwick's waistcoat. Now with it in, she fell to her knees, exhausted. The pain that Jacob was in ceased, but the older man did not go down. The two siblings looked up at the older man, dumbstruck as to what was going on. Instead of being in shock or falling to the ground, Warwick looked calm. It took hold of the handle and pulled it out. Smiling, the demon licked the blood off, grossing out both of them.

Preston told him that he had chosen the wrong sibling. She possessed the killer instinct required for the job that he severely lacked. Trying to get to his knee, he told him to leave her alone, but he instead said to him that he had made a deal with Legion. They didn’t accept failure. Jake told him that if it meant he was in pain, and that she would be let go, he didn’t care. Warwick bent down, asking why there had been a change of heart. He didn’t have one when he signed the power of attorney over his mother’s estate. Jake told him that he said that he’d kill for him, but he didn’t say anything about his siblings. The little older man corrected him, saying that he agreed to anyone they wanted, and the boss currently wants her.   

Jacob told him that he wasn’t going to get her. Preston tilted his head, said that it was a shame, and pretended to look sympathetic. Delilah asked her brother what was going on, and he told her to run. She wasn’t about to do that. He was her brother, and he wasn’t heavy. The older man smirked, saying he had chosen the wrong sibling. Telling her that this didn’t concern her in the slightest, she rebutted, saying that it was her brother and anything that happened to him, she’d be there to stop it. She stood between Warwick and Jake, putting her fists up to defend him.

The older man found it amusing that the human female was trying to defend one of his minions. Seeing that she had no power over them, he snapped his fingers. In a flash, both Jacob and Preston were gone. Delilah was left all alone in the parking lot. The only things left by her were her car keys and the knife that was meant to kill her. She looked around, trying to see where they could have gone, but it was for naught. Warwick had whisked them away to a place that no one, not even the devil himself, could find. 

There in the middle of nowhere, they reappeared inside a cave. Jacob lay there in pain. He had hoped that with the distraction, he could have attacked the demon, but it was smarter than that. It let EVERYTHING that was tormenting Jake come back, a hundredfold. As he attempted to scream in pain, nothing could come out. His vocal cords were paralyzed again. The ALS, the cancer, it was all back. He was nowhere near a hospital to receive the proper care he needed to end the pain. Or, at least, bring the pain down to a bearable level. The demon stood over him, then turned and went to the face of the cave.

“You are such a disappointment, Jacob. I was so willing to bet that your sister would have been easy for you. Maybe it would have been, if she hadn’t recognized your voice.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Oh well. What’s done is done. I thought we went over that and made it quite clear for you. You broke a deal with the legion, and now we get to break you. You see, as your punishment, this is your hell. Look around you.”

Warwick raised its hands to its side and did a twirl.

“We are going to leave you here. Alone and in pain. You’re going to feel all that pain, all the time. It will be unrelenting. And you’re so far removed from civilization that if you COULD scream, they wouldn’t be able to hear you. This is your fate, my friend. My sad, pathetic friend.  This is your eternity, not too bad if I say so myself.”

Oh, when will this end? Jacob thought.

“It will never end. Your suffering will be so legendary that it will be our testament to the fallen one.” Warwick said, crouching down towards the sinner. “Plus, the loneliness. Oh, that exquisite feeling will be all too familiar to you. It’s an additional pain that you’ll suffer. I am glad you chose this path over murdering your sister. You wouldn’t have been that effective to us.”

Standing up, Preston Warwick put on his fedora, adjusted his lapels, and snapped his fingers. He was gone. Now there was no one to talk to, to ease his pain. His body was contorted in different directions. At one point, he looked like a crumpled-up ball of paper. He’d never known such pain or anguish as he was experiencing now. There was nothing left of him but the unrelenting torment. He had lived his life in all the wrong ways, but in the end, he did the one thing he could say was done right: save his sister.