Note: I must admit that I was not planning on writing a sequel to Devil's Advocate, but I was recently struck with inspiration and I had to go with it. With school returning all too soon and summer work piling up, I will try to update as frequently as I can…as long as I am not afflicted with writer's block. Figures I would be feeling creative now…haha. So thank you to all of those who commented favorably on Devil's Advocate – I hope you enjoy this story as well!

Commitment

Chapter One: La Vida Nueva

Johnny had, literally, just been to hell and back. Finding himself on his own front lawn again had been the last thing he had been expecting only a few hours earlier when he was facing off against the creature that had controlled his entire existence up until that point. After defeating the wall monster with Tess, Devi, and Squee, Satan had granted Johnny freedom from his gruesome task and – what was more – a clean slate. A new life. No one from his "past" would remember him, but then again, why should he want them to remember him as he was?

A bloodthirsty monster… thought Johnny sadly to himself, staring at his "new" home. That's what I was…

He shuddered to think about how many people had died within those walls, and at his hands…

He clenched his fists then, willing himself to push those awful memories out of his head. Speaking aloud, he attempted to reassure himself. "I'm not going to become that again…I will not give in to hatred…no. Not anymore."

It was refreshing to hear only HIS voice in his head, freed from any discourse with the ranting of the Doughboys. He had to admit, though, Nailbunny had been an alright companion. They were all gone now, however. He was sure of that. No voices meant no manipulation, and that in turn meant he was free to do whatever he wanted without any sort of being guiding him along. He needed to see Devi and Tess, that was for sure. He wanted to see them.

The first thing to do, however, would be to inspect his home.

Johnny paced up the walkway that led to his front door, unsure of what he expected to find inside. As he walked, he let his mind run free. When HAD he moved there, and why? He was sure that his lack of any memories during that time in his life had to do with the machinations of God and Satan in setting him up to be the waste lock they had cherished so much. Johnny scoffed at the thought. What a way to treat such an essential individual. At least, Satan had made it seem like Johnny's "role" was important. He was needed to rid the world of negative vibes, ill will…this was the esoteric shit that Satan had spewed.

"And here I go getting angry again," Johnny muttered, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline. There was no person to hack into this time, though, no blood to clean up afterward…he was done with that way of life. If only to spite Satan and God…if only to show that he could live like everyone else, and not revert back to the lifestyle that they had crafted specifically for him…

"Fuck those two," Johnny said nonchalantly, reaching the door and grasping the doorknob. It felt the same, at least. "I've got a life to live." The door creaked open at the slightest push.

Johnny peered inside. Everything was as it had been when he and Tess had ascended from his basement. The rabbit-ear antennae still graced his small TV, three cups of Cherry Fizz-Wizz still sat neglected on his kitchen counter. The only difference was that there were no signs of death. None at all.

This was very noticeable to Johnny.

Before the wall monster had been defeated, evidence of Johnny's lifestyle was all too prevalent in every room of the house. Blood caked the walls in some rooms, and there were streaks of it all throughout, either in trails on the floor or in spatterings on windowpanes or ceiling fans. So much blood that Johnny, even in his meticulous cleanliness (for a homicidal maniac), had neglected to wipe up.

Shocked, Johnny ran to the next floor down, on the landing where he kept his most vicious instruments of torture. Not only was there not a speck of blood, but his torture devices had disappeared as well. The bare room made him do a double take, as he was sure that his brass knuckles must still be lying in a corner somewhere, somehow forgotten by the impeccable Satan. But of course, the entire room was clean of blood or any incriminating body parts or tools.

Floor after floor was the same. No blood, no bodies, no weapons. Johnny could scarcely believe it, mumbling in amazement as he inspected every corner and every crack in the floorboards. He picked at a rusted nail that had protruded from one of these floorboards in disdain before moving on. "You'd think Satan could have renovated a little bit, too," he quipped to himself, reaching the staircase that he dreaded to descend.

He was one floor from the room that had housed the wall monster for so many years.

Walking down the stairs proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated – Johnny remembered the many times he had dragged screaming, flailing victims down these steps, propping them up against the wall and finishing them off right there, making sure that the creature was nourished by only the freshest blood. All for that ridiculous being…that monster that he had bested in the end. Johnny allowed a smirk to twist the corners of his mouth. He had reached the landing and had flicked the light switch on, the bare bulb illuminating the once crimson wall.

It was completely blank, just as he had expected. The wall almost gleamed in the light – it was such a contrast to what it had been only hours…days?...beforehand. Johnny walked quickly up to the wall, propelled by an urgency as yet unknown to him. Tentatively he reached his hand out, palm up, and placed it on the wall's cool surface, almost as if to make sure it were real. He held this position for a good minute, taking in the new room, the new smell of it all, untainted by blood.

Finally he drew his hand back and saw that no blood was left on his fingers. Absurdly, he had deluded himself into thinking that the blood was still there, only tinted a different color. He was so used to seeing this room with its crimson wall that he could not imagine it any other way. Now that this room was normal, he knew that his situation was truly different. Relief flooded through him as he realized that his former life, as he had known it, was over. This was not the initial relief that had hit him when he had emerged from Hell – this was a crashing tidal wave of relief, and Johnny let himself be overcome. Laughter – genuine laughter – bubbled out of him for what seemed like the first time in ages, and he did nothing to quell it. He laughed until he was reduced to tears, crouching on the floor in front of the wall.

Once the laughter had subsided, he leaned his head back against the once bloody wall, taking some time to recompose himself. He would need to leave eventually, he knew. He could not live here and expect to remain sane…not with the memories that this place triggered. An unwelcome surge of anger accompanied this thought.

Why couldn't Satan have wiped MY memory, too? Johnny wondered. I was quite happy until that little problem came to mind. And all of those people I killed…I wonder if they're still…

Johnny would not let himself complete his line of thinking. What was done was done. Those people…they had deserved it. He was sure they were still gone, because what would have been the point of his being a waste lock otherwise? They were dead, and the bad juju they carried had died with them. The only thing that had truly changed was that he had been allowed to come back due to his remorse, and he was no longer a waste lock. Some other poor soul now had that burden to bear. No, the only thing that had changed was that Johnny was free…

A new feeling overcame Johnny, this one being more unwelcome and strange than all the rest. He was afraid. Yes, circumstances had changed since he had returned. He no longer needed to kill.

To say that he no longer could kill was a different story altogether.

He did not think he could handle it. His first instinct, upon coming across some everyday asshole in the street, would be to kill him in broad daylight. As his "old" self, he wouldn't be caught. Now, though, he knew – he would be seen. He would be caught, and he would be taken to jail. This was a lot to take in.

Johnny sighed and stood up. As he stood, he noticed a speck on the wall. Fear gripped him. Jumping back, he soon realized that his agitation was unwarranted. It was simply Mr. Samsa the cockroach, navigating the wall with the precision of any hardy insect. He scuttled along, unperturbed by Johnny's presence.

"Mr. Samsa…" Johnny whispered. "You're still alive. Of course…you never die. Even when I killed you before…" He trailed off. "However, I will not be the one to kill you this time."

Johnny backed away and began climbing the stairs with the intent of stepping out of the house for a while, leaving the bug to its devices. This was harder than he had imagined, and he felt ashamed, even angry with himself. Was this how easy it had been to kill? He was literally finding it difficult to leave Mr. Samsa alone, and Mr. Samsa was, to put it plainly, only an insect. His mind seemed clouded, jumbled, filled with thoughts that may have been all too commonplace during his old life. New thoughts clashed with these older ones, begging him to think clearly, to not kill so indiscriminately…and to not kill at all.

What a strange concept, he thought to himself, finally ascending the last set of stairs to the first landing. This new life will be hard. He crossed the threshold of his house, finally ready to face the day with a new sense of conviction. He was changed, he hoped.

One thing was for sure, however; with all that had changed, the murderous gleam from a different life had yet to leave Johnny's eyes.