The first thing Sam noticed when he woke up was that his hands were no longer bound. He flexed his wrists, grimacing at the uncomfortable stiffness brought about by several hours of being cuffed. The second thing he noticed was the distinct lack of serial killers. He glanced over to the other bed and found it still made and very obviously not slept in.
Sam climbed out of his own bed and put on a blue plaid shirt that he assumed was Lucifer's. He padded softly towards the bathroom and knocked quietly.
"Uh, Lucifer? You in there?"
The reply was instantaneous. "Sam, you're awake. Come in,"
Sam did not go into the bathroom. The overpowering, cloying smell of coppery blood was now evident. He supposed that the man from last night was finally dead.
"Have you killed that guy?"
"Just come in, Sammy."
Sam held his breath and opened the door, covering his nose and mouth with his hand and trying not to look at the body or the small lake of blood that filled the bottom of the bathtub.
"I need you to help me carry this bastard outside."
"Why? Look, I think we should be getting out of here. If the cops-"
"The cops aren't gonna come, Sam. I killed everyone else in this place and changed the sign out front to say 'no vacancy'"
Sam stared into Lucifer's eyes, determined not to look at the bloody lump of dead flesh that lay completely motionless, its eyes glassy and blankly staring at the ceiling. It reminded him of the freshly caught fish that lay on the ice counter at the supermarket. Only far more creepy looking.
Without breaking the stare, Sam bent down and grabbed the guy's ankles, all too aware of the blood that had soaked through the dead man's pants and onto his hands.
Together, they carried the corpse out onto the yellowed patch of grass that served as the motel's front lawn. Sam tried to ignore the dozen or so bodies that lined the hallway, all with a bullet wound in the forehead. He stared at the back of Lucifer's head, finding the now familiar blond hair oddly reassuring to look at.
"I've got a job for you, Sammy."
"Yeah?"
"There's a bottle of gasoline and a box of matches in the trunk. Get them for me, would you?"
Sam did. After all, everyone in the motel was already dead, right? It wasn't as if they would suffer or anything. Besides, it was a good way to cover their tracks. He didn't think leaving their prints at the scene of a mass murder would be a good idea.
Sam stopped walking before he even reached the car. He was already starting to think like a killer. If he wasn't careful, he'd turn out like Lucifer. Because the too-cute-for-his-own-good murderer had been right. Sam did have the capability to kill, and he knew it. He'd known all along, really. And so he got the gasoline and the matches and brought them back to Lucifer.
"Get the gas and pour it around the motel."
Sam did. It was only halfway through doing so that he began to wonder why; why he was blindly following this guy. It wasn't as if he liked him; the man had drugged him, kidnapped him, tied him up, fed him a protein bar in a gas station in the most humiliating way possible and had now ordered him to burn down a motel that contained at least a dozen corpses. So no. This wasn't out of affection.
Sam wondered briefly what his chances would be if he tried to escape. He could wait until a car came along on the highway, run out in front of it and get inside before Lucifer had even noticed. But then he looked back at the man, who was busy carving his trademark inverted cross onto the corpse's chest, and he realised that he couldn't. Not just yet, at least. He still found himself drawn to him; and he wouldn't let himself walk away before knowing a bit more about him. And so he continued with his task of dousing the perimeter of the building with gasoline.
When he was done, he walked cautiously over to Lucifer, who had apparently finished with the artistic part and seemed to be beheading the corpse.
"Ah, Sammy. Finished with the motel?"
Sam nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the severed head or the pool of dark crimson blood that spread out to almost a metre away from the place where it was once attached to the neck.
"It's quite something, isn't it? Seeing a dead body for the first time? I was only seventeen when I made my first kill. Almost exactly the same age as you."
Sam remained silent. Lucifer looked up at sam with an amused expression. "I saw you earlier, you know. Staring at the highway. I just want you to know that I'd never hurt you, Sam. That's not what I 'kidnapped' you for. You know that. And if you ever try and run away, I'd be upset. And you wouldn't like me to be upset, would you?"
Sam spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours. "You...you'd be upset? Really? Why?"
Lucifer licked his bottom lip slightly in thought, tilting his head to the side a little. "Well, I guess I've been alone for way too long. Five years without a companion can get a little lonely sometimes, even for someone like me."
He opened his mouth to reply, but Lucifer surprised him for bringing a finger to Sam's lips before he could say anything. But the murderer's slightly bloody index finger was drawn back just as quickly as it had appeared, and Sam was silent again.
"We've gotta torch this place and get the hell outta here before the cops come and stick their noses in. Care to do the honours, Sammy?"
Sam shook his head. He'd already participated in this crime enough, right? "No, thanks. Can I… can I wait in the car?"
Lucifer studied Sam for a moment before nodding his approval. "As long as you don't try anything. I'll be there in a minute."
The car that Lucifer drove was a relatively nice blue one. Sam supposed that it was stolen and that he had to change vehicles often, but it was comfortable and was inconspicuous enough not to draw attention to them. Sam was sitting in the backseat when he realised that the keys were in the ignition. He almost laughed; he could just drive away. But then he figured that Lucifer wouldn't be that stupid; either those weren't the real keys or this was some kind of loyalty test or something.
But then he realised that he was dealing with one of the most intelligent killers to have ever lived. Lucifer wouldn't be so stupid as to leave his captive the keys. Or maybe he was; maybe this was some kind of test of loyalty. Sam decided to leave the keys for now. It would be better to wait and somehow turn Lucifer in to the cops at the next town they stopped in. He knew the guy would most likely leave in the middle of the night to kill someone again, and this time he was determined not to fall asleep.
Sam watched with fascination as Lucifer lit a match and threw it to the ground, the gasoline igniting almost immediately, licking the walls of the motel and burning the yellowed grass below. He couldn't take his eyes off it; the way it blackened the brickwork and windows, the way it engulfed the dying shrubs and lit up Lucifer's face with flickering yellow light. The murderer checked that the mutilated corpse was far enough away from the fire before turning round and walking back to the car, a strange kind of almost scary looking smile on his face. His eyes looked wild, animalistic, even. The usual mesmerising blue-grey was a sparkling ice and Sam wasn't sure if he liked it.
He remained silent as Lucifer got into the front seat, eyeing the untouched car keys with evident amusement and what seemed to be surprise and admiration.
"I gotta say, Sammy, I'm proud of you. You passed the first two tests." He started the engine and pulled out of the small motel parking lot, and began speeding down the highway to Salt Lake City.
"Tests?"
"Yeah. Test one; not attempting to escape even though you had the opportunity. You've had loads of chances to run away and yet you haven't."
"And what's the second test?"
"Participating in a crime. You helped me move a body and burn down a motel. That's enough to get you locked in jail for a long, long time."
Sam didn't say anything, only watched the landscape outside turn more and more urban as they got closer to the city. He stared at the back of Lucifer's head again, noticing a patch of red on the collar of his dark green shirt.
"There's blood on your shirt, Lucifer."
The killer grinned. "There's some on yours too, Sam. Or should I say mine. You look good in my clothes, by the way."
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, electing to stare out of the window again. Lucifer turned the radio on and began singing along to "Stairway to Heaven." It took all of Sam's self control not to join in.