He just sat there on her chair with a content, cocky smile on his face. Cold fear had gripped Zoe's throat and she couldn't find words. His eyes were the most frightening part about him. It's like there was nothing there at all; no pupils or irises. All they were was black. If eyes were windows to the soul, it was obvious at that point that Zak never had one to call his own.

"What's the matter?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows. "Don't tell me the cat's got your tongue."

"Y-your e-eyes…" Zoe stammered.

"Oh, right," He blinked and his eyes returned to that icy blue, leaving Zoe wondering if she'd just imagined the whole thing. "Sorry. A guy spends so much time on the Other Side he forgets to keep up appearances."

"But…" Zoe shook her head. "How can I see you? Am I dreaming?"

"You're not actually seeing me," he answered simply. "I'm just a ghost. As a matter of fact, I'm like a hallucination. You see, right now, I'm projecting my full image into your head like a slideshow. You're only seeing me here because I'm interfering with what you would normally see, which is an empty chair."

"I don't understand…"

"It's supernatural, Zoe. I don't expect you to understand a single thing." He smirked.

"What do you want?" Zoe asked, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. She never liked crying, and because of that she always did it. "Why did you scare my friends?"

"Because you carelessly told your friends," he replied darkly. "Well, you told one of them. Rose, was it? You were practically asking me to do something. You're lucky; I could've done far worse than slam a door."

"Leave them alone," Zoe barked. "They have nothing to do with anything."

"Exactly," Zak stood and a shadow seemed to drown the entire room. "Which is why you shouldn't have said a single word to her."

Zoe pursed her lips shut. She felt unreasonably cold all of the sudden. Zak's stare pierced her as he stepped closer very slowly, like a large cat stalking its prey in the wilderness. She felt vulnerable, weak, and scared. It was a terrible sensation.

"You said you wouldn't be scared," he whispered. "Well. I want to see just how not scared you can be."

"Why are you doing this? Please just leave me alone…"

"I want you to help me. I don't want you to forget."

"I won't, okay? I won't."

"Oh, I know you won't. I won't let you."

"You said you were going to protect me. Well? Who's going to protect me from you?" Zoe blurted out.

Zak stopped in his tracks. He narrowed his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head.

"What?" he whispered.

"In the Ouija board last night," Zoe swallowed. "You spelled out the word protect. I'm assuming you mean protect me, since the only other results you produced had to do with me. So do your job and I'll do mine in due time."

Zak chuckled in an almost menacing sort of way, but he seemed to stand down.

"You're smart, Zoe Scott," he said. "There might be hope for you yet."

Zoe swallowed but didn't say anything. She kept her eyes on Zak at all times, just in case he tried something. But he didn't do anything, much to her surprise. He just stood there with this mysterious grin on his face, like he was admiring her for something while at the same time contemplating what her internal organs might taste like. It unnerved her almost as much as the silence that was suffocating her in the small room.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked quietly.

"It's just funny," Zak mused. "Like I told you, I was a dark angel fighting for the greater good, to preserve humanity. That is, until I was wrongfully charged, blah, blah, blah. You know, I've been pulled from purgatory twice now, and each time it's a member of your family that I see on the other end."

Zoe furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The more she learned about her visitor the more frustrated she became. He really was something out of her realm of knowledge.

"If you've been pulled out once before, how come you were put back?" she asked.

"It's a long story," Zak shrugged. "I'd hate to bore you. But I have to ask, what do you know about that Ouija board you own? I mean that one in particular."

"It—it was my mom's," Zoe said. "She got it as a teenager back in the 70's. That's all I know."

"Mm," Zak had that cocky smile again. "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like your mother?"

Something cold settled into Zoe's stomach, creating an unpleasant sensation that rippled across her entire body. It was impossible. How could he know what her mom had looked like? Oh, but it was obvious…

"You contacted my mother didn't y—"

"Where is she these days?" Zak interrupted. "How's your mother dearest fairing?"

Zoe swallowed a painful lump and sat up a little straighter.

"She's dead."

Something in Zak changed at the mention of that. His face sort of fell, and at first he looked like he didn't understand what she'd just told him. He reminded her of a puppy dog when it's made to do a trick and it doesn't receive a treat after but it gets disciplined instead. That expression only lasted for a small second before he wiped it away and replaced it with a hard stare that hid any sort of emotion he possessed in his body.

"Oh," he said, "that's unfortunate."

"Yes, it is."

He started to head for the door after that, without another word. Zoe had never been so frustrated by a dead person before.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. She had questions left unanswered; more so than ever before.

"Well I can't leave this shack you call a house so I can guarantee you I'm not going far," he muttered begrudgingly.

"That's it? You're just going to leave after all that?" Zoe asked. "You're not very good at this whole haunting thing."

"Mm, well pardon me while I go break some of your fine China and rearrange your kitchen appliances." He said, flippantly waving his arms in the air. "I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day. Just accept that; don't ask questions or I'll revoke it."

"What about at night?" Zoe asked quietly. "What then?"

Zak gave a wistful smile that still managed to be as dark as the rest of him.

"I made a promise to show up in your every dream," he said. "I won't break that so early in the game."

"So that's what this is? A game?"

Zak only stopped in her doorway and smirked at some twisted irony in his head before he disappeared before Zoe's eyes. Surprisingly, she wasn't shocked or afraid when it happened. She just groaned and put her headphones back on.

It was nearly midnight when Zak rounded the corner into Zoe's darkened room. He leaned against her doorframe and stared at the shadowed mound that was Zoe, lying underneath all of her blankets on the left side of her bed. She was sound asleep, and he was late. She'd probably been having a sleep riddled with anxiety, just waiting for him to pop up. But if he was being honest, he needed to work up to it. She really did look like her mother, and now knowing that her mother was gone it made things even worse.

Nevertheless, he'd made a promise to haunt her dreams every night. He was so gloriously torturous sometimes. So he stepped into her room, around to the right side of her bed, and stood there for a moment just so he could watch her a little. He was no guardian angel keeping resilient watch over his precious human being, of course. No, he had an ulterior motive. He just wanted his freedom and regardless of how sorry for himself he was feeling he needed to do what he had to do to get it. Even if it meant corrupting the poor woman who lay sleeping a couple feet away from him, just like he'd corrupted her mother forty years ago.

Zoe had the same warm skin tone as her mother. She had the same hair, the same eyes, the same smile…it would've hurt him, looking at her just then, if he was capable of such a thing. He looked down at his arm, at the thick black lines that wound their way up and down his biceps, and he remembered what he was. He shouldn't even be thinking about feelings, let alone experiencing them. He'd let himself fall into that trap one too many times before and he wasn't about to do it again.

He settled himself onto her bed, lying on his back on the right side of the mattress. It wasn't the comfiest bed he'd been in, but then again he never slept so it didn't really matter. The pillow felt comforting on his weary head, though. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to regain his cocky composure, and turned his head to look at her slumbering face. Despite all the fear and confusion she was still able to sleep at night. He had to admire her for that. She was resilient like her mother, too.

But he pushed those thoughts away and shut his eyes, transporting himself into her head. He needed to liven his mood up a bit, so he picked a particular scene that might just do it for him. When he opened his eyes, they were both still on a bed, although this one was cloaked in red satin sheets and had a sloping roof supported by four scratched posts. Seedy music played in the background somewhere, accompanied by loud voices and glasses clinking, all muffled by the four walls they were enclosed in. The floor was red shag carpet and the roof was black crushed velvet. Zoe was dressed in a short, skin-tight sparkling red off-the-shoulder dress, with her hair and makeup done like a 1940's girl. He grinned at her as she opened her eyes.

"What the hell…" she murmured as she became aware of her surroundings.

"Hello there, kitten," Zak said.

She jumped a little and sat up, turning her wide eyes on him. The dress glinted and sparkled in the dim lighting as her chest heaved with frantic breaths.

"Where are we? Why are we in a bed together?" she demanded.

"Well," Zak put his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. "We are in a very eclectic velvet room off the side of a shady building that typically hosts raves, college drinking fests, and the odd orgy. And if I had to guess as to why we're in a bed together, well…" He tossed her a crooked grin and a wink.

She gagged and hastily jumped out of the bed.

"Why the hell would you take me here?" she asked. "I was enjoying a nice stroll down the streets of Venice with the Prince of Normandy and you rip me away from that to take me here?"

"Yep," Zak said, sitting up and tapping his fingers against the inside of his thigh. "The Prince of Normandy, eh? You're really high-maintenance in that dream world of yours, aren't you?"

"Shut up," She groaned. "Part of me was waiting for you to show up and ruin everything."

"I know you were." He smirked.

"Oh get over yourself," She snapped. "I have questions for you that I want answered."

"Someone's on the demanding side tonight," Zak said. "But alright, I'll entertain you. What kind of questions?"

"How did you know my mother?"

Zak gave her a hard glare and didn't speak for a moment. Part of him wanted to lash out and tell her to shut her mouth, but he knew he couldn't do that, not yet. So he promptly jumped out of the bed and started walking around it towards her. She backed up as he got closer until she backed into the wall and trapped herself. He didn't get very close, but just close enough to have influence over her.

"If that's the game you want to play," he said, "we're going to play it my way. I'm going to ask you a question that I want answered and then I'll think about answering your question."

"That's not fair—"

"Too late!" he yelled. "I want you to tell me how your mother died."

Zoe looked confused and slightly offended. She wouldn't take her eyes off of his but he could tell she wanted to.

"Why do you want to know?"

"That's not how the game is played. Tell me."

"…Katrina," she whispered. "She died when Katrina hit."

Zak's tongue flicked across his bottom lip for a brief second and he relaxed his tensed muscles. He should've known; he really should've known. They sent Katrina in just to spite the humans, mainly the voodoo practitioners…he could've stopped it if he hadn't been trapped in fucking purgatory, too. He could've saved her life. She would've owed him.

"Right," he murmured with a tiny nod.

"Now you answer my question," Zoe said, standing up a little taller. "How did you know my mother? She was the one who let you out of the game the first time, wasn't she?"

"That's two questions; that's cheating."

"I don't care. Tell me how you knew her."

"It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Oh, please. It was her game; it's obvious it was her. Why do you care about my mother, Zak? Why were you so persistent on finding out what happened to her?"

Zak gave her a warning glare.

"You're getting awfully greedy with these questions…"

"Why do you care about her?" Zoe repeated sharply.

"I never said I gave a damn about your mother," Zak growled. "I was only curious. Are you done?"

"No. My turn for a question again," Zoe grinned maliciously. Zak rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. "How did you get thrown back into purgatory?"

"I suppose you could call it a cruel twist of fate." He muttered.

"Did you have something to do with her death?"

"No—what?" he asked incredulously. Had she really just suggested…?

"I know people make deals with you-you things…did you have anything to do with my mother dying? Did you make a deal with somebody?"

Zak grinned confidently, stepping a little closer to the cowering girl.

"You don't even know what I am."

"Because you won't tell me!" she argued.

"No, I won't." Zak stepped right up to her then, holding her against the wall with just his proximity. He could feel her anxious breath on his throat. "Do you know why I won't? I won't say because I know you're thinking it. I've been inside your head more often than you think in the short time we've known each other."

He brushed a curled piece of her hair out of her face and she inhaled sharply, turning her face away from his touch. He laughed at her.

"I don't know what I think," she growled. "I just know that you're not good. I know you're no 'dark angel,' so you lied about that, which means you likely also lied about how you got thrown in purgatory in the first place. You didn't fight in the civil war, did you? Would you care to tell me the truth at least?"

"You don't want to know what really happened." He murmured darkly, his eyes flashing that horrid solid black for just a split second.

"Yes, I do." Zoe argued. "I want to know who—no, you're not a who. I want to know what I'm dealing with."

"Alright, pretty doll," Zak said, staring down his nose at her. "How about this: first, you tell me what you think I am. If you're right, I'll tell you my true story and we'll see if you make it through the tale without running away."

"Why do I have to tell you?" Zoe whispered, her voice trembling softly.

"Because I want to hear you say it." Zak replied simply.

Zoe took in a deep breath. Her eyes roamed the space between their bodies as if she was searching the carpeted floor for some secret trap door out of her compromised position, but she had no way out. She was stuck between a cold wall and an even colder being, and she'd be the first to admit that she was already terrified.

"D-demon," she whispered. "You're a demon."

"Ding-ding-ding!" Zak shouted, shaking his finger in time with the words. His outburst made Zoe jump. "We have a winner! Oh, that felt good…"

"N-now tell me what you did." Zoe said, not willing to drop the fight yet.

"You're not going to like it." Zak sang tauntingly.

"Just tell me."

Zak shrugged before bursting forth into his tale soaked with death, nightmares, and blood.

"I'm something from your worst nightmare. I came to earth to harvest the weak civilization known as the human race. And oh, it was so easy. You're right, I didn't fight in the civil war; I started it. I pitted an entire nation against itself! I created sides, and I drank every drop of blood that fell to the soil. With every macabre death I was there waiting. I'd watch them fight and I'd feed on their rage and when they'd die, I'd drink their blood and consume their souls, cursing them to damnation. I soaked up the hatred and the despair, the sorrow, the selfishness, the pain…it gave me such immense strength. It's what I do; it's what we do. And while the men were dying their women were crying. Their tears were salty sweet and warm; irresistible. I'd rape them in their sleep, in the comfort of their own war-torn houses and soiled beds. I impregnated a chosen few with the seed of the antichrist. Many of them died just trying to carry a demon child, and that was half the fun. It was absolutely beautiful…until one night, a woman woke up. She saw me leaving; she saw my face. And then I learned, just as I had been walking amongst the humans disguised as one of them, another had chosen the same mask. She was a god, an annoyingly holy do-gooder, veiled by a human body, a body I had just invaded. She locked me in her home with one twitch of her heavenly finger and trapped me in a pentagram on the floor. I asked her to send me back to hell if she was going to banish me, but she said that hell would be too kind. So she sent me into purgatory. I was half-alive, half-dead, surrounded by all the misery of the lost souls. I was weakened and I remained a fragile shell for a hundred years, only feeding on the broken souls of the damned that had joined me. And once I was strong enough I began looking for a way out. I searched for years before I found it. A supernatural craze was sweeping the globe like never before. There were so-called prophets and self-proclaimed mediums hosting séances, looking for things like me. I tried to get through so many times but they were smart. They all said goodbye. And then I found the Ouija boards; a clever little device, really, invented by a genius. So many young, delicious girls saw them as just games, nothing real. Your board in particular, well, I've had excellent luck with it, as you know."

Zoe had fallen silent. She felt like she was shackled to the wall; she couldn't move. His story had been chilling, his dark, low voice massaging every single word with a certain amount of contempt. There was a moment when he'd been speaking about how he'd started the civil war and fed off the soldiers that she could see him for who he really was, and it was terrifying. His face had become malevolent and shadowed by the dark memories with a smile like he was relishing in it; as if he could still taste the blood and sorrow from those days on the back of his tongue. His hands had gripped and slashed at the air as he'd told his grisly tale, adding even more reality to the sadistic events. He was more than capable of doing all of that do her, too.

When Zak noticed the look of quiet fear on Zoe's face, he stepped back a little more.

"I told you that you weren't going to like it." he said.

He'd been right, she'd hated it. She hated him for what he'd done, even though the events of the 1860's were entirely out of her control. But regardless of that she needed to move on from it. She wasn't going to get rid of him anytime soon but she wasn't going to forget what he'd told her and how he'd looked when he'd said it.

"That's when you met my mom," she said gently. "She let you out of the Ouija board the first time."

"Yes." Zak's face was hard as stone.

"Tell me about her, please," she whispered.

"You don't want to know about that," He shook his head. He didn't want to tell her.

"Yes, I do," Tears choked her up. "It's my mother, Zak. I want to know whatever you do. Tell me, please, I need to know."

He knew he'd have to tell her eventually. If she was anything like her mother, which so far she'd been proving herself to be a carbon copy, she wouldn't give up asking. But he had one last-ditch attempt at making her forget it for one last night.

"Well this isn't the place to discuss it," he said gently.

He thought of the place and in a second they were there. He leaned against the dark oak dresser that still had all of her little trinkets and jewellery on it. Zoe opened her eyes and was confused by the dark room at first, but then she began recognizing things. She spun around a few times, muttering nonsense to herself, and backed away into the centre of the room in an effort not to touch anything. There was panic on her face.

"No, no, no," she muttered. "This is her room, this is her room! My mother's room…at my old house…please, I can't be here. I can't…this house was destroyed with mom…please…no, no…"

Zak's face gave nothing away. He just watched her come undone, waiting for her to say the words. Behind his back his fingers brushed over two little diamond earrings. He knew without looking at them that they'd been the ones she'd been wearing the day he'd met her. It stabbed at something inside of him when he felt them. He slipped them into his pocket for the time being and continued to watch Zoe as she started crumbling.

"Take me away from this place," she begged. "Please, I don't want to be here anymore."

"Are you sure?" Zak asked.

"Yes. I want to go now."

In another second they were standing on a cobblestone street under a grandeur sunset as people chatted down alleyways and shops began closing up for the night. Zoe looked around at their surroundings and sniffed.

"Where are we now?" she asked.

"We're back in Venice," Zak answered. He pointed down the street to the only shop still totally lit up. "The Prince of Normandy is in that gelato shop right now. Spoiler alert but he's buying you strawberry banana flavour."

"Oh…" Zoe said quietly. "But, I wanted to hear about my mom."

"Another night, maybe," Zak shook his head. "You're not ready yet."

"Yes I am!" Zoe protested as the breeze tousled her hair.

"You didn't see yourself back in that room," Zak said. "Trust me, you're not ready."

Zoe's fight went out like a doused flame after that. She really was done. And if he'd done her the favour of returning her to her original dream, what right did she have to protest?

"Are you gonna stay?" she asked quietly. "I mean, do demons like gelato…?"

Zak chuckled. "Nah, we're more of a carnage and pain type."

"Right…" She nodded sadly. "Zak?"

"What?"

"Are you…I mean, would you do any of that to me? If I free you, when it's all said and done, would you kill me like you did all those people in the 1800's?" The thought had been troubling her and if she was going to die, she'd feel a bit better knowing beforehand.

Zak looked at her for a moment before shaking his head and slipping his hands into his pockets, fondling the diamond earrings with one hand.

"You said yourself I made a promise to protect you," he explained. "If you free me, that's your prize: eternal protection from anything, anywhere, any time. I'll protect you from everything, including myself. It's kind of a moral contract; I'm bound to that, at least."

"So you'd never really hurt me?" she asked.

"Not if you don't ask for it," he warned. "Don't make me find the loopholes, Zoe Scott."

She gave him a tiny smile. "I don't think it'd be in my best interest to do that."

"No, I don't either. You better hurry up, your prince awaits, Sleeping Beauty." He nodded down the street at the royalty looking for Zoe.

"Oh yeah," Zoe said wistfully, looking at the poor soul down the street.

"You never know, it might last with him," Zak joked.

"Nah, it's really just a fantasy," She shrugged. "It's only a dream, right?"

"Yep," Zak agreed. "Enjoy it."

Zoe watched as the demon turned his back and faded into the shadows. She could hear footsteps approaching her from behind and a voice speaking her name in a funny accent, but she just kept staring at the spot that Zak had vanished. He was absolutely terrifying, twisted, and a homicidal sociopath, but she had a feeling that was only a small part of him. Maybe it was the hundred years spent weakened in purgatory that'd done it, but she felt like most of the part of him that'd driven him to slaughter and rape had been killed off. There was a part of him that cared about something; she could see it in his face from time to time before he blocked her out. If she could figure out what that something was she might be able to have a bit more control in her situation. But alas, that was a problem for the morning. So in the meantime she politely took her bowl of gelato from the Prince of Normandy and they continued their dream walk down a lit up cobblestone street in romantic Venice, and all around them the shadows came to life in their wake.