After finishing breakfast Alastor requested to be left alone with his daughter and talk more in detail about their current situation.
- When I will be back, I of course would want you to move in with me, but until people down here don't know about your existence I think it could be wise for you to stay in a hotel.
Daria nodded.
- I'm also wondering should your mom move into my palace already, or should we wait a bit?
- Your what now?
- What do you think? We can always say we couldn't bear living after our daughter passed away. We can work on some beautiful suicidal note.
- DAD! You can't simply kill mom!
Alastor was surprised at Daria's outrage.
- Why not?
- Wh-why? It's a sin! - A deathly one!
- She is my woman, and if you ask me it's long overdue. - Al try to calm her down - Your mother literally belongs to me since the moment she sold her soul to me. We could make our family the official Hell's aristocratic dynasty…
He looked at Daria's white wings.
- Ok, maybe not. But I promised her second honeymoon in Hell a long time ago.
- Wasn't that Paris?
- Close enough. - he finished his coffee.
- Anyway, I will be back in a few days, please, don't leave the hotel. I leave her under your protection, so you better don't betray my trust, princess.
Without a word Radio Demon wiped his mouth with a silk napkin leaving some coffee stains on it and stood out off his chair. He took out a chalk from his pocket to draw a pentagram. After finishing the cycle he held out his hand and started to chant some words. Minutes later Deer disappeared in the dark smoke leaving ashes on the floor.
When he opened his eyes he was standing in the middle of a familiar attic. His wife was wearing black long dress and a hat with a vail. She had been crying.
- I know, I know, come to me. - He opened his arms and pressed her to his chest.
After a long night, Alastor woke up on a double sided bed next to his significant other. Niffty was still sleeping so he delicately kissed her in forehead and whisper:
- Good morning, my soul. *
Quietly enough to not wake her as well.
They talked yesterday for most of the time, hugging and comforting each other in bed. He knew that for him, who already got to be with Daria in the underworld, the experience was quite different. He knew also that what he said to his daughter was true. He should kill his wife a long time ago, preferably before Daria ever knew who he was, or die herself. At the same time he wasn't able to. He killed so many people, and he knew they would immediately meet again and reunite… but the thought of hurting his family was too painful.
He stopped to understand himself a long time ago. They thought they had a plan for that alternative life he led here. Few years as a 'normal' married couple, and when the kid grows up he kills his wife with something that looks like an accident and pretends to die alongside her. But that plan evolved with every day, month and year finally becoming a lie he repeated just to shout up the voice behind his head telling him the whole life he built up again on Earth was an illusion.
It was easier to pretend like he would never have to face consequences when he was just getting married or when Daria came back home after the first day of school. The day he would have to be truly responsible was so far away back then. Just use a smile to cover every other emotion you may have, like love… or fear.
How would a Demon like him, deserve a second chance next to loved ones, after he ruined his life the first time around? He didn't. Daria's death was an ultimate proof of that. And God wanted her in Heaven, stealing her from him for eternity.
He was happy for her.
He was proud of her.
And he couldn't allow it.
- If I make a fallen angel out of Daria, will this lie come true? - he whispered.
Al looked at his wife sleeping peacefully as the sunshine from the open curtain warmed her face.
- Can I actually… ?
He looked at his hand. Grabbing a knife right now would be so easy...
Then he looked at his human disguise face that was reflecting in the window glass. Here as Alan he could swear no one would accuse him of any malicious thought. The face in reflection was making a fake smile.
- STOP MOCKING ME!
Tears, broken glass and blood spilled all over the floor.
*Note - I was wondering whether or not to use the diminutive of 'my soul' (moja duszko) here. It's copied from polish and basically means 'my soulmate" and I have no idea if this was ever used in english the same way. I think this gives it's double meaning, as his wife is both the soul he wants to collect, after she sold it to him, and his soulmate. It's also very old fashioned, and you rarely hear people using it now, so it fits his character coming from the early XX century.
I know this chapter is quite heavy for a 'comedy' tag, but how else can I portray a man facing the reality crumbling in front of his eyes.