Sophia's Chronicles
Chapter 64: Raining Blood
Hell – 21 February 2012
"Can't you see I'm busy?" Esther snapped as she paced around the room. She scanned through drawers, taking things out and putting them back in.
"Of course, ma'am," Carl bowed his head respectfully. "But I come to speak with you about an urgent matter that requires your attention."
"It can wait," she dismissed, now looking under her pillows and the bed. "Ugh, where is it?"
"Do you need help?" Carl offered, the demon's black eyes almost drooping in a show of courtesy.
"No thanks," she bitterly answered. "Can't even trust you idiots to do housekeeping right," she rambled. "Always losing my things."
He ignored that jibe, pretending he wasn't severely put off by her comment. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to wring her guts dry. But of course, the King's favourite sex toy was untouchable. Every need of hers, no matter how inane, had to be met. All her wants must be satisfied. This was all "Hell's gratitude", Crowley had said. For her "loyal service" to the Crown. Oh yeah, bet she 'serviced' him well, the demon thought wryly. "What, if I may ask, are you looking for, my lady?"
Esther continued to fluster about, flipping cushions and running her hands through the books on the shelves. After a long pause, she just stopped what she was doing and placed her hands on her hips. "One of my spell books is gone – The Compendium of Basic Witchcraft, with an addendum from the Ars Goetia," she recalled. "The revised Ars Goetia, I might add. The one that's actually accurate and took me a long time to find."
Oh. That one. Carl gulped. It was the one Tommy stole right before he vamoosed to find Abaddon. Which meant that he needed to cover for his friend or else risk both their necks. "I'm sure it'll turn up eventually," he reassured her. "I'll investigate the matter with the servants myself."
"Good," she quipped. "Now what'd you want?"
"His Majesty has sent me, my lady," Carl stated. "He wishes to discuss details of the Cage project."
Esther's dark, shapely eyebrows creased into a frown. "What's there to discuss? The plan's already in operation."
"It seems there is a fault in the design, madame," he said.
"That's impossible. I went over the schematics myself," she denied. A strange feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach.
"The King would disagree," Carl insisted. "If you would follow me…"
He opened the door and waited for her in the hallway. Somewhat uneasily, Esther took a single step forward, wondering what might have happened to cause Crowley to doubt the system. It was probably just a small thing. Nothing to worry about, she hoped. Gathering certainty, she exited the room and followed Carl downstairs to the throne room. He opened the large metal door and let her enter first, before himself entering and shutting the door. She flinched as she heard the door shut, spinning immediately to face the demon. "There's no one here," she noticed. "What's going on?"
Her shoulders tensed, ready to attack anything. Carl, on the other hand, had a crooked grin on his face as he stood by the door, a palm placed over the back of another hand. "The King will see you now," he said, obsidian eyes displaying proudly.
Esther felt her heart pounding wildly. A sense of impending doom overcame her. Then, on the floor, she saw a shadow enlarging near hers. She spun around, coming face to face with a familiar blond man. A gasp escaped her lips. He towered over her with his impressive height, looming ominously like a monolith. He bore his true eyes, their scarlet fire threatening to burn her where she stood. "You must be Esther," Lucifer said.
Though her breath paced at an unprecedented speed, she attempted a deep breath in and out. Lucifer being free – this was supposed to be an easy problem to address. The plan had included this contingency. Mustering courage, her eyes sharpened. "And you're out of your leash," she spat out.
"Ah, feisty, this one," Lucifer remarked. "I see why he likes you so much now. A thorned heart for a thorned prick." He took a step towards her, forcing her to step backwards. "They tell me that you helped design my current little… predicament. Is that true?"
"Absolutely," she announced, pulling her shoulders back confidently. Whatever he tried, it wouldn't work. That flesh prison he was trapped in gave her power to control him.
"Then let's make a deal. You help me undo whatever gives Crowley the power to hurt me, and I'll… say, double whatever he pays you," Lucifer suggested. "I won't even kill you afterwards." He held up two fingers in a salute. "Devil's promise."
"You can't give me what he gives me," Esther preened, crossing her arms. "This is futile, you know. I helped him come up with his grand scheme to rule the world. Why would I want to help you?"
"You think Crowley can rule the world?" Lucifer chuckled, almost confused at the idea. He paced about slowly as he spoke with animated hand gestures, "A second-rate demon whose only claim to the throne is circumstance? Come on, you're a smart girl – you must know that you don't get true power by circumstance! You have to be born mighty to become mighty. It's destiny." He stopped in front of the throne, turning slowly to face her with arms outstretched in a grandiose pose. He bore his wings again, filling the room with a majestic glow. "I'm just asking you to play for the winning team. The rewards are… divine."
"What rewards can you give me from a dingy back-room in Hell?" Esther mocked, feeling an uninhibited bravado flowing through her veins with every word.
"Careful, witch," Lucifer warned, tone growing sombre. "Don't say anything you'll regret."
His reverberant celestial voice sent a shiver through her body, though she tried to maintain her façade of courage. "Doesn't matter. I'm loyal to Crowley and only Crowley."
"Aw, that's so sweet," Lucifer flicked off his grace, appearing normal again as he clasped his hands and made an expression. "You're loyal to Crowley," he said with a voice that one would use to impersonate a child. "Do you have a widdle crush on him?"
"It's not a crush. It's love," she defended, despite herself. It felt refreshing to say that out loud as if it made it official. But it was, to an extent that she was willing to admit to herself. It had always felt real between them from the moment they'd met in the Russian mafia's hideout in Ukraine. She knew from the moment she saw him slice Igor Kavinsky's marble white throat all the way through that she wanted to gaze into his dreamy demonic eyes for eternity.
"A match made in Hell?" Lucifer asked almost like a kid who couldn't believe that a fairy exchanged teeth for money while he slept. "That's… that's beautiful!" he sighed in relief. And then he burst out into laughter, amused by his own impersonations. "Wait, wait, you think-" He just couldn't stop laughing at the thought. "You think Crowley actually cares about you?"
A defensive rage burned in Esther's chest. "Of course he does. He treats me like a Queen," she stuck her nose up in the air.
"Then why don't the demons call you Queen Esther, huh?" he said, rather monotonously. "What, is he afraid to put a ring on it? Oooh, that's a- that's a red flag, young lady." Esther's eyes changed ever so slightly, easing into a look of confusion but never really reaching there. She was trying so hard to hold onto a reality that she thought she knew so well. "You see, Esther, I created his kind. Demons – they were forged from the extremes of pain and misery. And when you go through something like that, it becomes almost impossible to feel anything again. Take it from a guy who knows. So Crowley… he's just using you. And when he's done, he'll throw you out like a used condom."
"You're… you're wrong," she insisted. Then, her voice grew bitter, "If that's true, how did someone like Sophia ever love someone like you?" Lucifer frowned slightly, taken aback by the mention of her name.
"Don't. Say. Her. Name!" He sent a strong gust of wind forward, knocking her back. Esther flew back, hurled onto the ground. A dull pain emanated from her side and she tasted blood in her mouth. "You are not worthy of speaking it," Lucifer growled.
"Did I offend you?" she snarled as she looked up at him. Her bloodied lips curved up on one side as she pulled herself up. "You poor, pathetic creature. You must be in so much pain," she patronised, daringly stepping towards him. With what she planned to make him endure, she felt like nothing could stop her. "This can be easily remedied," she declared, raising a hand up to snap her fingers.
"Not so fast," he ushered. All of a sudden, she felt strong hands grabbing her arms and holding her in place.
"What are you doing? Unhand me!" she ordered the demons. "When Crowley hears about this…"
"Oh he won't. Trust me," Lucifer responded, his attention now taken by the intricate design of a torch nailed to a pillar. "Where you're going… no one's gonna be able to hear your screams for miles."
"You think a bunch of demons can hold me?" she gnarled, struggling to get free of their grasp.
"You may be a witch, honey, but you're still human in all the places that count," he said, somewhat bored.
"Ego convocabo- Ah!" Esther winced as she felt something jab her neck. As soon as she felt it, the demon pulled out the syringe. Her movements slowed as she struggled to stay awake.
"See, you can blame Crowley for this one. I got this idea from one of his past milk-runs," Lucifer tapped his forehead with a finger. He was, of course, referring to the way Crowley cornered Nick and Zara. With all his free time, Lucifer did nothing but replay the image of those strange men nabbing Zara and injecting something into her to take her away. He'd kept at it, hoping to find more clues about how he could find her. Though this turned out to be fruitless, at least it was useful in the current situation. Esther's muscles began to feel heavy. Her vision blurred but she could make out the figure of Lucifer nearing her. She tried to get away in vain, only to feel his palm encircle her neck and force her to look at him. "And you could have had the world…" was the last thing she heard before eventually giving into the compelling slumber.
British Men of Letters Temporary HQ – 22 February 2012, It's just… not a good time
"Please… please… leave me alone," Zara muttered through a trembling lower jaw. She was curled on the floor in a foetal position. Her whole body shook visibly as she lay on her side, eyes round and wide. They stared unblinkingly at a shape in front of them. She felt her mind becoming light, almost uncontrollably so. It was a futile struggle to hold onto the feeling of presence when her heart raced so fast that she feared she might die of a heart attack. Even quicker were her thoughts that never seemed to focus on one point for long, offering no refuge, no point of reference to find sanity. Her petite figure felt so weak like all energy was being drained from every extreme and channelled into the intense labour of her heart and lungs. Her mouth and throat became dry from the shallow, fast-paced breaths she took. What was worse was the feeling of emptiness in the core of her being and it wasn't just that she was hungry. It felt almost like a black hole had opened up within her.
Strained groans escaped her lips as she just wished for it all to end. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take it anymore. Her eyes shut tightly and then immediately regretted that decision, considering she hadn't slept for two nights in a row – not that she would know when it was night or day – and her eyes had been staring straight ahead without so much as a blink. It was painful and uncomfortable to close them in such a moment. Those almond eyes that craved rest yet shunned it when offered. As if they had determined by themselves that it was more important to be trained on this strange, dark figure before her.
She'd been watching him – or at least she thought it was a 'him' – for what seemed like forever. She didn't remember when he first appeared or how long he'd been standing there, still as a statue, but this anticipation was all she remembered. So far, he hadn't made a move. Not even so much as an indication as to why he was there. He just appeared like a shadow, blocking her red light in an incongruent cloud of darkness. "Please…" she whimpered, her voice barely audible to even herself. Her tear-stained cheeks felt sticky as they contorted with more sobbing. "Put me back… put me back…"
Still, the figure didn't so much as twitch. Something about him just freaked her out so much. Maybe it was the fact that no one was supposed to be in the cell except her – it felt like an invasion of her sanctuary. Or maybe it was the wisps of dark smoke emanating from him. Finally, when she realised that this wait was the true torture, she burrowed her head into her knees and covered the back of her neck with clasped hands. "Ahhh!" What started out as an exasperated, tired groan evolved into a raspy shout. When no immediate relief came, Zara took another deep breath. Again came a growl, much louder this time and only muffled by her thighs. Her fingers dug into her hair and she grabbed a fistful on each hand as tightly as she could, letting out another chesty, raw cry. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I don't know what you want!" she screamed in a voice so unrecognisable as hers. The faceless being just watched her, saying and doing nothing.
"What's she doing?" Toni pulled up a chair next to Tom as she set her mug of coffee on the table, stirrer still in it. They both sat in front of a monitor that showed a single display from the camera in Zara's cell.
"She's having another break-down," he observed, sounding unsurprised.
"This is strange," Toni frowned.
"She's been in lock-up for days and she just lost her unborn child. I think this has been her most normal response so far," Tom rebutted.
"Not that, Tom," Toni would have snapped, but what was going on in the screen captured her attention. "This isn't the predicted response to the REST programme. Her ventricles showed enlargement, similar to the kind shown in schizophrenia. That means REST and Total Isolation should reduce hallucinations, yet here we are, with her screaming into thin air."
Tom listened intently, equally intrigued. He opened a drawer and brandished the project file, flipping open to a page on their current process. What they were doing with REST was to decrease her cognitive processing abilities, which would in turn make her more susceptible to suggestion and hence make information extraction easier. This treatment included keeping her in her cell for up to 24 hours without food or water, as well as a constant low droning noise in the background and the occasional injection of a gas that prevented her from sleeping. Another 24 hours after that would be spent in a sensory deprivation tank, this one being one that allowed her to breathe more easily. But as they found out, the outcome was completely opposite to what they thought would happen. Tom took a deep breath in and out, impatiently tapping a pen against the open page. He was tired of this – tired of constantly trying things on Zara and only getting more questions instead of answers. It just made the whole operation seem… pointless. They weren't any closer to their goal than when they started. All they got were gasps and nods of encouragement from the home office, like their little lab monkey was the most interesting thing in the world. Or maybe he was beginning to feel a detachment from his earlier enthusiasm about working on this project.
"Her mind is fighting it," Toni inferred, snapping Tom out of his cynical thoughts. "There must be something in place in there. Like a defence mechanism. Perhaps something that the archangel put in place to protect her mind."
"Oh come on," Tom sighed. Toni turned to him, puzzled by his response. Ashamed by his own sudden reply, Tom put a hand to his forehead, rubbing a temple dejectedly. "Can't you see? There's no- there's no defence mechanism. She's… she's breaking apart. We can't salvage anything… from a broken mind."
His shoulders drooped and he averted his gaze, feeling the strange mixture of relief and anxiety you get after revealing a risky opinion. Toni studied him. After everything, she felt nothing but sympathy for him. She'd suggested that he take a break, maybe a week or so, to clear his head. Initially, of course, she'd offered to write in to the higher-ups to grant him leave so that he could attend Laura's funeral but strangely enough, he refused. It was like he didn't even consider it an option. Something changed in him that day – something dark brewed in him, showing itself sometimes behind his eyes. Toni worried what it might do to him but she didn't press any further – it was his choice. Besides, the job was more important. The board back home made it clear that they didn't like the idea of any of them returning in this time of increased vigilance. Of course, this wouldn't be for long, she hoped. The people in-charge were probably actively looking for ways to prevent such incidents in future. Yeah, they were probably trying to engineer better sigils and better tools for combatting angels, she speculated. Whatever was happening, she just wanted it to end soon so that she could go home and see her kid again.
"Tom," she began with a calm voice. "I can't imagine what you've been through the past few weeks-"
"Yeah," he huffed sardonically, gazing downwards.
"But the only way we get out of this is through," she stated. "We need to keep pushing until we get something. There is no release from this until we finish what we've started."
"How long does this have to go on?" he asked in such a low voice so that no one else in the office could hear them. "When do we just stop and decide that she has nothing to offer us? That she's just a poor, frightened woman who happened to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
Now it was Toni's turn to sigh. This isn't time for doubts, dammit. She had to be sure that what she was doing was right. It was the only way back home. Back to her little wide-eyed munchkin. A pang emanated from her chest at the thought. "Not long now, I promise." A pause ensued between them as they just continued watching Zara roll over to her other side and resume her hysterical rambling.
Hell – 4 March 2012
"Esther, darling, it's been a while since we last spoke. Fancy dinner and a movie? Call me back," Crowley said into the phone shortly before a puzzled pause and cutting the call. He stared curiously at the screen of his phone. Their most recent text conversation had been a string of flirtatious messages and emojis, yet his lady love was nowhere to be found. It seemed pretty clear what this was leading to but why was she absent? Where had she gone? Was this all some kind of mysterious foreplay? She answered all his texts but never picked up any of his calls. Huh. Weird.
"Your Grace?" A demon interrupted his thoughts. The servant stood respectfully, addressing his King from a comfortable distance. "You called?"
"Yes," Crowley turned to face him. "I couldn't help but notice the stark… absence of complaints demanding my attention these past few weeks. Is there anything I should know?"
"Your Grace…" the demon gulped. "I scrub the hallways and clean the kennels. What can I tell you? Sir."
"Hm." Crowley sauntered over to a side-table and poured some whiskey into two glasses. He gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat."
"It's alright, Your Highness. I can stand," the demon shyly refused. He suddenly felt like he'd said the wrong thing and now was doomed to a horrible end. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't know anything.
"No, I insist." With a wave of the finger, Crowley made the chair move slightly outwards so that the demon could sit. "It is treason to disobey an order from your King." Nervously, the demon nodded and obliged. "Roman, was it? Do you want to be scrubbing hallways for all eternity?"
"Um…" He was unsure of how to respond to that. He'd heard the King was known for being a tricky man to please and for so long, he'd been relieved that he didn't have to deal with all of that directly. Though his job got boring at times, it was safer to be inconspicuous and the last one to get any sort of ire from the people who could kill you. Yet here he was, having a casual drink with the King himself. Except it was anything but casual and that made him tremble like a leaf on the inside. Was this the day he lost his undead life? "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
"What I mean is, do you want to spend forever cleaning up after idiots who can't seem to stay alive for long?" Crowley repeated, swirling his glass before taking a sip. "What if I offered you a promotion? To say, become part of a more elite department."
Roman raised his eyebrows momentarily in surprise. This was not the turn he expected the conversation to take. "I would… I would graciously accept what His Majesty offers me."
"Good. You will become a secret operative, collecting reconnaissance wherever I need you to. The job has its benefits, of course. You are allowed one human's life to ruin every month, however you'd like, so long as you remain discreet about it. I know that it sounds meagre, but it's much better than whatever you have right now, which is none," Crowley added.
"You… you do me a great honour, sir," Roman nodded, restricting his smile to a suitable length though admittedly he was more excited than he showed. A chance to get out of this place? To look at something other than Hellhounds or the stone floor?
"But before you depart for earth," Crowley prefaced. "I have a job for you. Your first mission, right here. Possibly your most important mission."
"Anything, Your Grace. What do you need me to do?" he eagerly asked.
"Resume your typical cleaning duties." Crowley studied the demon's expression, seeing what appeared to be a slight tinge of disappointment behind his eyes. "Being who you are, Roman, means that no one pays any attention to you. And in the business of collecting information, that is key. I need you to keep your eyes and ears out for anything strange and report back to me every week. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," the demon answered, now understanding the mission.
"Now go. Go and be invisible," Crowley ushered. With a courteous bow, the demon took his leave. The demon King blankly stared at his glass before downing it in one gulp. He unlocked his phone again. There was a new text message waiting for him.
"When I get back from shopping, love," it read, accompanied by the appropriate heart emojis. So that extended absence was… a shopping trip? Though he was someone to understand the need to dress properly, it bewildered him to think that someone would be able to spend nearly two weeks on just shopping. To be fair, however, it wasn't completely unlike Esther. She had no reservations when it came to spending. It was one of the things Crowley liked about her. It made her easy to please. Shrugging it off, he moved on.
