Interlude: Lucifer
Chapter 4/8
Loop 4B
Lucifer lifted his heavy head, squinting against the sun's rays streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, shaking loose the fine, white powder dusting the underside. He swore it was evening or maybe late afternoon just moments ago. Ever since he murdered Cain, each day bled into the next in an indistinguishable haze. First, it had been a never-ending wait for the hand of judgment to strike, whether it came first from his Father or from Chloe. But his purgatory stretched on with no end in sight, and Lucifer sought solace in the only things he could rely on: drugs, sex, and alcohol.
Still, something felt off. Had the dealer cut his supply with something to cheapen the high?
He cast a bleary eye around his living room, littered with empty whiskey bottles and take-out containers. No sign of any overnight guest(s) though. Pushing off from the coffee table, his efforts to stand knocked over more empty prescription bottles and shook apart tidy lines of cocaine.
Where the hell did his mobile go?
After tossing the room over, he found it lodged in between the sofa cushions. Turning on the screen, he noted the low battery level before reading the time and date: 7:12 AM, March 20, 2019.
He dropped the phone back on the couch, staring at the screen until it went black again.
Even under the best of circumstances—like when he wasn't consuming enough coke daily to single-handedly fuel the cartel wars—he rarely kept track of the days and weeks. As a bloody immortal, he literally had all the time in the universe. Dates were meaningless to someone like him: eternal and alone.
Or they were meaningless before. Before Chloe Decker. Before working with the LAPD and meeting people like Daniel, Miss Lopez, and Charlotte.
Because now, Lucifer couldn't escape or forget the anniversaries marked by time's passage. March 20th, 2019: roughly three months since Cain popped off to Hell for good, twelve weeks since Chloe last said a word to him, ten weeks since he last saw her face at her suspension hearing, and three years to the day since they first met.
Days like today reminded him he may be better off in Hell.
He went through the rest of his stash like his life depended on it. But by mid-morning, his high had faded, leaving him with the feeling that his skin was raw and pulled too tight. He charged up his phone in preparation to order another kilo of cocaine. When someone was as rich and as connected as Lucifer, the dealer would come to him. But when he scrolled down his contact list to find a dealer, he stopped over a certain entry under "C."
Chloe Decker didn't want to see or speak to him. She made that perfectly clear after that first week of ignoring his texts and calls. When he turned up at the station unannounced, she went white as a sheet and refused to meet his eye. Lucifer Morningstar never knew he had a heart to break until that moment.
So Lucifer stayed away. A part of him hoped time could heal the rift he himself could not. That part still hoped.
He opened her contact detail page, finger hovering over the call button. After what seemed like an eternity, he wrenched himself away from the phone and pulled on a fresh change of clothes. Yet after exiting the parking garage, he navigated a familiar route to the police station. And when he killed the engine, he was parked in a visitors' spot at the far end of the station lot. He drew his phone from his inside pocket and gazed at the black screen with knitted brows. She never called him. Lucifer already knew the reason why without hearing it from her mouth.
He exited the Corvette, straightened his cuffs and jacket where he stood. Lucifer would check in with Cucuzza and get a tour of the LAPD's recent drug seizures. Lucifer always liked to keep abreast of all the players in LA's drug trafficking scene. Along the way, he'd confirm that she had returned from her suspension. He wouldn't even approach her or distract her from the work. All he needed to know was that she was safe and whole.
He turned, the click of his Italian loafers echoing off the concrete like the foreboding tick of a second hand, and stopped short. The new lieutenant, Cain's replacement, had the newspaper tucked under one arm and held a coffee takeaway cup from a nearby cafe in his other hand. Lucifer had only met the man once, right before the Detective's hearing with the police board. Even more than the last time, everything from his posture to his expression broadcast his displeasure.
"Ah, Lieutenant..." Lucifer trailed off, trying to recall the man's name. Jeeves?
"Grieve," the lieutenant supplied. "I wasn't expecting to see you, Mr. Morningstar."
Though silent, the "ever again" came through loud and clear.
Lucifer plastered on his best charming smile. "Yes, well, it's been a while, so I thought I'd pop over and see a few friends."
When Grieve's expression soured further, a comment on ruining his handsome face sprang to the tip of Lucifer's tongue. But Grieve's next words killed the flirtation mid-stride. "Decker's not here."
He advanced, dropping all pleasantness from his demeanor. "What do you mean? The Detective's suspension, which I maintain was a grievous misjudgment on your institution's part, was for six weeks. She should be back to work by now."
For Dad's sake, she should never have been suspended in the first place. He even offered to cash in a favor to make the suspension go away, but she turned him down flat. Unless they extended her suspension or fired her. Either possibility was unacceptable in Lucifer's book. Chloe Decker was a good—no, a brilliant detective. She shouldn't be punished for either Lucifer's or Cain's sins.
"She's not in the building," Grieve barked with a glare that screamed for Lucifer to stay back. "She's working on her case. You know, doing her job without a liability dragging her down. Especially one that looked like he came off a three-day bender."
Lucifer drew closer, bristling with annoyance. "I beg your pardon. The only liability here is the LAPD, who promoted a criminal through its rank—"
Grieve cut him off. "Which you knew about months in advance but failed to inform your partner and colleagues. I stand by my case, Mister Morningstar."
"And what a grave misfortune that Pierce is now dead, leaving a vacancy for you to fill," Lucifer purred. He tilted his head and snagged the new lieutenant's eyes in his web. "Tell me, Lieutenant Grieve, was that something you desired?"
"I want this station to straighten up. I want to restore the LAPD's honor."
Lucifer recoiled and broke eye contact. Taking two steps back, he reached for his cigarettes. Maybe nicotine would calm the agitation crawling beneath his skin until he could get more cocaine. No, weed was the better choice.
Grieve blinked owlishly before returning to himself. "Goodbye." He left without a backward glance.
"Good riddance," Lucifer muttered, wrestling with his lighter. With a lit cigarette between his lips, he climbed back into his car and considered his next move.
He wasn't welcome here. He should leave. He should even return to Hell; to where he belonged.
But he didn't. He couldn't.
He sat in his Corvette, plumes of smoke drifting lazily through the open air as he smoked his remaining cigarettes. At the sound of every approaching car, he would glance at his rearview mirror and tidy his hair before reaching for the ignition. Fed up with his indecisiveness, he climbed out and slammed the door with enough force to rattle the entire car frame.
If Grieve thought he had intimidated Lucifer Morningstar, he was sorely mistaken. As if he or any human possessed the ability to keep Lucifer from any place he wanted to be. The Devil bowed to no power.
As he approached the exit, a Dodge Charger appeared in his peripheral vision. Lucifer stepped behind a concrete pillar and waited for the vehicle to pass. It ultimately parked in a spot reserved for detectives. The sight of his Detective emerging, hair pulled back in a ponytail and clad in the same sky blue blazer she wore on the balcony before their worlds fell apart, stole Lucifer's breath. He wished he could say she was as he remembered her, but the sleepless bruises under her eyes had only deepened with time. Not to mention her waist had dropped two inches.
Rather than head straight into the station, she opened the back door and helped a young child out of the car. The girl wasn't Beatrice, but there was something about her that caught Lucifer's attention. Whoever she was, she made him uneasy.
-x-x-x-
Lucifer waited. He purchased several packs of smokes from the corner store, returned to his post, and waited a while more. It wasn't until lunchtime before he saw her again. He trailed behind her, eyes fixed on her hunched shoulders. Even her feet dragged with every step. Their journey took them to the deli down the street where they used to get lunch when he tempted her away from those dreadful vending machines. He peered through the shop windows and saw she had queued up. He settled back against the wall and pulled out another cigarette to pass the time. Every so often, he'd peek around the corner to check on her.
Was she sleeping enough? Was she already working too hard? Was she eating enough?
"Hey, buddy! Long time no see!"
A boisterous voice and a hearty slap across his shoulders cut into his thoughts. Lucifer clenched his fist reflexively, crushing his lit cigarette in his grip. Hissing, he uncurled his hand and dropped the crushed bud. A small circular burn rested in the center of his palm. He rubbed his face with his hand, marveling at how his stubble stung the burn. "Ah, what a coincidence."
"Yeah right—" Ella snickered. She leaned forward to look into the deli but stopped when she saw his face. "Dude, you look fucking wrecked."
"And you're as astute as ever, Miss Lopez."
Ella glared at him. "Don't make me smack you again, estupido. You and I both know this isn't so much a coincidence as you stalking Chloe."
"I am not—"
She shot him an unimpressed look that shut his mouth with an audible click. "Why don't you talk to her?"
"The Detective doesn't wish to see me."
"She told you that herself, huh?"
"It's more what she hasn't said," Lucifer muttered to himself. He pivoted to his right to check on the detective again but caught himself. On second thought, he need not lurk about like a common criminal. Ella would probably be happy to fill him in on everything he'd missed. He simply needed to evade any of her questions.
"Enough about the Detective," he smiled sweetly at her and took her elbow. "Tell me about what you've been up to."
Her expression made it clear she didn't buy into his act, but she let him lead her away.
-x-x-x-
To his surprise, the Detective took the girl home like it was a lost pet. Ella had told him all about Chloe's current case and the child she had delivered to the station that day. Lucifer had only glimpsed the unnamed girl from a distance, but something about her bothered him deeply. Though angels manifested in all shapes and sizes, none would assume a body so small and defenseless. Angels may be God's children, but they were also his soldiers. Thus the girl wasn't one of Lucifer's many siblings.
The mystery left Lucifer with little recourse other than following the Detective all the way home. He tailed her back to Venice Beach with three cars between them. He parked the Corvette two blocks away to avoid detection and hoofed the rest of the way. He took up guard under a tree across the street from her living room window. With his superhuman sight and hearing, he needn't get any closer.
But as time passed, he began to second guess his worries. All appeared fine in the Decker household, even though there was no sign of the Detective's spawn? Maybe Daniel was responsible for her while the Detective babysat? Other than a close call where she came to stare at the window along with the child, Lucifer had nothing to show for his surveillance.
He pulled out his cigarette case, counting how many remained. He gripped one and pulled it free when the Detective's shout rang as if he stood in the same room.
"Morgan! Run!"
Another voice, sweet and childlike, answered with terror, "Chloe!"
He dropped his case and his cigarette, then sprinted across the street. He barely dodged an oncoming BMW in time. Had he been further away, he could have shrugged off the car itself in a head-on collision. But this close to the Detective... When he gripped the door handle, her locks and tumblers began shifting into place. But he didn't wait for them to finish and simply used his superhuman strength to force the door open.
At the sound of the wood breaking, she looked up from a man, clad in black and even more suspicious for it, she had trapped in an arm lock. The hard expression on her face wavered as soon as she met Lucifer's eyes. Fear widened her eyes, dilated her pupils, and slackened her hold. "What? Luc—"
The other man ripped his arm from her hold and lunged for the knife on the floor.
"Get ba—" She held up a hand to warn Lucifer off, even as she advanced on the armed man.
Lucifer had always known mortal lives were all too short and all too fragile. He had seen it again and again over his very long life. He was no stranger to it during his partnership with the Detective. Every time hers came close to being severed short, as with Malcolm and with Cain, Lucifer did not hesitate to throw his own body in front of her as a shield.
Time slowed, and he couldn't bridge the gap between them fast enough. The blade flashed through the air, quicksilver bright and fast, slicing cleanly across the column of her pale neck.
"Detective!" Lucifer shouted.
The murderer shoved her aside and exited via the kitchen door. A scorching sensation, which reminded him of when he first plunged into Hell, coursed through his body. Lucifer's first instinct was to pursue the murderer and punish him. But the dazed look on her face as she pressed a hand to her bleeding wound stopped him cold in his tracks. She fell to her knees, swayed, and collapsed entirely. Lucifer caught her before she hit the floor.
"No, no, no, Detective."
The bleeding—he had to stop the bleeding. Yet she tried to push his hand away even as her lips turned blue and her eyes grew glassy. With a shaky hand cradling her neck, he realized the red of his skin was not from her blood alone. But his hand and the rest of his body had reverted to its more Hellish form.
"Detective, stay with me. You can't leave," he pleaded. Then he called out in silent prayer to Amenadiel, his Father, anyone who might be listening for help. To no one's surprise, his prayers went unanswered.
-x-x-x-
Lucifer lifted his heavy head, squinting against the sun's rays slanting through his floor-to-ceiling windows. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, shaking loose the fine, white powder dusting the underside. He retrieved his phone from its hiding place between two sofa cushions.
The time was 7:05 AM.
The date was March 20, 2019.
But he still remembered, with a painstaking clarity, the slick of her warm blood and the light leaving her sea-foam eyes. And he understood.
He was already in Hell.
