CHAPTER SEVEN

Bosco flipped through the channels aimlessly, finding some strange comfort in the flickering images. He was exhausted, no doubt from the extra shifts. But it was worth it. Or will be worth it.

A wave of sadness washed over him as he thought about his cousin. Darrell was a bartender up in a bar in Jersey. A good worker and a good friend, he tried his best to mind his own business. His only weakness was a bull on for skirt. Bosco smiled sadly. Ran in the family.

The confusing thing about the whole mess was what was he doing in the city? Darrell hated it up here, said it was full of filth and degenerates-guess he was right-and preferred to keep quarters in South Orange, making Bosco have to travel there to see him. Hell, Bosco couldn't even remember the last time Darrell had set foot inside the city.

He grabbed his cordless and started punching numbers. His aunt picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hey, it's Maurice. How ya holdin' up?"

"Oh, hey baby," his aunt sighed. "It gets better, then it falls apart somehow. How's the investigation going?"

"It's going," he answered, "I'm working some overtime to help out. I got a question for ya if that's alright."

"Sure, shoot."

"What the hell was Darry doin' up here in the city?"

His aunt made a noise of surprise. "Maurice, he's been seein' that girl, Rachelle. About three months now."

"Yeah, I know.so?"

"She moved to New York last week. They're doin'.were doin', the long distance thing. That was his first visit in fifteen years"

Bosco thought about this. "Damn."

His aunt started to sniffle. "Yeah, first time back and it kills him," she said flatly.

"What's her number? I need to talk to her." ×××××××××

Sasha fought and fought with all her might, but she couldn't ward it off. The depression.

Every time she let her mind wander towards him, she fell so deep and couldn't get herself out. The depression, it was merciless and total, consuming every fiber of her being. She couldn't function, couldn't garner the power she knew she possessed.

Why oh why, my love, she thought desperately. She wished things were different, wished she could just reach out and take the hand he offered her time and time again. But she couldn't. She wasn't allowed to. The devil made those decisions.

She twisted and writhed on her bed, fighting the depression, the feeling. As if she were literally drowning.

She loved him for as long as she could remember. He was her true love, so near yet so far away. She wanted to reveal herself, confess her love. But she couldn't hurt him. Couldn't let him know who she really was.

She was a bad girl.

She refused to let him go, knowing full well the devil would never allow her to be with him. The devil held the key to her happiness, the sloth. She was his slave and they both knew it.

So she would keep killing the devil until he released her from her shackles.