^ ^ ^ ^
"Hello, Bartleby."
Bartleby flinched at his name on Lucifer's lips. Her voice was soft and melodic, almost to the point of being hypnotizing. She sauntered slowly towards him as light as air. Her footsteps were careful and deliberate as if she was performing a ritualistic dance for her "minions". The warlocks were grinning stupidly.
Lucifer stopped just in front of Bartleby, looking up to meet his gaze. Her tiny frame stood almost a head shorter than Bartleby, but the power in her stare made it seem as if she towered over him. She raised her hand and a hurricane of air came at Bartleby's back, slamming shut the door he had just walked through.
Trapped.
Her smile was feral as she revealed her tiny perfect teeth. "So nice of you to visit . . . after all this time." Lucifer's raised hand reached forward and gingerly touched Bartleby's ribs. The action seemed innocent enough, but Bartleby felt the frighteningly potent sting of the baseball bat connecting with his ribcage again. He winced and gasped abruptly, taking a feeble step back away from her burning fingertips. Lucifer's smile brightened. "So, someone's been taking care of you; nursing you back to health, hmm? The very woman you nearly killed has been keeping you safe." Her eyes flickered with hatred. "How ironic?" To Bartleby's relief, Lucifer turned and walked away from him. But he didn't relax. He new Lucifer too well. Bartleby watched as Lucifer made eye contact with each of the warlocks. "Leave us," she commanded them.
And they did. Bartleby found himself alone in the small dank house with The Keeper of Hell. He almost felt better when the warlocks were with them. It had been a long time since Bartleby last found himself alone with Lucifer. Not long enough.
"Why are you after the child?" Bartleby asked boldly.
"The child? Oh, you mean the Last Scion. I'm not after her." Lucifer was less than convincing.
"Liar." Bartleby grumbled.
"True." Lucifer's brilliant yet eerie grin returned to her lips. "I am. But not about this. I couldn't care less about the child."
"Then why did you send those creeps to attack her and her mother in the alley?"
Lucifer paused a moment as her eyes traveled the length of Bartleby's body. He was uncomfortable with her stare and she knew it, and took her time. "For fun," she giggled. "Kinda like the bit of fun you had at the Catholic Church not too long ago." Her statement knocked the wind from Bartleby's lungs. "Yes. That was fun for you, wasn't it, B?"
"Don't fucking call me that." Bartleby hissed.
"Why not?" Lucifer acted shocked, which only infuriated Bartleby more. "It's the nickname *I* gave you, after all. 'The inseparable Lucy and B.' That's what everyone in Heaven referred to us as, don't you remember?" Her piercing green eyes locked with Bartleby's again. Bartleby wanted to hold her gaze, but couldn't help but look away. "Ahh, but things changed. And you abandoned me."
"No! You abandoned us!" Bartleby shouted with anger. His fists were clenched at his sides and his brow was slick with perspiration. "It was you who questioned God and it was you who thought you were mightier than The Almighty!"
"And I was cast out of Heaven." Lucifer resigned with dignity, her face falling. But then her smile returned and she looked at Bartleby with stars in her eyes. "But since then, you've questioned Him yourself . . . and you were cast out too. Am I right . . . B?"
Bartleby swallowed hard and looked away from her again. "No," he whispered as if he was only speaking to himself.
"No?" Lucifer repeated. "You weren't cast out of Heaven and sentenced to spend eternity in Wisconsin for your actions against God? Funny, that's what I heard happened."
"He has forgiven me."
"Ha! Forgiven you? Puhleez! You spent a millennia on earth as an angel and now you're here to live out the life – and death – of a human, and you think He has *forgiven* you?" Lucifer walked towards Bartleby again. "Don't be so naive, Bartleby. I know you're smarter than that. You are walking down the same path I took so many years ago."
"No," Bartleby interjected.
"You like that word, don't you?" Lucifer sighed. She raised her hand to Bartleby's cheek, but this time there was no sting in her gentle caress. "You are not forgiven, B. Why do you think I'm here? I've come for you; I've come to take you home . . . where you belong . . . with me."
Bartleby shook his head and backed away from Lucifer again. "Liar!" he accused once more. But his self assurance was crumbling. He didn't want to believe what Lucifer was telling him, but . . .
And then, in a blinking instance, Bartleby and Lucifer were no longer in the small, yellow ranch house with the white shutters. In fact, they were no longer even in Illinois. But what Bartleby saw, made him wish he was anywhere else.
The scene was the same: Bloody corpses everywhere. Overturned vehicles streaming with smoke. Banners ripped and torn from their heights. Fire and ashes at every glance of landscape. The smell of death permeating the musty air. It was the Catholic Church in New Jersey; the same church that Bartleby had wreaked havoc upon in his attempt to wipe out existence.
Bartleby felt his head spin and his stomach churn. Losing his balance, he grabbed a hold of the nearest tree and leaned his overbearing weight against it. "This isn't real." He clenched his eyes shut, trying to will the unspeakable scene to disappear.
"But on the contrary," Lucifer's thin voice carried sharply through the air. "It is *very* real, Bartleby. You did this. And you did it well." She glanced around approvingly. "I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous – you almost stole my thunder. But I'm proud of you."
"I don't want to be here." Bartleby felt increasingly sick to his stomach, almost doubling over in pain. Every time he opened his eyes, new horrors filled his vision.
"But why not? It's a lovely sight. So much pain; so much death; so much *hate*! It's invigorating! Wallow in your glory, Bartleby. You . . . did . . . this!" Lucifer threw her head back and laughed, letting her raven waves of hair dance weightlessly through the breeze.
"I don't want to be here." Bartleby couldn't say anything else. His tongue was thick in his throat and his eyes welled with tears. He clutched the tree even tighter, hugging it as if it was his only link to sanity.
Lucifer saw her opportunity and slithered to Bartleby's side. She leaned her face close to his ear and whispered: "You felt righteous, didn't you? Justified? Eager even? I know you did, B. I *felt* it. I felt the power of hate in you – so strong."
Bartleby just continued to shake his head, clenching his eyes shut, wishing he could cut out Lucifer's tongue and shove it down her throat. "I was wrong," he finally said, gaining back some of his dignity.
But Lucifer struck back with venomous intent. "And were you wrong in doing this?" She pointed to a figure laying face-down at Bartleby's feet. The figure hadn't been there before, but it was there now. The blonde mop of hair and the bloody stumps where beautiful wings had once been, was enough to let Bartleby know who the twisted and motionless figure was. "You enjoyed killing him, didn't you, Bartleby? He lost the faith, right? Loki was always too stupid to realize true greatness and wisdom like you and I."
"No!" Bartleby said again, angered at Lucifer's degrading words. "*I* was too stupid to listen to true greatness and wisdom! *I* was too stupid to listen to Loki! I was wrong! I was wrong!" Bartleby felt the rush of power in his voice, but at the same time he felt the weakness in his limbs and he slumped to the ground. He was trembling with guilt, but he kept his tears of self pity at bay. He would not give Lucifer the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Silence stretched out between them and all that was heard was the quiet crackling of distant fires and an occasional wisp of steam from a nearby crumpled wreck of a car. "I don't want to be here," Bartleby finally spoke again.
Bartleby felt Lucifer's hand lay upon his head and when he looked up, the Catholic Church was gone. The destruction was gone. The dead Loki was gone. Lucifer and Bartleby were back in the dank, empty ranch house in Illinois.
Bartleby took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to his feet. His soft, weary brown eyes met the gaze of Lucifer's striking, entrancing green ones.
"I showed you all of that because I still love you, B, and I just want you to see who you really are. You must know that." Lucifer spoke with sincerity in her voice that Bartleby had not heard in a long time.
But he shook his head anyway. "You are incapable of love."
"No," she replied swiftly. "I am incapable of loving Her." Lucifer thrust a finger towards the sky. "I am not incapable of loving another." She watched as Bartleby turned from her and started towards the door. "You are right about one thing: I am a liar. I am The Father of Lies. But what I told you today was the truth, Bartleby. All of it. I am here to take you back with me . . . because you were *not* forgiven. By leaving now, you are only prolonging the inevitable. You are on the same path I have already taken," Lucifer repeated her earlier statement. "And, as always, you and I are destined to be together. Deny it all you want, B. It's the truth. But you don't have to take my word for it. Deep down, your heart is telling you the same thing."
Bartleby put his hand on the knob and opened the door without turning back to glance at Lucifer as she spoke. But he left her with chilling words of his own: "I stopped listening to my heart a long time ago."
Bartleby was a liar too.
^ ^ ^ ^
The Sloan household was warm and inviting as Bartleby walked through the door, exhausted from a long day's work. He ambled down the hallway and towards the light that shone brightly from the kitchen. He heard muffled voices and laughter as he turned the corner and blinked rapidly, gazing into the brilliantly glowing kitchen.
Loki saw him first. "Hey, B! How was work?"
But Kirsten didn't wait for Bartleby to answer. "Welcome home! Come join us. Supper's almost ready," she chortled.
Bartleby received a smile from Bethany who was stirring some unknown, but deliciously aromatic, substance on the stovetop. But Grace's infectious giggle caught Bartleby's attention and he glanced in her direction. The second his eyes locked with Grace's, Bartleby felt the wicked rush of everything that had happened today flood back into his mind and torment his thoughts. He felt a spell of vertigo take hold of him once again and he swayed where he stood. But Grace just kept on smiling at him as if he was her best friend – which he was not. Was he really anyone's best friend? No. He couldn't be. Not after what Lucifer had said. Not ever again.
"You okay, B?" Loki rose from his chair and took a step in Bartleby's direction. "You're looking kinda pale."
"I'm fine." Bartleby waved Loki back and retreated a few steps out of the doorway of the kitchen. "I just . . . I just need to go wash up." And he quickly disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
He hurried to the sanctuary of the bathroom; closed and locked the door. He didn't turn on the light; too afraid of what revulsion he might see in the mirror. Instead, Bartleby closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. And then he did what he couldn't bring himself to do in front of Lucifer:
He cried.
^ ^ ^ ^
"Hello, Bartleby."
Bartleby flinched at his name on Lucifer's lips. Her voice was soft and melodic, almost to the point of being hypnotizing. She sauntered slowly towards him as light as air. Her footsteps were careful and deliberate as if she was performing a ritualistic dance for her "minions". The warlocks were grinning stupidly.
Lucifer stopped just in front of Bartleby, looking up to meet his gaze. Her tiny frame stood almost a head shorter than Bartleby, but the power in her stare made it seem as if she towered over him. She raised her hand and a hurricane of air came at Bartleby's back, slamming shut the door he had just walked through.
Trapped.
Her smile was feral as she revealed her tiny perfect teeth. "So nice of you to visit . . . after all this time." Lucifer's raised hand reached forward and gingerly touched Bartleby's ribs. The action seemed innocent enough, but Bartleby felt the frighteningly potent sting of the baseball bat connecting with his ribcage again. He winced and gasped abruptly, taking a feeble step back away from her burning fingertips. Lucifer's smile brightened. "So, someone's been taking care of you; nursing you back to health, hmm? The very woman you nearly killed has been keeping you safe." Her eyes flickered with hatred. "How ironic?" To Bartleby's relief, Lucifer turned and walked away from him. But he didn't relax. He new Lucifer too well. Bartleby watched as Lucifer made eye contact with each of the warlocks. "Leave us," she commanded them.
And they did. Bartleby found himself alone in the small dank house with The Keeper of Hell. He almost felt better when the warlocks were with them. It had been a long time since Bartleby last found himself alone with Lucifer. Not long enough.
"Why are you after the child?" Bartleby asked boldly.
"The child? Oh, you mean the Last Scion. I'm not after her." Lucifer was less than convincing.
"Liar." Bartleby grumbled.
"True." Lucifer's brilliant yet eerie grin returned to her lips. "I am. But not about this. I couldn't care less about the child."
"Then why did you send those creeps to attack her and her mother in the alley?"
Lucifer paused a moment as her eyes traveled the length of Bartleby's body. He was uncomfortable with her stare and she knew it, and took her time. "For fun," she giggled. "Kinda like the bit of fun you had at the Catholic Church not too long ago." Her statement knocked the wind from Bartleby's lungs. "Yes. That was fun for you, wasn't it, B?"
"Don't fucking call me that." Bartleby hissed.
"Why not?" Lucifer acted shocked, which only infuriated Bartleby more. "It's the nickname *I* gave you, after all. 'The inseparable Lucy and B.' That's what everyone in Heaven referred to us as, don't you remember?" Her piercing green eyes locked with Bartleby's again. Bartleby wanted to hold her gaze, but couldn't help but look away. "Ahh, but things changed. And you abandoned me."
"No! You abandoned us!" Bartleby shouted with anger. His fists were clenched at his sides and his brow was slick with perspiration. "It was you who questioned God and it was you who thought you were mightier than The Almighty!"
"And I was cast out of Heaven." Lucifer resigned with dignity, her face falling. But then her smile returned and she looked at Bartleby with stars in her eyes. "But since then, you've questioned Him yourself . . . and you were cast out too. Am I right . . . B?"
Bartleby swallowed hard and looked away from her again. "No," he whispered as if he was only speaking to himself.
"No?" Lucifer repeated. "You weren't cast out of Heaven and sentenced to spend eternity in Wisconsin for your actions against God? Funny, that's what I heard happened."
"He has forgiven me."
"Ha! Forgiven you? Puhleez! You spent a millennia on earth as an angel and now you're here to live out the life – and death – of a human, and you think He has *forgiven* you?" Lucifer walked towards Bartleby again. "Don't be so naive, Bartleby. I know you're smarter than that. You are walking down the same path I took so many years ago."
"No," Bartleby interjected.
"You like that word, don't you?" Lucifer sighed. She raised her hand to Bartleby's cheek, but this time there was no sting in her gentle caress. "You are not forgiven, B. Why do you think I'm here? I've come for you; I've come to take you home . . . where you belong . . . with me."
Bartleby shook his head and backed away from Lucifer again. "Liar!" he accused once more. But his self assurance was crumbling. He didn't want to believe what Lucifer was telling him, but . . .
And then, in a blinking instance, Bartleby and Lucifer were no longer in the small, yellow ranch house with the white shutters. In fact, they were no longer even in Illinois. But what Bartleby saw, made him wish he was anywhere else.
The scene was the same: Bloody corpses everywhere. Overturned vehicles streaming with smoke. Banners ripped and torn from their heights. Fire and ashes at every glance of landscape. The smell of death permeating the musty air. It was the Catholic Church in New Jersey; the same church that Bartleby had wreaked havoc upon in his attempt to wipe out existence.
Bartleby felt his head spin and his stomach churn. Losing his balance, he grabbed a hold of the nearest tree and leaned his overbearing weight against it. "This isn't real." He clenched his eyes shut, trying to will the unspeakable scene to disappear.
"But on the contrary," Lucifer's thin voice carried sharply through the air. "It is *very* real, Bartleby. You did this. And you did it well." She glanced around approvingly. "I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous – you almost stole my thunder. But I'm proud of you."
"I don't want to be here." Bartleby felt increasingly sick to his stomach, almost doubling over in pain. Every time he opened his eyes, new horrors filled his vision.
"But why not? It's a lovely sight. So much pain; so much death; so much *hate*! It's invigorating! Wallow in your glory, Bartleby. You . . . did . . . this!" Lucifer threw her head back and laughed, letting her raven waves of hair dance weightlessly through the breeze.
"I don't want to be here." Bartleby couldn't say anything else. His tongue was thick in his throat and his eyes welled with tears. He clutched the tree even tighter, hugging it as if it was his only link to sanity.
Lucifer saw her opportunity and slithered to Bartleby's side. She leaned her face close to his ear and whispered: "You felt righteous, didn't you? Justified? Eager even? I know you did, B. I *felt* it. I felt the power of hate in you – so strong."
Bartleby just continued to shake his head, clenching his eyes shut, wishing he could cut out Lucifer's tongue and shove it down her throat. "I was wrong," he finally said, gaining back some of his dignity.
But Lucifer struck back with venomous intent. "And were you wrong in doing this?" She pointed to a figure laying face-down at Bartleby's feet. The figure hadn't been there before, but it was there now. The blonde mop of hair and the bloody stumps where beautiful wings had once been, was enough to let Bartleby know who the twisted and motionless figure was. "You enjoyed killing him, didn't you, Bartleby? He lost the faith, right? Loki was always too stupid to realize true greatness and wisdom like you and I."
"No!" Bartleby said again, angered at Lucifer's degrading words. "*I* was too stupid to listen to true greatness and wisdom! *I* was too stupid to listen to Loki! I was wrong! I was wrong!" Bartleby felt the rush of power in his voice, but at the same time he felt the weakness in his limbs and he slumped to the ground. He was trembling with guilt, but he kept his tears of self pity at bay. He would not give Lucifer the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Silence stretched out between them and all that was heard was the quiet crackling of distant fires and an occasional wisp of steam from a nearby crumpled wreck of a car. "I don't want to be here," Bartleby finally spoke again.
Bartleby felt Lucifer's hand lay upon his head and when he looked up, the Catholic Church was gone. The destruction was gone. The dead Loki was gone. Lucifer and Bartleby were back in the dank, empty ranch house in Illinois.
Bartleby took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to his feet. His soft, weary brown eyes met the gaze of Lucifer's striking, entrancing green ones.
"I showed you all of that because I still love you, B, and I just want you to see who you really are. You must know that." Lucifer spoke with sincerity in her voice that Bartleby had not heard in a long time.
But he shook his head anyway. "You are incapable of love."
"No," she replied swiftly. "I am incapable of loving Her." Lucifer thrust a finger towards the sky. "I am not incapable of loving another." She watched as Bartleby turned from her and started towards the door. "You are right about one thing: I am a liar. I am The Father of Lies. But what I told you today was the truth, Bartleby. All of it. I am here to take you back with me . . . because you were *not* forgiven. By leaving now, you are only prolonging the inevitable. You are on the same path I have already taken," Lucifer repeated her earlier statement. "And, as always, you and I are destined to be together. Deny it all you want, B. It's the truth. But you don't have to take my word for it. Deep down, your heart is telling you the same thing."
Bartleby put his hand on the knob and opened the door without turning back to glance at Lucifer as she spoke. But he left her with chilling words of his own: "I stopped listening to my heart a long time ago."
Bartleby was a liar too.
^ ^ ^ ^
The Sloan household was warm and inviting as Bartleby walked through the door, exhausted from a long day's work. He ambled down the hallway and towards the light that shone brightly from the kitchen. He heard muffled voices and laughter as he turned the corner and blinked rapidly, gazing into the brilliantly glowing kitchen.
Loki saw him first. "Hey, B! How was work?"
But Kirsten didn't wait for Bartleby to answer. "Welcome home! Come join us. Supper's almost ready," she chortled.
Bartleby received a smile from Bethany who was stirring some unknown, but deliciously aromatic, substance on the stovetop. But Grace's infectious giggle caught Bartleby's attention and he glanced in her direction. The second his eyes locked with Grace's, Bartleby felt the wicked rush of everything that had happened today flood back into his mind and torment his thoughts. He felt a spell of vertigo take hold of him once again and he swayed where he stood. But Grace just kept on smiling at him as if he was her best friend – which he was not. Was he really anyone's best friend? No. He couldn't be. Not after what Lucifer had said. Not ever again.
"You okay, B?" Loki rose from his chair and took a step in Bartleby's direction. "You're looking kinda pale."
"I'm fine." Bartleby waved Loki back and retreated a few steps out of the doorway of the kitchen. "I just . . . I just need to go wash up." And he quickly disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
He hurried to the sanctuary of the bathroom; closed and locked the door. He didn't turn on the light; too afraid of what revulsion he might see in the mirror. Instead, Bartleby closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. And then he did what he couldn't bring himself to do in front of Lucifer:
He cried.
^ ^ ^ ^