Flashback – Mexico City, 2012

Morbid, aka Pablo Vergara, eyed his friend's young step-son with a jaundice eye. The boy was skipping school again, an action that the death metal rocker couldn't find it in his heart to call him out about. The parochial school the boy was in had a reputation among the artsy classes in Mexico City as being strict, with no leeway for any activities not strictly in line with the Church's teachings. His friend (and sometimes band-mate) Bart had said the kid suffered from his classmates bullying because of his father's less than orthodox lifestyle – something Pablo could understand all too well. "Hey Gabriel" he called out, voice husky from cigarette smoke "do you parents know you are in the studio today?"

Gabe shrugged awkwardly. "No – they think I'm at church helping get ready for first communion ceremony for the little kids at school. The Bishop will be coming for the mass and mom's all excited to meet him."

Morbid, arrayed in his Death Metal rocker makeup and costume in reparation for a photo shoot, sighed. "So – she still wants you to be a priest?"

"That's what she says" Gabe replied grudgingly.

"She ever say why?"

Gabe shrugged. "Guess she thinks my being a priest will make up for all the bad she's done in her life – like having me."

Pablo shook his head in disbelief. "Thought the whole idea was people were supposed to repent for their own sins – not have the guilt visited on their kids. She ever ask you what you want."

"No one ever asks me what I want."

"You need to tell them what you want or they won't ever know" the singer said somberly.

"Does your family ever ask you about … this?" the boy asked, waving a hand hesitantly at the singer. The over—the-top makeup had scared him when he had first seen it, reminding him of the blood and gore art work the priests had used when teaching about the Devil and his demons in Hell. After a while spending time in the studio, he had come to see it for what it really was – just a mask. Nothing about it was real, especially not the dark, evil performance put on by the singer in his videos. Just like his step-father had said – nothing was real until he made it real. And this façade he just couldn't conjure up the energy to believe in.

"Why should they?" Morbid said. "This is just a façade, a part I play on stage. It's not what I am – it's just what I do. No one really believes in all this ghost and devil crap anyway. Not these days."

Gabe stared thoughtfully at his father's friend. "Maybe not. But do you ever wonder sometimes if the stories the old women and the priests tell about the Devil are true. That whenever he appears bad things happen all around him. Why else would such crazy things happen in the world?"

"Because people are crazy" Pablo said dismissively. "Simple as that."

"Nothing is that simple" Gabe replied somberly. "Maybe the Devil exists because someone wanted him to exist. Maybe that's why bad things happen – because someone wanted it and used the Devil to make it happen."

The Rocker frowned down at the scrawny teenager for a moment. "You scare me sometimes mi amigo. You think too much."

Gabe shrugged. "Not much else to do sometime but think." He motioned to a set of bags piled on the floor behind them. "Where you off to this time?"

"Los Angeles. Planning on filming something at a place called the Cecil Hotel. Someone told me Death was a frequent visitor to the place. It has a dark reputation – perfect for the song I want to release to YouTube. Maybe that will get me the recognition your dad and I are hoping for."

"Buena Suerte" Gabe replied, making for the door. 'Hope you don't find that dark reputation is more than you bargained for." The boy slunk off down the road, headed back to his home, uneasy thoughts running through his head.

Current day – at the Bradley estate.

Chloe rang the doorbell, keeping a watchful eye as her partner studied the entrance intently. "See something I don't?" she asked.

"Probably spent a small fortune behind this door. Not that it matters – it's still probably all gaudy. Not my taste at all."

Chloe sighed. "What is WITH you lately? Ever since we started this case you've been out of sorts."

"Says the woman who refuses to talk about what she saw when Cain met his end" Lucifer shot back.

"I saw the truth – that you were really who you said you were all this time. It was a revelation I wasn't ready for and it's taking me some time to get used to it. But I will - and you'll need to get used to me trying to process this new truth. And no - I don't want to talk endlessly about it. What good would it do either of us to talk about it? It won't change anything. You're still the same person that you've always been – just with a slightly different back-story that I had expected."

"I am what my Father made me into" Lucifer huffed. "I can't help that."

"When this case is over we can talk about your issues – and mine. But right now we have a dead man and a missing girl to worry about." She bit back the rest of what she had planned on saying as the door opened.

Lucifer blinked. The woman at the door might, in her early years have been stunning. Now she was just average, a well-preserved, middle-age woman not giving in to aging without a fight. "Yes?" she asked, slightly annoyed.

Chloe pulled out her badge and flashed it in the woman's direction. "Det. Chloe Decker and my consultant Mr. Morningstar. I'd like to speak to Mr. Bradly if that is possible."

The woman sighed. "Our maid is out today so we really don't have much time to talk to anyone. Make an appointment…"

"Nonsense Bertha" Bradley's voice boomed from inside the house. "We have more than enough time to help the LAPD. Especially as they are so busy trying to find the murder of our good friend John McIntyre." Bradley appeared behind the woman, drink in hand, waving a slightly unsteady hand towards Chloe and Lucifer. "You remember John, don't you Bertha? You are such good friends with his wife – or is it John's brother-in-law Milton that you are so fond of?" He grinned crookedly at Lucifer. "She has a fondness for the younger set, my Bertha. Always trying to help them along with their hopes and dreams."

Chloe swallowed, casting a quick look at her partner's face. Lucifer was staring at the woman in front of them with a knowing smile, as though he already knew the story Bradley was parceling out. "I'm sorry – we weren't properly introduced. You are…?"

"Bertha Bradley" the woman responded stiffly. "Since my husband is determined to make a fool of himself today, please come right in. We can talk in the study." She turned and strode off, her husband trailing slightly behind her.

"Well – that was interesting" Lucifer murmured. "Not even in the door and we're finding out all SORTS of interesting things."

"Bradley's sounds like he things his wife and John Milton were more than just friends" Chloe mused as she stepped into the massive (and gaudy) hallway. "Funny – he didn't seem to know much about him when we saw Milton at the office."

"Maybe someone dropped some knowledge on him as the kids would say today." Lucifer looked up the stairs, catching sight briefly of a shadow at the top corner. "Someone else is here, Detective. Someone who doesn't want to be seen just yet."

"Maybe the nephew?" Chloe responded, following their hosts down the corridor. "I wonder if Bradley know the man was working with McIntyre and Annalise on their expose of the Cecil."

"Why would it matter to him?" Lucifer replied softly. "Unless something else came up in that investigation that he needed to make sure never saw the light of day."

Chloe shrugged. "Let's see what they have to say for themselves."

"Yes – by all means – let's see."

Note from the author: Real life has been kicking my backside so it's been longer than I anticipated to return to this. Chloe and Lucifer are not the Deckstar characters in this story some might have expected - I think they both needed time to get used to their new reality.