Chapter 3

Those who mourn

The lowly he sets on high,

and those who mourn are lifted to safety

(Job 5:11, NIV)

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Everything had become a blur.

The SWAT team had broken down the doors and secured the perimeter. Now the regular cops were storming in to arrest fourteen-year-old Kevin Norton for first degree murder, being followed by a swarm of paramedics.

An unconscious Mrs. Gordon was being wheeled away on a gurney and so was Daisy. Parents were pouring into the school, crying and hugging their kids. Some of them were babbling about an angel saving them, but by virtue of being children who had just gone through an incredibly traumatic experience they were not being taken seriously.

A cop came to take away the murder weapon, looking wide-eyed at the squashed barrel, another tried to take Lucifer's statement of what had happened, calling him a hero over and over again. Lucifer barely even listened, let alone answered. They put it down to shock and agreed to question him later.

Someone accidentally pushed him into the corner of the teacher's desk and it hurt more than it should.

Trixie's hand was clasped tightly around Lucifer's, but for once he didn't mind.

"Excuse me", Lucifer said to the cop. "We need to go."

He looked down at Trixie and told her: "Your parents are here."

Trixie didn't ask how he knew. She simply followed him out of the classroom, never letting go of his hand. When she stumbled because his strides were too long for her, he picked her up and carried her easily; the girls' legs clinging to his torso and the arms wrapped around his neck as if it were a life belt. Lucifer held her securely, using one arm to support her legs and embracing her with the other, his hand resting lightly on the back of her head. Trixie buried her face in his shoulder.

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Chloe barely waited for the car to stop until she jumped out, not even bothering to open the door and she neither registered Dan following her nor Ella staying back to park somewhere that was not the middle of the street, although it hardly made a difference in the chaos around them.

"Trixie!", shouted Chloe, moving recklessly through a crowd of medics, cops and scared parents, Dan hot on her heels. "Monkey, where are you?!"

They reached the entrance and Chloe stopped dead in her tracks when she saw them.

"Trixie, my god, Trixie!", she cried, her hands flying to her mouth. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"No", said Dan breathlessly, pushing past another nameless, faceless person in his way, feeling like his heart had stopped. Stopped and broken into a million billion pieces tearing him apart

Lucifer was walking down the steps, wearing an uncharacteristically somber expression and carrying Trixie in his arms. Her jeans and Lucifer's hands were full of blood.

"Mommy? Daddy?"

Trixie turned her head to look at her parents and Chloe sobbed with relief.

"Monkey!"

"She's alright, Detective", said Lucifer, carefully setting Trixie down, who flung herself into the arms of her crouched-down parents.

"I'm so glad you're okay, monkey", said Dan and hugged Trixie tightly, his voice strained from his effort not to break into tears.

"I was so worried, honey", said Chloe, with another sob.

"Right", said Lucifer awkwardly.

The devil was suddenly feeling very tired and out of place among the familial displays of affection. Chloe and the Douche were here, their spawn was safe and the lowly scum who had tried to hurt her was on his way to where he belonged for the time being: a place where Lucifer would have easy access later on. This was all that mattered.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than a Scotch, a shower and fresh clothes, so when Lucifer saw Ella Lopez heading towards them, he decided to take his leave. Unnoticed, he slipped away, worming his way through gaggles of journalists and concerned neighbours.

Once he had made his way past the ambulances, Lucifer almost immediately caught sight of his Corvette parked behind a lantern on the other side of the street.

It was scratched. It was dented. It was missing a side-view mirror.

Lucifer's jaw dropped.

"Bloody Hell!", he swore, vey nearly turning back to give Dan – because surely it had been his fault – a piece of his mind.

In the end, he merely sighed resignedly, got in the car and persuaded the engine to start without a key. At least he didn't have to call a cab, he thought, as he drove home.

ETA: Changed "manslaughter" to "first degree murder. I have no idea why this wasn't fixed already, I could have sworn I did this months ago when people pointed it out for the first time. Sorry!