Playing With The Devil: Chapter Three
House's flush beat the devil's straight and House dared to take a short, deep breath. The pain eased a little.
"Don't get used to it," the devil hissed at him.
Wilson relaxed a bit and, just like House, he took a deep breath. He then disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with a wet cloth pressed against his forehead. One hand still lay on his chest to ease the pain. He sat down on his bed and closed his eyes, small streaks of water running down his cheeks.
"Maybe your luck changes now," House said hopefully, but not completely convinced himself.
"Hope is a quality you'll only find in humans," the devil said with disdaining looks. "Hoping for something to change for the better is illogical and irrational, it's a useless straw you cling to when things are heading for desaster. My position is so much more comfortable," he grinned. "I know, I'm gonna win."
House did not listen. Encouraged by his first win after several losses, he picked up the newly dealt cards. But his own luck was already changing again. A three and a seven, one of clubs, one of hearts. He kept his face straight and looked at his opponent valiantly. There was no way he would give away what crap he got.
The devil tossed another coin into the middle of the table and raised his bet.
He's bluffing, House was sure. With a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth, House added another coin. The 'W' shimmered in the dim green light. He looked up into the devil's eyes, the red in the eyes was a little dimmer than before, the greenish color of his face a little pale.
Fold! House thought as if he could make him put down his cards by sheer will. Fold!
"Let me see," yellow and brown teeth bared in a broad grin, the devil slowly put his cards down. Three queens.
Stubbornly trying to ignore the pain in his leg, House closed his eyes and laid his rather worthless hand on the table. A pair of sevens.
"Walking sticks. Oh sweet irony!" The devils high pitched laugh let House's blood freeze. Another shot of pain made him jerk forward. One hand grabbed his leg, the other one clasped the edge of the table. Breathing was harder than ever before. The pain seemed to take away all oxygen. House tried to suck in some air, but choked on the green fog that filled the room. He wanted to stay rational, but he knew by now, that there was no doubt anymore that his opponent actually was Lucifer, ruler of hell and leader of fallen angels.
"Look at that," the devil had leaned back in his chair and looked at Wilson's picture on the tv, highly satisfied and smiling.
House managed to look up and squinted at the screen. Wilson had given up fighting the pain in his chest and head. He now stared at the rugged carpet with a rather surprised look on his face.
"What's… wrong … with him?" House panted and shut his eyes again. Wilson's look frightened him. He wanted to shut out the picture of Wilson and his own pain.
"James Wilson just lost that part of his soul that still belonged to him alone."
Just the thought of having Wilson's soul to himself let a drop of yellow saliva drip from the corner of the devil's mouth. A soul you could torment, use and abandon and it would still be a loyal follower. These were his favorites and they were so hard to get.
He tilted his head and glanced at Wilson again. "Amazing!" he mused. He's willing to give up his very own part of his soul, but clings to the part he has given to you. The fool trusts you to hold onto it." His expression quickly changed from longing to grim. He darted House a gloomy look and almost threw the cards over the table. "Pick them up. Just one more round and he'll be mine!"
House took the cards and looked at them with clenched teeth. The fool trusts you … The words kept ringing in House's head. Suddenly he was not sure anymore if the nausea came from the pain in his thigh or from the pain of knowing that Wilson had trusted him.
"You're not gonna get him," he gritted.
His cards looked promising so far. Pretty pictures, House thought and again there was a glimpse of hope. The hope to get rid of the pain and the hope to give Wilson back his soul.
The blind bets already lay on the table and House added one more coin. Raise. He took another card and was very close to a straight flush or even a royal flush. All he needed was the nine of hearts or the ace of hearts. Nervously House stared at the devils cards, feeling his own hands getting wet from cold sweat.
Another card. If this was not one of the cards he needed, he would be left with a king high, which was basically nothing.
It was the nine of hearts! He had his straight flush, the highest possible. Only a royal flush would be able to beat his hand. House tried hard to suppress a smile of relief. This round he would win. He tossed another coin into the pot, raising the bet once more.
"You really think your measly straight flush will win?" The devil grinned.
House looked up. How could he possibly know what he had on his hand? He kept his face straight. "You're not gonna trick me."
"No need to trick you. I can see your straight flush," the devil pointed to the back of House's cards.
House frowned as it began to dawn on him. "You can see through the cards?"
"Told you, that I knew I would win." The devil laughed out loud.
"You could see through the cards all the time?" House could hardly believe it. "The game is revoked. You cheated!"
"Everybody lies. Isn't that even one of your lines?" The devil's laughter turned into a chuckle and ended with a snort.
Angrily House threw his cards on the table. It was just a bluff. Never had that guy a royal flush. Never! "Then beat my straight flush!" he yelled.
In the greenish face the red eyes glowed like coals. Slowly the devil put his cards on the table, one after the other.
An ace, a king, a queen, a jack and a ten of clubs. Royal Flush.
Again the devil laughed out loud, triumphantly and mocking. House wanted to cover his ears, but he could not move. A blinding light shot through the room and the cards on the table burst into green flames before everything went dark.
The streets lamps flickered and went back on, casting a damp light through the window. The yellowish mist slowly dissolved and House was left alone in his apartment. The game was lost.
A sharp pain shot through his right leg, burning nerv endings reaching out, finding nothing, leaving the muscle stump aching badly. House cringed and fell to the floor, yelping in pain. He clutched his thigh with his hand as if to grab the pain and tear it out. He blacked out for a few seconds, then lifted his head again.
Vicodin was his first thought, but before he could make any attempt to get his pills from the kitchen, something else struck him: he had lost Wilson's soul to the devil.
House turned around to the faint light of his tv. The picture of Wilson was fading, but still visible. His body now slumped on the bed, his arms dangling at his side. There was an empty expression on his face. Wilson's eyes were dead.
Only half aware of the stabbin pain in his thigh, House stared at him. The tv flickered and then went black.
Wilson was gone.