Ophelia stayed awake all night, by its side, tending to it as it lay in a cold sweat. It had a fever and could do nothing but weep piteously as it slept. For a split second, she felt pity for it, and saw that she was looking at a small boy. A boy who was bruised and starved to the point of emaciation. Perhaps he had seen better times, but there was no sign of any good times now. Ophelia gently ran her hand through the wet, brown hair, feeling tears start to her eyes. The boy shuddered under her touch and moaned weakly. His voice was husky with pain. Ophelia listened carefully, and could hear him wheezing as he painfully drew breath. Her care wasn't good enough for him. He needed a hospital.
Does he really need a hospital? Can't you see it in his eyes? In his scent? He's a demon. He's capable of anything. He must be faking his own death. He must be faking the whole thing. And wasn't it a demon who had somehow burnt the house down? Their first house? Ophelia's eyes misted over. She remembered it very well. Her lover had bought it for her once he had learnt of her pregnancy. That was before he had left her. Before she had found out the truth about him. She suddenly lashed out at the boy. No, not the boy. The Curse.
It didn't wake up. Its head flopped limply to one side, like a broken doll or puppet. Its hand touched against hers for an instant, and she pulled back, stifling her own scream of disgust. The boy returned again. He looked so pale and weak and helpless. She was tempted to help him, but yet, she couldn't. No. She wouldn't. One demon less was always a good thing. Even if it was a kid she was dealing with. She shuddered and her lip curled in scorn. She had given birth to a curse. She beat it around the head angrily, pacing back and forth about the room, dragging it after him, despite it being at a point of dying out completely.
It tried to rise, but she wouldn't let it. She was going to get rid of her demons. She was going to break the curse. She was going to make sure it never came back to haunt her again.
---
Dante padded quietly and easily along the streets, taking every shortcut he knew. The call had been a strange one. His mind replayed over the message as he had picked up the phone.
'Hell's Angels. There's been some reports of screaming down at Epperton Road. Two days ago someone went missing and the body was only found today. We've never seen anything like it. Check it out.' The phone had simply gone dead. Dante remembered writing down the name of the street without thinking, as though he was following an unspoken command. Trish had wanted to come with him but for some reason he did not understand, he had wanted to be by himself. He felt as though he had to be by himself, that the beast or demon or whatever it was would show itself only to him.
He paused and looked up, his icy blue eyes gleaming faintly in the darkness. The stars twinkled brightly in the night sky. It was hard to believe that something evil was afoot. He could sense nothing out of the ordinary. Or could he?
Death. He walked forwards, his boots making no sound as he moved. He turned a corner, into a dark alley, as though he knew all the time where he'd find the body. His eyes narrowed in disgust as he knelt down by it, examining it. The woman's eyes stared up into the sky. Dante slowly closed them and then began checking the wounds. He had never seen anything like it. There were no marks on the body whatsoever. This was not the work of demons. This was the work of something else. He suddenly realized something else as he saw a single wound that had looked on the verge of healing itself. The body was that of a demon's. What then, did this? A devil hunter, like himself perhaps? But there would be marks.
He decided then and there that it would be best that he stayed the night in the town. If there was something killing demons around here, then being on the move would probably hasten his own death. He hoped that whatever had done this had already passed by, and was no longer in town. Besides, he had no more petrol left in his car. He slowly turned and walked towards the nearest hotel, shivering lightly with the cold. And maybe with something else.
---
Arson slowly opened his eyes. His body felt like lead. He tried to move his arm, so then he could nurse his pounding head. His arm simply twitched and then lay still. Arson turned his head so then his face was resting on his other cheek. His eyes swept the shadows, the walls, even the ceiling as he searched for the nightmare that had become a reality. He heard Val slowly get up, heard her go into the bathroom and get dressed for school. He had already figured out that he would not be joining her today in class.
He knew why he could not move properly, and why he could not even feel the floor underneath his body. On Friday his teacher had explained the meaning of the word "numb". He supposed that this had happened to him. The whole of his body was in a deep freeze, and he could not move because of it.
He coughed weakly and tried to speak out, but even when he tried to swallow, a sharp ring of pain surrounded his neck, silencing him. His chest ached whenever he breathed in and out. He closed his eyes slowly. This was going to be the day he died. He heard footsteps coming closer and opened his eyes again. Val. She hugged him wordlessly and then started sobbing for him, running her fingers through his hair.
'Brother…' she whispered, so as not to wake up Ophelia. 'I'm sorry I didn't say anything, or try to help earlier…but…know this…I love you.' Tears came to her eyes again. She shook them away furiously and gripped him tighter. 'I really do. I know she's wrong. But I said nothing. You know why…but do you blame me? Please…I'm so sorry…' Arson smiled at her; it was all he could do and closed his eyes. A look of peace seemed to prevail over his features. Val sighed heavily. 'Good luck…' She rose and straightened her skirt and then left. Arson fell into a deep but troubled sleep.
He did not know how long he slept for, but he become fully alert when he heard the familiar laboured breathing. Ophelia cleared her throat and moved from the kitchen to the living room. Arson could smell the scent of alcohol. He closed his eyes, fervently praying that no harm would come to him. He wondered why he continued to pray. God had never answered his wishes. So why should He now? Maybe it was his purpose to die without a trace. But was that really a purpose? That would be a waste of life, wouldn't it? Maybe this was his purpose. To serve as his mother's toy…to be her slave. To curse her life. Maybe God hadn't created him. Maybe he was made by Satan himself. No…he shouldn't be thinking like this. If he thought like an ordinary kid, then maybe he would become an ordinary kid, with a kind and loving mother…and with no grief and stress. Maybe then, he wouldn't always have people giving him pitying looks as he rode on the bus to school. Maybe then he could have new clothes and not be called "The Rubbish Heap" at school. Maybe he'd actually have a friend.
His eyes stared glassily at the blank white wall as he heard Ophelia's voice whisper in his ear.
'You're awake…why haven't you started your chores yet?' Arson gave no reply. He listened with mute terror to his mother's unsteady breathing. He was suddenly yanked up to his feet by his hair. He tried to stand but couldn't. He fell to his stomach, his legs refusing to hold his weight.
'I can't…I can't…' he croaked. He tried to get up again, his hands clutching onto Ophelia. Ophelia slapped him off and watched with satisfaction as he fell to the ground, crying out in pain. Her eyes suddenly misted over with tears a she looked down at a weak feverish boy. She sat down beside him and wrapped him in her arms.
'I'm sorry…' she sobbed. Arson said nothing. He knew from times of old that she would only resort back to her old self. It would be any second now. He started counting to three. One…two…three… 'I really am sorry. I don't mean to hurt you like this. It just gets out of hand! It wasn't always like this! It wasn't…always…like this…' Ophelia hugged him tighter. Arson looked at her in surprise. Maybe she was back to normal!
'Mum?' Ophelia's eyes clouded over. She pushed him away from her and grabbed a knife.
'I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER!' She screamed wildly and then rushed towards him. Arson did the only thing he could. He screamed shrilly with pure terror. He was silenced automatically as he felt cold steel pierce his stomach. His hands went to his belly and he watched almost as though in fascination as blood welled from the gash. A hot rage started to sweep over him, blotting out his senses. Ophelia's face was drawn with terror as he advanced towards her.