"The fuck?" Zack exclaimed, throwing his fists on the priest's heavy dining table. "Ya want me—me, t' work in yer cafe?"
Gray nodded his head. "I cannot keep helping you without nothing in return… However, I believe this arrangement shall benefit us both." He mused, rising from his seat to clear empty dishes off of his table. Zack began to laugh.
"Ya know I'd probably jus' end up killin' everyone who came to yer cafe, right?!" He roared, "I have other ways of gettin' money, ya know… I don't need to make a fool of myself in some shitty store of yers." Zack aggressively scooted back his chair and stood up, making his way to Gray's couch.
"If you were to work in my cafe, you wouldn't just be rewarded with money, Isaac… No, you would have the right to kill certain… customers." Gray stated. Zack stopped, and turned to face Gray, who was calmly washing dishes in a sink.
Killing… now that piqued Zack's interest. "Eh? What kinda fucked up cafe is that? Why would ya wanna kill the shitheads givin' ya money?"
"Well, not every customer is to be killed, Isaac… The cafe is not just meant to serve customers refreshments…" Gray began, "no, think of it as… bait. Bait—to draw sinners in, sacrifices… whose only purpose is to test the abilities of my… angels." Zank blinked, not really understanding what the priest was getting at. He was disturbed at the slight smile etched onto Gray's mouth.
"Fuckin' creep." Zack muttered. "An' what the fuck do ya mean by 'angels'?"
Gray turned the tap off, leaving the room silent. Slowly, he walked closer to Zack, whose skin began to tingle with alarm.
"My angels—why, you are one of them, Isaac." Gray answered.
"The fuck? Why the fuck d'ya keep callin' me an angel?" Zack asked, his lips curling in disgust. "An' what the fuck do ya wanna test me for?"
"I'd merely like to test the fibres of your being… Your morality and virtue.
"—I have a few others as well…" The priest walked to a bookshelf in his living room, and pulled out a thick album. Setting it on a coffee table in front of the couch in his living room, he began to flip through it's pages. Zack followed him, and sat on the edge of the couch opposite to Gray.
Fuck… What the hell's written on there?
"Ah," Gray put his index finger on a page of the album, and turned it over so Zack could see.
The killer scoffed, and looked at Gray as if to remind him of something. He was beginning to feel impatient and anxious, and Zack's foot began to tap on the floor.
"Oh, I forgot, Isaac…" The priest apologized. "Here, this right here is my first angel… 'Daniel Dickens'." Gray pointed to a picture of a man—presumably Daniel's.
Zack hated his face. Daniel had a sappy grin in the picture, and reminded Zack of a pedophile.
"Danny is a psychiatrist who works in the hospital. He specializes in dealing with people who have suffered trauma, and convicts who have committed obscene crimes" Gray revealed. Zack scoffed.
"'The fuck is a psychiatrist?" The young killer asked. "A fancy word fer 'pedophile'?" Gray laughed.
"No, Isaac. A psychiatrist helps people suffering with mental illness." Zack felt like an idiot… but he still thought the bastard was a pedophile.
"Next is this young woman…" Gray announced, pointing his finger at a woman's picture on the next page of the album. "'Catherine Ward'." Zack didn't like the look of her, either.
Her smile was even more irritating to Zack than the pedophile-doctor's was. Although she was pretty—even Zack had to admit that—she looked… crazy. Ain't nobody normal had such a creepy smile.
"Catherine is a prison guard in the State Prison. She carries a strong sense of… justice." Gray revealed. Once again, the priest opened his mouth to speak, flipping to the next page of the album, but Zack interrupted him.
"Can ya stop wastin' my time showin' me these freaks? I really don't give a rat's ass who they are." He demanded impatiently. "Jus' tell me more about the people I'd get t' cut-up."
Gray smiled sinisterly. "Very well…" he began. "Those who I deem as unworthy, or those who need to be tested in the eyes of God shall be free game for you—as well as the other angels to kill.
—However, if you harm a customer who does not require judgement, or you attempt to attack another angel, you will be revoked of your place as an angel in my cafe… and become a sacrifice for the others."
Zack shuddered. "Sounds fuckin' creepy. I think I'm good with slashin' people on the street." Zack said as he slumped onto Gray's sofa.
"But Isaac…" Gray began, giving Zack another sinister look. "I do believe the police are on to you… but if you were to work for me, then I'd protect you." Zack's cheeks heated up, he had worried earlier about the pigs getting hotter on his trail.
"Believe me, you will have the opportunity to kill a lot, as well. There are a lot of sinners and witches who need to be… judged." Gray got up from the couch, and put the album back into the shelf. "Sleep it over, and give me your answer in the morning…"
He left the living room and disappeared into another room, leaving Zack alone to mull over his options.
The thought of being able to kill without consequence piqued Zack's interest, as well as pocket change and protection from the pigs in blue. Maybe…
Just maybe he'd take the priest up on his offer.
Rachel dragged her feet as she returned to her house. She didn't want to return—she'd rather be dead. Disheartened, she sighed deeply before mentally kicking herself.
To think of death so dearly—it's wrong. I can, no—I must get through this. I must be… strong.
It wasn't long before Rachel made it to her home, and that pit of dread and disappointment began to well up in her heart once again. Quietly, she turned the knob on her front door, but when she pushed on the door, it ceased to open. Feeling a pang of annoyance heat her chest, she dug in her purse for her house key.
She grasped the cool metal and shakily stuck it into the keyhole of the front door. Twisting until she heard the familiar click, she ripped it out and stuffed it back into her bag. Rachel once again turned the doorknob gently, and this time, the door opened.
The living room was dark, save for the weak flash of the television. Her heart and her body froze slightly with fear when she made out a figure slumped on the couch—her father.
The scent of alcohol permeated the air, causing Rachel's stomach to turn. Her father would most likely wake with a hangover the next day, which often meant a few new bruises for her and her mother. OH well, nothing new.
Rachel began to creep up the stairs and into her room. She turned on her light and glanced at the clock—which read 'nine twenty-seven'. She was back just in time to go to bed at a normal time. If she got up at seven the next morning, she'd get a modest nine and a half hour sleep. Perfect.
The young girl walked over to her dresser and pulled out a light blue nightgown. She undressed herself swiftly and hastily pulled her nightgown over her head, then tossing her day clothes into a hamper.
She tip-toed over to her neatly-made bed, and slipped under her covers.
Rachel loved bed-time the most out of any time of the day. After all, it was her time. The darkness was like a heavy shield that protected Rachel, and the comfort of her pillow soothed any pain she felt—like the stinging that she still felt in her cheeks.
While she lay in her bed, Rachel also liked to daydream. She often found herself dreaming of having a perfect family, in which her mother and father loved each other, and Rachel.
She dreamt that she was not a mistake, or a burden… that she wasn't lacking something. Her parents were kind, caring people, and never raised a violent hand to one another—or to Rachel.
Her perfect family would spend their days in the warm, golden sun. Rachel and her mother would spend time lovingly slaving over the perfect dinner to welcome her father back home, and he would scarf down every morsel, and call it, "Delicious!". They would retire to the living room after cleaning up, and sit together on the couch, watching movies together.
Money would not be a problem, either.
Then, came the morning. The rude awakening… where Rachel would realize that her family was not perfect. That her mother and father hated her—and each other, and that they spent their days yelling and hitting each other in their cold house, after someone had used up all the money they had—leaving the bills unpaid, and poor Rachel starving.
She slipped out of her bed, gently pressing the 'stop' button on her alarm clock. Rachel began her routine morning rituals, such as making her bed, washing her face, getting dressed, and packing her schoolbag.
The time read, 'seven thirty-four', and Rachel smiled to herself, and picked the latest book she was reading off of her neatly-lined bookshelf. She had manipulated her mornings so that she would have at least fifteen minutes to read.
She would leave her house at seven fifty, and walk for ten minutes to the bus stop. The bus arrived somewhere between eight 'o clock and eight 'o five, and it'd take fifteen minutes to reach the school. Classes started at eight thirty, leaving Rachel more than enough time to visit her locker and drop off any books she didn't need for her first class.
And the whole time, her (annoying) friend, Edward Mason would accompany her, chattering her ear off.
Rachel set down her book and headed downstairs when she noticed it was seven forty-five, and noticed her father still passed out on the couch. It was sickening. As she was putting on her shoes, there was a knock on her door, loud and insistent. She heard her father groan and curse under his breathe, and her heart froze with fear.
She shot to her feet and yanked open the door, leaving a shocked expression on her friend Edward's face.
"Ah! Good mornin—" The redheaded boy was interrupted by Rachel—who had hastily shushed him. A light blush crept onto his cheeks, and he muttered an apology. Rachel stepped outside with Edward and quietly shut her door.
"Sorry, Eddie…" Rachel murmured. "My father was sleeping on the couch, and I was scared your voice would awaken him."
"Ah—I'm so sorry, Ray!" He exclaimed. "B-but… why was your dad sleeping on the couch in the first place..?" Rachel swallowed a lump in her throat.
"Um," she hesitated, "h-he… just came back from a night shift this morning—like around seven, and he wanted to watch some television before going to bed, and I guess he just kinda fell asleep there." Rachel hated lying, but… she couldn't let Edward now about her parent's true nature, like her father's alcoholism.
Truth is, her father had the day off yesterday, and had likely returned from the stripper's joint around the time Rachel was leaving the house.
But there was no way Edward could know that.
They walked together to the bus stop, Edward chattering about some non-important thing. The bus had come a tad early that day, and they had to run when they saw it approach some fifty metres away.
—It might be worth mentioning that the bus Rachel and Edward toke each morning was the city bus. The two of them lived a bit too far to walk to where the school bus's route was.
Panting, the two scanned their bus passes (issued by the school) and said their routine 'good morning's to the bus driver. Rachel's eyes scanned the bus to look for two seats for her and Edward, when her heart froze.
There, in the back of the bus, was the "Psycho Killer" who Rachel witnessed commit murder last night.
…and if she wasn't mistaken, there was a priestly-looking man talking to him… an ironic juxtaposition. Her heartbeat began to accelerate, and she became deaf to the noise around her.
And then they locked eyes.
"Rachel, what's wrong?" Edward asked, tugging on the sleeve of her jacket. "You're not moving—and we're blocking the aisle."
Rachel's eyes darted to meet Edward's, and she grasped onto his sleeve—causing him to blush.
"C-c'mon, let's sit down." He stammered, gently pulling her behind him. "There's some room in the back—"
"No!" Rachel pleaded, tugging back. "T-there's two seats right here." She motioned to their left, and dragged him to them.
He reluctantly sat down, and started to question his friend's abnormal behaviour.
"Hey, Rachel, what's wrong..?" She bit her lip, nervously glancing towards the back, and then snapping her head back to him.
"I-it's nothing. Nothing's wrong," She tried to assure him with a forced smile. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest—so hard it rattled her ribcage. The heated stare of a certain killer caused Rachel to sweat profusely.
Edward was visibly unconvinced that Rachel was 'fine', but he dropped it, instead gazing out the window.
Rachel wanted nothing more than for the bus ride to end… not that she feared the possibility of the serial killer murdering her, but for the awkwardness and shame she felt for begging so pathetically for him to end her life yesterday night.
It was… unlike her—to beg like that. She just… she had just never felt the need to die more than she did that night. There was no particular reason, either.
Rachel just had the urge, and right before her, was the solution.
Zack swore under his breath.
Right in front of him—was that masochistic, crazy bitch… The last person he had wanted—or expected to see on this shithole. Why did he let her live, again? Right, that boring, dead look in her eyes. It was still there, too, although she did look a tad frightened when she saw him.
"That… little brat!" Zack exclaimed, interrupting Gray, who was blabbing on about something or another.
"…Excuse me, Isaac?" The priest asked, looking at Zack, and then to what—or rather, who he was staring so intensely at. "Do… do you know that young girl?"
Zack choked. "Huh?!" He snapped at the priest seated beside him, feeling his cheeks heat up. "N-Nah, I jus' saw her starin'.. I'm startin' to have a feelin' for killin'."
"Ah, not on public transport, Issac," Gray scolded him, "alright then, let us return to our previous conversation, then."
Whatever the priest was telling Zack fell on deaf ears, as the killer was more interested in the little girl that he had let get away. She looked annoyed at the boy beside her, who was chattering away. Annoying little red-headed shit. The boy reminded him of someone, actually…
Someone right beside him, chattering in his ear.
He took his attention off of the young brat and tuned into what Gray was blabbering about.
"You will be provided a locker in the staffroom, as well as a brand-new uniform." The priest announced. "Daniel Dickens—the head waiter, will be training you today." Zack frowned.
"Ah, yer makin' me deal with people?!" He groaned. "What if I get angry 'n slash 'em to bits?"
"Then I—or another angel will slash you to bits." Gray answered nonchalantly. Zack gulped. He never felt threatened before, but hearing a death threat from the creepy-priest definitely stirred him up a little.
He wasn't even sure Gray could die.
"So, learn to control yourself, Zack. …You seem to be handling this bus trip rather well," Gray commented.
"Well like ya said earlier—I'd get caught if I started killin' these fuckers!" Zack exclaimed with annoyance. "I know how to hold off, y'know."
"Speak more quietly, Isaac, people are beginning to really stare at us…" The priest scolded the rowdy killer squirming in his seat beside him.
"But Isaac," Gray began, "Didn't you just tell me you might accidentally fly off the handle and attack the customers at the cafe?"
OH, the fucker was right, damn him.
Zack groaned. "Whatever, ol' man!" He folded his arms across his chest and looked over to the girl and her friend once again.
They both stood up, and made their way towards the exit. Their stop must be coming up.
The girl slowly turned her head towards the back of the bus—towards Zack—once more. And when they locked eyes, Zack saw her cheeks go pink. However, she did not look away, and Zack did not want to back down and be the first to look away, as that would make him appear submissive.
He didn't know what to do, and was beginning to feel frustrated. Was she taunting him? Zack's blood boiled at that notion.
Perhaps her beggin' fer me to take her life… was just a ploy to make me not wanna kill her..? Like that one bitch…
The bus rolled to a stop, and the doors opened. The girl tore her eyes away from Zack and bolted off of the bus with her redheaded friend.
Zack peered out the window to see her hastily walking towards the entrance of a school, and the view slowly disappeared as the bus drove on.
The killer smiled as a realization popped into his mind.
"Hey, God-Fucker," Zack poked Gray in the shoulder, getting his attention. "What time did ya say I start each day?"
"Around nine, so show up at about eight forty each morning so you can change into your uniform and prepare yourself for your shift." Gray answered.
"How long does it take to get there, again?" Zack asked.
"If you were to walk from my place—where you shall be staying until you can afford an apartment—approximately thirty-five minutes on bus, with a few minute walk to the cafe. You should catch the eight fifty-eight bus each morning to make it on time."
Zack felt like he was going to shit himself with excitement.
He would catch the little brat on the bus each morning…. Now that, will be awkward. Seeing that little shit bask in pride after being spared her life annoyed Zack… But this also gave him the chance to follow her out of the bus, and lead her to an isolated spot in an alley, where he could make her plead for her life, rather thank to take it.
The priest noticed the sinister, blood-thirsty grin on Zack's face, and questioned him as to why.
"OH, it's nothin'…." Zack chuckled, feeling his heart swell with excitement. "I jus' found me a target, an' she'll be a piece 'a cake to kill!" Gray's demeanour darkened with disappointment.
However, the old man did not scold Zack as per usual.
He simply shut his mouth, and leaned back into his seat.