Chapter 6

A deep throaty scream filled William's ears causing him to wince, but he had no idea who was screaming. His own mouth was shut tightly as he waited for his deserved execution, and he knew that this was not Grell's voice. As the screaming began to fade, he suddenly realized that it was coming from inside his own head, and he opened his eyes in confusion. Grell was standing nearby, but she was making no move towards him. Her scythe was still in her grasp, but the blade was still as she looked at him with a rather unreadable expression. William dropped to his knees, amazed that his head was still attached, as he brought his hands up to his neck to feel at the strange object that had been placed there. "A collar?" he asked.

Grell nodded. "Of course," she explained, "That will help you control it."

"It?" he repeated as his head spun wildly. Despite his pounding head, he did feel oddly lighter and more like himself.

She seemed stunned. "Haven't you guessed, darling?" she asked, "You've been possessed."

Possessed. His mind played with the word, toyed with it, as things slowly slid into place. His uncontrollable moods, lapses of memory, and contorted emotions all made sense. "I'm possessed," he repeated, as he shakily stood to his feet. "I thought such a thing was impossible. How did this happen?"

Grell opened her mouth as if to answer, but shut it quickly as her eyes darted to the floor above them. William couldn't hear anything, but there was still a horrible ringing in his ears from the scream. In this moment, he could only trust that Grell and her ears. "Ssshh," she suddenly hushed him, "I'll have to explain later. Come on." She created a portal, and before William could protest, shoved him through rather roughly. She stepped through behind him, and he saw that Rosalind was now sitting on her shoulder. It would have been hard for William to explain, but he was very attached to the pigeon, and he would have hated if anything had happened to her. "We should be safe here," she announced, as she pulled out a small piece of paper and began to scrawl a quick note.

William had landed hard onto the floor; the combination of the rather startling news he was possessed as well as the constant tingling from the demonic restraint collar at his neck left him rather disorientated. Instead of trying to stand, he looked around at his surrounding to find they were in a rather nice, well decorated room. The furniture was all handcrafted and of the highest quality, and he was curious how Grell knew of such a place. While he was still musing on this, he saw Grell out of the corner of his eye, tie the note to Rosalind's leg. The bird almost seemed to smile now that she had been given a task, and quickly flew out of the room and on to her new destination.

"Where are we?" William asked, "Furthermore, what is happening? How could I, a reaper, be possessed?"

"We have time for answers later," she sang, as she started to leave the room, "Why don't I make us some nice tea first? It will calm us down."

"I don't want to calm down," he said as he stood, "and I think you are avoiding the conversation. You said you'll explain things, and I want that explanation. Tell me how I became possessed."

She sighed. "I'm partly to blame," she admitted before stepping back into the room and sitting on a plush red sofa. He sat down on a nearby chair and watched her intently to see if she was being truthful. "Do you remember that demon that attacked you just after my reap?"

"Of course," he replied, "You killed it."

She shook her head quickly. "I killed the body it was inhabiting, or at least what was left of the body. The smoke I saw afterwards was the demon. When I destroyed it's host, it was free to look for a new one."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sutcliff. Demons do not operate in that manner."

"This kind does," she explained, "It's not a demon I've ever heard of, and according to the information I got, it's never even been seen in this country before." Reaching into her back pocket, she removed several sheets of folded paper which she handed to him. "These demons," she continued, "search for prone individuals. They get the person to accept them somehow, and then they slowly eat the soul, memories, and body - all from the inside. They don't have a physical form as far as I know. Once the person dies or is killed they move on to their next target."

He glanced over the paperwork, "They don't even have a name for this type of demon," he mumbled, before laying the papers aside, "So, because I was unconscious, the demon was able to possess me. Is there anyway to remove it now? An exorcism or something similar?"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, darling," answered Grell.

"Why is that?"

She looked down at the rug almost shyly, which scared him slightly since had never seen her appear so uncertain about anything. "While under it's control," she began, "You killed Ronnie."

He slumped slightly in his chair as he nodded. "Unfortunately, I know that to be the truth," he said, "but I don't see how-"

"And the demon ate his soul," Grell interrupted.

He gasped loudly as the weight of this information slammed into him. The demon had eaten Ronald's soul? That would mean he could never be reborn, and it had also caused the demon to fuse to his own soul. "I see," he finally said, but he even could hear the crack in his normally strong voice. He sagged down into his seat. "So, why did you bring me here rather than back to our realm? If you planned to execute me, you should have already done so."

"I'm not taking you back to be executed," she stated.

"Why not? I deserve it after what I've done. Even you said that you hated me."

"I did hate you," she explained, "but that was before I understood." She stood up and looked down at him. "You didn't kill Ronald. The demon did, and you can't blame yourself for what that thing did."

"I let it use me," he replied, "This is my fault, and now that I have control over myself once again, I am prepared to turn myself to face punishment." With those words said, he started to stand, but suddenly felt her hand on his chest as she shoved him back into the chair. He looked up to ask why she would stop him only to find her chainsaw mere inches from his nose.

"I am not going to let this thing win," she growled, "Don't you understand? If you are killed, the demon will just be free to possess someone else. Killing you will not kill this demon, and I'll be damned if I let that thing take away everything I hold dear. I made a promise to destroy it, and that's what I intend to do."

He blinked several times. "What I'm unsure of," he began, "is how you're going to do that. You've said that killing me won't destroy the demon, and that the demon cannot be exorcised. So what is left?"

She moved the chainsaw down slightly, but her expression didn't waver at first. "Pops is looking into it," she explained, "He's the one who told me to hide you for now. Upper Management wants to deny there's a demon like this, so they just want to have you executed quickly to hide the truth, but I'm not going to let that happen. Do you understand? I'm not going to let them take you away and let the demon win."

There was something in her voice and the cold light shimmering in her eyes that told him just how serious she was. "My only concern is that I cannot be trusted. This thing is still inside me after all. What if I do something else? What if the demon takes control?"

For the first time since explaining the situation, she smiled slightly and cocked her head curiously. "But that shouldn't happen, darling," she responded, "Not with that collar. Besides, Pops is looking information on the demon as we speak. Soon, we'll find some way to remove it from your body. Maybe we might even find a way to save Ronald." Sadness tempered her expression, and he was well aware she knew there was no way to save someone who's soul had been taken, but he saw that she was clinging to hope."

"What do we do then?" he asked.

"We wait," she said, "All we have to do is sit here and wait. Pops will figure out what to do and everything will be perfectly fine again. It will be just like it was before."

He nodded, although he didn't even think she believed what she was saying at the moment. "I will wait," he agreed, "but only for a short time. If we can't figure out what to do, I will have to turn myself in. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do, love," she said, as she stood up quickly and swiped at what have might been an invisible tear. "Now, how about I go and make that tea?"

He let this go and listened as she rummaged around in what he assumed was the kitchen, but his fears were far from relieved. He was glad that he wasn't going crazy or had been wholly responsible for actions, but he knew things could never go back to the way they were before.

Real life just didn't work that way.

((x))

Spectacles was at the heart of Dispatch; a almost living central in this realm of the dead. Countless reapers walked through the brightly lit corridors, waiting for their chance to regain their sight, and there was always this hum of activity. Anderson sat in the middle of it all, and he was fully aware that his own talent for custom frames gave him a bit of power and authority. His human life had long since been forgotten, but he somehow knew he had been a quiet, unassuming man. It wasn't in his nature to seek fame or notoriety, yet everyone here knew his name, and this gave him a sort of pseudo power. He wasn't so foolish to think this gave him the freedom to act with impunity or carelessness, but he wasn't blinded that he was given a sort of leeway. There had been a recovery agency beforehand, but he had been the one to organize the system and suggest that those who had to pay off debts and punishments. So far, it had worked out well, and Upper Management had left him alone for the most part.

When the workday ended, so Anderson had left the bright lights and flawlessly white walls of Spectacles for the shadowy realm of his second 'job'. Oddly enough, he felt as if he belonged here even if this position lacked the attention of working on glasses for every active reaper. He was just getting settled with a sudden hush fell over the other patrons of the shadows. Quickly, he looked up and saw a man whom he had never seen before walking towards him. He was a typical man with short, well combed brown hair, an unremarkable dark suit, and simple glasses, but Anderson knew this man was Upper Management. It was just something in the manner he walked and how his eyes scanned the area that gave away his identity. Quickly, the man locked eyes with Anderson, and his stride was purposeful as he walked towards the simple booth. Anderson nerves tightened slightly, but he just wiped away some imaginary dust as if he hadn't even noticed the tall man walking his way. His heart was pounding in his ears to the point he barely heard the man when he simply said, "Lawrence Anderson?"

"Yes?" Anderson replied with false calmness. He raised his eyes to look up at the man and noticed that neither of them was smiling. This man wasn't even trying to pretend this was anything less than official business.

"I have a new agent that will be working for you," the man said, "She is to be assigned to the Spears' case." He stepped aside and motioned to a woman that Anderson hadn't noticed before.

He had only seen her a few times, and the last time had been when young Knox had introduced her as his girlfriend, Emily. Anderson had thought she hadn't looked as flashy as his previous girlfriends, but now there was a radiant anger emanating from her that gave her an ethereal like beauty. Anderson could have asked questions for, as he had understood it, the woman had never worked in the field nor had he heard of any sort of crime she had committed, but he knew that questions were dangerous. "Of course," he agreed, and the tall man nodded and left without another word.

Emily wasted no time. "I need everything you have on Spears," she announced, "and Sutcliff as well."

"I'm afraid I do not have Spears' file," Anderson replied honestly, "I gave it to Agent Sutcliff, who had already taken the case. However, I can tell you that there wasn't much to the file. Mr. Spears had few interests outside of work, and he did not go to the living realm without specific reason." He paused briefly as he allowed her to absorb the information. "Furthermore, I only have files on deserters. Since Agent Sutcliff is not a deserter, I don't have her file." He left out the information about William being possessed as he knew she wouldn't listen, and Upper Management was still in denial.

"You old fool!" Emily hissed, "Sutcliff didn't show up today. You know as well as I do that freak ran off to be with her precious William. Sutcliff is a deserter, and I demand her file!"

Anderson stood his ground. "Until Agent Sutcliff is officially declared a deserter, there is nothing I can do. I can make you a copy of Spears' file, and it will be ready tomorrow, but that is all I can do for now."

She muttered something under her breath that might have been a swear, although Anderson couldn't make out her exact words, and she turned to stomp away. As Anderson watched her leave, he realized how dangerous she had become. While she had never been trained for the field, and he doubted that she had more than a rookie scythe, she was truly grieving the loss of Ronald.

And grief was a powerfully dangerous emotion.

((x))

As Grell made tea, humming as she did so, William took the time to examine their temporary home. He still hated the idea of simply sitting around and waiting, so he tried to hide his annoyance by simply looking around. It was a rather nice home, which he had immediately noticed, which he supposed was a positive since they had to use it as a hiding place, but then he stepped into what he assumed to be some sort of parlor. Like in his own childhood home, the room was dominated by a painting, but this was no portrait of a long dead brother. The subject of the painting was a beautiful woman with crimson red hair. Her low cut gown revealed generous cleavage, and there was secret behind those slightly upturned ruby lips. William almost staggered backwards under the realization that they were in that woman's house; Angelina Dalles, a.k.a Madam Red.

"Tea's ready," Grell called out, "Now, where are you?" She walked into the room and smiled gently. Setting the tea down, she lowered herself in a nearby plush chair. "Why don't you rest, darling?" she asked.

"This is her house, isn't it?" William asked, pointing to the portrait, "Angeline Dalles."

"Her husband's actually," Grell answered, "One of his more modest homes, although it should be fine for our needs."

"Do you not think this is a bit obvious for a hideout, considering...your history?"

She looked up at him steadily for a minute. "It should be fine. This house isn't necessarily attached to Ann, and Pops was the one who suggested it. He knows what information is given out after all. There should even be some time before I'm considered a deserter."

Her answer was logical, which was all he usually demanded, but there was still so many nagging questions in his mind. He sat down heavily. "There is just one thing I need to know," he said.

"What's that?"

He looked at her for several minutes. "Why?" he finally asked, "Why did you do all that? Kill those women and join up with Angelina Dalles? I never understood."

She took a sip of tea. "You may not believe this," she began, "but no one has asked me that before. When I was taken before Upper Management, there were a lot of questions. Mostly it was 'how' I could have broken rules and regulations, but no one asked why." Setting her cup aside, she ran her fingers though her hair and looked at it as if examining for split ends. "It's a bit of a long story, and I'm not sure how you'll feel about it. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, "Tell me."

Expression faded from her face, and he waited patiently for her to begin. "You know how ever so often there's this new thing from Upper Management about some secret or whatever to redemption?" When he nodded, she continued. "A few years ago, it was all about any regrets from our human lives. It was really annoying and useless." She stood up suddenly. "I don't have any regrets from my human life. I was weak and scared, and now I'm not." She paused suddenly to look down at William with an odd smile. "One day," she said, "I was going into your office to give you some papers, when I heard one of those quacks from psychiatric. Now, do don't get mad darling, but I couldn't resist listening. All I could think of was that maybe I could help you with whatever it was you regretted." She sighed loudly. "But you know what I heard you say, don't you Will? You said the thing you regretted most was not having a son. I was willing to give you anything to make you happy, but that was one thing I couldn't give you." She sat down again, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

"I think I remember saying something like that," he said, trying to break some of the tension.

"But then I thought there might be a way," she continued, "I was always very talented at changing my appearance, and I heard there was ancient, forbidden magic that could allow me to change, uh, more about myself. I thought there might be a way I could give you that son you wanted. I started searching, and I finally did find some of the old texts. Slowly, I worked to do that very thing, and I almost made it, until..." Her voice trailed off.

"Until?" he prompted.

"I was discovered," she said, "Just before I could do it, I was caught. I was sent to your office because I had broken some rule, and you gave me overtime." She laughed bitterly. "I could never even tell you why I was in trouble. Then, on my first note of overtime, I saw Ann." She stared up at the painting and smiled. "I was upset and frustrated," she continued, "I felt like I was being punished by you for trying to do something for you, although I know that wasn't the case rationally. While I was dealing with all this, I saw Ann step from the shadows and brutally kill a whore. Afterwards, she gave a soliloquy so sweet, Shakespeare would have wept at its protection. She stood there in that dank, dark alley, covered in that woman's blood, as she talked about how she could never hold the man she loved, her anguish about not being able to have children, and anger towards those who took it for granted. I know I was wrong, but at that time, looking at her was like looking into a mirror. I felt like we were one in the same."

He was surprised to hear her speak so candidly. "So you decided to help her?" he asked.

"Not right away," she answered, "I watched a few more of her murders before I introduced myself. She was more than a bit in shock, but soon we found we could help each other. I could help her kill those women without being detected, and I could work off some anger and aggression. Of course, it didn't last."

Standing up, she stretched out the coat. "As you know, I took this coat from Ann after I killed her, but it wasn't really Ann's coat. I actually saw it first, and I wanted it. However, when I tried it on..." For the first time in front of him, she arranged the coat so it set properly, but he could see it was a bit too tight in the shoulders and the sleeves were noticeably short. "I hated that it didn't fit me right," she continued, "but then Ann tried it and it fit her like a dream. I told myself it was okay because we were like the same person, but it always hurt to see her wearing my coat and how beautiful she looked in it." Slipping the coat back to its original position, she sat back down once again. William couldn't help but notice the nervous energy that kept her jumping up and down, although he choose not to mention it.

"It wasn't until she refused to kill that brat," she finally said, "that the illusion was shattered. I was not Ann and she was not me. We were two totally different individuals who were just using each other. And she was wearing my coat."

A pregnant silence followed. "Do you have any remorse?" he finally asked.

"For killing Ann? Yes, a little. I know it was an impulsive act. She was using me, but I was also using her, and I miss having someone that I could talk to like I did her. She betrayed me, and I know she probably would have died anyway, but I can't help but wish that she hadn't died by my hand." Grell sighed softly before continuing. "But I don't regret killing the other women. They had made the decisions that led to their deaths. If I hadn't helped Ann, then someone else would have killed them. It was their fault really."

He thought she was being rather harsh, and he certainly didn't agree with her, but he admired her honesty. He wished he could say something fitting in this situation, but the words seemed to escape him as he looked about until his eyes settled on a nearby window. "It's getting late," he said, "We should probably rest. It's been a long day."

((x))

Although Grell had slept in this bed many times in the past, she seemed to have trouble falling asleep. She knew she was worried what William thought of her now that she had told him the entire story, but he had asked her directly. Besides, it felt good to finally be able to tell someone the truth. Finally, her mind quietened down enough and she began to drift down under the waves of sleep.

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the house, and she shot out of bed. Even before her bare feet hit the floor, her scythe was in her hand as she rushed towards the source of the sound. Without even pausing, she threw open the door to the room where William had been sleeping, only to see him sitting upright in bed with his face buried in his hands. There was no apparent danger, but she kept her scythe in her left hand as she approached him. "Will?" she asked, reaching out to gently touch him.

He knocked her hand away roughly, and looked up at her with rage filled eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed.

"Tell you what?" she asked, but before he could answer, they were interrupted by a soft tapping at the window.