Title Song: "The Game is Over" by Frank Sinatra

Another song used in this chapter: "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" (recommend the Louis Armstrong version)


The five minutes of vengeful torture were just what the Radio Demon needed to get back into the game. While he was out, he paid a visit to each of the establishments under his territory. He was lenient with those who had understandably thought he was erased. Those who had been foolish enough to make deals with other Overlords, not so much.

His icebox would be full for a month.

He was so caught up in the thrill of it all that he hadn't realized how late it had gotten until Pentagram City's clock tower struck eight. The thought of Tina waiting at home, wondering where he'd gone quelled the bloodthirst within him. He teleported home immediately.

Alastor wasn't sure how Tina would react to his latest escapade. He hadn't broken any promises, but he also hadn't asked if she wanted revenge against Camille and Carrie. He considered showing his wife their severed body parts and bloody feathers, but reminded himself that she wasn't a fan of the macabre. At least his form of it. Just one major difference between them he'd grown to accept.

Alastor raised his hand to knock at Tina's door, but then paused. Soft music emitted from the room. She must've turned the radio on. But what startled him was the low, strained voice singing along with it.

"N-Nobody knows…the trouble I've s-seen…"

Tina. She was singing again. Not very strongly, as she was way out of practice. But singing, all the same. Not wanting to interrupt this miraculous moment, he pressed his ear to the door and listened.

"S-Sometimes I'm up.
S-Sometimes I'm down.
Oh, y-yes, Lord…"

There was something familiar about the way she sang now. The sadness, the broken lilt. And that song. This wasn't her first time singing a sad song, but when had she…?

Then it hit him. Tina had mentioned it before, but he hadn't remembered. Until now.


Hell, 1998

It was just another monotonous day in Pentagram City. The Radio Demon would walk through the streets, his heels clicking on the sidewalk, his internal radio playing upbeat jazz that he would hum along to. And all the demons he passed would scatter like mice from a hungry cat.

Alastor supposed the only reason he did these casual walks was in hopes that he'd find some new entertainment. But every day was the same. Ever since his daily massacres started becoming repetitive.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so boring if he had a companion to converse with. Mimzy would be busy at this hour, but he could stop by Rosie's and have a chat.

He was about to turn his heel towards Cannibal Colony when his ear flicked at a faint sound. A voice, barely above a whisper that only an ear as sharp as his could catch it.

"Nobody knows…"

He shut off his jazz music to hear better.

"Nobody knows but…Jesus."

He knew this song. His ancestors used to sing it on the plantations. His mother would sing it from time to time. It was a song of sorrow and suffering, requesting the Lord for deliverance. Who in their right mind would sing such a song in Hell? Didn't they know the Lord couldn't hear them down here? Were they asking for a stoning?

Finally, something that peaked Alastor's interest. What could be more entertaining than a poor, pathetic, fallen soul grasping onto what little faith they had left in the God that had damned them?

He followed the singing.

"Sometimes I'm up.
Sometimes I'm down.
Oh, yes, Lord."

He came to a rustic, rundown fountain in the middle of a cobblestone square. That old thing hadn't flowed with water for as long as he could remember. Nevertheless, it was a popular place for beggars and street performers. They were the only kind of demons that didn't run from the Radio Demon on sight. To them, the need to make a profit overpowered their survival instinct.

A few of them were playing music. All different songs. But that one voice came from a hunched figure sitting against the fountain.

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen.
Nobody knows but Jesus."

It was a woman. Though one could hardly tell with the amount of raggedy, moth-eaten blankets she'd wrapped herself in, the tips of batlike wings poking through. Her face was hidden under one blanket she'd made into an oversized kerchief. Her eyes were downcast, so he could not see them.

Lying in front of her was a worn, wide-brimmed hat, which held only a few coins. No wonder, with how quietly she was singing. And her poor choice of song.

Realizing she was female was the only thing holding the Radio Demon back from heckling her. His mother would scold him for kicking a lady while she was down. He stopped about five feet from her, and listened.

There was something charming about her voice. It wasn't powerful, nor impressive. But the raw emotion behind it drew him in. And when he saw a tear fall from the bundle of blankets, for some odd reason, Alastor felt like shedding a tear himself.

He wouldn't, however. Not in public.

His mother used to sing like that. Softly, sweetly, while trying, but failing, to hide the pain inside. The intention had been to comfort. While it had often worked on him, it hadn't always worked on herself.

"Oh, every day to you, I pray.
Oh, yes, Lord.
For you to drive my sins away.
Oh, yes. Lord."

He couldn't help it. The musical accompaniment started all on its own. If the singer noticed, she gave no indication.

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen.
Glory, Ha…le…lu…"

She stopped. The sweet song turned into a series of sobs. More tears plopped onto the cobblestone. The urge to reach a hand out and offer her a deal, maybe some comfort, was overpowering.

But the Radio Demon shook his head. He already had one woman under his care. And it was a miracle that Niffty, hopeless romantic that she was, held no interest in him whatsoever. If this singer was like most women down here, he couldn't risk it.

On the other hand, he couldn't simply leave a distressed woman alone without offering some sort of assistance. Perhaps he could refer her to Mimzy. She was always looking for new performers. Or, better yet, he could drop a hint to Mimzy to scope this part of town.

For now, Alastor snapped his fingers. A fifty-soul bill materialized in the singer's hat. Before she could lift her eyes, see him, or thank him, he spun on his heel and walked away.


Alastor stepped back from the door to his wife's room.

That night at Mimzy's hadn't been their first meeting. No. Tina had been right there in the streets. And Alastor hadn't given her a second glance.

"You fool," he murmured, dragging his hand down his face.

He should've talked to her that day. He should've taken her in as he had Niffty, offered her a soul deal while she was still newly dead and desperate. Then Tina never would've been able to leave him, and all this emotional turmoil could've been prevented.

Then Alastor checked himself. No, it wouldn't have prevented this. Somehow, he still would've fallen for her. But if he'd bound her to him in any way other than marriage, she would've resented him for it. Tina wasn't a being to be owned. Not a pet, nor a possession, nor an idol to worship. She was a person with her own will and emotions. No matter how much power he wielded, he could not force her to stay.

But oh, how he wished to.

"You're home!"

Alastor squeaked like a record as he jumped and spun around. He relaxed at the sight of Niffty.

"Yes. Yes, I'm home."

Niffty peered at the door behind him. "You going in to see Mrs. Tina? She's been asking about you."

His smile perked. "She spoke to you?"

"Well, no." Niffty looked down at her foot as it made circles in the floor. "I mean she wrote about you on her whiteboard."

She met his gaze again. "She's really worried about you."

"Me?" Alastor scoffed. "If there's anyone people here need to be worried about, it's her. After the terrible ordeal she's gone through."

"That's true, but…she says you haven't been sleeping. That you've stayed up all night at her bedside, watching her."

He blinked. "She…she noticed that?"

"Yeah. And that you've been forgetting things. Like wearing your monocle, buttoning your shirt all the way, and oh, she's right!" Niffty tugged on his arm and buttoned his cufflink. "How can you forget things like this? Don't you just magic on your outfits every morning?"

Alastor grunted as he wrenched his arm away. "I can take care of that myself, thank—"

"And then she said she wrote you a letter, and all you did in response was kiss her on the forehead and run off to do who knows what! Which, knowing you, could've been a genocidal rampage which is all well and good, but not appropriate when there is a lady in distress! Unless the distress is that she is being held captive by a massive army of your greatest enemies, in which a genocidal rampage is necessary."

"Well, it was a rampage, of sorts, but I wouldn't call it geno—"

"Don't change the subject!" Niffty raised a finger, her other hand going to her hip. "The bottom line is that your wife needs you more than ever right now, and this behavior is unbecoming of not only a gentleman, but a loving, devoted husband! Now get in there," she said, pointing, "and apologize for taking off with little explanation!"

Alastor glanced back at the door. "Has she eaten yet?"

Niffty shook her head.

"Tell her I'll be joining her for dinner. Then you can head home."

She smiled. "Okay. I'm satisfied with this romantic gesture. You're in the clear. For now."

As Niffty went into Tina's room, Alastor teleported into the kitchen to cook two pots of gumbo. In one, instead of pork sausage, he chopped up Camille's tail. The rest of the limbs he'd save for later, though he would preserve one arm in a jar. For this mutilation, he wanted a trophy.

Once both pots were done, Alastor prepared two trays. On the one that held the bowl of pork gumbo, he summoned a thin glass vase with a single lily. He carried that tray while Chesterfield carried his master's.

But when they came into Tina's room, she was passed out in her bed, a book lying open on her stomach. Disappointed, Alastor poofed the trays away as he approached the bed. Carefully, he lifted the book from her. It was The Scarlet Pimpernel.

He chuckled. She must've read it a dozen times since the incident. He knew it was one of her favorites, but why was she so fixated on it in this distressing time?

Tina had told him that the reason she loved this book was that despite the title, the main character was actually a woman. Specifically, an actress turned noblewoman who, to save her brother from the guillotine, was tasked with finding the identity of the notorious outlaw, the Scarlet Pimpernel, who was smuggling nobles out of France. Little did she know that the man she was about to condemn was her own husband, with whom she'd recently had a falling out, despite the two of them still loving each other.

"Oh."

Now Alastor realized the obsession.

Sighing, he pulled the blankets out from under Tina so he could cover her. Then he watched her for a while. Aside from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, she lay still. No signs of night terrors yet, though her brow was furrowed. Perhaps she really was worried, as Niffty had claimed.

"To think," he whispered, gently running his fingers through her hair, "that you'd be worried about someone like me."

Her face relaxed at his touch, which softened his smile. How could such a strong woman look so delicate? Once again, he battled the urge to climb in next to her and hold her close. For now, he settled with a chaste kiss atop her head.

"I miss you, darling." His hand moved to caress her cheek. "I miss your laugh. I miss your songs. I miss your curses." He chuckled. "Even if the first thing you did was yell at me for being a silly, old fool who doesn't know when to give up, I wish more than anything to hear your sweet voice again. Not just from a distance, not just on a record. I want to hear the words directly from your mouth, meant for my ears alone. You don't have to say you love me. You can leave me if you want. Just please, get better."

Tina moaned and wriggled beneath his hand. He had to leave before he overstepped his bounds.

With much reluctance, Alastor teleported back into the kitchen, where he'd sent the two trays. He poured the bowl of sausage gumbo back into its original pot. He could always reheat it later. Then he sat down to test how gumbo tasted with chameleon meat.

While it was tasty, consuming the meat of the man who'd permanently scarred his wife wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd thought it would be. Maybe it was because the bastard was still existing. But he was sure whatever torture the Vs were subjecting him to was worse than what the Radio Demon could ever come up with.

Then he looked across the table and realized the problem. He was eating alone.

Why? Tina was home. She could walk. Why was he still having her eat in bed, and taking his meals alone? It wasn't her fault she'd fallen asleep, but why had he only thought of joining her now? He could've eaten with her weeks ago. Even if just to have another body in the room.

Perhaps he was afraid. That it wouldn't be as it used to be. Alastor making conversation, Tina combatting him with witty retorts. Back when the two of them were still civil. Even if she'd been awake when he'd come in with those trays, it would've been the same strained silence.

Having lost his appetite, Alastor put down his spoon, rose from his seat, gathered all the leftovers, and placed them in the icebox.

In desperate need of a distraction, he teleported to his radio tower and made a quick broadcast. His first one in months, to dispel any rumors that might still exist of his second death. There wasn't much energy put into it. Just enough to send the message that Hell shouldn't get too comfortable in his temporary absence. Then he played a few songs with half-hearted intros. It wasn't until the twelfth song that he realized a theme in his selections.

They were all about love. Or rather, lost love.

When he couldn't keep up the cool, unbothered façade anymore, he signed off and magically set his equipment to continue playing the set on loop. After a quick check on Tina, who was still asleep, he teleported to the music room.

During her recovery, he'd been retreating here the most often. Letting music overwhelm him in place of sleep. Nothing else succeeded.

Alastor started on the violin, then the saxophone. The Furby organ, he left alone. That screeching contraption was useful for torture, but it might wake Tina.

When he sat at the piano, a heaviness fell over his heart. Unwittingly, he hadn't placed himself in the middle of the bench as most solo pianists should. He'd taken the left-handed side, leaving space on his right for another. He stroked the bare, black vinyl, which was so cold after being without a rear to keep it warm.

Shaking it off, he started playing. Like the songs he'd selected for his broadcast, the melody was slow and sad.

When another shared the bench with him, the music tended to be lively and playful. Oh, the fun little duets and musical battles that would ensue. And for a few minutes, the Radio Demon wouldn't feel so lonely and out of touch with reality, but like he had everything he could ever want.

Those moments when she'd smile at him. When her fingers would brush against his. When her hips would press to his. And her voice, in perfect harmony with his.

It took him a while to recognize the tune he was subconsciously playing. Not a song from his time, but one he'd learned from Tina's Frank Sinatra record. One of the few post-Depression artists he tolerated.

"Days I think of you." Alastor's voice was soft as he tried to recall the words. "And remember the lies we told in the night."

He closed his eyes, imagining how he used to hold Tina in bed.

"The love we knew.
The things we shared."

How excited she'd get introducing him to a new song.

"When our hearts were beating…together."

The rapid flutter of her heartbeat, keeping in time with his. How he loved the notion that he could make her heart beat so fast. When he'd take her hand, he would brush his thumb over her wrist to check the speed of her pulse.

"Days that were so few.
Full of love and you."

The inviting softness of her lips. The only lips he would ever desire and accept.

"Gone, the days are gone now.
Days that seem so wrong now."

He opened his eyes, glancing at the empty spot on the bench.

"Life won't be the same without you
To hold again in my arms
To ease the pain…"

He shut his eyes tight, fighting the pressure behind them.

"…and remember
When our love was a reason for living."

The smiles that never had to be faked. From either party.

"Days that were so few.
Full of love and you.
The game is…over."

At that last word, Alastor's voice broke. As did the floodgates. With a clang, his elbows dropped onto the keyboard as he sobbed into his hands. Tears trickled onto the ivories.

Alastor had underestimated the effect love could have on a soul. People had told him all his life and afterlife that it was the most wonderful feeling in the world, but hadn't prepared him for all the pain it caused. Love was hard. No matter how much you worked at it, no matter how much you gave, it never made the burden easier.

Things could never go back to how they used to be. Alastor understood that now. He and Tina weren't the same people they were then. Even if by some miracle, Tina forgave him for everything, they were way past the blissful stage of new love. Alastor would always love his wife, but if this was how things were going to be from now on, he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

Consumed by these thoughts, he didn't hear the footsteps behind him. Then the sudden touch of two soft, long things caused him to straighten up.

They were arms. Not just any arms. Hers. Wrapped around his middle.

Then a forehead rested between his shoulder blades. Her forehead.

Then a voice spoke. Her voice.

"I-I'm…s-sorry."

It was quiet. It was rough. But the sound of it melted his tears of sorrow into tears of joy.

"P-Please." Tina nuzzled her face into his back. "F-Forgive me."

Alastor swung his legs over the bench, took her face in his hands, and leaned in with his lips puckered. Then he paused. He didn't want to misread the situation again.

Just as he was about to ask, she touched his cheek and whispered, "Yes."

That was all the permission he needed to close the distance between them. He tasted chamomile tea, which Niffty must've served her earlier, and the saltiness of tears. Hers as well as his own.

Hungry for more, he pulled Tina onto his lap, his arms locking her in a tight embrace. He peppered her face with kisses. Oh, how he'd missed the fur that would tickle his tongue. Her hand found its way into his hair, and he allowed her to pet his ears. His tail thumped wildly against the piano bench.

Over two months without touching her like this. It had felt longer than their ten-year separation. Perhaps that was why he wasn't shy with the placement of his hands. One pushed the skirt of her nightgown up to caress her thigh, while the other slid under her strap to squeeze her shoulder. He wanted to feel every inch of her, to have her as close as possible, to verify that she was indeed here and willing.

The Radio Demon wasn't thinking about the deal with Lucifer. He wasn't thinking about children. He wasn't thinking about the people who had called him broken and unmanly. Tonight, he was only thinking about his love. And how he wanted to take her to bed and give her all he had to offer. All that she desired.

As the hand on her thigh tugged at the band of her panties, Tina lurched backward. Her hand flew to cover his. Alastor's ears drooped, and his smile vanished.

"What's wrong?"

Had he messed up again? Had she not forgiven him for the last time they were passionately entangled like this? Was she still shaken up over what the Vs had done to her?

Then Tina gently pried his hand from her thigh, and shook her head. "Not…n-now."

He sighed. Of course, this wasn't the appropriate time. She had only just gotten her voice back. Yet she made no attempt to leave his grasp.

"What would you like for me to do then?" he asked.

She leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. "S-Stay."

That was inevitable. Nothing could persuade him to abandon her now. There was much for them to discuss.

Tomorrow.

"Is it alright," Alastor said, brushing a stray hair from her face, "for me to continue kissing you?"

His heart raced at the tiny smile that graced her lips. "Yes."

Who was he to deny such a simple, beautiful request?