Attention! The chapter contains descriptions of the killing of animals. No details, but still. I'm not exactly thrilled myself, but it seemed to me necessary in order to show the development of the Dark Need in Chloe. After all, she is a sociopathic maniac, and would hardly be embarrassed to talk about such things.
"You never said whether you agreed to start first," Chloe broke the silence after the third sip of coffee.
"Well, considering it was mostly my initiative in our acquaintance, that seems right," Lucifer nodded slowly. "What are you interested in?"
"You call yourself the Devil… and that seems a bit odd. I mean, you're way older than that concept. Your image, one way or another, is in almost every religion. Why Christianity?"
"It's simple," the interlocutor shrugged his shoulders. "When I am among people, I use the image that is most popular in your culture at the moment to refer to myself. All the same, each of them is wrong in one way or another," something flashed on his face that the woman identified as sadness, and he hurried to hide it with a sip of his alcocoffee.
"That makes sense," the woman thought after a moment. "And how are things in reality?"
"In reality, I have never forced or manipulated anyone into committing atrocities. I hate it when people blame me for their own rotten nature, and even more so when they commit atrocities in my name! I don't even like it when innocent suffer!" Satan was outraged. Then his lips curled into a sharp smirk that reminded Chloe of her own when she was thinking about another murder when no one could see her. "On the other hand, the perpetrators are a completely different matter. I always feel satisfaction when giving someone what they deserve. That's what I am - Punisher of sinful souls. Basically - after their death, in Hell."
"So Hell is a real place," she stated more than asked.
"Yes," Lucifer confirmed anyway. And added. "But this place doesn't even come close to any human description. I don't want to dwell on it just yet... but I'll still say that it wasn't much better for me to be there than it was for sinners. Governing there was primarily a father's punishment for me. I certainly wouldn't call Hell a home. Demons are the only ones truly fit to thrive there."
"Hmm…" Chloe thought as she drank from her cup. "'It was a punishment'… that is, in the past tense?"
"Right," the man nodded slightly. "Five years ago, I realized that I would never wait for an amnesty from the Father — and left the throne of the Underworld. And I'm not going to come back voluntarily. Old horseradish can suck!" he growled, looking at the ceiling for some reason. Then he suddenly smiled. "The best decision in my life."
"But you seemed to say that you feel satisfaction in punishing the guilty…" she caught the inconsistency.
"And I did it for so long that I began to feel like I was losing myself," the interlocutor pursed his lips. "It's like everything except the Punisher just… disappears in me. And I don't want to be just this… a monster that hurts, even if it's deserved." He took a huge sip of his drink.
"You know... I understand you," the woman drawled, after which smirk slightly. "And it's a little funny that you chose the word 'monster' to describe yourself, because that's what I call myself in my thoughts."
"Really?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows.
"Oh yeah!" she spread her hands. "Even being a human being biologically, mentally, I barely resemble those around me. Most of their interactions don't make any sense to me. I am almost literally a wolf in sheep's clothing. And since you're punishing for sins... do you think I don't deserve it? I heard rumors that cold-blooded murder is a very serious sin."
"This is an interesting question, Huntress, and for me too," the Devil rubbed his bristly chin. "You see, your reaction to 'hellfire' is very atypical. And I can assure you that this is not about sociopathy... or not only about it. Perhaps your brain is physically limited emotionally, but not your soul - namely, it is my ability that affects it. I've met a lot of sociopaths with similar tendencies - and they all sobbed and wet their pants with fear when they saw in my eyes what awaits them in Hell," he tilted his head slightly to one side. "On the other hand, you may not really feel guilty about anything if your reasons for killing were good enough. It is guilt, the understanding of the damage caused to others, that leads human souls to the worst part of the afterlife. A conscience is something that all of you have... but you can also choose not to follow it. Someone specifically suppresses it for the sake of survival and success, someone like you cannot hear it for various reasons... but after the end of earthly life, there is no room for any excuses - and you become your own strictest judges. 'Hellfire' has a similar effect."
"So you think I'm sinless?" Chloe's voice filled with disbelief. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Considering that Mazikeen called you when I dragged Travis to a secluded place, and you burst into the room right after his sudden death, I'm pretty sure you overheard our "nice" conversation?" Satan chuckled briefly and nodded slightly in confirmation. "Then I'll state the obvious: I'm a serial killer," her face tightened after these words, and a few moments later she closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the back of the sofa and let out a long, almost orgasmic moan. Returning to her original position, the woman admired. "Damn it, it's nice to say that out loud! Wow!" She shook her head, trying to recover from the pleasant stupor. "All in all, I'm admittedly the worst type of person... with the possible exception of mass murderers."
"However, your choice of victims is highly unusual," Lucifer countered. "Particularly noteworthy is the search for evidence of guilt. At the first meeting, I saw in you a national avenger... and only later I realized that you are from a completely different breed. Why are you acting this way?"
"Let's put it this way: if Will Graham were profiling me, for the first time in his career, he would have to say "this is not my design," the woman chuckled briefly from the corner of her mouth.
"Fan of the show 'Hannibal'?" the interlocutor returned the smirk.
"He's not bad… although the main character, in my professional opinion, is too gifted and lucky. In real life, no one could act so brazenly, remain under suspicion for so long, and then survive with so many powerful and determined enemies. And cannibalism…" she grimaced slightly, "disgusting even by my standards."
"Fair assessment," the man agreed. "So, if I understand correctly… did someone teach you how to put on the table criminals?" he teased with a slight smile. Chloe snorted.
"Not just criminals — murderers. And strictly defined killers," she clarified. "But I prefer chronological narration… so I'd better tell you everything in order," lowering her eyelids briefly and collecting her thoughts, she asked a question. "Have you heard of Penelope Dekker? An actress?"
"Heard?" the Devil was amazed. "Yes, I love her works! I mean, the films themselves are stupid... but her presence in the frame made this stupidity cute, not annoying!" His enthusiasm suddenly dried up. "It was such a colossal loss for the cinema when her life was so unceremoniously interrupted… But why are you…?" Comprehension showed on his face. "Dekker. Well, of course. Penelope had a daughter... and that's you, isn't it?"
"In the flesh," the woman confirmed, spreading her arms theatrically. "It's common knowledge that she was stabbed to death by Kirk Lindsey, a crazy fan. But some things were not made public. When it happened… I was there." Any trace of emotion drained from her face. "I was playing in my room when heard the noise. I went out into the living room - and saw my mother lying on the floor with her throat cut. She was still alive, hoarse and tried to clamp the wound, but the blood flowed between her fingers. I didn't understand what was happening - I was too small. Only felt that something terrible was about to happen, rushed to her... but could not do anything - only cry from inexplicable fear. I saw the moment of her death - when she stopped squeezing her throat, went limp, and her eyes glazed over. The father, who returned home four hours later, found his wife's body, as well as his daughter, sobbing in a pool of blood. So much blood... around... and on my hands, with which I tried to stir her up…" Chloe shook her head, breaking out of the trap of memory, and, having finished the rest of her coffee, she explained. "Absorbs every time I remember."
"Oh…" Satan, to her surprise, looked extremely uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I made you go through this again…"
"Don't," she waved her hand, as if chasing away an annoying fly. "I'm okay... well, my 'okay'. Sharing this is even… nice, I guess." Hesitation could be heard in her voice. Then Chloe got up to continue the story. "In general, I was three and a half years old when it happened. I didn't have the ability to deal with that kind of trauma — and blocked my memories of that day. But the consequences were not limited to memory loss - I almost completely lost the ability to feel emotions. I think this is due to the desire to move away from the transferred horror. Dad, John Dekker, did not immediately understand what was happening to me: he thought I was just in shock, and he was very busy looking for the killer, because he served in the police. He, by the way, was not particularly hiding - Kirk had been stalking mom for some time. My father was worried about him, and my mother only chuckled, stating that this was a minor side effect of fame. I think later he blamed himself for what happened... but I think that the mother was ruined by an excessive thirst for someone else's attention. As a result, when dad found the freak, he didn't even unlock it: he shouted, they say, now Penelope Dekker belongs to him, brandishing, as it turned out later, the same penknife with which he killed her... well, dad made him ventilate his lungs with three bullets from service pistol. No one began to accuse him, although there was something - he was nevertheless removed from the case due to a conflict of interest... but the culprit turned out to be absolutely obvious, and public opinion considered my father a hero," the woman chuckled. "I wonder what they would call him if they knew..."
"If they knew what?" the interlocutor was worried.
"As I said - first things first" she jokingly shook her finger. "Soon my father realized that the damage from what happened to me was much greater than it seemed at first. He'd dealt with enough sociopaths in his job in Homicide to recognize one in his own daughter. Decided not to turn to specialists - there is no effective treatment for dissocial disorder even now, and thirty years ago there was none even more so. In addition, my mother's popularity could turn into an even greater 'headache' for us if my condition somehow became known. Instead, he began to teach me how to disguise - he helped to sew a 'human suit' so to speak," Chloe let out a dry laugh, once again referring to 'Hannibal'. The Devil chuckled as he finished his cocktail. "There was a small chance that one day my pretense would cease to be such - and dad really hoped that it would happen. Maybe this hope was justified a little over the years - after all, the emptiness inside me became somewhat less bottomless... However, you know, it turned out over time - I have a problem worse than simple sociopathy," the woman blinked slowly. "When I was eleven, the neighbor's dog suddenly went berserk, barking all night long. His owner had some kind of night job - so there was no one to calm the noisy creature. I went through two nights with almost no sleep. When the dog didn't shut up on the third, I got up, went out into the yard, put heavier stones in my pockets, climbed over the fence and started throwing them at the dog. The moon was almost full, so visibility was good. Somewhere on the fifth hit, the dog stopped whining, fell down and did not move anymore - I think I cracked his skull. And when it dawned on me what had happened… something in me shifted and seemed to fall into place. Calmness and satisfaction wrapped me up like a warm blanket," a slight smile played on her lips. "At that moment, I thought it was because of the silence. A few minutes later, I thought: I shouldn't leave it like this - they might think of me. As far as I knew, it was not normal to kill animals, and my dad taught me to pretend to be normal... therefore, I need to get out of sight that puts me in the wrong light. So, I stole a garbage bag from the house, somehow stuffed a dog corpse into it, dragged it to a wasteland nearby, threw a hole in a hole of sufficient size and sprinkled it a little with earth so that it would not catch my eye. It seemed like a good idea at the time... but what about an eleven year old?" She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Then I went back to bed and had a wonderful night's sleep in just four hours before I got up before school."
"But it wasn't just one dog, was it?" Lucifer suggested.
"No-o," Chloe drawled. "It quickly dawned on me that the relief experienced that night, firstly, was not connected with silence, but with the killing of the dog, and, secondly, it was temporary. As a result, the wasteland was replenished with three more bags of dead dogs - now stray... and then it dawned on me that the sensations were not quite... correct. I score stones a cat - I didn't feel any difference. Then it occurred to me that it was not the subject, but the method. I stole a penknife from my father, stunned the cat that turned up with a stone and stabbed him... that felt much more correct. The sight of blood dripping from the knife, as well as flowing from the cuts and pooling in a puddle on the ground… was mesmerizing. But then…" she sighed, "I began to dream of blood and of my mother trying in vain to hold the wound on her throat. And later I realized that these are not just dreams. I again felt helpless, as on that fateful day ... and realized that only the murder of a person would give complete saturation. I knew it was wrong and that my dad wouldn't like it at all, even if I didn't feel it myself. Some part of me wanted to keep everything a secret... However, when my father asked me about the missing knife, I posted everything. He was really upset... but, after listening completely, he hugged me and assured me that everything would be fine and he would figure something out."
"And he kept his word, didn't he?" it dawned on the Devil. "Did your father teach you?"
"Exactly. Dad knew that, combined with sociopathy (and therefore lack of conscience), I simply could not suppress these urges... but he got the idea to try to channel them," then a note of solemnity crept into the woman's voice. "And so the Code was born."