In the dark night the street glistened as the neon lights bounced off the puddles that still lingered. It had been hours but the holy water had not yet fully dried. The whole area had been deemed off limits until every last drop had evaporated. However this did not stop a few daring idiots who just couldn't help but explore.

Disappointingly, there was nothing to see. The news had made it seem like it was an area of a dramatic attack. One might expect carnage and destruction. But all they got for their trouble was a damp street. Not even a blood stain. The holy water had washed it away.

As the small group of nighttime voyeurs wandered through the dark, bummed and discussing what they should do next, the click clack of heeled oxfords echoed off the silent buildings. They glanced up and down the street curious to see who had defied the warnings and ventured into the area.

They could not see anyone at first. The dark was too thick, however as the echoing footsteps came nearer, growing louder, a shadow appeared under a street light.

The shadow traveled along the wall. Its spindly fingers gave it the impression that it was climbing over the bricks, while its hollow eyes and gaping, toothy maw searched. For what, they did not know. Eventually the owner of the shadow stepped into the street light's golden glow, the unmistakable silhouette of the Radio Demon. It did not take a second glance for any of them to know it was time to leave and any soul remaining in the area quickly slunk away.

Alastor walked slowly in the dark. He didn't know why he had come back. In life he had often returned to the sites of his crimes, the burial mounds or the places where he had delivered the fatal blows. These visitations always gave him a thrill second only to the deeds themselves. He would return time and time again as a way of remembering those blood soaked nights, feeling a closeness to his victims. It would tide him over until the urge became too unbearable and he would go hunting again. XO

This was different though. He returned to the scene of the crime, but there would be no thrill, no sense of satisfaction. He felt like he was looking for something, but what that something may be, he had no clue. Maybe proof. Maybe he needed to see the end result with his own eyes. He needed to witness Isobel's lifeless body, all the warmth drained and cold to the touch.

The truth was that he could not have planned it better himself. Enki had done the job for him. In one thrust of a spear an obstacle had been eliminated, yet his hands remained clean. He could now play the part of a mournful lover without any suspicion. So why was he compelled to come back?

His feet stopped. Before him the spot Isobel had fallen. He could still smell the faint scent of blood, but then again, this was Hell. There was always a faint scent of blood. He stared down at the spot wondering what happened to her body. Did the cannibals come and erase any evidence of her being? And what of her soul? Where was it now? All questions he did not know how to answer. Questions he knew others would ask of him.

He had yet to return to the hotel, but knew they would all know what had transpired by now. They would have seen the news or heard on the street. They would be worried about him, expecting grief or anger or a crushing loss. But he felt none of that. He simply waivered back and forth from being relieved that he did not have to be the one to end her life, and regret that he did not get to be the one to end her life.

Out of the corner of his eye a dull blue light caught his attention. It was no more than a flash. He almost thought it had been his imagination, but the flash came again, and then again. A pale light in the dark gutter. Alastor was intrigued and went to investigate. As he neared he realized that the light was accompanied by a low hum. He stooped and discovered a rectangle of glass and metal, Isobel's phone.

It had escaped her pocket when she fell and the rain washed it into the gutter. However, amazingly, it remained working. It showed alerts of multiple phone calls and text messages. The latest was from Blitz reading, did you make it? There would be no response.

Though the phone remained powered, the fall had left a large crack running diagonally from corner to corner. Alastor ran a thumb along the crack inadvertently closing the notices and bringing the wallpaper image into crisp detail. It was a close up picture of Isobel. She appeared to be laying on her side, the lower part of her face covered by a blanket. Her alarmingly bright eyes peered out while the familiar shape of two deer ears lazily lay just behind her. She must have taken it one night while he slept beside her.

So many times he had been bothered by the dreaded piece of technology. Isobel's attention was constantly pointed at the screen. He had not known that every time it lit up she had chosen to be reminded of such a memory.

Suddenly the screen went black. Not understanding the mechanics to work the mechanism in hand, Alastor slipped it into an inner pocket of his jacket and stood. He made a slow circle surveying the area one last time. His movement stopped abruptly as he saw another electronic glow, this time that of a TV screen.

Vox stood at the end of the street. Hands in pockets, he had spotted Alastor just as he turned the corner and also stopped. They both stared at the other silently wondering why they were there.

Then Vox smiled. It was a somehow knowing smile. He shook his head amused yet disappointed. He pivoted and strolled back the way he came. When he was out of sight, Alastor too turned and walked in the opposite direction.

As he entered the lobby he found it mostly vacant except his old companions. None of Isobel's followers, just the hotel staff, Angel, and Lucifer. They all sat around the bar. It was clear they had been drinking and crying. Except Nifty. She appeared to be drinking in celebration.

The closing of the door caught their attention, specifically Charlie. She had been sobbing head down on the bar while Lucifer rubbed her back comfortingly and Vaggie held her hand.

Charlie of course blamed herself. And after all, if she could not protect one soul from a violent end, how could she expect to save any of them through redemption. Her head shot up and the second she caught sight of him, she began sobbing anew.

Alastor wanted to roll his eyes at the display in front of him. These same people who had not one day prior complained about Isobel's change in character and the trail of ruin she was on, now weeped. If that was sincere emotion he was glad to have no business in it.

Charlie sprang to her feet and practically galloped to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and crying into his chest. All of his muscles tensed and seized at her touch.

"Oh, Alastor, we were so worried about you," she wailed. "Are you alright? Well, of course you're not alright. But where have you been?"

He mustered up enough patience to pat her on the top of the head, before gently pushing her to arms length.

"Thank you, my deer, for your concern. I assure you, I am quite alright." He moved past her toward the bar.

"What do you mean you're alright?" Angel said, drunk and outraged. "How can you say that after what happened?"

"Were you there? Did you see it happen?" Vaggie asked as Alastor sat next to her on a barstool. He nodded and tapped the bar top. Husker knew what that meant and busied himself making Alastor's usual.

"You see?" Charlie was at his side again. She clung to one arm. She certainly got handsy when she was drunk. "He's probably traumatized. What he needs now is all of our support."

"What I need now is silence," he said sternly as he snatched the glass that Husker was now offering. Vaggie took the hint. Alastor was in no mood for any of them, and Charlie was not one to let up once she was on a roll.

"Come on," Vaggie took Charlie's hand and began pulling her toward the stairs. "It's been a shit day. Let's just go to bed. Come on, Angel, you too."

With an angry sniff and swiping the tears from his eyes, Angel followed.

"You need anything else?" Husker asked quietly. Alastor shook his head, giving Husk permission to leave him to his brooding silence. However, after a few swallows he realized that he was not alone. Lucifer remained.

The short fop sat quietly, hat placed beside him and glass held in his small hands.

They were silent for a long while, before Alastor couldn't take any more.

"Do you also have something to say?"

Lucifer shook his head, "just finishing my drink."

"How very unlike you, to keep your mouth shut."

Lucifer sighed. It was obvious Alastor was looking for a fight. But he was not going to rise to the occasion, not today.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I had expected a lecture, an accusation. Anything to hear the sound of your own voice."

He still refused to take the bait.

"Yeah, well, like Vaggie said, it's been a shit day." Lucifer took another swallow before continuing. "I will say this, though. I liked Isobel. I think she deserved better."

Alastor paused, his glass hovering just in front of his mouth.

"I bet you would have liked to give her better," he said, followed by a bitter gulp.

That was enough. With one last mouth full, Lucifer drained his glass and placed it down before hopping from the stool. He grabbed his hat and as he turned away he hesitated and said, "I don't blame you, Alastor, you can't help that you're a dick… and a coward."

Alastor's blood boiled with sudden rage. He turned to throw an insult back, but Lucifer was gone. He thumped his glass down too hard and it broke in his hand. The shards sliced his palm and he looked at the cut numbly as the blood started the flow. It was at that moment that he realized that his other hand had been gripping the bar top leaving scratches in the wood.

With an angry shove, he pushed himself away from the bar, rising to his feet, and headed toward the stairs leaving a trail of blood droplets for Nifty to clean in the morning.

He was half way to Isobel's room before he stopped himself. He was a creature of routine and his feet had been following what they knew, but he had to remind himself that was over now. No reason to be sad or regretful. Whether by Enki's hand or his own, it would have all been over that night anyway.

He corrected his path toward his own room where his swamp and radio awaited him. He had made it all the way to his door before feeling another presence in the hall. Out of the shadows Kali appeared angry, red, and swollen. She had been crying for hours, pulling at her hair and clawing at her skin.

"You did this," she said, trembling. He gave her a shrewd side eye.

"As much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I assure you, I do not control angels."

"But you didn't do anything to stop it."

"Neither did you."

"I tried but you held me back."

"Because it was folly."

"She said you were her protector. She said she would have been dead or worse if it wasn't for you, but you just stood by and did nothing. You betrayed her."

A dark tentacle crept out of the dark. It latched itself around Kali's neck and lifted her off the ground. She choked and sputtered as her breath failed. Alastor still refrained from looking directly at her.

"You are lucky," he said. "It has been a very long day and I am especially tired. And though tearing the tongue from your mouth would undoubtedly put me in a better mood, I can't be bothered." He opened his door, pale blue light fell upon him. "You will leave this place immediately. And if I see you again, you will share the same fate as your friend Vincent."

The tentacle released, dumping her on the floor in a heap as the door closed behind Alastor, leaving Kali in the dark.