Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I got the feeling the ones shedding tears were performing, as if to say, ‘see, look how much I loved the person being buried’.
Lucifer spotted me leaning against one of the massive yew trees, the bark digging into my suit jacket not too uncomfortably. Back then, I needed discomfort in my life. I needed to feel something beyond the hollow existence I felt at every turn.
He watched me carefully from his spot front and center of the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. He didn’t weep or even show a particularly strong emotion to whoever was being buried. To me, it looked as if he was quite bored of the whole affair, like he was just going through the motions.
He had a mask on, I realized. One that was there to keep up appearances. I knew masks well. I’d wore my own since my parents died six months earlier in a plane crash.
It was a mask of normalcy, of everything is just fine. That I was accepting and adjusting to my new circumstances.
We all wear masks in our lives.
Everyone does.
It’s just a matter of what’s behind them that determines what type of person you are.
I was a killer then, as I am now.
Not as skilled or professional. I was unrefined, untrained in the ways to ensure my deeds did not catch up with me. I was careful enough, though, I suppose, since those crimes never came back to haunt me.
Three days after my parents died, I could no longer ignore the voices inside my brain screaming to be heard. Like nails to a chalkboard, they demanded my attention.
My first was a pimp in a darkened alley. He was beating on an old, tired prostitute. I didn’t end his life out of some sense of duty to protect her. He was simply an expedient way to sate my cravings. That the lowlife bastard would hardly be missed or looked after made him an easy target.
An easy first choice.
The drugged up, concussed prostitute never even saw who slid the blade into the man’s neck.
She only noticed when the hot, sticky blood started to hit her face.
And that was when I finally heard my first scream of terror.
I felt almost… human. The voices quieted, feeding off the raw fear and death.
More deaths followed under Lucifer’s black wings.
But they’ve never felt as true as that first stab of the blade. That first feeling of cleansing my soul.
Not that each death I’ve caused since hasn’t felt as good.
No, each death I’ve caused has felt like a tiny fragment of my soul is being pieced back together. Each death purifying me in purpose. Like a scalpel, I’ve carefully shaved off the rotted pieces of myself and somewhat made myself whole.
Abel moves in his sleep and a small smile appears across his beautiful features.
The voices are different when I look at my son and wife.
They’re still there, but they turn melodic, almost feminine in nature when they look at what little blessings have come into my life.
They urge me to protect and nurture. To guard against harm. To destroy any who would hurt them.
To love.
Love is a foreign word for me.
Never have I felt the need to utter that word before… Not until I saw the smiles Eden and Abel share.
It’s warm and soft. So much so that it almost scares the deeper, more masculine voices in my head. But not quite enough to push them or make them feel threatened.
Somewhere deep inside of me, I expected to feel some discordance between the newer voices and the ones that have driven me for so long. But there is none.
How very strange this all feels.
A buzzing in my hand snaps me out of staring merrily at my infant son. It’s not quite loud enough to wake Abel but I don’t want to take any chances with it.
Moving out of his room, I walk further down the hall to the stairs before pushing the connect button.
“Simon,” I say quietly.
“I’m quite annoyed that I didn’t get to wake you from your slumber like I was not twenty minutes ago,” Simon snarls into the phone. “Do you have any fucking clue why my family just got woken up by a crate being dropped off in front of our home?”
“No,” I say. “Perhaps another one of James’s pranks?”
“It’s fucking addressed to you, Jude, and it’s from Kentucky. The label says it’s from the Royal Bastards,” Simon snaps.
A smile spreads across my face. “I did speak to Coy a couple weeks ago. He said he was shipping me something. I was unsure if I would still be in town, so I gave him your address.”
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Simon growls. “Get here now.”
“I’d rather not right now,” I say and look back up the hall towards my family. “I’m not sure it’s quite safe to leave them yet.”