You've Got Soul, Part 3

“Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs, my blood is liquid flame!” Walter Scott

It would take some effort to find a serial killer, but not as much as you might think. There were little tics, “tells” that gave away the kind of person that a human being was. And if you wanted to get close enough to them to claim them for yourself, mind, body and soul, it helped to know these tells. Oh, sure, outright force could work if you caught someone off guard, but frankly, where was the satisfaction and fun in that?

It was rather like studying art. Certain artists had a style. You could just tell by looking at a painting who’d done it, and just like that, you could often tell what a person was just like by looking at them too.

Demongo the Soul Collector hid in the shadows, peering out at the diner across from him, eyes narrowed and intensely gazing within. One human was on a computer, typing away, eyes intensely focused, a nervous jitter in his leg. Slightly antisocial, but warm all the same, for when he saw a child across from him playing on a Game Boy, a big, almost goofy smile came to his face. Nostalgia was flooding him, he could see himself in the boy, a reflection of the past. Harmless.

The waitress. She kept checking her watch, yet also was fiddling with the back of her neck, rubbing it often, a necklace hung around it. Her deep, long brown hair was well-done and she had lipstick on…ah. A lover. She was eager to get to a date. And since the necklace was cross, either she or her lover were religious or spiritual. Another harmless one. Not whom he was loo-

Wait. Demongo felt a familiar buzz going through him. That faint tingling sensation that let him know when a user of soul magic was close, and his eyes narrowed in on the man with the slightly unkempt hair walked into the diner, sitting in the corner, pulling out a notepad and scribbling onto it. His jacket was somewhat tattered, but not nearly as bad as the ripped-up bottoms of his pants. It indicated he’d been using them for things they weren’t meant for: the formerly nice khakis had been torn by frequent bicycle usage and his nose looked like it had been broken recently, a big bandage over it as if from a struggle. But more importantly, his face.

His face was obsessive and it radiated a sense of “wrongness”. He was clutching the pen in his hands as if the mere idea of letting it go would kill him, and the manner in which he drew upon it was ornate and elaborate. Demongo soon realized why, he could sense souls within the pen itself. This was the killer without a doubt. He could see the faint, shimmering traces of souls struggling to get free of the pen as the man kept drawing, the waitress approaching.

“Can I get you something? Would you like to hear our specials?”

“Not really, cuz I kind of already know what I want. A bacon sandwich with lettuce and a lot of cheese. Like, a mountain of it. Dripping, melted cheese.”

“Okay, one bacon sandwich with lettuce and a large amount of cheese.” The waitress said, flinching as he shifted a bit to sit more comfortably, she and Demongo seeing several ugly-looking pouches with obvious blood splatter over it. “You, um…need to see a doctor?” She quietly asked.

“No, I cut myself on this.” He said, pulling out a small switchblade knife, putting it down on the table and smirking a bit. “Got it off Ebay. It’s made of silver. Real fancy, huh?”

Silver. Often used in magical rituals. And this knife too had souls within, the demonic sorcerer could almost hear their screaming. Yes, this was the one. He memorized the man’s face as the waitress left, soon coming back with his order as the man showed off what he had on his notepad. It was quite good, all things considered. Well-detailed. Intense. Passionate. Every line in its place, with excellent shading. But the subject matter was a little…off.

“Please put that away, there’s children in the diner.” She whispered nervously, putting the plate down, a flush coming to her cheeks as the man looked her over. “What is that thing anyhow?”

“It’s called a mind-flayer. It sucks out brains. I was always a fan of the classic Dungeons and Dragons. I adored magic.” The man said, putting the notepad down and chewing on his sandwich. “Do you believe in magic?” He asked, mouth half-full of sandwich.

“With all the things happening in the world lately, yeah. I do. But I think sucking the brains out of people is kind of…sick.” She said. “Why would you like that and not, y’know…a normal adventurer? Or a dragon? Everyone loves dragons.”

“It’s more…exotic.” The man said, finishing his bite. “You’ve got no idea how personal it can be. Tentacles ensnaring a helpless adventurer around their face, smothering them, drawing them in as the fangs descend. It’s just amazing. Almost beyond words.” He remarked, the waitress giving him a nervous smile before leaving as he looked off at her, licking his lips a bit. “Hmm. Everyone’s a critic. Didn’t even ask me if I wanted a drink. How inconsiderate.”

Well, at least now Demongo had a pretty surefire way of knowing who his next victim would be, he thought to himself, sinking deep into the shadows of the alleyway, letting its coldness envelop him as he turned into a shifting black nothingness, biding his time as he went from crack to crack in the sidewalk. He followed the man down the road as he stopped by a house, smirking briefly at it before heading across the way to a hotel, Demongo sliding out from the crack to the side of the house, staying hidden in its shadow. As he peered at it, he took notice of something in the backyard, faint yellow police tape…and people speaking.

He hid once again, a cop exiting past him as he remained hidden in the shadows, clinging to the pale, faded blackish/red walls of the house, unseen to mortal eyes as he looked at the woman who was standing there. She was behind the police tape, looking at the remains of the latest crime scene.

“Just a few more days, they said. As if this was the most normal thing in the world.” She murmured. “Call up your family, they said. Call up your friends.” She held her head in her hands, faintly greying black hair falling down around her as she grit her teeth. “Words. Just words. No matter how nice they are, they haven’t changed how I feel.”

She sighed, turning away, looking at the house. “…my daughter was murdered in her own backyard. You don’t just get over that with a shrink and talking to friends. You need more.” She murmured. “I want justice. I want him to pay.”

She turned slightly. “…are you Death? Did you come to rub my daughter’s passing in my face, is that it?”

Demongo blinked in surprise, mouth slightly agape. It couldn’t be. How…unless? “You must be exceptionally keen in your sixth sense.” He spoke in his slightly unsettling, high-pitched, ethereal tone. “You see me?”

“Yes.”

Demongo stepped forward, his cape billowing around him. “Your daughter was the most recent victim, I take it? He must have seen her across from his hotel room. Taken notice. Decided there was simply…” He waved a hand in the air. “Something that just spoke to him. Like picking out a book. There’s just one that catches your eye and you have to pick it up, because it looks so fascinating.”

“You use a book, not a car? You must be very old-school.” The woman said, slightly biting on her lip as she folded her arms over the grey sweatshirt she wore, Demongo moving forward further.

“I was born in a time long before cars. But not before slaughter. That’s always been a part of this world.” He remarked. “Since time immemorial, there has been good, and from that came evil, seeking to corrupt and destroy it.”

“And are you here to destroy me?”

“You have seen me.” Demongo informed her, his voice calm and quiet. “I can’t allow any mortal to see me and live. It is simply how it works for those of my kind.” He remarked, sweeping towards her, now only two feet away as he stared deep into her eyes, pale blue into red and pained. “But you know, you’re right. Words alone don’t change how you feel. Actions will.” He informed her. “When I finally told my father off after his years of abuse, that felt…unsatisfactory. When I ripped his soul from him and stuck his skull on my desk, well…” Demongo grinned. “Oh, the money people would save on therapy if they just did a bit of magic.”

“You killed your father?”

“It was my justice. Justice for the cruelty he levied on me. And it felt right. It felt good.” Demongo realized. “It feels good to hurt people who hurt you. And I know who hurt you. The one who took your child from you. My…ward…wishes me to hurt him. I even know his face.”

The woman’s eyes went wide, her mouth falling slightly open. “You’ve seen him?”

“Yes. And I’m going to crush. him.” Demongo remarked. “And to take the souls he has with him.”

“I knew there was something wrong with my daughter’s body.” The woman admitted as she turned away, shaking her head. “The light in her eyes was gone. Not from death but something else. Her skin was even paler than normal, her body slightly shriveled as if she’d been…JUICED.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering in disgust. “So he took her soul?”

“Yes. But there’s still the matter of what to do with you.”

“If you’re going to take the people he claimed and…claim them for yourself, that means my daughter as well, right?” The woman wanted to know, turning around to face him. “Can you claim my soul? Let us be together?”

“You’re asking that so brazenly when I could simply slit your throat and leave you to rot?” Demongo inquired. “Leaving you unaware of your daughter’s fate? You ask this so openly?”

“Yes.” She said simply.

He stood there for what seemed to be a long, long time, just staring at her, lips pursing slightly as if unsure of what to say, before, finally, giving her a small nod. “You’re an interesting person.” He remarked. “I can grant that request. What’s your name?”

“Ginger. It’s a family thing, we got many herb and plant names.” Ginger admitted. “Heh. Don’t even have red hair, but…oh, you don’t care about that.” She said, Demongo coming closer, clawed hands holding her cheeks as he looked deep into her eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

“No.” He shook his head. “But I think I would have liked to.” He admitted, leaning in, giving her a deep, tender kiss as she felt sweet warmth spreading through her body, an intensity rising in her as his cape wrapped around her. She was in a deep abyss of black, only seeing him as hot need arose in her, to simply melt into him, to join him utterly as she let out a soft sigh, utterly collapsing into him as his embrace became the only world she knew. Ginger left the world with a smile on her features before all her flesh was engulfed, only a skull remaining as Demongo tenderly picked it up, placing it onto his chest to join the others as he rubbed it slowly, his face thoughtful and pensive.

“You won’t be alone soon. I promise.”

Meanwhile, Tara Kovsky and her father were in the car, making their way towards the movies as Tara nonchalantly doodled in her notebook, careful not to accidentally use her magical skill as her father stopped at a stop light, looking as though he wished to say something, but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

“I…you know, you’ve got real talent, have I ever told you that?” He admitted, Tara chuckling a bit.

“Yeah, every day.”

“And you deserve to hear it every day.” William Kovsky laughed. “You’re getting better and better, y’know. Practice is making perfect. You ever consider showing it to your school’s newspaper? I know you’re kind of young, but I think they’d publish what you had to show.”

“Aw, but nobody ever reads the paper.” Tara murmured. “Cuz its so boring.”

“You just need to find a way to make it interesting. Anything boring can be made interesting with the right touch.” William remarked as they finally arrived at the cinemas, William escorting Tara inside. “I mean, we’re about to see a film about a woman who gets the love of her life because she leaves a shoe behind at his party. But the right characters make that story interesting.”

“Cinderella sure is pretty.” Tara admitted as they looked at the posters, waiting for the line to hurry up so they could get to the ticket booth. “I wish I could do my hair like her.”

“Cinderella was always pretty on the inside even before she got the dress.” Her father reasoned. “You don’t need a dress to show how beautiful you are inside you. You’ve got something. Your art. Your talent. Your creativity.” He said, Tara peering around the cinema, seeing a faint blue flame faintly hiding in the shadows by the bathroom.

“Er, Daddy, I gotta go pee. Can I, uh…” She murmured, her father nodding.

“Just come back quickly.” He said, Tara quickly making for the bathroom, grateful it could be locked behind her as Demongo slid under the door, rising up to full height.

“I’ve located the man.” Demongo said, holding up a single claw and drawing a burning circle in the air, creating a portal for her to gaze upon his face as her eyes narrowed. The bad hair, busted nose, deep brown eyes…she quickly pulled out a small notepad from her dress, writing down the basics of what he looked like, holding his image in her head before pocketing the pad. “When you return home, you may exact your plan upon him, and make him pay.”

“We’re gonna track him down to where he lives, and I’ll make him hurt.” Tara growled. “I just gotta make sure nobody else gets caught in what I want. I don’t want what I did with Betty. That was too much.”

“Something simpler and elegant?” Demongo inquired with a small smile. “You’ll think of something, I’m sure.” He remarked, kneeling down and putting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a clever, creative girl. But you’d best get back to your father now. Enjoy the film. We can discuss our plans later.” He said, slinking back under the doorway, vanishing into the shadows as he made for the theater room where their film would be playing. Might as well see what all this fuss was about with the “Retro Month” the theater was doing, playing the “classics of your childhood”. He knew of Cinderella, though. After all, it had been quite popular when it first came-

First. He frowned. Wait. That tale had come out in the 1680’s. So…yes. He remembered. He’d been born somewhere in the 1700’s. The Georgian era of England. A time of Romanticism and color and vivid imagery. A beautiful era to be alive in if you were in the right place, right time. Yet as he watched the film, hidden in the darkness from all other eyes, he couldn’t help but see himself, oddly, as Cinderella. He too had been simply waiting for some outside help. Yet all along, the gifts he’d needed to make something of himself had been inside, just waiting for the right catalyst to be brought out.

He only wished he could remember his mother. He hoped she’d been kind as Tara’s father was to her. He would like to think that-

His eyes narrowed. Demongo growled in a faint air of disgust. Sure enough, that man. That man was there. And he was eyeing the waitress, who was sitting just a few seats in front of him. Tara saw him too, his unkempt hair and bad jacket giving him away as her eyes narrowed intensely. So close, yet she couldn’t do anything to him.

Wait. The car. There was a notepad in the car. All she had to do was get through the movie and then get into the car. It was pretty cold out right now. Maybe that freak would enjoy all his clothes just vanishing for everyone to see. Buy her some time to think up something even worse.

Sure enough, when the film ended and she was inside the car, her father starting it up, she began quickly drawing down on it, envisioning the man she’d just seen…and envisioning him utterly naked except for his underwear, pouring herself into the picture as Demongo smirked from an alleyway by the cinema, seeing the man howl. He was now ice cold, hopping about, arms wrapped around his body as he bolted for his own car, people pointing and staring and laughing as the waitress from the diner shuddered.

“Ugh! He was, like, just a few feet from me? That pig!” She muttered. “Why would you even take all your clothes off anyhow?”

“Fast undresser.” One of her friends remarked with a shrug as Demongo watched the car the man had taken drive off, getting the license plate down.  Oh, my friend. Your pain was only just beginning.

Yes, just beginning. For Tara began using her notepad every day, coming up new punishments for the man. And sure enough, she got to enjoy the fruits of her labor quite well.

First, he went bald in the middle of the McDonalds. At first the townsfolk nearby thought it was a WOLF howling, but soon he was sobbing uncontrollably, pounding on the sidewalk as he flopped to his knees outside the restaurant. The next day, his car was, so unfortunately, destroyed by a very large herd of cows which inexplicably trampled it into a wreck. This also meant traffic was backed up, so, of course, no school.

“Bonus!” Tara proclaimed, leaning back on the couch and reaching for the television set as Demongo sat with her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as she showed him some more recent Disney films.

“Quite the fascinating designwork they put in.” He admitted. “I love the emphasis on shadow and light.”

“I’ve got the curtains drawn so nobody outside can see you.” Tara offered. “And I’ve locked all the doors.”

“Clever, clever girl! You’re learning!”

The next day, their killer was hounded by hounds, racing for his life away from pit bulls which were always nipping at his heels as he made for the nearest tree in the park. William Kovsky shook his head at the sight as he sat down next to his daughter, who had switched the notebook page and was now working on some, as she put it,  “happy little trees”. “You’d think people would keep a closer watch on their dogs.”

“The real dog is up in that tree, Dad. Trust me.” She thought to herself with an inward chuckle.

And the next day she had even more planned. She was going to flood the man’s bathroom and send him-

A knock on the door. Oh. She peeked through the hole, seeing Hal standing there. She opened up the front door, Hal nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, Tara, er…well, you know, it’s my birthday tomorrow, and I was wondering if…well…could you come to the Bowling Alley?”

Being asked to a birthday party? And Hal’s, of all people? Tara beamed broadly. “Oh, absolutely!” She said cheerily, nodding her head as she saw him blush in return. “I can’t wait to go!”

“G-great!” He said, giving her another smile as he headed across the way for his home, Tara seeing his babysitter, that nice brown-haired man from across the way, looking across at her. Mr. Remiel was a very cheery, friendly neighbor who’d been babysitting Hal for quite a while now, and he always was kind to her.

“Good afternoon, Tara! Not a lot of homework this week, I take it?” He asked.

“Nope. I’m good with it anyway when I focus.” Tara admitted. “I gotta call my dad and let him know about the birthday party!”

“Hal will love to have you there, he thinks very highly of you.” The babysitter admitted. “I hope you two have a wonderful time.” He added before closing the door behind him as he headed into the Jones’s home, Tara blushing some more as she closed her down and began “squeeing” in delight, hopping up and down. Party-party-party-party! And with Hal!

Things were looking pretty good. Just a quick little punishment for that serial killer, and then she could work on getting a dress picked out for tomorrow. She picked up her notebook from the couch and sat down atop it, nonchalantly humming as she began to draw. “Let’s see. How about…I know! Loses his wallet.” She remarked, drawing the image of the killer’s wallet simply hopping out of his pocket as he stood in front of a coffee shop, grinning a bit before putting the notepad away, and heading for her room.

…

…

…

…Tara awoke from her nap, the dress hanging off the door handle by the sound of someone knocking on her door. She blinked a bit, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Demongo looking at her from across the way, his face…pale. Unsettled.

“Tara. I believe you need to answer the door.” He murmured, opening up her bedroom door so she could go past him, his head hung as he slipped into the closet, vanishing an instant later into darkness as Tara made her way down the stairs and opening the front door up as red and blue flashing lights filled the evening air, policemen standing there with a nice-looking woman in glasses and frizzy red hair, Hal standing on the front porch with his family as they spoke to him quietly, Hal nervously glancing over in her direction every few seconds. The policemen looked very hesitant to speak, one of them kneeling down and putting a hand on his leg, sighing.

“Sweetie, I don’t want to have to be the one to tell you this, but…you need to know.” He murmured. “There was a happening by the Starbucks in town involving your father.”

Her eyes went wide, her body turning to ice as she struggled to try and find the words, but she knew, deep down, what the policeman was going to say.

“A man evidently lost his wallet just as your father was walking by.  He turned on your father and accused him of stealing it. Your father turned away from him and the man attacked him with a  switchblade. We did everything we could, we have the man in custody and six eyewitnesses all gave the same testimony, but I’m afraid your father-”

Tara had collapsed into a heap on the ground. She would not stop crying. Would not stop screaming. And though the psychologist they’d brought tried to comfort her, nothing worked. Not until she looked up, seeing Hal and his nice babysitter and parents standing there, Hal stepping forward.

“I…do you…want to sleep over at my house tonight?” He quietly asked.

Tara softly nodded, the babysitter helping her up as Hal’s parents began speaking to the police, asking about extended family the cops could contact. Meanwhile, inside the house, Demongo had obtained the phone, and was already making a call of his own. He cleared his throat, imitating the voice of the policeman who’d been speaking to Tara downstairs, authority filling his voice as he began to talk.

“Mrs. Kovsky? This is Officer Donovan. I’m with the-miss, please, this is important, please listen. I’m with County, it concerns your husband. There was an accident in town. He was stabbed.” Demongo hovered calmly around the upper floor, the phone from William’s room still in his hand. “Yes, he’s dead. I can imagine this must be very, very painful for you. But your daughter is hurting far worse still. Listen, we’re trying to take care of her the best we can, but the reason I’m calling you is because she needs her mother right now, and we would appreciate it if you could immed-”

He stopped, eyes going slightly wide, her response echoing in his head. “Wh-what? But you’re her mother. Why would you say something like…you can’t be serious, I…”

He began to grip the phone more tightly, claws digging in, his tone becoming baleful, slipping into his normal pitch. “I-I truly hope that is the grief talking, because what you’ve said has got to be the most disgusting, hateful thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life! You have GOT to be-”

Click. The call ended, Demongo feeling the fury swell in him as he chucked the phone through the air and it smashed against the wall with an unsatisfying CRUCHA-THRUK, his eyes blazing like two bonfires as he clenched his fists.

He needed to hurt someone.

And he knew just who.

…

…

…

…the entire prison was currently cloaked in the dark of night, the cameras turned off, unbeknownst to those within the cells. A simple sound-muffling spell combined with knocking out the guards and the prisoner was his.

He had slunk along the halls, passing from shadow to shadow, the other prisoners unaware of what was going on for most were asleep, save for his prey, who was wide awake, having been taken in recently, and he’d been mere moments from sleep ebfore he realized that his yawn wasn’t coming out. He couldn’t hear himself yawn. He had shot up in the bed, the steely gray walls of the prison surrounding him as he struggled to speak, no words coming to his mouth. He raced for the bars of his cell, screaming and hollering, but no sound came forth…

But what came forth instead was a figure with burning bluish flames for hair, rising up from the darkness, skulls embedded in his chest as he pitilessly smiled.

“Wh…who are you?”

“You were Desmond Allvers. 34 years old, no parents to speak of. And you murdered five people before my ward and I were able to find you. The sixth sealed your fate as particularly unpleasant.” Demongo informed him. “I’m not just going to kill you. No. I intend to enjoy you.”

He snapped his fingers, spreading his magic as the cell began to dissolve away, the prisoner now bound up in ropes as he struggled to speak, but still no words came froth as Demongo waved a claw in the air.

“No, no. No words. I want you to know your fate and be helpless to even beg. You don’t deserve that mercy.” He moved to him deftly, chuckling slightly. “You are no normal human, that is certain. A normal human wouldn’t be able to master soul magic to imprison other people’s selves in items. I’d almost want to know how you pulled it off, but…no, I don’t think so. I want you to find it ironic that with all the power you had, you’re now incapable even moving without my willing it.”

“Please…” The serial killer pleaded, watching as the demon picked up several syringes. “I'll… I'll do anything just don't kill me…”

“How do you not understand this is all I want you to do?” The demon said plainly as he strode over to him and held up a syringe, sliding it slowly into the man’s arm, ignoring his silent screams. Desmond howled, it felt like liquid fire was surging through him as his eyes began to roll back into her head, but the demon grabbed his skull, shaking his head. “No. No. I want…you…to suffer more. You’re going to feel everything.” He whispered, taking out another syringe. He slid this into the man’s other arm, smiling wickedly.

Demongo picked the man up, placing on a table that manifest as he glared down at him. “I want you to know how badly you’re dying. How many times did you stab that girl’s father? What, twelve? I have to admit, it’s impressive considering how fast those witnesses were on you.” Desmond was suffering pain that was unimaginable, his body was turning to charcoal inside of him, every moment intense agony, feeling the pain he’d delivered to his own victims tenfold.

Still, the Soul Collector had to remember, he also had a promise to keep, he thought inwardly as he rested a hand on one of the skulls within his chest. After this, he had to obtain the man’s belongings, locked away in the police evidence vault for now. He had to get at that which held those innocent souls.

“You’ll be with her soon. I promise.” Demongo softly crooned to Ginger’s soul. “I ALWAYS keep my word…”

Desmond died screaming in agony, with nothing but bones that were missing its head left in a pile of blood. And during the investigation the next day, nobody heard or saw a thing. And, truth be told...nobody really cared.

Tara, however…

Tara was a different story entirely. What was to be done now?

The Soul Collector had no answers.