by L F Seitz
“They don’t know I’m interrogating him.”
“Why not?”
“Their questions might lead to you, and I’m not ready for them to know about you yet.”
My eyes flicked to his, but his shifted before I caught them on me. He explained that he also lives in an apartment on the compound that’s used by his people. There is a lot of surveillance, making it impossible to get Orias to his apartment without someone seeing him.
“When should he wake up?” I asked, setting the peanut butter on my bedside table.
“Any time now.”
I hoped he wasn’t too loud while torturing him. I didn’t think I could stomach it, to be honest. I twisted around and wiggled under the blankets, snuggling into the warmth I’d created by sitting on them. The sheets smelled like me and cheap lilac fabric softener. “Micah, just do me a favor, and when he wakes up, shut my door?” He agreed and returned his scrutiny to the man in the living room.
Nox popped out from under the bed and curled up on the pillow next to my head. I petted him softly, and a few moments later, his brother showed up and cuddled next to him.
“’Night boys,” I said. “’Night, Micah.”
He stood motionless in my doorway, likely to stay that way. “Good night, Lamia,” he said softly. To the humming of the heater, I slowly drifted to freedom.
“I was never really insane
except on occasions when
my heart was touched.”
– Edgar Allan Poe
✽✽✽
A loud scream woke me from sleep. I shot up, surrounded in darkness, awaiting death at the hand of whatever made that noise. My bedroom door was cracked open, and the cats were gone. I waited for another noise, but all I could hear were distant murmurs coming from the living room. I clamored for my phone: it was one in the morning, four hours after I’d fallen asleep. I slowly stood and crept to the door, peeking my head out to see what was going on.
Micah stood in front of Orias, who was huffing in distress. What I could only imagine as blood pooled around him on the floor. Micah had a blowtorch in his hand as he stared intently at Orias and then moved toward him again. “No, no stop,” Orias whimpered. My stomach flipped as the smell of burning flesh nauseated me. The torch touched his skin, and he screamed. I looked away, feeling light headed as the nausea threatened to turn into vomit. I shouldn’t be watching this. I should just shut my door and go back to sleep. No, I needed to watch this, needed to see what Micah was doing. The thought quickly passed through my mind like a flash of lightening- this could be me one day. When his people find out about me. When they experiment on me to figure out what I am. I took a shaking breath as I made myself look back; Micah didn’t even notice me. He continued burning Orias as he remained unaffected by the demon's agony. I gripped the doorframe, fighting against snapping my eyes shut as I listened to his torture. The taste of bile imminent in the back of my throat. What if everyone could hear him? Wouldn’t the cops be knocking down my door?
Orias stopped screaming, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Micah. Distant hatred coated his sharp features. “Let’s see how fast that heals. I’ll be back with more fuel,” Micah said, his voice deep, sinister, as he dropped the torch on the TV tray. There were other tools there as well. Some I didn’t recognize, though the cylinder of salt and holy water sitting in a cross-baring flask were easy to spot. All were covered in Orias’s blood. Micah seemed to have noticed me then as he stepped past Orias toward my door.
“I’ll tell you.” Orias’s breath was ragged as he struggled to breath. It was difficult to listen to, but I wanted to know what he was going to say myself – the information we gained after what I went through.
Micah analyzed me for a moment, then crossed his arms and walked back over to the tortured demon. “The last time you said that, you lied, and I had to torch your eyes. Let’s not let history repeat itself.”
“No lies. I ... promise.”
“What does the uprising consist of?” Micah demanded. I glanced to the windows as panic set in. Who else might have been woken by Orais and his screams? Opening my door a little wider to hear, I noticed a symbol spray-painted on the white paint. What was this? Does this have anything to do with not being able to hear Micah and Orias the last four hours?
“There have only been rumors, but The Rising is a cover for something else. Something bigger,” Orias confessed. “Something that has to do with the Devil himself. Some say he’s been planning this for years, waiting for the right time.”
Micah scoffed as he kicked at Orias’s chair, jerking it an inch. Orias whimpered at the movement. “Don’t make me melt your face again. How many years? What does he have planned?” Micah picked up the torch again, and both Orias and I flinched.
“No one knows. Please believe me. But there are hundreds.” He began to cry in pain. The sound forced me to clench my teeth as saliva pooled in my mouth, vomiting was imminent. “Hundreds of demonic creatures rallying for it: demons, demon dogs, Cambions,” Orias confessed, coughing viciously.
Micah’s face was beginning to change color. He was furious. “Where? When?” Micah slammed his hands onto Orias’s shoulders, shoving him. The chair whined beneath Orias as he cried out.
“They’ll come from underground. I don’t know anything else; please believe me.” By this point, Orias was completely broken by Micah’s tactics. I thought he was telling the truth.
“Do you know someone who does?” Micah asked.
Orias breathing slowed. Micah took a step toward him with the torch, and Orias whimpered.
“My boss knows, but you’ll never get to him.”
“Who?” Micah’s voice rose as he grew impatient.
“Asmodeus,” Orias said. Micah began circling him.
“The lustful Prince of Hell?” Micah spat, as if the words put a bad taste in his mouth.
“Yes!” Orias wasn’t going to last much longer if someone didn’t tend to his injuries. Micah knew that. I was torn between watching and shutting my door to ignore them altogether, but I was so shocked at what I was seeing, in my own apartment, I couldn’t move. I held the frame of my door hard, knuckles white, as I worked to keep my breath even. Orias was a demon, so he wasn’t innocent; he wasn’t even a person. Why was this so hard to witness?
“And that’s all you know?” Micah stood in front of him, slowly setting the torch back on the tray. Orias nodded, barely moving his head as his breath trickled from his lungs. “Look away,” Micah ordered. I didn’t know if he was talking to Orias or me. In a blink, he was pulling his blade from its sheath.
I did as he commanded and turned my head.
Orias’s scream rang so loud I shuttered. Bile flew up into my mouth as I clenched my teeth shut, willing myself to hold it in. My palms grey clammy and sweat accumulated on the back of my neck. Steeling myself, I swallowed what contents threatened to come up, and took a gasping breath, my throat burning. I felt like I was going to pass out. He wasn’t human, Lamia. He wasn’t a person. He was a demon. I slowly lifted my head to find Orias slouched forward, unmoved, and Micah standing in front of him. It was over.
Micah cleaned his blade with the bottom of his shirt, which is when I noticed how rough he really looked. If I’d never seen him sleep, I would have told you Micah didn’t have the ability. His complexion was near white and his eyes sunken deep. He needed rest. The most concerning thing, though, were his hands, covered in layers of blood. It was as if he was in a trance as he moved toward the bathroom, ignoring me completely as he did so.
I glanced at Orias again as I thought of what Micah had said before I’d fallen asleep. Did he torture him this much for the information or revenge? Whatever it was, it took a toll on him, one I couldn’t even begin to understand. I couldn’t imagine what I would feel like after torturing someone like that. Only a few moments left my stomach raw and my head aching.
“Micah?” I peeled myself from my doorway, regaining control of my legs, and peeked in while he scrubbed his
fingers with steaming water. “Are you all right?” I asked, unsure of what to say. His pale complexion was worse in the glow of the yellow bathroom nightlight.
He said nothing and, after a moment, started to laugh. Once the red water had all disappeared, he toweled his hands and turned to me. Orias’s dried blood speckled his face, and he was grinning at me. “After all I’ve put you through, you still worry about me first.” My skin burned crimson with the comment. He took the towel to his face and wiped away the evidence of Orias. He walked out, and, without thinking, I grasped his left forearm.
He was right. I always worried for him first. I examined Micah’s skin, making sure there were no lacerations or injuries that needed to be taken care of. Micah’s arm was relaxed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders my sudden touch caused.
“You’re pale. Are you OK? I’m sorry I woke you.” The softness of his voice compared to minutes ago made him seem like two separate people. I reached and took his opposite arm, checking it quickly, tracing the skin and relishing in its softness.
“Why haven’t the cops come? I was sure you woke the rest of the building.”
“Soundless symbol,” he said. I let go of his arm, and he pointed to the weird symbol on the door of the apartment, then across the way, behind us, to my bedroom door. “One of the few deciphered symbols of the Punic language we can use. We aren’t supposed to use them without authorization or emergency purposes.” It looked like an uppercase N with a long line crossing through the last leg of the letter.
“No one can hear anything outside this room,” he added. That must have been why I heard Orias suddenly: the door was jarred open, and that’s when the sound got in. I took in Orias’s unmoved body, slouched over. My brain couldn’t comprehend how Orias, a demon who was alive a minute ago, was now dead in the middle of my apartment. Just thinking about Micah killing him with his blade made my blood run cold. It takes a special kind of person to torture someone else.
“Who is Asmodeus?” I asked.
Micah walked across the room and slid against the wall under the window onto the floor, rubbing the tiredness from his face. “One of the Princes of Hell. There are seven. They represent the seven deadly sins. Asmodeus is the Prince of Lust. They’re the closest things to the Devil himself.” Micah’s head was in his hands, like he was defeated by both what he was saying and the life he’d just taken. How were we going to get to a Prince of Hell to speak to Micah?
We got the information we needed, a step closer to finding answers, but at what cost to either of us? I felt bad for Orias, for his torture, but he was evil and owned people, like the woman from the bookstore. Someone like that deserves no pity. The person I was most worried for was Micah. I’d never seen him this unguarded in front of me before – sure, when he was asleep, but even then he was at the top of his game. One step toward him, and he would have woken and taken me out by the knees. The Micah before me now was too tired for that, his muscles too worn out to even keep his head up. This Rising he kept talking about sounded as if everyone would be affected, so why did he put so much pressure on himself to find the answer? Why was he doing it alone?
“I’m going to have to go tell my people today,” he said. “About what Orias told me.”
I crouched down in front of him. “And you’ll take this body with you ... right?” I asked.
Micah chuckled and lifted his head. “Yes, Lamia, everything will be back to normal by the time you get up later.”
“When will you be back?”
He shrugged, and my somber gaze drifted from the floor to his face. I should have known he’d never tell. It left me wondering when I’d see his face again, wondering if I’d ever see it again. Every time he said it, I got angry, but it only made me yearn for him more. It made me miss the odd connection we’d grown to have with one another. I regarded those pale blue eyes before taking in the rest of his face. A strand of loose hair from his ponytail stuck to his forehead, and without a thought, I reached for it. I pinched it between my fingers and brushed it back with the rest of his starlight-colored hair. Micah remained statuesque as he watched me, unmoved as I knelt in such close proximity to him. We beheld one another for a moment after I let my hand fall, the embarrassment growing quickly as I averted my gaze. I stood, head spinning, and stepped quickly across the apartment back to my bedroom.
“No later than tomorrow night,” Micah said, his voice gravely with exhaustion.
“Good night, Micah,” I said as I opened my door and closed it behind me.
✽✽✽
Micah was right. When I got up, everything looked the same as it was. Micah was gone, to meet with his people, and it was time for me to go to work. Despite liking the days off, I looked forward to a routine again. Never thought I would say that in a million years.
“Meet me at our usual table at lunch,” Cindy said to me first thing in the morning. I assumed she wanted to talk about the building collapse, as we hadn’t seen one another since.
“I’ll be there,” I replied and proceeded toward my station. As I walked toward the back of the warehouse, I smelled something that reminded me of ammonia or a pungent acid. We weren’t notified of any spill that had happened on third shift, and I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I asked Ben if he’d been told of any spills, but he said he smelled nothing. I detected burning chemicals, maybe sulfur, but I couldn’t place its origin. After circling the department with Ben, he said he’d talk to our supervisor and make sure there was nothing going on that we weren’t aware of. He still didn’t smell anything, which was odd because it was so strong to me. I walked back to my station and found a faded bandana in my workbag. I sprayed some old Bath and Body Works body spray on it before tying it over my nose, hoping it would cover up the nauseating scent.
Lunch came around, and I was grateful to be away from the smell and in the cafeteria. I bought lunch and took a seat at the table Cindy and I normally sat at, near the window. It was after five in the evening, and the sun was almost completely gone as I watched what was left of it. Cindy sat across from me moments later, her hair in a high ponytail like always. She wore a pink plaid button-up blouse and the bright vest with reflective strips; we all had to wear one while working in the warehouse.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you: What happened when that security guard took you from the gym? The paper said they found him in the library, dead,” she said, biting into her turkey sandwich.
I nearly choked on my sandwich as I threw the first excuse that came to mind. “We stepped outside the gym, and we were talking, then we heard a groaning sound coming from the library,” I paused. “He told me to stay back, so I did. Next thing I knew, the building was collapsing. Everybody was frantic, and I found Clayton, and then I just waited until it was safe to exit.”
“They still don’t know what went wrong with the building. It was built in 1992, so the structure is fairly new, and it hasn’t snowed enough for it to be a weight issue on the roof, so they are still investigating,” said Cindy.
“That’s weird,” I said, shrugging.
Cindy talked about how Clayton was bummed they didn’t get to finish the game. I was just glad everyone got out alive. If anyone else would have died, anyone like Cindy, I would have been devastated. The only person I’ve ever lost who I was close to was Gramma Beth, a year and a half after I was placed with Phil and Dorothy for foster care. Beth was Dorothy’s mother, and she was the sweetest person I knew. I didn’t see her as much as I would have liked, but I saw her on her deathbed. She told me that even if things got rough, she’d always be there, making sure I got through it. She said she’d talk to the big man upstairs and ask him to go easy on me. Her death was hard on me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Cindy’s death would affect me, since I see her every day. I’d probably lay in bed for days blaming myself for every little thing I did or didn’t do when it came to her. It would probably ruin me.
Once lunch was over, I went back to my station, getting hit with th
e smell again. “Are you sure you don’t smell anything, Ben?” I asked him as he walked back toward his area after lunch. Ben scratched his ginger beard and looked around.
He lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Ammonia, sulfur, something?”
He said he smelled nothing and was still waiting for a call back from the supervisor. He walked away, and soon after, my body began to tingle, like someone was watching me. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, but the tingling continued, and I knew something was off. My section near the far back of the warehouse was pretty secluded. Maybe it wasn’t someone but something. Watching me. I just hoped it was the boredom stirring up drama in my head and that I wasn’t actually right. I shuddered as I thought about it, thought about Orias and his dead body somewhere in an unmarked grave.
If any of his people were to find out, I’d be defenseless.
✽✽✽
Unlocking my apartment door and stepped in, I stopped in awe as I stared at a large brown couch in my living room. Brand new. On that couch slept Micah. What did this mean? Was he planning on spending more time here?
I put a frozen dinner into the microwave and heard an intake of breath as I pushed start. Micah sat up, his hand on his hilt as he beheld me. He relaxed as he became aware of his surroundings again and stretched out, rubbing his face. His hair was in a braid down his back. His complexion had improved, and he was smirking.
“I figured since I’m here so much, I should at least have somewhere to sit.” I frowned as he yawned. It wasn’t my fault I was poor, though he was right, he did need somewhere to sit and nap.
“This couch is for you, not me,” I stated with a laugh.
A smirk appeared on his face. “It’s also a gift, an apology, for the other night.”
I focused on my food turning in the microwave as I felt my face growing warmer with the words. “Maybe I should let you be an asshole more often, if I’m going to get gifts.” The microwave beeped, and I took out my food, gobbling it up while Micah checked his phone, the blue light setting his porcelain skin aglow.