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Devil Inside
Gregory sighed in boredom as he flipped through the television station channels. It was 2:00 a.m., and he could not sleep. There were the usual infomercials selling everything from kitchen mops to jewelry. Gregory yawned. He scratched his arm, yearning for another drug-induced high, but he was all out of the pills and powder, and he had no money left to buy any more.
He stared at his cell-phone, thinking about calling his pusher, Zack. Zack always displayed a feigned interest in his life when he saw him, but he knew that all Zack really wanted was his money. Gregory didn't care. All he really wanted were the drugs.
But without cash, Zack wouldn't deliver.
It was strange to hear the voice. He was all alone in his apartment, so there couldn't have been anyone else there. But he clearly heard the voice. It came suddenly, without warning.
"Gregory," it was a silvery, smooth voice, unearthly and eerie.
"Who is it?" asked Gregory, looking around in the glare of the television.
Silence.
Gregory relaxed back into his couch, and turned his attention to the television. He didn't hear the voice again that night, and eventually forgot about it.
It was two days later, and Gregory still didn't have enough cash to buy the drugs. By now his need had become desperate. His hands were shaking. He had telephoned Zack twice already, and asked for a loan, which Zack had curtly refused. The second time, Zack merely hung up on him.
Gregory stood outside the convenience store, shivering. His paycheck would not arrive for another three days. He couldn't wait that long, he needed a fix now.
"Gregory," that silvery voice again, suddenly and without any warning.
Gregory looked around furtively. There were people inside the convenience store, but none of them could have been the source of the voice as they were too far away, and the voice was close, very close.
"What do you want?" he asked awkwardly.
"To give you what you need," the voice answered, cooing.
"What do you mean? You mean a hit? I don't have any cash. Will you give me cash?"
"I'll do better than that," replied the voice, sounding delighted. "If you do what I tell you, I will give you a high that you have never experienced before."
"Oh? What do you want me to do?" Gregory asked, curious now.
"Nothing too big. You see that car parked over there? Walk to it, and look inside. What do you see?"
Gregory walked to the car and glanced inside the drivers side window. On the seat lay a GPS device.
"GPS," mumbled Gregory.
"Break the window, grab the GPS."
"What? Why?"
"Because I told you to!" the voice seemed to turn cold, harsh, vicious.
Gregory shook his head. He was about to walk away, but paused. He took a quick look at the convenience store. Nobody was coming out yet. The parking lot was empty. A slight breeze blew some leaves along the ground.
Gregory looked around for something to use. Along the edge of the parking lot was a line of shrubs that had been neatly landscaped. A row of red bricks had been used to mark the boundary of the garden bed. Gregory ran over to the shrubs and grabbed one of the bricks. He quickly ran back to the car and threw the brick through the drivers side window, breaking the glass. It shattered into tiny little pieces and crumbled into the car seat and out onto the road, leaving a glittering mess. Gregory felt his heart race as he reached into the car and picked up the GPS device. He concealed it inside his jacket, pulled up his hood, and walked away without looking back.
As soon as he had turned the corner, he heard the voice again. It was smooth and soft again.
"Good, Gregory," it cooed. "Very good."
And then, all of a sudden, Gregory felt a surging rush of feeling in his brain. His pupils dilated, and he immediately realized that he was experiencing the same kind of high that he would usually get from his drugs. He gasped as the feelings intensified. Closing his eyes, he slouched against the wall of the building and slid down to the ground, hugging himself tightly. He felt the oncoming endorphin rush and trembled with pleasure. His entire nervous system tingled as he felt the chemical messengers coursing through his body, bringing orgasmic pleasure to every nerve. By now he was lying on the ground in a state of semi-consciousness, twitching from the sensory overload in his brain.
The high only lasted a few minutes, but it seemed much longer to Gregory. After it had passed, he settled into a deep sleep on the pavement. Some passersby dropped coins in front of him, others just ignored him.
When he woke, it was late afternoon and the sun was setting. He immediately felt a sharp pain in his stomach. Hunger pangs. His mouth was parched. He had a pounding headache. It felt like a hangover. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt miserable. He vividly recalled the high he had experienced. It had been even better and more intense than he had been able to experience with any of the drugs he had ever taken. He scratched his arm absent-mindedly as he wondered how to get another high like the one he had just had.
Eventually he got to his feet and stumbled home.
The next day, he was late for work. His supervisor was not pleased with his tardiness and reprimanded him. Gregory stood quietly with his head down while his supervisor was lecturing him about the late shipment due to his absence from work. All the while, Gregory kept thinking about how to get his next high. When his supervisor sent him back to his shift work, he could not focus. He moved the boxes around in a daze, not really caring whether they went to the right location. Working in a warehouse didn't require a lot of intellectual acuity, but Gregory was particularly thoughtless that day.
When it was break time, Gregory walked out to the back of the warehouse and lit up a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke deeply and felt some relief. But his yearning was still there, like a hunger that wouldn't go away.
"Gregory," it was the voice.
Gregory was immediately alert. "I need another hit," he said quickly. "I need it now."
"Of course," cooed the voice, dripping like honey, "are you ready to do what I tell you?"
"I'll do it," said Gregory without thinking, his mind completely focused on the pleasures of getting high, "just give it to me."
"Go to the mall."
***
The mall was brimming with giggling, excited teenage girls who were running around from store to store in small groups. Gregory stood in one of the aisles watching them quietly. There was a grim look on his face.
"You know what to do, Gregory," the voice encouraged him.
Gregory shook his head. "I can't do this," he whispered desperately.
"Do you want to stay like this, or do you want to get high?" the voice sounded stern and menacing.
"The high, of course the high," Gregory's mind wandered to the previous day when he had stolen the GPS device.
"Then all you need to do is pick one," the voice was sweet and tempting again, "you like girls, don't you Gregory?"
"Oh yea," said Gregory, "of course I do."
"So pick one."
A flock of girls walked past. Long blonde hair. Make-up. Glitter. Short skirts. Lipstick. Smell of perfumed flowers. Manicured nails. Bursting with hormones. Expressing their newfound individuality and finding themselves as their own persons. Talking. So much talking. Brunette. Blue eyes.
"Pick one."
Another group of girls walked past. Redhead. Freckles. Long eyelashes. Pretty smiles. Chewing gum. Laughing at jokes. Enjoying life.
"Pick one!"
"Okay!" Gregory felt the pressure, "Okay, okay I'll pick. That one."
"Good," the voice sounded infinitely pleased. It whisp
ered, "Follow her."
Gregory pulled up his hood, put his hands in his pockets, and started following the girl he had targeted.
When he woke the next morning, he was in his apartment, lying on the couch. The television was on and the news channel was reporting the day's news. He felt the same hangover symptoms, only they felt worse than before. He felt a throbbing pain on the side of his neck. When he touched it, there was a stinging, sharp pain. It was scratched badly. He felt an aching pain in his groin. His leg and arm muscles were sore. His face felt like he had been in a boxing match. He tried to move to get up, but his muscles spasmed excruciatingly. He leaned back on the couch and his attention drifted to the news cast on the television. The reporter was covering a story from the previous night. There had been a violent rape just outside the local mall. The girl had been attacked when she was leaving the mall, and the identity of the assailant was unknown. Police were investigating.
As Gregory watched, and pictures of the mall were displayed on the television screen, he realized that it was the same mall that he had gone to the night before. A sickening feeling arose in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was the perpetrator of the crime. Guilt and remorse and fear overwhelmed him. He felt nauseous, and leaned forward and retched.
"What have I done?" he cried, staring at his hands. "Oh God!"
"He won't help you here," the voice said. It sounded deliberate, taunting, smug.
"What have you made me do?" Gregory cried. "Why?"
"What about the high? Oh, you loved it, Gregory, you loved it!"
"But I didn't want to do this! I didn't want to steal, or hurt anyone!"
"Does it matter? You do what I want, and I will give you the high. It's that simple."
"No! No! I won't do it anymore! I don't want to have anything more to do with you. No! This is it! No more! Go away!"
There was a pause.
"Alright then," the voice was quiet and calm.
Silence.
Gregory covered his face with his hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
***
Gregory was late a fourth time to work, having missed more than half his shift before he arrived. His supervisor sighed wearily and took him to his office to give him his notice. He was being fired for poor performance.
He sat in his apartment for most of the next few days and nights, drinking beer, eating pizza, and watching television. He dreaded hearing the voice again, but it was gone. He kept scratching at his arm, which was now bloody and scabbed over multiple times. He was feeling the withdrawal of the high, and he would lie on the bathroom floor for hours, crying out and wailing from the pain.
He tried calling Zack, who was initially pleased to hear from him. But when he discovered that Gregory still had no money to pay for drugs, he yelled and cursed at him, warning him never to call again unless he had money.
Gregory begged for money. He stood on the street corner with a sign. He looked disheveled and broken. He was constantly restless, his hands shook. He couldn't sleep. When he couldn't pay the rent, his landlord gave him an eviction notice. In four days he would be homeless.
Gregory lay sprawled on the floor of his apartment, staring at the glare of the television screen. It had been on for days. In the darkness of the apartment, the blue light from the television flickered and cast eerie shadows in the room.
The news was on again. Breaking news report. There was an Indian scientist, Dr. Rajan Gopal, who had discovered a way to block the brain from registering certain chemical messengers that were being transmitted. The practical application of this discovery, the news reporter stated breathlessly, was that there could be a measurable and effective way to cure extreme cases of drug addiction.
Gregory's eyes widened. Deep inside him, a small glimmer of hope arose.
The news reporter continued her story: Dr. Rajan Gopal had been performing his confidential and proprietary research in India, but now, finally, he was traveling to the United States to present his findings to the scientific community at large. He was going to share his groundbreaking work to enable further study, and a possible human trial.
Gregory sat up, alert. His mind started to race. He needed this cure. If he could just talk with the scientist, he thought, he could be the first volunteer for the human trial. If it worked, he would be free. This was his only chance.
He scrambled to his feet, wobbling and almost falling over. Grabbing his coat, he stumbled out the door.
It was a difficult trip to the library. He had to stop multiple times to catch his breath. He had to fight off the craving for another high. The physical pain was becoming almost unbearable. He would lean against building walls and groan in agony. Passersby quickened their pace to get away from him.
"Please," Gregory clutched at his chest, the pain increasing.
Gasping, he made it to the library and managed to find a computer that was not being used. He quickly looked up the news for Dr. Rajan Gopal, and his scheduled conference with the scientific community. It was going to be at a hotel that was only three blocks from the library!
Gregory scribbled down the address and stumbled out of the library. He almost fell down the stairs, but managed to clutch the balustrade just in time to steady himself. When he made it to the street, he had to sit down on the ground and catch his breath.
"I have to make it," he said to himself, and dragged himself up to his feet.
Walking three blocks felt like an eternity. When he finally arrived, he crouched by the side of the hotel. They were not going to let him in looking the way he did. He decided to enter through the parking lot instead.
It was dark and quiet in the parking structure, and filled with vehicles. Gregory felt comfortable hidden in the darkness. There was still some time for the conference, so he could wait here without anyone noticing him.
In the silence, he heard a faint wisp of a whisper.
"Gregory," the smooth, silvery voice cooed seductively.
"No! Go away!" Gregory shook his head vehemently, fear-stricken as tears rolling down his cheeks.
"It's so painful. It hurts so much," the voice exuded sympathy. "Let me ease your suffering. Just one more hit. That's all."
"No!" Gregory sobbed. "No!"
He fell to the ground in a dark corner, convulsing, his body wracked with pain.
"Gregory," the silvery voice called to him, as calm and steady as ever. "Let me help you. Just one hit, then it's over. It will ease your pain."
Gregory raised his hand, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. He nodded helplessly. He couldn't tolerate the pain anymore.
"Excellent," the voice sounded so pleased and satisfied. "First, be calm."
Gregory's brain was flooded with neurotransmitters. Almost immediately, he felt a sense of calmness. The pain subsided, but was not gone completely. He realized that he was only getting enough to stabilize him. His task still lay ahead, and he must complete it, or else he would be returned to his pitiable state.
He pulled himself up to his feet.
"Gregory," the voice was about to give him an instruction. "That car that just pulled in, there is a man who is about to get out of the car."
"Okay," said Gregory. "What do you want me to do?"
His voice was distant, detached, and he had a faraway look in his eyes. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted his next fix. It felt like it had been an eternity, and he couldn't survive without another hit. Just one more hit to get him through the withdrawal symptoms.
"Find something hard."
Gregory looked around. The far side of the parking lot had been blocked off for construction work. Gregory ran towards it and ducked under the hanging construction sign. There were bags of cement, tools for scraping and plastering, paint buckets, ladders, and some work benches. And there were several piles of red bricks. Gregory grabbed hold of one of the red bricks and ran back towards the car.
"Yes," the voice seemed to be intensely, orgasmically, ecstatic, "Yes! Yes!"
The
door of the car was opening and a man wearing a long coat and carrying a briefcase was exiting the vehicle. Gregory ran up behind him, unseen and unheard.
"Strike him!" the voice shrieked.
Gregory raised the brick and smashed it against the back of the man's head. The man lurched forward and fell on his face. Gregory immediately jumped on his back and repeatedly hit the man's head with the brick. Dark red blood was dripping from the brick and Gregory's hand, and was starting to pool around the man's head.
Gregory snarled and stood up, towering over the lifeless body. He dropped the brick and stepped back, exhausted.
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