Azazel listened clearly to the sounds, although his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. In the moments during the focusing on the safe, Azazel felt his hands and chest hurting from earlier. He ignored the pain, but it was a reminder of the car wreck, unnerving him a bit. He momentarily remembered the Camaro license was a clear indicator of his connection, not to mention his ex-wife was hanging from the bridge. His throat tightened, but he refocused on the task at hand, and completed unlocking the safe. He was exhilarated that he could still accomplish the feat.
Swinging open the door, Azazel gasped in horror and instinctually jumped back. The owner of the house was looking back at him. A severed head in a sack pooled with blood, the owner’s eyes glazed back at Azazel, and he immediately knew the connection. The owner was Azazel’s partner in crime who had sabotaged their final job. Azazel escaped before getting caught, but was never able to achieve retribution. The fact that this man still lived in town, especially so close, stunned Azazel. He sat there and glared at the head for a few moments before coming back to his senses.
Azazel knew Lucifer had to be amused. He carefully slid the decapitated head to the side and grabbed the bonds, gold, and jewelry, just as Lucifer described. It was the exact payload owed to Azazel and he was stunned when realizing all the bonds were in his name. The jewelry belonged to his ex-wife, all the stolen items he had given to her. This asshole, Charles Cacus, had swiped them from her. Azazel thought it was his ex-wife who had sold the goods, but it was this guy. Either that, or Lucifer planted evidence to help Azazel mentally connect Charles’s betrayal.
Azazel shook his head. “Charles, I only wish I knew if you are a guilty or innocent party in this plot. I’m sorry to find you in such rotten circumstances, but we’ll see each other in hell soon.” Azazel took one last look at the bagged head and ran downstairs.
Lights flashed through the boarded windows. Lucifer must’ve signaled for the cops to show up again, or else one of the neighbors had seen. Azazel narrowly avoided confrontation and slid into the basement, finding the hidden exit behind an oak shelf. The noise from moving the rack aroused suspicion from the officers, who flocked towards the basement windows.
Azazel hid in place for a few moments, waiting for the coast to clear. He heard the front door fence rip from the wall, then the sound of a battering ram. He found the secret door, heavy as a manhole cover, and pulled with all his strength, sliding into the crevice just in time. Azazel ran hunchbacked through the sewer pipes, praying the cops wouldn’t discover the escape route before exiting the sewers.
Azazel almost puked a few times from the disgusting smell as rats and roaches lined the cylinder tube walls. Azazel followed the blueprints and didn’t hear any noises from behind which was a good sign. He crawled out of the hole into an alley two blocks away from his house. After spraying his body with the hose, he stripped down to his underwear. Inside, Azazel threw his stash on the living room table and ran straight to the bathroom for a more thorough cleansing. The filth from the sewers felt as if it was seeping into his veins. He spent fifteen minutes letting the water hit his face and cool him off. Azazel’s open wounds stung, but he only cringed momentarily.
After the shower, Azazel reflected on his past life with Charles. They used to rob houses, sometimes two or three a week. Some were extremely wealthy marks, while others were random targets. Then halfway through their final job, Charles disappeared. Azazel thought they were a hell of a team, and inseparable, and he remembered many of the marks they hit. It was exhilarating rummaging through those houses, just as he did today. The excitement of getting away with something like that kept him going for years and when it stopped, so did Azazel’s personal life. That was where the drinking began, with Charles leaving. He realized that pivotal moment was the beginning of his downward spiral.
7 A.M.: Beelzebub Dine-N-Dash
Phone sounded with Susanne Vega’s “Tom’s Diner” and Azazel nodded as it gave him pleasant memories from the late 90’s.
“Hey buddy, so did you like that little surprise?” Lucifer asked. Azazel could almost feel the smile through the phone.
Azazel winced sourly. “You really do know all the aspects of my life, don’t you?”
“Just think of me as your own personal god.”
Azazel shook his head, “Quite the big head you have, huh?”
“Careful, or I might smite you,” Lucifer joked.
“Funny, so what’s next? Who am I to kill? Who am I to rob?” Azazel thought he knew the pattern of today.
“Relax and have fun, Azazel, that’s what we’re here to do, right?”
“If you say so,” Azazel spurned.
“Although your activities have been easy to perform so far, I think it’s time to make things a little more interesting. Make your way down to the Abel Village Police Department with mask and guns ready.” Abel was the brother city of Cain, with nearly as many people, and double the average median income.
“I don’t have any guns to use for that!” Azazel was surprised at the request.
Lucifer laughed, “You’re right. Hmmm…Well, get down to 7th Street and Chicago Ave. Your car is parked out front.” Click.
Azazel was perplexed by Lucifer. Did he retrieve the BMW for Azazel? It could’ve been his only shot to find out who Lucifer really was. 7th Street was in the run-down part of Cain. More decaying homes and vacant institutions filled an area that had been depressed by businesses evacuating town as overtaxing increased from the greedy corrupt city government. Blobs of white paint covered graffiti sprayed along the walls.
The morning rush of people induced a bit of anxiety in Azazel. What activity did Lucifer line up to be done in front of this many bystanders? Azazel stood outside next to the BMW, impatiently waiting for the call to come in.
“Hey Azazel, go inside to the Beelzebub Dine-N-Dash, and sit down. Have yourself a breakfast and relax for a moment. They have an excellent steak, green pepper, and mushroom omelet, and make sure you tip well. I’ll call you at eight. Bye.” Lucifer hung up before Azazel could say anything.
Baffled, Azazel stood there for a moment as if he misunderstood what the command meant. Azazel was just ordered to have a delicious breakfast. He shook his head and walked inside with a smile on his face. Inside he ordered as Lucifer recommended and realized the psycho was right, the omelet was delicious.
“You don’t look so hot, did you do something to your hands?” the waitress asked, noticing the lacerations.
“Oh these? Na, I just tried to catch a shark and it got the best of me.” Azazel smiled as he joked.
“I see, well shark man, don’t be hurting yourself too much,” she beamed.
Azazel took visual notes of everything he could see. There had to be more to this than simply eating breakfast, some ulterior motive. He asked the waitress for a pen and wrote down many small details that might come in handy later, such as the waitress’s name, Julie. There were four people sitting, but not talking. A TV was played today’s news, focusing on the random criminal acts occurring around town. Then the detail he was waiting for appeared, a newspaper the waitress dropped on his table with an article circled.
Last Man Standing
The American man is finding his world full of struggles. Alcoholism is at an all-time high with little hope in sight. Experts suggest that new restrictions must be established to prevent the downward spiral from circling any further. That’s not the problem. What really plagued society is that the unemployment rate has risen, and divorces are up. People are appearing to not care anymore.
So what can really be done? That is completely dependent on the people themselves, and not upon the government to impose restrictions. Prohibition, historically, has caused nothing but rebellion amongst the people. Honestly, maybe that’s what the people need to do. Purpose is the simplest way to give people hope. Many have lost any sort of purpose in their lives, and without purpose, hope is lost.
I want to speak to you, the reader. You are the one who matters to yo
u. I know that sounds redundant, but it’s true. You might care for others, but if you’re not taken care of, nothing else matters. You have the choice to either make excuses to fail, or find reasons to succeed. Make your life worth living and fix the problems at hand. Go out and try accomplishing something you thought was inconceivable before, and this will give you purpose, and maybe even dreams.
Many times, it’s as simple as remembering what interested them before life’s problems made them forget. This in turn can give a reason to go to college and possibly change their life for the better. Just think if it were your last day on earth, how do you want to remember your life? As a blur, working non-stop, or as something exciting, fun and satisfying? If I have reached one person through this article, it will make me feel better, and that was the intention. In doing this little letter, it gives me hope that I will turn someone’s life around. Keep hope alive.
Dr. John Diabolos
PHD, Psychology
Azazel shook his head after reading who wrote the article and whispered to himself, “figures.”
The waitress came back and filled the coffee cup one more time. “Did you read something interesting?” Julie asked.
Azazel nodded, “Yeah. Do you know who circled this?”
“I’m sorry, but no I can’t. It was like that when it showed up today.”
“All right, thanks.”
After smiling, she walked away.
Phone buzzed. “Leave now and don’t return to the car. The description of your BMW has been mentioned over the scanners,” Lucifer warned. “Don’t worry, nothing is traceable in that car except for your prints. I’ll take care of that.”
“What’re you gonna do?” Azazel questioned.
“Don’t concern yourself. I have a new vehicle for you waiting on Waldron Road at number 2632. Get in the new car and drive away.”
“I thought you said the car was in my name,” Azazel said.
“I lied. Get used to it.” Lucifer hung up.
Azazel left a nice tip as suggested and thanked Julie before heading outside. Waldron Road was a few miles away, much too far to walk. Discarding the BMW, Azazel waited at the bus stop for a few minutes, looking at the map to find the most direct route. The bus was right on time.
Less than a minute after the boarding the vessel, Azazel heard what he had expected, a huge explosion that rocked the area. He closed his eyes while everyone else on the bus panicked, looking back at the intense car fire. The bus stopped for a moment, and Azazel just hoped that there were no cameras showing him leaving the car behind. The fog was burning off, so it’d be easier for someone to spot him. After a few minutes, the bus driver determined it was none of his concern and resumed the route. Azazel whispered to himself, “I’m not going to make it through the day.”
Sitting next to Azazel, across the aisle, was a man talking to himself. Azazel wondered how would someone like that get a bus fare, then he thought how ridiculous that was to come into his head.
Azazel arrived three blocks away from his destination. He strolled over to the building the car was parked at and found quite a surprise, a beautiful brand new black Lexus IS. Inside the car, he didn’t turn the ignition, but just sat there thinking. He hoped no one was around when the car exploded, especially since it was so busy. Did Lucifer have a bomb planted in the car already? That was a new concern he hadn’t previously thought of. Too late to be worried about that now.
8 A.M.: Marilyn Valefar
“Lady in Red” by Chris DeBurgh played on the phone.
“Sorry about that, Azazel. I didn’t want to have to resort to such measures, but it was necessary. The car was mentioned all over the scanners due to the fire over at the clinic. No mention was made of your physical description, but the car was marked and your identity couldn’t be jeopardized this early in the game. I really did want you to enjoy a pleasant breakfast after the variety of activities thus far. Were you pleased with the article?”
Azazel nodded as if Lucifer could see him do it. “It was interesting. Did you write it?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“Will you give a little info about who you are?” Azazel prodded.
Lucifer replied, “The only thing I’ll say right now is that something big is coming, and depending on how you react to these situations, you may be chosen to accompany us into this big something.”
“Us?” Azazel wasn’t surprised Lucifer didn’t work alone. He hoped to gain a little knowledge of who ‘they’ where.
“Yes, you may discover what I mean by that soon.”
“And this something is bigger than what you’re doing to me right now?”
“Much. As for the next task, find 200 Stadium Drive, which is the Hidden Mammon Apartment Complex.”
“Do you want to give me my mission now, or later?” Azazel asked.
“Well, why not. You’re willing to do as I ask now. There is a woman quite familiar to you that lives there, and, well, a package will be next to the garbage dumpster that has some information. That’s all for now, you’ll understand when you arrive.” Click.
Azazel recollected on possible history with women of his past. There really weren’t many who meant much to him other than his ex-wife, a couple of girlfriends, and his mom who died years ago in a car accident. He had a pretty good idea of who was the new subject of his attention, another skeleton in his closet.
Five years ago, Azazel messed around with a girl in the office of the factory he was working at. Not many people knew of this liaison and maintained the secret, only rendezvousing two or three times. Azazel was sure that Lori had no idea about anything between them because even during Christmas parties and other business gatherings, Azazel and the girl remained casual. Being sure of whom it was, Azazel used this to imagine who might’ve known about the encounters. Only a couple of guys at work had a remote idea of the attraction between the two. Even so, Azazel still kept it hush-hush.
He drove to the marked dumpster and found Lucifer’s package. Inside were a strangely familiar dagger and the Universal Keys previously used in breaching the recycling center where his colleague’s head remained in the plastic bag. The breaking daylight made Azazel feel slightly vulnerable, and even with some residual fog present, it was lifting quickly. Maybe one hour was left until it burned off and he became completely naked to the public eye. He didn’t like this situation because when he’d done jobs before, it was routine to only do things at night.
Azazel crept around the block, through the back gate and used the lock pick to open the back door of the first story dwelling. He felt a strange sense of familiarity in this place although he couldn’t remember ever actually visiting, perhaps in a drunken stupor. Cautiously, he peered around, searching for any prying eyes or security cameras. The coast was clear, so he silently crept through the cracked open door, listening for indicators of which apartment to enter. He crept through the main hallway, passing two rooms before he found his objective.
Standing at the doorway, Azazel almost didn’t want to do anything as he gazed upon the body of a naked woman tied to the bedposts. The woman was gagged and blindfolded, but conscious and obviously terrified. He knew exactly why this person was chosen by Lucifer, and it wasn’t who he expected. Their history ran back a decade, but cold sweat made Azazel very uncomfortable. Gently strolling over to the side of the bed, he undid the blindfold and the gag, and the woman appeared to be crying.
“Tommy, what are you doing?” she asked.
Azazel looked upon the woman and said pitifully, “I can either save you or kill you, and right now I don’t care which way it goes.”
The woman’s name was Marilyn Valefar. When Azazel was younger and performed the thieving deeds with his companion Charles, they came upon a con artist. She was very good at what she did, and even made home owners believe that she was an insurance agent after burglaries had been performed. She collected the checks or cash from her marks after pretending to assess the damages, and was never seen or heard from a
gain. Marilyn was a master of disguise and Azazel barely recognized her true physical identity.
Her gorgeous body silhouetted nicely in the dim light originating from the closed curtains. Her breasts were perfect and she was shaved down there, and Azazel’s mind wandered from the task at hand. He redirected his attention to Marilyn’s face and blonde hair, a color he had never seen on her, and started recalling their history.
“Now that you’re done looking me over, can you please explain what’s going on?” Marilyn inquired.
Solemnly, Azazel realized Marilyn was another skeleton in his closet that wasn’t escaping. “All of my sins are coming back to haunt me today.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not religious. Can you untie me so I can get dressed and we can discuss whatever this is?” Marilyn kept noticing Azazel’s eyes wandering down her beautiful physique.
“No, I don’t think that’s possible. If I tried, you’d most likely die.” Azazel said without emotion as he peered into her beautiful brown eyes.
She shuddered. “What? What have you done? Why am I involved in this?”
“You are part of my past.” Azazel explained, “You did something to me that was wrong, even for criminals. Do you remember what it was?”
Marilyn knew the answer, but tried to pretend it never happened by using Charles as her cover. “Listen, Charles and I were just messing around. You and I were just casual, and I knew you had a wife. Charles was free and clear of the obligations you had, so…”
“I’m not talking about that. You know exactly what I mean. Remember that last time we saw each other?”
She grew silent and nodded. Her mouth opened as if she were going to say something, but nothing came out.
The Djinn Trials: Azazel Page 5