"She's not just a human," Luce said. "She's different, and you know it. Stay away from her."
"Ah, come on… don't be like that."
Luce got right up in his face. "Don't make me tell you again, Don. I don't take well to being disregarded."
Abaddon's posture stiffened, his playful expression fading away. Gone was the old friend Luce once knew, the angel's eyes darkening a shade, the blue deepening to a peculiar purple. It was a color Luce knew well… the next step from there was black and then red, the eyes that had stared back at Luce every time he caught sight of his reflection in a spans of crystal clear water or a sliver of glass down in the pit. They were the eyes of evil, the eyes of someone who had gone over the edge and allowed themselves to be consumed by wrath.
Blue was pure; blue was the color of benevolence.
When sin crept in, taking over every cell in the body, darkening the soul, the world turned bright red.
Abaddon was just a few steps away from the point of no return.
"Careful, Don," Luce warned. "Don't do anything you'll regret."
Abaddon scoffed. "I regret nothing."
"Nothing?" Luce asked. "You don't regret double-crossing me? Turning your back on me? Leaving me to face the consequences alone? What about sinning, huh? You don't regret that anymore?"
Leaning forward, Abaddon narrowed his eyes indignantly, a mocking smirk turning the corner of his lips. "Nothing."
With a loud pop of static, the angel was gone, leaving Luce alone in the parking lot. Before he could react, a loud gasp echoed through the air around him. He quickly turned his head toward the sound, tensing when he saw Serah standing at the glass door, looking out. Her eyes were fixed straight to him. While he couldn't see his reflection in the glass, knowing nobody else would know he was there, he could tell she saw him.
Fuck.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and counted to ten. Although she whispered, the words barely a breath, Luce could hear her. She reopened her eyes, meeting his, and blinked rapidly before doing it again.
And again.
She expected him to disappear.
He probably should've disappeared, vanishing while her eyes were closed so she'd think he wasn't real again, but he couldn't.
Michael was wrong. He wasn't a coward. But he was a pathetic son of a bitch who couldn't bear to keep letting go of her.
Shaking his head, he laughed dryly to himself before turning toward the door. Serah's eyes widened when they broke from his gaze, drifting down to his chest as she gasped again. He glanced down, realizing he wasn't wearing his shirt, and although the wound he'd inflicted on himself had started to slowly heal, blood covered his chest.
The door to the motel thrust open and Serah stepped out into the darkened parking lot.
"Hello?" she called out. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." His voice was quiet, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Go back inside."
"You're bleeding," she said, ignoring his command as she slowly approached. "Do you need some help? Do you need me to call someone?"
"I'm fine," he said again. "Go back inside."
Once more, she ignored him, closing the rest of the distance between them. Lucifer exhaled loudly, the scent of her swarming him when he inhaled again. Flowers. She smelled like fucking flowers. How he missed that…
Before he could react, her hands were on him, touching him, one hand grasping his bicep while the other reached for his chest. He hissed when her fingertips connected with the bare skin. It was scarcely a graze, but he felt it deep down like a jolt of electricity. He damn near shivered.
"Oh God, I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, yanking her hand back away. "You're hurt. Geez, you're burning up! I'm so sorry. I just… come on, come inside. I'll get you some help."
"I'm fine," he said for the third time, but it was pointless. She yanked on his arm, and although he was strong enough to resist her, he didn't. He let her drag him toward the motel, heading inside with her. She shoved him toward a chair and he plopped down in it, shaking his head as she scrambled around for something, disappearing into a side room briefly.
She returned with a wet rag and immediately started blotting the blood from his skin. Lucifer sat as still as possible, watching her with disbelief as she rambled on and on. "What happened to you? Did you get cut or something? Did somebody do this to you? It looks like something, like a pattern or something… it's starting to heal already, though. How long ago did it happen? Does it hurt? What happened to you?"
The same questions asked in a loop.
Lucifer didn't answer a single one of them, just staring at her, stunned to be this close again. She was utterly beautiful… flawless creamy skin and the deepest brown eyes. Blue was pure, sure, like the sky above, but her brown eyes were as rich and warm as the earth. There was something comforting about them. He once envied the humans because they were given the Earth, but looking at her, he wondered if maybe Paradise was to be found in a person and not a place.
"What is this?" she asked, running the rag around the wound. "It's some shape, like a triangle with a graph, and hook and a 'V'. I've, uh… I've seen this somewhere before. Who did this to you? What is it?"
Reaching up, Luce palmed her cheek, his touch making her eyes flutter before she met his gaze again.
"I'm fine," he said. "You should've stayed inside."
She stared into his eyes, her anxiety fading as her shoulders relaxed. She paused the rag near his collarbone, the only movement the rise and fall of her chest, the blink of her eyes, the beat of her heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Lucifer listened to the steady rhythm, relishing the sound of it.
"Tell me I'm not crazy," she whispered.
"You're not crazy."
"Tell me you're real."
"I'm real."
"Really real?"
He cracked a smile, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. "As real as you."
"Who are you?" she asked tentatively, biting down on her bottom lip. "Where did you come from?"
He laughed dryly. "That's a long story."
"I have time."
"Not enough," he responded. "Never enough time."
For her, anyway. Luce had all the time in the world. Eternity. But her life would be barely the blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things, and then she'd go to Heaven, and stay in Heaven. And he'd still be here.
Or back down there.
"I have to be crazy," she whispered, more to herself than anyone as she pulled away from him. She plopped down in a chair beside him, tossing the rag down on the desk. She ran her hands down her face, shielding herself as she lowered her head. "You're not real. I'm dreaming again. Wake up, Sarah. Time to wake up."
"Serah," he whispered, pulling her hands away from her face. "Your name's Serah. And you're not crazy… not the crazy you're thinking, anyway."
Crazy for falling for him, maybe.
Eyes wide, she met his gaze again. "You know my name?"
"I do."
"You knew me?" she asked, hesitating before clarifying, "You know me?"
"Yes."
"Who am I?"
"That's another long story."
She sighed with frustration, whispering her name to herself, like she was trying it out. Luce watched her mouth move, sounding it out. Fuck, how he wanted to kiss those lips…
"Were you there?" she asked, the question distracting Luce from thoughts of kissing her before he slipped up and acted on the impulse. Who knew he had any sort of self-control?
"Was I where?"
"In the street," she said. "The day I woke up. Were you there? Because I remember you… I remember your eyes."
He nodded slowly. "I was there."
"What happened to me?" she asked. Such a loaded question. Luce was about to say it was a long story when she cut back in. "Please, I don't care how long it takes, I want to know. I need to know."
He considered it for a moment, co
nsidered making up some lie, some boring, believable story that would soothe her curiosity, but he couldn't. Lying used to come so easy for him, and it still did, but he couldn't lie to her about this.
“It was a mistake,” he said quietly. “You went somewhere you shouldn’t have gone, got caught up in someone else's fight, and you ended up hurt because of it.”
“How?” she asked. “How did I get hurt?”
Luce was quiet for a moment, staring at her, as he finally pulled his hands away, his fingertips leaving her skin. “You trusted someone you shouldn’t have ever trusted.”
“Who?”
“Someone who nearly destroyed you.”
She shook her head. “Do you always speak so cryptically?”
He shrugged a shoulder. He was trying to convince her she wasn't crazy. Any more details than that and she was liable to check herself into a mental institution.
The devil tricked you to trigger the apocalypse, and then he stuck a knife through your chest, but I swear it was out of love.
"Have you considered maybe you're better off not knowing?" he asked. "That maybe there's a reason you don't remember any of it?"
"What if it was you?" she asked. "How would you feel?"
He laughed dryly. "I'd give just about anything to have a clean slate."
"But I just... I want to know who I am. I want to know where I came from. Do I have a family? Friends? Does anybody care? Does anyone miss me, or remember me, or even think about me?"
"I do," he said quietly.
"And who are you?" she asked, cutting him off when he tried to respond right away. "I know you said it's a long story, but can I get the short version? At least a name? Something?"
He considered it for a moment. "Luce."
"Luce," she repeated, brow furrowing. "Is that short for something?"
"Yes."
He didn't elaborate. She didn't press the matter. Her eyes bore into his as her mouth again moved, sounding out his name this time, a small smile playing on her lips. Fuck, he really wanted to kiss her...
Her eyes eventually left his, drifting along him, scanning his face and his bare chest before meeting his gaze again. She quirked an eyebrow, holding her hand out. "Well, Luce, apparently I'm Serah."
Lucifer reached out and took her hand, holding it in his. "I know."
"Lucky for you, my memory is shot, which means you're a clean slate to me. I'm learning from scratch here, trying to make sense of the world again, but I have a question that I think might clear some things up."
He hesitated. "I'm listening."
"How in the world did you heal so quickly?"
He immediately looked down, realizing the wound on his chest was now gone. All that was left was the faint circular scar from the burn of a Heavenly blade. "The wound was superficial."
"And the round scar?" she asked. "Where did that come from?"
"Can't really say."
"Pity," she said, tugging on the neck of her shirt and pulling it down to expose a patch of skin. "Because I have one of those marks, too."
Lucifer stared at the scar on her chest. His would fade by tomorrow as he fully regenerated, but she was human now. Marks on humans remained. Hers became permanent the moment he took her wings.
He wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing, pulling away from her entirely to stand up. "I really shouldn't be here, Serah."
He turned to leave, ignoring her feeble protest asking him to stay. He shouldn't be there; he shouldn't be talking to her, or touching her. The truth would only hurt her in the end.
As soon as he stepped outside, away from her eyes, he zapped away and landed on the street outside of the old bar he'd tracked Abaddon to before. He tried to sense his old friend, not done with their conversation, but Abaddon's essence faded as soon as he appeared.
He knew that game.
The angel was evading him.
Luce.
The name was peculiar, yet somehow familiar; like it was a name Serah knew intimately, one she had spoken many times before. Luce.
It repeatedly rolled through her thoughts, springing off the tip of her tongue after having lingered there for months. It made sense, relatively speaking, considering nothing about the entire situation was truly understandable.
She wondered if she was dreaming again.
In the blink of an eye, her visitor was up out of the chair, his words not registering with her until he was almost to the door. I shouldn't be here. "Hang on," she called out. "Stay, please!"
She jumped up, running to the door when he headed outside, stepping out not ten seconds after him to find the dark parking lot completely empty.
Gone.
"Wait!" she yelled, looking around. He couldn't have gotten far. "Come back!"
"Looking for someone?"
She jumped at the unexpected voice, startlingly close. A man stood on the corner a mere few feet away. How hadn't she seen him until now? It wasn't Luce, but when he took a step closer, recognition dawned. She'd met him before, once, not long ago: the guy who had carried her groceries for her.
Don.
"Uh, yeah," she said quickly. "Did you see someone come by here?"
"No," he said. "Should I have?"
"I, uh… I don't know." Shaking her head, she scanned the parking lot once more, seeing no sign of him anywhere. It was like he'd vanished into thin air again. Typical. "I guess not."
Sighing, she turned around and stepped back inside the lobby of the motel, trying to shake off the peculiar feeling crawling across her skin, the tingling along her spine. She could sense the man as he stepped in behind her.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked, grabbing the bloody rag from the desk, the only evidence she had that her visitor had been real.
"I was hoping so."
"Do you need a room?" she asked, raising her eyebrows curiously. "We have some vacancy."
"No, I'm afraid I don't need that kind of help."
"What kind of help do you need?"
"The kind I think only you can help me with."
He grinned, a sly sort of grin that made Serah's defenses prickle. She turned away from him, carefully folding the rag up and laying it in the hamper for laundry in the morning. "I'm not sure how I can help you, mister, but I—"
She turned back around, cutting off mid-sentence when she realized she was alone. She stared at the spot he'd just occupied, that sensation inside of her growing, her stomach twisting, heart thumping wildly. She hadn't heard the door open, hadn't heard him leave, but he wasn't there anymore.
I'm losing it.
After a quick glance around the lobby, ensuring she was in fact alone, she retook her seat at the desk, trying to ignore the queasiness building inside of her. There was something very wrong, something happening that she couldn't understand. Absently, her hand drifted up to her chest and she rubbed the scar through her shirt.
She had a feeling it might be the key to everything.
The one-story house was quaint, white with blue shutters, located in a quiet neighborhood toward the south end of Chorizon, just a few blocks away from the local elementary school. The 'for rent' sign still stuck out of the shabby patch of grass out front, but Serah had already signed her name on the dotted line, making her the official tenant.
Or part of her name.
What she was pretty sure was her name now, anyway.
Her boss, Gilda, knew the owners and had helped her rent the house, despite her lack of history, and credit, and whatever else it was people needed to get a place of their own.
It was hers now—for the next year, at least.
It was a warm summer morning, the sun shining brightly already at only nine o'clock. Serah stepped out of her house wearing a light summer dress and a pair of white flip-flops, her long hair pulled up off her neck. She had no plans, nowhere to go or nothing to do, so she just ventured around town as usual, wandering streets she'd wandered every day the past few months. It was fairly busy for being a Sunday, the streets bust
ling as people made their way to church. There were plenty of churches around town, from elaborate cathedrals and quaint little buildings that looked like barns, but Serah was continually drawn to the community center in town instead of those places.
She'd sat it on church a few times—it seemed like the thing to do here, and something about it always felt familiar, like she was at home sitting on the grungy little folding metal chair in the recently remodeled community center. She knew the scripture, knew the stories the preacher recounted, a few times almost chiming in to correct the man when he misinterpreted something. She forced herself to remain silent, though, merely listening. After all, he was the authority on the subject.
What did she know?
She'd only just learned her own name.
The room was half-filled today, the usual visitors occupying the chairs. Serah sat at the front and listened as the preacher talked about the great flood. She doodled in the margins of her brand new bible—a housewarming present from Gilda, which was really just one of the extras they ordered for the nightstands in the motel rooms. Her mind drifted… she knew this story like the back of her hand… as she absently drew a peculiar geometric pattern, a rendering of the mark she'd seen not long ago. Upside down triangle that evolved into hooks, an 'x' slashed through it, with a letter V beneath it all. She drew it so many times the past week, trying to find significance in the shapes, that she could probably produce it in her sleep. What was it? What did it mean?
Why had it been slashed into his skin?
It left a lingering mark, a mark that she too carried.
Had that mark once been on her skin, too?
When service was over, she stood to leave when the preacher stopped her. "You know, some believe it's wrong to write in bibles. Revelations tells us not to add or subtract from God's words."
She smiled softly. "That's not meant to be taken literally."
He raised his eyebrows. "No?"
"This is just a book," she said, holding up her bible. "It's just paper and ink. It's the medium, not the meaning."
"That's one way to look at it," he said, holding up his own bible with a smile, the page it was on highlighted and scribbled all over. "I tend to agree."
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