Souls - VII

I wake up staring at a worn ceiling, partially covered with popcorn speckle, the rest bald from where the speckle had fallen. It’s my motel room. I’ve stared at that ceiling enough to remember it. I’m also naked. I don’t know how, but all my feminine parts are out on display. I bolt up.  A cold voice floats from the dark corner to my right.

“You should not wear clothes. It is an affront to him.”

My eyes dart over to see the source of the words. It’s one of Lucifer’s men, and by men I mean demons. He looks at me with a blank disinterest, the black eyes looking through me, beyond me. He doesn’t care about me.

“From Eve and the serpent, clothing has separated your kind from him. God’s shame has divorced you from him. You know this.”

I nod, still instinctually covering the most feminine parts of me.

The demon sighs at this attempt of humility and stands.

“Regardless, Lucifer sends his apologies. He did not intend to inflict this response. He sends me as his intermediary until your assignment is complete.” He walks to the motel window and lights a cigarette.

“Do you have any questions?” He asks as a formality, busy staring out the window to the skyless world.

I wrap myself in my blanket and stand.

“Where’s my clothes?”

He sighs again. “If you must, they are in the bathroom.”

I swiftly move to the bathroom and to my clothes, closing the door enough to cover my nakedness.

“So he knows? He knows I’m a woman?”

“I don’t believe he cares. I simply noticed as I was carrying you in.”

He paused to take a deep drag from his cigarette, pulling the curtains closed, “For reasons I do not understand, he’s separated you from his usual rules. You are special.”

I couldn’t help but blush as I pulled my shirt on.

“I didn’t catch your name.” I step out of the bathroom as I desperately try to sound casual, as if the entirety of my self isn’t reeling.

He turns to me with a smirk, throwing the nub of the remaining cigarette to the carpet. 

“You were a preacher yes?”

I nod, staring down at the smoldering cigarette; blackening the carpet around it.

“Does the name Molech mean anything to you?”

I keep nodding, suddenly wanting to do anything but make eye contact with those black eyes. 

I recite scripture, half out of fear and half out of habit, “And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Molech, neither shalt thou profane the name of thy God, I am the Lord”

He smiles, “Ah yes, Leviticus. Very good. Then you have been introduced long before this.”

Molech is the demon of infanticide, and he is here. 

The cigarette ember continues to smolder.