Souls - XXI

The TownCar pulls into the parking lot, stopping under the diner sign. I can see the fat man sitting in there through the window. He looks like nothing just happened. It makes me wonder how many times him and his friends had done this. I feel the rage inside me grow inside me, almost forceful enough to be its own being.

An entity of rage.

“Okay, here we are. Your request is in the trunk.”

He pops the trunk and exits the car. I follow.

Inside are guns, lots of guns, and one piece of parchment paper. Astaroth reaches past the guns and picks up the paper. “Just recite the phrase on this and you should have all the wrath you can handle. I’ve made a phonetic version below.”

I look down and see an ancient language, Aramaic I assume, written in crimson ink. 

“We also have clothes for you. I was told you preferred to be clothed.”

I shook my head.

“They want me to stop playing dress-up. They’ll see all of me as I kill them.”

“Very well. I leave you to it.”

He tips his hand to me, gets in the car, and drives away. I can’t stop staring through the window. The fat man hasn’t noticed me yet. 

He will. 

I look down to the paper, to the ancient text, then to the phonetic version. I let the syllables roll past my lips. 

At first there is nothing. Then I see it, the gravel in the parking lot shuffles, then it begins to rumble. The earth moves as a stampede approaches. The fat man looks up, the color leaves his face, his eyes turning red. I glance behind me, a wave of shadows rush towards me. They stop when they reach the diner. 

The largest of the shadows moves towards me, it beginning to take shape. A wispy face looks down to me. 

“You have called Kimaris and his twenty legions."

I look through Kimaris and smile at the fat man, who is frozen in his fear. 

Looking up to wispy face, I whisper, “Fuel my wrath.”

The shadow moves upward, and then down onto me, enveloping my nudity. It then seeps into me, I can feel it inhabiting me, it feels warm, confident, and most of all powerful.

The fat man watches on in terror, I point to him. He raises his hands. I snap my fingers. His eyes grow redder, their shape pushing out from his sockets. They explode. He falls behind the counter. Time to go inside, before he bleeds out.

The bell at the top of the door rings as I push my way into the diner, I can hear him moaning. 

It sounds wonderful. 

A small glint inside of me panics, because I can feel myself turning dark. I can feel Kimaris taking too much control. I swallow deeply, try to push him comfortably back. He reluctantly relents, I feel myself shift back to a sense of control. 

I squat over the fat man’s body, watching him bleed from his eyes, the eyes that leered at my daughter and I.

“Where is she?”

He rolls into an attempt at a fetal position, his fat blocking his knees from his chest.

“Who are you?”

“Where is she? Where are they?”

“The…the….the church. St. Anne”

Great, fucking Catholics. I’ve learned that Catholics and their sense of pageantry have became especially erratic in this new world.

“Should I kill you?” I’m surprised at the tone of the question when I hear it escape my lips. It sounded legitimately inquisitive. 

I feel Kimaris shift in me, he wants the blood. 

I do not. 

I want to enjoy this moment, to watch his life taken from him like he took my daughter from me, but I can’t. I’ve never killed anyone, and something in me is hesitant to start now.

Kimaris flutters through me, I can feel him grow impatient. Before I know it, I see my hands reach down, grab that fat man’s head at the jawline, and rip upwards. His meat tearing away entirely too easily. 

It is finished.

I want to absolve myself, to blame Kimaris, but I can’t. I wanted this. I signed my soul over for this. 

Time to go to St. Anne’s