The rest of the day, Kenneth didn't eat. That night, he didn't sleep. The next morning, the discomfort of both and the dread queasy fear that had grabbed ahold of him from the throat to the groin decided his fate for him. He hated being uncomfortable and morso he hated pain. Perhaps in some little bit of him he hated humanity and Monica too, in a twisted way, hating her because he loved her more than he could stand. He'd clung to her once, emotionally, telepathically pleading for her to love him back and give herself over to him. And they would live together and have adorable babies together, and he'd take her to nice restaurants and shows and museums even though he hated those, too. But she had gently brushed away his affections because she simply didn't feel them for him in return. He hated that no matter how many gifts he bought her, how many events he brought her too, how much he adored and worshipped her, she couldn't see how good he was for her. She made him waste his time and his heart for her! How dare she not love him! No one would treat her so well!

He could never drag himself away from her, however, still drifting back into her company when he could, loving to be around her, wanting her to always talk to him about herself, because it made him feel like he was inside. Like he was a part of her trusted circle in her life. But he still hated her, too. Sometimes he thought of simply making her his wife in the Biblical sense. But he'd barely gotten away with murder. He couldn't risk any more crime.

But Dech could do it for him. "I have, and I will." Those words chilld Kenneth. And they excited him. So powerful, so cunning, yet so casual. He was everything Ken wanted to be! So easily affable in company, even strangers respected him, and so unfailingly masculine, so inimitably articulate. He could do anything he wanted and no one had ever been able to stop him. Ken was always awkward and he made other people feel awkward around him, and he was on the portly side and no matter how he did his hair it was lank, and his beard always looked funny but shaving it made his head look big, and he wasn't remarkably tall, either, and though he had a good vocabulary he got nervous and mixed up which words to say. His passes at affecting a learnedness made him only look stupider. He shrank and sweated under people's gaze and listen.

Dech terrified him too. Ken barely kept his bodily functions in check under those threats that sounded like a nightmare come to life. Those functions did function rather erratically as soon as he got home afterwards, however. But Dech seemed like the sort to bargain. Ken could do that. He could trade Monica as his own ransom, and then he would get Dech to warm up to him by offering more. Ken knew where to find people. Some people were important and would be missed, and some were just people Kenneth didn't really want around to talk anymore. There was a certain brothel he was no longer welcome at. He thought of handing them over to Dech with the parting shout, "See how much worse it is with HIM!" and be delighted when they pleaded to go to Ken instead.

But Monica first. To see how things went. To test it out. To get rid of her so he could stop trying to GET her.

Finally he got the phone through to Monica.

"Good morning, Ken," she said in her pleasant voice. It was so rich and so dark and so warm all at once. It gave him delightful shivers and he wanted to eat up that mouth.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to the races with me today," he said.

There was a pause and he could almost see her face: disappointed, embarrassed, looking around side to side to make sure no one even knew he had invited her, stalling to think of a polite way to put him down. He heard her throat click and she started to inhale. He had to fix this, fast.

"With a friend of mine," he inserted quickly just as a vowel started to leave her mouth.

"--Oh, who?"

"Uh, someone new, he wanted to be introduced to you." He was sweating with the anxious act of lying. He did it often and had never mastered the art.

She paused again. "Alright. When?"

"N-noon," he bluffed. He had no idea. He hadn't looked at any schedules. "I'll pick you up--"

"No, Ken, that's alright. I can make it there on my own. Thank you, I'll see you there." She hung up. After a disappointed silence, so did he.

"Dechae--"

No. He couldn't say that name alone in this dark, cold, little apartment. It would be too terrible. He'd summon the demon at the races.

It did not turn out to be a sunny day at all, and would have shocked the population if it had. The fairgrounds grass was still dewey and women's dresses were gray at the hems. The clouds were dingy white like a very old shirt, and they covered the sky from end to end, with no break for sunlight, only a mildly brighter spot of white glow where it tried to see through. It was a breezy chilly day but it wouldn't turn to snow this early; it was only September.

Monica was waiting there at the Hurst Park Racecourse (had been for 20 minutes already, the next race didn't start until nearly 1 PM). She was boldly alone, and looking at the sky, glad she'd brought an umbrella. She looked around placidly at the scene. People were not seated and the racers weren't assembled. There was still time for it to start. Quite honestly she'd never cared much for the races but she pitied poor Kenny a bit and hated to keep turning him down. He was like such a lost puppy sometimes and she couldn't help but feed his addiction to her attention...even if without the affection. If he had lied and not brought a friend she was going straight home.

There he was. She sighed sadly. He was by himself, fidgeting his hat around in his hands. He smiled awkwardly, forcing it, making his cheeks rise to make it look genuine and that only made his eyes close and exposed his gums...awkardly. Everything about him was so awkward, like God had put his legs and arms in the wrong sockets.

"Kenneth..." she said with another sigh when he walked up to her. He held up a hand to stop her.

"Wait!" he said cheerily. He had the anticipatory voice he got whenever he was about to unveil a surprise gift for her. She couldn't keep pawning so much jewelry...she was running out of places she could go to do it. Repeat visits would just make her look weird.

A second man briskly skipped out from behind a tent she didn't recall seeing before, and he sauntered up to them while tying his crevat, his coat hung over one arm, and he had the look of someone who just hopped out of bed and was still getting ready for the day. By the time he arrived at them his jacket was on and buttoned and nothing was amiss or unprepared.

For the moment it wasn't on, she'd gotten a good impression of his physique even under the rest of his clothes. Too bad it was so cold out. Too bad extra clothing was necessary. Wouldn't it be delicious if all the men could just wear their shirts and slacks and vests (unbuttoned)?

As he approached a very faint grin passed his face as if she'd winked at him. She wondered, suddenly, if she had. No, she was too composed to do anything like that.

Kenneth started introductions with his usual stage fright. "M-Mo-- that is, Miss Monica, this is my good friend--"

"Business partner." The voice cut through sharply but pleasantly.

"...business partner...Dechaerrim."

Dech kissed her hand politely and then stepped back and the two of them just looked at each other with small coy grins for a moment.

How delightful to put my eyes all over, Monica thought to herself, noting his features. A jawline one could really run their fingers over. Soft cinnamon hair, short and masculine but just long enough to cling to. A nose she wouldn't mind Eskimo-kissing. Or biting.

His grin, only coming at one side of the mouth, not exposing teeth unfashionably, widened for a second. Perhaps he was considering some similar thoughts. Running fantasy excursions in his mind. She shuddered on the inside under his low-lidded contemplative gaze, savoring the thought of someone as handsome as he wanting to ravish her. Right on the grounds. Forget the races! Horses were dreadfully rank-odored and the damp weather would not improve upon the stench. She felt like abandoning the park to go arm-in-arm with this fellow and enjoy his company in a warm coffeehouse in the darkest corner where the coffeebean musk gathered next to the fireplace.

"Alright!" Kenneth said with such mean suddenness that she jumped and Dech almost did the same but just glanced over with a bored expression as if to say, 'Oh, why is he still here?'

"Alright?" Monica said.

"We should get seats. The best ones go fast. We should get them before someone else does."

"You know, I never very much cared for the races," Dechaerrim said. Oh what a voice he had! Like thunder in the distance. She'd love to let a voice like that mumble against her throat--

"But...you agreed to come," Ken said with a child-like whine. "I put down money on Playing With Fire!"

"You certainly did," Dech chuckled quietly.

"I was going to win and take us all out with the winnings!" he continued to whine.

"I have plenty to do so myself, Mr. Walters. Why don't you stay and watch the race and let us get to know each other, hm? You are the one who wanted to introduce us."

Was he? But didn't Ken say Dech was the one who wanted to meet her?

"But...I..." Ken looked helplessly at them both.

Dech suddenly reached over towards Monica, and she thought he was to take her hand again or, Heaven forbid, pick her up in both arms and carry her off. But he snatched her umbrella and opened it above them both. Three seconds later, the rain fell hard.

"This cold weather is making me awfully thirsty for some hot tea," he said. She nodded at him. "Oh yes," she said, hugging her arms and giving a mock shiver.

Ken placed his tophat back on his head but not before his skull was already soaked and cold to the bone. "Very well," he sniffed. "I won't share my winnings. You go HAVE your tea." And he stalked away.

Monica frowned, looking after him, but only sighed again. He always tried to make her feel guilty but by now she had stopped giving in and actually feeling guilty. Now it was embarrassment and pity.

"I know how he can be," Dech said. His tone was reassuring.

"How long have you known him?" she asked.

And that was why he was pissed at Kenneth. Stupid man had called him up to meet Monica instantly, without warning, without planning, without cover-stories or excuses. Not that Dechaerrim wasn't perfectly capable of thinking these things up on his feet, on his own, but at the very least he wanted to be able to have some time to prepare first. He couldn't get magically dressed, after all. And commuting between worlds took its own time as well. And he didn't have any time leftover to conspire and compare lies with Kenneth.

He'd have to make a point to...mention this later.

For now, he said to this cute little button of a woman, "Not long," which was no lie. Hopefully Ken never said they were lifelong friends. It was bad enough the stupid man had introduced them as anything more than colleagues in trade. Ken was the sort of person no one wanted to admit they were friends with, because what kind of surly grimy folks would actually have the capacity to befriend men of his type? Association with him was bad on the reputation. Dech had seen more or less a lot of that in Ken's memories.

"How did you meet?" she said. She wasn't testing him; she was only making conversation as they walked down the street. He didn't know the city well and was hoping to come across a coffeehouse coincidentally soon.

He quickly made up some story about meeting over property and that bored her enough that she didn't ask anything else about his relationship with Ken. It would be too many fabricated stories to have to explain to the man later anyway. Too many to keep track of; Dech's policy was to tell as much truth as was feasible and venture into half-truths and truth-twists and perhaps as a last resort real lies only when necessary. By then the rest of his honesty would make his dishonesty believable.

The coffeehouse he found was perfectly tailored to her fantasy visions and they took a table in the back corner. The place was dark red, dark green, dark brown, coffee smoke and vanilla and cinnamon filled the thick hot air and interesting pieces of abstract artwork hung on the wall. There was one other person in the building, an elderly gent near the window reading the paper.

As Dech and Monica conversed, talking about their lives and their families (he had to make up quite a few half-truths on THAT subject), he was considering how long he would take to try to woo her. Sure, he could disappear with her right now, drag her down to his homeworld, mess her up, and toss her out to the wild hellbeasts when he was done using her up. But he could do that with anyone he wanted to at any time, and the ease of his abilities, gained through great age, sometimes felt like a form of cheating to the game. He wanted it to be a sport, a challenge, a hurdle to leap. So he would pretend to be human and do nothing magical on purpose (the mind-reading couldn't be helped, it couldn't be turned off any more than a human could turn off its ears). He would seduce her. He would make her -want- him. That was a triumph and a delectable WIN that would drive Kenneth mad with jealousy. Ken wanted Monica to be mauled and murdered...he never counted on her falling in love with the demon.

Dech could control the physical realm with his mind, could predict and resist the natural elements, could summon and destroy objects by thinking hard at them. Emotions he couldn't touch. He had to change those like any other human had to: with words and actions, and to leave the rest up to the mind of the other person. That was where his challenges could be found.

Being hurt by any stranger is simply painful. Being hurt by your suitor and 'soul-mate'? That was agony. That was trauma. That was death of the heart.

And as soon as Monica got over simple lust and moved on to true love for him, her nightmare would begin.

The rain cleared up that night. The two men -- or rather, the one fat man and the handsome man-like monster -- strolled along the streetside in the near total darkness. There was no moon and no stars, just clouds and the occasional streetlamp and lit curtained window.

"Well, Dech? Is she good enough?" Kenneth asked nervously.

"You know, you're awfully -familiar- with me, aren't you? Didn't I tell you we weren't friends?"

"...MISTER Dech."

He chuckled. "Oh no, that sounds terrible. I just enjoy making you squirm. Etiquette was never your strong suit. Neither was taking criticism."

Ken pouted. "Is she good enough?"

"Perfect," Dech said with sadism.

"So I...you won't kill me? You won't...uh, d-do anything else to me?"

"I never said never. I'm not much for keeping promises that cease to suit me. But I suppose I can restrain myself."

"O-oh." That didn't ease Ken at all.

"You're going to Hell when you die, though."

The color drained from his face. "What?"

"I don't make the rules, Kenny, I just force people to break them. And aside from your thought-sins, you've reserved yourself an entire mansion in Hades with real action."

"No...I just..."

"You're a monster. You're just like me on the inside now. You've bought your ticket and there's no refund. What are you going to do about that, servant of the snake?"

Ken wobbled and plopped down on a cold, wet iron bench. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "What CAN I do?" he asked without hope.

Dech remained standing, looking down at him calmly. "You've been considering it already, Kenneth. Why did you really call me? Just wanted to chat it up with the monster under the bed? The one that you knew was always watching you fall asleep from your bedroom closet as a child?"

Kenneth hated how he couldn't hide his memories. His parents had never believed him, but he just...KNEW...something was in that closet and something else was under the bed, watching him, wanting him to have to get up in the middle of the night to use the water closet, waiting to grab him by the ankle and drag him away, never to be seen again, heard about only in urban legend...

Dech continued. "You don't have to die, you know. I have a power over these realms. I swim upstream the River Styx. I take the Ib from Ammit's mouth. Your deity and your devil may clamor endlessly for your soul to add to their armies but I can steal from either side and keep it here Between forever. I can keep any soul from its destination. I can keep any body from death."

"You are not THE Lucifer then?" Ken asked blearily.

A chuckle at that. "Wouldn't that mean I'd have to be an angel first? I never fell from any high place. I was born and bred in my world."

"O-oh. I see. Alright. What's the p-price?"

"Even worse eternal damnation should you commit suicide after enduring the unholy blessing of necromancy."

Kenneth shuddered and felt colder than he should. "I mean...people. Who else do you want?"

"Whoever you can stand to give me, knowing their fate. Isn't this so Old Testament? Paying for your soul with the blood sacrifice of others..."

"Don't...don't..." Ken couldn't think of what else to say. He was feeling nauseous already. But excited, too. Immortality. Making deals with...whatever this was. Neverending life, sorcery powers, an ally in the otherworld. As long as Dech didn't want anyone specific, Ken could sleep at night picking any unknown drifter off the streets to offer up.

"So any well-spoken man could have walked in, reminded you a few childhood memories, feed you some supernatural crock, and you'd turn into a serial killer overnight?"

"No!" Ken felt even worse at that. The only way his plans could fail is if it turned out Dech was only a stupendous pretender. He couldn't stand that. He'd kill himself right now if Dech was only human.

"So do you want to know what I am? Proof is what you killed Ray Ewer over. Proof of the divine...the holy and the unholy. Proof of out there, outside Earth, proof of things living and unliving in places not in the physical universe."

"Ye-es...you're not going to prove it by...ahm..." Somehow, he wondered if 'prove' translated to 'inflict horrific bodily harm'.

"No. Don't get excited about it tonight anyway. This is a nice suit and my true form would destroy it. For now, I'm gone." And he was. One moment he existed there, and the next moment his space was empty and gone, and Ken saw the fog fall into the vacuous air. For some reason, it made him think of the void on the inside of Dech where he imagined there mustn't be a soul. And uncomfortably, that thought led to his own soul, and he wondered if he had one either.

If he did, it was sold now. No use worrying about it. He was going to be immortal. It would only cost a few more people, and didn't Moses kill a man for the right cause? He wasn't technically going to kill anyone, Dech would take care of the real blood-letting, Dech would take care of everything. Dech would make him immortal.

Kenneth caught himself grinning on the way home.

It had taken a small while to master but the pattern had so far proved infallable. Dech met a woman's family and he was the most upstanding character ever. He gave some lovely little gift to the parents, he was extremely well-dressed, well-acting, so impeccably mannered, fluid and confident in speech. It wasn't much different than usual, but when he and the women were with her friends and sisters, he would occasionally, with much forethought to the act, toss in one or two vaguely inappropriate flirtations to anyone in the room, but with just the kind of chuckling airiness that no one would know if he meant it. So instead of taking offense, they'd laugh, nervously, or say, "Oh, you!" with a scolding flap of their hand, but while giggling behind their fans. Sometimes one person would only blush and say nothing. But either way, if they ever took offense, he'd pass it off as a joke if they hadn't gotten that impression in the first place, and maybe imply that someone in the room didn't like to have fun and was going to die a spinster. Just imply, however, never state outright. That was the set-up. That was how it began. The perfect manners to family and nearly perfect persona with friends except for one very small lewd comment that the girl would laugh at because she didn't want to offend HIM for responding to his offensive behavior and drive him off with the impression that she'd never want to partake in private little recreations with him. Women were so afraid of offending unsuitable suitors that they would draw in the wrongest ones and drive away the gentler souls, which was perfect for Dech and his professional bastardry.

And then after that, after she got comfortable with his presence around the other people she knew, they would go to places alone. Suddenly he would move from acquaintance to escort. And there, wherever 'there' was, he would surprise with some other little romantic gift. It would be tailored to her specific interests thanks to his mind-reading and then sometime later perhaps he would spring jewelry on her and affect the lightest twinge of hurt if she didn't scream for joy at the presentation, and he'd insist but not too strongly that she wear it, and she would, and then he would look so pleased as if it really made his day that she slung a shiny rock around her neck. And again, they were always so afraid of hurting him, not knowing he was unhurtable, that they would always wear it after that whenever they went out with him. They branded themselves with his objects, chained themselves in his necklaces and bracelets. Rings? No, it never got that far.

They'd draw closer. He'd imply, oh-so-softly, subtly, just barely, that in the future he would indeed love to marry the woman or at least, even subtler of a hint, make love to her. The hints would be there. He'd pretend to be staring at her longingly when she wasn't looking and he'd look away with a half-embarrassed half-grin when she noticed. Oh, how SWEET, they thought. And sometimes perhaps he'd throw in a meant-to-be-throwaway comment about something such as, "What a story to tell our children," and then laugh with false uneasiness when she caught on to what he'd just implied. It was all about the implications. Kenneth made the mistake of being idiotically obvious with his nasty intentions. Dech left the nastiness up to the women's imaginations. And they were so good at their fantasies, he wondered if human females weren't in fact young Succubi all. As soon as they realized that sex existed in the world, they started going through their heads every possible way of going through the act, and they had these thoughts until they died of old age. There were no prudent women. They were all tightly-laced little whorebombs just waiting for someone to unleash them in the bedroom.

Sometimes, another "Our children", "Our wedding", "Our old age together" comment, and then, "Well, perhaps not entirely..." when she asked if he was really joking that time. And of course, for every throwaway comment like that, he'd also make sure to get into the conversation with a compliment on her beauty or tastes or sometimes intelligence because they all liked to pretend they were smart like men, and that a man might consider them something of an equal when it came to wisdom. They all wanted to think that somewhere deep inside their tradition-righteous man, was a forward one who believed they should own land and vote and hold employment. But in the end they just wanted to be owned. They wanted someplace to come to after the day was done, and have one last deep romp in enslavement.

Then on some private night, Dech would ask them what they thought about...their future. That really lit them up. Or, on the other hand, if they weren't ready to break out of waifery yet, they may get flustered. Either way, he'd start assuring his courted one about all the delightful home he could afford to buy on the spot, and about how good he'd treat them, and blah, blah, blah, he had to read a lot of horrible romance novels to understand humans and their unrealistic expectations in a mate. Every woman he went after was the same and he gave them the same speeches. They wanted to be taken care of like a stray dog and he'd promise all of it. And then, oh, the wedding will be SO far off, and since we're basically promised to each other now anyway, would it really hurt to...?

No, he'd never say it outright. And if they ever made a first move before that night when he mentioned The Future then he'd act a prude and say something like, "Oh, we shouldn't yet, we've barely just gotten to know each other," and she'd think it was so romantic that he cared so much about her to not move so quickly. But once he felt it was a ready time to take them, he'd start with the little romantic speeches and lead her to the nearest unoccupied bedroom and go from there.

Either way, it didn't take long. A few months, maybe a year, and then he got them in the sack and it was pretty wonderful for both of them, because he was still keeping up the act, and it had to be gentle and slow and all those other stupid adjectives women believed they wanted. The crazy rough shit would come later when he had her totally ensnared, because by then he might imply she doesn't love him if she doesn't love him physically, or that it's too late because she's no maiden and no one can take her now but him, otherwise she'll die an old maid, or any other trope he knows from reading her mind will keep her wrapped around his finger and tied up in his leashes. It was then that they loved him. It was then that he killed them in the soul. It was then that he dragged them down from their dreams and into the nightmares they'd never even imagined. He took their humanity, their names, their identities, their hearts, their lives, their bodies, and then they belonged to him, and knew that they had been abandoned by God.

"That...that was...amazing."

"As were you, Monica."

"I just want to stay here, with you. Just...lay here, forever."

"As able as I am to waste indefinite amounts of time doing nothing important, I think it's the right time for you to come see my home. I know I've been rather secretive about my living conditions, but I didn't want to overwhelm you with their description. To be immodest, my home is better than any you've seen."

"I figure you lived somewhere nice, Dech. I wouldn't be overwhelmed."

"Oh...you will be."

"So when do you want to go? Tomorrow morning?"

"That would be a boring wait for me. You see, I don't sleep."

"...what?"

"I would lie here in full wakefulness for eight hours waiting for daybreak. I'm not always so patient. Why don't we leave right now? It's a fast trip."

"Now? But...I'm tired."

"Yes, you are, aren't you? Don't worry, you don't have to move a muscle."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will, dear. From now on, you will no longer have a choice."

And she was never seen on Earth again.

"So, ah, Dech. I notice that Monica...disappeared," Kenneth said over lunch. Dechaerrim flashed a grin.

Kenny went on. "Is she...dead?"

"On the inside." And then a laugh...it was warm, but it made him feel so cold. But still, somehow, he wanted to know the details, he wanted to know everything she had suffered.

"So what are you going to do to her?"

"What haven't I already? Your price is paid, Kenny...I'll not kill you. But if you want the assurances that no one else may kill you either..."

Kenneth's face was steel. "I'll pay. I can pay with anyone. But...what I'd like to know is...how do you do it?"

"Do what? I hold many talents."

"You know, just. IT. How do you work people? I see everyone just...listens to you." Even me, he thought, and ignored it. "How?"

"Well, for one thing, I don't question myself. You just wonder too much about every move you make. And even if I ever make a mistake -- which I don't -- then no one will think I have because of my confidence. And this confidence isn't simply an imagined inflation of my worth. I know I'm the best damn person on this planet and mine. Everything I do is just another inevitable success that re-proves my superiority."

"Yeah, alright. But seeing as how I don't have god powers and --"

"Demonic. Powers. What have I told you about language?"

"Ah...er...well, I'm not very powerful. I mean, at all, I have nothing. I can't just read minds and steal souls and disappear at will, you know."

"Doesn't matter. Pretend that you can. Pretend you can get away with anything, and doing so becomes a lot easier. Especially if you have me to pay your bail."

"Okay, well...it's not just a matter of physical strength, either. What about women? How do you...get them?"

"Oh, Kenny, anyone can GET a woman. It's just a matter of knowing not to pick on someone your own size." He grinned meanly. "For you that leaves the field of prey wide open, doesn't it?"

Ken pulled a sullen face.

"For another thing, don't be so sensitive. You're an unsightly porker and everyone knows it. If you start to care about the fact, they'll know it, and USE it."

"Well, gee, thanks."

"Sarcasm gets you nowhere. It gets me anywhere I want because I'm good at it, but trust me, you're better off without the cheek. Now, the secret to women, is just knowing that deep down inside, every single one of them wants to be raped. They want to lose their false, borrowed power and have themselves be taken. I don't really have to lie. I don't have to pretend I'm a well-to-do rich gentleman without a black mark on my reputation to be found. If I went up to them and said, 'Why hello, I'm a rapist and I'm going to tear you inside out a hundred times in a row', they might fall for me even faster. It doesn't matter what they know or think they know about me. After it's all said and done they still line up to get it."

"Well, that's --"

"And so do you. So where's my next virgin sacrifice already, you simpering little bitch?"