Underworld Criminal

||Chapter 2||

What time was it? The clock read 3:36am, but to Sam it felt like an eternity. He sat alone in the dark room, a heavy rain threatening to shatter his window. He sat on the edge of the worn bed, drinking his second bottle of beer. A crack of lightning lit of the small room, illuminating a shadow in the corner. Samuel frowned. Under normal circumstances, anyone in his position would chock it up to being tipsy.

But he knew better. This wasn't the first time he had seen the figure, and he knew damn well it wouldn't be the last. He was wide awake, so it wasn't sleep paralysis either. He kept his gaze on the corner, taking another long swig of alcohol. With a huff, he pushed himself up off the bed and made slow strides to it. He had danced with death several times, so the idea of a burglar or stalker was no different.

His fingers grazed over the darkness as another bolt of lightning kissed the sky. Nothing. There was no physical touch, just an empty space between him and the wall. He took a step back, examining the small cracks in the wallpaper. With a final glance he made his way back to the bed, opting to have at another attempt for sleep. When he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. A cold, large hand.

He let out a startled yelp, immediately reaching for his gun and firing a shot in the wall. The sound ricocheted off the walls, but the bullet didn't make contact.

"Is that really how you welcome house guests?"

Was he dreaming? No, he definitely heard right. A husky voice, one with age as if it had come from a year long smoker. Samuel tumbled back onto the bed, finally decided it was time to chuck the alcohol across the room.

He needed sleep, that's all. He'd simply up the dose of his melatonin. That's all he needed. There was a slight pounding in his head, which was replaced by a sharp ache soon after. He decided it was best to just ignore it, grabbing the blankets to curl himself up under.

"Aw, so you're going to just forget I'm here?"

Sam stopped midway, feeling a cold breath on his back. He slowly turned around and went stiff. It stood at the foot of the bed, tall and lanky. Tall enough that it had to hunch over as not to hit its head on the ceiling. Its arms had inhuman proportions, long enough that they reached its ankles. Its upper torso was covered in matted black fur, and a silver chain was draped over its shoulders.

The thing that intrigued Sam the most was its face, a skull akin to a canine's. Its eyes were empty sockets with a red glow, and blood stained the dusty surface of its teeth. To call it appalling would be putting it nicely.

"What are you?" The words slipped out unconsciously.

Maybe it was because of the all the gruesome shit he had seen in the past, but it only took Sam a few moments to relax. The creature grinned, or at least, he assumed it did.

"You can call me Malachai," he leaned forward to poke Samuel between the eyes. "But I already know who you are."

Sam inhaled slowly, flinching as he grabbed the beast's wrist, "Don't touch me."

Malachai's eyes dulled, a signal that he was not pleased, "Yet you can touch me? How rude, Samuel."

"Fuck off and answer my question; What are you? You're either a really vivid alcoholic hallucination or I'm dead."

"Surprisingly, no, you're not dead. I know, shockers. Even with your little addiction, you still have a decent lifespan."

Sam scowled, "Is that all you ever do? Avoid questions?"

"Is that all you ever are? Impatient?" Malachai scoffed, "Samuel, please, I know everything about you."

"Like what?"

"You've got a dead beat dad, a little shit for a brother, and your mother is a woman in decline." He casually started to hover over Sam's bed, "What else do I need to know?"

Sam let out a snort. He wasn't entirely wrong, well except on one thing, "My dad's dead but go off."

Malachai let out a chortle. He picked his fangs with a sharp claw, "And to answer your question, I'm a Grim Reaper. Or a Shinigami if you into that Japanese shit. Which ever term you prefer."

"I'm definitely drunk."

"Nope!"

Malachai sneered again, "I'm very real~ And you're stuck with me kid!"

Samuel frowned, "What the fuck, why?" He scooted back on the bed, still disbelieving and apprehensive.

The creature unspread its feathery wings, a few stray feathers falling to the floor. They were crusted with in a thin layer of blood. "I'm a creature of habit, us reapers lead the living to death. Especially those who lust for it themselves."

Malachai hummed, "You're so done with this shit, that's all you want isn't it? To be free from reality?"

"I am not suicidal," Samuel spat.

"Oh of course not," Malachai mused. "You have everything, don't you? You're a wanted criminal but you're rich, granted through illegal means. Sure your parents absolutely hate you, but who gives a fuck. Am I right?"

Sam looked away, the alcohol making his head heavier. He looked into the empty eye sockets of the entity mere inches from his face.

"You're just misguided, that's all," Malachai brushed a claw over Sam's shoulder.

Sam flinched, grabbing his wrist and ripping his hand away from his body. "Get out."

"You want me gone?" Malachai frowned, "Even when I can help you?"

"Help me? You basically just admitted you want to kill me."

"Well yes, but I can also help you. Someone's plotting to take you out of the picture." Malachai hummed, "I can ensure that doesn't happen. Ensure you become the only monarch of the criminal underground."

Samuel's gaze lifted and he cocked an eyebrow. Malachai just smirked, "Oh, no. I'm not going to tell you who. That just ruins the fun."

He let out another demonic chortle, "We'll keep in touch, ya?"

Samuel scoffed, "No, I don't think we—And the fucker's gone."