FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU

35

     April 5, 2013: TattleCrime.com
Man Who Killed the "Minnesota Shrike" Declared Dead
     Will Graham, the FBI agent suspected of killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs, has been declared dead this evening. Graham was reported missing on March 28 after fleeing to Minnesota to find Hobbs. His car was found on the Lake Superior bridge that night, shortly after placing a call from Hobbs' cabin. He claimed in this call to have stabbed Hobbs to death, which was found to be true— an inside informant at the FBI has told TattleCrime that Graham's DNA was found around the murdered body.
     "Based on the evidence," said our informant, who declines to be named, "including the contents of the call, Will's history, and other factors, we've ruled the disappearance of Will Graham as a suicide."
     Hobbs is also known as a prolific serial killer, dubbed the "Minnesota Shrike." He has killed presumably twenty victims, all young girls, including his own daughter Abigail. Both Hobbs's family as well as the FBI decline to comment.
With reporting from Freddie Lounds
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     It's a quiet evening in Baltimore. It's approaching 8 PM, with the sun finally beginning to set later in the day. Spring is finally showing its face, and everyone is ready for the warm season. Endless possibilities, endless colors.
     Jack Crawford, fifty-three, stands at a colleague's doorstep with one hand in his pocket. He carries of a bottle of red wine by the neck. He rings the bell and waits, appearing tense and unnerved. Considering the fate of his most prized investigator, it's understandable— he'd gotten used to being surrounded by death, but never before had it brushed so close. Never before had he ever had to blame himself.
     Hiding in plain sight, around the building's corner, there lurks a man with a knife. It is the first time he's left this very house in days, which is likely the reason for the colleague's absence— he's busy looking for this stalker.
Jack waits for a long while for his colleague to answer the door, and he eventually reaches up to ring the bell again. The man in the shadows watches, his gloved fingers curled tightly around the handle of the knife, and in a sudden burst of movement he lunges towards Jack. Jack stumbles, clearly surprised, and his attacker plunges the blade into his stomach before he can even cry out.
The knife slides across Jack's abdomen, cutting a wide horizontal scar into his skin. Jack falls backwards, his head landing on the concrete sidewalk with a sickening crack. Blood begins to seep out from under him, soaking into the grassy lawn.
The attacker steps into the light. Dark curls fall across his face, but there's no mistaking the fiery rage in his eyes. He kneels down on the ground, cutting Jack vertically this time like an autopsy patient. He then discards the knife and goes in with his bare hands, his nails digging into the moist tissue.
He pries the torso open and begins to tear out the organs one by one. He cracks each rib in half, snapping them like wishbones, and he wraps his hand around a pulsating lung. Then the heart, blood spurting onto his face. He doesn't even seem to notice. As he mutilates the body, his skin begins to shed, evaporating to reveal a creature of pure, white light. It spreads a pair of grey wings, head tilted back.
The entire city falls silent. It's a different kind of quiet from the usual nighttime affair, like the world itself has stilled. No one comes to help Jack Crawford. They couldn't even if they wanted to.
The front door opens too late. Another man, Jack's colleague, quickly rushes to the scene. He doesn't appear afraid of the creature, simply watching it pull out Jack's stomach. His eyes are filled with fascination and amazement as he witnesses the violence.
"..Why?" He whispers so softly that it can hardly be heard over the squelching organs. He has a faint accent. "I told you the plan. I told you what we had to do." He raises his arm to touch the creature, then thinks better of it. "You weren't supposed to kill him, Angel."
He isn't angry, just curious. The creature doesn't respond at first, but it picks up the pair of lungs and holds one in each hand. It holds one out to the man with an expectant look on its face.
"Why did you kill him?"
"Because I wanted to." Its voice is layered and soft. It sets the lungs down into the pile. "Because I hated him."
"You've done this at my home. They'll be looking for both of us now." The man is surprisingly calm given his words. He almost looks satisfied, like this is what he wanted all along.
"Exactly." The creature gives a chilling smile, cupping the man's ear with his thumb. It runs its fingers through the back of the man's hair. "Now you can never leave me. Just like you made sure I can never leave you."
The man pauses. A small smirk appears on his face.
"You forget how closely I see you, Lucifer," the creature says.
In a flash of light, the man is gone, replaced by a similar being with black wings and thick antlers. The first creature immediately seems smaller in its presence.
"You know I'd never leave you," Lucifer replies.
"Yes. And you know I'd never leave you. But you locked me in anyway."
"By showing you the truth?" It's an expert dodge. Lucifer's knowing smile stays.
"You encouraged me to be like you. More importantly, though, you made me become obsessed with you." The smaller creature leans in close. "It's only fair that I lock you in, too. I can't leave you," it kisses Lucifer's lips, "and you can't leave me."
"Oh, Tranquility." Lucifer snickers. "What a cunning one you are."
They laugh, as if sharing an inside joke.
"Are you really obsessed with me?"
"As much as you are with me." Tranquility reaches his hand down and picks up the pair of lungs once more. "Made for each other, are we not?"
Lucifer takes his. They both stare at the organs in their hands before, like starving wolves, they begin to eat. Their teeth sink deeply into the raw meat, tearing the lungs apart. Blood gushes out from the organs, and they let it all fall into their mouths like fine wine. They feast together, hunched over the poor desecrated body of Jack Crawford. They take bites of the heart together, sharing it. Savoring it. Visceral matter dribbles down their chins. The stomach, the kidneys, the liver; bulbous sacks of pink meat writhe all the way down their throats. They are gluttonous, as they don't know when this could happen again: a true meal, not the kind of meal that humans consume. Their human bodies won't feel a thing— they may even be hungry— but this was more important. A feeding of the soul, the light, the dark.
When the good meat has all been consumed, the two slowly get up off the ground. They hold bloody hands, grabbing onto each other for dear life.
Despite their exchange, the two gaze at each other with love. They don't need to lock each other in. They need each other too much already. Every action is a desperate call for the other's attention, and it's so wonderful to have someone listen. They couldn't live without each other now, not after realizing how incomplete their lives were before.
In another spark of light, the two become human again, drenched in blood and breathing heavily. They smile, share a brief kiss on the lips, and then they run.