Let Me In

Part 6

The contrast between the medicinal white hallways, and the colorfully decorated office had to of been one of the biggest red flags he'd seen.

Khonsu had never shied away from giving wealthy business tycoons the same due process as everyone else, and as a result, he'd been inside various corporate halls more times than he could count. Something about wealth bred immoral behavior, and such behavior deserved justice. This was the mindset Marc Spector had carried for years, and only recently had he begun to break apart this mentality. It wasn't his place to declare who should live, and who should die. Neither was it Khonsu's. That being said, out of all the business men he'd had the displeasure of meeting over the years, none had had the intricate waiting room he found himself in now.

Every wall was decorated from floor to ceiling in different flags and tarps, most of which he didn't even bother trying to decipher. The designs on them were simply too complex, and the commotion from having so many things going on at once made keeping his eye in one place near impossible. There were banners, ropes, newspaper clippings; not even the floor was safe from the vomit of contradicting patterns. It all stunk of some overly pompous millionaire with money to flaunt, though that could have been the weird herbal incense burning in the corner.

"Excuse me?"

Marc's head snapped back over to the woman at the desk. "Sorry, what was a that?"
"I asked are you here for an appointment? That's what you called about, isn't it, Mr. Lockley?" The woman repeated, this time a little more flatly. The fake smile brought hyper attention to where her hands were, which at the moment, happened to be right on her keyboard. She didn't seem to have a weapon, but that didn't mean there wasn't one hidden nearby. He kept his eyes locked on the spot even as he approached the desk. "Yeah, I am. When's the earliest you can get me?"

She gave a small huff, before promptly beginning to type once more. "Well, the issue is, we've been having quiet a lot of problems with you recently. It truly was a surprise to receive your call, though as considerate as it is that you bothered coming in today, I don't think we can afford letting you meet Bilith anytime within the foreseeable future."

Bilith. He searched every corner of his mind, but everything came back empty. All of his brain's focus seemed to be split between a million different things, leaving his body left to do the useless job of standing there like a hopeless dog. He didn't need to be in on the situation to know that he was not playing the part well of whoever she thought he was. With a couple coughs he brought back his shoulders, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "Well, let's say there's a hypothetical world where I did get an appointment to meet with Bilith, what would you say would happen then?"

"Bilith only communicates with those who seek his aid." She stated, finally dropping the smile from her face. "A meeting would imply that you want his help, but from the four funerals we've had over the past week alone, that doesn't seem to be your motive, is it? Mr. Lockley?"

Four funerals. Every word after that seemed to fade into the complex scenery around them. That was four people's lives on his hands. The fact he didn't even know their names, or what they did, pained more than any long-winded description could of. At least then, he would have had something to grasp onto. Standing there though, with not even a remotely reflective item in sight, he was completely alone. It was as if the ground was moving beneath his feet. His heart rate tripled in speed, and the salty taste of sweat touched his lips.

"Mr. Lockley...Lockley...Spector?"

Marc finally looked up, and he could tell then and there that he'd fucked up. "So, your name is Marc Spector then?" She hummed. "That's what it says on your birth records. Not uncommon for men of your stature to pick up an alias."