Wildflowers and Tattoos (The Crow: Bill Skarsgard)

Chapter 14

❀Lillie❀

The minute I open my eyes I want to go back to sleep.

A familiar scene of stars twinkle above me with a certain beauty that I have attempted to capture in drawing several times, but never manage to get quite right.

Fucking hell.

...Literally.

I groan loudly, pushing the heels of my palms into my eyes.

Why am I here?

"That's no way to say hello." An all too familiar voice chuckles.

I mumble a quiet 'fuck off' and show Satan the middle finger of my right hand.

"Don't be so grumpy. I haven't seen you in a while." He coaxes.

"So you what... kidnapped me?" I joke, sluggishly pushing myself into a sitting position.

"...Well technically I killed you, but also not really."

What?

I've never whipped my head around so fast.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I was making a joke. You killed me? And what do you mean 'not really'? Am I dead, kidnapped, or alive?" The questions tumble out in what writers would call word-vomit.

Satan chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "Frank missed you?"

"You fucking killed me?"

I can't wrap my head around this. One moment I was lying on the floor feeling like death and cuddled up to Erik, and the next I'm in Hell.

It's too early for this... or too late. I've got no fucking clue.

"Like I said, yes... and no."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I don't think my confusion is being spoken clearly enough, as I still have not gotten a straight answer from this guy.

"Well... you can walk." Satan says as a way of answering.

"No shit, you dumb fuck."

"Between here and there." He 'explains,' rolling his eyes at my profanity.

"...Yeah, whatever this is." I wave my hand around, like whatever this is isn't just my escape from reality, which right now I don't even want.

"Lillian, you can exist between both living and dead. You've done it your whole life, everytime you've been here."

With the force at which my palm meets my forehead, I'm not entirely sure I haven't just given my inner existence's form a concussion.

"You don't believe me, but that's what this is."

I think that I have no clue what's going on.

I think that I really am crazy.

I think that my imagination is fucking with my, or maybe it's those new drugs.

I think this might be some kind of mental breakdown.

I think that I really want some fucking coffee... Haven't had that shit since being put into a facility all those years ago.

Yeah, I definitely have no clue what's going on.

I'm definitely crazy.

I'm definitely being fucked with.

I'm definitely having some kind of mental breakdown.

And I am definitely in need of caffeine... or maybe some alcohol. Maybe now would be the best time to try it.

"So, let's pretend I'm not confused for a minute... I'm practically a ghost, because I'm both dead and not. And you never told me this after basically knowing me my whole life because...?" I rub the skin between my eyebrows, attempting to ease the pain I created by hitting myself.

"There was no need to explain this before. You used it as a safe place, and didn't need to understand it."

I frown. "And I do now?"

"Yes."

"Before you explain why I need to know now, of all times, can you tell me whether or not I'm dead?" I ask, worried for the first time in my life that I am dead.

"To put it simply: no, you are not dead." Satan finally gives me a straight answer.

"Thank God." I pause to sigh. "The one time in my life I don't have a persistent death wish, and I get told that I kinda am... Shit's fucked up."

"I'm sorry." Satan apologizes. "But I needed to warn you."

Warn me? What, am I a part of some ancient prophecy now?

I throw myself backwards onto the grass and starfish my limbs. "What has my poor little life become?"

Satan ignores my comment, and returns to crafting an explanation that will likely leave me with more questions than answers. "You have caught the attention of someone very bad. He is not supposed to be here, but he is, and he's turned his ill-intended eyes on you."

"Can I get, like a name? Or are we just gonna keep with the vague mysteriousness?" I interrupt.

If I'm gonna get some grand prophecy told to me, I'm gonna need straight facts, not whatever the fuck they give the protagonists in movies.

"And just so we're clear, I am not going on some mystical quest to vanquish this 'bad guy.'" I add.

Satan peers down at me. "I'm not sending you on 'some mystical quest' I'm warning you that he's going to come for you, and you need to get away."

"And how am I supposed to do that? You do know I've lived in mental and rehabilitation facilities since turning thirteen right? How the fuck am I supposed to just get away? They don't exactly let us go on vacations." I rant, standing to my feet.

Satan stares at me, his warm brown eyes crinkled at the end with worry. "I don't know, but take that boy with you."

"Erik?" My eyebrows furrow.

"Whatever boy you saw the night you almost died."

"Why?"

Satan places both of his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to meet his gaze. There are so many things swimming in his eyes, from worry to confusion and curiosity. "I know that you feel something with him. Listen to your feelings. That boy will be special just like you."

"How do you know this shit? Are you like a witch? Or an angel? Or-or... actually it would be pretty hilarious if you were an angel and I've been calling you Satan this whole time." I pause to laugh at myself, before snapping back to a serious attitude.

Jesus Christ, I really am a head case.

"That's not the point... How do you know about Erik? And what do you mean he's special?"

He gives me a small smile, both filled with something a soft kind of knowing, like a father talking to his daughter about a crush; and a mysterious kind of knowing, like an author who knows exactly what's going to happen but doesn't want their readers to know.

"You'll know when you need to."

I frown. "What the fuck is this? Why do we have to play this game?"

"Because you don't need to know now."

"This prophecy stuff is bullshit!"