Capricorns and Devil Horns

My Own Bone

   When Morgan carried the shopping in, he noticed a speck of black on my neck. There was no doubt in my mind what it was. Well, at least, where it had come from. The chest of that demon in the Sainsbury's car park. Fuck, my life was weird...

   Without another word, I got into the shower and scrubbed my body clean under the near-boiling water. And that's where I stayed, distracted by my own thoughts as well as the 'Now That's What I Call 80s' album playing from my phone under a towel.

   I'd been in there for a while and my fingers had pruned. There was a knock on the door, which I'd assumed to be from the Domino's Guy, so I turned off the water and braced myself to get out.

   Morgan must've at least gotten the pizza in and grabbed us a beer and wine by the time I picked up the towel and turned off my music.

   I yelled out his name, only to be met with a gurgle of pain. This was a usual occurrence after a loud crash or bang. Morgan was quite possibly the clumsiest of all the Archangels.

   "Did you just walk into the glass door again?"

   Usually, this would be met with a string of creatively-connected swear words. There was just another gurgle.

   "Morgan?"

   I could see him as soon as I burst through the bathroom door. He lay on the rug, something hard and ivory-coloured bursting through his chest. Thick blood, more burgundy than crimson, soaked into the PAC-man rug. His eyes were squinted shut, his lips peeled back to bear his teeth and beads of sweat rolled down his pale forehead.

   I collapsed beside him, taking his clammy hands between mine.

   "Morgan, who did this?" I exclaimed, not caring that my towel was starting to slip.

   "F-fucking p-pizza guy." He rasped.

   "What?"

   "Demon."

   "Shit. What do I do? You look like Hell."

   He did what was probably intended as a snort.

   "Nothing."

   "You what, Mate?"

   "Th-There's nothing you c-can do."

   "How? You're Satan. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing can kill you. You're already fucking dead!"

   "Goat."

   "What?"

   "Goat skull. It's the closest you can get to my own bone."

   "There's gotta be some-"

   "There's nothing you can do, Dear. There's nothing..."

   "I could go to Hell! I could go and bring you out like you did wi-"

   "No, Nora. I can't come b-back from this. N-not from goat sk-skull."

   "Yes you can! This is not how it ends! You're the Devil, for God's sake!"

   "And to Hell, I must return."

   "No." I sobbed, fighting back tears like he was fighting his drooping eyelids. "No. Don't you fucking da-"

   "I love you, N-Nora. For a s-small time, y-you made m-me feel-l alive."

   "You are alive! You are fucking alive!" I sprung to my feet, turning on my heel, "I'm gonna fucking call a fucking ambulance. Or Viv. I'm gonna get us some fucking wine and then I'm gonna fucking call-"

   It was only when I paused to allow myself to breathe, I realised that Morgan had stopped. The shallow raspy breaths that had filled the apartment had stopped. I reluctantly turned back to look at him and my biggest fear was confirmed. His bloodied chest was still.

   He looked beautiful sleeping, I'd always thought that. I just never thought- never dreamed- that his beauty would become tragic. Morgan Sterner was art, even in death.

   I kept his body on his bed for weeks. I scoured Hell for his soul for three entire days, which of course felt longer "down under". Nothing. Not one sign of him. I'd refused to move him until Viv came over one day with a home-made apple turnover. She sat me down and made me realise that it just wasn't healthy. Vivienne had to bury David and I had to bury Morgan. She helped me. We had a little funeral for him, burying him beside (a heartless) David and I went home and cried a lot.

   The demons weren't a problem for much longer after that. I assumed Morgan repaired the gates quite early on and Viv went on little trips carrying baseball bats and kitchen knives. Somehow, Hannah had made it on the news, but not the 100s of demons roaming London. Oh, Hannah...

   It took me around 3 years to move on. By then, there was not a nephilim or demon or angel in sight. Just me and Skip together against the world. Not a day went by where I didn't think of Morgan Sterner. Not a painting was painted without a goat or an angel or butterfly. I never ate Chinese.