The Hauntings

Chapter 21

Francis stands on the precipice of the O2 arena's stage, surrounded by the millions of empty seats. The stage devoid of glitter, sparkles and confetti. Lights switched off, that later evidently will be burning with a tirade of colours.

He can understand why Elizabeth does what she does, the feeling that countless number of fans flock to see her, as she unleashes that delicious voice of her's. The adrenaline rush, the admiration, the respect and the fame. 

He has none of that. Realising that, Francis feels a pang of envy. A lowly human accomplishing everything he has ever wanted. But he is a Trickster, an immortal, indestructible, untouchable. Francis would have all of those things, but he has to have his revenge first and then he would start afresh, a clean slate, an empty conscious. 

Elizabeth is coming. He can smell her scent. Hear her heart beat. Feel the rhythm of her walking pace. He can't seem to resist becoming so finely attuned to this victim. 

Francis transforms into his human form. The image Elizabeth seems to have developed a liking to, which sends a rush through him, to get a reaction from her. He might as well enjoy her company as Elizabeth's time isn't quite up yet. Francis will be the composer of her death song. It isn't her fault Francis controls the tempo of this dark song, she's just guilty by association. Your friends define who you are. 

Her stiletto heels stumble and come to a stop, as she realises who is on her stage. After a few seconds her heels begin their clicking again.

Elizabeth's heart beat jumps up, as her eyes catch onto the person she thought she would never see again. He should be gone by now but so clearly isn't. She forces herself to move forward because she has a bone to pick with Francis. Elizabeth might as well do it here, no-one is around this morning. The production team would begin to leak in, in the afternoon to do the last minute preparation for  tonight. 

"What is your problem?" Elizabeth accuses as she glides to a stop, a good two meter away from Francis, maintaining her personal space. 

"So you want to be my psychiatrist, now? A singer not doing it for ya?" He stares into the vacant darkness of the towering seats. 

"Hah! You are beyond any help, did you know that, Francis? You lied to me. You tortured me. You played me." Elizabeth spits, crossing her arm in frustration. 

Francis doesn't say anything. That's what a Trickster is. A creature from a world that is immeasurably menacing and twisted, than human minds can possibly fathom. It comes with the job description. 

Elizabeth continues, bristled at his lack of response. "So you want to tell me what the hell you're still doing here? I know what you are, now. Jokes over. Now you can piss off from where you came from." 

"I'm not finished yet." Francis turns around, with a stone cold expression. 

Elizabeth's words weren't supposed to hurt, but a part of him is wounded. Maybe he's not used to having such raw emotions exploded onto him. He usually tricked from afar but what he's doing here is different. Elizabeth is different. 

"Oh, you haven't satisfied that sick sadistic pleasure of yours yet? Oh silly me, how could I stupidly forget? You want to torture and murder more people. What will your mother think?" Elizabeth sneers unconsciously stepping closer in her violent anger. 

"My mother's dead." He calmly states. 

Elizabeth's mouth clamps shut in surprise. Whether it is in shock or a reflex when someone tells you one of their parents are dead, she is uncertain. 

"I'm sorry." She mumbles, finally.

Her anger dissipating a little but it doesn't change the fact he has killed someone.