In My Hands, Know Suffering

44: Knocking On Hell's Door

Red was a color often associated with heat, denial, hunger and love. Love. Why was it so difficult sometimes to love someone? To keep them safe and in deep caring? Why would one small word bring about so much meaning for another when all it actually ever did to you was make your life more complicating?

The irony of loving someone was a heavy burden to the heart. If one could only cut the strings then there won't be any obstacles at all. It was pleasant when still a starting matter, but eventually, those fantasies you'd share with another would fade and so will the feeling. Everyone was no exception. Too much love will kill you, so they say.

How would psychopaths love anyway? In what form would they be able to conjure the image towards another? The way Joker undid Harley Quinn? Perhaps. But battling against something unfathomable was something else.

"Specter," Castellone said, glaring at the shadow from the abyss. Something dragged him back, taking into account how in the world it happened again. It had been a while since his last visit.

The entity, though black and barely had an indiscernible facade, smiled at him. It greeted him just the same, telling him how much he missed having his soul there with him, just for company. "I've been lonely, Llone. Really, really lonely."

As if the pause kept them at check, the entity continued. "You've been with her, I saw. I know. It kinda boggles me that you're still with her, even after telling you that I want her."

Clearly, there must be something else, but when had their conversation lead anywhere? Castellone had enough of the entity's mockery, requests and relentless bloodshed.

"I know you want to get rid of me, Llone. And I know one way you could do that." Specter smiled.

Castellone didn't want to hear it. He knew what it was going to say. He didn't want to let go of the thing he had, it was something far too precious even for him. It was his first time to care, why would they, or Specter, want to take that away from him? Had he been so cold hearted that fate decided he should just remain so? Nonsense. People change, they had the ability to. It was their choice.

He was no different. He changed, and it was a transformation even he wasn't able to see, it grew on him slowly. But to take away the reason for his changing was a different story. He couldn't allow that. He didn't want it to happen. Not to him.

He had only recently registered something from what Specter said. He frowned, frustrated, realizing the only thing that it had been digging from the start. He wanted to be free of it, but at a very steep price. It was because the entity didn't want anyone to suppress the powers sleeping within his being. Specter would be unstoppable, and it would probably mean the death of the other, and of many more.

The death of Abrielle.

Who cared about her anyway? Who would even dare remember her? She was a nuisance from the very beginning, a sore eye, someone who should have died the minute they've met. Sievetech won't even care about what would happen to her as long as she had served her purpose. She was not worthy of anything from the start. Not her life, and definitely not living. She was a mistake brought into this cruel world. But she was there anyway, right?

So it all came down to the same question, would anyone remember or even dare to think of her welfare? The answer would be an irony. He did. He would. She had no one else. But him.

Was offering her the only possible way to be free of Specter? It was going to be a game, he knew that. It had always been a game. Taking people's lives, the bloodlust, the red light district for its own pleasure, the screams and sorrow, they were all Castellone's burden to bear. The aftermath of its playful encounters were a hangover of guilt.