Devil's Soul

Chapter 2 (if you count the first chapter as an actual chapter)

Sorry about that first chapter, guys. I got really nervous. I think I just needed time to get some air and level my head a little bit. I’m ready to tell the story now. Really.

The story begins with me crumpled on a small patch of grass, outside an apartment building, doing my very best to make the patch of grass smaller by ripping clumps out. If you had been in one of the apartments at the time, and if you had decided to pull yourself away from the enthralling Wheel of Fortune episode to investigate the sound of sirens, you would have looked out your window and seen me attempting to destroy the most attractive part of your view. Then you would have returned to your important T.V. show, just in time to miss the body being carted out of the building.

Don’t argue with me, I know that’s what you would have done, had you been living in my area. I lived in a part of Boston where the sound of sirens elicited no more than a slight curiosity from the locals. They were too common of an occurrence for people to put their lives on hold, just to find out what was happening. That’s just how things were in Mission Hill.

Anyway, I’m just trying to make things easier for you. Trust me, Hypothetical You is much better off contentedly watching T.V., rather than gazing at me dissolve into hysterics outside your window as my dead mother is pushed past me on a gurney and loaded into an ambulance. I hope you don’t mind if I hide up there with you during that part. Are you going to eat all of those chips? Thanks, buddy.

Deep breath. Okay, so here’s the deal. Some asshole murdered my mom, and I’m the one that found her. That asshole’s name is Dave. I’m sorry about the foul language, but when it comes to Dave, foul language is completely called for. I’m also sorry if your name is Dave. I’m sure you’re a great guy (Or girl? You never know how names are going to be used these days.), but the name Dave is now ruined for me. We don’t like Dave. Yes, we. Even if your name is Dave, you don’t like Dave either. The name makes me so sick with hate that this chapter is probably the last time you’ll ever see me write it. Again, I’m sorry to all those that are named Dave.

Don’t worry, Dave got arrested. The unfortunate part is that he got off with attempted murder. That part will make sense soon, but let me first make it very clear that Dave did murder my mom. He both attempted and succeeded in murdering her until she was very and completely dead.

You see, Dave had been dating my mom. I realize that this probably didn’t help the situation make sense to you, but if you’re patient, I promise you’ll walk away feeling slightly less confused.

They hadn’t been dating very long, and for the short time that they were dating, I made sure to keep my distance. My friends were happy to have me when I needed a place to stay. Most of them lived closer to campus, anyway. Despite the distance that I kept, I think I knew Dave better than my mom ever did. I recognized him for what he was the moment that we met: a stupid man with a short temper. My mom saw his muscles all right, but she didn’t recognize them as the weapons they were, like I did. She saw them as something else…But let’s not get into that.

I’m ashamed to say that my keen sense of self-preservation did not extend to include the preservation of my mother. To be fair, I didn’t expect him to go and kill her. I simply didn’t like to be around Dave and his temper, so I stayed away. It’s not like I didn’t try to convince my mom to dump the guy. It was actually a daily conversation that we had. The topic had put a strain on our relationship. What I should have done, though, was stand guard outside my mom’s apartment so that I could unleash the pepper spray on Dave whenever he tried to visit her until he stopped coming back. But I had always done what my mom told me to do, and she would have never permitted the use of pepper spray on her boyfriend, no matter how much of an asshole he was.

My point here is that by the time the EMT’s were wheeling her lifeless body into the ambulance, I was not only feeling devastated by her death, but also hopelessly guilty over my lack of a role in preventing it.

I know that some of you probably want to know exactly how Dave killed her. Let me just say that you’re sick, but I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t want you bugging me about it later. I found her on the bed, lying on her back, with bruises in the shapes of hands around her neck. Is that enough detail for you? If you can’t piece together what happened, then I’m not spelling it out for you.

Okay, now that her body is in the ambulance and being carted off, Hypothetical You can come back to the window to watch what happens because this is the part where things get weird and a little less sad.

A stray cat approached me. I like cats. It’s like that cat was sent there to comfort me. At least, that’s what I was thinking at the time. Now, I know exactly what that cat had been sent there for. So I took a break from pulling grass out and put my hands to better use by petting the cat. I’m sure that Hypothetical You would have been happy to see that the few remaining tufts of grass had been spared. You would have liked that cat as much as I liked that cat.

Here’s the problem; it wasn’t a cat. Hypothetical You would have never been enlightened by that fact, though, because the so-called cat retreated to a more secluded area, down an alley way. Being in the deranged state that I was, I followed the cat into said alley, seeking the comfort of its soft fur and love. Let me tell you what I found in that alley: neither fur nor love. Instead, I found a person. But this person was just as much a person as it was a cat. He was a handsome, yet nondescript man in a suite that seemed quite out of place in Mission Hill. This “man” had an offer. My mom’s life in exchange for my soul.

I will take this moment to remind you of my guilt racked and deranged state.

I think I must have only heard the first part. My mom’s life?! Yeah sounds great! Where do I sign?!

The man whipped out a glowing (Yes, it was glowing.) contract and showed me exactly where to sign. The glow was actually quite blinding, and the small attempts that I made to read the fine print hurt my eyes. I pricked my arm with the quill, just as the man instructed, and signed the contract in my blood.

I hope we all can agree that clearly I was a victim here.