"Before Dawn"

Chapter 7: Crimson Eyes

The imp-man—hidden in an industrial, wheeled laundry cart—is buried under a large pile of soiled bed-sheets, robes, towels, and whatever else was collected to be laundered. He had casted a spell to convey his plan on getting inside of the hospital on an unsuspecting orderly coming in for his night shift. The obese orderly had reminded him of an elephant because supposedly, like elephants, the fellow is afraid of mice. The imp-man had told orderly that once his job was done, to go home straight away where he'd be safe from the little squeaky things.

How comical.

Twenty minutes or so had passed after the wheels on his conveyance had come to a stop but the imp-man simply wasn't ready to come out. He was enjoying every minute—and the stench—of his time in the laundry basket. He supposes it's time now to get to work.

The imp-man inhales one last strong whiff of laundry. His nostrils flair as the smell of urine, bile, and poop stimulate him. He raises his monstrous head from the laundry basket to have a look around the dimly lit hospital room. His human side is acutely familiar with the hospital scene, and naturally focuses his attention to the figure on the bed—the patient. To the imp-man—the host for his master.

The imp-man with his cane-sword in hand completely emerges from the laundry basket, sending some of its contents tumbling softly to the floor. Conveniently, he notices a stained doctor's coat, a fine replacement for the one Dawn Morningside had ruined. He strips of the old one, and dons the new one, content.

Moving on.

First-things-first. Check the door. As stealthily as his cloven feet will allow, he walks—cli-click, cli-click, cli-click—over to the door. He peeks through the long narrow glass and sees a police-officer a few feet away sitting in a chair—dozing and nearly out. The imp's human-side had expected an officer to be posted here, especially for a criminal the likes of Beaumont "Mac" Reynolds.

Beaumont "Mac" Reynolds. Reynolds is a fearless and respected, violent life-long criminal with no regard for his life, let alone the life of others. Pimping... breaking-and-entering...human-trafficking...drug dealing...murder. And he'd not done any jail time truly congruent with his crimes—a bid here, a bid there. He'd essentially eluded the scales of justice, someway, someway. A bald and chiseled six-foot five, two-hundred-and-thirty pound-plus behemoth, Beaumont "Mac" Reynolds is a man with a heart as black as his obsidian skin. There's not a single sliver of good in Reynolds—a sufficient host for the imp-man's master.

The imp-man moves to the foot of Reynolds's bed. The man is on life support, it appears. Multiple bullets had riddled his body, shattering bone and puncturing vital organs. Cables and cords run from his body to beeping machines with bright flashing numbers. In a matter of moment, Reynolds won't need the machines—and his body certainly won't be dead.

The imp-man steps a few paces back from the edge of the bed. He assumes the position of reverence to his master. In a matter of seconds his impish-spirit is in The Void, and his human-side is alert and ready for any intruders. He feels his master's essence cling to his own, engulfing him in a sensation that is both riveting and frightful.

"Show me the way," The Master commands.

The imp-man's spirit exits The Void with his passenger, and returns to his impish-humanoid body. He feels his master's essence rip itself away, and he feels as though his bones are on fire. The imp-man maintains his kneeling position of servitude as the black-murky shape that is his master gravitates toward it's host. He watches in fear and excitement as his master's form cascades downward onto the body of Beaumont "Mac" Reynolds. The Master seeps into the pores of Reynold's skin until he has totally dissipated.