THE DEVIL || Castle Rock Original Plot Line

iii.

iii. the executioner.

ALASTOR

I could feel her heart pumping through her chest the moment she stepped foot into this prison, the sound like music to my ears. Though I could not see her nor hear her, I knew both qualities were gorgeous and exasperating. When I saw the dirt caked lightly across her delicate skin, I wanted to rip the bars off the door and maul the disgusting officer eyeing her up as he pushes her farther towards me.

I watch from the back of my cell, too astonished to move. What can she possibly be to take my breath away? I haven't ever met someone that has caught my attention before I have even met them. She shouts profanities to the man, and I step forward, watching carefully as I can hear his heart rate increase, implying anger. She glances towards me as I lean against the blackened bars, watching her right back.

She shivers right before the officer raises his baton and slams it against her delicate chest, sending her flying onto her backside. I growl under my breath, trying to maintain my emotions. This has never happened before, I have never felt the need to help someone, most of the time it is the opposite. She shrieks, wincing and squeezing her eyes closed tight. Not having a moment to comprehend whatever pain she is experiencing, she is hauled upwards and dragged towards my cell.

I back up, eyes widening. Is she my cellmate? She, the girl who caught my attention in the snap of a finger, just so happens to be the replacement cellmate I get? The handcuffs which I can smell are coated in her luscious blood, are ripped off of her and she gets manhandled into the cell with me. I stare down at her, sort of amazed at how tiny she manages to be. Standing at probably five foot, she is curvy but slim, weighing at the most a hundred.

"Holy shit you're a fucking giant." She gasps, holding her wrists to her chest. Unable to reply, I stand silently. She blushes before looking around at all the bizarre things left on the walls from my former, and now dead, cellmate.

She steps around me, to take a better look at the beds. Before she can get any closer to them though, the alarm that signals lunch buzzes loudly, causing her to jump out of her skin. Once the click of the cell doors are opened, I dart straight out of there. Unable to compose my mind and thoughts, I walk past everyone silently, leaving her in the cell by herself.

I stop halfway. Am I dumb? Why would I leave the only person who had struck a cord in my alone in the middle of a prison full of hormonal, deranged men and women? I spin around and even take the next step as to running back to the cell. When I get there, I see the back of a short male in the doorway of our cell, facing her.

"-the matter, can't you have a little fun? Why don't you come with me? It isn't like you have a choice though, is it? Su-"

I grab his neck and yank him backwards, sending him across the slim hall and into the next line of cells. Slumped on the ground, holding his head, he looks up at me with confusion. I tower over him, glaring harshly. "If I ever see you near her again, I will drain the blood from your body through your eyes. And then I'll do it to your mother, and your father, and then your wife, and your eight month old daughter."

His eyes widen at the information I know about him, the information he never shared with anyone in fear that they might do something with it. He runs off, stumbling to his feet and knocking into a few more cells before leaving my view.

I turn back to the girl who took my breath away. "What is your name?"

With her back pressed against the cell door, she bites her lip and looks up at me warily. Gulping and then licking her lips, she finally answers. "Azreal Monica, but most call me the archangel of death."

. . .

After following the angel throughout the prison and into the cafeteria, ensuring her safe passage, I decided to go with the rest of the inmates to the large lunchroom instead of waiting to eat separately. Since I have been here I went through multiple phases. The first, was numbness, unsure about my surroundings and adjusting to a new world. The second, was craving for the relationship I had with Warden Lacy.

And finally the third, anger. Anger at what not only he put me through, but for the sheriff allowing me to be taken. Anger at the new warden and her stupid minions for thinking they can control me. No one has ever heard of a person controlling the Devil, until the Devil has met his match.

I was starting to think my match was a five foot nothing girl the size of a cherry tomato.

"U-Uh, excuse me..." I feel a small tug on the bottom of my uniform, making me stop immediately and turn to the small girl who has been glued to my hip since we have left our cell. She blushes when our eyes connect. Her lips start to move, her eyes darting between my intense gaze and her small fingers which are twisting together nervously. Although I know she is speaking, I don't hear her. 

My thoughts are concentrated on the pull I feel towards her. The pull I haven't ever felt before, the need to hold her close to me and shield her from the harsh reality- to protect her from any and every thing. Her blush intensifies, and she looks up at me for a longer moment, licking her lips.

"S-Sir?"

I am snapped out of my small distraction, the present flooding in around me while I almost take her small waist into my hand and guide her into the lunch line- but I remember what happens to those I touch and I refrain from doing so. Instead, I wave my hand forward as to signal her to move on, so we don't waste more of our time standing here like we already have.

"Yes, little one?"

I hear her heart skip a beat, and I force a smile down- which is odd, since I have never felt the urge to smile before. She shies away from my view, letting her ginger colored hair paint over her face like a veil. I tilt my head to get another perspective, wondering if she is just as beautiful from that angle.

"Um, what's your n-name?" She hums quietly, and if it weren't for my excellent hearing, I wouldn't have heard her. My mouth goes dry. My name? If it weren't for what I am, I don't think I would have remembered my name. Lacy never gave me one, and growing up in an orphanage at a young age until I was taken, they didn't give me one either.

But, regardless of all of those human-like memories, I know my name. It is embedded into my head as your first language or your own likes and dislikes. It presents itself to me for the first time- even though this is certainly not the first time I have been asked that. I take a deep breath, stepping farther along the line and looking back down at the delicate yet patient girl.

"My name is Alastor, 'the executioner', the devil- and please, by god, don't touch me again."

. . .

Her eyes shine at me with pain, glossing over just slightly before she bows her head towards the ground. "I-I'm sorry... I won't..."

My heart, which I wasn't sure was even there before, pangs with guilt and the urge to correct myself. Unfortunately, my voice remains silent. It takes me a few long, painful moments for me to understand how I can explain my simple yet somehow harsh request. By this time, we are already sat down at a table, by ourselves.

"Angel," I grasp her attention as gently as I can.

Her wide eyes snap up to mine, surprised for a reason I can't understand. She sets down her silverware and looks up patiently, waiting for me to continue- so I do. "It isn't that I don't want your hands on my body, it is that when a person touches me, they become someone else, and I don't want to taint you. You don't deserve what comes if you touch me, and for that I will never make the mistake of letting you."

. . .

word count: 1447