Angel's Demon

3. Searching

3. Searching

Asmodeus lifted his face to the warmth of the sun. It was much cooler topside than it was in Satan’s realm, yet the feel of the sun on his skin was invigorating. He took a deep breath. The air may be polluted, but it was a great improvement on the recycled air in hell.

Where he was didn’t matter. What did matter was that there were people, and lots of them. Asmodeus had decided that he would need to take people of every race and creed, as well as every religion. He would even target agnostics and atheists, for what better way to hide the army of God than amongst those who were sitting on the fence, or didn’t believe in Him. All walks of life would be targeted, from the homeless and poor, to the middle classes, celebrities — they were in a class of their own — and the very rich. He would draw the line at the elderly though. A geriatric earth-bound angel was not what he was looking for. He needed someone in their prime. That would rule out the very young as well — those still dependent on adults to feed them and wipe their arse.

The building Asmodeus walked through was enormous. The sign out the front had said Windy Peak Shopping Centre, and it was indeed full of all kinds of shops.

The number of people coming and going was staggering. Asmodeus was always amazed at how mortals had managed to survive, and thrive, in a world such as this. They thought they were at the top of the food chain, and perhaps topside they were … for now.

Asmodeus needed to find a place where he could view passers-by and assess whether they might be suitable candidates for an all-expenses-paid trip to the wrong side of life — or the right side, depending on your point of view.

A large, central food court, bustling with the activity of lunchtime crowds, came into view. There were hundreds of people here. This seemed the ideal place in which to scope out the local talent, so to speak. Asmodeus looked around for somewhere to sit, and found that all of the seats were taken. He leaned down to an old man who was slowly making his way through the food on his plate and whispered into his ear, “You will move.”

The elderly man’s eyes glazed over. He picked up his tray and vacated the seat, walking a good fifteen metres away. There he simply stood, waiting for another seat.

Asmodeus smiled and sat down. People glared at him, yet he paid little attention — he was too focused on sizing up those around him.

A couple of people attracted his eye. There was a woman in her early thirties, whose hair was just starting to grey. She was sitting ramrod straight, eating a salad, and looked to be very fit. Asmodeus could see the well-toned muscles of her arms beneath her blouse. Then there was a young man, still in his teens, all attitude and self-centred, as Asmodeus perceived most of his generation to be.

Asmodeus watched both of them closely. He was undecided which one he would take back with him. Perhaps if there was sufficient time between each of them leaving the food court they would both be his. He waited patiently, scowling at anyone who came near his table. Potential distractions would not be tolerated.

The young man was talking loudly on his phone. Many of the people sitting at the nearby tables looked up and shook their heads. This place was loud enough without an unruly young lout making additional noise.

“Dude, I like totally told my olds to shut the f**k up and leave me alone.”

There was a pause as the young man listened to the response of the person he was talking to. He nodded his head, not realising how pointless the action was — his friend would never know that his head was moving. The verbal diarrhoea that was spewing from the young man’s mouth was all that his invisible companion would register.

“If you’re going to drop out of school you have to get a job,” he said in a deep voice, mimicking what could only be his father. “Like, they just wanted to bring me down, right?”

Asmodeus saw his chance to corral this youth. He pushed back the chair he was sitting on and stood up. His eyes never left the young man as he walked slowly towards the table where he was seated.

“No way,” the young man said into this phone. “That’s fucken awesome. I know where we can get some good s**t. Give me five and I’ll —”

Asmodeus ripped the phone from the young man’s hand and slipped it into the pocket of the coat he was wearing.

Those closest to the table went silent, and turned towards the two men. As is human nature, they wanted to watch the exchange between a young hooligan and an older, yet somewhat more frightening, man.

“Hey old man, that’s my phone,” the young man complained. “You’d better give it back.”

“Or what?” Asmodeus asked, in a low and menacing voice.

As he stood suddenly, the legs of the young man’s chair made a sound not unlike fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. He puffed out his chest and pulled back his shoulders, trying to make himself look as fierce and large as possible. Perhaps he could scare this old man into submitting and returning his phone.

Asmodeus gave a small laugh and stared into the young man’s eyes. The young man looked away, and his shoulders slumped forward. He had seen something in the eyes of the man who had taken his phone.

“You need to come with me,” Asmodeus said. “Such language will not be tolerated in this shopping centre.”

“For f**k’s sake, whatever happened to freedom of speech?” the young man said in a final act of bravado.

“Freedom comes at a price,” Asmodeus said. He grabbed the young man by the arm and pushed him in order to get him moving.

“Someone call security,” the young man said. No one made any attempt to move, or offer him assistance. Secretly all of them were pleased that he was getting his comeuppance.

“It’s all right,” Asmodeus said reassuringly. “I am security. Like I said, such language will not be tolerated in this shopping centre. I’m here to escort you off the premises.”

The buzz of normal conversation resumed around them as they left the food court. Asmodeus kept a firm grip on the young man’s arm. He knew that the youth would try to squirm out of his grip and run away, given the chance.

“My dad’s a lawyer,” the young man said. “He’ll have your arse fired.”

“My dad’s God, but Satan is my boss,” Asmodeus laughed. “If your father wants to talk to my boss about my behaviour, please, by all means, let’s give him a call.”

The young man couldn’t decide if the man who was handling him so roughly was being sarcastic or not. There wasn’t the usual tone he himself used when he was being sarcastic. Maybe the guy was a nut-job.

“Nut-job,” Asmodeus sneered. “If you thought that any louder even the dead would have heard it.”

Asmodeus kept the youth moving, guiding him into the service corridor behind the stores that was used by the various staff at the shopping centre. When they came to an area free of people, Asmodeus pushed the young man up against the wall and stared into his eyes.

“You are to wait here and not make a sound.”

“As if,” the young man retorted.

Asmodeus mumbled a few words. The wall behind the young man rippled. It slowly swallowed him, like a python swallowing its prey whole, until there was no trace left of him.

“You will stay here,” Asmodeus said smugly, “and await my return.”

Asmodeus turned and headed back towards the food court. Before he left the service corridor he changed his appearance, adding some shopping bags to hold onto for good measure. People had noticed him at the food court. The same tactic would not work again. A kindly old grandmother, in need of assistance, was bound to have some luck finding another potential, as he had decided to call them. Perhaps the woman he had spied earlier was still there. She definitely had potential.

The food court was just as busy as it had been when he’d left. The woman in question was disposing of her rubbish as he returned. He shuffled over to where she was and as he reached her he fell to the ground, crying out in pain. The woman rushed to his aid, as he’d hoped.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Here, let me help you up.”

The woman put her hand under Asmodeus’s arm, and with a strength that was uncommon in a woman, lifted him carefully to his feet.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, in a soft, sweet, voice. “I was in a bit of a rush. I need to go to the restroom. Do you think you could help me there?”

The woman looked at her watch.

“It’s just that I’m a bit unsteady, after the fall. I’ll be all right in a few minutes, but if I don’t get to the restroom now, there’ll be more than shaky legs to worry about,” Asmodeus sighed, then whispered. “It’s one of the drawbacks of getting older … bladder problems.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” the woman replied. “I couldn’t begin to imagine how embarrassing it would be to have an accident like that in a public place.”

Asmodeus smiled at the woman. He handed her a couple of bags to carry for him and hooked his free arm through hers. They walked slowly towards the restrooms — he still had to pretend he was an old lady until she was his.

The woman tried to guide him into the ladies. He stopped and shook his head. “No, dear. I need to use the other restroom. It has the handles to help me up and down. Everything is so much harder to manage when you’re old.”

They backtracked a few metres and the woman pushed open the door for Asmodeus.

“If you could pop those bags down near the sink, I should be able to manage from here.”

The woman stepped inside. As she did so, the door closed and locked behind her.

“What the hell?” she said.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Asmodeus said. “Everything is just as it should be.”

He let the illusion of the old woman slip from his body and stood straight and tall. The woman’s mouth opened, yet nothing came out. She was speechless.

“Right now, you need to sleep,” Asmodeus said, as he reached out to touch the woman’s forehead.

She fell to the floor, unconscious, hitting her head on the corner of a waste bin. Blood started to flow from a gash, just above her left ear. Asmodeus took a deep breath through his nose. The smell of blood was intoxicating, and arousing. There was no rush to be gone from this place. What difference would half an hour or so make? An opportunity had presented itself and he meant to release some of his anger and frustration in a pleasurable pursuit — pleasurable for him at least. The woman on the floor was nothing more than a warm meat sack that wasn’t going to kick or scream while he had his way with her.

Asmodeus knelt on the floor and began by ripping open her blouse …

Out of one hundred and eight mortals, Asmodeus had managed to convert seventy-two. Thirty had died and six were so insane that they had to be put down, like the rabid animals they were. Not one of the successful conversions had been an earth-bound angel. They were simply minions of Satan, and would do whatever they could topside to bring others to his way of thinking.

Asmodeus stared at the latest victim of his ministrations, and yelled, “I need more people.” He kicked the still warm body and watched as it jerked, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled. “The b***h has wormed her way into his good graces. Not a feast goes by without her there, supposedly to provide the entertainment, yet it is Satan she performs for.”

The blood on the floor no longer aroused him. So much blood had been spilled over the past weeks that he had become desensitised to the effect it usually had on him.

“Where can I go to obtain such large numbers of humans, in one fell swoop, that their disappearance would be considered a natural disaster? Better yet, one where they would not expect to recover the bodies … the result of their modern lives.”

Asmodeus knelt before the body, and tilted the head, until the dead eyes were staring into his.

“Answer me, then,” Asmodeus yelled.

“That one will not answer you,” a familiar voice said.

“Satan,” Asmodeus said. He rushed to his feet and turned to face his master. “I did not hear you come in.”

“I did not wish you to hear me. I wanted to see how your work progresses, though I confess I do not understand the sudden urge to convert as many as possible.”

“Ah,” Asmodeus began, trying to think of a plausible explanation. “You have been rather busy of late, and in my boredom, I decided to try and set a personal record that no one, with the exception of yourself, would be able to best.”

Satan smiled and nodded. Asmodeus was sure he hadn’t swallowed the rather flimsy reason, yet he didn’t press any further about what Asmodeus was really up to.

“When you find the one you’re looking for, let me know,” Satan said. He turned to leave, and as he reached the door, whispered, “Perhaps you could hijack a plane.”

Asmodeus pursed his lips. Satan knew he was up to something. He may even know exactly what he had planned. Unless it was not in his interests, Satan would allow anyone to do anything. Had he been given permission to find someone who could kill the w***e? Satan could easily do it himself, though he may not want her blood on his hands. Perhaps there was still a small part of the angel he had once been hiding deep within. If that was the case, Asmodeus had no qualms about finishing off what he had started and crushing any spark that might mean the downfall of them all.

What was the last thing Satan had said before he left? It was a whisper that Satan knew Asmodeus would have been able to hear.

Hijack a plane, Asmodeus thought to himself. What a brilliant idea.