DARE THE DEVIL

His call

“Good morning, people of New

Orleans and the city beyond.”

“Hope you all had a splendid night

and peaceful sleep. For I know that I didn’t and if I am speaking honestly and

with all the facts gathered, I know that most of you also didn’t sleep a wink.”

“How could we all when our lives

had been turned upside down and the fear of death hovers above us like the very

cloud in the sky, ready to rain thunder, stone, fire and hell down.”

“You know who I am talking about.

We all know who this supposed death is and as I speak the mind of the people

both far and wide, I must say we are tired of the sleepless night, restless

days, blood filled alleys, bodies littered at the corners of our houses and we

wish the cops do something once and for all.”

“The rampage by the famous

red-haired Aziza Ivy Sheridan has completely stained our beloved city and we

can’t say what this means for us anymore.”

“We do not feel safe in our homes

anymore, not when she goes about killing people like the god of death and

leaving their bodies every time for the cops to find. The increased death rate

in the state is alarming and scary. Our children cannot go to school and feel

safe anymore, we can’t return to our houses and feel safe anymore, we can’t

remain outdoors and feel safe.”

“What exactly do you want, lady?

Why the killing? Why the death? What do you want?” A female spoke harshly

through the radio with lots of emotions dripping from her voice.

“Our phone lines would be open for

any reports you might have concerning a dead body, a missing person, robbery

and what not. Because we sure know that if such happens, then it can only be

Aziza’s doing.” She added. Almost immediately the first call came in and a male

voice came through the line.

“Hello, this is New Orleans talk,

talk, talk, talk channel, what information might you have for us today?” the

radio person questioned.

“Hi…” the voice of a teenager came

shakily through the other end of the line. With the way he sounded, he seemed

shaken and scared.

“Is something going on that we

should know?” the lady sat up in readiness for a juicy detail.

“I was about to go to school this

morning,” he began

“When I found stray dogs focusing

in one particular direction while they sniffed and whimpered.”

“It was strange because it wasn’t

just one so I had to take a look at what might be happening there when I saw….”

“Blood…”

“There was a man there….” He

shuddered.

“That would be okay. You must have

been so scared and frightened. But right now, you shouldn’t be on the phone.

Find your way to your mom or friends and make sure you do not stay alone. It's

going to be fine okay.”

“And thank you for the information.

I appreciate it,” she ended the call. Then let out a heavy sigh.

“And she is at it again.” Another

call came in immediately and she went through the routine of introducing

herself again.

“I don’t completely see Aziza as a

bad person, if you don’t mind my saying.” A female voice came through the line.

“Yes, she has a terrible way of

disposing of bodies and handling deaths. But even the cops have confirmed that

all the bodies found had been identified to be criminals, both wanted and not.

And even at the point of their deaths, they were doing something wrong, like

robbing a store, a bank, killing someone and the like. She never takes money

from them, nor blackmail. She kills them and leaves their body and whatever

evidence of crime they have on them. I would say she is ridding our city of

criminals and as long as your hands are clean and she doesn’t get you doing

some criminal activities, well, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Well…. that is another way to put

it. However, is it right to put laws into your own hands like that?” the

speaker entered.

“Thank you for calling,” she ended

the call.

“In other related news. Damon

Roxwell out of the radar like he suddenly vanished. Someone, talk to me. What

is this about? What happened there? What’s the spicy detail we missed? Yes, the

family claims he went on sabbatical leave but who buys that?”

“I don’t. I mean, I met the famous

heir of the Roxwell empire and he was fine as hell. Not to add that he was at

the peak of his career, never shaken by anything and had everything at the palm

of his hand. He couldn’t just go on sabbatical, not when he had a lot of issues

to handle and settle, questions that are left unanswered especially since he

was involved with our famous night murderer. He simply disappeared without her.

Or did they throw her under the bus when it became hot? Did they make her take

the blame for all the crimes that were committed while he ran, leaving behind

his company, family, fame and all. Someone, speak to me, what are your

thoughts?”

*********

Aziza strolled into the manor with

a tight frown on her face. It was early in the morning, no one was up yet and

it was eerily quiet. Not just because it was a huge house without staff, guards

and whatnots. But because everyone living there was supposed to be asleep at

the moment. She walked into the house and shut the door with a bang, not

minding if she woke anyone up from their beauty sleep. She cared about

absolutely nothing anymore.

With slump shoulders, tired eyes

she dragged her legs through the cobbled floor and into the tiled house. Blood

dripped out of her hands, leaving a trail behind as she walked. She stunk of

both bloods, sweat, water and dirt. The night had gone just as it usually did.

Blood, dirt, rage and one question still unanswered. ‘Where is he?’

Aziza dragged her tired self into

the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. With a dirty hand, she picked a bottle

of water and shut the door. Then she walked over to a chair and sat down, while

she gulped the water into her mouth, quenching her dry throat and thirst.

“Not this again,” a voice came to

her ears the moment she emptied the bottle. And with it came loud, angry,

flappy footsteps. Sloan made her way to where she sat comfortably with a frown

on her face and her hands crossed over her chest. If Aziza cared about her very

presence, she didn’t show. She simply faced the direction she was looking at

and said nothing in response.

“You stink…” Sloan blurted out when

she walked closer to smell the stench she came with. She wrinkled her nose and

took a step back, just to avoid the bad smell when her eyes fell on the floor

and the blood trail she left behind.

“What are you doing?” she screamed,

her anger breaking through the doors where it had been locked up and sealed.

Still Aziza said nothing and neither responded to her or reacted to her.

“We are trying to keep a low

profile. What is this blood trail going to do? It would lead the cops right to

us.” She continued. Her voice filled with rage, exhaustion, annoyance and

disappointment.

It had been three months already

since Damon’s disappearance and it had been the toughest month of her life. The

cops took them but they had a backup story that checked out. Which made them

release them. However, they had to move and fortunately, Sloan still had a

house of her own and one of it had been used as a hideout, for her and Maddie.

They went to work as usual, moved around as usual and returned home. They acted

normal because the cops were still watching them, hoping they would catch the

famous Aziza if they kept a close eye on them. That never happened because she

was very careful to not be caught. That was the least she could to not

implicate anyone else. Not to add that she was never home and whenever she

returned, she did so at night or early in the morning while being as careful as

possible.

“It won’t,” Aziza responded

grouchily and got up from where she sat. She turned to the stairs and started

towards it, walking past Sloan who had slept with one eye open just to know

when Aziza would return.

“You can’t keep doing this.” She

sighed, clearly exhausted with cleaning up Aziza’s mess.

“You should be sleeping,” Aziza

answered and continued walking.

“I was waiting up for you,”

“I don’t need you to do that.”

“Yes, you do. You sure do. Not with

the way you go around killing people and coming back home bloody. That would

not bring him back and suddenly give you the answer that you so desire.”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

she yelled, stopping in her tracks as she finally turned to Sloan.

“What should I do then?” she

repeated. Emotions flooded her desperate and weak heart as it ached and longed

for the man that she shouldn’t have.

“He disappeared with that strange

man to God knows where. I can’t find the portal that leads home anymore and no

one is helping. What am I supposed to do? Act like it's all good, act like he

didn’t leave me here alone, act like it's normal, act like that I don’t miss

him, like I don’t need him,” tears burned the back of her eyes as she ranted.

“What should I do? Tell me.” She

screamed. Her voice choked and went louder as the desperation of her heart

flowed like the river of water. Tears burned the back of Sloan’s eyes at the

sight of her and words became hard to spurt at the sight of her.

“We’ll find him,” she spoke. Her

voice betrayed her as it came with tears in her eyes. The sight of Aziza in

pain just seemed to make her go very emotional all the time.

“And you shouldn’t forget that we

are with you in all this,” Maddie entered and came out from where she had been

hiding. She had heard Aziza’s voice and came down stairs too. It was not like

anyone could sleep, not when a very angry tribrid was bound to put them in

trouble. With a robe wrapped around her body, she started towards Aziza and

stopped in front of her.

“You are sure that he isn’t dead,

aren’t you?” she asked and placed her hand on both sides of her shoulders. The

moment her hand felt the dampness of her jacket, she regretted it immediately

and resisted the urge to scrunch her nose at the awful smell that followed.

Aziza lifted her gaze and pushed away the tears that blurred her vision, then

she gave her a nod.

“Then there is hope.” She added and

gently took her hand away.

“But before we go into comforting

you. Go have a shower girl, you stink.” Aziza’s lips twitched.

“Some friends you have there,”

Chandra, her wolf, grunted from inside her.

“Stop that, we stink, if you

haven’t noticed,” Nyx, one of her demons berated. Aziza ignored them and

started up the steps towards the room that had been left for her. It was a

hidden room found at the back of Sloan’s closet. It was kept that way just in

case the cops decided to search the house. At least, with a hidden room, they

would never know that Aziza comes in and out as she pleased.

Using the hidden lock, she found

herself in the spacious room that had come to become a hideout for her. Not a

home. It was more spacious than her previous apartment with everything painted

in white and lots of glass which was definitely not her kind of thing. She had

a thing about tainting and staining things with blood, death, rage and anger

and white was definitely not for her. Not to add that she didn’t know how to be

fragile and with so many glass tables, mirrors, baths and all. However, she had

managed quite well.

She walked straight for the

bathroom and took off her bloody attire. Leaving them at the floor, she stepped

into the shower and closed the door, also made of glass. With bright light

reflecting on it, it was a beauty. Turning on the shower, the chilly water ran

down her body, washing away the blood and sweat from her hair down to her toe.

She shivered for a second and took note of the claw marks at her back and chest

as it stinged and reminded her that she still had those.

The sting brought with it a memory.

The soft lips of Damon, against her claw marks. The gentle caress of his finger

as he trailed lines through an injury that simply ached her and reminded her of

a painful past. She shut her eyes, remembering that night as hurt, pain,

weakness erupted from her chest. Her pets whimpered and her body weakened as

hot tears trailed down her cheek, revealing the pent-up pain she had held for

three whole months without him.

“Damon…” she whimpered and slammed

her fist against the glass as the pain only grew with the images and memories

of every kiss that resonated on her skin. Her scars no longer reminded her of a

dreadful past but of every kiss he kissed her.

“Talk to me…please….” She cried.

Wishing that she could have something, anything, other than the silence that

had responded to her for over three months. He couldn’t have simply just

disappeared without a trace, without a connection.

Like he heard her, a sharp pain

slammed her head almost immediately and she found herself in a dark room, so

dark even her hand could not be seen in such darkness. But a candle was lit and

it was the only source of light in such darkness, yet it fought to remain

lit.It waved and blink, ready to go off very soon, but it didn’t.

“Azi...za….” Damon’s voice finally

answered. Aziza jerked, and found herself in the shower again.