Demon Rising

Chapter One Wiping my bloodied hands on my torn jeans, I turn back to the situation in front of me. Another text, another body. Another murder I’m complicit in helping cover up. All of this because my stupid f*****g heart wouldn’t stop loving my best friend for months after he went rogue. The corpse is particularly mutilated this time. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say Hector beat the s**t out of this man before stabbing him dozens of times and then, finally, breaking his neck. But I wouldn’t be surprised if the man had already been dead when his neck was broken. “How’s the grave coming?” I ask, looking up from the corpse and into my best friends eyes. Green, vivid eyes that seemed to glow with excitement the deeper he dug the grave for the man he just killed. “Almost done. Few more minutes,” he says smoothly. His voice is low and inviting, but his tone is very business-like. As though me helping him cover yet another murder is no big deal. Enough. “Hector—” “Don’t.” His voice cuts mine off almost immediately, knowing where this is going to go next. I’ve been trying to stop getting involved since the first time I helped him cover the evidence of a murder he committed. “Don’t do this with me again, Antheia. I can’t let you threaten to leave me again, so don’t,” he says sternly. I shake my head, looking at the sky. It’s cloudy, and I can hear the faint rumbles of thunder in the distance, like a preface of the argument to come. “I’ll never leave you, Hector. Ever. But I can’t do this. I can’t keep up the criminal activity. It’s going to ruin my future,” I say, wiping away a tear. I wish it was raining so that he couldn’t see me cry. See my weakness. See another reason not to want me. God, I’m pathetic. “Don’t you want a future with me?” He asks quietly, a look of remorse that I haven’t seen in months settled on his face. Manipulating. My subconscious seems to echo in my head, telling me what he’s doing. What he’s doing, yet again. I straighten my posture, brushing away my tears and glaring at him. “Don’t pull that s**t with me, Hec. You know exactly what I want from you. I’ve made that clear. Jesus, if I had a nickel for every time I tried to tell you I loved you for more than a friend and you shut me down, I’d own a yacht. You’ve made it clear that you will never like me as more than a friend… and I’ve accepted it.” His eyebrows raise, and then I deliver the killing blow to his ego. The sentence that is a complete lie, and get him to finally let me go. “I’m over you.” His green eyes seem to glow an even brighter and more ethereal shade, startling me as I stare at him. “You’re over me?” he asks, every inch of him ablaze with pure rage. He drops the shovel, clenching his fists, and standing up straight. He looks…demonic. Killing has changed him to a physical extent. Only a few months ago, before his first kill, I would have described him like an average-looking kid. He is now a Greek God. Sharp features, well muscled body, with every part of him screaming “lethal”. “You’re over me?” he repeats, advancing towards me a few steps. I gather my courage and glare at him. He won’t manipulate me again. Not this time. “Yes,” I say crisply. He continues stepping towards me, causing me to grow rigid where I sit on the dirt of the forest floor. Once he’s directly above me, he crouches down so that his face is within inches of mine. Just like that, his demeanor changes. Goes from threatening to seemingly disappointed as he pouts slightly. “And here I was finally starting to fall for you. My loyal best friend turned to lover…” His voice trails off as he waits for my reaction. Once upon a time, maybe even weeks ago, my heart would have been dancing in my chest with happiness and excitement. Once upon a time I would’ve forgot all of my reservations, and pressed my lips to his. But that time passed. Now I know that he’s trying to continue to manipulate me. Keep his little minion by his side for future use. And, even if he was serious? I’m not going to be with a killer. I might not be the most confident girl, but I know I deserve better than a killer. “Save it. This is the last time I help you. I’ll see this one through to the end, but from now on out—you’re on your own. And I doubt you’ll be able to cover your tracks much longer without help, so I suggest you stop.” I debated if I should plead with him to cease his terrible activities, but realized that it never worked with him. I start to scoot back slightly so I can get back to work, but his hand suddenly shoots out to grip my hair at the base of my scalp. I let out a small hiss as his yanking creates uncomfortable pinpricks of pain. Before I can swear at him, his lips descend on mine. I wish I was strong enough to push him away, but I’m not. So instead I stay still, and revel in the moment—how he feels—because I know I’ll never let myself do so again. When he pulls away and stands up, he sounds slightly out of breath. “You aren’t over me.” Releasing my hair, he stays silent and gives me time to speak. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m over risking my life to help you be a monster.” His expression is stunned silence as he stumbles back, looking at me with an expression of…awe? “Finish the grave, Hector. Tomorrow’s last day of finals, and I need to sleep.” *                      *                      * He had told me to sleep on it. That he’d talk call me after finals. And I had told him not to bother. Maybe it was the timing of him demanding my assistance that finally got it to my head that I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. The last day of goddamn finals. Only weeks before Christmas. He really has a twisted sense of “the holiday spirit”. Throwing my backpack and laptop onto my work desk, I fall onto my bed. Today I had my English and math final, and I’m frankly surprised that I still remembered most of the material. I can’t stop thinking about last night. Can’t stop my foolish heart from overanalyzing and nudging me to believe he actually cares. Opening my nightstand drawer I grab several melatonin pills, downing them with water. I need to sleep everything off, regardless of the fact that it’s barely 2pm. When I sleep, I don’t think. I’m tired of thinking.   It’s several harsh knocks on my apartment door that jolt me out of my sleep, causing me to sit up and rub my eyes slowly. What time is it? Reaching to my phone and glancing at the screen, my eyes widen. It’s 2am. I have dozens of missed calls and texts from Hector, each text sounding angrier and more threatening then the last. Several more knocks draw my attention back to the door as a new text from Hector pops up on my screen. Open the door or I’ll break it down. I should call 911. I should scream for help. I should do anything but what I end up doing, which is walking to my front door and opening it to reveal a very angry Hector. He looks me up and down, taking note of my phone clutched in my hand and my rumpled clothing. “We’re going to have a little talk,” he says, tilting his head at me as he walks into my apartment, taking a seat at one of the bar stools tucked under the island. Nodding slowly I close the door behind him, and take a seat across from him. “I killed again tonight,” he says, staring at me intensely. Watching my every movement and reaction. “I don’t want to know that,” I breathe out, dropping my gaze to my phone in my hands. “I wanted your help cleaning up. I thought last night was a bump in the road, Antheia. I thought we could start building on whatever there is between us…but then you abandoned me.” Does he even know how crazy he sounds? “I thought you were loyal. That you loved me. That I could trust you,” he murmurs in a disappointed tone. He reaches out and takes my chin in his hand, tilting my head up and forcing my eyes to meet his. “I need to know that you’ll come next time I call,” he says darkly, a very serious threat looming in his voice. “Come on, Hector. You know how I feel about lying. I’m not going to help you anymore.” He nods, scratching his head and dropping my chin. “I understand, Antheia. Now understand that I have to kill you.”