SquidgeWorld Archive

The Damned Are Among Us
By Mearain

My name is Bela McCaine. I died on Halloween 1987, somewhere around midnight. I was shot four times in the chest by a murder suspect. A man named Leo Townsend. A child murderer. I had been pursuing him for months. Had it not been for the good eye of a stranger, I would never have found him that night. Unfortunately, for both Townsend and myself, neither of us left that alley fully intact.

But that's not the point now. I'm dead. Well, at least I was dead. Sort of. It's all rather confusing, since I died that night. The pain was excruciating. If you've never been shot, you would understand the pain that I felt. It was like someone took four white hot, steel fireplaces pokers and jammed them into my chest, turning them a few times just to make sure that I got the point. Well, I got the point. I died that night, on the operating table while they tried to remove those four bullets and stop the haemorrhaging in my heart. But they weren't successful. I remember clearly the doctor stating the time of death as 12:01 AM, November 1st, 1987.

That night started a whole new life for me.

"Stop right there!" I heard a man shout, then shots rang out, clanging against the brick walls of the darkened alley.

"Damn," I muttered, turning to see exactly where those shots were coming from. I started to run, my fingers wrapped around the Beretta in my hand, hoping that I wouldn't have to use it. But, in the end, I knew that one way or another I would have to.

"I said stop!" the shout came again, more bullets fired, lodging themselves into the bricks and metal of the dumpsters. The noise was defeaning, far worse than anything I had heard below.

A man ran out of the darkness, running straight for me. My skin began to tingle, alerting me to the fact that he was the one that I sought. I raised my weapon.

"Hello, Albert," I said, my voice smooth and calm. My lips curve into a smile as he came to a halt, slipping a little on something on the ground.

"No," he whispered, his eyes widening in fear as he looked at me. "I won't go back!" he shouted, raising the weapon he held in his shaky hands. "I won't go back!" With those last words he fired the weapon.

I could see the bullet departing the barrel, spiralling toward me. I didn't move. I knew it wouldn't hurt me. So, instead, I fired my own weapon. Twice.

He screamed, light bursting forth from his eyes, nose and mouth as the bullets penetrated their targets. I only watched, lowering my weapon slowly, as the light encompassed him, sending him back to the fiery hell from whence he came. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't alone in the alley like I had hoped.

A police man stood behind me, staring at the sight before him, watching the asphalt swirl and open, pulling the soul into the burning glow below him, taking him back to where he belonged. To where he had escaped from.

"What the hell?!" I heard his voice from behind me. The ground closed up, no sign left of the man or the strange anomaly that had occurred.

Slowly, I turned and looked at him, my eyes meeting his for a moment. He raised his weapon, pointing it at me, his finger against the trigger.

"Drop it," he ordered, his voice steady, though his hand was not.

I tilted my head to the side, trying to determine what he thought he was going to do to me. How does a cop justify arresting someone who had just sent a damned soul back to where it belonged? Apparently, by pointing a gun at them. At least in this case it seemed to be that way.

I smirked and let the gun fall to the ground, hearing it clatter on the asphalt.

"You're under arrest," he said, approaching me, his gun in one hand, the other fumbling in his jacket pocket for the pair of handcuffs I knew would be there. He began reading off my Miranda rights, though I knew them all too well. I had the right to remain silent. I had the right to an attorney, etc. I had recited them many times in my life, but now they didn't apply.

He grabbed my wrists, roughly, pulling them behind my back, placing them in the warm steel cuffs. I heard the familiar locking sound and closed my eyes. No matter what, he couldn't hurt me. I was invulnerable. More or less.

"What are you arresting me for, Detective?" I asked, my voice deep and tired. I heard it echo off the alley walls and then back to his ears.

"What do you think I am? Stupid?" he asked, turning me to face him. My long, midnight hair fell about my shoulders, resting for a moment on his hand before he moved it.

"No, I don't think you're stupid," I responded, tilting my head to the side.

He gazed for a moment into my dark eyes, looking for something that he knew he wouldn't find. Some reason for what had happened. I could have stood there and told him, but I wasn't in the mood.

"Then what's the point in asking me?" he muttered, grabbing my arm, turning me in the direction of the street. "I saw you shoot him."

I walked with him, giving no resistance. Next was the trip to the police station. I had transported many a criminal in the same manner in my time, though most of them had not been as responsive as I was being.

"Yes, I shot him," I admitted, nodding, my hair falling down over my shoulders again. In an exasperated move, I tossed my head, letting my hair fall back over my shoulders.

"Perfect reason to arrest you," he stated, pulling me from the darkness of the alley into the street. People looked at us, some pointing, some whispering, others grinning.

"But there is no body, Detective. You can't arrest me without proof."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at me, his eyes widening as he stared in disbelief. "I saw you shoot him."

"Then you saw the ground open up and swallow him," I finished for him, letting my arms relax since he had released his grip on me.

"Yeah, maybe I did." The detective crossed his arms over his chest, wrinkling up the dark blue suit jacket he wore. It opened some to reveal his badge on the waistband of his faded blue jeans. He was a detective for the Los Angeles Police Department, Precinct 43.

"Explain to me how you intend to prove that I did anything," I said, my lips set into a knowing smirk.

He took a deep breath, his jade green eyes scanning the streets, always looking for that criminal. As his eyes moved back to meet mine, he shifted his weight, placing most of it on his left foot. "I saw it," he stated again, trying to use that as proof.

"You may have seen it," I said, nodding slowly. "But until you can provide a corpse, then you have no case."

He narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know?" he asked, becoming rather agitated.

My smirk turned into a smile, as I shook my head. "I know better than you think, Detective," I said, adjusting my position.

"We can discuss this at the station," he muttered, becoming rather tired of the conversation.

I shook my head and handed him the cuffs that had been around my wrist. He took them in wide eyed astonishment.

"How...?" he started, looking from the cuffs to me.

I just smiled and turned my back to him. "You'll learn someday, Detective," I said, as I started walking down the alley, my shoes making no sound on the black asphalt.

"Wait a minute!" he called after me, watching as I walked down the alley.

I turned to look at him, still walking, taking slow steps backwards. "For what, Detective? So you can ask me what I'm doing?" I called back to him, seeing his rather surprised expression. "I have business to attend to."

"We're not finished with this!" he shouted, watching as I disappeared into the fog-like steam that erupted from the vents in the alley floor. I knew that I would meet up with him again. And I had a feeling it would be soon.

The morning sun spread its golden fingers over the city of Los Angeles, calling those morning folks to awake. I was not one of those people. My time was the night. Not because I couldn't survive in the daylight. It had nothing to do with that. In fact, it was more because the souls that I sought spent time doing their work at night.

I slept most of that day in my small apartment, sleeping, though sometime that afternoon, a knock at my door woke me.

"Who is it?" I called, rather angrily.

"Detective Whelan," a voice called from the other side of the door.

"And might I ask what you want?" I asked, stepping toward the door.

"I'd like to talk to you, Ms. McCaine," he said, his voice anxious.

Taking a slow breath, I reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly, letting the door fall open. I tilted my head to the side, my midnight curls falling over my shoulder as my blue eyes studied the man on the other side of the door. I knew him. He was the detective that I had run into the night before.

"And what would you like to talk about?" I asked, my eyes moving up and down his body, stopping finally on his own eyes.

"About last night, Ms. McCaine," he stated, showing me his badge, then returning it to his pocket.

I didn't really need the proof of who he was, since I had seen him the night before, but I knew that it was proper procedure for any police office, especially when questioning a suspect.

"Come on in then," I said, stepping back to give him room to enter the living room of the tiny, dingy apartment.

I watched him as I closed the door, seeing his eyes sweep the room, looking for anything that seemed to be out of place. I had nothing to hide though, at least not any more.

"Ms. McCaine," he started, turning to face me as I walked passed him to the small kitchen. "Why were you in that alley last night?"

My bare feet padded across the grungy linoleum to the coffee maker. I took a breath as I started to make a pot coffee, knowing that the detective would be more than willing to accept one. I always was.

"I was looking for someone," I stated, turning to look at him, my arms crossing over my chest, pulling my tight, black knit top down a little, revealing the cleavage hidden there, as well as part of a scar.

"And was that someone that same man I saw you shoot?" he asked, his eyes falling to the scar, or possibly my cleavage, I wasn't sure which.

"Yes," I replied, leaning back against the counter's edge. I offered no further explanation for my actions, though I knew that he would ask me. Eventually I would have to answer him completely, though the likelihood of his belief in me was very tiny.

"And might I ask for you to explain to me what happened last night?"

One of my brows raised, while the other lowered. "It's rather difficult to get into," I mumbled, turning as the coffee maker started to beep. I grabbed a couple of old chipped coffee mugs and poured us each a cup, moving over to set them gently on the table.

"Try me," he said, reaching for the small container of sugar I kept on the table.

I pursed my lips, trying to think whether or not it was a good idea to get into with him. I really didn't know what to do. Should I divulge to him the truth and expect him to believe me? Or should I lie to him and tell him that I was searching for the man, but was only defending myself? No, wait. That wouldn't be a lie. I was defending myself. For if that man had shot me, then I would have returned to the hell that I had left.

"Ms. McCaine?" he asked, his lips perched on the edge of the coffee cup, his eyes on me.

"I don't think at this time, Detective, it would be a good idea for you to know what I was doing," I said, my gaze meeting his again.

He raised a brow, obviously rather amused by that statement. "And why would that be? Something to hide?"

I wanted to laugh outloud at that statement. The handsome detective before me had no clue just how accurate his words were. A ringing noise broke the silence that had formed in that tiny kitchen.

"Excuse me," I muttered, turning to go into the other room, intent on answering the demanding ring of the telephone. "Hello?" I asked, my voice soft and rather tired sounding.

"Tell him and you'll be very sorry," the voice on the other end warned.

I frowned slightly, one brow still in the air. "And why would I be?" I retorted, hearing the snorting laugh of the Devil. The man who had sent me here in the first place. The man who held my immortal soul in his hands.

"Because, as you'll remember, I control your destiny, Bela," he remarked. I could almost see the fire spitting from his nostrils as he spoke.

I took a great, sighing breath and hung the phone up, my eyes closing as I shook my head.

"Something important?" the detective's voice came from behind me.

As I turned to meet his gaze, I saw something akin to concern in his eyes, only to see it diminished by the desire to find out what I was up to.

"Not really," I said, moving to the far room. I knew that he was following me, watching my every move, waiting to see what I would do next. He was going to be highly disappointed when all I did was pull on some socks and a pair of boots.

"Then you wouldn't mind answering the remainder of my questions," he said, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, his dark brown eyes watching me.

"I have somewhere I have to be," I said, grabbing my trench and pulling it on.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asked, licking at his dry lips.

"Yes, it is," I returned, pulling my trench over my shoulders, my eyes meeting his.

"All right," he said, after a moments contemplation, his lips set into a frown. "But I will finish this conversation."

I smirked as I walked up to him, my eyes gazing into his. "Of course you will, Detective," I said, my voice barely a whisper, almost seductive in the way it sounded.

His frown turned into a sly smile as he looked down at me, his eyes still on mine. Had anyone seen us, they would have assumed that we were lovers, possibly more. Though, I had to admit, at that moment, I would have been perfectly happy to be his lover. He was exquisitely handsome with his dark eyes and dark hair, slightly tanned skin and muscled body. Any woman would have been pleased to be his lover. Unless of course, it wasn't women he was interested in. That thought almost made me laugh.

He turned on his heal, making his way back to the front door. "We have much to discuss, Ms. McCaine," he said, pulling the door open as he glanced back over his shoulder at me.

"Bela," I said, my voice hinting at my odd interest in him.

He only smiled as he exited my apartment and made his way down the dimly lit hall of the building where I lived. I watched him, leaning back against the door frame, my eyes following his form till he was out of sight. I could not help it, it was as if my eyes would look at nothing but him.

*****************

"Bela! Are you in there?!" I heard his voice call many hours later. I had only returned minutes prior to his calling voice, having taken care of another damned soul, sending it back to where it belonged.

I did not answer at first, knowing that if he wanted to speak to me, he would make his entrance. And I was right. Moments later, the door opened to my small apartment and he stepped in, his eyes falling on me as I tilted my head to look at him.

"Why didn't you answer?" he asked, his voice rather angered, but slightly confused.

"I didn't feel like it," I stated, looking back at the television over the tips of my propped feet.

He only frowned and shook his head, then approached me, having closed the door behind him. "We need to talk," he said, sitting down on the coffee table in front of me, blocking most of my view of the TV.

I glanced at him, then tilted my body so I could still view the program that I was watching. "Can't it wait?" I asked, leaning back at an odd angle on the couch, my eyes glued to the television set.

He looked back over his shoulder and shook his head, his eyes moving back to my face. "You can watch this anytime. It's a rerun," he muttered, grabbing the slim black remote from the table and shutting off the box of noises and moving images.

I frowned and looked back at him, sitting up straight again. "And what is so important that you had to interrupt my relaxation?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

He answered my frowning expression with one of his own, extracting a manila file folder from his jacket and tossing it on my lap.

"What's this?" I asked, looking down at it, before my fingers lifted it up.

"It's a police record," he stated, planting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward to look at me more closely. "Detective Bela McCaine was killed on November 1st, 1987."

I opened the folder, showing no surprise at his words. My eyes caught sight of the photo in my service record, the one where I wore the blue uniform of a beat officer. My eyes closed for a moment, remembering that day. The day that I was first accepted onto the police force in Los Angeles. My heart filled with pride that day, only to blown to bits five years later by four steel bullets.

"Why are using her name? And obviously her appearance?" he asked, clasping his hands together as he studied me.

My eyes snapped open to look at him. "I am not using anyone's name or appearance but my own, Detective," I said, my voice angered at his insinuation. It took me a moment to realise that not everyone would believe my story.

"Then explain this to me."

I sat still for a moment, or possibly longer. However long it was, it felt like an eternity, my eyes on his, making him shift in discomfort a few times, though he never dropped his gaze.

"I am Bela McCaine," I said finally, my eyes moving back to the service record that I held in my hands.

"How can you be the same Detective McCaine that was killed in the line of duty fifteen years ago?" he asked, his voice steady, though he was rather unsure of the entire conversation.

"Because," I began, my eyes meeting his again. "I came back, Detective."

He raised a rather curious brow, blinking his eyes a few times at my statement. "You can't just come back from the dead," he stated firmly, trying not to snicker at the thought.

"Oh, but you can," my voice cut into his amused attitude as I leaned forward. "I did."

His smirk faded as he stared into my eyes, seeing nothing there that hinted at a joke or any sort of humour. "How?" he whispered, obviously more interested than he was a moment before.

I took a deep breath, trying to determine what was the best way to tell him what I meant. Then I came to conclusion it was best just to start at the beginning.

"On October 31st, 1987, I went out on a call. A frantic lady had called saying that she had spotted a man kidnapping a little boy from the streets near a bus stop. I responded to the call, even though I was plain clothes and really didn't have to," I said, leaning back against the couch again, my eyes closing for a moment.

"Why did you?" he asked, his voice breaking into the memories that flooded my mind.

As I opened my eyes, I gazed directly into his dark orbs, seeing his curiosity. "I had been pursing a child murderer named Leo Townsend," I stated, my voice rather flat. "Something told me that the man seen could have been him. I didn't want to take any chances, so I pursued to call."

He nodded, raising his still clasped hands to place them just under his chin, his eyes dropping to the couch cushions, studying the threadbare fabric for a few moments. "Then what happened?" he asked, though it was all listed in my service record. I assumed that he just wanted to hear it from my lips.

"I went to the location, searching for any clues that it could have been Townsend. I questioned the woman who called, got a brief description, though it could have been him or not." My lips parted, pulling in a slow breath, as my eyes closed. "Then I heard the screaming."

Detective Whelan closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "And that was the boy that was taken?"

I nodded, my midnight curls falling about my shoulders. "It was him and luckily for him I made it to the scene before he was hurt." I shifted my gaze to him, taking a deep breath. "Townsend was there. He was going to make that boy the next on his list, but I had made it my job to stop him."

He nodded again, a lock of his dark hair falling into his eyes. I wanted so much to brush it back, to let my fingers feel its silky softness, but I refrained, letting him take care of it himself.

"I did all of the police procedures, tried to talk him out of it, tried to tell him that backup was on its way, everything. It didn't work. He just kept egging me on, trying to slice the boys throat while he struggled to free himself." My chest rose with a deep breath, then fell slowly as I let it out. "I couldn't take it anymore. My anger had gotten the better of me. I fired one shot, hitting him in the shoulder."

The detective looked up at me, his eyes studying my face, seeing the obvious pain that was in my eyes from the memories.

"Townsend let go of the boy, who ran for his life. I fired another shot, hitting the bastard in the chest. He stumbled, but had plenty of time to reach for a weapon that I didn't notice. I was too hateful, to angered at his desire to harm that child." I shook my head, anger replacing the pain that I was feeling. Not necessarily anger at Townsend, but more at myself for letting my judgement become clouded. "I fired again and again."

He looked at me, shaking his head slowly as he dropped his gaze to my hands which were clutching at my jeans.

"He fell to the ground, blood flowing from five wounds I left in him. I thought he was done for, so I lowered my weapon and approached him. I knew better, but I was too angry," I said, my eyes studying my hands as I gripped the denim fabric of my jeans tightly. "I didn't see it coming, not until it was too late."

"He shot you," he stated, nodding slowly, having read it all in the service record I held on my lap.

I nodded, letting my hair fall about my face, hiding my eyes and expression. "Four times, hitting me in the chest. Two in my heart, one in my left lung and the other hit just below my heart." My eyes shifted up to his face, my hair still hanging down, framing my face, the dark curls hanging seductively against my pale skin. "I remember the pain, the darkness that came over me, the sound of the sirens, the screaming, the shouting."

He reached out to me then, his fingers brushing my hair back, tucking it gently behind one ear. "And you died," he whispered, his fingers brushing over my cheek as he lowered his hand. "two hours later at Cranston Memorial Hospital."

My head bobbed up and down in assent, the hair he had so carefully placed behind my ear, falling about my face again. "I saw myself, laying there on that operating table, dying. I saw the doctors shaking their heads as they tried to revive me, coming to the final conclusion that they couldn't." I looked back up at him, my eyes meeting his. "And instead of that white light, I saw a red haze. It engulfed me, taking me to the one place that I feared most."

He swallowed his words, having wanted to answer me, but fearing the thought of even saying it.

"I went to hell," I said for him, my lips curved into a hideous sneer.

*******************

"That wasn't smart," I heard a familiar voice mumble from somewhere near me. I slowly opened my eyes, covering them as the morning sun greeted them through the open curtains.

"What do you want?" I muttered, pulling the sheets over my head, trying to hide from him and from the brilliant sunlight.

"Just coming to check up on you," he said, smiling like a fool.

"Why?" I inquired, lowering the sheets once my eyes got used to the golden daylight. I looked at him, my eyes seeing the man who ruled so viciously in the blazing inferno of hell, but appeared as a mild mannered Englishman in the modern, mortal world.

He moved silently across the room, seating himself on the bed next to me, his hand laying a little higher on my thigh that I liked. "I always like to check on those working for me," he purred, yanking his hand away as I smacked it.

"You only have me working for you," I stated, slipping off the bed, stretching my slender form. The small, knit tank top that I wore to bed rode up a little, showing off my slim, flat stomach, much to his liking. I could feel his eyes on me, caressing me with his vision.

"Well, then, I enjoy checking up on you," he said, standing from the bed.

I looked at him, raising a brow and a warning finger. "Don't even," I ordered.

He only smirked. "I shall do as I wish," he said, his hands landing on my arms, his touch soft and gentle, though there was nothing careful and considerate about the man.

"I got that feeling," I whispered, hating to deny him, since he did have control over my immortal soul, but he was not my type. I rarely found myself attracted to pure evil.

He leaned forward, his soft lips brushing over mine, eliciting a moan from deep within my being. The man always had that effect on me, no matter what was going on, or where we were, he could always bring forth the most animalistic desires of my being.

I returned his kiss, unable to control myself, my own hands moving over his chest. After several moments of undeniable pleasure, I pulled myself back from him. "I'm not getting much work done," I breathed, trying to contain myself.

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "I know that," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin as his lips caressed my throat, causing me to tilt my head back, another moan escaping my lips.

"I know you enjoy this," he uttered, his voice barely above a whisper, though it shouted in my mind.

"Oh? You do?" I queried, my hands on his chest as I moved my head to the other side, his lips trailing fire across my throat and neck.

"Of course I do, I know what you want." His fingers gripped my arms tightly as his tongue flicked out, slipping up the tender spot at the base of my throat to the underside of my chin.

I lowered my head, my eyes meeting his. "And how can you be sure that this is what I want?" I asked, my voice hoarse and throaty, my body calling to him, though my mind was telling me to push him away. He was the devil after all.

He only smirked as he kissed me lustfully, his hands loosing their hold on me so his arms could encircle my waist. Our tongues fought for the right to be the most powerful, forcing the other back over and over again. Our bodies were pressed against each other, our fingers tugging at the clothes we wore. Had it not been for the sudden knock at the door, passion would have escalated to peaks unimaginable.

"I have to get that," I breathed, pushing him back as I took several gasping breaths, trying to gain my composure.

"I'm sure you do," he said, flicking his tongue over his lips as he disappeared in a puff of red smoke.

I shook my head, straightening my tank top and flannel shorts, not realising that my entire character had become rather seductive in those short minutes with him.

"Yes?" I asked, opening the door, trying to hide my surprise at seeing the detective standing there, smiling at me. I hadn't expected to see him again after our conversation the night before. I had told him everything about myself and my mission to retrieve the souls.

"Morning," he said, his eyes travelling up and down my body before finally meeting my own gaze.

"This is quite a surprise, detective," I mumbled, pushing a mass of black curls from my face, over my shoulder.

"Noah," he stated, still smiling at me.

I blinked, having only known his last name. I should have expected a name such as that. Not necessarily that it fit him, but it was the opposite of my current situation. Nothing like working for the devil and then meeting the man named after the great ark builder.

"Noah," I repeated, moving aside and gesturing for him to enter my humble abode. "What brings you here at this hour?" I asked, still trying to compose myself from the brief encounter with the man I served.

He took a breath and shifted his weight to his other foot. I noticed, with that move, that he seemed to favour his left leg for some reason. Momentarily, I pondered his having been wounded in the line of duty at one point in his past.

"I wanted to ask you something about what you said last night," he said, his voice becoming soft, almost as if he was trying to hide our conversation.

"Then come in," I said, taking a step to the side, letting him enter the apartment.

His eyes moved around the room, looking, once again, for anything out of place. It was not necessarily his nature, but more something that had been ground into him by the life of a police officer.

"And what is it that you had a question about?" I asked, walking passed him, making my way toward the bedroom.

He took breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. I knew that something difficult was about to pass his lips. Something that he felt rather embarrassed about asking. I had seen it all too often with young detectives, but in this case, I suppose it was different. He did not follow me, instead he sat down on the couch in the living room.

"You mentioned that you died on the operating table at the hospital," he started, glancing up toward the open bedroom door, his eyes catching sight of the dark blue tank top that I had been wearing, sailing across the room and landing on the floor.

"Yes, I did," I said, searching the closet for something else to wear, something that would get less attention, though I really didn't mind his eyes on me, but when I working I preferred to be less noticed.

"Do you remember the attending physician that night?" he asked, managing to tear his eyes away from the bedroom for a split second.

"No," I stated, pulling on a long sleeved dark blue knit top that conformed to my figure quite nicely. "Why?"

"Just curious," he said, his eyes moving back to the bedroom. I knew that he was fighting his body to keep from approaching the doorway, to keep from watching me.

I slipped into a pair of faded blue jeans, the knees torn and ragged, as well as the bottom of the legs. "Why does it matter?" I asked, looking out the open door at him, my hair falling down over one arm as I zipped up my jeans.

"I guess I just was wondering if that doctor was still there," he admitted, looking at me as I finished getting dressed. I knew that his eyes were on me. For some reason, unlike in the past, it didn't bother me. In fact, it quite excited me, brought out a side of me that was buried so many years ago.

"So you could confirm my death?" I asked, sitting down on a large chair near him, tying the black boots that I had chosen.

He smirked, his eyes falling to his hands. "Yeah," he said, his voice soft and filled with guilt.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked back up at him. "He probably isn't there anymore. He wasn't very young when I got wheeled in there."

Noah only nodded, his eyes intently studying his hands, almost as if looking at me would cause him to become lost. "Going out somewhere?"

"Yes," I stated, getting to me feet once my boots were tied and the way that I wanted them. "I have souls to gather."

He took a breath and looked at me as I grabbed the Beretta from my trench, slipping it into a waist holster. "Mind if I come with you?"

I blinked and turned to look at him, one brow slightly raised. "You want to come with me to gather a damned soul?"

"Why not? I don't have much else to do and this is all rather," he stopped, thinking for a moment, trying to find the right word. "interesting," he finished finally.

I frowned for a moment, my lips sloping downward into an unattractive expression. Rarely did I find the need to have company, or in reality the desire to have company, but in this case I gave in. "All right, just stay out of the way," I said, slipping my badge onto the waist band of my jeans, then pulling my trench on.

His face broke out in a pleased smile as he stood. I couldn't figure out what was so intriguing about the whole idea of sending a damned soul back to hell, but then again I had been doing it for a while and maybe to me it seemed rather dull. But to Detective Noah Whelan it was an obvious interest.

***************

I couldn't tell at that point whether or not Noah actually believed what I had told him about my death and my service to the devil, but regardless he accompanied me to the streets of Los Angeles in my search for a damned soul.

"How do you know when you find them?" he asked, quietly as we walked down one of the many dirty streets on the lower end of the City of Angels.

My hands were shoved into the pockets of my trench, trying to ward off the chill of the autumn air. "I get this feeling that their near," I stated, my eyes searching around us as we walked.

He nodded slowly, his own hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. "Just one of those feelings, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

We walked a little further, passing up prostitutes and their johns, various punk kids who should have been home and in bed at that hour and some who were obviously high on something.

"How do you send them back?" his voice broke the solitude of my thoughts.

"The eyes," I said, glancing over at him, my blue ones meeting his deep jade ones. "Windows to the soul. Destroy the eyes, the spirit is released."

"Ahh," he said, nodding in understanding. "Now I see."

I smirked, shaking my head in amusement, my black hair falling over my shoulders again. Some night I should pull it up, I reminded myself. Then I felt it, that familiar tingling on my skin. A soul was near. A damned soul committing an atrocious act.

My hand landed on Noah's chest, stopping him in his tracks. "What?"

"One is near," I said, pulling my Beretta from under my trench, my fingers wrapping around the smooth black metal.

"Where?" he whispered, his own hand reaching for the weapon holstered under his jacket.

"It is not your concern," I said, looking back at him. "Stay out of my way."

Noah raised a brow and frowned slightly, but followed my request, staying in the shadows and out of sight. I took a few steps forward, entering the alley. I saw him, harassing some young woman, her back against the wall, tears streaming down her face. I recognised him immediately, his manners, his clothing, everything. He was cruel man, one who found joy in harming women.

"Preston!" I called, raising my weapon.

He spun around to glare at me, his eyes narrowed. The woman took the opportunity to run. I was thankful that she did. He would have surely killed her had I not arrived when I did.

"Well, well, if it isn't the devil's concubine," he spat, his voice oozing the hatred he had for me.

I smirked, my finger on the trigger of the weapon in my hand. "I'm touched that you remembered me."

"How could I forget?" he mused, his finger tapping against his chin. "The little whore would spread her legs for the main man."

His comment angered me and probably Noah, though I couldn't see him from where I stood, but I kept my anger in check. My eyes moved over him, looking for the weapon that I knew he had. Though it was not a gun, anything could be detrimental to my continued service. The lights from a passing car caught the blade that he held in his hand, it's bright, razor sharpened steel edge at his side, his fingers curled around the handle of the scalpel.

"You're not going to get away with it anymore, Preston," I said, taking a step forward.

"But I have!" he shouted, his hideous laughter echoing throughout the dampened alley.

"Not anymore," I whispered, firing my weapon at him. Two shots. One right after the other.

His screams filled the alleyway as the bullets hit their mark, shattering his eyes and letting his soul slip forth into the chill night air. Red light burst out of his body, swirling around him, caressing him as it flashed high into the air, then bombarded the ground with a force unlike any in the mortal world. The asphalt beneath his feet bucked and cracked, opening up to swallow the mortal body and the soul, sucking them back to the fiery depths of hell.

"Woah," Noah muttered as he stepped into the alleyway, his gun still in his hand.

I slowly turned and looked at him as I holstered my weapon. "Pretty freaky, huh?" I asked, smirking.

He stared at the spot where Preston had stood, slowly approaching. His eyes stared down at the asphalt, looking for something that could prove what had just happened. He tapped at the ground with his foot, almost expecting it to open up and pull him down, though nothing happened.

"This is what you do for a living?" he asked, looking back at me over his shoulder.

"If you can call it that," I said, shrugging my shoulders as I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "I'm hungry. How about you?"

Noah raised a brow and shook his head. "You blow some guy into the nether world and then think about food?"

I smirked as I turned from him, my voice trailing back through the alley. "Gotta have your priorities."

*********************

We shared some dinner back at my apartment. Chinese. One of the few take outs that I could stand. We ate in silence for most of the time, talking once in a while about what had happened in the alley. Neither of us really wanted to get into the discussion, though we both knew that it was inevitable. I didn't want him involved in my work, if you could call it that. But what else would you call it? I work for the devil. Plain as that.

"Do you know which one that was?" he asked, finishing off an egg roll.

"His name was Preston, that's all I know," I replied, taking a bite of some rice.

"No, I mean which number he was," he clarified, grabbing for the can of soda that sat in front of him on the table.

"Oh," I said, my voice turning thoughtful. "No, actually I don't."

He looked up at me, his eyes studying my face, looking for some group of answers there, which he obviously did not find. "Then how do you know when to stop? Does he just tell you?" he asked, rather confused by the whole idea.

I shrugged, my shoulders falling in an uncaring motion. "I suppose so," I said, my voice soft as I finished off the small carton of fried rice. "I never asked."

Noah shook his head. "It's all too weird."

My eyes moved up to meet his, seeing the beautiful jade green reflected in his gorgeous eyes. I still didn't understand why he had such a pull on me, but he did and I really didn't want to deny it.

"Something wrong?" he asked quietly, his voice curious, but slightly concerned.

"No," I said, shaking my head, letting the dark curls fall over my shoulders and down over my chest. "Just admiring your eyes."

His brow raised in an amused, but mildly pleased manner. "My eyes?"

"Yeah. You have very nice eyes," I said, my lips curling up into a smile, soft and seductive, though hinting at my unnatural being.

"Well, thank you," he said, setting down the can of soda he had been holding, his eyes moving over my face, studying the features there. "And you...well...have lovely eyes as well."

I moved from my chair to sit next to him on the couch, my body close to his. I could feel his heat, almost smell him. "Eyes are the windows to the soul, Noah," I whispered, my breath shifting a few strands of his dark hair.

"Are they?" he asked as he gazed at me, almost entranced by my manners.

I nodded my assent, taking a slow breath, letting the air pass my lips softly. "They are."

I knew what he wanted. I could tell it the first time we were near each other. His body responded to me in the ways only a man's body does respond to a woman. His eyes showed it, his manners showed, even his voice showed it. And the thing was...I wanted it to.

His fingers brushed over my cheek, gently caressing my silky skin before moving to curl in my hair. A soft moan passed my lips as my eyes closed, feeling his fingers tugging at my hair as his thumb caressed the skin of my throat. I gasped as I felt his lips tickle the skin of my throat and move up, trailing fire and desire in their wake until finally meeting my own waiting lips.

His body moved against mine, our skin pressing together in places where it bared to the air, our lips parting only to return in desiring, passionate kisses. I felt his hands move down my back, pulling me ever closer to him, until finally I was straddling his lap, my hair hiding us from any who may have viewed our lusting needs.

"Bela," I heard him whisper as my lips attached themselves to his throat, my tongue flicking out to taste his salty skin.

"Yes?" I breathed, not wanting to stop for any reason.

"I don't think we're alone," his voice hissed, not in anger, but desire.

I looked at him, pulling myself back to meet his eyes. "What?" I asked, blinking a little, though I knew what he meant. I could feel it. I could feel him. The man I served was there, watching, waiting.

"I get this feeling that someone is watching," he said, gently pushing me off his lap, though I knew he didn't want to, not anymore than I wanted to be pushed off.

I looked around then slowly got to my feet and went into the bedroom, leaving Noah on the couch. I saw him, sitting on my bed, his arms crossed over the deep blood red suit he wore.

"Having fun?" he asked, his accent deep and clipped.

"I would be if you hadn't disturbed us," I muttered, crossing my own arms.

He raised a perfectly manicured brow. "I'm sorry, but I sent you here to retrieve souls, not have sex," he said, frowning.

I frowned in return, making an annoyed face at him. "I'm sorry, I retrieved a soul and now I want to have sex," I said, my voice raising slightly.

He leapt up from the bed, his hand grabbing my chin and pulling me to him. "Don't talk back to me, Bela," he hissed, his eyes flashing a violent red for a moment, before calming.

I stared at him, my own eyes angry at his insolence. Then again, he was the devil. I suppose being insolent was part of the game. "I apologise," I whispered, prying his strong fingers from my skin. Had I been alive, his action would have left a nasty group of bruises on my chin. One good thing about being invulnerable. At least I don't bruise.

He continued to glare angrily at me, grabbing my arm as I turned. I felt him pull me back against him, his lips pressing against the skin of my throat as he forced his attentions on me once again. Only this time, I was not interested. Though, I didn't really tell him that. It's hard to tell the devil that you're not interested.

"Why don't you play along?" he breathed in my ear, his tongue catching hold of my earlobe.

"Because, I don't want to," I admitted, feeling him frown as he stepped back from me.

"You will the next time," he stated, disappearing in a puff of red smoke.

I made a nasty face toward the red smoke and plopped down on my bed, frowning hideously.

"You OK?" I heard Noah ask from the doorway to my room.

"Yeah, just had a little surprise visit from you know who," I muttered, taking a breath and closing my eyes.

He smirked and approached me, his hands reaching out to lift me to my feet by my arms. "Would you like to continue where we left off?" he whispered, smiling softly as his eyes met mine.

I just smiled slyly at him, one side of my mouth a little higher than the other. Needless to say, that evening was very productive for us both.

*****************

An annoying ringing sound disturbed my dreamless slumber. I tried to push it away, but it kept happening. I felt like Quasimodo for a split second. I wanted to sit up in bed, my hands over my ears, screaming, "The Bells! The Bells!". Instead, I opted for the less blatant approach and covered my head with my pillow. At first, I was pleasantly surprised when the ringing stopped. I was certain that it had worked and was drifting back to the land of Morpheus when I heard the voice of my recent lover.

"Yeah?" he muttered, still half asleep, his voice muffled by the pillow over my head. I heard nothing more for a moment until he said my name.

"What?" I asked, turning over, letting the pillow fall off my head and off onto the floor.

"We have a problem," he said, his eyes wide open, his voice filled with a tinge of fear.

I rubbed at my eyes, wiping the much needed sleep from them. "And what would that be?"

"Leo Townsend," he said, watching as I leapt from the bed, taking on the frantic search for my clothing.

"Where was he last seen?" I queried, looking at a photo of the man taken by a newspaper reporter.

Noah looked up from another photo, coughing slightly from the smoke filled air in the squad room of the LAPD 43rd precinct squad room. "He was last sighted running into an alley somewhere near Malibu."

My head snapped up and I looked at him, my eyes staring into his. "Do you know what street?" my voice was quiet and filled with fear.

He shook his head. "No, it's not on the paperwork," he said, his eyes moving from mine to the report in front of him.

I took a deep breath, feeling my chest fill with the smoky air of the room. "I have to find him. Before he hurts another child."

Noah nodded slowly, looking back up at me. "We will," he said, his voice firm, adding sanity to my otherwise insane situation.

*************************

"This alley matches the one in the photos," he said, as we pulled to a stop on a darkened street. Noah held up the photo and looked from it to the alley, studying it several times to make sure.

I didn't answer him. Instead, I opened the car door and got out, my eyes scanning around me. I couldn't feel Townsend's presence, though I knew he was there somewhere. My fingers wrapped around the grip of my weapon as I started across the street, ignoring Noah's calling voice from behind me. Destroying Townsend, sending him back to hell where he belonged was my job. I didn't want Noah there. Had I been able to keep him away, I would have. But he insisted on being with me. Insisted on being by my side.

My eyes swept the alley, searching for any clues that the man I sought had been there. I could not feel his presence. For a moment, I pondered the fact that I had not killed him that night. That he only killed me. No, I pushed that thought from my mind, knowing that he was dead.

"Townsend!" I called, hearing my voice bounce around the alley and return to me. "I know you're here somewhere!"

Then I felt it, that familiar tingle. The one that made my skin crawl and the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. He was there. Waiting in the shadows. Watching.

"Where are you?" I hissed, my voice barely audible.

"Well, well, if it isn't that sweet little cop come to take me home," I heard from behind me.

I spun just in time to see the man I sought leap to the ground from a fire escape. The lights of the street glinted off his dark skin, making him almost shine in the night.

My lips curved into a sly smile. "You knew you'd see me again. You knew that when you escaped."

"Yes, I had a feeling I would," he said, nodding his agreement to my statement. "but I had hoped that you would not be hunting me."

"Oh?" I asked, raising a worried brow.

"I had hoped that you would have joined me in the escape. You were a worthy adversary," he said, giving me a compliment. Or at least I assume it was a compliment.

I chuckled, slipping my gun from my holster. "Sorry to disappoint you," I said, raising it up to aim at him, the sleek black barrel pointed at his head. "I may have gone to hell for killing you, but that doesn't mean that I am like you."

His lips parted and hideous laughter escaped them, bouncing around the alley, from wall to wall, from the dumpsters and finally to my ears. "You are like me!" he shouted, raising his hands.

I saw the weapons he held. They were not guns, but scalpels. The same weapons he used to kill 13 children. The memories of those children came back to me. The blood, splattered all over the pristine white walls of the old school room. Body parts sprawled around the room, entrails hanging from the chairs and tables. Never before had I seen such a horrendous sight. And never would I again.

"No," I said, shaking my head. I fired off two shots. My eyes could almost see the bullets sailing toward him, spiralling at some unimaginable speed as they sought their mark, hitting only moments later.

His screams filled the night, echoing from building to building as the light burst forth, his soul screeching into the darkness to swirl around his body. It's blood red essence shot high into the darkened sky, leaving a trail of crimson fire in its wake, only to plunge back downward toward the earth. The asphalt below Townsend's feet, buckled and swayed, finally opening up to the fiery abyss below. Flames licked at his feet, caressing him, pulling him down into its hellish grip. I could hear the screams of the damned souls, seeing their ghostly hands trying to fight for freedom, instead grabbing hold of his legs.

I watched as he was pulled down into the earth, into the sulphuric smelling chasm that led to the bowels of hell. Somehow, he knew that I was still there, regardless of his soul being ripped from his mortal body.

"I will find you again," I heard his voice hiss, dripping around me like acid, chilling me to my very soul, for somewhere within me, I knew his words rang true.

END