“Now hold on, just a second,” Joe said, following us out into the hall, “come to my office. Let me dress those wounds.”
Nathaniel and I exchanged a wordless glance. We had little choice but to resume our roles of obedient soldier and freed soul. We followed.
Joe sat at his desk, gesturing for Nathaniel and I to take the seats across from him. We did, the chairs groaning from our weight, as if on the verge of collapsing at any moment.
“That was a spectacular performance,” Joe said, voice dripping with condescension.
Nathaniel straightened in his seat. I deflated.
“The Devil is still in there,” he went on, shaking his head with disappointment, “I can feel him.”
“Wait, the exorcism didn’t work?” Nathaniel continued his act, lips parted in surprise.
Joe’s gaze snapped to him. “Enough.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth to prolong the act, but I cut him off, knowing the show had come to an end.
“Why let me go, then?” I asked.
“To give you a choice.”
“A choice?” I scoffed.
“You can stay here and pray until the Devil is banished for good,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “Or, you can die.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat as he withdrew a long blade from his desk drawer, the Devil unnaturally calm as he paced up and down the crowded corridors of my mind.
Nathaniel shielded me from the blade, rising to his feet, long limbs an easy target for an attack.
“We’re leaving,” he announced coldly. “We’re not a part of your…deranged cult.”
“That boy is possessed,” Joe spat, pointing the blade toward me. “And that demon has lodged itself into your heart.”
Nathaniel released a low, humourless chuckle. “Oh, so now I am possessed too?”
“Nate,” I whispered, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
“I cannot allow the Devil to harm another soul,” Joe said, “move aside, boy, or I will cut you down too.”
Nathaniel was as still as a statue, defiance in every line of his body. I realised, with sickening clarity, that Nathaniel would die if I did nothing. He would chooseme.
The Devil threw my body toward Nathaniel, knocking him to the side to avoid Joe’s blade. He grunted as he hit the wall, but an apology had to wait, for Joe lunged toward me, blade aiming for my neck. It whistled over my head as I ducked, my hands reaching for his robes like a feral cat, nails cutting into the material to keep him from Nathaniel.
His blade swung in my direction, narrowly missing my chest.
I tackled him to the floor, a tangle of limbs battling for dominance. I kicked the weapon from his grasp and held him down with my entire body, knees on either side of his writhing torso, hands pinning him by the chest.
“Demon!” he spat.
I silenced him with an elbow to the throat, reaching out with one hand to retrieve the blade that had fallen from his tight grasp.
Joe gazed up at me, fear dancing in his eyes. I drank it in, absorbing the way his eyes widened, pupils dilating, lips parted in a breathless gasp. I watched him the way he watched me all those years ago, smothered by smoke, trapped in the flames, praying for a God that never came.
“You’re the Devil,” he hissed. “Soon they will all see just how monstrous you are!”
Let them.
Let them believe it. Let them tremble. Because the real monster was not the Devil. It was me.
