Page 1 of Devious Nightmare

Prologue

Blaze

10 years Ago

I love being on my motorcycle. Flying down quiet, deserted roads in the middle of the night brings me so much peace — peace that I don’t get from anything else in my life. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like I’m free.

But it also reminds me how fleeting life can be.

All it would take is one wrong turn, and I’d be all blood and brain matter splattered across the road. I’d ruin an otherwise peaceful night for all the officers on duty. People would have to stare at my insides on their commute to work in the morning, starting off their day on a bad note.

The sadistic side of me would love to be able to float above the scene, take in their horrified and disgusted faces, listen to their conversations as they complained about how inconvenient my death was to the start of their day. I’m sure all they would do is complain about how I ruined their otherwise boring day. Not a single one of them would be concerned about the lost life.

People are honestly the worst.

I used to find peace in everything that I did. When I joined the band, singing on stage was the most euphoric release of my life. Better than sex or getting high drugs could provide.

But there is a downside to every extreme. Everything that I was feeling would fade away when I wasn’t in front of a crowd.

Like the way addicts build up a tolerance to the drugs they’re using, I needed more to feel the same high that I first did in front of a cheering crowd. The same was no longer enough to feed that deep-rooted desire.

I needed more of everything. More noise. More fans. More fame. So, I did the unthinkable.

I literally made a deal with the devil, and I’ve been dealing with the consequences of that decision ever since. It’s incredibly cliche, but it is what it is.

I sold my soul to the devil alongside all of my bandmates, and in return we were given fame and fortune.

It was simultaneously the best decision and worst mistake of my life. The celebrity status we received almost immediately was exactly what we wanted, but the cost of that gift was higher than we were told in the beginning.

This is why you hire lawyers to read the fine print before signing a contract. Too bad there aren’t lawyers who specialize in demon law.

The bodies piled up so quickly, and we were given strict instructions on how they were to be left after we killed them. They looked like some fucking morbid, pop-up art piece.

In the beginning it was difficult to kill the people he wanted the most. But as fucked up at it may be, it got easier over time. I’ve learned quickly how to pick my targets.

All women, per my instructions. Being a musician made it easy. We had groupies begging for a chance to spend five minutes with us. Little did they know, their five minutes with a rock star would lead to them being my latest sacrifice.

Sirens interrupt my thought process and I no longer know what I was just thinking about. The constant blaring of the sirens during this ride are just another thing interrupting my peace, and it’s beginning to give me a headache.

I get it.

You’re coming after me. But, is it necessary to have the entire Sheriff’s department after me, or for the sirens to be so damn loud? The police should look into more neighborhood friendly sirens. Ones that don’t wake the entire town when you’re trying to catch a bad guy.

The nosey fucking people in Wraith Valley come running the second they hear a cruiser flying down the street. The flashing blue lights and the people in this town is the equivalent of a moth to a flame. So predictable and pathetic.

“Pull the motorcycle over, Mr. Dubois,” one of the officers says through the loudspeaker in their car. I’m not sure which one of the pigs said that, but he’s hilarious if he thinks that’s all it’s going to take for me to turn myself in.

I’ve come too far to give up now. If Donavan wants this to end, he’s going to have to kill me in front of all his men. I want them to at least get a glimpse of the monster he is.

I’m not better than him. Actually, I’m probably worse than him at this point. I know where I’m going when this life ends. It’s about time he realizes he’s never going to meet the big man upstairs. His fate was sealed a long time ago, and once the reaper comes to take him, he has a first class ticket to the pits of hell.

I’ll be there waiting for him. Fists ready to beat in his ugly face. I know I won’t kill him — obviously he’ll already be dead — but maybe the devil will let me keep pummeling him for killing one of his most loyal servants.

I turn onto Old Wolf Street and hope that I can lose them when we get to the bridge. There’s no way they will be able to drive their cars over it to follow me. The bridge has been closed for years due to its inability to hold the weight of a vehicle, and the town is too set in their ways to update it. Though, my bike should be able to fly across the bridge without the whole thing caving in and sending me down into the depths below.

The rickety old structure comes into view. I’m so close. I know I can get there and away from them if I just push a little faster. Then I’m on my way out of town, and I’ll stay out of dodge for a while until I figure out my next move.

This is the end of my career, and I know it. There’s no way for me to continue recording and performing now that they know what I’ve done.

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