Page 25 of Dark Rapture
His face contorts yet again, as though Daemon’s arrival and departure within the innocent man’s body is torture to his very soul.
I watch the black recede into his pupils, and the man’s face relaxes. He jolts silently, as though snapping out of a stupor. Confusion pulls his features tight, and he pulls his hand away from me. I can’t stop myself from flinching, and he suddenly looks ashamed. As though he didn’t mean to touch me.
I don’t think he knows what just happened to him.
“I-I… I’m s-sorry,” he stammers quietly, pulling his attention away from me to figure out where he is. He shakes his head and quickly exits the room, but the heavy weight of Daemon’s presence lingers.
I feel him in the space around me, like a shield enveloping me. It is still so hard to come to terms with the stark juxtaposition that is the innate fear of this demon, and the comfort his attention and protection grants me.
As the priest finishes, my eyes wander to Jake’s resting place. I can’t pull my eyes away from him, imagining him in hell. Suffering in damnation for what he’s done to me, all because I accidentally formed the beginning of a bond with a powerful demon. Strong roots woven into my very soul, and something I cannot break, let alone take back.
Daemon killed him as a gift to me. There is no going back from that.
Lost in my dark thoughts, I startle when a gentle hand rests on my arm. My eyes snap to my mother, her glossy hazel eyes full of a harsh combination of grief and exhaustion.
“Honeybee, why didn’t you come sit with us?”
I lean in and give Mom a gentle hug, “I didn’t want to interrupt. I saw the whole service, though,” I reassure her, and she places a kiss on my cheek.
“Okay, darling. We’re going to the reception room next for coffee,” she places her hand lightly on my back, and I allow her to guide me through the doors.
All of the guests slowly make their way to our reception space, and I watch them sit around the tables and chat quietly while I sip a hot cup of tea.
After about forty minutes of visiting with my family, I pull my mom aside and tell her I’ve got a headache and need to head home. I say my goodbyes, toss away my empty cup, and leave the building as quickly as I can without making much noise or drawing any attention to myself.
As I exit, I am greeted by the caws of several ravens where they sit perched around the building and the surrounding trees. The rain has already started to fall, darkening the pavement, but it isn’t too heavy yet.
I decide to hail a cab, which emerges from traffic before the consideration even finishes as a complete thought in my mind, and it pulls up along the curb so I can get in out of the rain.
I buckle myself in and give the driver my address, which is only about 10 minutes from here. When he confirms my address and plugs it into his GPS, then doesn’t make any attempt at further conversation, I relax into my seat and stare out the window.
The sun is setting now, I can see the dark pink and orange hues breaking through bits of the heavy cloud cover. A few wayward rays of sunset’s light hit the car’s window, making the droplets in their path look like golden beads as they glide across the glass. I’m mesmerized by it, and before I realize it, we’ve pulled up along the curb in front of my triplex building.
I grab my bag from across the seat and glance at the meter above the dashboard, pulling what I owe from my wallet and holding it out for the driver. When he makes no move to take it, I frown.
“Sir?”
“He’s suffering so much.”
The driver’s voice is monotone and empty, and every muscle in my body tenses in response. “Excuse me?”
The driver doesn’t turn to face me, but I catch his gaze in the mirror.
Black eyes. A demon’s stare.
This doesn’t feel like Daemon, though. The energy is all wrong. Nothing about this encounter makes me feel safe, or protected.
I reach for the door handle, but it doesn’t budge. I hold his gaze, trembling lightly.
“He’s been screaming endlessly ever since your Great Prince dragged him down through the earth,” the driver says it with an unnaturally wide smile, though his voice is still completely monotone.
Who the fuck is in this car with me?
I’m shaking more now, but I don’t know what to say. I’m too scared to open my mouth.
“There’s a golden statue of you, you know. Down in Hell. So uncle dearest never forgets why he’s there,” the driver explains, turning his head finally to look at me. There is something so insanely unsettling about the face of a possessed man. I will never grow accustomed to it. “He rips out his guts over and over again, and feeds them back to him. Your uncle just cries and screams and begs for God to save him.” The last sentence is spoken in a singsong voice, the change unexpected and disturbing.
“Let me out!” I shout into the confined space of the sedan, pulling on the door handle in a desperate attempt to exit the vehicle.
