Where Demons Lie
Seth awoke with a scream.
How long was he asleep for? Odd, really. He didn't feel like he had slept at all. His body ached, his eyes were drooping with fatigue, his stomach had never felt emptier and his throat was terribly parched. Strangely enough, he found that he was standing upright and tensed as if he were recoiling from something.
There was no way he could have been asleep.
A foul smell pervaded his nostrils. It was a smell that he immediately recognized:
He looked down at himself and, to his horror, found that his entire body was covered in blood. His face and hands were caked in it. Some of it fresh, some of it old. Was it his? Was it somebody else's? Both?
He decided that it must be somebody else's because as exhausted as he was, he was still standing. But who was he? What had happened? Seth took in his surroundings. He was in a small bare room. By the looks of it, it was an office. Could it be his office? Something told him that it couldn't be his. It was too plain. Too dull.
He took a step towards the desk in front of him, and felt a bulge in his left pocket. He reached in and pulled out his wallet. Nothing inside was too shocking. A picture of a lovely woman and a young girl. Most likely his wife and daughter. There was also a police badge.
So he was a cop, eh? He smiled. He had always wanted to be a cop ever since he was a little boy. Something about it appealed to him. It could have been the fact that he knew he would be able to protect himself, his family, and the community. Or maybe it was because he could get all sorts of little perks. Scoring some pot off some hapless teenager in a drug bust, or maybe letting a young girl get out of a ticket for a blowjob.
Seth sat down at the desk and relaxed. But before he could let his mind wander any further, the room around him exploded as bullets riddled the office and nearly tore him apart. Quickly, he ducked down and grabbed his gun. He was surprised to find how heavy it was. He wasn't sure what kind of gun it was, but he could tell that it was powerful as hell.
He fired a few shots back at his unseen enemies, and made a break for the door. After wrenching it open, he was greeted with more bullets tearing up the doorframe. He slammed it shut and locked it. What was he going to do?
Quickly, he flipped the desk on its side and set up a crude shield for himself. If he was going down, he was gonna take everybody with him. He cocked his gun, breathed a short prayer, and peered over the desk.
What Seth saw shocked him. Police were everywhere with their guns aimed at him. Why? Why would the police be after him? There must be some mistake. He suddenly broke down. Why couldn't he remember anything? What had he done?
Who the fuck was he!?
Seth put down his gun, grabbed his badge, and stood up. He could hear the reports of several guns, and it was then that time stopped completely. Seth looked around in confusion. Three bullets remained motionless one inch from his chest, and two more from his face. Seth's knees buckled, but before he could take all this in, a voice behind him spoke.
"Seth Russo, born in 1981, son of Mike and Joanne Russo. Good to see you again."
He tried to speak, but no words could come out. His heart was pumping too fast, and his head was too light. All that came out of his mouth were a few short wheezes.
"You know, I never get tired of your reaction. You're such a fucking pansy. Turn around and look at me, you miserable twat."
Obedient, Seth turned around and gazed at the foul-mouthed speaker.
He was strikingly handsome, and dressed in the finest suit Seth had ever laid eyes on. His eyes blazed with anger, and he sauntered up to Seth grabbing him by the hair and yanking him to his feet.
"I know you're wondering where the fuck you are. I'm also sure you're wondering why all these boys in blue are firing at poor little you, and why you're even in this shithole in the first place. Well, I may be the guy to tell you."
Seth was still wheezing, unable to take all this in. He was too tired, too frightened, and too confused to say anything but a pitiful, "Teh... tell... muh... muh..." before he was slapped in the face.
"C'mon, girlie! You can say it! Let's hear you say it, you little rat bastard!"
He was slapped again.
"Tell... me... Tell me!"
The man gave a wicked grin.
"Oh, I'll tell you. Those bullets there killed you, boyo. You're a dead man. You've been dead for five-hundred and eighty seven years, six months, and twelve days. You killed a police officer on the street, stole everything he had, and hid inside this building. You were a thief, Seth. You were a thief and a murderer. Unfortunately, somebody saw you do it and she ratted you out, which led the cops to where you are now. You never had a wife and daughter. You died alone, and nobody cared. You didn't even make the front page. Pathetic cunt.
You're in hell, and you've experienced your death approximately four-hundred-twenty-eight thousand and fourteen times. Each time you die, your memory is erased and you experience it all over again. You'll never sleep, you'll never eat, and you'll never drink. All there is here for you is death. Welcome to eternity, fucker."
After hearing the horrific demon explain everything, Seth felt a burning sensation in the backs of his eyes. He knew what was to come. His memory was being erased. No.... he would remember. He had to remember. This couldn't be how it ended. He wasn't a bad person. He wasn't.....
Seth awoke with a scream.