Chapter Text
I am the Devil’s most loyal follower.
He found me in a gutter—vision warbling in and out as I could only see red, red, red riffling down a drain. All I can remember now is the feeling of being pulled down the drain, through its bars, and to the lowest pits of Hell. He said he was happy to be the first to find me, but I think I found Him long before then, in a restaurant in New Orleans, eyes blue, wrapped in a tight black dress.
Meeting Him (or rather, her) that night, I found out that she wasn’t from The Big Easy and never planned to stay there for too long—for anywhere too long—rooting for that rock ‘n roll lifestyle. I swore to grant that to her, after many drunken nights of forgettable run-ins and walks down empty streets, long car rides through no man’s land where no one and nothing could keep on our trail, I asked her to be mine forever. I was lucky that she said yes.
We moved in to her grandmother’s home that had been left to her, which her folks weren’t too happy about. They hated me anyway. They said at the reception that our wedding was a sign of evil to come, but we had a good Catholic wedding that both of our families had hoped for, so I don’t see what the problem was. The old house her grandmother once lived in still smelled like the old hag—the stench of rotting flesh drafted through the crooked hallways and rickety floors that could only be stepped on so much until you’d fall right through. Neither of us could be cooped up in that ramshackle coffin, so we started out our life on the road, all the way from New Jersey, through Dallas, through Las Vegas, until at one point we ended up back where we started—where everything went all wrong.
We had a good run through The Crescent City by then and had collected our cash, cracked open a couple of cold ones, and decided we wanted to forget whatever we had done in that city for the rest of our days. We drove down the road for a good while until we realized we mustn’t’ve cleaned up our blood trail well enough—cops were tailing us. I sped up quick, quick, quick, ‘til I felt the wind of a bullet whiz past my face. I must’ve lost a bit of control over myself as the car spun to the side of the road. I remember grabbing her hand—her eyes darting towards my own and then down at our hands, I could feel her hand in mine trembling—running as fast as I could carry us, with all of my power, I needed to get her out of there. I grabbed the gun from my pocket, pointing at anything I could see, and pulling the trigger. At that, shots rang out. All I could hear was the fast, loud rippling of bullets and her shrouded screams. I felt a deep stinging in my side, in my chest, in my stomach, in my arms and legs, and all I could taste was iron, and all I could see was blood. I felt myself fall against concrete and my hand touching something wet, was it gutter water or my own blood (it was probably both)? I couldn’t hear her anymore, but I could hear Him, and I sunk down into his grasp, down down down.
I don’t entirely recall what I saw, and parts of it I don’t think anyone could fully comprehend. No matter how hard men try to depict it, it's always going to be much more horrible than anyone could ever imagine. I felt my body burning, I couldn’t see anything, I could barely breathe, choking on smoke until I realized; where is she? I asked Him, and He merely looked at me.
“Elsewhere,” He said. I begged Him for where. He moved closer to me, serpentine, grinning.
“Oh, you’re not allowed there,” He said, hissing against my ear.
“Please,” I begged, “please take me to her, I’d do anything.” I could sense a smile twisting on His face.
“Bring me the souls of a thousand evil men, and I will grant you her.” He held a hand and I gave him a firm handshake. I heard Him laughing, and at that I was fully engulfed in flames.
I woke up. The fire had ceased and I was once again in the gutter—who’s water was now not crimson, but clear, washed away of my blood. I found my way to my feet, grasping to keep my newfound balance as I came to realize that the wounds had closed up, or never even existed to begin with. Fixing my clothes, I found my gun, still in my pocket. Grasping it with gentle hands, I came to realize what I needed to do—what any good, doting husband would do.
I am His most loyal follower.
And I am her most loving devotee.