#quousque

“Tammy?” “I am sorry about this Katherine,” Tammy looks genuinely upset as she shifts, hands locking around your wrists and keeping you on the bench beside her. “It really is for the best.” “Tammy, what the hell?” You struggle but you can’t move. The way you are sitting, all your weight on one hip and a leg folded up on the bench makes it hard to get away as Tammy pins your hands to the bench, not letting you get any leverage to move. You look around, hoping to find someone when you see Sarah move from the corner of your vision. Only she didn’t move so much as glide, movement so smooth and controlled that it looked alien on her small frame. You’re heart turns to lead as she picks Mark up and turns to face you. Her eyes are black. Not just the iris but the whites of her eyes are gone, leaving shiny black sclera that reflect your frightened face. Sarah sets Mark on the grass, stretching his limbs apart raises a knife, more of a stiletto really but you are far too busy fighting against Tammy, who now has her arms wrapped tightly around you. “Shh, it’ll be ok,” She croons in your ear as tears spill from your eyes. No, no, please god, no, you pray. “I know its hard to understand now, but it really is for the best. We had to act soon or it would be too late for us, for the world. I know it’s your son but this is much bigger than you,” Tammy keeps talking. “Besides, you are young, healthy! You will have other children. It was just bad luck you had to have this one." No, no not your son, not him. God please, no. The knife stabs down. “MARK!” A hand wraps itself around Sarah’s wrist, stopping the knife just above Mark’s eye. “I don’t know where you’re from, kiddo, but we don’t kill kids here.” The speaker twists Sarah’s wrist until she lets go of the knife. The clatter it makes as it skitters over the ground shakes both you and Tammy out of your stupor. You rip out of Tammy’s hold and snatch Mark away from Sarah’s grasp, backing away with him clutched to your chest. “You.” You flinch as Sarah hisses out, low and guttural at the man, turning her head at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. “Let her go,” Tammy’s voice is hard, like the steel in her eyes as she faces down man. He looks unruffled, his blond hair falling over light colored eyes as he looked down his nose at Tammy. Sarah tries to twist away, but he all he does is change his grip to throw Sarah back at Tammy. “You alright, Ma'am?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained on the other two. You nod shakily and he gives you a grin. “Good, good, now lets take care of this mess then. What exactly is the problem here?” He turns to Tammy and Sarah. “You can’t stop us, not now! We need to get rid of it, before it can grow stronger,” Tammy spoke desperately, looking beseechingly at the man. Whatever she hoped to find was not there though, and you watch as Tammy’s face pales. Sarah moves forward, her face twisted into something you can’t call human. She has the knife again. “Madam, you should leave. Maybe call the police?” The man asks and you don’t hesitate. For whatever reason Tammy seems terrified of him, and he took care of Sarah so easily before. You leave. Later, after the police have taken your statements and pictures of the bruises blooming around your wrists and up your arms, you learn that Tammy was sitting there on the bench, clutching a bloody knife that matched your description. They also found Sarah’s corpse, right in front of Tammy. And no matter how hard they searched, the blond man was no where to be found. --- You feel paranoid, and refuse to leave the house. The neighbors are understanding, and make sure to give you updates. Its the most excitement they have had in years. They say Tammy had a psychotic break, you hear as people whisper around you like you are fragile. That she was perfectly normal, a loving foster mother and an upstanding pillar of society. (You thought the same about your husband) --- A year passes with no surprises and you start to relax. You move, travel across the country. A fresh start, your husband says, holding Mark carefully in his arms. He is home more often, more attentive to both you and Mark and you are happy that he and Mark have started bonding. Yes, you think, taking in the nice suburban house you bought together. A change might be just what you need. You feel your skin prickle, the hairs on the back of your neck raising. Alfred takes Mark into the house but you pause to look around, peering at the shadows along the buildings and trees suspiciously. They stay still under your watch and with a final sweep of the street you follow your family inside. (The definition of insanity: trying the same thing over again and expecting a different result). --- The next four years pass without anything noteworthy happening. Mark has grown into a rambunctious child, always climbing anything he could reach and asking questions. Not at all like he was as a baby. (You don't think about how Alfred has withdrawn from his son. After the last argument you learn to pick your battles). You go to therapy, and you feel better with every month passing without instance. Mark turns five and you have a large party, inviting the children from the neighborhood and setting up an inflatable castle. Alfred invites some of his friends from college, you reach out to your friends but most of them are on the other side of the country and you haven't made much of an effort to integrate yourself with the neighborhood. You regret that a little, sitting alone at the table, playing with the straw of a juice box when someone takes a seat next to you. "You!" It was the same blonde man from the park. You immediately look over to Mark, but he is happily bouncing along with his friends inside the inflated castle. The sound of plastic tearing catches your attention and you look back to see the man poking a straw through his juice box. "What are you doing here?" You demand. Your body tenses, blood pumping faster as you think of the different routes to grab Mark and get inside the house. "Is it really so odd that I would check up on you?" the man asks. He sips the juice daintily, before pulling the beverage away to frown at it. "We moved," You move to stand up but stop when he lifts a hand. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, setting the juice aside and leaning forward, folding his hands across his knees. “I’m actually here to help you, Ms. Hallaway.” You give him a disbelieving look and he sighs. “It’s about your son. Have you noticed the way things seem to mysteriously happen around him?” “Not here.” You snap out, feeling cold. You take a quick look around, Mark is still running around with his friends and you can see Alfred in a nearby cluster of parents. Good. “Come on,” You mutter, grabbing an empty tray and walking back into the house. You duck into the kitchen, away from the window looking out into the back yard and turn. The man leans against your counter top, hands tucked into his pockets. “What do you know about demons?” (Your world shatters that day, alongside the cracks that you tried so hard to ignore) --- The man calls himself Hal, that's not their real name, and they are not a man. They tell you about your husband, about the cult he belongs to. About Hell and Satan and everything you thought belonged in religion or pop culture. They tell you about your son and you almost throw up. (You believe them, which would surprise you if you hadn’t been suspicious of Alfred for months, if you hadn’t noticed how he and his friends treat Mark. How they look at him with hope and what you now realize was greed in their eyes.) --- Things don’t change much, on the surface. Mark’s birthday was three weeks past when Hal drops in again. They have been doing that for the past few years, you learn. For security. They didn’t have a part to play in all of this, but got caught up when they saved you and your son from the angel. You finally have a word for what Sarah was. It’s a cold comfort given what you now know. After all, you did your part, you had the child. Now... now you were just a liability. If Mark didn’t bond so closely to you, you didn’t doubt you would have disappeared like the other women they tried to impregnate. Hal sits down beside you on the couch. Mark was coloring at the table, sending curious looks over to the two of you. You sip your tea and wait for him to start. Hal sighs. “Look, you need to understand, Heaven and Hell had been at it for centuries. With the Antichrist-” “Mark.” You interrupt. “He has a name.” Hal grimaces. “Mark,” they say with some reluctance, “is a valuable resource. He can act on Earth in a way no demon or angel can. It makes him a target.” "From God," You say, your voice flat. "From angels who follow God's will. Which is most of them," Hal admits. "Despite everything, you humans did manage to pass down grains of truth about His teachings." "The apocalypse." You did your research. "When he reaches adulthood he will be channel the powers of Hell, unleashing them on the planet." You look at Mark, head bent over his coloring book and can't imagine it. He is just a boy. "He's more than that." You didn't realize you spoke out loud. "He will rule someday, and every celestial being will be watching him, either to curry favor or to destroy him. He's the first child to reach this age, and Hell has put far too much time and effort for his birth to loose him." "So what? There's nothing I can do? Just let him be used as a, a pawn in a game?" You demand, putting down your cup with a sharp click. Hal shrugs, "I'm just telling you what to expect. At this point, the boy would be taken away to be educated, and to keep him away from... bad influences." "Like me." You smooth down the fabric of your pants with a brisk motion. "That's not going to happen." You stand up and walk back to the dining table, leaving Hal protesting behind you. "Look, you can't stop this, it will be you against everything He can throw at you, you will lose everything." Hal looks pointedly at Mark. "Then I better win," You say, and reach over to pluck at Mark's drawing. "Almost done, sweetie?" Mark looks up at you with solemn eyes and nods, handing his paper over. You look over the neat black lines and the colored in spaces and place it at the center of the table. You hear the scrape of the chair over wood as Mark moves behind you, and ignoring Hal's sudden questions, start lighting the candles set around the picture. "Wait- Don't!" Hal's voice cut off as you prick your finger on a sterilized needle, and drip the blood onto the drawing. Nothing overly dramatic happens, and you find yourself just a bit disappointed. "What did you do?" Hal breathes out, edging back from the table. "Called your boss. You might want to make yourself scarce," You add, almost as a afterthought as the shadows along the table and the corners of the room darken, and the chandelier starts swaying to a non existent wind. You pull Mark back behind you as something oozes out of the shadows. The shape writhes unnaturally, twisting itself up and into the silhouette of a man. The darkness peels away, revealing a smartly dressed man with handsome features. You aren't fooled. Red eyes look down at you, whether in derision or interest, you can't tell. "Well then?" the Devil himself asks, looking over from you to your son and behind you, where you can hear Hal's soft whimpers. You pull out the folder you set aside earlier and hand it over to him. You can feel the heat emanating from His hands, almost burning you even though your hands never make contact. You stay still as He flips through the pages, and finally looks up, snapping the folder shut. "Most women don't bother making deals when they find out," He said. No, they didn't. "I'm not most women," You say. "No, you aren't." He agrees. "No one has the guts to summon me anymore, and yet here you are. Are you not afraid? I can hear your heart racing." He leers, a predator watching in amusement as its prey walks into its claws. You stay silent. "Do you know what will happen once I sign this? Any protection you have now will be void. Everyone with a stake in this game will target him, without any care to bystanders, rabbit" "I am not here because you protected me." "No, you are not," He says softly, tapping at the folder with a long finger. He smiles, and drops the folder, spinning it across the table so it faces you. "Alright then. Lets see how far you can run, little rabbit." You open the folder to see His name written on the line in bright red. You wipe your hands on your slacks and look over the papers. Nothing looks to be changed but you carefully go over it again, word for word. Finally, you put the folder down and reach for the nearest writing implement. You sign the contract in red crayon and hope for the best.