Contrition

The sickly sweet smell of lilacs and mums was one that had been burned in her brain since the funeral, a constant reminder of the eternal guilt that ravaged her insides. That same heavy guilt kept Heather in bed for three days, three days since she spoke with an inheritance attorney over her father’s will.

On her nightstand, a check for $20,000 tormented her.

She’s still wearing the same button down blouse and slacks from her meeting, unable to find the motivation to change out of them. She’s left her bed a handful of times for the bathroom but that’s as far as her body will let her go before returning back to her bed, under her covers and in fetal position.

Her father was the only one who had been there for her through everything. He was there for every art show, for every girl she brought home and for every breakup she had been through. He worked constantly, and yet he still found the time to enjoy his only child as much as he could. Her 23 years alive with him were a blessing that she was always thankful for, as she knew many other people who prayed and cried and envied for a relationship like the one she had with her dad.

But now he was gone forever.

The same memory plays through her head like a never ending movie. The heart wrenching call she received while she was in between classes, lackadaisically wandering through her college campus to kill time. The sight of her father on the hospital bed and the question that followed, are you sure this is my dad? Windshield glass and the force of impact making his features indistinguishable. The sudden, burning, sour taste of bile that rose to her mouth when the doctor delivered the gut-wrenching news. Every single moment of that day replays nonstop in Heather’s mind. Trying to close her eyes in hopes that this was just a bad dream, and when she wakes up the check isn’t anywhere to be found and she’s in her pajamas and her father is waiting for her text back to see if they can have lunch together before her afternoon classes. With every desperate attempt to close her eyes the movie winds back up and Heather forces her eyes open to keep from reliving the worst day of her life.

After three sleepless nights, her body finally gives out and she falls asleep. She doesn’t dream of anything, and for the first time since her father’s death she can breathe.

…

The relief only lasts so long.

Heather can feel her body go cold. Her arms and legs are starting to tingle intensely, and what was once easy breathing was now nearly impossible to get a gust of air in her lungs. She tries to open her eyes but she can’t. The weight on her chest and around her throat is getting tighter by the second and in a desperate need for oxygen she swings her numbed arms for some kind of imaginary support to save her.

Suddenly, the pressure around her throat stops.

Heather’s limbs slowly come back to life, the feeling of silk like hair running through her fingertips.

“Wake up Baby, I missed you.”

The voice is a familiar one that Heather has heard before. Slowly, hesitantly, Heather opens her icy blue eyes. Her vision is blurred but she is still able to make out the figure on top of her. A beautiful woman sits on her torso with a hand wrapped around her throat. Her narrow eyes are a piercing amethyst that can make any man submissive, now completely locked on Heather. When she sees Heather’s eyes flutter open, she moves her hand away from her throat and to cup her soft freckled cheeks. Heather doesn’t react to any of it, continuing to lie lifelessly.

“It’s been three days.” The demon starts. “Are you not satisfied with what you got?”

“My dad died.” Heather states bluntly. She can already taste the bile coming back up at just the mention of her father. Heather doesn’t give any other reaction, but the tears streaming down her cheeks are enough to express her sorrow. The demon does nothing more but watch, her beautiful face keeping the same emotionless expression.

“I’m aware.”

“I didn’t want him to die.”

It’s getting almost impossible for Heather to speak without choking on her tears. The blank expression she had before slowly melts away when her lips begin to quiver and her pale cheeks start to turn red. It’s hard to tell whether or not the demon refuses to react, or doesn’t know how to react as her face doesn’t change.

“Where did you think that money was going to come from?” The demon responds. “I’m not a genie, I can’t make things appear from thin air. Something had to happen so you can have that money.”

That was it. That was the confirmation of what Heather knew, but didn’t want to believe. Her and her greed were the cause of her father’s death. At this point, Heather can’t hold back anymore. A loud, shrill cry rips from her throat, her tiny body beginning to shake from the emotion pouring out of her. What was nothing more but an innocent plea for financial grace led her to a never ending nightmare that was dealt by her own hand.

She should have known better. The same man that she killed was the same man that always taught her never to trust strangers. Heather should have known better than to trust the word of the Devil, no matter how sweet she sounded or how beautiful she was. Her financial woes were beginning to drown her, and it was getting harder and harder to get through each day. Her part time job at the local cafe wasn’t enough, and the mountain of college debt she was accruing by the semester was enough to push her over the edge to make a deal. Now she was stuck paying the price for her ignorance in the worst way possible.

“Baby, I can make this better, I promise.” The woman says. Her voice is sweet and brings the same feelings of a sharp knife gently gliding along skin, light and tender with the dreadful feeling that at any moment there could be a slight slip of the wrist and that would be the end to the pleasantness. “I told you I would take care of you, didn’t I? It’s a part of our deal.”

Almost out of thin air, The devil brings out a small black book. She places it in between her and Heather, almost expecting Heather to notice the book and snap out of her hysterics. Heather doesn’t even notice the book as she finally releases the dam of tears she’s been holding in since that day at the hospital. It felt as if the tears would never stop running down her face, the heavy weight in her heart feeling like a thousand pounds inside of her small body. There was no stopping this wave of emotion now, not for a while. The demon across from Heather can’t do anything else but watch as Heather unravels under the weight of her own sadness and guilt.

“I’m leaving this here with you. The moment you write something, I’ll take care of it for you.” She says softly. She leans in slowly, leaving a soft kiss on Heather’s tear stained cheek before slowly sinking away into her darkness. Heather lets herself completely unravel, slowly curling back into her fetal position. She wraps her arms around her knees, her body still shaking immensely. The notebook stays on the bed, shifted over to the side of the bed and away from Heather. Her cries last for another hour before her body gives out and she falls back asleep.

…

The late sun peeks through the window blinds, pouring over Heather as she sleeps. She slowly lets herself wake up, refusing to move her body from its ball. She lies there for minutes that turn to hours. After two have passed, she uncurls herself and lets herself stand up and walk over to the bathroom. The same thought has gone through her head since waking up and nothing else. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her grey hair is disheveled and tangled, and her eyes are dark and tired. Heather keeps her gaze on her reflection in hopes that, maybe, she could have one more chance to wake up from this nightmare. She waits for reflection to give her some sign of a dream, of a hallucination, of anything that could reassure her that this wasn’t real life.

After a long moment of staring, Heather is aware that this is it.

Heather walks over to her desk, swiping whatever pen she could get her hands on. She makes her way back to her bed, not to lie down, but to grab the black notebook that rested by the edge. She gets on her knees as if she were about to pray and opens the notebook. There is only one used page in this book. At the top, in Heather’s handwriting reads ‘money to get me through this semester’. The text sends a chill down her spine.

She twirls the pen in her hand, looking for the right words to write. She can feel the presence of the devil behind her but refuses to acknowledge it. The woman doesn’t bother to say anything as both of them wait for the same thing. A sudden lightness takes over Heather’s body and for the first time since everything she feels free of guilt. She gets a firm grip of her pen and lets the tip begin to glide on the page. When she finishes, she acknowledges her work.

A line below her first request in black ink reads ‘I want to see my father again’.

Heather puts the pen down. Before she can react, before she can change her mind, a sharp pain hits her on the side of her neck. On the opposite side, the devil woman watches Heather’s skin turn ghost white. Her claws are buried in Heather’s skin, her hands shaking in anger.

“You’re an ungrateful little bitch.” The demon spits out, her once sweet voice now distorted from anger. For the first time her beautiful face is contorted in rage, flashing her sharp teeth in a vicious snarl. Heather doesn’t respond back, the taste of blood beginning to fill her mouth fast. She can hear a low growl from the demon as her claws move deeper in her flesh. Heather doesn’t even wince from the pain. Her limbs start to go numb again, except she doesn’t fight it this time.

Heather closes her eyes and takes one last breath before the demon swipes her fingers through flesh and bone with one strong swift motion.

A quiet thud, then silence.