Deliver Me

Doctor Sanders clicked open his briefcase as he sat opposite his patient, who seemed to pay him no mind. Indeed, the dinner table they were sat at was as opulent as anything. Given he was offered a house call by one of the city's most notorious men, he was not surprised. Being a doctor of psychology, he was not often caught off guard, but this man was of exceptional remark.

"Mister Covan?" Sanders asked, disguising his discomfort well.

Mister Bryan "Angel" Covan was sat with a plate of seared ribeye steak and a champagne flute filled not with wine but with cool white milk. However, both were untouched. In his calloused fingertips he held a common housefly. The piercing green of his eyes were trained on the poor beast most thoroughly. The fly buzzed with frantic protest as Covan licked his upper lip with covetous delight. He seemed to be humming some strange discordant melody to himself.

"Mister Covan?" He said with a bit more alarm.

"Just a moment," Covan replied with unnerving charm.

Suddenly, the grinning man procured a pair of tweezers seemingly from thin air. Before the doctor could say anything, Covan began plucking the wings off the pest. Sanders could only stare in horror as Covan gently lowered the now wingless insect onto his palm, taking obscene delight as he watched it writhe.

"Yes, Doctor, apologies for tonight's entertainment." Covan said, never removing his eyes from the poor creature. "I am pleased to discover that you have decided to accept my offer."

Something black in the man's perfect and gracious smile shook him. Sanders shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever stupor he had befallen.

"Yes, Mister Covan," he said, clearing his throat, "it is not often you receive one of the city's most preeminent businessmen as your client."

Covan smiled a tiger's smile, circling the point of one of his incisors with his tongue. "Businessman. You humor me, Doctor."

Covan twitched his jaw and licked his lips as he regarded the fly. Sanders swallowed uneasily.

"Is there something else you would prefer to be called, Mister Covan?" Sanders managed.

Covan looked up from the insect with his piercing gaze. His smile seemed to widen blithely. "Bryan would suffice, or Covan if you prefer formality."

Sanders nodded, writing more on his notepad, trying not to focus on the man's eyes. "Bryan then."

Bryan nodded. "Familiarity over formality, interesting."

He procured a small jar from somewhere underneath the table. Inside were dozens of wingless writhing forms. He methodically uncapped the jar and let the fly in his hand fall inside. He recapped it and set it beside his meal with one fluid motion. Bryan then sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. Sanders sat forward, the hackles on his neck beginning to rise ever so slightly.

"Well," added Sanders, "consultation can often be an intimate process, especially with the subjects we might discuss. Familiarity is merely the stock of my trade."

Covan's smile straightened as he silently chortled. "Ah, so secrets are your business, Doctor?"

Sanders looked confused, "In not so few words... not secrets per se..."

Covan chuckled more audibly before he paused to blow a casual smoke ring. Sanders tilted his head as a bead of sweat rolled down his neck.

"Doctor," Covan began as he held his cigar a hand's length from his lips, "are you aware of my business?"

Sanders shook his head. "No, Sir, I am only vaguely aware of your reputation. I try not to research my clients beforehand to avoid unnecessary bias."

Covan's jaw jerked side to side in apparent amusement. "Ah, a blank slate... so unusual nowadays. I would be most interested to see your reaction to who I really am, what the part and parcel of my profession is."

Sanders swallowed and straightened his tie. "Then, tell me in your own words. Who are you?"

"I -my good Doctor- am an executor of extortion, a sollicitor of sin, a merchant of misery. There isn't a pot in this city that hasn't seen my hand, no pie that I have not tasted. A person such as myself drags an awfully long shadow, in which there is plenty enough room to hide his skeletons. Secrets are valuable to a man like me. In my world, secrets are bought -and sold- with blood."

"Well," said Sanders after an uncomfortably long silence, "I can guarantee your secrets are kept safe with me, not just by word but by covenant of law and contract. There is indeed an NDA built in-"

Covan plucked his chalice of milk off the table thoughtfully. "NDA... Are you aware that I could send a mook down to your office right now -if I truly wanted to- and he would come back with any records I wanted."

Sanders opened his mouth to speak but found no sound. Covan leaned in conspiratorially.

"I don't believe in any 'i' I've ever dotted, Doctor, nor any 't' I've ever crossed." He sipped his milk thoughtfully, sheathing his daggerous stare into his steak. "And they say you always eat the mother after drinking her milk, isn't that right?"

Covan put down his glass and began caressing the cutlery on either side of his plate, his eyes casually resuming their attention on Sanders.

"So... Bryan," replied the Doctor, deeply wishing to change the subject, "what is it you want from our sessions, should we decide to continue?"

"Are you a man of God, Doctor?"

The question caught Sanders off guard. "Not particularly."

Covan creased the corner of his mouth and sighed. "Good man. Neither am I. However, certain bits of that old book have decent enough wisdom, I think. Takes Psalms 31:15 for instance: 'My times are in Your hands. Deliver me from the hands of my enemies, from those who pursue me.'"

Sanders waited for him to continue, rapt by Covan's words.

"What I need from you, Doctor, is deliverance. I need you to deliver me, deliver me from this world."

Sanders shook his head. "I don't understand, Bryan."

Covan flexed his lips and looked down thoughtfully. "I never knew why sinners never saw where they were headed. When one lights a match, one expects fire, should he not? I am a man in flames, Doctor. I was under the false belief that I was immune to to fire for most of my life. I have crawled through the muck and seen the worst in this worthless world, the cankers that riddle creation. I made my home there, but this, all this you see around me, this is not sustainable. Deliver me from this world: that is what I ask of you."

Sanders studied Covan for a long moment after he stopped talking. In his words were such a sincerity of conviction, such passion and pain. It was enough to move any man to tears. But Doctor Sanders was not any man, he was a student of the mind. He studied not only words, but the people who uttered them. And Sanders was chilled by what he saw in the man who was pleading for his aid. Where his words bled with conviction, his gaze was as cold as steel and as hard as ice. His face spoke no more than the void between the stars.

Sander's hands flexed unknowingly as his fingers reached to put his things back into his briefcase. Sweat poured down his neck as his pulse raced behind his ears.

"I am so sorry, Mister Covan," spoke Sanders hurriedly, snapping his briefcase shut, "but I don't think you and I are a great fit. Now, you can contact my office for referrals, but I really must be going."

Covan sighed and offered a strong nod. One of the men and suits began walking from one end of the room behind him to the door behind Sanders. Meanwhile, the doctor gripped his briefcase in hand as he stood and straightened his tie.

"I am afraid this is where I must disagree, Doctor." Spoke Covan, his voice no more yielding than granite.

Sanders turned to find the doors closing swiftly behind him. His eyes widened and his breath shortened. He turned back to Covan who was slowly rising from his seat and beginning to lean on the table.

"You seem like a good man, Doctor, someone who doesn't belong on this side of society. Unfortunately for you, one of your clients, a certain detective, has been in my bad graces for quite some time. This detective, he's a tough nut to crack. He ain't got no family, no real friends, not even a sweet little puppy. But you, you know this man like the palm of your hand."

Men with suits and guns began to surround Sanders as Covan grinned with glee. He gently snatched the jar of wingless flies from the table and held it in his hands with methodic observation. Sanders audibly whimpered.

Covan sighed again. "I was hoping to do you the courtesy of earning your confidence, leave you none the wiser of my true machinations, but you refused the bait. It is with regreat that I must interrogate you by alternative means."

Covan uncapped the jar as two of the men seized Sanders' arms.

"Goodbye, Doctor," he said, nonchalantly grabbing one of the flies and popping it into his mouth. His jaws closed with a silent crunch.

-----

This story was originally loosely inspired by the song below. The album it comes from, Birds with Broken Wings, has several songs with clear dystopian and psychological overtones with strong social commentary and not-so-thinly veiled Biblical metaphors with reimagined and reapplied meanings. I have been wanting to experiment with one of these songs in a story, and this challenge gave me the perfect excuse.