The Devil and I by Kay Alastor
Chapter Two
Lucas
It takes a lot out of me to wear this mask. A mask I carefully constructed in order to hide in plain sight, disguised as someone noble and normal within society. You'd never guess that Officer Lucas Black of the Toronto Police Department harbored a dark side that would make the average person want to run screaming.
After long hours patrolling the streets of Toronto, it feels damn good to shed the uniform, put away my badge, and hit the trails to run. Running affords me the type of cathartic release I need to keep the darkness inside of me at bay. The day is spent exhausting myself mentally on the job, and once I clock out, it's time to exhaust myself physically. At the end of the day, the devil within me is too fucking tired to give in to my darker urges.
Hitting up Sunnybrook Park at the end of my shift is a great way to start off my two-week vacation. After changing out of my uniform and slipping into black sweats and a black long-sleeved shirt, pulling into the park for a run just feels right. I don't have to waste another minute pretending that I'm just another normal cop. I can leave thefaçadebehind and be who I really am. Most of the time I feel like a shapeshifter, slipping out of one skin and into another. The only difference is that the mask I've shed was never the real one. The morally gray man with a dark hunger and darker instincts? Yeah, that's what is real. It's men like me that I protect the world from in my professional life. I love the irony.
I have no desire to go easy on myself today, so when I hit the trail I hit it hard. I've been running for thirty minutes now, and my body is screaming from the exertion. All the thick muscle covering my six foot two frame feel as though it is on fire, but I love the burn. The harder I run, the stronger I become. The stronger I am; the better self-control I have. Self-control is everything for a man like me. If I don't exercise it daily, I turn into just another sloppy serial killer. That's the last thing I want to become. Prison won't suit me; I'm addicted to my freedom. Almost as much as I am addicted to control. Control is half the reason why I've killed six men and have never come even close to being caught by my colleagues.
The sky has darkened, and everyone that was occupying the park has already gone home. Anyone left is hanging out at the entrance, or scattered throughout the parking lot. Since my police cruiser tends to scare off anyone looking to partake in illegal activities after dark, that leaves the place mostly empty. This place is pitch black when after the sun goes down, and happens to be home to a lot of brave coyotes, which means Toronto residents prefer to be gone before dark. That leaves the trails empty for me, which is preferable to having to dodge pedestrians as I run.
The sound of my labored breathing and the heavy fall of my feet on the trail disrupts the natural peacefulness of the park, but nobody is around to listen to me exhaust myself. The dark trail winds deep through the rich emerald landscape, dotted with yellowing leaves that mark Autumn's arrival in Ontario. It's quiet except for the choir of crickets and the rustling leaves around me. As I start to make my way back towards the parking lot, my senses kick into overdrive. There is a sound somewhere in the distance that doesn't belong with nature's own symphony, but I can barely make it out. Being a cop has helped sharpen my instincts, which made it easy for me to recognize the noise despite how lost it was in the cacophony of everything else.
I make an effort to steady my breathing, which only amplifies the burn in my lungs as I slow my pace. The less noise I make, the better my ears can decipher the sounds around me. I listen intently for the sound, and I slow down even more when I finally catch it. It sounds like crying somewhere among the trees, and the haunting noise causes my hair to stand on end. I drag a hand through my hair and come to a stop, fighting to keep my breathing quiet as I try to pinpoint where it's coming from. It is then, with lungs burning and heaving to catch my breath, that I hear the softest voice from the bush to the left of the path.
“Fuck you, Mark. You'll never touch me again.”
The cop in me slides firmly into place, instantly recognizing distress when I hear it. I narrow my eyes as they scan the line of trees, intent on finding the girl that soft voice belongs to. I can't see anyone immediately, but I am positive that I heard someone. That voice. Soft, feminine, and so full of agony. My brain knows how to recognize suffering in someone's voice. It's not only a part of my skill set as an officer, but it also comes from being a natural born predator. After years of dealing with every kind of person imaginable, you develop an ear for the subtle nuances of emotion a voice can hold.
I take a few steps forward until I am standing at the line of trees that marks the side of the trail, trying to spot the person responsible for speaking such strange words out there in the tangle of branches and leaves. A flash of colour stands out amid the greenery, clearly out of place. There's someone sitting on the ground by a large oak tree, and I'd never have seen her if not for her pale skin gleaming with glittering red. The last echoes of day cast just enough light so that the blood on her skin doesn't turn into another shadow out here in the woods.
Another few steps bring me into the bush where I can see her more clearly, resting seemingly lifelessly against the trunk of the great oak. My heart shoots up into my throat as I recognize what is unfolding before me. The blood cascading across the girl's forearm calls to me like a siren's song, drawing me in. The black-hearted predator living beneath my skin wants control here, but I fight the sickness surging up within me. Whoever this innocent girl is, she doesn't deserve to be hunted like prey in her moment of weakness. I'm the devil made flesh, but I am also human. I can act like it now, for this bleeding stranger.
“Time to go.”
Before she even gets the chance to finish whispering those harrowing words, I'm moving. I shift through the trees with ease, pulled towards her like there is some magnetic force between us. My eyes roam her body as she comes into full view. And Goddamn it, she is beautiful. It's fucked up that I am thinking about how pretty she is when she is clearly in trouble, but I can't ignore it. The girl is small and pale, framed by the longest, softest looking dark hair I've ever seen. Her eyes are closed, and her full lips are parted slightly. She is wearing dark clothing, with an oversized hoodie that hides her body from my curious gaze.
She is ethereal in the darkness, lending to my struggle to stay rooted in reality. I never imagined I would ever find a bleeding girl out here in the woods at this hour, and part of me wonders if she is even real. She is so pale; her skin almost glows in the dying light. She is a whirlwind of chaos that my brain is struggling to comprehend. She is clearly injured, but she was also talking to someone. My eyes leave her momentarily to scan the area, but everything is quiet. If someone else were here, I'd know it. We're alone.
The girl's arm is hanging lax beside her, the back of her hand resting on the dirt. Her forearm has been bathed in red, with blood still seeping from the line she carved vertically down her arm. One long slit from wrist to elbow, the tool she used held loose in her other hand. She is killing herself here in the forest. She is ending her life, and apparently someone named Mark is the catalyst. Instantly, I hate the name as much as I hate the man I don't know a damn thing about. She looks far too young to die.
As I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, something unknown emerges from the darkest corners of my being. I can't quite decipher the flood of emotion that rises in me unbidden, but the voice in my head is clear as day.
Mine.
Confusion joins the hectic tumble of emotions I'm experiencing, and I can't stop the frown that etches across my face as I look down at the bleeding girl.
Mine, now.
I narrow my gaze as my jaw clenches shut, the muscles of my body growing painfully tense. I have no idea who this pretty little thing is, but the dark side of my psyche is taking over any rational voice in my head. The beast in me is awake, and demanding that I take this unknown girl with me. Demanding that I take her, save her life, and destroy whatever thing drove her to death's door in the first place.
The sharp, metallic scent of blood hits me hard as I tower over her. The small red pool forming beneath her is almost a relief to see, because the amount of blood there means that it hasn't been that long since she slit her arm open. I need to stop the bleeding before things get worse. Bending down, I lean over her and gently knock the bloodied razor out of her other hand. She doesn't respond to my touch, which tells me I need to work quickly here.
I stand back up and grab the hem of my shirt, tugging it up and pulling it over my head. Once I've got the dark material in my hands, I kneel beside her and begin wrapping it tightly around her forearm. She doesn't seem to respond as I prepare her to be moved, which means I'll be able to get her back to my car relatively easily. I've got a well stocked first aid kit in my cruiser, and if I get there fast enough I can avoid having to take her to the hospital.
Taking her to my home is the only option the beast in me wants to acknowledge. If I drop her off at the hospital, I'll lose access to her. If that happens, I won't be able to figure out who the fuck drove her to suicide.
She'll be safest at my house a couple hours North, but I'll need to stabilize her and stop the bleeding before I can attempt the drive. Letting her die in my cruiser during the drive home isn't an option, either.
With her wounded arm wrapped tightly in my shirt, the girl is stable enough to be moved. I lean down and slip my arms underneath her, gently lifting her into my embrace and settling her against my chest. I draw her close against my body, which allows her delicate, ambrosial scent to hit me hard. It is tainted with the addictive, coppery notes of blood, which is intoxicating enough to make me sway on my feet. Combined with the feel of her soft, curvy body settling against me, I can't stop the groan that rumbles up from deep in my chest.
A hint of shame washes over me in the wake of my visceral response to her body. The girl is obviously knocking on death's door, but I am a slave to the monster within. I can't ignore what I feel with her in my arms. She looks so frail. Every instinct in me is screaming to protect her. I cradle her a little closer as I maneuver us through the bush and back out onto the trail, holding on to her like she is the most prized possession I've ever found.
I shake my head to clear it before I start jogging back in the direction of the parking lot, trying my best not to jostle her too much as we move. Thankfully, she didn't wander too deep into the woods. It doesn't take long before I am turning the final corner on the trail and stepping out into the empty parking lot. I don't slow down until I reach my cruiser, ignoring the burn of overexertion in my lungs.
With some careful shifting, I reach into my pocket, pull the keys free and unlock the car. It's a relief that I made it here so quickly. I lower myself slightly to grab the door handle, pulling it open so I can get her settled in the passenger seat. With the utmost care, I lower the nameless girl into the car seat. As soon as I feel the loss of her weight in my arms, I regret having to put her down at all. The knowledge that I have to leave her here to get the first aid kit from my trunk makes me want to growl in protest. The foreign feeling surprises me, but I don't slow down to contemplate what it means.
She sinks down into the passenger seat with a gentle groan, rousing lightly back into consciousness. My eyes drop to her full lips, which part slightly to reveal her slightly imperfect teeth. I reach out to brush my thumb against her plump lower lip, unable to resist the urge to touch her.
“Don't worry, you're safe,” I say to her softly, despite the fact that she seems to slip back out of awareness almost immediately. Reluctantly drawing my hand away from her adorable mouth, I leave her briefly to pop my trunk and pull out the standard issue first aid kit kept there. Returning to her side with a deep, steadying breath, I set the kit down and pop it open.
Kneeling on the hard ground next to her, I begin to set out everything I'll need to flush and wrap her wound. I need to make this quick so I can get us on the road. Whatever I do here will need to hold out until I can get us home and get it properly dressed. As I carefully unwrap my shirt from her forearm, I wince as thick lines of blood spill out from the angry line of split skin. With the pressure off, I need to work quickly. I grab a bottle of saline solution and flush the wound. As soon as I set the saline down, I press a clean towel over the wound and wait for it to absorb some of the liquid. I'll get some medical grade suture tape on the wound once I get her home, but for now, a tight wrap will have to do.
Tossing the bloodied towel aside, I immediately replace it with an oversized pad of thick gauze. Without hesitation, I begin to wrap her arm. Tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not tight enough to cut off blood circulation to her hand. Hopefully in the two hours it will take to get to my home up North, blood clotting will have set in to make it easier for me to properly treat and dress it.
With her arm securely wrapped, I clean up the medical supplies and buckle her in. Now that she is safe in my cruiser, I spare a moment to really look at her. She is pretty, and she looks so damn sad. That foreign feeling that took root in my heart back in the forest is suddenly blooming wildly in my chest. The incessant need to find out who hurt her, and how, nearly staggers me. I don't understand where these powerful feelings came from, but there is no denying that they're taking over now.
Clenching my jaw, I close the door and quickly make my way over into the driver’s seat. I settle in and sigh deeply, hands hovering on the steering wheel. The drive home will be difficult for us both, I imagine. I need to know everything there is to know about this stranger, and she probably still very much wants to die. I don't expect her to stay unconscious for long, and that might be problematic for me. Sure, she can easily figure out she is in a police car just by looking around her, but would that really stop her from panicking? Was I willing to take the risk? With her safety being my new number one priority, I'll need to mitigate any potential trouble for her sake.
I lean over the center console and reach under her seat, feeling around for the small black box I keep hidden there. Being so close to her, I am helpless against the subtle but sweet scent that permeates my senses. I groan again as I drop my forehead against the arm of her seat while I pull the box free.
Hesitating for just a moment longer, I force myself upright and settle the box in my lap. Unlocking it and flipping back the lid, I move aside several loaded syringes before grabbing a small bottle. I open the cap and dump a tiny white pill onto the palm of my hand. The drug is a sedative that they sometimes use in emergency psychiatry to calm a frantic patient. Guessing her weight, I settle on the safe side of using just one pill and lean back over to administer it.
My fingertips brush against her cool, soft lips, and I immediately start to worry. She should feel warm, not cold. That realization makes me nervous as hell, and part of me hopes I am making the right decision by taking her home instead of the hospital.
I part her lips gently and force my fingers between her teeth, slipping the rapidly dissolving pill under her soft tongue. She moans ever so quietly at the intrusion, and starts to stir, but she doesn't know to fight me. The pill will dissolve before she realizes it, and the chemicals will begin to work their magic to keep her sedated for the drive to my home in the woods.
I withdraw my hand from her mouth and turn up the heat in the car before I set to getting us on the road. As I put my cruiser in reverse and exit the parking lot, I am filled with feelings I don't quite understand. I've never really felt strong emotions for anyone, so it is unsettling that I am feeling this shit now. I don't even know this girl's name, or what I am going to do with her once I take her home.
There is only one thing I am sure about, and that very thing is indicative of the darkness I harbor inside of me. She belongs to me now, and I can fucking guarantee the devil within me is far more deadly than the monster that hurt her.
“Don't be afraid, baby,” I whisper to her in the darkness, “I won't hurt you... but I can't say the same for whoever broke you. That motherfucker is going to bleed.”