You sold your soul to the Devil. Years later he returns and says he needs a favor.
My name is Isobel Cassidy. This is my story. It's not a happy one but it is an interesting tale. You know those stories your priest or rabi told you about how the Devil tempts you to test you? I'm pretty sure I failed but then again if you were the one, a kid, dying before you even had the chance to really live and someone offered you a way out, to run and breathe on your own without the help of machines or medications slowing you down making you foggy, would you say no?
I was 12. But looking at me then I looked more like an alien from the Roswell conspiracy than a 12 year old girl. No hair. Scars from countless surgeries all over my head, tubes coming out of me. It was after my 10th surgery. Doctors were amazed I held on this long. But as hard as it was on me I could only imagine what my dad was going through. A single dad. A cop. He caught bad guys for a living but here was one bad guy who couldn't shoot. I caught him weeping once when he thought I was asleep. I didn't have much time.
"We can make her comfortable...," the doctor said. I counted the spotted water stained tiles above my head for the thousandth time. I would sometimes play tick tack toe in my head on those ugly tiles. Other times I would match the water stains to make a complete picture. That night when my dad went to get coffee someone entered my room. I thought it was just another doctor but he was different.
"Hello, Isobel," he said in a low yet honey voice.
The picture all Catholic girls grow up with of the Devil is one with horns, goat legs, bat wings, and a mouth full of teeth and he's devouring a bunch of guys in an attempt to satiate his endless hunger for human flesh. Some pictures even showed blood pouring out his mouth as he crunched the bodies in his giant jaws. But this Devil looked as ordinary as any adult man... just with strange vibes.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Someone who can help you, Isobel," he said with a wicked glint in his eye and impish grin.
"Are you the Angel of Death?"
A chuckle rose deep from within his throat causing my weak heart to skip two beats.
"An angel...," he leaned back and mused, "Not many people call me that anymore. No but I would like to be your salvation..."
"How can you possibly help me?" I rolled my eyes.
"Well..."
And that was when a deal was struck. Thinking back sometimes I wondered maybe I should have said no. Would I have said no?... Probably not...
* * * *
I had scouted the place for 2 weeks. Martin my sweet tech nerd hooked me up with things I would need to bypass security. He was 15 but already a genius shut in. Number 14 on the FBI's most wanted list. Not bad. Best thief trading in ancient artifacts in the world. Like a cat I manuervered my way into the building using Martin's portable EMP device. No one would ever suspect my watch was a lethal weapon.
The security guards made their rounds. I waited 6 minutes until they were out of sight of the room filled with saintly relics. The finger bone stood on a pedestal like a crowned jewel, a spotlight on it to show that it was no ordinary piece of a corpse. I could feel the energy pulsing from it as I got closer. I pressed the button on my watch. The pressure sensors would be out for only 2 minutes. I gingerly lifted the glass separating me from my prize. I took out the eye glass case inlayed with velvet to safely transport the finger. Interesting how a woman's shriveled finger has gained so much attention while I heard Napoleon's penis lay in storage for years in a Parisian museum until some American lawyer bought it for private viewing. People are odd.
Just as I placed the finger inside the case and placed the glass case back in place an alarm went off. I couldn't understand. Surely it couldn't have been 2 minutes already? On instinct I started running for my exit just as the security guards called after me. I ran into my entrance, a storage closet with a side panel. The vents were human sized though a pain in the ass to manuever around in. Still I muddled through. I popped open the door to my escape in an alley way. Unfortunately a security guard was there. As soon as I landed on my feet I heard a man say, "FREEZE!"
Obediently I held my hands up.
"Turn around slowly," the guard ordered. I thought about it for a second and decided it was better to run. They only gave guards tazors. But I was only 3 feet away when I heard a bang and felt a ball of hot lead hit me in the shoulder. When the hell did museum security get guns? Still I kept running without slowing down to the astonishment of the security guard.
* * * *
You're probably wondering how I escaped with a bullet wound that hardly phased me. Well I sold my soul to the Devil. That's right. I sold my soul for the power of invulnerability. The FBI still can't figure out how I survived that hail of bullets in Johannesburg. I was stealing blood diamonds from some cartel in South Africa. I got away of course with only 10 bullet holes that healed up quick. You see the doctors gave me until the end of the month when I was 12. But being an Irish girl I wasn't going to surrender that easily. So when Satan came to my hospital bed that night and offered me health I barely thought about it and said yes. The next day I was in full remission. The doctors were dumbfounded. I was happy until I found out the cost...
"Jesus, Isobel," Grant tisked at my wound. "It's like it was never there! All this for an old bitch's finger? And when does museum security get guns?" Even criminals needed doctors but unfortunately ours daylights as a vet.
I pulled my shirt back on and smiled. Probably something I missed. I had been slipping those past few weeks but in my defense I was on a deadline. Literally.
"Not just any finger, Grant," I took out the case and peered inside. "Or at least I hope it isn't..." I set the finger down on the metal slab where Grant did his animal surgeries. I took out an amulet of the left eye of Horus.
"This should tell us if you're the real deal, babe," I whispered as I held the eye over the finger. Nothing. The Eye of Horus detects magic and power. If an object has the juice then the Eye glows and burns but nothing. I sat there staring, all hopeful optimism leaving me.
"So..." Grant ventured. Without warning I threw the case with the finger hard at the wall.
"God fucking damn it!" I cursed loudly not caring if the whole city heard me. I got shot for nothing. I wasted precious time for just another finger.
"Sucks to be a Catholic. The Church just gave you the finger," Grant tried to lighten the mood.
"Hm...," I collapsed into a chair. For some reason I laughed. "Maybe I should convert and be a Jew like you, asshole. Though I ain't giving up lobster. Not for my last 2 weeks on Earth..."
"I eat ham and pork almost every day," Grant shrugged. Somehow I was able to find humor in all this. Like dad always used to say, there's always something to laugh about. For me it was my own damnation. As soon as I turn 33 the Devil will come to collect his due payment. I suddenly felt a sharp pain as if someone was stabbing me in my chest. I looked down and saw the mark the Devil gave me the day my father died. A glowing red "X" as if freshly branded. Grant never asked questions. It was safer in his line of work not to but with me he couldn't help it...
"How many times has that been happening?"
"Last month it was every day...," I explained plainly. "Though as I get closer to my birthday it gets worse and happens every few hours..." Grant came down and sat next to me.
"What do you say to someone who's going to hell?" he asked. Half joking half serious.
"Too bad there isn't a Hallmarks card for this," I mused. "But can we just not talk about it for 5 minutes. I need to... assess the last decade of my so called life." Grant and I had known each other even before becoming colleagues in this field. We weren't much for talking about our feelings but sitting close quietly was like saying, "I'm here. It's going to be okay..." Even though we knew this time it wasn't...
* * * *
I spotted a smoking hot blond with an apple shaped ass, perfect breasts that you wanted to just squeeze, and lips you wanted to bite and kiss. I had come 2 nights before with an Italian sex dream named Paolo I think... Can't remember but I do remember he had a talented tongue and the firmest abs. Handcuffs were involved. But I wanted to get a little more wild or maybe I could find another pair of hot Italian abs to add into the mix. Why not? It was the end of my world as I knew it.
I sat at the booth when the blond and I exchanged furtive glances. Yet just when I thought I was going to get lost in a night of hot sex with a guy's wet dream my Devil's mark intensified in heat and pain.
"Hello, Isobel," I froze. That same voice like honey. The Devil sat down across from me smiling his wicked smile. The same glint of mischief in his dark eyes. He looked early 30s. Dark curly hair and a bit of an accent. Very handsome. If he weren't the Devil I would have a lot of fun playing with him in the dark. But right now my insides were churning and my mark burned so hot I thought I was set on fire.
"My you've grown up into a lovely young woman," the Devil grinned some spark of carnal fascination in his dark eyes.
"It's not my birthday yet," I said trying to hide my fear. I think he could smell it. "You can't be here."
"It's a free country, dear," he tilted his head. "And I'm a man of my word."
I miffed when he called himself a "man".
"Then what do you want?" I asked.
"I'm surprised you're here," he leaned back in the red cushions. "Most people who sell their souls to me who reach are in their last days try fitting in some charities or something or spend hours on their knees in deep introspection. Go through the stages of grief and all that until they reach acceptance."
"I'm Irish Catholic," I retorted. "We don't like to talk about our feelings. We prefer to drink, fight, have sex and pop out a few babies then do it all over again. That's why there are so many of us."
"Fair enough," the Devil chuckled. "But I have a favor to ask of you. Another deal if you want to call it that."
"No."
"Don't you want to know what it is first before you completely dismiss it?"
"I've learned my lesson once," I fumed.
"Ah yes... your father. I wonder what he would say if he were to see you now. A daughter of a cop growing up into a criminal."
It was like a slap in the face. I also wanted to slap that bastard in his handsome face. The pain from the mark was nothing compared to the memory of seeing my father's mangled corpse after they pulled him from the wreck came back in full force. I took a deep breath trying to hold back a sob. If he saw me now...
"I told you there was a price, Izzy."
"Stop. Calling. Me that." I slammed my hands on the table making it shake as I spoke through gritted teeth. Only my father ever called me "Izzy". Only he was allowed to call me "Izzy".
The Devil held up his hands then said, "In this deal no one has to get hurt... Well maybe not. Things never go how you plan them."
I sat back down contemplating the offer.
"What's the catch?" I asked suspiciously.
"No catch," he said. "I need a favor from you. You have certain skills that I need for this task."
"And if I do this for you...," I looked him in his eyes finding no hint of light, the Devil invented the poker face, "what do I get?"
"Your life. Your soul. Your freedom."
* * * *
If you would like for me to continue this
story then please comment below and
I'll post another chapter next week.
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