Chapter VI: Trust

To see beneath the lies.

          “Melissa!” called out a voice high above her world of darkness. Hands pressed strong against her heart and she opened her eyes. It was Seth.

          He pulled her back up against him, as she coughed water out of her lungs. Regaining her breath, she gazed at Henry lying dead in front of her. His chest was red where Seth shot him.

          Melissa felt Seth’s hands leave her shoulders and turned around on her knees. He had fallen. She clasped her hand over the wound near his side. His face was pale and bruised. His mouth, bleeding. Eyes closed. She checked his pulse.

          He was dead.

          Her sight faded to black. Someone was shaking her. Light appeared again, shadowed by Tristan’s face. She remembered him holding her back last night and stealing her brush. Seth was killed years ago, and it was just another dream.

          “Why are you crying?” he asked.

          Crying? She touched her cheeks questionably. Tears ran the length of them.

          “I dreamt of when Seth died.”

          Tristan handed her his handkerchief. “Why did you say it’s your fault?”

          “I’m sorry. I should have told you last night instead of running in here.”

          “You can tell me now.” He sat on the side of her bed and coaxed her to wipe her tears.

          “I never knew Henry. Seth threw a birthday party for me by his pool. Once he went inside the house to get drinks, he noticed him stealing some clothes from my bag. He chased him outside, and after accusing him in front of everyone, Henry pulled out a gun and…”

          She couldn’t finish. The end was too horrible.

          “It all happened, because of me,” she said, covering her face with her hands.

          “Look,” said Tristan, prying them away. “That’s exactly what Henry wants you to think. Seth doesn’t want the same, and if it even matters to you, neither do I.”   

          “That used to be enough to console me. Not anymore, when I have these dreams every night. Henry’s haunting me and I know it.”

          “What if I told you it’s not really him. That he’s an imposter; someone else that wants to torture you just because it gives him pleasure.”

          “But I thought…”

          “That ghosts are people that died? It’s a lie, only to show how successful they’ve been in brainwashing people. Ghosts are nothing more than demons, fallen angels. Where in the Bible does it teach you death can surpass judgment? People can’t stay here forever.”

          She looked confused, almost as if he was crazy. “But everyone says they die, and then they can’t pass on because something’s keeping them here.”

          Tristan sighed. “Believe what you want, but you have to know that this Henry is dangerous.”

          “What do you mean?” she asked, a trace of fear in her eyes.

          “Melissa, after toying with you, I can almost certainly say he’ll try to kill you.”

          “No…”

          “Yes. You came to me because you were afraid. I can see now that you didn’t think it could go that far, but you still feared he would hurt you. I just need to make sure you won’t take any chances.”

          “Chances?”

“You need to promise me not to trust him in any way.”

          She turned away from him in denial, and he could sense her need for comfort. It was a new sensation, demanding and strong. A responsibility he never had before, yet something Satan so wickedly wanted him to respond to.

          Did she really want that from him? What if she got angry and pushed him away? He didn’t want to ruin whatever small bond they had. No, he would just get her out of bed. Then maybe she would feel better on her own.

          “Let’s get you up,” he said, folding the sheets off of her. She didn’t complain, rolling over onto her feet. Seeing her in a thin nightgown, he tried to keep the color from running to his cheeks.

          “So I decided,” he began, cold and stern, “that I will be making your cereal this morning, and guess what else I’ll be pouring into the bowl?”

          Her eyes narrowed, glaring at him. “I won’t eat it. How many times have I told you, you can keep your charity?”

          “You’d rather live on the street because of an empty cereal box?”

           “Yes, I would. You’re only here to make sure I keep breathing.”

          Tristan wasn’t surprised. There was nothing he could do. “Okay,” he said, his voice weak. “Could I, perhaps, step outside for a minute?”

          “Why?” She was concerned. For her safety, he thought. For his feelings, he doubted.

          “I just need some air. And don’t worry. If you’re in danger, I’ll sense it.”

          This reassured her. “Alright.”

          He left her room and went out of the apartments. In the snow, he could feel a small weight being lifted from his shoulders. It was hard, watching her every second. For him, being a demon was nearly the same thing as being an angel. Only now, it felt exhausting, like he was actually tired. Another sensation that was new to him.

          He leaned against the wall, still wearing the coat Satan gave him. Where did Melissa get all her energy from? Could she really sell the painting in time? He had no choice but to watch her suffer, and it was painful. He never had a case like this before. If a real angel took his place, Melissa would be homeless for a while, until she made it back to the city. She would have to get a job, until she could find a home and paint again. Since his latest orders, he knew Satan didn’t want her to leave.

          Tristan would force her to stay if necessary. He had to send the ghost back to hell, which could only be done by killing it.

          Backstabbing a ghost wasn’t easy. If Henry noticed his presence, he would disappear again. Tristan had to be silent and quick.

          He couldn’t stay out here much longer. He didn’t know what Melissa lived off for the past week, and she could suddenly become weak or ill. Shoving off the wall, he walked back up to the apartment.

          Melissa was dressed, but she just sat on the couch, hugging her knees. There wasn’t another bowl in the sink, which meant she hadn’t eaten anything.

          He sat down next to her, still not in the mood to talk. Forcing himself, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

          “Tristan,” she began, “I can’t stay here anymore. If I don’t ask the police for help, I’ll starve. I have to pack up and leave for the nearest city. There, I can get a job and pay my debts.”

          “I can’t let you move.”

          “Why not? It’s the right thing to do.”

          In his thoughts, Tristan was in agreement, but he had to lie. “No, it isn’t.”

          “How can that be?”

          He shifted uncomfortably and she stared at him. This was it. He had no explanation and was horrible at lying. It wasn’t the time to reveal himself, but Melissa would be very suspicious. Whatever trust they had could no longer last.

          “You’re really going to stop me?” she asked.

          “Yes, I am.”

          “You’re unbelievable,” she said in disgust. “I don’t want any more to do with you. I asked for your protection and now I’m your prisoner.”

          Confused and angry, she ran to her room…again.

          This is so stupid, he thought. Pretending to be an angel was a great way to get her to tell him things about her past and situation, but it led to such a standstill. The whole point he could see now, was to keep Melissa alive until she got bored and started liking him.

          Aware that she was currently starving, he got up and knocked on her door. “I presume you’d rather eat something than starve to death,” he said. “Do you need me to make you something?”

          After a long silence, he decided she was too busy fuming to answer him and turned to the fridge. He had watched Sean make soup before, since his family never cooked for him. If Melissa didn’t eat it tonight, she might tomorrow. He didn’t want to think of how pathetic she would feel, all because of him.

          While he cooked his mixture of beef and vegetables over the stove, he tried to block out how bad he felt. Trapped by him, Melissa was now a prisoner, just like him and Sean. And it all came down to the same wicked entity, who was probably watching all of their misery.

          “Thinking of me?” asked Satan. Drowned in his negative feelings, Tristan hadn’t noticed the devil smiling at him from the other side of the stove.

          “It’s not like I can hide it,” said Tristan.

          “You’ve done well to follow my orders. Sean seems to be the perfect incentive. Who knew a mere boy could prove to be so useful?”

          “I wish I did. Then maybe I wouldn’t have killed him.”

          “No hard feelings. Then we never would have met. I’ve been waiting too long for an angel with wings.”

          “So there aren’t any others?” Tristan asked.

          “No, not since never.”

          “That wording makes so much since,” he teased.

          “Do not mock my creativity.”

          “Ha ha ha. What did you really come here to tell me?”

          “Nothing important. You thought about it a while back, when Melissa was painting. You yearned to tell her about your dilemma.”

          “Yeah. I don’t like being forced to lie.”

          “Then you’re in for something good, because telling the truth will be your greatest tool.”

          “How so?”

          “She will want to help you soon enough, by giving me her soul. That will keep Sean safe and complete your mission.”

          “How do I know you won’t kill Sean afterward and use Melissa to blackmail me?”

          Satan’s eyes widened in surprise. “And why would I do that? Keeping Sean alive is fair trade for  your services. If I do that, you will never like me.”

          Tristan glared at him. “I don’t trust you.”