Demon World

by Balvir Bhullar

  Alexander climbed the stairs to the human’s office, supporting her weight. He commanded the double doors to open before him. As he walked through, he gently lay her down on a couch near one of the desks, and her left arm fell lifelessly to the side. He pushed her wet hair away from her face, and took a good look at the woman before him. He took off her coat, gently peeling it back from her arms whilst supporting her head, and discarded it onto the floor. He opened a cupboard beside the couch and found a blanket which he covered her with gently.

  Alexander took her wrist and checked again for a pulse; he knew it was stupid, but it categorically confirmed what he already knew... I was too late to save her because of my rage and arrogance, he thought bitterly. I am solely to blame for her death.

  To make matters worse, he noticed her photo on the desk near him. It showed her smiling with a look of determination in her eyes; here was a woman who could have done anything, even conquered the world. In a fit of helpless rage, the glass shattered from the force with which he slammed the frame down.

  Alexander was quiet for a moment with his head down and eyes closed, kneeling by her; the very image of an angel seeking absolution. He breathed deeply as he contemplated the situation. He came to a decision he never thought he would have to make, or would make under any condition.

  His earlier words came back to haunt him; he was most definitely going to regret this. Whether he would live to regret it was a point of contention.

  His eyes turned green as he drew upon his power, took on his demonic form. He knew that, were any human to look upon him, they would in all likelihood run a mile.

  He rolled up his left sleeve and retrieved a pure silver knife from his coat pocket. The blade was inscribed with an ancient language which no human could decipher, or so he thought... Though occasionally, it had leaked into this world with devastating consequences, spoken by those possessed, but unable to understand what they were saying. He shuddered at the memories, briefly feeling pity for the mortals of this world.

  Alexander drew the tip of the blade, smooth on one side and serrated on the other, across his palm. Gently taking the woman’s right hand, he made a similar cut on her right palm, before joining their hands together. He spoke in an ancient language, whilst slowly withdrawing the spear from her chest.

  He covered her heart with his left hand as he again drew upon his power. After an hour or so of deep concentration, it was done. He removed all traces of blood, restored the woman’s clothes to their original state, and modified her memories. Trust me, my lady. It’s in your best interest... or our interests. His eyes returned back to their natural sapphire, and colour slowly returned to his drained face.

  He bent down, and gently brushed her forehead with a kiss; as he looked at her, there was a bleakness to his eyes. Alexander knew that many things had changed on this fateful night, and that he would have to answer for the unbreakable oath shattered by his morality.

  The storm outside grew in intensity as lightning lashed the city. Two realms bellowed their horror at what had occurred, and as the winds picked up, a loud unearthly scream tore through the night.

  Alexander ignored the turmoil outside. He had turned his back on everything that he had ever known. My life is no longer my own, it does not solely belong to me, he thought caustically. A soul was precious in any world and he had put his in jeopardy. He glared at the woman who had taken his life, and slowly bent down until he was level with her face.

  Rowanne’s body restarted with a slow heartbeat, as blood began to pump around. A reflex action suddenly caused her eyes to open, staring directly into his. Her mind awakened briefly and she felt his strong arms supporting her, as he whispered in her ear.

  Only the end was partially audible to her, as Alexander whispered, ‘The veil between our worlds lies asunder. Bound we are by the blood of genesis, and before the Trinity in blood I make the ultimate sacrifice...’ He lay her gently back down on the couch and turned away from her to leave.

  At midnight, Rowanne’s body underwent a metamorphosis. Black and white lights started to emanate from the cut in her palm. It moved in two separate directions, completely enveloping her whole body so that it was cocooned: one half in white light, and mirrored on the opposite side by its dark counterpart. A circular tattoo appeared on her left shoulder, near her heart. It was comprised of two angels (one light and the other dark) embracing each other, and between them lay a sphere containing a triskelion.

  A supernatural wind blew back Rowanne’s hair as she was briefly cocooned in a second layer of radiant light. Slowly the lights receded from around her body, drawn towards her heart until they resided within. The tattoo began to fade, and with each passing moment she appeared more alive as her body healed itself throughout the night.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rowanne began to stir awake, feeling completely rested after a deep sleep. A dream lingered on the edges of her subconscious, intangible and just out of reach. She stretched her arms and inadvertently caused the green lamp on her desk to shatter as it hit the floor.

  She watched as the shards flew in different directions, and for one ephemeral moment they glimmered like emeralds caught in a beam of sunlight. In that instant, a memory of green eyes and strong arms flared to the surface of her mind, but this too was fleeting, and it was ruthlessly buried, never to be unearthed again.

  I must have stayed up late last night, thought Rowanne, rubbing her eyes with her forefingers. I definitely have to stop this overtime, otherwise I’ll be heading for a burnout. She recalled the numerous late nights she had spent at the office since starting this job three years ago. Looking back, she realised disconsolately that she had spent more time at work than at home, or anywhere else for that matter.

  She was hit by a wave of dizziness as she got up from the couch too quickly. ‘Whoa.’ What the hell happened last night... she wondered. She sat back down and closed her eyes as she waited for the sickening sensation to pass.

  After a couple of moments, Rowanne knelt on the floor and began to clear away the pieces of glass. As she got up, she accidently bumped into the table beside her, and as she tried to restore her balance, her hand closed on a small shard left behind.

  ‘Great. That’s just what I needed!’ she winced, looking down at her bleeding palm.

  She went to the toilet to clean her hand and after inspecting it for glass, rummaged around in her bag until she finally found a plaster. Ripping it open with her teeth, she applied it to her palm.

  By the time that Rowanne was ready to leave, sunlight dappled through the trees outside and played across the furniture, signalling the start of a new day. As she walked along the corridor, it occurred to her that she had not seen anybody else in this part of the building this morning, and maybe even since the evening before.

  Surely Thomas would have come in last night to check in with me, and then report to the head of security, she thought. In all the time that she had worked at the newspaper, she could not recall a time when Thomas had not checked in, as security at her building was of paramount importance.

  It was Thomas’s job to check the offices: making sure that they were empty or verifying anybody that was working late. After carrying out the relevant checks, he would have locked up the department, before finally ascertaining that this part of the building was secure. Rowanne assumed there must be a simple explanation for his absence. Shaking her head, she left her office and went down the stairs.

  She pushed open the doors to a beautiful crisp autumn day, the sky blue with just a hint of pink above the horizon.

  She quickly made her way over to one of her most prized possessions: her 1955 black Pegaso. Reversing her car out of the car park, she headed home.

  Her apartment was less than half an hour away. In no time at all, she pulled up outside of a tall building just as the sun reflected harshly off the imposing glass structure. These skyscrapers were the latest addition to London, with people investing considerable amounts of money to be located in the heart
of the capital with magnificent views of the famous skyline.

  Rowanne had only lived here a couple of years, having bought her apartment through hard work and many late nights. As a result, she was one of a select few who were the big earners, and thus was able to afford a few luxuries.

  She drove down into the car park underground, and eventually parked in her reserved spot adjacent to the lift.

  The lift doors shut behind her and she pressed the button for the top floor. She watched as the car park disappeared below through the glass floor of the lift as it steadily climbed up. The architect who designed it had a wicked sense of humour, she thought; essentially it was a glass box.

  Rowanne could see Westminster Bridge and the London Eye in the distance. She would sometimes walk down to the bridge, and spend time looking out across the River Thames; it was a peaceful way to pass the time.

  The lift reached the 51st floor and the doors opened to reveal the door to Rowanne’s apartment directly opposite. As she rummaged around in her bag looking for her keys, she hissed as she cut her palm a second time.

  She opened the door with her left hand, and, dumping her belongings on the floor, she quickly made her way to the bathroom. Her right hand stung as she ripped off the plaster, and fresh blood rose to the surface. She again cleaned her hand and applied a fresh plaster.

  She took a paracetamol for the headache that had gradually developed, and seemed to get worse when she had cut her hand a second time, called in sick to work, and headed straight to bed.

  She had a peaceful, dreamless sleep and awoke around two in the afternoon. Mercifully the pain in her head had abated. She was amazed to have been asleep for so long and put this down to all those long nights she had spent at the office working towards deadlines. I have to stop pushing myself too far, she thought. But deep down, she knew that this was the reason for her promotion to the inner circle. For the past few years, she had worked so hard to have recognition for her dedication to the newspaper. Being at the top required a lot of sacrifice and Rowanne fully intended to stay there, no matter what.

  Feeling hungry, she made herself a sandwich having not eaten anything since the night before. She ate in front of the TV and watched the usual uninteresting, mid-afternoon shows. In between switching channels, she came across the news and one story in particular caught her attention and had her sitting upright. There had been a break-in at her workplace.

  How could it have happened last night, I would have known, right? wondered Rowanne, thoroughly confused. I worked there the whole of last night, although, admittedly I fell asleep, but the office was in order, nothing was out of place... and as she tried to recollect she was hit with a brain fog.

  The news reporter went on to state that there had also been an altercation outside the building witnessed by a passerby. The details of what the witness saw were very vague and sketchy. Maybe they’re deliberately leaving details out, Rowanne mused.

  How worse can this situation get? she wondered incredulously. However, she was forced to swallow her words as further details emerged. Not only had her department been wrecked, there were signs of a possible altercation inside the office as well. The police investigation was on-going, but there was no report of anybody being injured. Rowanne’s blood ran cold as she looked on at the footage of her department. The camera slowly panned across the scene of destruction. Oh My God, that’s my desk?! she thought, noticing a dark stain on the floor nearby; it looked suspiciously like blood and lots of it. ‘That wasn’t there when I left this morning... it would have been hard to miss...’ she reasoned aloud unsuccessfully.

  Who could have been hurt? she wondered, mentally going through a checklist of her colleagues who had worked the day before. The idea of any of them being injured was unbearable; after all, she had known these people for years.

  It had escalated from possibly being a break-in, to something else entirely. Police had cordoned off the department until further notice, and were requesting for anyone with information to come forward. Rowanne wondered what she should do; technically she had been there, but as a witness, she had nothing of value to offer.

  She switched off the television, unable to hear any more. The sinking feeling that had crept in had got progressively worse after listening to the news reports. She felt sick with guilt: guilt for having been there yet unable to recall a single thing. Not to mention, it was a miracle that she had survived unscathed when someone else had clearly been hurt.

  She tried to picture how the office had looked prior to her leaving it earlier that morning. ‘Was it really intact?’ she asked herself aloud, now less confident of her answer.

  She tried to recall what she had been doing prior to falling asleep at the office, but any attempt to bring the memories of the night before to the surface of her mind caused her head to pound.

  Still it played on her mind, refusing to go away. She was first and foremost a journalist. ‘What exactly happened last night?’ she wondered wearily. She considered the facts at hand, as she checked them off her fingers:

  I was there last night working on a deadline, and at some point in time I supposedly fell asleep.

  I woke up today feeling confused, and apparently without some of my memories from last night. What does this have to do with what happened the night before, or possibly in the early hours of this morning?

  The headache reared its ugly head as if it were a ghost lurking in her mind, always on the offensive. It aggressively diverted her mind from the events of the night before. What the hell is happening to me? she wondered, but soldiered on painfully through the red haze engulfing her mind.

  One thing became very clear: the question she should really be asking herself is why she could not remember. Was it simply a case of being so overworked that she had fallen into a deep sleep, or was there a more disturbing explanation? Could she have been rendered unconscious? The blood stains were specifically next to my desk... so, am I somehow involved?

  If she went down this line of reasoning, then she had to ask herself whether she had been involved in the alleged altercation inside the office. However, after a thorough check, there was not a single scratch to be found on her, apart from the cut on her palm.

  She was left with a further consideration: were any of her colleagues involved in the alleged incident? This only led to more questions, questions that she did not have the answer to.

  Suddenly a piece of the puzzle fit into place. A rather obvious piece. ‘And I call myself a journalist... uh-huh,’ she said sardonically. How could anyone have come undetected into the building without someone spotting them? Surely they would have had to get past security... Then a name sprang to mind, and she slapped her forehead. Of course, the night watchman. She could not believe how stupid she had been, only this morning she had been thinking of Thomas and now it seemed there might be more to his absence then she had initially thought.

  An unsettling idea occurred to Rowanne: Thomas might have come in and surprised the intruders, and if he had gotten in their way, then perhaps they had panicked and attacked him. She felt sick to the core and clutched her hair, desperately trying to make sense of everything.

  She could not seem to stop her morbid train of thought. What could have happened afterwards... had they taken him? Oh God, what if the worst has happened... but she refused to let herself finish the thought.

  There was a lot to consider, and even as she tried contacting Eileen, all she got was an automatic voice message saying that she would get back to them, and that under no circumstances were any of the employees to go back to the office.

  For now, there was nothing useful she could do, and she did not know how plausible any of her scenarios were. All she had at this point was a lot of conjecture with limited facts.

  It was five in the evening by this time, and she had spent hours going over possible scenarios, but she couldn’t take it anymore. She had to relieve the tension, and decided a run was exactly what she needed. She got changed into her running gear and
put in her headphones.

  Rowanne felt confused and angry, and rock metal complimented her mood perfectly as it blasted into her ears whilst she pounded down the streets of Westminster. Though the words did not make any sense, they did at least help to drown out the noise in her mind. She was lost in the music, in oblivion, listening to someone else screaming for a change. She ran fast, steadily increasing her speed and paying no attention to her surroundings. The cars went by in a blur, and the people she passed appeared faceless. Her muscles protested against the punishment as her exhausted body worked hard to keep her going.

  She ran alongside the river with sweat running down her face, but did not care as a cool autumnal breeze played along her skin. She ran beneath a string of lights strung from lamppost to lamppost, and from the corner of her eye, she could see the twinkling lights reflected in the inky river that acted as an expansive dark mirror.

  When she was almost back home, Rowanne suddenly broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of police cars, and quickly took out her headphones, and her heart began to pound as they turned into her road. She skidded to a stop, and changing direction, ran blindly towards a tunnel.

  It was late evening and the sky had grown darker as Rowanne ran faster than she had ever run before. The comforting light of the street lamps was extinguished the moment she entered the dark tunnel. Her heart and mind could not stand the shock, and she could hear a roaring sound as the blood pounded in her ears in this soulless place. As she tried to calm her nerves, she heard a sound. It was not that it was particularly loud, but in this dark place, she would even have heard a pin drop. Her nerves were shredded; after all, there was only so much a person could take.

  She was not alone - there was someone else in the tunnel with her. Her mind had not yet fully recovered from her earlier trauma, unbeknownst to Rowanne, and combined with the stress of the incident at work, and now this, it was just too much for her to handle, and she lost consciousness.