By the time Jack got home, the sun had set and darkness had settled in. He climbed the stairs to his room, taking each step slowly. His mind remained empty, but he was aware of their presence. They were there, ready for him to call upon the women or indulge in drinks and drugs supplied by Demi. They wanted to use those things to inspire him and get him writing again.

"Sorry, guys," Jack said aloud, reaching the top of the stairs. "Not today. Not ever again."

The hisses and sneers in his ears sounded like the annoying whining of mosquitoes. He swiped toward both ears at the same time.

Then came the painful jab to his side.

"Arrrrgh!" Jack doubled over and groaned. He thought he would black out then. But he managed to straighten himself, now angry as hell. "Stop that! This is not part of the deal. Physical pain? How low can you get?"

The hisses warned him, doubling in volume and tightening around his head, until the pressure had him holding his eyes and desperately pressing on his temples.

He groaned, teeth chattering. The hisses turned to voices—hellish voices—whispering abominable things in his head. It took over his entire being, deriding him with cackling laughter.

Jack whirled around, now standing before his bedroom door. He couldn't flee into his sanctuary—he couldn’t move at all. All the while, a hurricane whirled around him.

His mind's eyes presented him with flashes of images. Of women mostly, and then there were the men, finely chiseled like marble.

Jack was forced to watch as they writhed and undulated together—the masses of naked flesh. They all turned their eyes to him as the voices rose in moans and screams. The sickening grins they gave him conveyed the message all too clearly—that should be him right now. That was him. That was the life he had to live.

"Nooooo!" Jack roared, struggling to gain power over himself. "I won't live the life you want. I choose a different path."

The laughter that came then chilled his bones. It echoed in his ears and wrapped itself around his neck. The nude masses were gone from his sight, finally, as he began to choke.

Jack fell to his knees, gurgling and coughing, tearing at the invisible grasp around his neck. His hands were useless. He was losing strength and giving up hope.

The laughter came louder as his hands fell uselessly to his side.

"Too late," a demonic voice said into his overly sensitive ears. It left them ringing.

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"You can't change what you are."

"I can," Jack croaked tiredly. "If you let me, I can."

"You don't own yourself anymore, boy," it continued. "You asked for this. Why do you want to run away from it now?"

"I am tired. I want more,"

Laughter echoed around him, not just in his own head now. It bounded against the walls endlessly as he weakly touched a hand to his head.

"You can't be tired. This is only the beginning of the glories to come. I have more to give you. You must take all of it."

"I don't want it." Jack's voice broke. He was resting on his haunches now; his head bowed tiredly. Both his soul and body were weak. He didn't want to ever get up.

"This is the life you asked for, Jack. Money, honor, fame—you came to the table. You asked for my kiss, and now you want to rub it off and pretend it never happened?"

"I’m sorry." The sobs came from nowhere, racking his entire body. "I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry."

"The devil doesn't forgive, Jack. Keep your apology. You must continue to write what we give you, there is no other path. Your horns will keep growing with each inspired book, and you will be blessed with more riches and fame. The fairest deal ever, I am sure you’ll agree."

"I don't want it!" Jack sobbed aloud from the depths of his being. "I don't want any of it."

"You must!" There was no more laughter—only a sizzling boil of anger Jack could feel burning his ears. "There is no choice!"

Weakly, Jack fell onto his side on the floor, curled up into a ball, and whimpered. "I have a choice," he managed to eke out. "I want to..."

"You don't!" The voices bellowed.

"I do..." Jack's eyes began to flutter close. "Please. I do have a choice."

"You don't!"

"I... I..."

As Jack struggled, his mind was assaulted with a barrage of disturbing visions. He saw Sarah, her face contorted in pain, trapped in a dark, oppressive space. Shadowy figures loomed over her, their intentions clearly malevolent.

Then the scene shifted. Sarah stood in a dimly lit room, her eyes cold and calculating. She was counting stacks of money, laughing cruelly as she tossed aside photos of Jack. In this nightmarish version, she seemed to revel in manipulating him, treating their relationship as nothing more than a game.

The visions flickered rapidly: Sarah in danger, Sarah as a callous manipulator, Sarah revealing their most intimate moments to a jeering crowd. Each image was designed to instill fear, doubt, and mistrust.

Jack's mind reeled, trying to separate truth from these fabricated horrors. He knew, deep down, that these weren't real, but the intensity of the visions made it hard to cling to reality. The demonic voices whispered that this was the truth, that Sarah was either in grave danger because of him or had never truly cared at all.

Fighting against the onslaught, Jack clung to his memories of Sarah's kindness, her genuine smile, the warmth in her eyes. He had to believe in the connection they shared, even as these nightmarish images tried to tear it apart.

Jack closed his eyes tightly and imagined he was somewhere else, away from writhing bodies and that demonic voice. No one could force him. The voice then faded. It was black.