Chapter 46: Cold as Hell, Part 12

They were lucky the Wright mansion was positioned far from the nearest town. Otherwise, with all the commotion, the cavalry would have already arrived. If not for their actions, then certainly because of what Sam kept looking at. Indeed, the pillar of light piercing the sky had yet to disappear. It was something Satan had set in motion. Meaning, worrying by default, but the fact that it was taking so long—whatever it was—that’s what truly made his skin crawl.

How catastrophic would it be? He could only imagine, though he didn’t want to.

But that wasn't the immediate concern.

The pillar of light had to be visible for miles around. People would already be on the move. No doubt soldiers and well-armed guards, just in case, and maybe even some minister seeing it as some sort of miracle.

They’d find the exact opposite inside, but by the time they arrived, they’d be long gone.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Violet asked, approaching. Christina was probably still in the stable.

“I told you. I’ll talk, answer any questions you have. But once we’re out of here.”

“Yes, I know that’s what you said, but you’ve been lying to us for a long time.”

Sam averted his gaze. Not that he felt guilty in the slightest, of course, but appearances had to be kept.

“I also told you I was sorry. That I should’ve told you, but I was scared. You understand why I kept quiet. Why I’ve done what I’ve done, or else you’d have already tried to kill me.”

Violet didn’t agree, but neither did she contradict him. She just stood there, looking at him.

“What difference does a few more minutes make?”

“I get that you don’t trust me too much, but it’s just a few minutes.”

Until Christina finished preparing the carriage and the horses. She’d have to do it alone since Violet had decided to waste time with the three of them. Of course, he wasn’t about to say that out loud, no matter how true it was. He was tactful.

“Fine. I’ll wait. And if I’m not satisfied…”

“I’ll let you kill me.”

Violet looked away, crossing her arms. Her expression was filled with a rage that told him she had almost pounced on him, and not in a good way.

“If I could do that, I’d have done it already,” she admitted. Not physically. It would be a tough fight, but theoretically winnable. Emotionally. That was a very different story. “So don’t come at me with nonsense, you know that already. You know me well, though apparently, I don’t know you. But you won’t be part of our lives again unless you convince me. I’d make sure of that even if Christina refused to listen to reason.”

Sam nodded slowly.

“I understand. You know, I love you.”

“Like you love Christina?”

Straight to the point.

“Yes. In both ways.”

Violet grimaced and stepped away from him quickly, as if he were about to throw himself at her right then and there to try and sleep with her. Either way, he couldn’t deceive her. The idea didn’t displease him at all; only Christina had come first. The girl was jealous. The mind of a teenager was like an open book. Maybe she thought she wouldn’t be swayed by her feelings, but it had already happened. Otherwise, they wouldn’t even be able to talk. It would have ended in an instant.

Shortly after, fortunately, Christina emerged from the stable driving the carriage.

Bringing it up to them, they climbed aboard. Violet, of course, sat next to Christina, and Sam got inside. His eyes had gone dark when everything ended, so it wasn’t to hide, just to give the sisters space. Violet would tense up if he tried to stay alone, so to speak (well, they could whisper and talk privately, more or less), with Christina. Meanwhile, if the sisters swapped places and he sat in front, it would only invite more arguments with Violet. Better to stay inside the carriage, which was the most comfortable spot anyway.

Sam took a deep breath, leaning back, trying to get comfortable.

He had almost died a dozen times. Worse still, he’d been in danger of losing his body. He would never have said yes consciously, but he could have been tricked into it, or maybe they would have tried something else, he didn’t know. In any case, Satan had tried, and that was enough to unsettle him.

He wouldn’t find peace until he buried that bastard for good. No more making sure he stayed in his cage or went back if he managed to escape in the end.

Dead. He wanted him dead, or his voice would always follow him in his nightmares and even when he was awake, like just now.

Because his blood ran through his veins.

He couldn’t escape what was written in his blood.

They always had that connection, no matter where they were, so he had no choice but to fight. This wasn’t new. He had known from the beginning he’d have to kill him. The only surprise was the reason, but that didn’t really matter in the end.

As if waiting for them to leave the mansion, the pillar of light vanished abruptly. Sam watched, sticking his head out the window, as the carriage made its way down the path between the rows of trees surrounding the mansion’s grounds.

It wasn’t that he had looked just in time, but rather that he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the pillar since it first appeared.

He returned to a more comfortable position, sighing again.

He should stop thinking about that and focus on more immediate problems, like the fact that now he didn’t have a place to live. No matter how much he dwelled on it, he’d never guess what Satan had planned as a contingency.

It was easier said than done, of course, but there was no point in worrying about things he couldn’t control.

——

“Congratulations on the baby, man!”

“Congratulate me when I find the bastard who knocked her up and gut him.”

“Uh, okay.”

The guy hurried away, out of sight.

Good thing he did, or he would’ve taken it out on him. Mark wouldn’t have said anything under normal circumstances. The townsfolk didn’t need to know his shame; it was a secret better kept, but it was too late for that now.

Everyone knew, he could feel it in their stares and in the tone of their voices even as they said things unrelated, pretending to be friendly. The disdain. The mockery. The news had spread like wildfire, and now he was nothing more than a damn cuckold.

That’s what he’d be for the rest of his life, no matter what. They said time healed all wounds, but people didn’t let you forget. Let you move on. That would haunt him until he left the town. Far, far away, to somewhere no one knew him.

And that’s exactly what he was going to do.

There was nothing left for him in this town, where he’d been born and raised, where he’d planned to spend the rest of his life. That whore and her lover had ensured that would never happen.

But he wasn’t going to let them get away with it. He’d make them both pay; he wasn’t about to tolerate this.

They had deceived him for months, like a damn clown, but that was over. Mark reached his destination and kicked the door down. It only took one kick. Rage must have helped him do in one try something he had never done before.

Why would he? He had never been this angry.

He had always thought he would never raise his voice, much less his hand, to a woman. Not after surviving his father, a drunk and abusive man, no way. Mark had dedicated his life to being the exact opposite of the man he saw as a cockroach. Not even human, much less his father. But apparently, everyone had a breaking point. Besides, this was different from what that creature had done.

He was justified.

Months. She had had plenty of time to break up with him if he was so bad, or if the spark had just died. Instead, she had chosen to lie to him this way, to keep hurting him. Leaving him destroyed. A shadow of what he once was, nothing more. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to return that pain?

He was justified. Any reasonable person would agree.

He didn’t want to kill her. To dirty his hands like that and ruin his life even further, ending up in prison. But there was nothing wrong with scaring him a bit, right? Making things clear? After fifteen years together, he deserved an explanation. And he deserved some revenge.

Part of him wanted to turn around and flee the town just like that. Let it go. But thinking about these things in circles since he had left the house had convinced him that he wouldn’t find peace if he chickened out.

He couldn’t love her more than he hated her. That was the problem. Because of the chain of love, she would torment him until the end of his days.

That was the only reason to do this. He needed to become her bad memory. That was the only thing that could save him.

“Hey, what are you doing in my…?”

But when he saw the man, he couldn’t hold back. Something snapped inside him. He had thought everything was broken, but there were still a few pieces holding on. There had been. Now there was no trace left.

And that was good. A choked scream. A crunching sound. Because the person he once was wouldn’t have liked this at all.

“Are you crazy? Stop!”

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That person would have thought he was going too far. As for what remained of him, he couldn't even think. Such a rational act was beyond him. He only saw red. Indeed. Warm, red liquid splattered everywhere. Even the light from the lamp on the table had turned red. In an instant, it was no longer the scene of an ordinary house like anyone might have. It had transformed into something grotesque, like something out of the depths of hell.

“Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

Crunch. Crunch.

The red liquid flew like the petals of an intensely colored, unreal flower. Poisonous.

“Please… Money? Whatever you want. I can’t feel my arms. I don’t want to die.”

The pleas didn’t reach his ears. Only the infernal crunching sound echoed through the crimson curtain that covered his world. He hadn’t been in control of his actions from the beginning. He had lost something important as a human being. He couldn’t say what it was, but he knew he would never be whole again.

She wasn’t home.

If she had been home, she would have already come to his defense.

A part of Mark was grateful for that. A part that was still human. Because he was certain he wouldn’t have been able to keep his promise. He wouldn’t have just scared her a little.

Mark continued until he heard the skull crack and the eyes pop out of their sockets. Everything was so grotesque that the red veil disappeared, and suddenly, weakness and disgust washed over him. He fell to his knees and vomited next to the corpse. The pleasure had vanished. Regret didn’t come to replace it, but there was no pleasure anymore.

Numb.

He felt like he was completely empty.

——

“The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood,” Sam recited, his eyes fixed on the sky.

“I didn’t know you were a Bible scholar,” Christina said.

I’m not, he thought. It’s pop culture Bible. Death, destruction, the Apocalypse. You know, the parts people care about.

But of course, they weren’t exposed to that culture, so it must have seemed like, unlike most people, he actually read something beyond what the priest recited at mass.

“More importantly,” Violet said, “he’s talking about the apocalypse. A bit negative, don’t you think?”

Sam shrugged.

“Satan set something in motion with… what I did and that pillar of light. What else could he be planning? I don’t think that star is a coincidence.”

No. He knew exactly what was coming.

War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The four horsemen of the apocalypse were about to come into play.

——

When it was all over, a woman calmly walked in.

Her boots splashed through the puddles of blood, making them ripple. Not a single drop of blood stained her clothes, as if she were untouchable. She stopped when she saw the body, the head so crushed it looked like an elephant had stomped on it.

The woman looked up and saw a man hanging from the ceiling fan.

Of course, he’d been dead for a long time.

His neck was broken, his eyes staring into nothingness. Even so, you could still sense the desperation that had driven him to that decision. The woman licked her lips in a sensual manner, as if she couldn’t imagine a more pleasing sight.

Naturally, the last participant in this tragedy was also in pieces on the floor. The woman sat between the two men, though she had done nothing to the one Mark had come to kill.

The only living being in that room sat down on the sofa, making herself comfortable as if nothing had happened.

Crossing her legs, her skirt rode up, revealing soft, pale skin. And tentacles. Like the limbs of some unknown creature from the unexplored depths of the sea, tentacles briefly slipped out from the edges of her skirt.

She was quite pleased with her work.

This hadn’t been exactly her goal, but that was only because she had no specific goal in mind. It was like a bit of alcohol. It lowered inhibitions, nothing more. If they knew of her existence, people would blame her. However, this was undoubtedly a tragedy created by human hands.

They had destroyed themselves, as always.

Humans were weak and volatile. Powder kegs waiting to explode.

Surely things would have ended like this without her intervention, it just would have taken longer. She had simply given Mark the nudge he needed to do what his heart desired. That was all. If this was anyone’s fault, it was the foolish husband who had blamed the wrong person and only cared about his wife after he had completely lost her.

Although, of course...

War smiled, sitting in the midst of the darkness that reeked of blood and entrails, her eyes glowing purple except for the iris, which was as black as a starless night.

This was only the beginning.

——

They arrived at their destination.

It turned out they hadn’t lost their home after all. One of the many vacation houses wasn’t too far from the mansion. A three or four-hour trip, long enough for a lengthy conversation filled with uncomfortable questions. He handled it as well as he could. Well enough, considering he wasn’t dead.

That he could get off the carriage, stand on the grass, and gaze at that small house on the prairie, in the peaceful middle of the forest. It wouldn’t be a bad place to retire, but he wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Apparently, he still had four horsemen to kill, an apocalypse to stop, and a second patricide to commit.

“I’ve got a long road ahead of me.” The wind howled as it blew through him. “No.”

Sam turned to look at Christina and Violet, who were also approaching the house. You could tell by their faces that they still had some vague memories, although, according to them, they hadn’t been here since they were children. Happy memories, he supposed. Memories of getting away from their familiar surroundings, the schemes, and the backstabbing, just to have a vacation.

“We have,” he finished, smiling.

It was a genuine smile, for a change.

They were rich girls. Born into luxury, privileged in almost every way. But precisely because of that, they had never had the luxury of experiencing a normal life, something everyone else took for granted. He had always needed the power and influence they had been born with, but they had spent their lives longing for the exact opposite.

It was easy to call them innocent or childish.

To say that the coming months would show them why they shouldn’t have wished for such things.

But the truth, more likely, was that humans were confusing and contradictory creatures who could never be happy with anything.

Sam had finally managed to massacre his family. Not only that, he had kept Christina and Violet, although Rose had slipped away—a slut not only sexy but strong-willed, which excited him in other equally valid ways. He would’ve loved nothing more than to make her submit to him sexually.

Massacring the Wrights wasn’t a goal he had pursued for long, it was true, but he had desired it more intensely than anything else in his life.

Still, it was hard to say he felt happy or even satisfied.

He didn’t feel anything in particular about it, and he didn’t think it was because of Adams, the angel Castiel, or the revelation that Satan wanted his body. To him, that and any feelings it might have stirred were already in the past. It was just one of many things that had happened. He didn’t know what that said about him, but it was the truth.

Maybe his mind would always be fixed on the next obstacle.

But he could start waxing philosophical once there were no more enemies left to fight.

The three siblings, the last remnants of the Wright family, entered that cabin.

They had had time to talk, of course, but the matter wasn’t entirely settled. And then there was the question of their next move. If there even was a move to make other than to wait and see which one of those bastards made their presence known.

They could, he reminded himself.

They were a team. If the four horsemen came for him, they would at least fight to defend their own lives. He hoped they’d also fight for love, but all in due time.

——

Suddenly, the weather changed. A bolt of lightning fell from the sky, igniting a bush, and in the flames, a familiar face appeared. So, he was strong enough to do that even from inside his cage, huh? And he had a sense of humor.

The burning bush.

If a minister had passed by, he would have surely rushed to kneel, believing that the Almighty had deemed him worthy of His presence. That, or he had a few words for him about having too much fun with the nuns.

Without knowing, of course, that he was kneeling before Satan. Whose face would appear in the flames if not the King of Hell's?

"My lord." She didn’t like it, but War dropped to one knee.

She liked even less that she couldn’t figure out what the hell he was doing here. Satan didn’t make social calls; he always had a purpose. It couldn’t be about her efforts with the town. She’d gone further, not just stopping at Mark and the lives she had managed to touch before he killed himself, but spreading her influence throughout the whole town. She’d pushed things further than she normally did because she’d gotten a little bored. After so many years of inactivity, she had quietly enjoyed the chance to flex some half-atrophied muscles.

The point was, she’d done things right. There shouldn’t be any reason for protest, or for him to expect more than what she had already done at this point.

But she couldn’t think of another reason for his presence.

There was no sense in dwelling on it. Even if she guessed right, there wouldn’t be time to prepare. And Satan wasn’t someone you could reason with. Whether she had done wrong or not, if that’s what this was about, all she could do was grit her teeth and accept her punishment.

She didn’t like it. She was War, the Horseman. It was in her nature to wage war and conquer, not bow down to anyone. No lowering her head like some mangy dog, but she wasn’t arrogant enough to think things could be any different.

She had to swallow her pride and obey if she wanted to keep running wild and free through this world. That was the natural order. There was nothing she could do to change it.

That didn’t make it any easier, but…

“Don’t kill Sam,” Satan commanded.

She would do what she had to do. War bowed her head.

“My lord, with all due respect, you’ve already given me that order. Given us that order. My sisters are fully aware of it, too.”

They couldn’t act against the Morning Star, and killing the brat would bury all their plans. It was obvious they couldn’t cross that line; it didn’t even need to be said.

“I know.” Satan laughed, and there had never been anything so chilling. Yes, it was the first time she’d heard him laugh, the first time she even knew he was capable of such a thing—“And I also know how you are, War. That’s why I’m not giving you an order; I’m warning you. Don’t kill him, little one, or you’ll live to regret it.”

War shuddered, despite herself. There were few things she hated more than showing weakness.

“I understand, my lord. I’ll do my job. No more, no less.”

The face drawn in flames disappeared, but War didn’t feel any more at ease.

She couldn't wait for the brat to kneel, just like she had; it would make things easier for everyone. She understood it, deep down, but why resist? It was his own father.

He should know that Satan always got what he wanted.

——

Sam woke up in the middle of the night, violently pulled from the most horrible nightmare he had ever experienced. There was no doubt in his mind, despite forgetting it the moment he awoke, but the lingering feeling, like the aftertaste of poison, told him enough. What remained of the nightmare was like a noose around his neck. That’s why he woke up panting, panicked.

For the first time since he was a child, he found himself suspended between the waking world and the realm of dreams, wondering if this was just a false awakening, with the vague sense that "it" might have followed him to the other side.

It faded within seconds, shattered by the cold night air, but he felt it.

Sam took a deep breath.

He was scared. Of course, he was scared. His only ally since coming into this world had finally taken his place as his greatest enemy. He had seen it coming from miles away, but that didn’t make it any less jarring. That didn’t mean he could afford to lose control, though. Demon blood ran through his veins. He had to act more like the demon he was and not be swayed by fleeting human emotions.

It was just a moment of weakness while sleeping, he told himself. Nothing more. Even Satan is vulnerable in his dreams.

Sam got out of bed. He needed to sleep as much as he could—yesterday had been beyond exhausting—but he doubted he could drift off again without at least having a drink, maybe a bite to eat.

That’s why he headed to the kitchen, barefoot. Making hardly a sound. Simply because he couldn’t be bothered to find his slippers. He never could have imagined how useful it would turn out to be.

"Please, think about it. We helped him almost kill an angel. Heaven wants him dead."

Violet was still trying to convince her little sister. Despite everything he had done, Sam still hadn’t won her over. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. He thought he had sold a version of the story where he was the perfect victim.

Did she not believe him when he told her Castiel had been the one to kill Blake Wright, or did she think it was justified given the circumstances, as long as it meant killing him? In any case, Sam knew he wasn’t a good person, but he doubted Heaven was much better. Either that, or Castiel was a rotten apple.

Maybe Violet was too indoctrinated to realize. Maybe what she had seen with her own eyes weighed much more than what he had told her had happened. In any case, she was still an obstacle in his way.

"Violet..."

"Christina. Please. Deep down, you know I’m right."

Silence followed. Had she convinced her, just like that? Sam stifled the urge to reveal himself from his hiding spot. Exposing that he had been eavesdropping, even if by accident (and they wouldn’t believe that so easily), wouldn’t do him any favors. With either of them. He waited, trusting.

And his trust was rewarded.

"Sister, if you hurt him... I’ll kill you."

There was no response. There wouldn’t be. Surely Violet was too stunned to say anything. Sam himself was surprised, so he could only imagine how it had affected that girl. He knew he had sunk his claws into little Christina, but not this deep.

Sam licked his lips, smiling.

Cold as Hell, Part 12: END