Hell en Pointe | Alastor ✓

chapter 21

"Fuck no," you said immediately.

"Oh, please, it's hardly anything," replied Alastor, trying to calm you. "Just a small little deal! You tell me how you died, how many people you've killed, what kinds of people you killed, and I'll tell you how little old me passed on to the wonderful place we call Hell!" He sounded so sarcastic that he reminded you of yourself. Maybe you two were starting to rub off on each other.

You raised a brow. "So I get to know one thing about you, and you get to know multiple different things about me?" You shook your head with a sneer. "Yeah, no. Sorry, sugar, but I ain't that damn stupid."

"Oh, come on, [Y/N], you know the curiosity is just eating at you," Alastor grinned, a certain look flashing upon his eyes.

You jabbed a finger. "Yeah, I know that look. I get that look. You're going to use this against me later, aren't you?"

"Why, no, of course not!"

"You are, aren't you?"

While the two of you bickered like an old married couple, the AI voice gave Alastor instructions where to turn and he did, making a right turn.

"You are too anxious, my dear," he smiled. "Would it baffle you to hear that maybe I like you enough to not use you?"

You paused for a moment, body suddenly growing hot. "Uhm, yes. Yes, it would."

"Fine then," said Alastor. "I suppose you'll never know."

"Ugh, fine, Alastor, you win," you groaned, but he already had his hand sticking out for you to shake. Annoyed, but determined, you shook his hand and made the deal. This time, however, there was no vortex of wind or electricity. However, you did notice something strange.

Alastor's irises. Even though he was human, they momentarily glowed a neon green. It was so quick you barely caught it.

You decided to ignore it... for now.

"Okay. You go first," you told him.

"I was shot in the woods behind my house," Alastor said blankly, showing no kind of emotion about the gruesome event. "I was mistaken for game by a poacher."

"Why the hell were you out in those woods to begin with?"

He grinned. "Burying a body, my dear, what ever the else would I be out there for?"

Of course he was, you thought.

"Alright, your turn," said Alastor, sparing you a quick sidelong glance. "How did you die?"

Your face brimmed scarlet. I can't believe I'm about to tell someone this, especially him of all fucking people.

"Your silence tells me it was not a favorable death."

"Okay, well neither was yours!" you countered. "You got shot in the fucking woods like a deer." You crossed your arms and slumped down. "I... fell down on stage and broke my neck. During a performance. In front of everyone."

But, to your surprise, Alastor did not laugh at you. In fact, his smile was barely present on his face. "That's... That's tragic, my dear."

"Yeah. It is," you agreed, looked outside the car door window.

"You know what I think?" said Alastor suddenly. You raised up.

"What?"

"I think it's a rather poetic way to go," said Alastor with a genuine smile. "A beautiful one, in fact. Such a perfect death that you probably believed I had something to do with it." You raised your brows at him, but he quickly shut you down. "I didn't."

You sighed, flattered, and were grateful he didn't laugh in your face. Always the gentleman, I see. "Well, I'm glad you think about it that way."

"So, how many people?" said Alastor next. The car rumbled softly in the background, making you tired.

"Hm?" you said.

"How many people have you killed?"

"When I was alive?" you said, and then cusped you chin in your hand in thought. You really didn't want to remember, but you tried to anyway with no avail. "Honestly? I don't remember, Alastor."

"Why's that?"

"I cut off that part of me," you said. "When I killed, I became a monster. I became a completely different woman. After every kill, I went on and pretended it never happened, so I never felt any guilt."

Alastor only hummed, a look of familiarity crossing over his gaze. Could he relate? You wondered.

"But, I mean, if I could guess a number..." you looked down at your shoes. "Probably... thirty-one...?" It pained you to say it, but it was apart of the little deal you made with Alastor, so you had to.

Alastor's brows raised, and you barely caught it, but the expression was there. You smirked. He was surprised. He didn't expect that out of you.

Despite his face, however, he said smugly: "Ha! Rookie numbers, my dear."

"Well then how many did you kill when you were alive?" you asked, and he gave you a look. "Look, I mean, I know it's not apart of our 'deal,'" you threw up mock quotation marks with your fingers, "but I'm curious! I ain't gonna use it against you. I don't even know if there's any way I could."

"Fourty-three," Alastor said hesitantly. Your heart dropped to your ass. Holy shit.

"Damn," was all you could say.

"What kinds of people did you kill, then, my dear?" said Alastor, rushing to get the attention away from him. "Men, women, children, I hope not?"

"Just people in the industry," you admitted with a shrug. "Most all my kills were for the purpose of getting me to the top."

"But you had our deal for that, remember?"

"I was impatient and determined to succeed," you said with furrowed brows. "I wanted to be the prima ballerina immediately, not just in a few years. And it worked. I found creative ways to eliminate the competition, their employers, and even their families to make them drop out of the running. And it worked."

"My, you are far more interesting than I could have ever imagined," Alastor said, shadows covering his face and making his eyes glow that neon green again as you drove under a bridge. You faltered. What the hell is that?

After that, the conversation subsided and Alastor had eventually turned to radio up to a louder volume. A Frank Sinatra version of a 1920s classic came on the radio, and Alastor turned it up even louder.

As he hummed to the tune, you couldn't help but sneak glances at him. No matter what you could say or do, you couldn't possibly deny his attractiveness... His lean, perfect body, his flawlessly messy brown hair which framed his features oh-so-perfectly, his blood-stained face and perfect teeth and perfect lips that you just were dying to—

You stopped your thoughts, shaking your head slowly. You seriously had to stop thinking about him in that way. He was the enemy, and the more that you fell into his seductive and dangerous traps, the more you put your soul in peril. If you... you hesitated to think the words... fell for him, your soul was as good as gone.

It wasn't long before he began to actually sing the song, the melody hanging low and thick in his throat, the sound coming out clear and gravelly alike. Even his voice was perfect. You somehow knew it would be.

You and Alastor drove for hours — it was around a thirty-two hour drive to Massachusetts from New Orleans — and eventually you had fallen asleep. You slept for half that time, and when you awoke, Alastor had gently nudged your shoulder with his hands.

"Darling?" he said. You groaned, stretched as you opened your groggy eyes. You tried your best to ignore the 'darling' sentiment.

"Where are we?" you asked, your voice sounded strange and muffled as you came out of sleep. You looked at Alastor, who looked rather tired himself, but still wore that same stupid grin on his face.

"We're in Kentucky, my dear."