Chapter Eleven: I Am Not Nice. I Am The Devil
•••
For a moment, I just stand, rooted to the spot as I gape at the golden haired boy, words refusing to exit my mouth. In return, he watches me, head inclined to the side and violet eyes scrutinizing me.
He eventually seems to get tired of the staring match because he smiles smugly at me before stepping into the house, leaving me unsure as to whether or not I should follow after him.
"Well, come on in already, or are you waiting for me to tip you?"
Still in a daze, I walk into the spacious house, box of cookies and croissant in hand, gasping at the lack of colour in the place.
It's all white, it's making my eyes hurt.
What stands out the most is the white grand piano in the centre of the living room. Atop the closed piano is a grey guitar case that makes me smile as I imagine Sam playing the instruments or singing.
The white walls are covered with lots and lots of picture frames of exquisite paintings that I don't recognize but can tell they are very expensive.
He stares at me from the white U-shaped couch that goes around the piano and I shake my head at him.
"Where do I drop this?" I ask him and he gets off the couch and walks towards me, taking the boxes from my hands and leading me to the dining table which is also white. Surprisingly though, it is covered with a light blue cloth.
"What is it with you and white? I'm getting nauseous by just standing in this house. It needs a little colour; don't you think?"
He shrugs at my question, picking up a remote from the table and pressing a button on it. Immediately, the house is bathed in a sea blue light, making the house have an underwater vibe and I smile, glad to have somewhat gotten rid of all the white.
"I like bright colours," he explains. "I'm the light bringer, of course I like bright colours. However, humans seem to be of the opinion that I like black and red. How amusing." He shakes his head as though he cannot stand the idiocy of man and I nod, not knowing what else to do.
"So," he starts, pulling back a chair and sitting, gesturing for me to do same. "I asked my bud at the police station for the forensic report and all that boring stuff. He said they didn't dust for fingerprints or anything of the sort as the room clearly showed no signs of forced entry, struggle or that anyone was there except Benjamin."
With furrowed brows, I listen to him, watching as he opens the box of cookies and throws one into his mouth, not seeming that satisfied at the taste, but he doesn't complain about it, so I say nothing.
"Hmm... Yes, and the autopsy result shows he overdosed on his mother's sleeping pills which was also found in the crime scene. Everything checks out, no foul play whatsoever. When I asked, he agreed to check for fingerprints on the bottle, he agreed, but said it'll take a couple of days."
"This is going to take forever!" I groan, rubbing my face with my palms. "Are you a hundred percent certain that he was indeed murdered and didn't just get tired of his vain life?" I ask and Sam stares at me, brows raised in disbelief as he toys with a piece of cookie.
"You're asking me, the Devil, if I am sure as to whether or not a crime occurred? Of course I am. The malicious stench could be smelt from miles away, I tell you."
"Well, isn't there an easy way to get answers? Like, ask his Guardian Angel or something. They are supposed to be around us all the time, aren't they?" I ask and Sam snarls at me, shaking his head.
"Let me tell you something about Guardian Angels." He drops the piece of cookie and shoves the box towards me, disinterested. "They are the most irritating Angels I have ever come in contact with. True story. No one likes them. They don't talk to anyone, ever! You think I didn't try? The Angel just sneered at me, then took off to Heaven."
Sam rubs his forehead like the memory of that is causing him a migraine, but I am unsure if he can even develop a headache.
I inhale deeply, staring at the cookies, not having appetite.
"You don't like them?" I ask and he shakes his head.
"It tastes bland to me. Human food is just that. Human food. Plus, I don't really need to eat, I just wanted you to come here, so you can have it."
"That's rather nice," I say, smiling at him and he rolls his eyes in response.
"I am not nice. I am the Devil!" He states and I chuckle before realizing just how serious this matter is.
We are both sure a murder occurred, but there is absolutely no proof and if the crime scene is that pristine, I doubt the pills will have any fingerprints on it except those of aunt Natasha and Ben of course.
This is going to take forever!
"What do we do next?" I ask and he hums in thought.
"Let's see. Why would anyone want Ben dead? I may not know the kid all that well, but I can guess it's because he was a bully and a pain in the ass, so we question every single person he has bullied in your school or anyone that hates him, and that's practically everyone, so –"
"You think I go to school with this organized killer?" I gasp at the thought, my eyes widening. "How can a juvenile be this good?"
Sam chuckles lightly, seeming amused at my naivety.
"Dear Bells, think about it. Someone poisoned him. Whoever it was had to be in the room with him, meaning neighbours would have seen the person come in at one point, probably just after school, but would think nothing about it. Why? It's not odd for Benjamin to come home with his friends, is it?"
"It's not," I answer, saddened to think the killer could be someone I know.
"Either that, or the person who killed him just so happens to be the person who called the police."
"Impossible!" I exclaim, shaking my head. "It's impossible!" I state again, but he just stares impassively at me.
He opens the box of croissant and takes a bite out of it, seeming to do so just to keep his hands busy, rather than because he actually wants to eat it.
I am still battling with what he just said. There is absolutely no way in Hell he expects me to consider the fact that aunt Natasha actually poisoned her own son.
It's just not possible!
"Let me tell you a little story about your aunty," Sam says, leaning into the chair and crossing his legs, a smug smile on his face like he knows something that I don't, and considering he has been around for a while, I am guessing that he indeed does.
"She never wanted to have him. She really didn't. She found out she was knocked up and sought an abortion, but as you know, it was illegal and unspoken of until five years ago.
"She heard about a man who can give anyone anything they want. A genie, if you may. So, she came to me and asked if I could help her carry out a quiet abortion."
"Well, that's insane." I laugh, dismissing the idea. "She was married and wealthy. Why would she want her son dead?"
"Probably because he was an inconvenience. She told me she married for money and she also asked if I could make her husband disappear, but I said -"
"NO!" I shout, springing up, refusing to believe him. "You lie! She loved my uncle and she was devastated when he died."
"I bet she wasn't. She asked me to get rid of him. I'm certain she's the reason he and your mother are dead." He shrugs, not seeming fazed by his words. In fact, he seems mildly amused.
"Why didn't you do it? I mean, I'm happy you didn't, but why?" I demand.
He's the Devil, why didn't he grant her vile request?
"Devil or not, I'm an Angel and we are not allowed to take the lives of humans except we have permission from Father. I don't create life, I can't eliminate it." He shrugs, though he looks disappointed at that.
I bet he'll like to snuff the life out of every human that approaches him.
"Come on," he says, standing and I unsurely follow him, not liking where this is headed.
"Let's go pay your aunt a visit and see what she has to say about her son's murder."