A God's Last Death

Dancing With the Devil

Needless to say, I've been hiding behind the wall like a buffoon for the last ten minutes, staring at the empty road and cursing at my luck for having a useless team dragging me down. Why did I listen to them anyway?

I let out a sigh and slowly creep to the door. I grab the doorhandle, I turn it, and surprisingly the door is unlocked. I push the door as quietly as I can and peak inside the place. It's clearly an abandoned corner shop with stacks of empty boxes on the floor and rotting shelves standing like dead corpses in the middle.

Passing clouds make the outer lines of shadows on the walls grow dim and sharp again. I take my gun out and step away from the door and—

"You know I can hear you, right?" a familiar voice makes my blood turn cold.

I glance at his direction, and there I see him, slumped on the floor, further back in the room, one hand hanging limp and the other pressing a cloth on his wound. Hardly alive. Not alive. Hardly breathing. I carefully approach him; I won't fuck this up again.

"It's over. You can't escape this time," I glare at him.

"You enjoy seeing me like this, huh?"

"Oh, more than you can imagine. I can't wait to—"

"You should be terrified of me, you should worship the ground I step on, you little trash!" he bares his teeth in anger, like an angry animal ready to bite its captor. 

"Who are you to be worshipped? A god?" I reply blandly, ignoring his pathetic attempt to scare me.

"Sometimes, but not today."

"Well, today you're just a man bleeding on the floor."

The man just smiles at me, and I'm thrown off guard by his reaction. I can't read him at all, nor predict his next move, and that keeps me on edge. I nervously grip the radio and bring it to my mouth. "Andrew Wilson code eleven. The suspect has been tracked down. He is of no threat. There is need for paramedics."

"Copy. Stand by," Noah barks back after a few seconds.

I ignore his outburst and focus my gaze on the man.

"What's your name?" his eyes pierce mine. Although I don't want to admit it, he has a heck of a magnetising face. The moment that thought crosses my mind I mentally scold myself for giving in.

"I'm under no obligation to answer that."

He cocks his head to the side, staring at me, tempting me to act rash. I almost give in. Almost. "What is it? John? Mark? Julius?" I wince in disgust upon hearing the last one. Not being able to stand his smoldering gaze anymore, I avert my eyes and start looking at the shelves on my left. Damn, what is taking them so long? "Okay, okay, you're right," he says. "Hmmm...could it be...James? Lucas? Andrew?"

I freeze but don't dare look at him.

"It's Andrew, isn't it?" My name rolls out his tongue so heavenly, his deep voice causing goosebumps on my skin. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves.

"Leave the chit chat for the interrogation," I finally turn to him.

"Whatever you say, Andrew."

Damn! Why do I like hearing him say my name so much? I take a few steps closer to him and kneel down to inspect his wound. From a safe distance, I try to understand how serious it is, but I can't see very clearly. "Shouldn't you be dead by now?" I ask him.

"I don't always die. But when I do, I don't."

"What is that even supposed to mean?" The more I talk to him, the crazier I feel, and the crazier I feel, the more I want to punch his stupid face. As I stare at him and contemplate strangling him to death, I suddenly hear the captain's shout from outside. "Here, sir!" I shout.

Within mere seconds, the whole team bursts into the crumped room, and I make space for the paramedics to get to him. After checking on him, they handcuff him and tie his legs, and then place him on a stretcher.

He doesn't resist. He just lets them arrest him, as if he has been waiting for someone to do it all along, and I wonder why.