My Personal Demon

11:12

I don't know when I realized it, but today it occurred to me that Jesper was a liar.

Being a liar and being a good person are not mutually exclusive. Good people are capable of great evil. Jesper was no exception. I almost expected it from him, being a demon and all. I'm surprised that I didn't pick it up sooner.

He was good at distracting me from the small things. Like the ways his actions contradict his words.

He claimed that he was imprisoned in my house, forced to serve time for an unspeakable crime. Yet, despite the restriction, not only does he come and go as he pleases to buy groceries or whatever suited his fancy, he was also able to board a plane with me to another country.

So what was he doing here, of all places? If I assume that everything he told me was a lie, then the questions double. Why did he choose to be in my house? Was he even a demon or a figment of my imagination?

He must want something from me. The deception wouldn't make sense otherwise.

Or maybe he lied just about that one thing. It could be an honest mistake. But Jesper was more careful than that.

But I should know better than to question a good thing. The last thing I wanted was for him to leave. So I ignored the lie for as long as I could. I kissed and held him like I always did. Even so, I still prodded at the lie, speaking about it the way a couple may indirectly address a child.

"What was your crime?"

That was the question I usually asked.

He always found a way to never give me the specifics. Some days, he'll say it was too horrible for words. Other days, he'll change the subject.

He does neither of those things today. Instead, he puts down his tea and gives me a long hard look like he was truly seeing me for the first time.

"Do you really want to know?"

I return a look of my own.

"Yes. I'm willing to accept whatever the consequences may be."

Jesper sighed, linking his fingers in front of him. "I'm not here because of something I did. I'm here because of something I couldn't do."

So he had been lying about his crime. That, I expected. The rest was a mystery to me.

"And what couldn't you do?"

His face contorts into an expression of pain. "Give someone a fate worse than death."

"Isn't it your job to punish sinners? You should be used to doing awful things to people."

"It's much harder when they've done nothing wrong," he protested. "And even more difficult when you care for them."

There it was again, that faraway look in his eyes.

A while ago, he said that being among humans was making him soft. The truth was he had always been that way whether or not he was conscious of it. Rather than being out of character, his tenderness drew me closer to him. It was the thread that would unravel the mystery of who he was.

"What did you have to do to this person?" Whatever his sins were, I would only love him more for it.

"I needed to take their soul," he confessed. "Every demon needs to consume one soul every century. I couldn't bring myself to do it in the last hundred years. So I'm stuck here until I can do my duty as a demon and find another mortal soul."

A chill descends on the room. "Why here? Why in my house?"

He doesn't say another word. The answer hangs between us, clear as day. But I wanted to hear him speak it into existence.