7. Virgil
VIRGIL
T he dream came in blood-soaked waves.
It started innocently enough—Barythaya's face, her pale beauty illuminated by some unseen light, like she was waiting for me. Always waiting for me. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, those piercing eyes locking onto mine like magnets. But something was wrong. Something was twisted underneath the surface.
In the dream, we were together, tangled in sheets that were soaked, not with sweat, but with blood. Her skin was marked with cuts, thin, red lines crisscrossing her arms, her chest, and her thighs. The sight of it should've filled me with dread, but it didn't. Instead, I felt something dark stir inside me. Something raw and pure. The blood… it excited me. I could feel my heart racing, the pulse pounding in my ears as I ran my fingers through the crimson streaks on her skin.
But it wasn't just blood. It was her.
Her lips parted in a soft moan, a sound so sweet and seductive that it twisted my gut. But even as I pressed my body against hers, I knew it wasn't right. There was something sinister in the way she arched beneath me, in the way her eyes glowed, so unnatural, predatory.
And then he was there. The demon.
It wasn't me touching her anymore. It wasn't me pressing her to the bed, taking her, consuming her. It was him. His gnarled, mangled hands, his jagged smile as he claimed her over and over again. Barythaya screamed, her voice raw, but it wasn't from pleasure, it was from agony.
I wanted to stop it. I wanted to rip him off her, but I couldn't move. My body was frozen, locked in place as I watched the horror unfold in front of me. The blood poured like a river, the sheets drenched in it, her pale skin slick with it.
And all I could hear was the demon's laughter.
I woke with a hard jerk, my body covered in cold sweat, my heart thudding so hard I thought it would burst. The room was dark, and for a moment, I couldn't shake the image of Barythaya from my mind. The blood, the pain, the way the demon took her.
These fucking nightmares needed to stop. I wasn't sure if it was God fucking with my head or maybe it was the devil sending me some cruel messages but I was fucking done with it all.
I grabbed my phone, hands shaking as I dialed her number. The ringing echoed in my ear, each unanswered buzz making my stomach twist tighter. Pick up. Come on, pick up.
But she didn't.
My chest tightened, that dark feeling gnawing at the back of my skull. I didn't waste any time. I threw on a shirt, grabbed my keys, and sped through the streets toward her place. The dream felt too real, too visceral. I couldn't ignore it. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
When I got to her apartment, I banged on the door, hard. "Barythaya!" My voice echoed through the hallway, but there was no answer. My hand pounded against the wood again, each knock more frantic than the last. "Barythaya! Open the damn door!"
Nothing.
Without thinking, I slammed my shoulder into the door, the frame cracking under the pressure. Another hit and the lock gave way, the door crashing inward.
The smell hit me first, metallic, sharp, like copper. Blood. Then there was the stench of sulfur that permeated the air.
My heart dropped into my stomach as I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the room until I saw her. Barythaya was kneeling on the floor, her head bowed, her arms hanging limply by her sides. Her left wrist had a knife buried deep into it, blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the cracks of the floorboards.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The sight of her, pale and fragile, with that knife sticking out of her wrist… it twisted something dark inside me.
For a split second, I didn't move. There was so much blood, and I could feel that same sick excitement bubbling up, the way it had in my dream.
But then I snapped out of it.
"Fuck, Barythaya!" I dropped to my knees beside her, my hands hovering over the knife, unsure whether to pull it out or leave it. The sight of her bloodied wrist made my pulse quicken, but I forced myself to focus. I couldn't let the demon get into my head. Not now. Not when she needed me.
I ripped a towel from the bathroom and pressed it against her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me, Barythaya. Stay with me, baby girl."
She didn't respond. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes half-closed, lips parted like she was caught in some sick dream. The demon was in her, I knew it. I could feel it, hear it whispering in the back of my mind, taunting me, telling me I was too late.
I lifted her, cradling her against my chest as I grabbed her car keys and rushed out of the apartment. The hospital wasn't far, but it felt like miles. Every second, I could feel her slipping away, the blood soaking through my clothes, her body cold and limp in my arms. I drove like a madman, cursing under my breath the entire way.
At the hospital, they took her from me, rushing her into the surgery ward, and I was left standing in the waiting room, hands covered in her blood and my head spinning.
I didn't even see it at first.
Death.
It was just there, standing beside me, its cloaked figure almost blending into the shadows. The voice was soft and feminine, almost sympathetic. You love this woman?
I didn't look at it. I couldn't. My eyes were glued to the door they had taken her through.
You don't have to say anything, I can read your thoughts.
I looked around the ward, nurses were milling around, doctors rushing past me, no one noticed death standing among them. This wasn't another dream. This was real.
Of course, I'm real. Where there is life there is death, Virgil.
'Leave me alone', I let the thought linger knowing it would hear it.
I'm the only one who can help you, Virgil. God isn't coming.
'I don't care. I don't need him.'
Everyone needs someone, Virgil. A god, a mother, a love. It would be ridiculous if humanity didn't have a purpose. What would be the point of living?
'I don't need a fucking sermon!' I screamed in my head.
I know you're suffering so I will let your little tantrum slide.
I slumped down into a chair, burying my head into my hands.
It's okay to love, Virgil. It bothered me at first, but it is a human trait. Love.
'She is the closest thing to love that I have ever found,' I confessed.
Death nodded, its skeletal frame hidden beneath gray whisps of cloth. Then I will help you.
I turned to it, my brow furrowed in confusion. 'What? Why? Why now?'
Because I don't want that demon, that evil, to win.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. 'A day ago you were threatening me. What made you have a change of heart?'
Like I said, I don't want that evil to win.
'I'd say you have another motive. A darker one.'
Death is not selfish. I am still an angel after all.
'Jealous. Angels are filled with jealousy.'
Death shifted, its presence cold but strangely comforting. The sensation irked me.
Your human is strong. She hasn't let him in just yet. Her soul is still intact. If I occupy her body, the demon has nowhere to go.
I stared at him, confused. 'Occupy? Are you fucking kidding me? Doesn't that mean she dies?'
Death's figure seemed to blur as if the shadows around it were alive. Its voice grew softer now, almost mournful.
No. I will not harm her. I can't.
I clenched my jaw, my fists tightening at my sides. 'I can't… I won't let you take her.'
I will not take her. I will merely stand in the way of the demon. It's already working its way in. If you don't let me do this, it will take her instead.
I shook my head. 'I won't make a deal with death. I know what that entails. I already have someone who owns my soul.' I pointed up at the sky, referring to God.
I don't want your soul. I want your love. And I will only get it through her.
I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to scream, to fight, to do something to protect her. But the other part—the rational part—knew that I didn't have the power to save her. Not on my own. I needed Death.
I can stop it, Virgil. You know I can.
I took a deep breath, my voice barely a whisper. 'And if I don't concede?'
Then the demon will consume her and another reaper will come and take her away.
I stared at the ghostly figure beside me, its cloaks fluttering around the soft shadows of what once was its face. It reached out with an elongated finger, touching my cheek. Its touch was cold, but not unpleasant. My jaw clenched as it softly caressed my skin. A chilled warmth spread through me, like a strange light in the darkness.
'I cannot love you,' I whispered to Death.
Yes , it whispered back. I am well aware of that. Nobody ever loves Death.
There was a sadness in its voice, a hollow ache that tugged at something deep inside me. For a moment, I wished I could see what it had been before it became this.
I told you I was beautiful. I may be Death, but I am still an angel.
I reached out to touch it, but as my fingers brushed the air, it disappeared, leaving only the faintest trace of its presence.
Its voice lingered in my ear.
I will give you time to think about it. But don't think on it too long, she doesn't have much time.
And then it was gone, leaving me alone in the cold, sterile waiting room, my hands still covered in Barythaya's blood.