Michael listened closely to him, hanging onto his every word, the spitting image of a child hugging some precious item of comfort to their chest when the lights went out, hoping for the best but anticipating the worst. He was drawn to people like Jim, like a moth to a porch light, or the Devil to a sinner or better yet, to a pious man.
He himself had a long list of sins he had committed throughout the very few years he had spent on earth. There were hundreds if not thousands of dead animals on that list, a murdered nanny, a twin brother who had never gotten a chance to live his life, a mother he’d killed as an infant, a grandmother he’d driven to suicide, a happy couple he’d erased from existence, a young woman whose heart he had eaten like candy. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that he shouldn’t be proud of his accomplishments. But it was like telling a wolf they shouldn’t be happy to have killed the deer. He only did what he had been created to do. Perhaps, it was the same with Jim.
If Jim only knew how young Michael actually was. He sometimes forgot, that he’d only been alive for less than a decade, that not so long ago, he’d been a small boy trying to make his grandma proud, slaughtering bunnies and birds and dropping them at her feet in offering. He had been so wickedly innocent back then, so unaware of the darkness that lurked inside of him. Like any other child, he had longed for toys and attention and praise.
He still longed for those things.
“So you’re a criminal?” He took a sip of his drink, lowered the glass only to bring it back to his lips and nearly down the whole entire thing in one gulp. Listening to Jim, he’d almost forgotten how thirsty he was. How hungry.
Meeting a goddess of death seemed intriguing. He wondered if his father would approve. Probably not. Bummer.
The food came and he dug in before the waitress could turn her back, ravenous, pondering Jim’s story, going over it in his head piece by piece. When he came up for air, swallowing, he said, “You shouldn’t ask me to judge you. I’m a terrible judge of character.” He took a drink from his refilled glass, held it in his hand.
The drink went down, his fork went back to the plate, and he ate another bite, slower this time. “I used to live with a Satanist. I got arrested once. For murdering a butcher.” He said it so calmly, like it was his normal. “I didn’t do it.” That was a shameless lie.