They went out into the somewhat bitter air, thick with moist silvery fog, that clung to his face with clammy hands. The street (as far as he could see on the obscured horizon) was deserted, the orange pools of sodium light seeming half solid with floating life, undisturbed by human shadows.

Hurrying down to the car they started toward Princewood.

Most of the fog had cleared off by the time they got there. And found that the entrance to the parking lot was indeed blocked off, as he'd predicted, but only with a slack police ribbon of which Lance went out and lifted up so she could drive in under.

After getting their things out (placing the .38 in the pocket of his jacket) they wandered over to the brown wooden sign with the map on it.

"Ah," she uttered, pointing at a blue drawn lake not far from the red dot indicating their position "that has to be where she was."

He nodded, given that there only was one other lake displayed, and that at great distance from where they were, it probably was.

"Could have used a map," he remarked.

"Yeah, maybe we should just borrow this."

Making that suggestion good, she grabbed hold of its sides and tore it down. It was covered with hard plastic and couldn't be folded so she rolled it up.

"Better hope Yogi isn't around."

The path, for good measure, also had a police ribbon closing it off, held between two pines. They went to each their side, rounding the trees, and met back on the path behind it.

It was fully light by now, the sun rising behind them. He felt a pleasant degree of nervous excitement of what they were embarking on. Their venturing here, after all, owned the possibility of introducing them to the quartet, of whom could be lurking anywhere among these trees.

Starting in through the glade, where a third ribbon had denied them passage, the dew wet grass soon made his pants dark, cold and wet up to the knees.

They crossed it some way farther down from where they'd been yesterday. Theresa was over to see if the prints were still there, but judging from her face they were not. She confirmed this on a disappointed tone, somebody had intentionally stomped them out.

The ground began to slope upward where the trees swallowed the meadow. The forest floor was here covered in a thick carpet of needles, most of which seemed to find their way into his shoes, through his socks, stabbing his feet.

After having climbed just half the length of the hill he was breathless, it wasn't all that steep, but very long. At first he ignored his body's lack of stamina and kept pushing it on with the ascent, determined not to call a halt. However, when feeling a slow twist from his heart, and it started feeling like a hand was curling up around it, holding it, holding, then suddenly letting go he ended his machismo and stopped.

Theresa's breath sounded unaffected by the climb.

"Just need...a little break...sorry."

She waved it off.

"We're not in a rush."

She rolled out the map, and after a moment said,

"The woods pretty much goes on after the lake."

Theresa moved closer so he could see.

"You think they might stay close to a place with water?" he asked doubtfully, looking up at her as he stood in a slightly bent position.

"Could be... It's probably best to find a place to sit and scout anyway, so the lakes good."

He straighten up.

"If you say that because-"

"No, no. It's just the fact that we'll be able to observe them, hidden, if they go out in the open, crossing the place. It's much more reasonably than wandering around in the thickest of woods. Better chance of good pictures as well, without trees in the way."

He agreed to the logic of this, and up they went.

Reaching the top, they could see water glimmering between the trees.

The lake with its brownish water was both occupied by some kind of gray fish swimming in it, and water lilies on its surface.

The first spot they found by it, they had to retreat from, as every inch soon proved to be alive and in motion by ants.

They picked a new one, and the waiting began.

This activity at least, he lacked no stamina for, he didn't have a restless

bone in his body. And that proved a much needed condition as the hours crept by, not moving more than slightly shifting position when a foot or a thigh fell asleep.

Theresa, of course, had no problem in this, being the immortalizer she was, and with that he also trusted her professional and highly more observant eyes than his. Because sitting like this for so long, even though watching the surroundings, his mind wandered off, and if something was sneaking around, lurking behind the trees, he'd be none the wiser to their presence. The object would have to be negligible in its discretion to draw itself in focus of his attention. But she, however, would detect it. Somehow her vision and mind covered every movement in every direction and would snap it at once.

When five hours had crept by (without having shared a word with each other. As she did not converse or do anything but sit in a complete trance and observe) his stomach was growling for attention, and he broke her meditative trance by asking if food was in order. She said that it was.

Some time then, went by consuming food and drink, still watching, then just watching again.

They had seen or heard no signs of other people. He supposed if media were here to report the story they felt it was good enough doing it in a respectable distance; not risking to venture to the actual place of the incident when rabid wolves, or whatever they believed it to be, were running around.

He wasn't quite sure where that actual spot was, but on an assumption from where the man had emerged, it was farther to the left of where they were now. Maybe they'd go and locate it afterward.

Another four hours went by and he was on good way drifting into a doze when Theresa suddenly started firing off pictures. He searched crazily in the direction the camera was pointing.

First he saw nothing... Then, he caught a brief glimpse of something white floating among the trees and vanishing in their thickest.

The white creature.

Theresa let the camera down, and he was shocked seeing tears running down her cheeks, her expression that of overwhelmed wonder.

"What?" he asked, hearing his own puzzlement to match hers.

"...The angel," she breathed.

And before he could manage getting his wits around presenting further inquiries she was up and running. Producing such speed that by the time he'd gathered himself to follow she was already on good way reaching the opposite side of the lake. Sprinting and pushing her legs as though there was no tomorrow. He could not hope to compete with that, but pushed his own legs with equal intensity. Which exertion won a rather pathetic speed.

He was holding his right hand around the gun in the pocket, both to prevent it from falling out and ready to draw. After how things looked, even if it was an angel she'd spotted, the demons were never far from it.

Reaching the other side, he ducked in among the trees around where she'd entered. She was nowhere to be seen.

Lance stood completely still, listening.

He heard nothing but birds and the soft sloshing of the lake.

He chose a direction and made his way in, holding the gun out in the open now. He was tempted to holler for her but acumen made it wither on his lips sparing him from giving away his whereabouts, if she was in immediate danger, he reasoned, she'd be shouting herself. And whatever was out here might be to absorbed with her presence to take notice of his, so best not to alarm the world of his coming.

He kept turning his head in all directions, seeing the lake disappear on the horizon, obscured by trees. His ears pricked with expectancy, so ready to detect that they tensed and shifted for every twig snapping under his feet, sure of suddenly being confronted by an explosion of panicky screams. Instead, however, low sobs came to their attention.

He stopped and listened, his face raw after having sustained innumerable whippings from branches he'd ignored on the way. Lance decided their general direction and needed only advance a dozen strides to locate their source, curled up in a fetus position in the midst of small bushes with blue berry. He hunched down, scanning the surroundings. Saw no one. But there was little comfort to be had from that among all these damn trees. He pocketed the gun and sitting crouched by her side placed a hand on her

shivering body.

Dazed and in utter confusion, he wanted to voice his wonder asking what was wrong, what the hell had gotten into her. Though managed to suppress the urge and use a gentler approach,

"Theresa?"

Her sobs faded into miniature gasps and after a few moments hesitation replied on a voice far away:

"...Yes?"

"Can you stand up?"

"Are we going home?"

"Yes."

"...Okay."

He gently coaxed her to her feet and they started on their way back to the lake without encountering any obstacles.

She sniffled a few times but said nothing. He hurried and gathered their belongings, then returned to the car.

As they rolled out of the parking lot, ignoring the ribbon, she slowly, dreamily uttered, "Such a glorious, glorious creature."

She silently began crying, and soon fell asleep.

Coming out onto the tarmac road, both ambulances and police cars blinked and howled passed them.

Their alarm did they not, as far as he could tell, manage to stir Theresa from her slumbers. She lay with her face in the crock of her arm, perched on the window frame.

What did you see? he found himself wondering. Maybe Faith also had been swept by an equal turmoil, relieved it later in the painting. Or perhaps something in Theresa had just snapped when finally her seeking bore some response. And he could not deny the fact that he envied her the vision.

Lance turned on the radio.

After about ten minutes the news interrupted Janis Joplin telling about Bobby McGee, and it was not good, brought horrors in fact.

There had been a new victim, the man said, a fifty-four year old woman by the name of Amanda Peterson. She had been found dead and mutilated in her own house, which lay on the outskirts of Plymont, not far from Princewood. Her cat had apparently gone under us well. Both police and animal officials were in search of what was believed to be a crazed wolf.

The newscaster advised people in the area to be on watch; keep as much off the streets as possible; not leave widows and doors open and by no means approach stray animals. He finished by saying they would keep the listeners updated as soon as more information was available.

Lance turned it off, staring wide-eyed at the radio as though it somehow had learned to perform this hideous trick. His thoughts stuttered, not managing to connect the information for some time. When they got stocked into a pattern, it came as the whispering voice of Yaphet, telling him it was in his thoughts and it felt itself... It was coming, it was coming... Oh Christ.

He shook Theresa to wakefulness.

She jerked her head up, and for a beat or two looked savagely at him; completely blank-faced.

Then something streamed back in, the unfocused glare faded, or rather imploded to melancholia, a miasma of utter disappear hovering about her.

He imparted the news. But had the impression it didn’t manage to snap her out of her fugue. And the pity showed for Amanda feigned, the concern for Yaphet forced.

"Is it far from here to Yaphet?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"No...just a few minutes away."

Giving him directions she picked up the green glowing phone and dialed him.

There was no reply.

"What about the painter, Faith?" she said.

Lance took the phone and called the police asking for Nasad, he wasn't there, but managed to get connected with him after voicing it as an emergency.

"Thomas?"

"Speaking."

"Good. This is Lance Blix. Listen-"

"Ah, Dr. Blix."

"Yes, you've heard the news right?"

"I'm with the police Blix. I'm here."

"Oh...well, do you know who it is?"

There was silence from the other end.

"Thomas?"

"Yeah...Yes, I know who it is, she's the one who told you about it...And now you're connecting that."

"Of course I'm connecting that. It's them Thomas, they got irritated for her telling, or just her knowing, and broke their pattern."

"They? Pattern?...And just how would they know where she lived?"

"You know damn well of the other cases and the pattern they have."

"Maybe so. But that doesn't explain anything Blix. If it didn't like her knowing about it, why didn't it attack in the forest. And the telling part...?"

"It might be telepathic. Who knows, never mind the reason, okay. I'm calling because there are two other people I think might be in danger. And whatever you believe of it, you have to send somebody to one of them. A woman, the woman who was with Amanda that day, and saw them later-"

"There you go with them again."

"There's three beast and an angel. Now will you send someone over to the woman? You know there doesn't exist any demented animal out there, and you also know there does not exist coincidences like these."

"...Three beasts and an angel," he mused on a deep sigh. "No I guess there isn't such coincidences. I`ll send som-...No, in fact I`ll drive over myself, how's that?"

"Good."

Lance dug in his pocket, got hold of the note he'd written down Faith's address on earlier and read it to him.

"Where are you now?"

"On our way to the other one. Why don't we meet at Theresa's?"

"All right. I`ll fetch the Quinn woman as soon as I can...By the way, this person you're seeing, it wouldn't happen to be a Yaphet Summino, the editor of that magazine, would it?" Nasad asked.

"...It would actually. How did you know?" But as he spoke he remembered the computer thing and said, "Oh."

"Yeah. I'm gonna need a word with him."

"It was because of the photographs of the prints."

"And what prints would that be?"

"Exactly."

"Okay...So, how do you feel the unraveling is going so far, Blix?"

"...A whirlpool is more like it."

"Yes. Such is the problem isn't it? When it first has a way out there's no way stopping it."

He nodded and hung up. And as he did, the sudden and simple answer to why they were doing this hit him: they liked playing games, simple as that. All a game, exhausted the same old torturing, eating and suicide menu

perhaps, so they freshened it up with this silence of witness thing. Just a morbid sport which he had put himself in the center of.

With that thought floating, they stopped outside Yaphet Summino`s place. Which lay in the heart of Plymont, some blocks from where he lived.

He parked in the lot outside and ordered Theresa to stay in the car, the instruction was obeyed with little or no protest, almost indifference.

Yaphet lived on the second floor extremities of the two-story apartment building. He hastily went for the flight leading there, and took himself off.

The door Lance found showed no sign of forced entry, nothing seemed neither cracked, nor broken. That was at least something. He rang and knocked but no one answered his summons. So he tried the handle and found the door unlocked.

He didn't have to advance the opening more than inches, before seeing the blood. It was pooled up by the threshold; dried and caked. He let the door slide further however much his arm protested the movement, wanting to pull it shut instead. The stench launched out with a sickening thickness; felt like a mask covering his face, sticking up his nostrils making his mouth start watering, continuing down his throat, chest and lungs, stealing his breath.

He commanded his gaze not to venture inside, but it went ignored, even as he made the edict it was on its mutiny, following the river from the threshold. But the trail soon grew chaotic, exploding all together, making his eyes rave about. As it was blood in all given directions, the hall spattered and painted with it. And not just blood, torn off pieces of skin, flesh and innards.

In the midst of this, lying with arms spread wide, was, presumably, Yaphet`s body. Dressed in a once white pajamas which, along with skin and flesh, had been ripped open in fist seized holes, displaying brown caked bones beneath. His face and head missing patches of hair and skin. His lips were gone, making a naked smile, the ears and most of the throat gone as well. Innards that had not glided fully out hung and bulged from the holes in his stomach. Lance was overcome by a sudden absurd urge to go over and stuff them back in where they belonged.

Instead, however, his senses stretched out his arm and got hold of the door, slamming it shut in the same motion as he hastily walked away.

When reaching the stairs he stopped, stood still and drew deep breaths, meditating on getting his abdomen under control. A background as a surgeon or no, a body ripped apart like that, and dead for some time, produced an extremely intense smell. Something crossed between burned hair and old sausages. And it didn't help that adrenaline was overflowing his system, shaking his legs.

He glanced down toward the door and thought, that despite the scene inside there wasn't a drop of blood outside, suggesting the mutilation. This was, of course, highly academic, just an observation his slightly unstable mind insisted on throwing up. He inhaled deeply and got himself down to the car in a dozen quick and thundering heartbeats.

To his surprise he found that Theresa had actually managed to fall asleep. The wave of emotions turned to anger, gripping him with a momentary impulse to wake her up and tell her in a detailed description how her friend was doing, while she found it suiting to take a fucking nap.

But it passed... Her sleep was no calm slumber, there was something she escaped from, he suspected, a refuge from something.

Lance picked up the phone and called the police again. He didn't ask for Nasad this time, just reported the body.

After that, he did nothing. Just sat holding the wheel with both hands and stared absent minded out at the world.

When feeling ready to drive, he headed toward Theresa's place with the intention of stopping by the Quinn woman first, in case Nasad hadn't been there yet.

The reason they suddenly went berserk, he decided, was that the angel had lost its grip on them. It seemed to be back in the woods while the demons raised mayhem as they pleased here.

Faith's house was an old brown brick building. Almost buried in trees, shielding it from immediate view of neighbors, which they probably were grateful for, due to both its and its yards unkempt neglected state. A profusion of bushes, wild flowers and grass running riot all about.

He parked on the opposite side of the road. Disturbed by the sight of both gate and door agape. Her blue little Seat still parked outside.

Instead of waking Theresa telling her to be on guard, he leaned over her and locked the door, took with him the key and locked the other as well.

It was about six as he stepped out, almost twenty-four hours now since it had started.

Clinging to the gun, he approached the gate. The house had large oval windows on either side of its upper part. The body of these glasses were made by a dozen small dark plates.

Both windows watched his approach, the house holding its breath as he closed in on its open mouth.

Lance stopped by the threshold, smelling and listening to the air seeping out. Its breath carried no traces of distinct suggestions in either category. Turning and scanning what little view he was offered of the street, he saw no other people than a man who soon ducked into obscurity with a brown dog. Lance pulled out the gun, sneaking in and pointing it, feeling like some would-be crime fighter.

After crossing the hall he came into Faith's studio. Where from the far wall (primarily consisting of glass) he was met and blinded by the warm light of the sinking sun; spilling its liquid firing intensity on a pink and light blue sky. The abnormally high ceiling was covered in florescent lamps, assuring her bright painting light.

To his right was a small open kitchen, to the left a gray metal stair in a spiral form, leading to the second floor.

He started ascending this, cursing its vibrating racket. Even though he was tip-toeing on the edge of the steps it shook noisily from the bolts attaching it at the top.

It gave way to a loft-formed open bedroom, the interior furnished with little else than a double bedded mattress on the floor, covered with a white quilt. A keyboard and some closets.

There was a closed door in the other end. Which he began approaching, stopping every other step, holding his breath and listening. When outside he just stood looking at it for some time, feeling this a bit too familiar of what he had just been through, but did slowly reached out and took hold of the golden handle. And after a few seconds of hesitation threw it opened. His gaze searching floor and threshold. Finding no blood this time and stepped into the modest bathroom, pointing his gun at no one but his reflection. Which possessed its own shocking confrontation, making him uncoil and almost serve it a slug.

"Jesus!" he muttered to himself, of himself.

He looked very much like a man on the edge of things. Breakthrough and breakdown in equal measure.

He hurried out of the bathroom and the disturbing company he made, through the room and down the flight, closing the door behind him.

Perhaps Nasad had been here already and picked her up. The car`s presence could bespeak this to some degree, but he didn't much like the open gate and door. He called the police and was again connected to Nasad. Who informed him that he had indeed been there, she had not.

"Where are you now?" Lance asked.

"Well, I was on my way over to you when I got called up. Which you probably know why."

"Yeah. I called it in... Dammit he told us it was coming for him."

"Did what?"

Lance tipped his head backward looking up at the ceiling.

"He said he felt it coming...Some clairvoyant premonition, or intuition, which we didn't take serious."

"...Oh."

"Was Yaphet`s condition and Amanda's, the same as with the body in the woods?"

There was silence.

"...No. The body yesterday was completely eaten."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, and this was just ripped apart randomly with nothing seeming to be eaten...You know what I think Nasad?"

"Do tell."

"I think they need the torturing to eat, to arose their appetite."

Silence again.

"You better watch out Lance."

"Same goes to you...and God knows how many others who might have seen, or been told about them."

"Yeah, listen I`m just gonna take care of a few things here and then I`ll be over, okay?"

"Good..."

They ended the conversation and Lance drove over to Theresa's. The trip took no more than a minute or two.

Although somewhere in him panic burned, he could not find its source for the time being, everything inside and out went in slow motion; he felt utterly drained.

He soon woke up Theresa.

"Oh," she said sitting up. And after a few seconds remarked "Oh," with more force, remembering what had happened. Though not of what came after her vision. Been so out of it earlier that she'd forgotten about the

fate of Amanda and their going to Yaphet.

He did not refresh her memory yet.

She looked wide-eyed at him, then directed her gaze at the camera in the back seat.

"Have to get that film developed," she muttered, and, stretching between the seats grabbed the camera-bag.

He put a hand on her arm. Ceasing the motion.

"You feeling okay?"

She turned her head toward him and nodded slowly.

"I think so..."

She wasn't though, little as he liked to admit it, there was something filling her eyes, a trace of the mans haunted look. Sensed she was holding on to the surface and striving to do so, when something pulled her from beneath wanting to drown her.

"Do you... do you remember what you saw?"

She shook her head with a thoughtful frown, cleared her throat.

"It's all a blur..."

Lance suddenly became aware of something beyond her, through the window, a figure coming toward them, running down the stairs, lips drawn in, face slack and cheeks bouncing by her movements.

Faith halted a few steps from the car and bowed down peering in at them with big raving eyes of shock, her blond hair hanging in front of her face.

Lance got the door up and jumped out.

"What happened?"

Her eyes locked on him, face unknotting: lips fell out trembling. Then for some reason instead of standing up from her bowed position sank down, sat herself on the step holding him in her stare, arms embracing her knees.

He moved toward her, scanning all directions, suddenly located and opened the door to the furnace of his panic. The flames now licking out of it and heating up, boiling, the weariness. Reminding him with screaming horror that the creatures could be anywhere. What the hell was he thinking of, Jesus, they were lurking around and he just sat in the car like that, shit! He had witnessed their handiwork twice and they were ready to do it again, watching them at this moment probably, yes, he felt their scrutiny.

And was very well aware of the two scenarios of Faith's condition, either it was the news of Amanda and understanding that they would be coming for her next. Or they had already been and she somehow escaped. And if that was the case they would be near by.

He heard Theresa emerging behind him.

Despite his sudden attack of paranoia he calmed enough to ask if she was all right. Still looking around, searching the shadows the departing day cast.

Her throat and chest made a half dozen grunting jerks. Then managed a warning dressed in a gasp:

"...Its coming!"

No sooner had she spoken this (as though she needed to voice it to comprehend its significance) then she jumped up all alarm by her own prediction of nemesis. Dragging in breaths and blocking them with hick-ups

and a painful look on her face. In some of these explosions of air the warning was repeated, "Its coming."

He swallowed dryly and took hold of her, hearing himself say,

"We better get inside."

She shook her head. But it seemed her mind and body were of different opinions, because he needed to do no more than give her a light pull before she followed; her will powerless to control the system, which was just glad to be told what to do. She managed to turn her head however, for every step. The cold and clammy hand he held tensed up and clenched around his now and again, transferring the waves of shuddering that coursed through her.

"It had...had all these living things."

He nodded.

"I know."

"All these living things...Its whole body was moving with them."

So alive, Amanda spat in his head. So then they, or it as she said, had been at her place. Her warning could have been of the news, but this, this bespoke she’d encountered it. And although it was not the first time (she'd after all seen them detailed enough to paint them) it was with no doubt a lot more disturbing seeing it in the familiarity of one's own home. After all it had not been there with innocent intentions. Probably

exuded an extreme intensive presence when in hunting menace.

Theresa hurried passed them to get the door opened.

Lance led Faith into the lounge, sat her down on the sofa and placed a glass in her hand. Found a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured her half a finger’s depth, which was downed without even glancing at the glass. Keeping her gaze at window, from here showing little else than her own wrecked reflection, hissing of the whiskey.

The liquor did seem to have a few sudden effects, mellowing some of the rawness from her nerves, and put more distance between the gasping.

Lance filled the glass again and took notice of the painting in front of them by the table. He sat the bottle on the floor and got it out of view, leaning it inside-out by the bookshelf.

Theresa stood in the hall staring at Faith, her face one of wonder, the memory teasing her.

He would have to jog it, imparting Yaphet`s fate.

"Theresa," he began softly, "do you remember what happened to Amanda?"

She gave him a puzzled look, no doubt first thinking of their interview. Then recollection dawned in her face, her gaze flying over to Faith, then back at Lance.

"Oh God Yap. What?"

He could only shake his head.

"...I forgot," she placed a hand over her mouth, staring at him with horror and self-loading "How could I forget...Dead?" she inquired muffled by the hand.

He nodded.

Faith turned her head.

Theresa grabbed the camera bag laying on the table with the phone, and pointed in front of her as she went.

"I'm going down in-" she broke off shaking her head.

"Who's dead," Faith wanted to know.

"A... A friend of hers," he said, not connecting the events and neither did she it seemed.

"Oh."

Lance went over to the window and looked out at the fading day. Hoped Nasad would be there soon.

"What happened?" he asked wearily, and sat himself down beside Faith "Since you came here."

She looked down in her empty glass.

"I-I didn't know where else to go... I don't know many people in the area... And since you and her have knowledge about all of this."

She shrugged and then cast an imploringly glance at him, expecting him to be some professional demon killer.

"No, I meant what happened?"

"Oh. Well...I'm not sure, you know, it all went so fast, suddenly it just stood there, in my hallway...and then, then began separating."

Lance frowned at her.

"What do you mean separating?"

"Separating into many."

He shook his head.

"You mean it split from one to many?"

"...Uh-huh. And they all came for me, but I managed to fled out the backdoor and ran..." she sniffled, the glass clenched in her hands with white knuckled intensity, and began shuddering more "ran through the yard. They followed until I jumped over the fence to the neighbor, then they stopped."

"Didn't want to be seen."

She rocked a bit, nodding.

"I guess."

Although he was brimming with questions to continue prying the subject of the separation, he managed with difficulties to suppress the urge and for now be satisfied with the hinting crude picture. Get the details later. So as to not push her over the edge when she seemed to have calmed a bit.

It at least explained why she had been in hysteria over their third meeting.

No angel, he thought.

He heard Theresa going about her business in the darkroom just below them.

A grim notion suddenly struck him. Could the beasts somehow purposely have plotted Faith over here? To get them all together playing their game of torture and suicide...so they could arose the creatures appetites. Two birds with one stone; both eating and ending the lives they lived in these minds.

He felt panic on the rise again. Maybe this was trapping themselves in. Sure it felt safer at the moment, but only a window needed to be broken to enter, and that would be it.

The three of them should probably get in the car and just get the hell away from here. Yes, that would be safer, he thought, keep on moving. The creatures were by no doubt here already, waiting for the dark for better cover. The angel just behind the corner, hiding, so as to not see the brutality that would enfold and ready to make them forget themselves.

Lance stood up, his system sending ice waves through him and breath going in twice its normal speed.

His face moved numbly as he said," I think we better get out of here."

Faith looked at him narrowing her eyes.

"What?"

"I said," he turned to the window, scrutinizing the shadows " I think we better get out of here."

She shook her head.

"Uh-hu. No. Oh no, I'm not going out-" she struggled some with her tongue "there, again. No."

"Listen, we won't-"

"No, no, no, " she yelled, her face reddening. Veins showing from throat, temples and forehead. Her blond hair appearing blonder still in contrast. A pearl of saliva hanging down to her chin, and her eyes big, white and wet.

He held out both arms, making hushing sounds.

"I'M NOT GOING OUT THERE," she screamed, tears streaming down her red cheeks and head shaking in fierce determination.

"Will you just listen to me?"

He took hold of her, trying to calm her, but she was having none of it and shrieked with her mouth open wide, "NOOO."

Faith tore herself loose, jumping up from the sofa and ran into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.

He stood baffled where he was for a moment. Then went to the task of coaxing her out.

She could think of nothing but the angel. Even the death of her friend and editor made no real impression, which fact she tried feeling guilty of, but as the case was she could not engender that emotion either. Neither grief nor guilt. Only the parasite echo of it occupied the halls of her mind. Needing her concentration to search and scrutinize the memory, scrutinizing it, advancing the its intelligible.

She sigh in awe.

She was aware that it was so much awe it was an obsession, and so obsessed that it was...well, love she supposed. Yes, that was it, she was in love with an angel.

The urgency of love filled her.

She had the pictures developed, and there it was. Although took a moment before her gaze could even break through the layers of its beauty. But when it did, when she saw its face, saw its eyes staring at her from its still moment, the reflections and memory in her mind, the love, was fully exposed, and evolved into a being. Consume her completely, drowning her in its glory, wrapping itself around every thought, shaping them all to consist of one essence, one ambition, one purpose: finding its source of obsession, its source of existence.

Its appetite raged with a desperate restless hunger that wanted nothing but to be satisfied. Quench its thirst; drinking and drinking from this miraculous creature. And if the glory of which it produced was too intense for their tender anatomy to hold, making it burst, shatter and crack, drowning them from the face of existence, so be it.

Theresa gathered the photographs and went upstairs where she heard Lance by the bathroom, talking to the woman. She silently got her shoes and keys, then undetected snuck out.

Lance did not hear the door, nor did he take notice of the car`s departure. He was too busy and frustrated with this woman.

"Listen, I know you're scared. But you have to try and be reasonable about it. They can get in where you are now, anywhere in the house...So we have to get away, you want to get away don't you?"

She made no reply.

"You won't get hurt on the way to the car, I'm armed..." he trailed off on a sigh. It was probably his own damn fault going into the house in the first place.

"Okay, fine. But we're leaving."

And with that, he went away from the door, stomping slightly by way of dramatizing what was now boarding on farce. He kept going through the living room and to the basement to get Theresa.

Having descended, he found the red lighted darkroom empty. Lance hurried back upstairs with a rising certainty of her absents. He checked the kitchen and bedroom, not there. Going to the front door he found it unlocked, which under the circumstances was rather suicidal. He slowly opened it a foot or two readying himself for a sudden strong jerk from the other side.

The car was not there.

She'd developed the pictures and gone back to find her angel.

"Oh fuck," he yelled, furiously slammed the door shut. Yeah, this was just fucking great. She'd ran off with their vehicle, went to embrace her wonder while he was now trapped here with one ready to tear his throat up.

Faith opened the bathroom door an inch or two. Just to close it again when she saw that he was still there. Lance had a good mind to go over and kick the damn thing open. But there was precious little use of that now, wasn't there?

How the hell could she do this? Left them here with the demons who had already killed one of her friends.

He freed a deep hiss and went over to the sofa, picked up the bottle of Jack and sat down.

Feeling the anger subsiding, he meditated on her doings so as to keep it at bay, in lieu of fright.

Driving to Princewood, she had to struggle not to just floor the accelerator. Reasoning with herself, that if pulled over and probably incarcerated, there would be no way of finding it, and that, in the end, was all that mattered.

Nevertheless, she made the journey ten minutes earlier than what it took the last time. The twilight she'd started in had evolved to a complete darkness.

She was quite surprised of finding herself here, the whole ride was a haze of no other substance than still-framed images of it.

Glancing down at the passenger seat, where all the pictures lay scattered, she felt a tugg from the beast obsession. Not a beast in any negative way, she enjoyed its nature, though in hunger.

She got out of the car.

The moon was up and almost full, illumining her way with a gray-blue light.

Theresa ran in on the path, ran like she'd never ran before, the being of urgency fuelling her motions which in return was trying, perhaps, to match its intensity and ambitiousness. She fell twice in the glade, but kept moving, crawling with gusto until she was back on her feet. Her whole body so full of exuberance and expectation it felt ready to burst.

And absurdly some whispering voice in the back of her skull, from the mouth of the beast maybe, started chanting: Angel, angel, spread your wings and let me in. Angel, fold your wings around me. Over and over and over. Until she was mumbling it on her breathless ascent up the slope.

Not before she reached the shore of the lake did she stop, fell to her knees looking up at the moon, seeing her breath in clouds before it. Liking the way her heart raced and body labored. It was better when it tried matching the condition of her mind. She wanted to howl up at it, but instead let a summoning off her lips.

"Angel!"

It echoed through the woods, as vital as she felt, with vigor of its own, searching behind every tree, bouncing off and imparting every stone. Her being in the echo looking for what it was made of; a pure summoning for the angel.

The obsession kept raging through her in a chaotic frustration, wanting her to get up and run around searching behind every tree, turning every stone until having located its maker.

But she managed to suppress the urge and kept her place.

Her legs soon fell asleep under her, and she waited.

This was rewarded. For suddenly, it was there. Standing on the opposite side of the lake.

The clouds of her breath stopped coming. She stared not daring to as much as blink, afraid of loosing a moment of this divinity, drinking it in with the thirst of the beast.

It started toward her.

Theresa wanted to run and meet it, fall in front of its feet to let it know her heart was from this moment pumping only to please and obey.

But as the case was however, she didn't even own the ability to close her gaping jaw, never mind moving one leg in front of the next.

Any person she had ever thought of as attractive, beautiful and glamorous would shrink up beside the faintest reflection of this miraculous creature.

It wore a white simple dress, blond golden hair hung to its shoulders. Its eyes pitch black and its flesh, oh its flesh was pristine perfection made solid, the skin glowing with such graceful smoothness it left her with an urge to both stroke and bite.

It steadily approached, and kept approaching till it was mere feet from her. Theresa could feel a waving, pulsing, warmth coming from it, embracing and exploring her.

The angel extended one of its glowing hands.

Her mind went blank, she could only cock her head and stare at it, mesmerized.

Patiently it held its extremity toward her, and when her wits were up for it, she slowly let her right hand approach it, gray in contrast. Theresa looked up to see if it was sure it permitted the contact, that she wouldn't taint its perfection.

It permitted.

She let her fingertips slowly, gently, meet its. Running trembling down the length of its fingers. This taking place in a moment out of time, feeling as though all of her body's sensations were drawn and gathered in her fingers; in this touch. Its warmth penetrating her. Inducing the hairs on the nape of her neck to stand erect, shivers of delight tingling and tickling through her.

She had slid the hand down now, so the palms were locked as one.

Shuddering in pleasure from the contact of their flesh, which seemed highly forbidden. She looked up into its face, into the black gleaming eyes, and felt so overwhelmed by it all that she was sure of fainting, and it did seem as if a few naked moments passed by. But was still sitting upright when coming to it. Warm tears spilled down her face.

She tried to say something, but neither brain nor mouth were capable of doing more than a few vibrations with her slack jaw.

"My name," the angel said on a soft breath that stroked her face like feathers, penetrating her head, waving in sublime echoes lulling the beast, "is Stora."

"Stora," she breathed in awe "...Theresa," she then hung in the air stupidly.

"Would you like to swim with me, Theresa?"

She could only nod.

Giddily, Theresa got to her feet, mildly distressed when the angel let go of her hand. It used it to remove the white dress, uncovering its naked anatomy. Again waves coursed through her from feet to groin, to scalp. It was waiting for her to do the same, she realized, but uncover herself in front of this being?

Analyzing the thought, she found that the temptation to be with it, next to it, without the fabric covering her, was greater than the shame over her far from perfect body. She had faults in every curve it made. But as things were, all of these dissatisfying places were now filled with one common wish: to be this woman's shadow.

And with that, she tore them off. At once covered in a sheet of goose bumps from the cold night.

The actual act of bathing hadn't even occurred to her before now; the water would be freezing. No sooner was the thought floating, however, then Stora took her hand and the goose bumps no longer were fuelled by the chill. Even the rock under the soles of her feet felt as if having been touched by the sun throughout a warm summers day.

Hand in hand the two women walked into the water, its ice cold substance just refreshing against her borrowed aura.

She felt... blessed, to say the least.

After bathing they lay on the shore.

Theresa had crawled up as close to her as nature would allow, their legs tangled in each other. Her breast pressing against Stora`s back and her right arm resting over her stomach, hand and fingers woven into the angel's.

Smiling, she fell asleep.

She dreamt herself and Stora over to white serpents of smoke, drifting and playing, coiling around each other, floating on a deep blue sky, where they slowly became one. A white cloud that would be hanging here in eternal bliss.

Waking up, she felt scared, really scared. It was true that the passion she bred for this creature would not cease, and if, no, that was being naiv, when she left her...Yeah, what then? Her heart pumping its never ending adore would fuel the beast to such despair it'd exhort her to claw her chest open and rip it out to be stilled.

"Stora?" she whispered.

Stora turned around facing her, locking and folding both hands in hers.

"Yes?"

"May...may I come with you?" she asked with negligible hope.

The angel's beautiful face made the suggestion of a frown, her black eyes glittering in silver lunar light.

Then she drew a heavenly smile and said the words of salvation, "Yes. Yes you may."

Theresa couldn't help but start crying again.

"Oh..." Stora uttered. Bridged the gap between their faces, kissing her softly, drowning her in the black sea. Stora`s breath found its way into her, through her lips and down filling her lungs.

She would gladly have kept that as her last.

There was no anger left, it had abandoned him with leaded fear. Even been replaced by anxiety for her. He heard Faith pacing back and forth in the bathroom, he had not tried to reasoned further with her.

The sound of a car coming to a halt outside claimed his attention making him leap over to the window.

Nasad, thank God.

"Okay, Faith, our ride's here."

She didn't answer.

Lance went to the front door and opened it enough to see Nasad stepping out of his car, standing for a few moments looking up at the oddly shaped apartments.

He noticed Lance waving, ushering, features in the door and started taking himself off.

If it hadn't been for Faith he would rather have gone down so they could get away from here, but couldn't just leave her.

"Hurry. Their around here somewhere... Faith's here by the way. They had been at her place, but she managed to escape."

Nasad gave him a puzzled look.

"She's here?"

"Yes... but locked her self in the damn bathroom. Now get in! We have to persuade her out of there and be off."

Nasad stepped in, hands raised in mock surrender. The light blue eyes seeming to enjoy themselves. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a blue vest and a red shirt, making him look like a magician. Lance hoped he indeed did have a few tricks up his sleeve.

Lance scanned the street and corner of the building, saw nothing amiss. Closed the door and headed toward the bathroom.

Nasad following him.

He stopped by the bookshelf and turned around the painting, handing it to Thomas. His bearded face spread in a smile as he held it in both hands, scrutinizing it.

"Magnificent," he exclaimed "oh but their beautiful."

"Yeah, and lethal," Lance said, stepping over to the bathroom door.

Nasad looked up at him and nodded.

"Yes, they probably are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I don't think it's the same ones who committed the murder up in Princewood yesterday, and the times before, that killed Amanda and the editor."

"Why? Because of the pattern? Maybe they just don't give a shit anymore." He pounded on the door with his fist while looking at Nasad.

"I'm through with pleading Faith, if you don't open the door now I'm kicking it up."

"I don't want to go outside," she sobbed.

"You're gonna have to. Now are you opening it or am I?"

"Okay," she spat sourly "Okay, okay, okay."

He stepped away from the door. Nasad had put the picture down.

"So what are you telling me? That there is some wolf out there, suddenly pissed off for people having seen demons?"

"There's nothing out there."

"Oh, and have you figure that one out?"

"Easy," Nasad said grinning, eyes glittering in merry enjoyment, "it's nothing out there, because I'm in here."

He laughed now.

"I did it Blix."

And at the same moment the bathroom door went up and Faith saw Nasad, giving proof to his confession by backing up, face all alarm.

Lance was struck by shock that felt like an electric charge after having exploded. Gripping his muscles making them liquid, slowly sliding off him, his stomach a hallow pit.

With a metal vibrating booing Faith backed up into the bathtub and did not manage to keep her balance, stumbled and fell in it. First hitting the side of her head with a sickening hallow thud on the inner rim, and then the tub’s bottom, her head bouncing. A moment or two passed before she liberated a glass shattering shriek of shock.

Three thin rivers of blood streamed down the tub's white surface into the drain.

The screaming soon faded into muffled sobs, she pulled her legs (which had been hanging over the edge to the knees) up to her chin, curling up like a ball, holding both arms in front of her face and hands over her wounded head, shielding herself.

Nasad had moved around Lance to see the spectacle.

"I said I was waiting for it to surface Blix, and oh it did. You made me remember-" his face was growing outward "who I am."

Lance shook his head reversing into the lounge. His thoughts coming in incoherent flickering that had no connections just bumping in each other.

Nasad`s eye-balls were stretching out of their sockets, the light blue color spread and opened up like flowers, the pupils going out further still, coming to the length of pencils. His whole person was in motion, his flesh unknotting, skin opening up.

The chin and bearded cheeks were drawn out a foot from their normal place, then jerked upward, and the skin ripped open unveiling a red meat bulging face with a fluidity waving surface. Grey long eyes of shadow opened staring at him with uncanny, swallowing, depth. And a mouth which was a moving gaping O.

The flesh everywhere was continuing outward, meat covered with blood that hung like slimy auras defying gravity, not spilling a drop.

And all over, weaving this together, were brilliant silver treads.

Another face appeared, hovering in the air like a melting rugby-ball, with a sheet of flesh back to the body. Then another... And this one he knew, it was Amanda Peterson, and was the other Yaphet? Trapped souls taken from their bodies to serve this. He saw now that everywhere in the sheets of flesh were shapes that looked like... insects. And larger animals too. No doubt a cat called Henry in their midst. All these forms were just waving shadows; reminders and reflections of their flesh.

Lance could see Nasad`s real anatomy now, a brightly shining silver being in the core of the flesh, spinning the treads. Looking like the silver trunk of a tree covered with patches of meat bark, and the phantoms its branches, which all were directed for Faith in the tub. Stretching out toward her shivering body.

Then they made their onslaught, starting to rip her up, in search of new fruits.

They were like a pack of flying piranhas. Biting and tearing her up in fast jerks, suddenly her cheek was missing, the tip of her nose, a large chunk of her upper arm.

She was squirming about in the blood slick bathtub, struggling and trying to push them away with her hands. But they only ate of her fingers, her palms, and opening her veins. Her life fluid splashing and spattering in all given direction, innards finding their way out of her gaping abdomen; folding and slipping out from the trashing body, chased by buckets of black blood, sliding down and gathering by the drain. Her bladder was punctured and a thin gush of urine spurted. One of her eye-balls glided down her right temple which by now was the only side that still had hair and skin attached.

Lance ran for the door. Nasad, the things, was to preoccupied yet to note his escape. He flung the door up and leaped out into the night, racing down the stairs, six, seven steps at a time, slipping and almost falling, but managed to get his balance back and kept running down the block.

He'd had the gun during the entire episode. And now feeling its heavy bouncing as he ran wondered why the hell he hadn't used it, why hadn't he tried to save Faith? He had no answer forthcoming to this. His thought process was still very much incoherent, as it seemed to have been for most of this day.

He kept running until he came to Faith's house, he headed in here and used about two minutes to locate her car keys. Keys in hand he emerged and got into her blue Seat, directing it toward the freeway.

The first real chain of thoughts to come find him was the question of why the Nasad thing cared if people had seen the brown creatures? On the heels of this came a sudden and appalling revelation to his attitude toward Thomas Nasad, why he had looked up to the man, wanting to be approved. The reason for this, of course, was that he had felt it. That was the truth. He had felt Nasad apart of the wonders and wanted to be accepted by them.

Lance noticed that he subconsciously was heading toward Princewood. He supposed that was where he was bound to venture. Try and find Theresa and hope that she indeed had located an angel, he had a feeling they might need one.

He was around where Amanda had lived when the Seat decided it wanted no further part in this adventure, and so just stopped.

Cursing, he scanned his surroundings. There were a few shops on either side, most closed and drawing a handful of window-shoppers. He abandoned the car and went into the newsagent's where he inquired if they had a phone he could use. The adolescent behind the counter, wearing a green hooded sweater and a matching green baseball cap, nodded while staring in a magazine and said it was a pay phone in the back. Lance asked if he could get some change but nah, that wasn't store policy, had to buy something.

Lance sigh in exasperation and randomly grabbed an object from the counter. He got the change and used it to call for a taxi, then went outside and waited for it.

First now did he take notice of the fact that he was wearing no shoes.

Thankfully the taxi arrived in few minutes.

"So," the driver said after he'd told where he wanted to go "you a reporter or somethin’?"

"...Yeah."

"This some weird stuff, huh? Personally, I don't buy that it’s some animal beast," he looked in the rear view mirror to see how this opinion was received. Lance just hoped he wouldn't be killed for sharing. "No. You ask me mate, I say it’s some mutant thing...Yeah, sure, it might sound like a bunch of Hollywood bull’ when you put it like that. But Christ, think of all `em bloody things they dump everywhere, shit does indeed happen, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"I'm telling you, Mother Nature kick's back. We've been messin’ with her body for too long, it's bound to happen if you ask me."

"Probably."

"Bound to happen..." he mused, then made a short laugh looking in the mirror again, " if you think I'm a bit out there, you should've heard the missus. Thinks is one of `em wolfs merged with a man...A werewolf sort of thing I guess. Well, anyhow, I'm ain’t goin’ that far. All I'm sayin’ is that if some animal gets infected by somethin’, they can go mad, you know what I mean?"

"Sure."

He continued with a seemingly endless monologue in the same direction which Lance kept stating monosyllabic comments of agreement to.

Finally, the ride came to an end and he saw Theresa's car in the lot.

"Better watch out then mister," the driver advised, looking around with a skeptic expression "seems to be in Plymont now, but who knows, huh? Might be more of `em."

Lance gave this last a thought with his own understanding of things. And indeed how many were playing this game?

He paid the man and watched him drive off, waiting until the car was out of sight, as though not wanting him to get a chance to see the way to the secret.

He walked over to Theresa's car and peered in, unoccupied, of course. He was about to turn away when something tugged at his attention, his eyes catching something in the seat below him. A number of photographs. And whatever it was they featured glowed out from them. Covering them in a layer of radiance that glued to his mind’s eye.

His breath became so rapid it obscured the view from the window. A light feeling of anticipation blew up in his chest. Lance tried the door handle and found it unlocked, he pulled it up while sinking down on his knees in front of the seat. The door had triggered illumination that spilled over the pictures. And oh what heavenly creature was this?

So perfect...so pure. She was...she was...dissolving.

At first he saw, and was captured, by only the cosmetic beauty, that was to say the woman. But as he scrutinized it, the features, her skin and flesh, started to open up to him. Like those pictures that if bent and turned a little changed by the light. He took one of the photographs in hand a did just that, trying to glimpse what it could be transformed to; what lay beyond the unraveling flesh. But much to his frustration it did not take shape. He studied it inches from his face, determined to solve its enigmatic jigsaw features, concentrating, willing it to present a revelation, but still it stayed amorphous.

There was great fragments of its nature in the black eyes; they were what unfolded and uncovered the body. And a sudden realization told him that what he was looking at was as naked as it would become. Its appearance too complex for his senses to grasp. His understanding simply unable to comprehend such a power.

What his scrutiny told him about its nature was: pure, so pure.

He got up, still with picture in hand and ran for the path. Ignoring the sharp pain from the needles, stones and cones under his socks. Hopelessly working at the mystery haunting his head. Much like Theresa had been running here earlier, in a time out of time, his body laboring somewhere and his mind another place entirely. Its formless substance gliding before his mind’s eye, mocking his ignorance. And even if he knew he could not make it, he couldn’t stop trying either. His mind just pulling and pulling determined of hauling it to surface no matter how titanic, no matter how irremediable the situation was. And would he knew, let itself be torn apart and drown in the attempt of the arising.

Perhaps if he was presented to its presence he would undo the enigma from which it sprang. Solve it by help of feeling it. A negligible hope, but fuelled enough comfort to keep the elaborate maze of forms from bursting his mind.

This time he ran up the length of the slope, his lungs aching and burning, tasting blood in the back of his throat.

Stora suddenly sat up, scanning the woods.

"What's wrong?" Theresa wanted to know.

She didn't reply, just crawled down to where their clothes lay scattered and waved Theresa in an instruction to do the same.

When dressed she repeated the question.

Stora looked at her for a moment then,

"There are...creatures searching for me."

"The demons?"

She cocked her head slightly, considering this.

"I suppose that description will do."

Theresa nodded, of course. The demons were looking for the angel. Not tolerating its beauty.

"We should go..." Stora said, then sigh "I wish I could tell you to leave, because it really is dangerous for you to be with me... But then not being with me...." she trailed off.

"Yes," Theresa agreed "yes I don't think I can live without you."

This was by no means said as a line from the romantic. Dim-witted by the bliss and figuratively trying to express her sentiment, but a literally statement. And Stora knew that, of course.

"I would...would die."

Stora brought her gaze up at the starlit night.

"You think it's that bad?"

"Yes," she burst out, feeling a tremor of fear of where this might be leading "yes, yes I'm positive I will die. Wither and die."

She looked back at her now, a smile spreading on her face.

"No, no. The dying part I mean. You think it would be that bad?"

"Oh," Theresa said with a shrug.

"If you didn't wither but perished at once... Maybe we could find out together?"

As though this was an invitation to some passionate act of the highest kind, she felt both exited and aroused, far beyond what probably was healthy.

But the suggestion of letting her life free, accompanied by this creature was a sublime prospect, perhaps their beings then would be crossed and woven together. Perhaps the dream of the snakes were a premonition: a prophecy.

"We better get moving."

And so they did.

Lance collapsed by the edge of the lake, looking at the still surface reflecting the night light. The air he breathed stung down his raw throat and chest. The rest of his body shaking with fatigue; weary of too many events and too little rest to accompany them.

He`d been pretty sure of finding Theresa here, looking for the woman. But as far as he could tell, she was not in the area. So that left him with the alternatives of either continue, and most likely get lost, lay where he was, or return to the car. The latter, of course, would have been the most rational thing to do, given that she could be taking another way back to it. He`d have a long way to walk, and, by the way, no shoes doing it in.

But as the case was, he wasn't in much of a rational state of mind at the moment. So for the time being, he held his ground. Where the slim hope of both women turning up could be entertained.

The old life she`d led was but a blurred haze, and ready to fade all together. Not that Theresa cared, she didn't, as far as she was concerned her life had begun the moment she`d laid eyes on Stora and would end the moment she could not.

But now, all was good, more than good, it was magnificent. Her senses bathing in faultless brilliance as Stora led way and she followed.

They kept walking for the next hour or so, until emerging by a steep hillside that looked out over a small glittering village. And on the edge of the precipice, a few yards ahead of them, lay an old (and surly abandon) shack.

They decided to take a look, and did indeed find it unoccupied. It had a broken window at the backside which they after brushing away some remaining glass climbed through.

It gave way into a murky room, and something had to have crawled in there and died. Now decaying and filling the air with a foul stench.

This first appearance, however, did not inspire immediate departure, and they discovered a bedroom on the second floor, of which owned a certain stale air with the smell of rotting wood on it, but not uncomfortable enough to chase them out, they sat here to rest a while.

The room was furnished by a rusty spring bed with a gray stained mattress. A night stand on three legs. A thin cracked mirror over a browning sink and a window with a non transparent yellow and gray glass. Now aglow in the white-blue luminescence of the moon. Washing over the dirty floor-boards to where they sat next to each other leaning against the door, opposite the bed. They could hear faint voices and music from a bar down in the village.

Turning the episodes over, Theresa asked after a while, "Why are they looking for you?"

Stora turned her head a little, glancing at her.

"...That's not really important," she paused "there is, however, something which you should know."

"You don't have to tell me if it's hard."

"Oh, but I do... If you're going to be with me you'll have to know..." she trailed off and was silent for some time.

"You see, Theresa. I'm not alone in here," she gestured at her body "I share it with someone, something...a creature, or a demon you might call it."

"A demon?" Theresa asked doubtfully.

"Yes... We once made a pact, me and this creature. Of which involved that it got to use, and hide, in my body. And I in return got this appearance, all I had to do was to feed it. The rest of the time it would sleep."

Theresa wasn't sure what to believe, but again, it scarcely mattered, what mattered was being with her, dealings with the devil or no.

"But, of course, this creature was not satisfied with animals, it had a taste for humans, human flesh."

Now something from the blur of her past life entered this, the murders. Oh good God, she was confessing to the murders, her senses yelped. And a moment of panic seized her like having a bucket of cold water poured over her steaming senses. But as her gaze wandered over to Stora, the water became warm and then soon steamed off as well.

"I`m so tired Theresa, but I can't lay down and die."

"Why... Why did the man torture him?"

Stora gave her a quizzical look.

"You know about this?"

"Yes I...well it doesn't matter how."

"No. No, I guess it don't. Well, as I said, the creature sleeps most of the time, only has to be awoken to be fed. And to be awoken, it must smell fright. Feel anguish, suffering and pain. And I have to use somebody to do this deed, to cause that. Because as the case is, people don't feel afraid around me, they don't even suffer or care to feel pain. They're just honored to die in my presence, by my hands... As you know, I have a rather obsessive appearance. Which again makes them despair enough after I leave them, to choose death."

"Do you always leave them?" Theresa asked nervously.

"Yes, after some time. I've tried to save quit a few, though... I can't stand having them around for long. Most just sit and drool. Waiting for commands like a perfect slave. Staring at me, always staring."

Theresa had a newly found interest in studying the night stand.

Stora made a short laugh.

"No, don't worry, I don't mind your eyes, I see only you. You're not like them, you're special."

"What happens if you don't feed it.

"What?"

"I mean, you said that it had to smell fright and so on, to wake up and be fed, but if you-"

"Then it dies and so will I. That's what I meant with lying down and die."

Stora let out a deep sigh. "We're intertwined in this body."

"When...When did it happen, the pact?"

She shrugged.

"I don't even remember any more... I lived around here, somewhere, before it was made...And I guess I've been gone for over a century."

"You mean a decade."

"No...I've lived a few life times by now, never aged a day, that was part of it. Eternal beauty," she made a short mournful laugh over this "Though, of course, I hadn't foreseen internal growth..."

Stora looked at Theresa.

"But, I believe we were meant to meet... perhaps you will stop it."

"Yes, " Theresa agreed, thinking of a life of waiting and searching " yes, I believe we were."

Stora smiled and stroke a warm finger over her cheek. Then both finger and smile dropped.

"Not to night however, and I need to feed it. Will you be waiting here?"

"Where are you going?"

"I told you, I have to feed it. Find a pair, one to wake it up and the other to eat."

"No," Theresa protested "I can do it."

"I-"

"We'll spare a life."