"Now tell me, Mr. Romano, who do you live with at home? Your mom, your dad, parents, grandparents...?"
He sat in the cold, rigid plastic chair uncomfortably for a moment, staring the woman in the eyes across the counter. She looks polite, well-meaning, not like a horrible person. It's just a shame she's one of Them, he thinks.
"My sister." he says.
"How old is she, sweetie?" she asks in a slightly condescending tone. That's OK, he thinks, she works in an institution, they're trained to be condescending.
"Eight." he answers.
"Eighteen? Twenty-eight? Eighty?" she asks, assuming he's misspoken.
"Eight years old."
He glances at the clock on the wall behind her and smiles. 5:29 PM. August 21st, 1997.
"Nine, tomorrow."
"You live alone with your eight year-old sister?" she asks, worried.
"Yeah." he says, also worried.
Shit. They're going to rehome her and stick him in jail, or something. That's how it always goes. He thinks about Anthony. Anthony's parents died in a car crash and he got sent off to Wisconsin...
"When was her last checkup?" she asks, clearly testing him.
"Last Wednesday." he says, truthfully. "At Urgent Care."
"Which one, sweetie? There's 7 Urgent Cares here."
"I forget." he replies.
She nods slowly, surprised. "Do you work?"
"No." he says.
"How do you afford food for you and her, then?"
"Food stamps." he says.
"The checkup?"
"Social Security."
"They do that?" she asks.
"Yuh-huh." he says.
"Are you addicted to any substances?" she asks.
"No." he lies.
"Alright." she says. "I think that does it for today, sweetie."
In his mind, he breathes a sigh of relief. Then the anxiety kicks back in. They're going to come to his apartment and take her away. He's fucked it up big time, hasn't he?
He stands up and smiles. "When do I need to come back?"
"Remember, you're scheduled bimonthly. That puts your next visit... in October. October 21st."
"Great. Thanks." he says. "Have a good couple months."
"You too." she says as he exits the room.
He stares at the plaque outside beside the door to her office. "Iris Dahlia, Social Services," it says, embossed into a faux gold plate below a big white room number in Arial font. He takes care to slowly close the door, making as little noise as possible.
He walks down the cold, oppressively-lit hallway to the only slightly less depressing lobby with a big round counter. He turns to face the secretary.
"Have a good one." he says, recieving a smile in return, before shoving open the glass doors and walking outside.
The fresh air of the cool autumn day slaps him in the face like a bucket of cold water. He quickly steps down the uncomfortably short staircase onto the plaza. Walking past the fountain in the middle, he stops for a second and closes his eyes. He wanders towards it and leans against the concrete structure, appreciating the sound of running water.
He appreciates the beauty of water.
He appreciates the sky for a moment. Cloudy. They keep the sun from baking him alive. He smiles.
He remains here for about 10 minutes. He pulls out a pair of earbuds and presses play on his Discman, sticking them into his ears beneath his beanie.
He continues walking home, down the street and across a busy intersection. He steps into an alleyway and through the back door to the apartment building. He walks through the quiet, serene hallways of nice granite tiles, before reaching the first pair of elevators. He calls one.
He leans against a wall until it arrives. He waits for a man to step out and walk past him, before stepping in and pressing the '7' button on the large silver panel.
The doors slowly close and the elevator begins to rise. The arrival of the carriage at each floor is punctuated by a loud piezoelectric buzz that somehow manages to startle him each and every time he hears it. Finally, a happy little ding sound eminates from the same circuit before the doors slowly open.
He steps out into the hallway, listening as the elevator goes up to the 9th floor. He walks to his apartment and unlocks the door, letting himself in.
He is immediately greeted by his sister, Lily. His will to live.
"Are they coming to take me away, Boba?" she asks.
"No, nothing like that. They just wanted to make sure that I'm not starving you and that I don't do crack." he says, chuckling.
She smiles. "Good." she says.
"How was school?" he asks. "It was OK." she says. "But Mrs. K made a really big deal about my birthday tomorrow, and it was really embarassing..."
"She did that to me when I had her, too." he says. "It's definitely because she knew mom."
"Yeah." she says.
They sit in silence for a moment. The jovial mood vanishes.
"I miss mom." Lily says.
"I do too." he says.
They sit for a few more seconds in the quiet.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.
"Not really." she says.
He doesn't really want to talk about it either, to be fair. It has been four years, after all.
"Alright." he says. "Hey, listen, I'm going to go to the store and get something to eat. Are you hungry?"
"Yeah." she says, smiling.
"Lasagna?" he asks. "Lasagna." she says.
"Alright, bobo, I'll be back." he says.
He locks the door behind him. Can never be too safe.
He steps into the elevator and descends again. He steps out of the building right as the sun is beginning to set.
He holds in his left arm a large paper bag. Inside it is a family-size box of microwave lasagna and a birthday cake. In his right, the damned Discman he could never get to work after shaking the thing like an idiot, trying to show off how good it is at keeping track.
He crosses the street again. He crosses a busy intersection. He walks down the sidewalk for a bit, then crosses another busy intersection. He tries to think of an intersection that isn't busy, but he can't picture it.
He gets back to his apartment building, stepping into the alleyway again.
Click.
He slowly sets the bag down.
Footsteps.
He turns around slowly.
"Hey, kid."
He's too scared to respond.
"We ain't payin' for this fancy apartment for nothing." the voice says.
He turns around to face the man that is now point a gun at him.
"You don't have to stick me up every time you need me, you know..." he says, trembling.
"You're just lucky I ain't shot ya yet."
"I guess, but... what do you want this time?" he says.
"I'm here to make a deal with ya." the man says. He steps out of the shadow wearing a black suit with a blue tie, a black pair of pants and a pair of tennis shoes.
"We're gettin' a little tired of paying for this fancy-ass get-up when you're practically a mule."
"Listen, man, I have a sister... you can't just kick me out..." he says, nervous.
"Here's the deal, kay? We'll keep paying for this place if you contribute a lil' more, got it?"
"What do you want?" he asks.
The man draws a second handgun from his jacket, handing it over grip-first.
"Don't think about shootin' me, kid."
"I wasn't, sir." he says, mortified.
"I need you to kill someone for me."
"Who?" he asks.
"There's a man who frequents a gas station next to the store you just got back from."
"How'd you know?" he asks, somehow even more terrified.
"How'd I know what?"
"Where I was?"
"You know god damn well how we know, kid."
"Yeah, but... okay. Why does he have to die...?" he asks, almost out of despair.
"Because we say so." the man says. He hands over a pair of photos. "This is what he looks like." he says.
"Right. But... wh-"
"Shh. He shows up at that gas station around 4:30 to 5 PM every other day to buy a pack of Winstons."
"Okay. How... how long do I have?" he asks.
"Next Thursday. Got it?"
"S... sure." he says, swallowing deeply.
"Good. We got eyes on you." the man says, before walking off.
He has to stifle the urge to shoot him in the back. But then they'll probably do something horrific and toss him into the lake. That's not something he's willing to risk.
Or worse.
What will they do to Li-
Bang.
The man drops dead.
An ominous white glow eminates from the alley adjacent to the corpse.
He begins hyperventilating. They're going to think he did it. They'll never believe him.
Wait... he just... he just watched a murder. The cops will think he did it...
Wait... Wait, someone was just murdered in front of him! He's next!
Despite the fact that his death is now imminent, he can't move. He's stuck, frozen. His mind will no longer speak to his legs. All he can do is breathe. And breathe faster. And breathe faster.
A figure steps out of the alleyway. His head glows white. He has a nice long black head of hair. He's wearing a black leather jacket, a pair of black jeans, and boots. The figure turns to face him.
He draws the gun he was given, aiming it at the figure's head. "D- don't come any closer!" he shouts.
"You... sure?" the figure asks in what sounds like a '60s New York accent.
"I'm sure! I'm fuckin' sure!" he shouts back.
"Okay." the figure says, putting his gun in a holster and standing with its arms to its sides, palms facing towards him.
He slowly lowers the pistol.
"Can I come closer now?" the figure asks, politely.
"As soon as you tell me what the hell you are."
"I'm a glowstick juice overdose victim." it says. "No, wait, I'm an alien from Venus." it contradicts, smiling.
"Quit shittin' around." he says, trembling.
"Alright. I'm your guardian daemon." it says, almost sounding ashamed of the concept.
"I said q- quit shittin' around!"
"I'm not 'shittin' around'!" it says, offended. It has black goat-like eyes with white, long, sideways pupils. Its skin glows bright white. It seems to be monochrome. It has short, stubby little black horns.
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. Your name's Cal Romano, you're 17 years old and you smoke weed. You like grunge, your computer, the sound of running water, and you run drugs for the mob. You're incredibly gay. Your sister's the most important thing in the world to you." he states, almost as if he's reading it from a script.
He stares at it in fear. "Guardian demon?"
"No, daemon. Guardian DAEMON. You're my third strike."
"What?"
"Well, there's a program they do for demons in Hell where if we're on our best behavior for a couple of centuries, they assign us humans we have to protect."
"What'd you say it like that for? Humans?"
"Sorry. Spite got my tongue. Yeah. I'm gonna be straight up with you and say the last two people I was in charge of are dead."
He gasps. "What? That's..."
It smiles. "Come on, let's have a walk."
He walks to its side. They're about the same height.
"Well, the last guy died in a freak pickup truck accident while chugging 3 cans of Bud Light from a boot. The girl before that got hit by a train for an anti-drug PSA. So I guess I have a shitty track record." it says, tripping over a can and bumping into Cal.
"What about me?"
"I'm not omnipotent." it says, chuckling.
"Is there a God?" he asks.
"Probably, I dunno." it says.
"But you've been to heaven!"
"You don't know what the boss looks like, do you?"
"Fair." Cal says.
"If I let you die, then I have to go back to hell and become a demon again, and I really don't want to go back there again."
"Don't you get to torture people then, though? That's kinda badass, isn't it?" he says.
"Weren't you the one afraid of shooting a serial killer 10 minutes ago?"
"Yeah... yeah, that's true. Uhh... how do I know you're not evil?"
"I guess you just have to trust me." it says. "I guess now's not a bad time to ask..."
It stops and turns to face Cal. "Do you?" it asks.
"Do I... trust you?"
He pauses.
"Sure."
"I'm going to need a little more certainty than that."
"Well... you did crown that mob asshole, so..."
"But think about this... I'd have shot you too, if you were him."
They both stand still for a moment, dead silent.
"Yeah, but... I've never seen anything like you before, and if you really were sent to keep me safe..." Cal reasons.
"So... final chance to say no."
"Do you trust me?" it asks.
"Yes." Cal says.
"Good." it says. "Maybe you're a bit too trusting. We'll work on that."
"Cool!" Cal says. They turn around and begin walking back to the apartment complex, stumbling over the corpse. Cal gags.
"Oh, right. I brought this for you." it says, pulling a barf bag out of its jacket pocket.
Cal nods, snatching it at high speed. He immediately ejects breakfast into it.
"You done?" the daemon asks, facing away from him.
"I th-" Cal says, before vomiting agian.
"N- now I'm.." Cal says, panting. "Now I'm done..."
"Adrenaline's a bitch..." the daemon says. "I'm not taking that back."
"For sure."
Cal and the daemon step inside, Cal clutching his groceries.
"It's a bit warm in here." the daemon says. "It's 72 degrees." Cal responds.
"Well, it's -107 degrees... Celsius... in Hell, so you take your little victories where you can get them..."
"Jesus." Cal says.
"Don't."
"Sorry."
Cal calls the elevator.
He thinks for a moment. "What version of Heaven are you from? Like, the Christian one, or..."
"I don't know. I'm not very up-to-speed on religion."
"You're-"
"Yes, yes I know, but... I was an atheist before I died." it says.
The elevator arrives. The two step in.
"Is that why you went to Hell?" Cal asks.
"No, that was for other reasons, and no, I'm not telling you why."
"Right." Cal says.
"By the way, what's my name?" it asks.
"I don't know." Cal answers.
"I mean... what do you want to call me?"
"Uh... Rob."
"Man, Rob? Is that all you can come up with?" it asks.
"Rex."
"Rex is cool. I like Rex." it says.
"Rex it is."
"Rex." says Rex. "Like, like a T-rex." says Cal.
"Please don't become a rapper." Rex says. The elevator dings. Cal realizes he didn't even notice the buzzing.
They step out and walk to Cal's apartment. They turn slightly, continuing to walk past it.
"My sister's turning 9 tomorrow." Cal says.
"I know." Rex responds. "Is she asleep, right now?"
"I don't think so. You did, you know... shoot a guy..."
"Yeah." Rex says, scratching the back of his neck with his nails.
"Jesus Chris-"
"Don't!" Rex prods.
"Sorry. Do you ever trim those?"
"Not often." Rex says. "It's considered crude to trim your nails. They're a measure of age, sorta."
"Oh." Cal says. He shrugs as they walk through the hallway endlessly.
"Are we going to your apartment, or not?" Rex asks.
"I'm just... nervous about it, that's all."
"Ah, I understand." Rex says. "Think I'll scare her?"
"Probably." Cal says. The two come to his apartment door and stand there for a few seconds. They look at each other.
"Thanks." Cal says. "For shooting that guy."
"It's what I'm here for." Rex says.