Billy arrived at his apartment building forty minutes later. The building was old—five stories of brick and peeling paint, the kind of place landlords forgot about until rent was due.
He took the elevator to the fourth floor. The doors opened with a metallic groan. Apartment 4C. His key stuck in the lock like always. He jiggled it. The door opened.
The smell hit him immediately. Old coffee and copper.
The coffee was from this morning's mug, still on the counter, the contents cold and growing something. The copper was his own scent—blood dried under his fingernails, in his hair, on his clothes.
Billy closed the door. Dropped his keys in the bowl by the entrance. Kicked off his sneakers.
The apartment wasn't small. One bedroom with a living area, kitchenette along one wall, bathroom in the corner. The furniture came with the place: a couch that sagged in the middle, a table with mismatched chairs, a bed frame he'd actually bothered to assemble.
One window looked out over the alley behind the building. The TV sat on a stand he'd found on the curb. His laptop was somewhere in the bedroom, probably still open with his unfinished homework on the screen.
Billy walked to the kitchenette. Grabbed a glass. Filled it with tap water. The water tasted like metal but he drank it anyway. Then refilled it and drank again. His throat was raw from the smoke.
He set the glass down with a satisfied sigh.
Billy opened the fridge. Half a carton of milk that was probably expired. Leftover Chinese food that was definitely expired. A pack of deli turkey that smelled questionable.
He grabbed the turkey. Ate three slices standing there with the fridge door open, cold air washing over his chest.
Billy closed the fridge. Checked the time on the microwave: 23:15.
He walked to the bedroom. Through the doorway he could see his desk—laptop still open, screen dark now. Books scattered everywhere. Papers. His backpack slumped against the desk leg.
*You didn't finish your assignment,* Eva said.
"Mom. You don't need to remind me twice." Billy pulled off his hoodie, stiff with dried diesel. Threw it in the corner. "I'll wake up early in the morning and finish."
He knew he couldn't. He knew it was just another excuse. And he knew Mrs. Patterson was going to give him that look tomorrow—the disappointed one, the "you're wasting your potential" look.
Either way, sometimes he didn't care. But if it weren't for his mom pushing him, he wouldn't write any assignments at all. Maybe.
Billy collapsed onto his bed. The springs creaked. He stared at the ceiling—water stains that formed patterns, shapes that looked almost like something if you stared long enough.
"Goodnight, Mom."
*Goodnight, Billy.*
He closed his eyes.
Flames. Screams. It still appeared in Billy's mind. Melissa's eyes watching him. The Viper begging. The smell of burning diesel and something worse.
At least the person who had killed his parents nine years ago was dead now.
But did it have to get that far? Killing his wife and two daughters?
Billy searched through the emptiness for guilt.
Found nothing.
Either way, Castellano got what he deserved.
And Billy didn't care.
Sleep came slowly. And when it did, he dreamed of fire and rain and a plastic toy he couldn't remember anymore.
---
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*
Billy's hand shot out. Slammed the alarm clock. The beeping stopped.
06:30.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. His body felt fine—whatever injuries he'd taken had healed overnight. The burns, the bruises, everything. Gone.
*Good morning,* Eva said.
"Morning."
Billy rolled out of bed. Walked to the bathroom. The mirror showed him what it always did: charcoal black eyes, messy black hair seventeen-year-old face, nothing remarkable. Except for the expression. The lack of one.
He turned on the shower. Waited for the water to heat up—it never got hot, just less cold.
He stepped under the spray.
"Damnit, I hate that you see what I see," Billy muttered.
*You always say that when you're bathing,* Eva replied.
It had been almost a year since Eva—his stepmother, the woman who'd taken him in when he was ten—had gone inside Billy's body to manifest the Devil's soul in him. Why was she living inside his mind? Well, just because she didn't have enough energy to exist in the current world with a physical appearance.
Not yet, anyway.
"It's just so weird that you have to see me bathing. You know you're already familiar with seeing my cock."
*Oh please. Those times when you were ill, I had to bathe you,* Eva said. *This is nothing new.*
Billy didn't respond. Just washed quickly—blood and ash circling the drain—and got out.
After drying off, he walked to the kitchenette. Poured one of his favorite cereals into a bowl, followed by milk. He carried it to the couch and turned on the TV, eating while staring at the morning news.
**"—tragic fire in the suburbs last night. Notorious crime figure Marcus Castellano, also known as 'The Viper,' died along with his wife and two daughters when their home burned to the ground. Authorities are investigating the cause—"**
Billy's spoon paused halfway to his mouth.
**"—in other news, the new casino 'Liberty Case' was attacked last night by what witnesses are calling a demon. Three people were injured, but no fatalities. This marks the seventh demon attack this month, raising concerns about—"**
"Haa. Demons." Billy set his bowl down. "What do they actually want?"
*Blood. Human blood,* Eva replied. *Human Bodies. Livers. Brains.*
"I know that. But it's still a little strange."
*It's survival. They need it.*
It had been a few years since demons had started appearing on Earth. Nobody knew exactly why—some said Hell's gates were weakening, others blamed dark rituals gone wrong. Either way, an organization had been created to hunt them down. Since then, everybody's safety was never quite certain.
Billy finished his cereal. Checked the time: 07:05.
School started at 07:30.
He walked to the bedroom. His school uniform hung on the closet door—navy blue blazer with the Westfield High emblem on the left, white shirt, black trousers, tie.
Billy pulled on the trousers. The white shirt, left untucked. The blazer, left unbuttoned. The tie hung loose around his neck, barely knotted—just enough to avoid getting called out by teachers.
Then he looked at his desk.
Books scattered everywhere. Papers. His laptop closed now. And his backpack with the chemistry homework he never finished.
*You forgot to finish your assignment,* Eva said.
"I know." Billy scratched the back of his head. "You didn't remind me about it on purpose."
*Yeah, because you refused to buy a cheeseburger,* Eva said.
"You don't even have a body."
*The principle matters.*
Billy grabbed his backpack. Checked inside—textbooks, notebooks, pencils, no homework. He swung it over his shoulder.
He took one last look at his apartment. The unmade bed through the bedroom door. The coffee mug still on the counter. His dirty clothes in a pile. The dishes in the sink.
He'd deal with it later.
Or not.
Billy opened the door. Stepped into the hallway. Locked it behind him.
"Damn, I hate school," he muttered.
*You say that every morning.*
"Because it's true every morning."