“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know”

Art fucked up when he cut them off. Who the hell did this guy think he was whipping in and out of traffic without signaling? U.S. 98 in Northwest Florida was a treacherous strip of asphalt that claimed

several lives a year. Kelly hit the brakes due to his abrupt stop in front of her, causing Cole to spill coffee in his lap and rattle off a string of expletives. The Chevy Spark then continued darting in

between cars, attempting to decide which lane was the fastest during the five o'clock afternoon traffic.The problem however, was that he kept choosing the wrong lane and was slowing traffic down with his

incessant indecisiveness.

“Where are we?” Cole asked, still blotting his pants with fast food napkins where the coffee had spilled.

“Navarre I think.” Kelly replied. “I'm not really sure where it starts, but if it's not Navarre then we're close to it.”

“Which one of these assholes is responsible for my coffee being in my lap?”

“The Chevy Spark.” Kelly said without any emotion. Her brother was clearly more annoyed by the driver than she was.

“Is that lime green?” Cole said while covering his eyes from the Florida sun. “A lime green fucking Chevy Spark?”

“You’re first car was a yellow Dodge Neon” Kelly replied without looking at Cole.

“Not by choice.” he said. “Dad picked that car out for me. This guy made a conscious choice to buy that car.”

The rental car inched along as traffic ebbed and flowed, never really gaining any momentum. Cole was at his worst when he was in traffic like this. Kelly could hear her brother's breathing getting

heavier and when she looked over at him, he was grinding his teeth. He pinched his nose between his eyes, doing one of the relaxation exercises she had shown him. With his eyes closed, he was most

likely making a list of items in his head. Cole made lists all the time and when asked why he would simply reply, that's what Roget did. He was doing it now, but Kelly knew her brother too well. It wasn't

working. He'd be going insane very soon. As she struggled to find a release for her brother's anxiety, she spied a roadside sign and pointed it out

to him.

“Hey Cole, look at that sign.” she said. “It says, Now hiring Key Lime Pies”

The obvious grammatical omission brought a smile to his face.

“You should apply, you're a real fruit.” she said without looking at him.

Cole canted his head to the right and tightened his brow. Kelly looked at him briefly and smiled then re-concentrated on traffic.

“Thank you.” he said, his tension and anxiety in the past. He exhaled and looked out the window then back at his sister.

“Let's have some fun in Navarre.” he said to Kelly as he watched the Lime Green Spark veer right and leave 98 for U.S. 87.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked him

“I don't know, let's head towards Milton.” He said pointing towards the sign for U.S. 87.

 

It took them forever to get to New Orleans or so it seemed. Hot, sticky, glorious New Orleans. A city

invented for a Demon like Cole, a city that matched his personality and tastes. Another five hours and they would be in

Houston. After nearly nine and a half hours of driving already, Cole and Kelly were ready for a break.

Ready for a release of tension. There was still plenty of time to get to Houston and New Orleans was a

good place to stop and they always built in a cushion for travel. A day or two on each side.

The Houston trip was for a consulting pitch to a Software start-up. Kelly, or Kel as Cole always called her,

was the voice and face of the company. She could convince the most hesitant of clients to pay them for

something they should be able to do themselves. That's what consultants do, the things you are too

lazy or stupid to do. And they get paid a lot to do it. Being demons made it all that much easier.

Kelly pitched the service while Cole sat quietly, hitting the Enter button on the computer to advance

her presentation. A presentation that didn't really matter. It was Kelly that everyone paid attention to.

Kelly made them the money that they used for travel and for...fun.

"Cole? Where did you disappear to in Florida while we were there?" Kelly asked her demonic brother.

Cole stretched his arms upwards and for a brief second his vestigal wings made an appearance. They were alone in the room so he had no fear of anyone spying the wings and guessing at his or Kel's true nature. Still, it was best to keep them under wraps.

"I went to see a Witch in know in the area." he said after he was done stretching.

Cole was lying to her. She could tell. She always knew when he was lying.

Two days earlier

Cole sat in the car waiting. The occupant of the neon green Spark had entered the Hookah House over an hour ago.

"What the fuck is he doing in there?" he wondered as his boredom grew.

Thirty minutes later, Art, a pale towheaded young man exited the Hookah House and made his way to his car. He fumbled slightly with his keys telling Cole that there was more than shisha offered there. He would have to wait a bit longer than. He did not want anything interfering with the pain he was going to cause Art. He wanted him to experience every bit of suffering he was going to deliver.

Art sat down on the couch and searched for the television remote. After finding it between the couch cushions, he pressed the power button and blinked as the sudden burst of light caught him off guard. Why the hell did the TV have to be that bright he thought. After adjusting his eyes, he began to scroll through the 200 some odd channels he subscribe to. This had become a nightly chore which ended with him simply using muscle memory to press in the numbers for ESPN.

Halfway through surfing the channels, the doorbell rang. Art looked at the door warily. Only pizza deliveries and his brother showed up this late. And since one, he hadn't ordered a pizza and two, his brother was in Mexico, Art did not like the face that his doorbell was ringing at this hour. Didn't like it so much as a matter of fact that he decided to ignore it. But the bell rang again. And again.

Art pushed himself up off the couch and walked slowly towards the door.

"Im coming, I'm coming" he shouted.

When he reached the door, the bell rang again as he opened it. Standing before him was a man about five years senior to Art. His hair which was jet black, was parted slightly to the side and full. He stood at 6 feet exactly and had a broad smile on his face.

"Can I help you?" Art asked the man.

"I''m so sorry to bother you but I wanted to talk about the problem with the Chevy Spark." the man said to him.

"My Spark? What's wrong with it?" Art said developing concern that his car might be damaged somehow.

"You fucking drive it!" the man said while delivering a blow straight to Art's face.

Art fell backwards from the force of the punch and tripped over his own feet, falling to the floor. The man entered the apartment and shut the door behind him and he proceded to close the gap between himself and Art.

"Who the fuck are you?" Art screamed at the man. "I think you broke my nose."

"I'm the devil. And you're fucked."

On the 99th cut, Art began to lose consciousness. Cole had sliced the young man from head to toe in various locations. None were too deep or mortal woulds, but each one sent a bolt of pain throughout Art's body. The screams would have been defeaning and a trigger to call the police had Cole not first sewn Art's mouth shut. Applying pressure to his windpipe while kneeling on his neck, Cole had stifled the screams Art tried to let out as the fishhook punctured the soft flesh of his lips and Cole dragged the thread through the cracked and bleeding skin. A tear dropped from Art's eye and Cole smiled at him and winked.

"This will all NOT be soon over with." he said to Art as he finished the sewing and tied off the thread.

The next hour had been spent applying the cuts. For this Cole used an Opinel knife from France, known for their extreme sharpness. He was careful not to apply to much pressure and cut arteries. Venous bleeding he was ok with. The blood was flowing back to the heart and would be under less pressure than arterial bleeding which would just be messy. Cole wasn't looking for unwanted attention when he was done here and being covered in blood tended to draw all sorts of looks.

Art's eyes were saying "Please stop" but Cole had no intention of stopping until the young man's very soul floated out of his wretched body.

"What the fuck possessed you to drive such a shitty car?" he asked the young man. "Shit man, you don't even have to come out of the closet to your friends and family if you drive that car."

Art started to cry again and Cole slapped him hard across the face.

"Pathetic little bitch. This next one is going to hurt."

Cole held the knife above Art's face and slowly brought the blade downward til the tip of it was millimeters away from his eyeball.