Resolve

I was dripping wet by the time I got to my destination, it
was mid afternoon, but the clouds made it look like it
was late in the evening. It had been raining for most of
the week, endlessly at times it seemed, but I suppose it
just went along with the events that had taken place all
that week. I stood in front of the newly made grave
solemnly. I felt awkward standing there alone, in the
freezing rain, but I suppose I would have to do this
sooner or later and sooner seemed a little better than
later. I wrapped my coat around me a little tighter,
tensing my shoulders, trying to keep out the rain that
crept to my skin any ways. The tomb was simple due to
lack of money, all it read was:

Lance Baird
1982-1999
May you rest in the arms
Of an angel.

"Even in death, he's a simple man." I said out loud to
myself, but because of the rain and wind no one would
have heard me even if they were standing right beside
me. I stood there in silence a few minutes longer, before
the wind around me seemed to stop and the rain grew
warmer to the touch.

"You still despise him though he's dead?" Came a voice
from behind me. I knew the voice well, though I've only
heard once before and the one time I did hear it wasn't a
very good experience.

"Go away," I mumbled miserably, not turning around to
face him.

"Oh, come now," he stepped up beside to me, to my left.
He wore the same long, black trench coat that he had on
before, but this time he didn't have on his red ball cap
and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that his night
black hair went down to his shoulders in waves. "This is
what you wanted, isn't it?" He said, gesturing towards
the grave.

I turned to him, ignoring his question. "You did it! You
killed him, didn't you?"

He turned to me as well with mock surprise on his face.
"The words of a guilty man, my dear prince?"

I turned back to the grave, giving up on the argument.
"It's not my fault he's dead, I didn't even want him dead
in the first place."

"Oh, that's not true and you know it, don't make me
quote you again." He shrugged, "and besides, if it's not
your fault, then whose fault is it?"

"Well, Luc," I said his name sarcastically, "it's obvious
it's your fault."

"My fault?" Again there was mock surprise in his voice,
"I can't kill people, dear prince."

I glanced at him. "You, the devil, can't kill people? Ha!
I'll believe that the day hell freezes over."

"Oh, it's true! Only the big guy upstairs can kill people,
and then he sends the rejects to me. Doesn't sound good,
I know, but that's the way it happens."

I heaved a sigh, thinking that none of this was making
sense. "Then why do I feel guilty if it's not my fault?"

He shrugged again, "'cause you could have saved him? I
don't know, I'm not your conscious."

I stood there, ignoring this stranger that stood beside me.
I wasn't sure of his age, but he couldn't have been more
than 30, 35 at the oldest, but his eyes - that red tint that
they held. I had looked for contacts the first time I saw
them, but couldn't find any. I also noticed he didn't seem
to have any pupils, but that, hopefully, was an illusions
created by his dark hair and the dark atmosphere around
us.

"How did he die any ways?" He asked, interrupting my
sullen thoughts.

I kept my eyes on the grave now, but released my grip
from my coat, suddenly feeling the warm air around me.
"He was hit by a car, while crossing the street…the
doctor's said he didn't feel a thing…--."

"Ah, I see." He nodded his head, trying to seem
interested. "And where were you at that time?"

I didn't feel like answering another line of questions
from him, so I ignored it. "Look, the last time we talked
you, you wanted me to kill Lance and now that he's dead
- what? What do you want?" I turned to him then, letting
my annoyance and anger show on my face.

His face, on the other hand, showed shock again and
mild concern. "Why, my dear prince, I just wanted to see
how you were doing - just trying to be a friend, ya know.
Am I to be condemned to hell for wanting to see if my
friend is alright?" He grinned and gave a little chuckle at
what he just said, and at that precise moment, I wanted
to hit him and beat him bloody, but managed to keep my cool.

Instead I turned to him sharply, "And since when am I
your friend? I didn't even know you two weeks ago."

"Too true," he said, "too true, but I've known you much
longer and I've rather come to like you."

"Great," I said sarcastically, throwing my hands up, "I'm
liked by the devil, my soul is saved!" Then I turned to
my left to walk away from him, having enough of this
nonsense.

"Dear prince, wait!" He turned at the same time, but
didn't move from his spot, just expecting me to come
back to him.

I did turn back, shouting, "and why do you insist on
calling me 'dear prince'!? I'm not your prince, I'm not
your friend, I don't even want anything to do with you!"

He looked embarrassed at my out-burst, but quickly
regained himself. "You can't deny me, dear prince, you
can't just walk away from me like you would anyone
else. I've got plans for you -"

"Yeah, doesn't everybody!" I cut in sharply, taking a step
closer to him. "You're not real, I can deny you all I want
and nothing will happen to me. You know why? 'Cause
you're not real! And as soon as people stop believing in
you, you'll cease to exist! How does it feel to have your
mortality rest in the hands of the people whose souls you
take? Tell me, how does it feel??"

He didn't say anything in response to that, instead his
eyes flashed a darker blood red than what they were
before, then he disappeared. He was there one second,
then not the next - almost as if blinking out of, well,
existence - leaving nothing but a hot/humid, bitter sweet
smelling air in his place.

I didn't bother looking for him, instead I went back to
Lance's grave to do what I had intended to do in the first
place, pay my last respects to him.