The Heavenly Demon of Terror

As I walked down the dimly lit streets, the air crisp and cool, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I glanced at the caller ID—

Abigail Bardot.

I smirked, already knowing what this call was about.

Sliding my finger across the screen, I answered, keeping my voice calm and formal.

"Good evening, Ms. Bardot. Anything I can assist with?"

Her voice came through the speaker, agitated, on edge.

"Samuel, what have you done?!" she snapped. "Joshua is receiving calls from the police! They want to interrogate him!"

I could hear the worry in her tone. The panic. The desperation.

Funny.

If only she had worried this much about Samuel when he was alive.