Page 44 of Devil Inside

We can help.

I offer guidance. Sometimes all it takes is a simple tip of the scales, an added dash of pressure to throw the balance in our favor. I offer spiritual guidance to those seeking it.

I am an influencer. A simple whisper in your ear.Can you hear me now?

Fruit inevitably spoils. I simply hasten the process. Prod it along. Make a fine wine out of your soul. I’m merely encouraging you to tap into what’s already inside. Your nature. That darkness within you all. This is my gift to you. Tip the scales. Simple as that.

I don’t care so much about humanity. About mankind. It’s just fun to play with my food for a bit. These sensations are wasted on you people. It’s fun to indulge my impulses.

We abandon Calvin’s stand. Wander amongst the rest. All the fresh vegetables, tilled from this very soil. The plethora of exquisite tastes. The succulence of them all.

We want to try everything. Taste everything. Dig our teeth in. Run our tongue over it. Swallow it all, all these earthly pleasures.

We have adapted our patterns to fit, evolved with the times—but even so, sometimes it takes us a second to settle into a rhythm with the living. Find our flow, as it were.

Have we found it today? Our walk? Our attitude? Our own way of being?

We have a fresh vessel today. A second skin. A pinot grigio. Light-bodied. Hints of citrus. Aspects of apple, perhaps. It takes some navigating. These hands are not our own. A woman once more, yes, but she’s new to us. Lithe limbs. Soft skin. We sensed the desire inside. Her vulnerability, her sadness, a chasm which we could cross.

Let me in...

There was no resistance. No struggle. The emptiness within her was enough to shimmy in and accept her flesh as our own. We call her home. For now. Until we find someone more fun.

Why tie ourselves down? There’s so many fish in this sea...

We only want one. Jordan.

The flesh that got away.

It’s Lys’s turn to drag me out of the apartment.

“Show me your knuckles,” she said. She popped up at my pad, totally out of the blue, no warning whatsoever. Smart move. She knew I’d bag if I had any forewarning.

“Do I have to?”

“Damn straight.” Lys doesn’t take no for an answer. Ever.She’s at the door, peering in, trying not to be overt about it. She probably wants to make sure I’m not living in squalor.

“Fine.” I hold out my hands, presenting my scabs.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“I lost my temper.”

“On some douchebag’s face? At Sticky Rice?During bingo?The fuck, Jordan...?”

“Deak pulled me out before the cops got called.”

“Lucky you,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s it, you’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“Out. Get some air. Some sun. You look like you need it.”

The farmers market down at the Bottom has been taking place at the Main Street train station for years now. Barely any trains chug through here anymore—one heading out to Norfolk, one to DC, and that’s about it. The station building is in the Second Renaissance Revival Style, inspired by wealthy merchant buildings in Florence, complete with arched openings supported by columns. The overhanging canopies on the surrounding trainshed make for a perfect awning for a farmers market. The stands all line up in the shade, selling just about every vegetable you can imagine. Seafood comes in fresh from Brandywine, the blue shells harvested right out of the Chesapeake. Homemade cheeses. Fresh-baked bread. There’s even a bluegrass band playing as customers mill about.

“You doing okay?” Lys asks between stalls, hefting a tote crammed with kale.

“Peachy.” I’ve been handling the masses differently lately. Every time I get into a large group of people, I find myself getting lost in their faces. Strangers don’t look the same. Not to me. Not like they used to. Every so often, I find someone staring back. Someone I’ve never met before. They’ll look at me and I swear I see their skin shift. The tiniest ripple beginning at their chin, trembling across their cheeks.