Dancing With The Devil

"Keep. Your. Eyes. Open, Jennifer," Tim basically growls at me as he holds my wrist so tight it hurts. His big brown eyes are very hard and cold as they stare at me, wanting me to take this as serious as a heart attack. It takes all that I am not to roll my eyes at this, but I nod once to answer.

It's at times like this that I wonder how in the hell I got myself into this. Not just that, but why I keep on with this farce as it has become so very stupid. Beyond stupid. It's gone into Jewish Space Lazer and drinking bleach to cure COVID stupid. So why am I still here?

In the beginning, this was all exciting and new. It felt like I was part of something important. Like a secret society, where I could feel important and know that we were doing honest goodness. Beyond that, there was a touch of the supernatural, which made life seem exciting and new again. Like there was a world here that I had never seen, but could be apart of.

Yeah, I was just 25 when I joined, which is pretty young to most, but that doesn't mean that life can't be boring. It was just work, go home, go on dates with idiots, go to work. Makes me wonder if I wasn't so bored...would I ever have joined? Would I have gone with Tim?

"He could be anyone," Tim states in his serious as can be tone. I look up at him again, where I never mind looking into those eyes of his. They are very easy to get lost in, as is his face. So is his energy for that matter. He's just so filled with conviction.

My mind then drifts to memories of seeing Tim's body. Of times when we all went to the gym and I saw him work out. Oh, how I could watch him do set after set, secretly wishing it was me he was using instead of some gym equipment. Where I bet he could go all night long, and then some.

"R-Right," I state, trying to sound as serious as he does while coming out of my thoughts. Tim nods at me, then looks at Tommy who is behind me. The two men nod at each other, signaling that it is "go" time.

With his "destiny" filling him, Tim turns to face the door. When he does, I take a quick glance at him and what he's wearing. I've honestly never seen him wear anything so, well, fancy. Tim, by his own admission is a simple man. Wearing a t-shirt and jeans always, except for special events when he puts on a polo. But tonight he's wearing a pretty stylish button down shirt with silky looking slacks.

"It's go time," Tommy says behind me, pumping himself up, much like Tim is doing while facing the door. If I didn't know either of them, I might think this was some operation to rob the party we are about to attend. But I bet if I told anyone the real reason we are crashing this party, they would die laughing.

Tim then takes a look to the left and right, most likely checking to see if we are being watched or followed. Sad to say, this run down city street is all but empty. That is if you don't count the trash being blown around by the wind.

The metal door is then opened by Tim, revealing the insides of this old building. At once the once doors reveal an atmosphere that is counter to the old and crumbling atmosphere outside the building. Outside is the ghetto of all ghetto areas, while inside it looks like a New Yorker upper crust party.

Just in case, I pull out the "Invitation" that I was given for this party. Fake of course. It's a copy of something that was found on the internet. But I scan the invitation anyway, where it lists the day and time of tonight, for this "New Adams Art Exhibit."

This "party" is actually an art exhibit and this place is an art gallery. Why they put it here, I have no clue. It's supposedly a very secret art gallery that isn't open to the public. It's invitation only, even when there isn't a party. From what I've read, the art here is so good it'll make you cry. The sort of stuff that will change your life.

With his shoulders hunched over, Tim enters the building looking like he's about to be in a battle royale. When he does this, he just stands out so badly. His fancy clothes can't seem to hide the dumb-redneck vibe that he gives off. It pulses from him, making it pretty obvious he rather be drinking a beer while laughing at a friend making a dead deer dance.

Tommy moves from behind me now, walking much like Tim. He even walks and stands next to Tim while the pair of them scan the area. Then the two men glance at each other and turn to walk in opposite directions.

With a sigh, I walk slowly into the building, and into the lobby. Thankfully Tim believed my lie earlier about how I have to walk slow because of the dress I'm wearing. I said it because I thought maybe I could actually enjoy this party. To take in the vibe of being around high class people. Where I can pretend I'm not living my life for maybe half an hour.

I'll admit, the reason I signed up for this "mission" is to get a glimpse of high class life. Where people here will think of me as on their level. Where I'll be beautiful, smart and classy, instead of the silly accountant that I really am. That is until they figure out I'm lying and kick me out.

Moving deeper into the actual gallery, I become a bit flabbergasted. They weren't kidding about the art. All over there are breathtaking pieces, the sort that I feel guilty even getting to see. There's one painting that somehow looks like it keeps changing.

Smiling, I grab a glass of champagne from a table and drink about half of it. I feel it burn as it goes down, giving me that familiar sense of liquid courage. I just hope it'll be courage enough to roleplay good enough to fool the people here. Maybe even find a future husband.

I then look around to try and find Tim. Despite the stupidity of why we are here, I need to make him think I'm doing the mission. That I'm trying to help out. Otherwise I'll get a lecture in front of the entire group.

Tim's off in a corner, quickly about to disappear from my sight, checking everyone out. And I don't mean that in a "I want to have sex with you" check out, but sizing people up to fight. It's like he glances at each man he sees and then ponders what it would take to beat the guy up. But since most of the men are middle aged, I don't think he would have that hard of the time.

Finishing my champagne, I feel like going up to Tim and yelling at him for a change. They go on and on about blending in during the mission where he sticks out worse than if he had his dick out. At the end of the night, he's going to bitch and complain about how this mission was a failure, but never think it was because of him. But man...what an ass on the guy.

"Well hello beautiful," a very silky voice greets from behind me. Something about that voice is so sexy and beautiful, as strange as that sounds. It makes me think of capturing silk as a drink and pouring it into my ears.

Turning around, I look for the owner of the voice as it's clear he's speaking to me. When I see who is looking at me, I pause. I am not sure who I was expecting, but it wasn't what I'm seeing. It's enough that I feel the words I was about to say fade from my mind.

In front of me is a long rectangular wooden table with plenty of seats. It's mean as a table for people to sit and consume the refreshments. But at the moment, there's a tall slim build man on the other side of it, smiling at me.

This man is dressed in a dark blue suit that looks, damn sexy. The fabric on it seems to glow, even if I know it's not. Much like his voice, his suit and shirt looks like it would be the smoothest of fabric. Like they had to scientifically modify an animal just to make it. I can tell with my middle class senses that the suit alone costs more than I make in a year.

Looking at the guy, I can't believe how incredibly good he guy is. His features are very striking, making every movie star I've ever fantasied about seem pathetic in comparison. His jaw line, his eyebrows, just everything seems perfectly molded. Like they were chiseled from marble.

Another thing that is remarkable about him is that even if it's lit fairly well in here, he is partly in shadow. I can see his face and all his features, but it's like he's clouded in mystery. The James Bond of James Bond so to speak.

As I look at him, I try to guess more about him, but I have trouble. His nearly shaved head and dark skin make it impossible to figure what race he is. He could be a very tanned white guy, or a light skin black guy, or hell, from the Middle East. There's just no way to tell.

"Hello beautiful yourself," I reply back after what is already an uncomfortable pause. I say this in a flirty way, as someone like him has to know how good looking he is.

"I thought I would save you the trouble, and just introduce myself," the mysterious man says, motioning for me to sit across from him. He then motions to a server that is nearby, who is non-stop staring at the good looking man. This server quickly moves forward to provide us both with a glass of champaign.

"Wow. Save me the trouble? Full of ourselves, are we?" I comment as I sway to the table. In my voice I try to put in a bit of scorn as a way to make him feel bad for being so arrogant. From him I get the vibe that he wants to fuck me, and since he knows he's good looking, I gather he thinks he can just demand it and I'll drop my panties. But it doesn't work like that pal.

"Not the first time that has been said about me. But yes. I find that introducing myself to those looking for me saves time," the man replies, flashing a rugged smirk. He then proceeds to sit down.

"Looking for you? You think I'm looking...for you?" I ask, nearly laughing at how arrogant he must be. I take it he is about to use some cheap line about how I'm searching for true love, or maybe a husband.

"You are. You and your two gentlemen companions," the man answers. He then motions for me to sit, while a sharp sting seems to move over me.

The fact this guy knows about Tim and Tommy makes alarm bells ring. How did he know about them? But as fast as the sting of fear hits me, my logical brain calms me down. It's simply. He saw the three of us come in together, even if we didn't really come in together.

"Ok. And why would we be looking for you?" I ask him, trying to keep my flirty tone to keep things light. Yet the sting of fear hasn't left me yet. In fact, I get a very uncomfortable feeling now.

For the briefest of moments I get that feeling were you just know the world has gone crazy. That you are the only sane person in it and no one understands. The world is upside-down, with black is right, left is up and your own name has changed. I feel this way because for a fraction of a second it feels like...Tim may not be a crazy cultist after all.

The good looking man continues to smile at me, but looks a bit puzzled. He then laughs a good natured smile, making it appear that I'm messing with him even if I'm asking a real question. Yet the way he does it is like he's in a movie with how good looking he is.

"Tell me Jennifer, why do you ask a question to which you know the answer?" The mysterious man asks as a reply. His dark brown eyes look upon me, where I feel that stab of fear again. Where my brain fights hard not to give into any wild thoughts.

"N-No," I state confidently. I then take a sip of my champaign, trying to act cool and calm. To try and make it look real, I even put on a big smile.

"No. No way. Not real. You got me. This has to be some sort of stupid test then. Tim set you up then?" I ask, getting a bit upset. A flash of anger moves over me as I consider that this is the lengths that Tim will go to test me. That he will set up some stupid fancy jerk to try and trick me. Or most likely, this is a real party he convinced me to crash just so he could do some stupid cultist test.

"Oh, I am very real. Well, not in the physical sense, but yes, I am here, in front of you," the good looking man counters.

To this I stare at him, getting more and more scared. What makes the fear linger is that he said my name earlier. Sure, if this is a test, he would know it from Tim. But if this isn't a test...then what? No. Of course this man is full of shit. He has to be a plant of some sort. If not by Tim, then by someone from the group.

Looking at him, I get an idea. A brilliant idea. If they want to test me, then I'll freaking test them. If he is who he says he is, which is our "target" for tonight that Tim and Tommy are searching for, if I try and touch him, he won't really be there. If he's the target, he'll have no real physical form.

"By all means, here, go ahead," the mysterious man says without me saying anything out loud. He then moves his left arm out as if offering it to me. The man then does the motion that seems to say, "please touch my arm."

A new cold fear moves over me as it's as if he read my mind. He seemed to know I wanted to touch him and to test if he's for real. But...but that could still be a plant right? One of the first things you are supposed to do to test if it's him is touch him. So it could have been a really good guess, right? Right?!

The man lifts his arm some, bringing it closer towards me so I can touch it. But by the life of me, I never wanted to touch anything less. It's his eyes. From the look in them, he's not bluffing. It tells me that if I did touch him, my hand would go straight through, which isn't something I'm prepared for.

"You...you're....you're...." I stammer out, feeling not just my face but my entire body go pale. My hand even moves to point at him, even if I don't mean to as I stammer this out.

The man continues to hold his arm out, inviting me to touch him, but for only a few more moments. He then pulls it back once I start stammering. But there's no annoyance or anger on his. Merely a sense of boyish charm.

"Yes. Yea I am. You and your compatriots would call me The Devil. But one name is as good as another as far as I am concerned. Lucifer. Little Horn. Lightbringer. Satan," the man lists in a vague manner that seems to show he doesn't really care about what he's called. That he is confident enough that mean names don't affect him.

"I...I..." I keep stammering, feeling my world coming down. All at once, my life feels like it is over. In a way, I feel it passing over me, like it's moving in front of my eyes.

Four months ago I met Tim at a bookstore. We both happened to be in the non-fiction section, where I found a book on Lucifer. I thought it looked interesting because it was a look at all the different culture's version of the Devil. It was a study of culture really, not anything to do with the actual Devil. More like a look into mythology.

Tim saw me with it and we struck up a conversation about biblical figures. He seemed so charming in a brutish way. We seemed to hit it off talking about demons, angels and many other topics. From there we had coffee and exchanged social medias. After that we moved to DMs and IMs.

The two of us became friends, even if I did want it to become more. Not so much boyfriend girlfriend, but I wouldn't mind a friends with benefits sort of deal. From this he would invite me out with his friends to hang out, where it was normally at some country bar.

A couple of months into our friendship. Tim confessed that he belonged to a group that knew the Devil was real. That they had ways of tracking him. Yes, I knew he and his other cult friends were crazy, but he didn't try to make me join. It was more like he was letting me know so there were no secrets.

Now, I did get sucked in. Not because he was a great talker or anything like that, but because Tim showed me the computer program they had created to track "The Devil." It was impressive. It was unlike anything I had seen before. It showed a hell of a lot of brains. They supposedly built the program themselves, where it combined A.I. with web scraping, news site aggregation and so much more.

I'm not sure if it was because I wanted to have sex with Tim or if I liked the friendship of the group, but I found myself going to their meetings. Not just going, but helping them analyze data, take notes and whatnot. It was exciting as they were all so hopeful. They all believed the same. That together they would one day find The Devil, to which there would be a way to rid him from the world.

"Why?" I ask the mysterious man across from me, and I don't even know what I mean by this. Why is he here? Why does he exist? Why am I doing this? Why hasn't he killed me? Why?

"I do not believe that is the question you really want to ask me, now is it?" The Devil says with a friendly, non-threatening smile. To this, I don't respond.

"Oh, Little Bird, I understand," The Devil says in a comforting manner when I don't say anything. His eyes get softer and he appears more like a father comforting his hurt daughter than anything else. There's no aggression nor anger from him. And for sure no forked tail.

"You took a leap off of a building, thinking it was still the ground, but now as you fall from the Empire State Building, you understand you have made a mistake, and are in over your head," he explains in a not unkind manner. Seemingly to say he understands why I'm acting so weird.

"You...you can read..." I try to say, more to myself than to him but my mouth is drier than the hottest desert. All the tidbits the group has told me about him come back to me now. All the things I thought were bullshit.

"Of course I can read your mind. I am an angel after all. Your thoughts and emotions are broadcasted outward like a blaring radio," The Devil explains calmly, as if this isn't a big deal at all. That the knowledge there's no way for me to hide anything from him isn't a big deal. That he probably knows what I'm planning to do days before I think it.

I get a bit dizzy now as this is too much too take. If this is real, and I'm not saying it is, then it doesn't make sense. If he knows we are here to capture and take him out, why is he calmly talking to me? Why would he get rid of us, knowing what we want?

"Then...why...why haven't you..." I try to ask, then take my glass of champaign and down the rest of it. As I drink, everything goes fuzzy for a moment, like my mind can't handle this.

If this is real, if HE is real, then why hasn't he killed me? Why hasn't he killed all of us if he knows we are here to get him? He must have known from the moment we entered why we are here.

After I finish my glass, I slowly go to put it down. When I do, I notice that his glass of champaign is now in front of me, clear across the table. This small surprise makes me pause, but mainly because I didn't see nor hear him move it. Didn't he say he's not a physical being? Then how did it move?

"Why would I want to hurt you?" The Devil asks and then laughs as if this is a truly hilarious thought. What's even stranger is that the laughter is real.

Staring at him, I open my mouth to say my response, but then stop as I recognize something. If he can read my mind, he already knows what I'm thinking. That means he's being polite to let me verbalize my thoughts instead of just answering straight away. It's almost like this is a game for him.

"You're the Devil. That's what you do," I tell him more forceful than I mean to be, feeling almost like I'm falling into a trance of some sort.

He's the Devil after all. Making deals, taking souls, causing pain and heartache. That's all that he does. It's his job.

"No, that is what YOU say that I do," The stranger replies, a bit hurt. To this I tilt my head to let him know I think he's full of shit.

"I have not once ever killed a single human," He informs me as serious as a heart attack. His dark brown eyes begin to bore into mine as he says this, where I can tell he wants me to understand this more than anything. That he wants me to know he's saying the truth.

"You are so quick to forget that I am not a physical being, my beautiful friend, I am just a projection. A flash of light. A non-physical presence created to be a servant for the Lord. All I am, or was, is a messenger of God, much like Fed-Ex, to exist as only a spirit," the man explains with a smile, as if this is funny to him.