Dark Silence

20 days (3)

The bar was quite uncrowded. Darnell looked around the empty hall and sat down into his familiar seat in the far corner of the counter. Here the least number of people was walking by, and no one disturbed him in his voluntary solitude. Except for Cyril, but he wasn't in the bar either, as far as Darnell could see among the rare visitors. Most of them usually began to come around ten in the evening, but not immediately after the end of the working day.

A young bartender appeared in front of Darnell, wiping a glass thoughtfully. They locked eyes, recognizing each other, and Mik asked cautiously:

“What can I offer you?”

Darnell sighed, screwing the corner of his mouth.

“Whiskey. A bottle of. A glass. An ashtray.”

“Sure,” the bartender muttered, remembering that it was better not to wrangle with Darnell.

Mik placed everything the gloomy customer asked for in front of him and disappeared into the darkness, going as far as possible to the other end of the counter. Darnell sighed, pursing his lips, and reached for the bottle. To his surprise, he saw that it was not uncorked. The young bartender hadn't even thought of that, or maybe wanted to get back at Darnell for his rudeness. The man rolled his eyes tiredly and was about to call Mik back, but changed his mind and took a bunch of keys from his pocket. After ripping off the wrapper, Darnell pressed the cork into the bottle with the long key. That was also fine, he only needed the liquid to pour out.

That evening the beverage did not bring either relief or relaxation. Some feelings of frustration and suppression swirled through Darnell's chest. Even a third of a bottle of whiskey could not make them shut up. It only made his already awful mood even worse. It seemed to Darnell that if the corners of his lips could go down endlessly, they would already be dragged along somewhere on the floor.

The familiar fluttering of wings sounded beside him, and Darnell swore quietly, as he decided that Cyril had joined him. Tearing his eyes away from the glass, the man saw Morra next to him - a succubus, over whom his demon-friend yearned for many years. In the semi-darkness of the bar, her red skin seemed as dark as thick clotted blood. A black open corset squeezed a lush breast, exposing it, and an extremely short leather skirt matching the corset did not give the slightest chance for a stretch of the imagination. Seeing that Darnell paid attention to her, Morra slowly swung her leg, tied into a lace-up high boot, over the other, showing that she wasn’t wearing underwear. Darnell watched this show quite indifferently and turned back to his glass. He muttered:

“Cyril is not with me.”

“Good evening to you too,” Morra said languidly. Her voice could be compared to the most delicate silk, causing goosebumps when it touches the body. “And it's nice that he’s not here with you.” She sighed, slowly flapping her thick black eyelashes. “If you could only know how tired I am of him for these two hundred years."

“Then, I suppose, how can I help you?” Darnell turned back to Morra, pushing back his glass and folding his hands in front of him.

“Well, think by yourself,” she seductively ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, covered with dark purple lipstick. This vulgar gesture evoked in Darnell a wave of irritated disgust. “How can an adult boy help an adult girl?” The succubus touched his hand with her and ran it up, gently squeezing his shoulder.

The man followed her movement in surprise. After a moment of silence, he laughed, taking her hint. The succubus was just looking for another victim for the next night.

“I’m afraid I’m not interested in whores.” Darnell grabbed a glass and chuckled at it as he knocked over another shot of whiskey.

“w****s are the ones who get paid,” Morra smiled back, not showing any offense. “I offer you pleasure at no cost.”

Darnell shook his head, staring at the bottles behind the bartender's counter, which already started to swing before his drunk eyes. For a mortal man, it was more trouble than it was worth to get hooked up with a succubus. Darnell was sure that only the complete moron could agree to spend the night with such a creature, and the offered pleasure was far from being free from any cost. The succubus pulled the life force from its victim and consumed energy, giving in return a night of love and leaving the man unconscious for several days. In severe cases, the loser might not have come to his senses after such a celebration of lust.

“Sorry, but I have to refuse such an untempting offer,” Darnell said in a cold tone.

In response, Morra moved close to him, hiding them both from the outer world with her huge black wings, similar to those that Cyril had.

“Just don’t tell me that you decided to take up celibacy because of romantic heartbreak, especially a few years old one,” the succubus whispered voluptuously in his ear. Her large curls brushed against Darnell's cheek and spread heavily in front of his eyes like liquid tar. She smelled dizzily of some kind of sugary-sweet perfume, which made the man lose his breath for a second. He could not stand such heavy perfume. “You're a half-breed, aren't you? Cyril said so. He talks a lot. I've never had it with a half-breed. Your energy smells so unusual.”

Her breath burnt Darnell's skin, and he felt the succubus fingers slide down the inside of his thigh and stop between his legs, squeezing his jeans. Her ample bosom rested on his shoulder, and Morra swayed, letting him feel the closeness and softness of her seductive body.

“If you don’t take your hand away now,” Darnell said calmly, “I’ll get the barrel…”

Morra cut him off mid-sentence, making a deep-chested sound that reminded Darnell of both a hungry growl and an inviting purring. She pressed closer to him and began to move her palm along the crotch, calling out to his masculinity, trying vainly to awaken it. Darnell grimaced at the poorly chosen word.

“Not the one you thought of, you slut,” he continued roughly, “but the one in my bosom in the holster, the gun with bullets charmed against demons - and I'll put one of them right between those huge eyes of yours. Choose by yourself to your taste which ones I mean: on your head or on your chest.”

Morra snorted quietly but took her hand away. Looked like she wasn't too scared by Darnell's threat. She spread her wings, hiding them behind her back, and returned to the chair next to the man.

“I see you’re not in the mood today,” she made a displeased grimace and put her lips around the straw inserted into the beautiful blue cocktail in the glass, which appeared in front of her as if by magic.

“Shitty day,” Darnell nodded and smoothed the jeans that were crumpled by her persistent fingers. “Feels like the whole world ganged up on me.”

He called Mik and made him cork an unfinished bottle of whiskey, intending to take it with him. His head was humming with alcohol, so he'd better not drive on his own tonight.

“Leaving already? So early?” Morra called out in surprise, while Darnell was persistently counting the price for a drink without a tip since he didn't like Mik personally.

“Yes, I’m being waited for,” the man muttered in response.

“Oh, okay,” the succubus sighed. “So again I’ll have to listen to Cyril all evening alone. Usually, at least you distract him from me.”

"I'll distract him next time," Darnell promised. He grabbed the bottle and went outside, intending to catch a car.

***

A bright yellow taxi drove up to the building of ADA Agency, drowsing late in the evening. Darnell slammed the door clumsily and asked the driver to wait a couple of minutes. He looked up to the third floor, noting a couple of windows still lit in there.

Darnell swung open the office door with the glass that was smashed by him. It seems that the staff did not have enough time to replace it, and they left the hole gaping as a reminder of his recent performance. He entered the lighted room and shouted loudly:

“Madeleine?”

Swaying, Darnell moved into open space, where he found the girl at one of the computers. She glanced at the man and immediately turned away resentfully.

"Oh my, I knew they'd just leave you here," Darnell sighed as he walked over to her. “Come on, let's go home.”

Madeleine looked up at him and gave a long snort, wrinkling her nose and hinting that the man smelled of alcohol.

"I didn't drink that much," Darnell snapped back. “Here, only a third of the bottle,” he shook it in front of the girl and tried to pull out the cork. The fingers slipped though. The man grunted and went to his office. “The bartender corked it with all its power. I’d better leave it here. And you get ready,” he said to Madeleine, hiding in his place.

Darnell hid the bottle in a niche behind the books on the shelf, right where the old one used to stand. He quickly cleaned up the mess the possessed Evvy made and the papers she had scattered. He looked around the office, which now looked more or less decent, and went out, slamming the door behind him. He missed the lock with his key and scratched the surface beside it, screwing face up in irritation. Madeleine appeared silently beside him and, looking at Darnell, snorted again in displeasure.

“Let me close the door,” he calmed her. “And actually I'm surprised that you're not happy to see me.” Madeleine crossed her arms abruptly on her chest and frowned at him. Darnell glanced at her and replied: “You see, of all these wonderful, good, responsible, and knowledgeable people," he made a wide gesture with his hand, circling the empty open space with it, “only I came for you. Unreliable and disorderly hellbender.” Darnell finally got the key in the lock and locked his office. “Come on, the taxi is waiting downstairs.” Madeleine threw up her hands in a surprised gesture and shook her head, rounding her lips. “What, did you think that I would come in my car?” Darnell chuckled as he watched Madeleine taking her pink stuffed hamster. “I’m senseless, not headless, you know.” He let Madeleine out of the office and left the door without the glass in it unlocked.

 ***

In the semi-darkness of the spacious room, filled with bookcases up to the ceiling around the perimeter, carefully filled with the books, a small table stood out as a bright spot, illuminated by two long floor lamps. Behind it, in a luxurious leather armchair, a man of about forty sat, fingering through an ancient-looking thick folio. From time to time, the man frowned with concentration, turning the pages with thin long fingers hidden under the snow-white latex gloves aimed to protect the time-worn pages from the careless touch of naked skin. Once in a while, he interrupted his reading to make notes in a voluminous notebook lying next to him on the table.

Someone knocked on the library door, and the man reluctantly tore himself away from his reading, carelessly running his hand through his light, almost snow-white hair. The door opened, and a man with an ingratiating smile dressed in a strict black suit entered the room.

“Master, I'm sorry to interrupt your reading…” he began in a reverent half-whisper as if he was afraid to disturb not only this person but also the books that surrounded him.

“What?” The man snapped shortly. He carefully closed the book and hid it in its case.

“It’s... about your order… I didn’t make it…” the newcomer shrank as if he expected a hit. The man in the chair raised one eyebrow in displeasure, and his interlocutor quickly and desperately began to make excuses. “I don’t know how it happened, he figured it out, everything was considered, and it was easy to control her, but he…”

“Shut up,” the man told him, and he hiccupped, getting quiet near the door. “So he figured it out,” he said thoughtfully, putting his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin on the back of his fingers. The man looked at one of the floor lamps, casting spots of light on his beautiful flawless face that seemed to be carved out of marble by a skillful sculptor. He seemed to go deep into his thoughts. “Well, why, I do like his style,” the man finally said, making the one who came to him jump at the door. “Well-informed, with lots of knowledge, so free, and fearless. Even too much, I’d say. I think it's time to meet him in person.” The man got up and took the case with the book in his hands.

“Are you sure that you should show yourself? Is this a good idea…” his interlocutor started to speak still standing at the door.

“All my ideas are good,” the man rudely cut him off in mid-sentence, hiding the case on one of the shelves. “Otherwise I wouldn't be who I am now. And you wouldn't be trembling like a rat stuck below the waterline of a sinking ship.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the person murmured back.

“I hope you are at least able to deliver a message about the place and time of the meeting?” The man moved his cold, heavy glance at the interlocutor, and he nodded obsequiously.

“Of course, of course, master, don't you worry!” He barely audibly opened the library door and slipped quietly into the corridor.

“Useless trash,” the man threw after him, screwing up the face. He stood up and walked to the window of his library. The night city lied under his feet, enlighted with thousands of lamps on streets and apartments and cars. “So you are not the useless drunkard as you are considered by everyone,” the man said to himself as if leading a conversation with an invisible interlocutor who caused him troubles. “Luckily you are a simple person with not many needs. You are underestimated by everyone. But what do you wish the most? What would make you give up this girl and leave her for my needs? Money or fame? I’m sure that it is an acknowledgment. It wouldn’t be so hard to replace your old boss with you. I’m sure that this will make you happy and force you to follow my orders.” The man smiled at his semi-transparent reflection in the window filled with the night darkness.