The red “hair” wasn’t so much a biological memory, as it was in remembrance of the red hood that he had dawned, all those human years ago, when first he agreed to serve Beelzebub.
Beelzebub, that fat, lazy, stupid old demon. He had thought that he’d beat the man with the red hair, but he had thought oh so very wrong. True, the man had been young enough to believe that Satan would actually deliver on his end of the bargain – that being providing him with eternal life – but he wasn’t so naive as to think that there wouldn’t be a screw at least somewhere in the mix. The screw in this case was that eternal life only came after death. A bit of a pisser, but for the man with the red hair, more of a barrier than a obstacle.
No, not the kind of eternal life he had imagined at all, this death. But he was above Satan. Hell, he was above God even. And Satan had provided him with a very long life. A long life he spent in study. A long life that he had spent plotting. A life, long enough for him to discover that there could actually be a second type of eternal life. One that even that moron of a devil didn’t recognize. He lived his long life maliciously, and his eventual death – brought about by slowly burning in that old wooden chair – didn’t surprise him a bit. Hell, by the time it occurred, it almost seemed like part of the plan. Not Satan’s, but his. As a result of his studies, he knew that Satan was not yet seated upon his “throne.” No, that wouldn’t occur until the end of days, and the man with the red hair planned on being in his new kingdom – the kingdom of his making – well before that took place. He would never need to deliver on his end of the half-witted bargain. He would never need to do any bidding whatsoever for that piece of shit devil. He would never be imprisoned like all the rest. He was almost there. Almost free. All he needed now was Clive. As through him, the man with the red hair could finally speak his new existence into reality. He would once and for all become alive. Real. For his was the kingdom. And the power. And the glory.
The stage was set. He could feel it. Much like the mighty oak, insistently chiseled in a specific place, he was certain that Clive would fall in exactly the direction he needed him to. And he was certain that Douglas would be similarly positioned as well, becoming crushed in the process. That was always their way, wasn’t it? Dying for their friends in an effort to save them. A salvation that wouldn’t come, not this time. The man with the red hair didn’t need Douglas to die in order for his plan to come alive, but he did relish in the anticipation of watching it occur. This Tia however, was new to the mix. Unanticipated. And unanticipated was not good. It gave the man pause. What was her game? How did she fit in? She didn’t feel like the others. No, in her was something that was, well, different. In her was something that unnerved the man with the red hair. He had been watching closely over the weeks as she became closer and closer with Clive. She was friendly with Douglas as well, but in Clive she had a special bond. She had almost given him something to believe in. A scenario that would be worse yet, should Clive ever figure out that that “something” was himself. This made the man with the red hair nervous. And he was not prone to being so. He had worked far too hard at creating Clive, and he would be damned – quite literally so – if this didn’t work.
He seethed. His plan had to work. It simply had too. Remembering that there was nothing anymore for him to slam his fist against – nor, in fact an actual fist for him to slam it with in the first – he instead twirled in his rage. Spinning in ever expanding circles to release his anger. An anger that seemed to have no end. An anger that seemed to only grow the more it was dispelled. The man with the red hair remembered that sloppy devil mentioning something to him at some point, something about an “abundance” that he would be blessed with. Sadly, he had been young. And not paying very close attention. After he had heard what he wanted, he naturally assumed that the abundance spoke of was a life eternal. Perhaps now, he realized, it was something else…
None the matter. Plans were in place. Clive was ripe for the taking. Or at least would be soon. Very soon. The man with the red hair decided it might be time to “drop in” and see how far along he was. Clive’s father had proven to be a false hope for the most part, a reminder that if you wanted something done right, you needed to do it yourself. The man with the red hair would not make the same mistake. He would not let emotions get in the way. He would go to Clive, disconnect him from this Tia bitch, and tighten the screws even further. The prize was his, his to take. The Mercy seat was once again burning. But this time, burning for him, and he’d be godammend if he didn’t take it. For his was the kingdom. And the power. And the glory. Forever, and ever, amen.
© t – 2o12