“You’ll be wanting to drink that, dear.”

You blink, your gaze falling to the mug before you. The kiln-dried cup is glazed with reddish brown paint, which makes it difficult to tell if the liquid inside is bloody red or so incredibly crystal clear, it is merely reflecting the vermillion color of its container.

“I wasn’t really asking, doll.” The man before you chuckles behind the hiss of his words, “I don’t like to converse in a boring atmosphere.”

You don’t respond and it seems to irritate him, although the sly smile never falters from his lips. For a moment, you think they might be as red as the mug.

“Either take a sip, or I’m leaving.”

With some hesitance, you reach for the cup. The liquid is ice cold, despite being served in a mug. You wonder if you’d imagined the steam coming from it before.

“There.” He sings the word like a mother satisfied with her child for having eaten its vegetables, “Was that so hard?”

“No.” you mutter, although the tang remains bitter on your tongue. You want to throw up, but think it wise not to let on that you do.

“You’re quite the stiff for someone so viciously ambitious.”

You aren’t entirely sure whether or not to take offense, so you remain silent.

“So,” he sighs, leaning back in his seat, one arm slung over the back rest of the chair, “I would ask what it is you’ve been calling me for, but I think I can figure it out pretty easy.”

“What?” you perked up, “I never called you. Not once.”

“Darling, I’ve been hearing you call for me for months now.”

His curved lips stretch into a dazzlingly white smile. It almost hurts to look at him. You wonder if, were he a more pious being, you would even be able to sit with him like this. Surely, the fall must have tainted him to a point at which he could be seen at all.

The thought wanders through your mind and you panic, wondering if perhaps he is telepathic.
A quick glimpse at his expression, peering, yet unassuming, suggests he isn’t.

“When people want it bad enough,” he crooned, “They call for me without even realizing it.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, come on now, doll. Let’s not pull any bull here, okay?”

You bite your lip, sensing the sharp anger in his words, although not a single inflection alters his tone. He rests his temple on his hand, hanging from the backrest of the chair. His eyes are half closed, the wonderfully pearly shade of his iris catching the dim light of the booth. He shifts his gaze over your figure contemplatively, his mouth hung open just slightly. You wonder if he is in disguise or if he really is so handsome.

A small smile curves his pouting lips and you think twice about telepathy.

“I like you.” He chuckles. His laugh is slightly louder, slightly crueler than normal.  A few eyes glance your way. A woman in the far corner of the tavern seems uneasy. She clenches her hands into fists, hiding them beneath her table. You can make out her lips moving, indecipherable threads of Spanish mumbled beneath her breath.

“Ignore the woman.” His voice is audibly sharp this time.

The woman stutters, her leathery skin almost visibly crawling. She speaks just a little louder, still in Spanish.

Cold fingers cup your chin, your neck whipping towards the man.

“Keep your eyes on me, doll.” He commands in little more than a whisper.

You cannot decide if the feeling of his fingers is thrilling or terrifying. They linger on your skin, still forcing you to face forward. His tone is vicious as he speaks, “You’re nothing special, doll. Don’t think you can waste my time right now.”

You attempt to speak, but find your voice dried up in your throat. His fingers fall from your chin, down your neck, tingling the skin of your collarbones before resting atop your hands, folded before you on the table.

“Let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we?” he speaks as if he hadn’t just torn your insides apart. You try to recall ever having felt so completely loathed.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He hums, his hands taking a hold of your own. You fight the urge to pull back. He rubs soothing circles into your skin. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You wonder why it is that everything he says sounds like the truth.

“We both know I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t something special, don’t we?” he smiles, “I wouldn’t waste my time coming down here personally for just anyone.”

You don’t respond, and his lip twitches down for a second of a second.

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“No.” you shake your head fervently.

“It’s ok.” The smile returns, “I’ve gotten that plenty of times. It’s a bad image isn’t it? The fallen angel spiel.”

You hesitate. “I-is it not true?”

He scoffs, “I didn’t say that.”

“Then it is?”

“Things are often blown out of proportion, doll.” He sighs, “I make deals. That’s all.”

You glance down at your hands, still held within his own. His skin is fiercely pale and you wonder why he did not give himself a tan, considering the location he’d chosen to rendezvous. You wonder if perhaps he even cares about such petty things. A glance at his features, though, proves he must.

His hair is blacker than coal, swept aside with more flair than the natural wind could ever give him. His pearly eyes catch your gaze. You look away, embarrassed. He chuckles again.

“There’ve been plenty before you, doll. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. You must’ve heard of them. All talented, like you. All ambitious- maybe not quite as much, but close. Just enough, either way, to call for me.”

You feel your skin growing cold. Your throat hurts, almost as if to remind you of your disability. You only just begin to notice the Spanish ballad playing through the speakers of the tavern. The man’s voice commands at least two octaves with ease, blending in with the melody as if he were born singing.

“All of them were geniuses. Like you.” He continued, holding out your hand. He observes the shapes of your fingers, resting upon his palm. “I didn’t help them cheat. I didn’t even help them take the easy way out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

By now you’re quite certain he is telepathic. The man glances up for an instant, a smirk curving his lips.

“I offered them a little push. That’s all. Just enough. And they said what they wanted to say,  did what they wanted to do. I didn’t even force them away. Whenever they were ready, I came to collect, that’s all. Never hurt a soul, I did.”

“T-then why…” you struggle to form a more polite way of asking the question, “Why do people still think-“

“I can’t change the way your world works, doll.” He sighs, “They may not like me, or my way of doing things, but that doesn’t make it wrong, now, does it? I mean, they don’t like you either, do they?”

“They would-“

“But not right now, correct?”

You close your mouth. He smiles.

“Let me help you. No one else will, right?” he glances at the wall, decorated with a wooden crucifix. For a moment, he appears angry. “A certain someone hasn’t been responding to your prayers, right?”

“How do you know?”

He smiles. “You see? And here I am, before you even thought to call for me- By name, at least.”

You don’t respond. He leans forward on his elbows. “It isn’t a fair life you’ve been given, is it, doll?”

You shake your head, as if to protest, but he takes it as an agreement.

“How could it be? You never asked for this. All that talent, all that potential, taken away like that-“ he snaps his fingers, ”Put on this rock with no purpose at all, and the one thing you find meaning in, He takes away, isn’t that right? And when you ask for help, does anyone hear you? Hm?”

You don’t want to agree, but presently, you find it difficult to object. He knows it. His lips are steady, unsmiling to demonstrate sympathy, yet his eyes glisten with mirth.

“I can make you what you want to be, doll.”

The words sounds sweeter than honey. You can almost taste the sugar on your tongue.

“I won’t lie to you. It will be a short life. Not because I’ll steal it away, of course.” He smirks, “You’ll find, with me at your side, the things that make life worthwhile will quickly be exhausted.”

“But I want to-“

“Don’t think of it badly, doll. Most of those things, you’ll never even taste otherwise.”

You appear to hesitate and he adds in, “Isn’t it better to live full and fast then to risk never living at all?”

Something in the smoothness of his voice affects you. His words seem to resonate on another level this time. Your throat aches. You can feel the pain in the vocal chords. The old woman in the booth behind him is now gone.

“I’ll be with the rest of them? The ones you talked about before?”

“You’ll be an ideal for centuries to come.”

“And I’ll get my time to enjoy it?”

“I won’t lay a hand on that beautiful mind of yours until you’re satisfied.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Darling, I may not be the best of them, but I was still one of the greatest beings alive once.”

“But you fell.”

“When you trip and fall, do you lose any strength in your body?”

You shake your head.

“That’s all it is, doll. Just a scraped knee.”

You bite your lip, staring at the mug you’d pushed off to the side earlier.

“Do I have to sign somewhere?”

He smiles at this, scooting his chair closer. He leans forward, just inches apart.

“A kiss should suffice.”

You want to pull away, but his lips are on yours before you can speak. The sensation of his lips is like the red color of their flesh. Similar to his fingers, it sends a thrill through your skin. You feel your heart stop for a moment. His tongue slips out to taste your flesh. You feel something pull at your insides. He pulls away.

“Just to mark that lovely little soul of yours.”

“Is it done then?” you breathe, still dazed. He stands up.

“I’ll be checking on you now and again, doll.”

“What about your part of the bargain?” you move to get up, “My voice- My throat-“

“It’s been done since you sipped that drink, darling.” He smiles.

Before you can respond, he is out the door. You glance at the cup, the drink steaming once again, colored a deep mocha. It’s coffee.

You wait a moment, allowing the man make his distance, although you’re fairly certain he would have been gone the instant he left the tavern. Leisurely, you drink your coffee. Once the red glaze at the bottom of the mug is visible, you pay your check, and exit the building.

The South American sun is bright overhead. The pulsing heat cast an orangish tone over the stucco architecture of the small main street of the city. The smell of the ocean lingers in the air and you feel a slight tug in your mind. You assume it is the mark the man mentioned earlier. Your throat is beginning to feel soothed.

“Diablo! El diablo!”

Leathery hands tug at your arm, a pair of desperate, aging eyes stare up at you in terror. You recognize the old woman, a rosary clutched in her right hand, your arm clutched in the other. She speaks quickly in a mix of Spanish and something else. Your arm begins to ache.

“Ma’am, please-“

The words hardly leave your mouth before she retracts her hand in shock. Her eyes are wide as discs, her thin lips trembling in fear. A man sprints from around the corner, dragging her away. He apologizes hastily, leaving you alone on the street.

Instinct urges you to glance in the window of the nearby shop. You appear normal, all things considered. The woman’s words linger in your mind and, for a moment guilt swims in your stomach. A small tug in your mind, however, draws you out of contemplation. You think of the greats before you, of the sacrifices they had made. Normal people wouldn’t understand that need, you tell yourself. The need to excel beyond your capability for the sake of your passion. The need to make a name for yourself, not for the fame, but for the purpose. The need to sacrifice everything you can to achieve that name.

The man said you were one of the special ones. That you would be remembered for centuries to come.

You wonder why it is that everything he says sounds like the truth.

The tug in your mind feels deeper than before. You wonder what the value of a soul can be.