Devil's Night

October, 30 1999: Devil's Night.

Devil's Night in Detroit was a violent and dangerous night. As part of morbid, nightmarish tradition, hundreds of fires were lit each year. Thousands of dollars were lost in the rash of fires, many of which were started by upstart punks trying to prove their mettle by keeping up the tradition. Other blazes were lit by those that had been doing it since the years when they were the upstart punks. Also were the those who just used the night of reckless ruthlessness to further their own otherwise irrelevant ends. And of course, the now and then insurance scam disguised as arson. Regardless, the inferno that the city would become on that night was like a scene from hell written by Dante himself. On this particular Devil's Night, even he would have little interest in doing so.

At the dark end of an alleyway, Luther uncurled himself from a fetal position. Slowly, he straightened his back, all the time gazing at his shaking, worn hands. The smell of garbage was rank all about him. Awkwardly, he stood up out of the trash. Filthy remains scattered as he kicked his feet.

This was not what he had expected from his father. When he had sent him here, to Detroit, Luther had owned a slick, handsome appearance. His long, dark, hair had been kept neatly behind him and his dark eyes had sparkled with an uncommon brilliance. Most prominently, he had been known back home for his incorrigible devilish smile. Now his dark hair was a mess, tangled and falling in a face covered with dirt; and he smelled badly. Yet even in that condition, Luther's eyes still sparkled and the smile was still there. Pushing the hair aside, he could feel the smile stil there.

Luther was also dressed quite different than the style of which he had become accustomed. Back then, hehad dressed in bright white suits even under the heat of home. Now he wore tattered, dark rags. It was as if he had worn the same outfit for the last five years.

Luther swore softly to himself, holding his arms out to examine the holes in his sleeves. Similarly, he poked at his jacket, putting his fingers through the holes in it. The smell was disgusting. Any normal person would choke if exposed to such a horrid smell. He couldn't do anything about it, though. This was how things were meant to be.

"Hey!" a rough voice called out from behind him. "What did ya do ta my house! My house!" an old man whined.

"Where is your house?" Luther asked in a low, rumbling voice. His voice held in it clarity and a mastery of English that was readily apparent when contrasted to the other man’s broken vernacular.

"Right behind ya," he said dejectedly.

Luther turned to see a crushed cardboard box amidst the garbage. Luther turned and stared oddly at the old man. "House? This thing? You lived there?"

"Yes!" the old man moaned.

"Of course you did," Luther mused. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought for the moment. Finally he looked up at the man and said, "Well then, no house. So join me."

"Hunh?" A solitary eyebrow crept upward.

"Join me," Luther repeated.

"Doin' what?" the man asked suspiciously.

"Corrupting souls," Luther said.

The old man blinked.

"Help me corrupt the hordes of Godly men here on earth!"

"I don't get it," the man said.

"I am the Antichrist, fool! Lucifer's only son."

"Yeah, okay," the old man said, nodding, and seemingly understanding, yet still less than reverent. "We've had guys like youse down here before."

"You have?" Luther asked confusedly.

"Sure, guys that think they're Jesus or—"

"No!" Luther said. "I am not Jesus! I am Luther, the Son of Lucifer."

"Right," the homeless man said slowly.

Luther sighed and reached into his torn coat. "Join me and I will prove that I am who I say." Out of his jacket, he handed the old man a fat roll of hundred-dollar bills.

The man's eyes widened. Greedily, he pounced on the money. After a quick glimpse of it up close, he pocketed it. "I'm yours," he said.

"That's one." Luther smiled, his eyes twinkling even in the dark alley. "What is your name?"

"Thomas. Nice ta meet ya," he said, wiping his hand on his pants and then shaking Luther's hand. Luther's grip was unusually warm. It was very strong, too. "Sure are a healthy fella," he commented.

Luther glared at him. His stare bore into Thomas. Before such a gaze, Thomas felt completely naked. "Whoa," he said, looking away, "cut that out."

"Watch this," Luther said. He walked out of the dark alleyway, looking up and down the sidewalk. Coming his way was a middle-aged businessman. He was dressed in a navy blue suit and carried a leather briefcase. No doubt, Thomas thought looking over Luther's shoulder, that he was headed towards his fancy BMW.

"Excuse me," Luther said to the oncoming man.

"No man," the businessman said, lighting up a cigarette, "I don't have any money."

"What?"

"I said 'no!'" the man snapped, clearly perturbed.

As he walked by, Luther grabbed his arm. "Do not mock me," he warned.

The man looked at Luther oddly and coughed. "Let go of me," he said calmly.

Luther closed his eyes and concentrated.

Increasingly, the man felt an odd, burning sensation where Luther touched him. He tried to shake him off, but Luther would not relent.

"Hey!"

Luther ignored the man.

Slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face. He let the man go as he opened his eyes. "You have lied to become successful, haven't you?"

"What?"

"You have stolen and cheated also, haven't you?"

The man looked around confusedly, and coughed again, "Who are you?"

"I am The Antichrist."

"Who?" the man asked.

"The Son of Satan."

"Satan who?"

Luther's eyes glared red and his voice became unearthly, "The Son of the Devil, fool!"

The businessman's eyes widened, but was no more impressed. "Nice trick, but I'm still not giving you any money. Fucking weirdos," he muttered as he walked away.

Luther just stood on the sidewalk, his mouth gaping open.

"I told you," Thomas said, gesturing to the man in the suit, still coughing.

"I will teach him," Luther said.

Before the businessman had gotten much further, he began coughing harder. He stopped walking and clutched his chest. Leaning against the building on his left, he stabilized himself. Then the coughing stopped. Both men watched as the businessman fell to the ground and didn't get up.

Luther smiled a wicked smile. "I will be seeing him again."

Thomas shook his head. "Poor fool had a heart attack."

"What?"

"Or maybe lung cancer, he sounded he smoked a lot. I hear that smoking can kill you."

Luther was becoming exasperated. "I did it!" he said, waving his arms.

"Yeah whatever, Luther."

Lost in thought of how to prove himself, and indeed wondering why he needed to prove himself, Luther failed to notice Thomas's new companion. When he turned around, he saw standing next to Thomas what once was probably an attractive woman.

She was plastered in make-up and dressed up in an over-glamorized outfit. She was chewing gum like a cow and making chatter with Thomas while playing with her hair.

"Thomas," Luther called, "leave the woman and let us go."

"Not, now," he hissed.

When Luther forcibly pulled him away from the woman, Thomas turned and took hold of Luther by his shoulders. "Luther!" he said. "This woman is a hooker! Just give me ten, fifteen minutes! It's been so long!" he whined.

Luther's eyes lit up. "A hooker!" he whispered.

"Yeah," Thomas said. "You ain't from Detroit are you?"

"No, but I do know what you are talking about. I definitely think that you should make some time for the woman."

"Thanks," Thomas said, a bright gleam to his face.

Before the ‘couple’ could leave, Luther hauled aside the woman. Producing ten crisp, new one-hundred dollar bills and giving them to her, he said, "Make sure you give him a very good time."

The woman smiled a big smile and replied sincerely, "The best time of his life, honey."

"Then go, my child," he said, receiving an odd glare from the woman. "They always were my favorite," he said with a naughty grin, brushing off his shoulders.

Less than five mintues later, Thomas returned. "Well done," Luther said.

Thomas shrugged modestly, "I thought so," he replied with a smile. "God, it was great!"

"Aaarrgh!" Luther said, "Don't say that!"

"Why not? It was."

Luther shook his head. His only disciple was an idiot.

He turned again towards the street. His arrival on earth had thus far been very slow going. Of course, Jesus took thirty years to get going . . . Still though, he wasn't Jesus. He needed to do something grand. Luther snapped his fingers. One single fraction of a second ago, Luther had been wearing tattered rags. The next, he was decked out in a beautiful three-piece white suit; complete with white shoes and a white tie. Even his hair was fixed, slicked behind his head neatly. Surely this doubting Tom would believe in who he was now.

"Thomas," he began, but never finished.

"Hey," Thomas said, "nice duds. Sorry I didn't notice them right away." He fingered the money in his coat. "Where'd you buy such nice clothes?"

Luther let the air out of his lungs, deciding not to waste them on the words he had planned to say. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the street. A car was approaching, its headlights shining out towards Luther and Thomas.

"Now you shall see my power," Luther told Thomas, his eyebrows raised.

Thomas was chewing on an old hamburger that had been stored in his jacket pocket. "Sure, Satan."

Luther ignored him. Reaching out with his hand and his unholy power, he stopped the car as it sped by him. He walked over to the suddenly stopped car. Not bothering to open the door, he mystically slid through the door as if it did not even exist, or as if the molecular make-up of his body had suddenly became completely and wholly intangible.

Silently, he crept into the back seat of the car.

"What the hell are you doing, Bob?"

"I didn't do anything, Margaret!"

"Then why did the car stop?"

"I don't know!"

"Are you fucking crazy? You could get us killed driving like this. Godammit!"

"That's it," Luther whispered, his eyes glowing ever so slightly.

"Why don't you shut up? I can't think with you bitching all the time!"

"Bitching?"

"Yeah!"

"Just drive!"

Bob pushed his foot down on the accelerator petal, but nothing happened. "What?" he asked himself.

"The car's not moving!"

"I know! My foot's on the pedal!" To make sure no other cars were coming, Bob looked in his rear view mirror. Much to his surprise, a very scary looking individual with glowing red eyes was what he saw. "Jesus!" he swore, literally jumping out of his seat.

"Wrong!" Luther cried. "I am the Son of Satan."

"Jesus," Bob breathed. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Luther,” he snalred. But then shook his head. “Otherwise, exactly right."

"What?"

"You do not go to Church every weekend do you?" Luther said, gazing into the man.

"Not every—"

"Who are you?"

"Luther, Son of Satan," he replied with glowing eyes.

"Halloween's not 'till tomorrow, you sick fuck! Get out of the car!"

"I will not be mocked!" Luther said with a guttural rage that forced them both to shiver.

"Whatever," Bob said, "we've got to get going now. We're late—"

He never finished his sentence. Instantaneously, the car burst into flames. As the supernatural heat hit the gas tank, the car exploded, spiraling up into the air and dropping again. Bob and Margaret died within the first few seconds.

Luther walked out of the burning wreck unscathed. Flames licked around him as he menacingly exited the once cohesive structure. An unholy smile reigned his expression. The Son of Satan felt good. Maybe unadulterated mayhem suited him better than subtle seduction.

"Jesus!" You better watch out! Someone firebombed that car!" Thomas called, looking up from his hamburger.

"Stop saying that!" Luther said, perturbed.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"Jesus!"

"Oh right, you're his enemy," Thomas said rolling his eyes.

"Didn't you see that? I stopped the car, walked right through the side, and then blew it up!"

"I saw the fella slam on his breaks. Then I took a bite out of this here hamburger," he held it up for Luther to see—Luther sneered at the vile piece of meat. "Then," he continued, "I sees you in the car talkin' ta those folks. Then I eats another bite and the car blows up. I fell to the ground and covered my face. Then I took another bite. Then I see you walkin' away from the wreck. So what?"

Luther gritted his teeth in frustration. What did he have to do to prove he was who he said he was? He—who was that? Two men were rapidly approaching him.

"Oh, oh," Thomas said.

"What?" Luther asked.

"Police."

The two police officers stopped five yards from the pair. "Don't move!" one said as both drew their revolvers.

"We know you set fire to that car!" the other said.

"Yeah, we saw you walk away from it after it lit up," the first one added.

Luther winked at Thomas. "I didn't bomb that car," he said calmly.

The one officer dropped his gun to his side and holstered it. "He didn't bomb that car," he said.

"Leave us alone," Luther said.

"Let's leave them alone," the other officer said, also holstering his gun.

As quick as they had arrived, the two officers left.

Luther turned triumphantly to Thomas and clapped. "Ha! There you go."

"What?"

"What to you mean what?" Luther asked dumbfounded. "I dominated their minds and bound them to my will!"

"Right. They knew that they had no proof on you, and let you go. The courts are overburdened enough as it is."

"Aaarrgh!"

"What an odd night," Thomas said.

In the distance, fires raged and sirens howled. Luther could feel that this was a good—or rather bad—night. Or at least so it seemed. This disciple of his was definitely putting a damper on things. Luther began to walk down the street, an aura of power emanating from him. Few people were on the streets. The few that were out dared not enter his path. Indifferent as ever, Thomas followed. He seemed to still be suitably satisfied from his earlier encounter. Besides, he had found an old hamburger in his pocket. That was always cause for celebration.

As Luther walked down the street, windows on the three and four-story buildings shattered, exploded by mystical means. Cars ignited and first-level doors blew out, accompanied by flames. Fearing for their safety, hordes of people swarmed out of the buildings, those that survived that is. None among them neared Luther or Thomas, though. They couldn't quite say why, they just knew that they should avoid the pair—or more accurately, the man in white.

Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, Luther found himself pulled into another dark alleyway. Before he could move from his prone position on the ground, a shadow darted towards him and held out a shiny knife. "Give me your money or die!" the man said.

"You want to steal my money?" Luther asked gleefully.

"Yeah, hurry up!"

"Watch out," Thomas said, rounding the corner, "he's the Devil's son."

"Yeah right," the thief said, keeping an eye on the both of them.

"If I don't, you'll kill me?" Luther asked with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Yeah!" the thief exclaimed. "I don't care if I take money out of your living hand or off of your corpse."

"Kill me," Luther said.

Thomas' eyes went wide.

"Fuck!" the thief swore. With a grunt of exertion, he drove the knife into Luther's heart. Thomas couldn't watch.

No blood came out of the wound. In fact, Luther didn't even flinch. "Well at least you tried," he said grimly. Once again summoning his demonic powers, he flung the man out of the alleyway and into the street. The thief, barely conscious, struggled to his feet only to be struck by a fast-moving car.

"Luther!" Thomas exclaimed. "You're still alive!"

"He sold his soul for money which he was never due to receive. Quite a pity."

"You probably killed him, hunh?"

"Yes, well—"

Thomas turned around and saw the man lying in the road in front of the car. The driver was out examining the now dead thief. Desperately he called for help, but none was coming. The people in the street had their own problems, as did the police and the fire department. The night was fraught with problems, and this was only one of many.

"Right. You killed him," Thomas said, his eyes lifted. "Or he was hit by a car. One of the two."

Maybe he was being too hasty, Luther thought. Jesus did take thirty years. But unfortunately, he had only two months before the covenant was done with. At the turn of the last century, Lucifer had told God that if people suffered enough, they would shun him. He claimed that the flock would only stay by his side if it was convenient. God disagreed. The Father then allowed Satan a century—which was nothing to the two immortals—to prove his theory. Now only two months of Hellish reign over the world remained. It had been a good century: two world wars, several hundred smaller wars, famines, pestilence, civil strife, an increase in violent crimes: all things that countered the holy word of God. The only problem was that the people, for the most part, were still faithful. Luther needed to deliver the coup de grace, and lure the flock away from the shepherd. Right now, Luther was struggling with the how part of the equation. His father's lack of foresight was costing him. He didn't have enough time. Two months just wasn't enough.

"You're a real nut case, Luther."

Thomas kept talking, but Luther didn't feel like listening. He didn't feel like doing much, for that matter.

"Luther, yoo-hoo!" Thomas insisted on waving his hand in Luther's face to get his attention.

It was about time Thomas learned some respect. Luther waved his hand in Thomas' face, and the man stopped talking. A confused expression came over Thomas' face as he realized that he couldn't talk. His hands tore at his mouth, trying to do something, but to no avail.

Luther snapped his hands and Thomas could speak. Instantly, though, Thomas' hands flew out in the air. He could talk fine, but, he was now blind. "I can't see!" Thomas said, scared. Panicking, he searched for something solid to lean on.

"Now you will treat me with respect."

"Okay, fine, you're the Son of Satan!"

"If you in believe me, you will follow me blindly for the rest of your life."

"Can I have nice clothes and more hookers?"

"I will buy you a complete wardrobe and gather for you a cadre of women ready to please your every desire."

"All right!" the now-blind man said excitedly.

Luther looked about. He'd have to gather his army quickly. Time was against him. "Let's go blow up a Church."

"Sure," Thomas said, shrugging. “But what about those women?”

Luther smiled.