Devilish Detective ✅

I Am Not Nice. I Am The Devil

Chapter Eleven: I Am Not Nice. I Am The Devil

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For a moment, I just stand, rooted to the spot as I gape at the golden haired boy, words refusing to exit my mouth. In return, he watches me, head inclined to the side and violet eyes scrutinizing me.

He eventually seems to get tired of the staring match because he smiles smugly at me before stepping into the house, leaving me unsure as to whether or not I should follow after him.

"Well, come on in already, or are you waiting for me to tip you?"

Still in a daze, I walk into the spacious house, box of cookies and croissant in hand, gasping at the lack of colour in the place.

It's all white, it's making my eyes hurt.

What stands out the most is the white grand piano in the centre of the living room. Atop the closed piano is a grey guitar case that makes me smile as I imagine Sam playing the instruments or singing.

The white walls are covered with lots and lots of picture frames of exquisite paintings that I don't recognize but can tell they are very expensive.

He stares at me from the white U-shaped couch that goes around the piano and I shake my head at him.

"Where do I drop this?" I ask him and he gets off the couch and walks towards me, taking the boxes from my hands and leading me to the dining table which is also white. Surprisingly though, it is covered with a light blue cloth.

"What is it with you and white? I'm getting nauseous by just standing in this house. It needs a little colour; don't you think?"

He shrugs at my question, picking up a remote from the table and pressing a button on it. Immediately, the house is bathed in a sea blue light, making the house have an underwater vibe and I smile, glad to have somewhat gotten rid of all the white.

"I like bright colours," he explains. "I'm the light bringer, of course I like bright colours. However, humans seem to be of the opinion that I like black and red. How amusing." He shakes his head as though he cannot stand the idiocy of man and I nod, not knowing what else to do.

"So," he starts, pulling back a chair and sitting, gesturing for me to do same. "I asked my bud at the police station for the forensic report and all that boring stuff. He said they didn't dust for fingerprints or anything of the sort as the room clearly showed no signs of forced entry, struggle or that anyone was there except Benjamin."

With furrowed brows, I listen to him, watching as he opens the box of cookies and throws one into his mouth, not seeming that satisfied at the taste, but he doesn't complain about it, so I say nothing.

"Hmm... Yes, and the autopsy result shows he overdosed on his mother's sleeping pills which was also found in the crime scene. Everything checks out, no foul play whatsoever. When I asked, he agreed to check for fingerprints on the bottle, he agreed, but said it'll take a couple of days."

"This is going to take forever!" I groan, rubbing my face with my palms. "Are you a hundred percent certain that he was indeed murdered and didn't just get tired of his vain life?" I ask and Sam stares at me, brows raised in disbelief as he toys with a piece of cookie.

"You're asking me, the Devil, if I am sure as to whether or not a crime occurred? Of course I am. The malicious stench could be smelt from miles away, I tell you."

"Well, isn't there an easy way to get answers? Like, ask his Guardian Angel or something. They are supposed to be around us all the time, aren't they?" I ask and Sam snarls at me, shaking his head.