the sweetly scented killer

royce

seth

I'm ready to do this. I'm ready to welcome who is going to be one of our most dangerous inhabitants to hell.

I sigh heavily before taking that last sip of bourbon, then head straight to where I'm supposed to be.

I walk steadily, the impact of my shoes on the tile floor echoing powerfully through the hallway. I stare at the double doors, daring and ready. My hands clench and my chin raises, and I clear my throat of any doubt. Then, I hesitate.

Why? I don't know. I'm not nervous. I'm not unprepared. I just...don't want to see his face. I don't want to look at that human and know that he's the one who committed those crimes.

I close my eyes and clench my jaw, making my hands into fists, then releasing, then balling them up again.

I wish Flora were here. She would say something dumb and inspirational, then kiss me for reassurance. But I don't just want a kiss, I want...a hug. Not just any hug. One from her. I want her to hug me and stroke my hair and tell me it'll be alright.

A scoff escapes my lips. When did I turn into such a fucking baby?

I open the door.

I thought it wouldn't be as bad since I had already seen his photo. But no. It's worse. Why would I think it would be better?

Little seven year old Royce Bonavich.

Sitting with his hands in his lap, his brows slightly furrowed like my own. Then he looks at me blankly while I walk to the front of the room.

I lean on the dresser and cross my arms over my chest.

We don't break eye contact. The only sound in the room is the clicking of the clock on the wall.

"Hi," he waves at me.

"Hello," I respond.

He walks over to stand next to me and rests his eyes on the paintings hanging on the wall behind me.

I keep my arms crossed and look down at him.

He looks like a normal little boy. His white shirt is sporting the Los Angeles Dodgers in blue lettering. He's wearing khaki cargo shorts and gym shoes. A small bandage on one knee. His light brown hair is controlled as much as is expected of an elementary schooler.

I stand parallel to him and look at this macabre panting. A man lying on a table is restrained by chains, and two demons laugh in pleasure at the visibility of his bone after breaking his leg.

"Am I in hell?" The space feels empty after this blunt question.

"Yeah."

"Mama always told me I was coming here." I don't answer--what is there to say? The little kid's attention doesn't leave the elaborate art on the wall. "Are they going to do that to me?" His question takes a second to dissolve in the air.

"Maybe." Royce looks up at me, so I look down at him.

"Are you going to do that to me?"

"No," I shake my head, looking at the panting again. "I'm just here to...take you where you need to go. I won't hurt you."

His large brown eyes place trust upon me. "Promise?"

I nod. "I promise."

"What's your name?" he turns toward me.

"Seth."

"I'm Royce." I nod again.

"I know," I say quietly.