At Your Service

Chapter 28- Insistent

 The sadistic and twisted means of beating the will and strength from Carlisle, to the demon, was not the worst torture. He would heal with no problems from the scratches, bruises, and cuts that the angel inflicted using his favourite device: the barbed whip. The worst torture was feeling the terror, despair, and pain radiating from his master. Ashley was, at least, kind enough to keep him informed and updated on the situation.

"They're preparing him for surgery!" Ashley cracked the whip again, leaving a cut across the demon's cheek and the bridge of his nose. "The old man is holding their hand. It's too bad that isn't you right now." Another crack of the whip, and a gash tore itself into the butler's chest, tearing flesh away. Carlisle struggled as if against chains, but there were none; just the trap. This dragged on for several hours before Ashley spoke again about what was going on in London. "They're taking him to the operation room. The poor dear can't see the ceiling, there's so many big tears." He suddenly stopped and started laughing, doubling over. "HE'S STILL WORRIED ABOUT YOU!" More laughter. Carlisle still writhed against the trap, growling deep in his throat. "My God, he must love you or something! He's more concerned about what's happened to you than himself as he lays on a table!" The demon suddenly felt an awful burning in his arm, as if it were being set on fire. The angel giggled. "They're injecting the anesthesia. His last words are 'holy shit!' Imagine if those are his very last!"

"You vile, corrupted, disgusting, loathsome fucker!" Carlisle sobbed, his face wet with blood, sweat, and many, many tears. He felt so helpless while his master's organs were tearing themselves apart from the inside. He would lose even more of himself, and Carlisle felt it was his fault, and he couldn't even be there to hold his hand through the pain and sorrow.

The pattern of torture, laughter, and crying persisted for another three hours or so. Ashley suddenly stopped and stepped back. Carlisle glared at him and fought, but only for a second when he saw the triumph on the angel's expression. He looked down to see his shredded chest, void of the binding sigil. He suddenly slipped off the wall and crumpled to the floor. He felt a deep burning in his chest, then a coldness, then emptiness, nothing: the souls of the deceased Vandiver parents had just drifted out of the demon's body and were moving on to Heaven. Ashley seemed to feel it. "It's done then." He sighed with content as he grabbed a piece of his robe and wiped the bloody whip off. "What a relief. You can go now, but I'll see you soon!" He enthusiastically smiled and waved as the demon promptly stood and immediately walked out, slamming the door behind him so violently that the walls trembled with fear.

Marjorie, Huko, Finn, and Solomon sat in a row out in the waiting room, staring at whatever they could to keep their minds off of their master. Solomon was flipping absentmindedly through a newspaper. Finn stared at the fish tank in the corner. Marjorie stared at the TV, not paying attention to the jokes on the sitcom show. Huko stared down at his hands and clothes; he'd washed the blood from his hands, but his clothes were stained.

Suddenly, Carlisle jogged in; he was an awful sight to behold for the already traumatized bunch and for the strangers who had no idea who the hell he was. The four immediately stood. The butler's face and exposed chest were criss-crossed with cuts and discoloured by bruises. His skin, hair, and clothes were splattered with his own blood this time. His shirt was entirely undone and torn in several places. His tie hung around his neck like a scarf.

"My God, Carlisle, what on Earth happened to you?!" Huko shrieked. Finn looked ready to throw up again.

"Taking care of business the master sent me on," Carlisle answered, a little winded. He glanced at Marjorie, who stared at his chest, definitely noticing the lack of a sigil on him, but she thought that, perhaps, the mark had been temporary. "I got here as quickly as I could. I am so sorry that-"

Solomon set a hand on the demon's shoulder. Somehow, this instantly calmed the demon. "If you had been there, you would have been able to do nothing." Carlisle stared at the old man, who seemed to know that even he, a demon, could not have healed the witch. He slipped a hand into his inner jacket pocket and produced a sheet of parchment folded in threes with Carlisle's name written on it in the writing of his master, though shaky. "Master Ansel was quite insistent on writing this on the way here and giving it to you under specific circumstances."

The demon took the folded paper carefully in his gloved hands. "Thank you," Carlisle whispered before beginning to walk away.

A nurse rounded the corner, saw the butler and his condition, and stood in front of him to block his exit. "Sir, we need to take a look at all of... this."

Carlisle looked up from the parchment, which he'd been staring at since he'd received it. The nurse saw the sorrow in his eyes and clamped her mouth shut. "Of course. I will return shortly." The nurse stepped aside and let him past. When he rounded the corner, he disappeared.

The demon found himself in a park; he knew not where, as he didn't decide where he was going this time, just anywhere where he could be alone. It was quite chilly this day, and the breeze made it worse. Humans and witches alike were wearing their winter coats, scarves, hats, and mittens. The pond was partially frozen on top. The ground, though void of snow, was frosted and crunched beneath the demon's shoes. Flurries were, however, beginning to float down from the fluffy grey sky. He looked around, saw a bench, and decided to walk towards it before sitting down. Everything was eerily quiet, just the sound of trickling water, birds chirping, and people talking distantly. He stared at the parchment a second longer before carefully unfolding it and beginning to read more shaky script.

Carlisle,

if you're reading this, it means the contract is no longer binding. I'm lying in this car, bleeding out all over Huko and the car seat, and I don't know what to say to you. I hope this is all legible. It's kind of a bumpy ride at the moment. I've never seen Finn drive like this.

I hope you're all right, that Ashley hasn't hurt you and everything is going well. None of this is your fault. You probably think it is at this point, but there is no blame for you to take. You've done better than I ever could've asked. Though I hope you will stay, I know you no longer have reason or obligation to, nothing to tie you here. No matter what you choose, I will think of you with nothing but warm regards and happy memories. I am so thankful for your service and (brief) presence in my life. You have saved my life on several occasions and helped me in ways I cannot express in writing. I have grown to love you when I didn't think it was possible, not in such a short span of time and considering our arrangement. You don't need to feel like you should have to love me if you don't want to or if you can't. It's okay.

This will be awkward if I wake up and you're waiting for me. If you choose to leave, I hope this isn't goodbye. You are always welcome in the Vandiver household.

Yours,

Ansel E. Vandiver