Sweet Little Girl

Two weeks ago...

Ironic. That's exactly what Mathilde thought of their current predicament--she never understood him or his motives even after standing by him for so long.

Mathilde glanced to her side, there he was sitting, the blue light of his phone illuminated on his face. A silence for the whole ride... she tore her gaze off of him and peered out the window instead. What did dear Mathilde do to wind up here? On earth? She sighed, leaning back against the chair.

His words were always as cold as his striking glare; those beautiful crimson eyes that always captivated her whenever she looked into them.

Mathilde recalled what he said during their initial encounter, how he didn't care if it was important, how he'd appreciate it if she just left him alone; however she was persistent, until finally Angel gave in and told her she was only allowed to stay because she was his muse, and eventually... His bride.

She wouldn't call her marriage happy or sad either. Neither understood what drove them to this, it couldn't have been love, given his heritage and inability to feel sympathy for anyone but himself. It could have simply been out of lust.

But alas, much to his dismay, she'll never give in. A loveless marriage it was, although both still stayed, it didn't matter anyway. They were bound for life.

During their time here, Angel eventually grew to love art; painting, drawing, sketching and whatnot, so much so that he eventually became an artist himself. A perfectionist. Funnily enough, this sick obsession of creating the perfect piece of art lead him to this job.

An occupation that didn't have anything to do with art.

The cab finally came to a stop at the large, black, elaborately decorated iron gate; strangely, the driver was hesitant on accepting the payment for their fare, but then accepted anyway and hurriedly left soon after.

"What's wrong with him?" Mathilde spoke, matching Angel's pace as he walked towards the gate.

"There are superstitions about this house." Angel said, eyes straight ahead, the rain poured lightly over the couple. "The master in particular, also our client, Mr. Fritz Hayden is a devout religious man."

"He called you?" she perked up, rainwater dripped down the tip of her nose.

"The church that I used to work at did." Angel explained further. "Funny, they referred to me as one of the best exorcists." he grinned.

Oh the irony... it is strange indeed how he, himself worked for what man would refer to as a house of their god. A sacred, holy place of the angels.

This man that Angel mentioned earlier must've been incredibly wealthy considering the mind-boggling size of the estate. The gate alone was about five times as tall as her. Angel reached forward and pressed on the doorbell, the tune of Beethoven's ninth symphony began to play. Nothing else happened a moment after that, until they heard the gentle whirr of the camera.

Angel and Mathilde stepped back a bit to make sure they were in the shot; in that instant the gate made a loud clunking sound, swinging open a fraction.

Hand in hand, they stepped through, the gate closing behind them as they proceeded and began walking along the wide driveway. On either sides were the vast lawn that smelled of fresh cut grass and morning dew.

There was one large fountain with a nude angel statue in the center, pouring water into it with a pot in its hands. Mathilde began to shiver, puddles forming underneath her as her clothes got drenched in the rain that now poured more heavily. Unfortunately, neither of them thought of bringing an umbrella.

Angel yanked her up the steps to the huge double doors of the house, he reached out for the handle and banged it twice. A moment passed before there was a click and it opened slightly, an eye they could see taking a peek through the tiny gap.

The doors opened, and before them stood what Mathilde assumed to be the owner of the whole estate--Mr. Hayden.

A small, stout man whose greying hair and beard indicated wisdom, yet his jade eyes sparkled with youth. "Welcome." he said, moving to the side, beckoning them to come in. Angel accepted, politely nodding at him and returning a "Thank you, Mr. Hayden." with Mathilde following behind.

The house was so large that staring at the ceiling made Mathilde dizzy. She followed Angel who in turn was led by Mr. Hayden down the corridors lined with wooden panels that reached halfway up. She had to run to keep up with the both of them, as she had stopped a few times to admire the paintings and decor.

Eventually they came to a stop at the sitting room.

One large fireplace, and a huge, long couch where the two took a seat as Mr. Hayden sat on the smaller couch across from them.

A tall man in a suit entered, bringing in a tray of tea and crumpets, placing them on the coffee table; he looked rather disgusted and surprised seeing the trail of wet footprints and raindrops that their guests brought in with them.

Mr. Hayden then ordered the man to fetch him two towels for their guests. Angel gave a dismissive wave and a 'no thank you' before getting straight to the point with him. "You called, I came to help." he said, not taking his eyes off the man. "Now who exactly is in need of my help?"

"Not one for idle chat, I see." He said, taking his cup of tea, his gaze set from Angel to Mathilde. "Your wife? Girlfriend?"

Angel straightened himself in his seat. "The job?"

Mr. Hayden pursed his lips. "Alright then. You see, Mr. Devereux, My daughter... she's--"

He wasn't able to finish when in came a loud banging and a thud, followed by a shriek that was seemingly coming from upstairs. Mr. Hayden got up from his seat, his brows furrowed. Both Angel and Mathilde got up as well, following him up the stairs.

Another chain of noise chimed in, ear-piercing screeches and clamorous picking at something they weren't sure of, Mathilde tensed and glanced at Angel who remained calm as ever as if nothing too serious was going on.

Mr. Hayden stopped at a white door, finely painted with patterns of purple flowers and locked to quite an extent; two large barrel bolts and a plank of wood nailed on it. "She's in here, I and my servants have tried to restrain her, at first I thought it was a medical condition--" a pause when another loud crashing reverberated from inside. He continued, "--then it got worse, and worse, eventually it got so out of hand, I just couldn't believe it... I've denied it several times, prayed and even spoke to priests but they, too were powerless against the demons that have taken over my daughter! Then a friend of mine told me about you and your miraculous healing."

Mathilde could sense that Angel was slightly uneased as the man continued. "I was skeptical, but it was worth trying... Just please do whatever you can to save Frieda!"

Without another word, Angel turned to the door. The two butlers who had just came in began taking down the plank of wood and barrel bolts, taking the key from Mr. Hayden to unlock the door.

As Angel took a step forward, Hayden grabbed him by the arm. "But..."

His face was dark. "No one must ever know about this... please."

Angel looked him in the eye, and said reassuringly. "Not a soul will know of this."

When Mr. Hayden was sure that Angel was to be trusted he let go and Angel stepped into the room, the doors closed behind him. The first thing he took notice of were the numerous objects floating in mid air, chairs, stuffed animals, pillows and cushions; some were so high, they touched the ceiling. On the walls were cracks and scratches, the whole room itself was so cold, Angel could feel his body slowly grow numb.

His gaze settled on a dark figure, sitting cross-legged on a small pink bed; the curtains obscured his view.

With a wave of his hand, a breeze flew past the curtains and swept them aside, revealing the figure to be a girl, apparently no older than a six-year-old.

The sclera and irises of her eyeballs, all black with the pupil emanating a faint yellow glow, her skin was almost bluish in color and had cracks creeping around her face, arms, and legs; her fingertips were dark blue in color and her hair was long and black as night, some strands stuck out messily. She was bound to the bed by restraints on her wrists and ankles, and half of her face was covered by a mask strapped on.

Slowly, he inched closer, the girl's attention now focused on him, she bore her cold, black eyes into his own.

Angel frowned; she looked away for a moment then snaps her head back at him, startling him for a second.

He composed himself right away and cautiously moved even closer, he called out in the most gentle voice he could, "Frieda? I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl remained silent, her gaze fixed with his, her shoulders hung loosely, she leaned back on the headboard and shifted some of her weight on her delicate hands; she seemed to have relaxed. Angel continued to inch closer until he was now by her bedside.

Oddly, this wasn't the usual violent, uncontrollable low-level demon or a mere malevolent ghost. He could feel it emanating a calming yet dark and sinister aura; a much more powerful one that it was rather unnerving.

"Let's just get this over with." he muttered under his breath as he sat next to her and reached out for her hand; she flinched, tugged on the restraints as she moved away and growled at him. A thick, black goo oozed out of the little gaps in her mask. He grimaced, "Disgusting."

This time he did it more slowly and tried to get her to stay calm as he took her hand in his. Angel's brows furrowed upon seeing the runes burned into her wrists. The girl's hands suddenly began to tremble, he looked up, rather surprised to find that there were tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

"Help me." she squeaked, her voice muffled by the mask.

"Who did this to you?" he asked.

"Help me," her eyes returned to a more human look, the blackness faded away, revealing beautiful bright blue eyes. Through those tear-filled eyes he could see nothing but fear and pain; a silent scream.

Angel wiped some of the tears off her face, the roots of her hair slowly turned blonde.

"Why did he do this?" Angel asked, she froze for a minute before she spoke in an otherworldly voice that didn't belong to her, "They're coming and there is no stopping them. You will not stand a chance against--"

"What makes you think I'd give a damn about humanity?" Angel interrupted, "You intend to wipe them off the face of the earth? Be my guest!"

They were speechless.

"But first things first." Angel placed his thumb on her forehead and whispered in a foreign language. In an instant she began to feel hazy and lost her balance, she fell flat on the bed.

Angel got up and scoffed as he turned away to leave but was stopped when he felt her grab his hand. Angel pulled his hand away and spun around, "What?"

"They're after the child..." she whispered, her hands still trembled and her body was weak, "They're not--" she wasn't able to finish when her eyes shut and she fainted.

At that moment, warmth re-entered the room, the objects floating around dropped to the floor and everything else gradually returned to normal. Angel sauntered up to the door, a smirk contorted on his face. "Care to explain Mr. Hayden?"

The man scoffed, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed on Angel's, "I know what you are!" he spat, Mathilde kept her grip on his hands firm. The other servants lay helplessly on the floor around them, some were unconscious, others were just lightly injured.

"Both of you, I know what you're capable of! You can't fight them! You can't--" Hayden rambled on.

"Your daughter is safe," Angel cut him off, "Whoever you let crawl into your home won't be back anytime soon."

Mr. Hayden was speechless. Angel nodded at Mathilde and she let go of the man who then fell forwards, face first on the floor before Angel.

"Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Hayden." he said before walking past him. Mathilde went first as they walked down the hallway then down the staircase and to the front door.

There Angel gave Hayden a backwards glance, "Oh and take my advice... Don't get yourself involved," his eyes had a steely glint to them, "Nothing but sorrow and regret will await you."