Mr. Loveall

Coffee. It becomes a treasure to those who have no other value than to work day in and out. A person must consume this nectar of gods, even if the caffeine makes their hands shake and heart skip. I found myself staring into a cup of ugly, tar tasting liquid. I love coffee, but not today, not right now. 

"Cream and sugar?" 

I looked up at the woman who had handed me the mug, her sweet smile didn't dampen the guilt that squeezes my chest. Black, ill-flavored bean water is all I deserve. I killed so many souls. Snubbing them out without a second thought. What's wrong with me? I hate myself. 

"Stop smiling at me," I retorted, turning away from her, so I didn't have to see her soft warm look turn to grimace. The police. They're sniffing all over my shitty little apartment, interviewing my work, sending a cascade of unease through my ever waking moment. 

I could still hear the pleas, the begging. Settling at a table, my mind found its way back to only days ago. 

"Please, Mr. Eugenes, I don't want to die!" 

The little boy's eyes burned into mine as he stared horrified at the flames that wrapped themselves down my arms. It was as though times stopped for a split second, the sounds of children screaming and crying while their bus raced down the empty freeway. The driver having been knocked unconscious, the only other teacher with a useless superpower. 

"I promise. I'm not going to kill anyone!" The child wailed. "Please, you're my favorite!"

You're my favorite.

The words ricocheted around my mind since they were said. It hadn't been the first time I heard them. 

"This seat taken?"

I blinked a few times to rid myself of the memory as someone pulled out a chair and sat in front of me. I expected the police officer who'd been snooping around, but instead, it was a man I'd never met before. 

"Yeah, it's taken." I replied with an annoyed grimace. 

"By whom?" He asked. 

"Not by you." 

Instead of being offended, this man, he laughed! How dare he? Who is he to enter my personal space? I grabbed my cup and stood, ready to walk away, only to be stopped by the next sentence uttered. 

"You tried to kill the antichrist." 

"What?" 

Uncharacteristic of me. Not having a snappy comeback. Instead, I find myself staring at this other person who seemed to know more than I'm comfortable with. Is he the police? 

"Sit down," He gestured back to the chair, "my name's Loveall."

An uncomfortable amount of time passed between us, I started going over everything in my mind. The death of the children, police, the antichrist. Who is this… Loveall? 

"How do you know that?" I hissed between my teeth, anxiety boiled my stomach acid and sends discomfort into my throat making it difficult to breath.

"Because," Loveall said this with such a deep, unsettling look in his gaze, "You're the Rider."