Carmine wasn't sure where he was or how he got here. It was dark. He felt numb, like he did when he went to the dentist, but all over. He heard distant sounds that sounded like wind but occasionally it sounded like words. He could hear God, and Jesus, and Help. But it was hard to focus on individual voices there were so many. Or maybe it was just wind.
CARMINE BOCELLI
He heard The Voice say. He tried to say "Yes?" but he couldn't. But The Voice must have heard him 'cause it continued.
YOU TRADED YOUR SOUL TO ME FOR AN ACT OF PASSION. I AM PREPARED TO RENT IT BACK TO YOU ON A DAY-TO-DAY BASIS. ARE YOU PREPARED TO ACCEPT MY OFFER?
What? I don't understand.
*SIGH* CARMINE, YOU DIED. I OWN YOUR SOUL. I WILL TORTURE IT FOR AN ETERNITY OR UNTIL I GET TIRED OF IT AND THEN I WILL DEVOUR IT. OR I WILL LET YOU LIVE IF YOU DO SOMETHING FOR ME. SOMETHING YOU HAVE TO DO EVERY DAY.
What do I have to do every day?
KILL SOMEONE. ANYONE, I DON'T CARE WHO. EVERY DAY THAT YOU KILL SOMEONE YOU GET TO LIVE.
He had to think about that. Maybe. He could kill people if he had to. He thought he could. No, he was sure he could. Yes.
Carmine opened his eyes. He was in Magda's room. Magda was positioned on her bed with her hands folded on her chest. She was wearing a white dress that was covered with bloody hand-prints. He couldn't see her face. He smelled of piss and blood. When he stood up to go to her, he saw himself in the mirror and realized that he only had one eye. The other eye was sort of smooshed and dangling from its socket. His head was throbbing and he could see that one side of it was sort of caved in.
He whirled to look at Magda. Her face was a bloody pulp. Carmine's blood boiled. He raced through the house until he found Magda's mom face down in the kitchen. She had puked all over the floor. Her breath was shallow and her skin was pale and clammy. The bloody frying pan was there on the floor.
Carmine picked her up and strangled her until she stopped breathing completely. Then he dropped her and he went through the house looking for something to put over his eye and a hat to wear.
As he was leaving the house he looked back into the kitchen. Her body was gone. Back to Jesus, i suppose, like Magdalena, he thought.
"I still have to kill someone, too, can't forget that," he muttered to himself, trying to form a list of people he wouldn't mind killing.
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