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Last night Will Graham dreamt of the devil; possessed of long, pointed horns, a thick, muscular tail and eyes the colour of oxygenated blood. In its left hand it carried a slender pitchfork which still did not look as vicious as the blood covered claws which curled around it.
Will woke sweaty and bedraggled in the early hours of the morning. His heart knocking against his ribs, his breath caught in a gasp. He had felt death, that forever fall, he couldn’t remember much of his dream but that much he did.
His eyes found Winston and the slow rise and fall of the sleeping dog’s chest. The simple movement centred Will bringing him back to the dull but reassuring light of reality.
Getting out of bed he headed to the bathroom stopping short as a memory sprung to life. The devil standing in the middle of the room, not just standing but filling the space, every nook and cranny, reaching the ceiling and then through it, beyond. Will felt so small, so insignificant, he felt as nothing next to the great beast.
Touching the stone of the fireplace Will took a breath and closed his eyes. It’s just a fucking dream, he thought. Just a dream.
The next memory came as he opened the bathroom door. They had fought, he and the devil, he remembered blood and pain, claws on his skin, being ripped apart. Will almost keeled over with the shock of it.
Then there was the voice, the voice of God, saving humanity it said. Will put his head in his hands, Jesus Christ, he said out loud, conflating Jack with God, fuck this dream.
Worse still, he was blinded for a moment by the face of the devil. Slowly Will began to knock his forehead against a wall. He’d only had one session of ‘conversations’ with the Hannibal Lecter and he was already bringing him into his warped imagination.
When he had had enough he made it to the sink and threw handfuls of cold water onto his face. Then he froze, it seemed he and the devil hadn’t just fought. Try as he might Will couldn’t stop his mind from repeating the moment when an orgasm had been ripped from him, his knees buckling at the memory.
Raising his head he looked at himself in the mirror. He rubbed at a spot of dirt furrowing his brow when it didn’t fade away. Tilting forwards towards the mirror Will angled his neck to get a better look, it was definitely a bruise with the faintest impression of teeth. There was a scratch starting on his shoulder and curving onto his back.
“Fuck.”