He left me here.

My first instinct, of course was to trash his house, write death threats on his walls and cut up all his shirts. Of course, I did none of those things. I remembered that I am a grown, level-headed (at times) woman who could use her time alone for better, more productive things.

Once I came to terms with the fact that Death left me here against my will, I started rummaging through my salvaged belongings. Now here I am, two hours later. Everything is scattered on the floor, including me, and I am bored out of my skull. I have debated watching the movies he got me, but decided against it out of sheer spitefulness. I eye The Shawshank Redemption Blu-ray with envy, my resolve almost faltering.

No. Lest he be reminded that my peace shall not be bought.

I need to make him pay.

The knock at the door interrupts my self-wallowing and I jump to my feet, wondering who is visiting Death here, in the middle of no where.

I grab Janice and the one and the only gun that was retrieved from my house and walk tentatively to the door.

Through the half-window by the door, I see Lucifer standing there idly with a bag in his hand. His blue eyeballs settle on me through the glass and he gives me smirk. What the hell is he doing here?

I open the door reluctantly with a bored expression. I know he could just teleport in here if he wanted.

"Emma!" he booms, smiling wide enough for me to catch a glimpse of his straight, white teeth.

"Margaret," I say. I cross my arms in front of me, hoping he understands I am in no mood for whatever bullshit he has come here for.

"Ah..." he chuckles lightly, "Ever the funny one." He taps my nose condescendingly and walks past me.

"What do you want?" I snap, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

He turns around to face me, a grin still plastered on his face. "Well, aren't you a little ray of pitch black."

"I asked you a question."

"I wasn't sure if my brother kept food in here, so I brought you scones." He hands me the bag. I peek inside and sure enough, there is a dozen lemon scones. My mouth starts watering, but I place the bag on the kitchen island.

"I doubt you came here just to deliver scones. What are you really here for?"

He ignores my question and starts walking around, shamelessly looking at everything like it is the first time he has been here.

He scratches his chin, "Damn, it smells like sex in here," he looks at me with mischievous eyes, "Why the long face? Was my brother that bad? Didn't inherit the big dick gene?"

I choke on my sip of coffee and spit out, black drops splattering on the counter.

Lucifer's body erupts in laughter. The kind of deep, gleeful laugh you would usually hear in a child.

"I'm not discussing your brother's performance in the bedroom with you."

"Ah, but something tells me it wasn't just in the bedroom. Got creative, didn't ya?" he winks.

He leans on the counter, arms spread on each side of him. The way he carries himself reminds me of Death. With his equally tall frame and wide shoulders, Lucifer moves around as though he owns the world. His limps are always spread about him, taking as much room as possible. Like a peacock spreading his tail's feathers. The most obvious difference between them is that where Lucifer walks with a casual, laid-back air to him, Death is more rigid, brooding and sometimes downright hostile to his environment.

"That's none of your business," I say, wiping down the counter. "How did you know I would be here?"

"I know lots of things," he gives a lopsided grin.

"That's not an answer."

He leans back and takes a seat on one of the kitchen bar stools, "I'm surprised he actually left you here," he muses aloud, "that's kind of a dick move, even for him," says the Devil. He starts spinning the stool he is sitting on by kicking the side of the island. He looks ridiculous.

"Can we just cut to the chase? I would love to keep exchanging unpleasantries with you, but I have a pile of movies to watch," I lie. I just want to get rid of him so I can start plotting all the ways I will make Death pay for subjecting me to this.

Lucifer jumps off the stool, "I'm here to give you a ride back to Canada, of course."

I watch him move around the counter suspiciously. He stops in front of me with a shit-eating grin.

"And you're just helping me out?" I am definitely not convinced. Everyone knows the devil never does anything without expecting something in return. It is in every book, song, legend, movie and bible verse about him.

"Is it really that hard to believe I can just be a nice guy?" he says with feigned hurt.

"Yes," I deadpan.

He rolls his eyes dramatically, "Ok, maybe I want to pull my brother's leg, but more importantly, I think he doesn't give you enough credit."

His answer surprises me a little, but I am not about to spit on the opportunity to get out of here. In fact, I am about to jump at this opportunity like a fat kid at an all-you-can-eat.

He smiles devilishly (no pun intended) and extends me his hand, "Where to?"

"Walmart."

He raises an eyebrow.

I grab his hand and we disappear, reappearing a second later in a parking lot. I look around me to make sure he did not teleport somewhere random, like at a dancer bar or at a retirement home. I would not put it past him.

"That's my card, if you ever need me." He hands me a platinum card with the single word 'Lucifer' printed on it. I twirl it around between my fingers.

"All you need to do is rip it into pieces and scatter them on the ground and I'll hear ya." He turns to leave, but stops, "Make sure it's on dirt or grass, the signal works better that way," he adds.

"And do I need to mix it with the blood of a virgin too?" I mock.

"Good one," he wiggles his finger in my face with a smirk. "Now go and have fun, before my brother realises you've gone missing," he starts walking away, "'Cause that's not gonna be pretty."

I am about to leave in the opposite direction toward the store when he turns around again.

"Oh, and Emma. When night falls, stay indoors," he warns.

Then, he disappears in a flash.

***

I have four stops to make before I can tackle my problem.

The first stop is the Mobile Phone section, where I purchase a simple smartphone to replace the landline I lost. The guy at the counter, a short, plump man with a black beard and round eyeglasses, tries to sell me the latest Iphone. I tell him such a frivolous thing is unnecessary, because I might be dead tomorrow. He looks at me like I lost a few marbles and rings my order as fast as he possibly can.

The second stop is the clothing aisle, because I am still walking around in my sweat pants and tank top from the night of the fire. Ugly bruises, hickeys and scratches on full display. None of my clothes were salvaged. I ignore the bewildered looks I get from people and pick out a simple pair of black leggings, a black t-shirt and red flowery scarf, because that is all they had. Finally, since Walmart does not carry leather jackets, I chose the next best thing; jeans.

The third stop, and perhaps the most important one if I am to survive the final one, is the drugstore section, where I purchase a razor and a disposable camera.

I stumble in the public washroom and lock myself in one of the stalls. Leaning on the rusty, graffiti-decorated door, I rip the razor package with my teeth and roll my pants up to my knees. I shave my legs in a few long strokes and fling the razor in the trash-can beside the toilet, before pulling out the camera from pocket. I snap a few shots of my ankles like I have done a million times before. I pull my pants back down.

All I need now is to have the photos developed.

Before hitting the final stop, I punch Sophie's phone number in my new cellphone and wait for her to pick up.

"Hello?" she says tentatively after a single ring.

"Soph, it's me."

"Oh, Em. What number are you calling from?"

"My new cellphone. Listen, my house burned down," I start, placing the photo envelope in my coat pocket. I lean against the side of the Walmart, looking up at the blazing afternoon sun.

"What?" she shrieks.

"It's a long story," one which I don't want to get into, "I need to see you."

"Ok..." she trails, "But are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Yes. Is tonight good?"

"No, actually. I have a," she hesitates, "I have a date."

Right. The boyfriend who stood her up at the café last time.

"Ok, well what about tomorrow night?" I offer.

"Tomorrow's great!" she says excitedly.

After a moment, I finally say, "So, you like this guy, huh?"

"Yeah, I kinda do," she giggles. I love how carefree she is. Sophie has always been my escape. She is like the sun and I am a withering flower who has been in the dark for too long.

"I'm happy for you," I say, smiling to myself. "I have to let you go. Meet you tomorrow at the cinema?"

"It's a date," she replies.