Satan Collects

As Matt loaded the van he wiped sweat from his forehead. He loved his job but the heavy lifting was back breaking.

He turned once more to look at the warehouse. It looked even more barren in the pale of the moonlight. It was once a thriving industrial estate, but now it was as dead as the woman he had just slaughtered. They might find her, he sniggered as he turned to the van.

There was a Jaguar. Not more than ten feet away! Matt barely had time to register confusion before hearing a polite cough behind him. Turning, Matt jumped back a step.

"Oh, no!", the amiable old man smiled. "I'm not from the Met.", he chuckled.

Matt instinctively reached inside his jacket before freezing.

"That won't be necessary", the strange elderly gent said, a little less amusedly. "Allow me to explain.". In a flash he threw a hood over Matt's head.

Matt groaned as his senses swam. He struggled to recount what had happened as he realized his hands and feet were bound. He tried to turn then discovered he was also seated as his chair upturned, causing him to hit his head on the concrete floor. Another tsunami of nausea swept over him. He closed his eyes and grimaced until it slowed.

Blinking rapidly at first, Matt's focus started to improve. He was in a storage area, the overhead fluorescent strip lights flickering at random. At the end of his aisle Matt saw the old, smartly dressed man he'd encountered earlier. Being aware he was still bound, Matt tensed. "Who the hell are you?', he yelled. "Untie me first!", he added.

The old man  shook his head as he laughed ruefully. "I'm afraid not, Matt Phillips, I really can't". With a shrug of regret, he walked slowly, but deliberately, to Matt.

"I've been watching you for some time now", he said, in a cultured accent, which, Matt thought, could be European. His appearance was impeccably smart, almost aristocratic even. Yet his face! The skin was young, with a well sculpted black beard, yet his eyes betrayed darkness itself as they glimmered as if dancing to the flickering lights. His crumbling surroundings began to fade into the periphery, as the handsome void drew closer.

"I know", the man ventured pleasantly. " That is why I'm here".

Matt had to focus his eyes again, realizing that the elderly, oddly confusing man, was now seated facing him. What did he think he knew?

"Matt Phillips, you are a murderer!", he said evenly, yet with an authority of one who is confident in his facts.

Matt was stunned out of his reverie. Nobody could have known!

"You've killed 23 innocent people in 7 years", the elegant stranger further confided, "but now the final victim is yourself. You should be very careful who you make deals with!".

Matt was shaking his head in disbelief. As the man walked around him, Matt sniggered as he recalled something about deals with the devil.

"Yes, Matthew", a far more horrific voice snarled, as the temperature began to rise.

"Your soul, thank you".