The taste of blood was not unfamiliar to Sam. It was the same metallic flavor that had filled his mouth that day when he was only a naive child. When he reached out to shake the hand of the tall man at his mother’s command. He did not understand, he only wanted to make her happy.
“Just shake the nice man’s hand.”
The man grinned, and he obeyed. It felt as if he was touching hot coals, and though he pulled away as quickly as he could a strange taste lingered in his mouth. He placed his hand over his lips and when he pulled away there was blood. Nothing of that made sense at the time, it was only later he realized that his own mother had used him for a demon deal to help herself. He never knew what the deal was for. Soon after she abandoned him at the orphanage, she didn’t want to think of what she did. Or maybe she just hated him that much.
Sam didn’t know why she hated him, but her other children made sure he knew that she did. And she did not make it a secret. She never gave him as much attention as her older children and seemed distant even when he reached out to her. He knew he was different, the four older children had her blonde hair or the auburn hair they told him was the color their father’s had been when he was alive. Sam’s hair was black. He didn’t know why this was. And even now he just had to guess. Whatever it was she cared little enough to give his soul to Hell and his body to an orphanage. He had always told himself that he blamed her for his cold heart, although in reality he blamed himself for all his misfortune.

Now he pretended to blame her for this metallic taste that filled his nose and mouth. He turned and spit blood onto the ground near his feet. It only added to the current mess.
This blood was not the direct result of a demon deal this time, it was from when Sarah had kicked him in the face. He didn’t blame her though. He had deserved it. Even though he didn’t feel much remorse, he knew what he had done was wrong. It’s not like it really mattered though, he would go to Hell no matter how nice or pure he pretended to be. So what would be the point? He had the wonderful opportunity to give into any impulses without remorse, he would thank his mother for this but it was a bittersweet gift. If it weren't for this perhaps he wouldn’t be standing over the body of the one person who had been nice to him.
He kneeled down to her and brushed her pretty blonde hair away from her face, her eyes were so empty. Nothing left of the sparkle of kindness she once had. She had always been always so kind, too kind, to him. As he gazed into her dead eyes he thought of times when they had been more alive. She had been his best, and only, friend.
This was because, although he didn’t mean to, he would always push other people away. He had trouble relating to them, and despite his loneliness he never made much of an effort to change his cold and unsympathetic ways. But she always saw the best in everyone and he was no exception. Sarah, with her glittering eyes and sunshine colored hair, had come into his life bringing light he had never known. She defended him from the teasing of the other children and comforted him when his emotions got the best of him, he tried to do the same but it never felt as genuine. No matter how hard he might try he couldn’t replicate the empathy that others felt, and this was why she began to edge closer to the others and further from him.
Unlike her, he didn’t have the choice to turn to other people. She was all he had. And he was jealous that she could just leave whenever she wanted. Terrified that she would replace him. Because, he had realized, he loved her. And she was drifting further and further out of reach while he remained anchored by his own bitterness. Eventually the fear of being replaced, of being loved less than others, of having her become as distant as his mother, became too much. He couldn’t stand the idea that she may choose others over him.
Fear and jealousy overtook him, and he could no longer control himself. It was simple in his mind, that she could not love anyone but him if she was dead. Of course, she could not love him either, but at least she wouldn’t leave him. Not of her own free will. It would be his doing, he did this so he could not feel as if he had been unwanted. Because being unwanted is what hurts the most.

This is why, just hours before, they had walked side by side to that secret little clearing she had showed him years ago. But this time was different. And before she could register what was happening she was on the ground and her childhood friend was holding a knife to her throat.
“Sam,” his name came out like a gasp in her shock, “why are you doing this?”
His hands shook, but his gaze was steady as he spoke, “Because I know that if I don’t end things now, you’ll only leave later. You never really liked me. I can tell. You’re spending more and more time with other people, you’re distancing yourself. You’re just waiting for the chance, and then you’ll abandon me.”
“No, I won’t leave you, I do like you!”
“But you like the others more, don’t you?” The words were more a threat than a question, and she flinched as the knife pressed cold against her neck. But he soon drew away, instead using the blade to gesture wildly as he raved, “It’s not fair! You were the only person who could make me think I might have the possibility of being good! And I tried to be good, oh god, did I try. I was sad when you were sad and I was happy when you were happy. Is that not what it is to care? I don’t think you fully appreciate how hard it was for me. I can’t beleive that while I cared about you above all else, you had the audacity to abandon me for those assholes.”
Her shock at being betrayed became anger at his accusations, she knew it was too late save him with kindness, and adrenaline started to take over. As he leaned over her again she offered a hefty kick to the face. As he stumbled back she brought herself to her feet turned the accusations on him, “How dare you be so selfish! You have no right to condemn me for having friends just because you force yourself to be alone!”
Sam faced her, anger boiling over in his eyes, “Do you think I’m alone on purpose? Do you really think I would try to be like this!”
“I don’t know, but I know that if you kill me that’s exactly what you’ll be doing! You won’t have anyone left, and you’ll die alone.”
At this Sam felt himself turn cold. The mention of death, the thing he feared more than anything. He pushed her to the nearest tree and held the knife back up to her throat, “Say that one more time.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
She looked away.
“Tell me again how I will die.” he hissed.
She turned back to him, tears streaming down her face, “You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to be alone.” Her voice had turned back from the mask of anger to the sincerity of a person who truly did want the best for him, despite everything.
He tried to ignore this, “You said that I would die alone.”
“I didn’t mean...”
“You’re right. I would die alone no matter what I do. I only want it to be of my own accord.”
The blade drew away, and then, without thinking, he let it swing back into her throat. The memories went red, and then black.

And then he was back, back to looking into her eyes, more like those of a doll than a human now. He had gotten what he wanted, Sam had successfully sabotaged his own happiness, and now what? It was too late to take any of this back, he was truly alone in the world now. And it was his fault.
He saw now that he had lived up to the expectations set by those he hated. He had become the monster they made of him. And he admitted to himself, being a monster came naturally. Somehow, although he knew it was not the right thing to feel, there was a sick satisfaction that came with taking her life. It may have been the rush of adrenaline talking, and the fact that she was really dead had not quite set in, but even without those things there was just something about it. Murder could almost be called intimate, with how close you have to be when you stab someone, and the way you feel their life leak from them, the feeling of the blood on his hands. Her tears. He wouldn’t lie, it did hurt to make his love cry, but after all the distress she had caused him it felt good to be rid of her. It was cathartic like nothing else could ever be. Now he didn’t have to be in love, and he could be free.
A sudden noise jolted him out of his contemplation. It was only a rabbit in the bushes, but his brief panic made him remember that there was no way he could stay here. And it wasn’t as if he had any reason to want to anyway. This place only held bad memories. He had accepted long ago he would never be adopted and Sarah’s death brought even more freedom, as now there was nothing tethering him here. He could just get up and leave, walk away from the scene of the crime. Well, if there was a bit less evidence. Planning hadn’t been thorough, but there had been planning. It was considerably well thought through, in fact, for an impulsive twelve year old boy. He let the knife fall from his hand and he wiped the remaining blood from his face, it wasn’t too obvious on his black sleeve. He tried to get what he could off his hands as well. Then he went to the stash he had made, of the few things he had the foresight to purloin from the caretakers. This included a bus card, a box of matches, and a jug of gasoline.
He pocketed the bus card and unscrewed the lid on the gasoline, holding that in one hand and taking the matches in his other. He went back to Sarah’s body and let the liquid pour from the bottle onto her. It was just beginning to seem like she was actually gone. He dropped the bottle and lit a match. He turned away as he tossed it back, and the gasoline ignited easily.
“I hope this whole place goes up in flames.” he muttered as he tried to calculate which direction would be the best to run in.
He knew when he walked away he still wouldn’t truly be free. He would always remember this, remember those who had been cruel and know in his heart that he could be pushed to kill. For now he had to focus on the walking away part though, he would have time to think later. He didn’t know exactly what he should do, but he knew there was a town not far from here. They had often gone there on little outings, so it was decently familiar. Of course there was the danger that someone would recognize him and return him, but he didn’t plan to stay long. He may not have planned ahead a lot, but he knew he would need to leave and this is why he had taken the bus card. He would take the soonest bus and stay on it for as long as he could stand to sit still.
As he went over this in his head he was already gone, he had left without a second thought. Running through the small forested area, or running as much as one could run while trying to stay relatively quiet and not trip over every branch. It was very late at night, although he didn't know the time it was certain that everyone had certainly been asleep, but there had been a fair share of yelling, so staying as quiet as he could not was probably a good idea.
He stumbled out of the trees and onto the small road, flinching at the sudden openness. This road would take him into town, and he had some idea of where the bus stop is. It wasn’t too far. He stuck close to the edge of the trees and followed the road until there were no trees and the dirt road transitioned to asphalt as it took a turn. Luckily it was a fairly small town, not the kind with much traffic, if any, this late at night.
Eventually he reached the place where it really became a town, the part with stores and things. He knew that the bus stop was right around the start of this section of town. When he reached the bench he collapsed onto it. It didn’t really matter when the bus was coming, as long as it came.
Luckily it didn’t take too long. It was a Greyhound bus, so it ran even at these hours of the night. As he scanned the bus card, avoiding eye contact, he could feel the bus driver giving him a look. He knew that his eyes were saying ‘what is a kid like you doing on a bus this late all by yourself? Why do you smell like gasoline... and iron?’ He didn’t say anything, but Sam felt the bus driver’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck. He tried to ignore it as he chose a seat near the back of the bus. Most of the other people were asleep, and there weren't many of them. No one but him had gotten on the bus at this stop, and no one got off. He wished he would have had a crowed to hide in, but instead he stood out in the otherwise quiet night.
It was one of those nights where everything was almost too quiet. The sky was black now. There had been some light before, but clouds now covered any celestial being and the only light came from the harsh yellow light of the street lamps. Even these were behind them soon, and the blackness outside of every window was nearly overwhelming. Instead Sam closed his eyes and let himself really try to think, now that he actually had time. He was finally leaving things behind, although he had no idea how to fend for himself he felt a great relief at getting rid of all the things connected to his childhood. There was only one last thing to get rid of, his name. The name ‘Sam’ was the one his mother had given him. And he hated her. He needed to rid himself of what she had done, and he could not get back his soul, but he could destroy this part of himself that she had given him. He thought for a while going over the names he knew and their meanings in his head.
Ace. He thought. It’s the highest card, and people call someone an ace if they’re good at something. I think it’s about time I was called something positive, and Ace has a nice ring to it.
After he decided this, and whispered the name to himself several times, Ace’s mind wandered once more. He now had too much time to think, and he was remembering her again. Her smile and her laugh. He realized that he would never see her again. Even when he died, he knew she would be in Heaven. And even if he had ever had the chance to get to Heaven, she would never forgive him.
Without realizing it he began to cry.
It’s my fault.
He put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from making any noise.
She didn’t do anything wrong.
His head fell into his hands as tears streamed down his cheeks.
What have I done?
His shoulders heaved.
I’m a monster.
He couldn’t stop now. He struggled to keep quiet and not draw attention to himself as eventually he cried himself to sleep
Ace awoke to the sound of the screeching noise of a stopping bus and realized that early morning light was making its way through the window that was now pressed up against his face.
How long have I been asleep?
He raised his head to see where they were.
Oh my god! How long have I been asleep?!
Outside the window was no longer emptiness, but the in its place a fully fledged city. Buildings that were taller than anything Ace had ever seen, and even this early in the morning people were on the roads. The implication of the sheer amount of people who much live here made him feel sick. But he supposed it would be hard for anyone to find him here. So he walked on legs numb from sitting for so long to the front of the bus. He scanned the card, feeling the bus driver’s eyes on him again.
“You gonna be okay, kid? You aren’t here alone are ya’?”
Ace froze, and trying his hardest to make eye contact he forced out a lie that seemed plausible, “No, sir, I’m not alone. I was visiting some relatives in that town, my parents are here.”
The bus driver craned his neck out the door, presumably to see if there was anyone who looked like they could be his parents standing outside. He sighed, “Alright. Be careful out there.”
Ace was already halfway out of the door. He hopped down and as his feet touched the concrete he realized something felt terribly off. And that it had felt off for a long time. Suddenly everything was slipping out from under him. Memories, not from before this moment, but somehow from later in his life, were suddenly flooding into his mind. He tried to stumble to the bus bench but it wasn’t there anymore.

Time had passed. Ace had no idea how much time. This memory was nearly identical to several others. It was from when he had worked as a bike messenger. He sat outside with his bike, people would come out of the big buildings and pay him to take things to other big buildings. He had to lie about his age and steal a bike, the work wasn’t fun and it didn’t pay well, but at least he could buy food and occasionally new clothes. It supplemented his pickpocketing and dumpster diving well enough. These memories weren't fond ones, nor did he find them to be very defining. His mind soon let the asphalt fall from beneath his feet again, and he moved on. He assumed this was all a strange nightmare. So far the events were true, but reliving any of his life was most likely a nightmare.

The next memory was not a single one, but rather vague pieces of vaguely remembered things. He talked to many people, through various forms of communication. He could not afford much in the beggining, used what he could get his hands on. Eventually things became easier. He had settled into one moment now, and he looked down at what he was typing. The person he was talking to was asking him to do them a favor. He would kill someone for them. They were discussing payment. These memories were far more important. This job was the first one he enjoyed. It was not easy or safe, but there was a reason it was so satisfying. Ace found that it nearly every person in the world has sinned, and this held true even more often for anyone who was having a price put on their head. As he killed them he found solace in the fact that before he went to Hell he would bring them all down with him. As well as the fact that now he would go for his own sins, not his mother’s. Perhaps it made the deal almost worth it, that he could commit heinous sins without fearing their consequences, for his fate was already sealed. It payed well sometimes. Not at first. He leaned back in the computer chair and kept leaning, falling into oblivion. Hoping he might wake up soon.

He did not wake up. He was standing over a body now. There was a knife in his hand. There was blood. This body was not Sarah though, it wasn’t anyone he cared about and he felt no remorse as the last breath shuddered from their lungs. He was mostly numb, aside from the faint buzz of adrenaline. He cleaned the knife and slipped it into a sheath, putting that into the pocket of his long black jacket. He lit a cigarette as if it was habit, and by this time in his life it was. It burned his lungs pleasantly. Ace leaned over the body trying to get a glimpse of its face, but has he looked it changed before him. He was looking into the eyes of everyone he had ever killed. Blood lapped against his boots as cigarette smoke consumed his head. He felt dizzy, and tried to sit down, but he found the blood had risen too high. It now went over his head and even when he stood back up it had somehow risen even higher. It filled his nose and mouth and lungs.

The taste of blood was not unfamiliar to Ace. No matter how much he coughed up it kept coming. Something inside of him was bleeding. He was laying on his side now, somewhere outside of the city, watching a cigarette burn a wide circle in the grass some distance from his head. He tried to move but everything hurt.
I can’t feel my legs....
He struggled to lift his head enough to see why, and immediately dropped it as he saw them. Or rather, didn’t see them.
No, no. This can’t be real. I’m still dreaming.
Something clamped its jaws around his left arm, he tired to cry out but his mouth was so full of blood he could only produce a pitiful gurgling noise. He considered that it may only make things worse, but he forced himself to turn and see what was there. As his amber eyes locked onto the red ones of the huge black dog he felt a sinking feeling that this was the present.
Oh god, oh god, I’m dying. They’re killing me. All those memories.... my life was flashing before my eyes...
Another hellhound sunk it’s teeth into his side and he convulsed in its grip, but the other was still pulling at his arm from the opposite side, bones were splintering inside him as they played tug-of-war. He could feel himself being torn apart and now that he was conscious again the pain was excruciating. His throat burbled as his mouth attempted to create involuntary noises. Without much resistance his arm ripped terribly from its socket, but he barely had time to process, as yet another hound lunged at his ribcage. It pressed its enormous paws into his chest and bones that were meant to protect his lungs bent to the will of the beast. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything else, but the air was being crushed out of his lungs and there was no thread of life left to grasp on to.
The fear of death was almost worse than the pain of being torn limb from limb. He knew that nothing but eternal suffering would welcome him in the afterlife. There would be no release from this pain, he would simply be met with more. He tired in one last feeble attempt to blame anyone else. His mother, his father, Satan, or even God himself. But no matter how much he cursed them he knew he couldn’t blame them. And this was partially on purpose. Self sabotage had always been calculated.  He wanted certain things to be his fault. Although it may weigh him down with a guilty conscious it also offered power.
Of course it was not truly his fault that he had sold his soul, but even if he hadn’t he would still be hell bound. He had made sure of this with every deadly sin. He made sure that it would not be his mother’s choice as to where he would end up when he died. He would make his own path, even if that path led straight to Hell. And, of course, it did.