When he saw him, he saw him suddenly. Hyper-vigilance and heightened senses had completely missed this stranger's onset. Louis didn't look directly to the man as he heard the approach, and this behavior of non-acknowledgment continued even when Laurent spoke.

The werewolf was good and fixated on the window, and didn't seem keen on letting his attention deter.

After a drag, just to punctuate his disinterest in responding, Louis glanced at the stranger. His facial expression bore no signs of emotion, positive nor neutral. It was akin to the type of glance you would give to an uneventful landscape, an observant, but non-responsive affect. 

"I reckon that sounds like a personal problem." His tone couldn't have been more condescending. 

And with that, he returned his gaze to the house, as if speaking a single sentence to the man was all he could spare of his time. Apparently, window-watching was a job that required serious concentration. 

When two male mountain lions encounter each other in the wild, a ritual unfolds. Being solitary predators, neither are pleased with the sight of one another. Each feels the territory beneath their feet is theirs, and each has a mission to dominate the other. 

The first step is to size each other up. A juvenile male, lacking the full weight of an adult, might realize their mistake and back down. A mountain lion can accept retreat, so long as it is done promptly.

It is only when both animals remain, unwilling to surrender what they believe is rightfully theirs, that is when the real trouble begins.

There was no change in the window or house, but Louis continued to stare, dropping his half smoked cigarette, only to retrieve a new one and a lighter- sparking up. 

A clear taunt. 

This stranger wasn't biting, and the werewolf was growing tired of the game. Ignoring him seemed the best course of action at the time being.

It was all the same- these hallucinations. Louis' mind was out to get him. PTSD. He did not associate the apparition in the window to have anything to do with the stranger, and consequentially, any reaction he would have had, he suppressed.  It was all in his head. 

The silence drew for a long while as he finished another cigarette, smashing it under boot before pulling a flask from his jacket and taking a sip. He had decided that it was worth being somewhat inebriated to calm his imagination. Only this time, when he took a drink, it had no impact on what he was seeing. Which was odd. And in that moment, the scent of the stranger pulled together, and he figured he had a good idea of what was happening.

Louis turned his body toward the stranger and gave him a nice, long, lookover. 

"Well ya ain't gotta be all day 'bout it," He lulled accusingly, "Ya gonna ask me out or what?"  He sounded amused. 

Laurent's limitations to proximity were all his own; as the demon approached, Louis did nothing, said nothing. He demeanor remained calm, and would have even if their noses had touched. 

He noticed from his peripheral vision the shadow was moving in their direction, confirming his theory that the stranger was responsible for it. Standing beside Laurent was the dimmed image of Robert, Louis' dead son, standing with his throat slit and blood dripping down. He was talking, but the Dragon's breath had muted him. At this point his image was as if he needed a pair of glasses to correct the blurriness. The shadow figure, on the other hand, remained perfectly crisp.

Not this again- the soul thing. Louis had heard the soul thing, quite a few times over the years. The last prominent time had been prior to his turning a decade or so ago when he had attempted to summon a demon and the creature had flat out refused to work with him, echoing the same sentiments:

You have nothing of value to give. No soul.

"This pretty little thing you?" Louis asked, gesturing to the shadow creature that had approached. "Tryin' impress me are ya? Mmm."

He tsked his tongue at the stranger.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

"Tell you what," He whispered, drawing closer to the demon, stopping only when his breath could be felt on the nape of the stranger's neck as he spoke directly into the ear, "How 'bout the two's of us play a game, mm? All ya gotta do is promise ya ain't gonna fuck up my fun. I'll even let ya in on why I'm peepin' this here window." 

The cogs in his brain had been whirring- and he was a bit intoxicated, increasing his desire for impulsivity and risk. He pulled back from the stranger's ear, to stare square in the creature's eyes impishly. 

With the stranger's response, Louis was brought back to his teenage years in Chicago.



Joe. He hadn't thought of Joe for decades, but something about this fellow in front of his had brought those thoughts back. The two of them had been glued together, and if Louis' was capable of the human emotion of love, it would have been for Joe. Both of them had no regard for anyone, and knew it. When he had looked into Joe's eyes, he had seen himself, and felt a certain respect for the man. They had an unspoken understanding with each other, and though they eventually drifted apart, the fun they had together still stuck in Louis' memories. 

It was not rare that Louis pulled others into his schemes- but it was rare that the others were willing participants to his deviancy. 

He nodded to the demon, pulling out his cellphone and sending a text message while peering up at the window. A blonde haired woman peeked behind the curtains. She looked more upset than she did afraid. And that was his cue.

"We're goin' in." Louis announced as he walked towards the house. They got to the porch and rang the doorbell, in the middle of the night.

An older man in his 50's, wearing a robe and looking dazed, opened the door. Behind him was Charlotte Little, doing her best to act normally.

"What's going on?" The man asked. 

"Mr. Little, good evening. I'm Father Castillo, this is my curate, Joe." He nodded his head toward Laurent. "May we come in?" His accent was completely neutralized, all hints of southern accent gone.

Mr. Little looked baffled. Charlotte, standing behind him, was giving Louis dagger eyes.

"It's the middle of the night, I don't understand-"

Louis cut him off, holding his hand up.

"Your wife, Mrs. Little, contacted the church. She explained to us the suspicious activity. Things being out of place in the house, your clothing going missing. We believe you may have a poltergeist."

 Mr. Little looked to his wife, who, though wide eyed, was eager to explain.

"Oh, honey, I forgot all about this. Yes- come in Father, Joe." She invited the two in as Mr. Little stepped back looking baffled. She closed the door behind the two men.

Charlotte pulled her pink, silk robe closed tighter to her body. She was dreadfully exposed like this. And it made her very, very, angry.

"Shouldn't you be wearing...you know, the cloak or, whatever." Mr. Little muttered lowly. He didn't sound like the sort of man that was particularly self-sure, but still he voiced his concerns.

 The corner of Louis' lip lifted slightly, fighting his grin. Charlotte noticed the micoexpression, and ushered them all into the kitchen, flicking the light on.

"Tyler, I asked them not to dress like that. You know with Grayson and all the dreams he's been having about men in cloaks. He's frightened outside his wits! If he woke up and saw them..." Charlotte was clutching her chest, shaking her head, as if speaking of the death of a loved one. She was quite the ham.

Mr. Little nodded his head.

"Right, dear." He agreed, though truth be told- Charlotte had never mentioned any dreams Grayson had to him before. He knew better than to ask more questions in this state.

"We should get started immediately." Louis interjected calmly. 

"Tyler, show them the living room. I need to get changed." 

Mr. Little glanced between his wife and the two men, hesitating, but as Charlotte left the room, he had little choice. Louis looked at him expectantly, and the older gentleman led the way into the living room.

"Mr. Little, can you show Joe the hot spots of the room? I need to examine the kitchen." 

Mr. Little didn't seem to approve of this plan, but Louis had departed the room before he could say much of anything.

Then it was just Tyler and Laurent standing in the room together. The demon would hear the sound of footsteps going up the stairs. 
  
"I don't know anything about this, my wife, Charlotte, she knows more she..." He trailed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sure you know more than I do about it. I didn't even know this was happening....is that, is this, typical? The middle of the night? I don't understand."

Laurent was captivating enough that he alleviated some of Mr. Little's creeping suspicion. The older man was not a Believer, but his wife apparently was. He was doing his best to be in neutral spirits about it all and not to upset the apple cart....but he swore there were apple seeds littered across the house. Deep down, Mr. Little knew something. He just didn't want to know it.

"Right." He acknowledged as the holy man driveled on about what amounted to nonsense. He found himself yawning. 

Tyler had not thought there was anything supernatural taking place, but he did know exactly what Laurent was talking about. Lately he had been missing ties, and he would come home to find items in the kitchen and bathroom moved. Charlotte claimed to not know anything about it. Grayson was always playing his video games, so there was never any conversation from him, and he didn't much leave his room to begin with.

"I don't know- this is really more of Charlotte's expertise. I don't know anything about this. I'm barely home as it is." He insisted. Work had him traveling, away from the home for extended stretches of time. Whatever his wife said he went with it. 

More thumps throughout the house, inaudible to Mr. Little.

The religious clergy's words had held truth to Tyler. A truth that he buried and refused to acknowledge- words that hit deep. And, because of it, Mr. Little was becoming more and more receptive to this idea of a poltergeist. He knew it was implausible, impossible. But wouldn't it be convenient? 

Though, when he thought he saw something, Mr. Little jumped where he was standing in the living room, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

"Did you--" He began to ask, and then feeling foolish, stopping himself before going to sit on his recliner chair. He was beginning to wonder where Charlotte was and what was taking her so long.

Meanwhile, Laurent's shadow friend roamed the house. It would pass the kitchen, where Charlotte, re-dressed in pajamas, appeared to be grinding a pill under a knife next to a glass of orange juice.

The real action, though, was upstairs, and the shadow would eventually find its way from the ripped apart master bedroom, the undisturbed guest bedroom and bathroom, all the way to Grayson Little's bedroom, where Louis was hunched next to his bed, shaking the boy.

"Kid, wake up." 

Grayson stirred, but refused to look in Louis' direction. The werewolf didn't seem to care.

"The bitch took somethin' from me, n' if you ain't help me find it, I'm gonna hurt yer pappa real bad, ya understand? Then it'll just be you'n the bitch." 

At the mention of his father being hurt, Grayson looked over.

'That's righ'..." Louis lulled.

----
Meanwhile, Charlotte entered the living room with a glass of orange juice, offering it to the seated Mr. Little.

"Darling, you should drink this. I'm worried about your blood sugar, you were shaking." Mr Little took the drink in hand, taking a sip, and giving a face.

"It's off, Charlotte." He said, attempting to hand the drink back, and Charlotte pursed her lips in anger.

"You always do this. I checked the expiration date, it's fine. It's from your toothpaste." Mr. Little grumbled under his breath but reluctantly drank the orange juice. 
---- 
 
Louis pulled his phone out and showed a picture to the boy.

"I ain't leavin' without it tonight. Ya better start lookin', and don't get yerself caught now either. I ain't kiddin' about yer papa."  

He then stood, turning to leave the room.
---

Charlotte's eyes fell on Laurent, and she looked around the room, hiding her confusion. Louis was gone, which meant he was wandering unsupervised in the house. Mr. Little was blinking heavily, dazed. 

Charlotte grasped the glass of orange juice from his hands, just as Mr. Little's head slumped over and he was knocked out cold. The woman's expression changed, a sharp gaze landed right on Laurent, and she smiled.

"I just want you to know, I'm not upset with you at all that you showed up in the middle of the night, disturbing my family. I know it wasn't your idea." She fluttered her eyelashes, placing the orange juice on the coffee table and approaching Laurent. She reached to stroke the side of his face, the seductress coming out.

"I'm disturbed he's put you in this position, and I don't blame you at all."

Louis proceeded down the stairs, entering the room shortly after Charlotte began to explain- 

"We both know-"

By that point, she had heard the footsteps and slowly stepped away from Laurent. She wasn't hiding her behavior- only retreating. The woman turned her body toward Louis, beating him down with a glare of intensity.

"Help me get him upstairs." She ordered, gesturing to Mr. Little.

Louis smiled, glancing at the slumbering body, before picking the glass of orange juice off the table and finishing the rest of it. Charlotte stared in horror, while the wolf blinked, immediately feeling the impact of the heavy sedatives. 

"Ambien?" He asked as he had his eyes closed, humming lowly. No hallucinations. Happy thoughts. God, he loved hypnotics.

Charlotte looked to Laurent, supervising in her panic as Louis stumbled from side to side,

"You're going to have to catch him!" She interjected urgently, but Louis' wobbling did not turn into a fall. He wandered around the room, eyes closed, somehow navigating until he was right in front of her, opening his eyes right at that moment.

"Ya want me to carry yer drugged husband upstairs, Char?" He groaned, currently in a dream-like state. 

Charlotte's eyes were wild, nostrils flaring---and then, she did it. The woman's arm swung from behind her, delivering a powerful bitch slap directly to Louis face, leaving an audible CLACK in the room.

Louis' head flipped with the slap, a red mark on his cheek, but he maintained his standing position in spite of the large amount of drugs cycling through his system. He chuckled and grinned, turning his head back to her, leaning in, close, intimate, as if he were going to kiss her.

"Oh I think ya can hit me harder than that, woman," He hissed, and were one to look, they would notice Louis was sporting a nice tent in his pants.

Charlotte pushed him backwards hard, twice, of which he stumbled backwards.

She looked toward Laurent, gesturing to Louis.

"This is what I'm talking about. He's absolutely pathetic, worthless, scum. I'm sure he made up all sorts of stories before he brought you here, didn't he?" She sighed heavily, giving a disgusted look towards Louis before approaching Laurent again. This time she left a good amount of space between them. Her expression was soft.

"Joe, I believe in forgiveness. We can make things right together. Just look at him." She gestured to Louis and shook her head. "That is not you. We could even the score. Him, misleading you by bringing you here. His very existence is like...dirt on my shoes. You understand what I'm saying?"

Louis, meanwhile stood, glancing between the demon and the bitch, perhaps in his own world- or perhaps listening intently. 

Charlotte kept a stern face as Joe laughed- it was trained squarely on Louis. The newcomer seemed a bit slow, but she could work with that.

Louis ears caught the pitter patter of feet, and he turned his body oh-so-subtly to see the boyish figure hug the shadows of the hallway off from the living room they were in.

Good boy.

Smart, too, that one was. He sure loved his papa. Whether that love would be enough, however, depended on if he completed the task he'd been assigned.

"Get rid of him? No," She corrected Joe, "He deserves to be punished for misbehaving so badly. You'll help me with that. First, though, we need to get Mr. Little to bed, mm?'" She said, gesturing to the limp body on the couch. 

Louis was watching, pretending to mope. But as soon as he caught Laurent's gaze, he lowly added, inaudible to Mrs. Little,

"Help her."

The woman and demon headed up the stairs together. What had begun as a man standing outside a house smoking a cigarette, had unfolded layer by layer, leading where? Why was Louis here tonight? What was he looking for?

Joe began to enter the wrong bedroom, and was heftily scolded for it,

"Other door!"

Charlotte didn't want to wake her dear boy. 

When the older man was tossed about the bed, the middle aged woman grasped Joe by the wrist to keep him from walking out. They needed to talk.

"Thank you." They were hollow words that lacked any real genuineness about it- but that was Mrs. Little to a T. Her outward appearance seemed to feign any authenticity she needed when dealing with men. As a result she had never cultivated a real personality beyond her sexual charms. Her sultry eye contact and fluttering eyelids was supposed to be enough to compensate. 

And the kiss, that she delivered innocently enough on Joe's cheek. Holding out on him, it seemed. Perhaps honoring the presence of her unconscious husband. 

Still tugging on his hand, she led Joe outside of the bedroom door, closing it, but preventing them from going back downstairs. She had let go of his wrist after gesturing for him to stay put.

" I don't know how well acquainted you are with Louis- but I know him well, and I know what's best for him. His behavior tonight is absolutely unacceptable. I can't let it stand. Some men are like children, and they have to be treated that way. If you want to leave, I can handle it myself, but you're going to stay, then I'll be counting on you to help me do what's best for Louis." She stared at him keenly, as if she was expecting him to make his mind up then and there, without any context on whatever it was she meant by 'what's best for Louis'. 

--
Meanwhile, downstairs, Louis had wandered, all the way to the guest bathroom downstairs where he had found the little boy frantically running through cupboards. He wasn't finding what he was meant to be finding. Louis clucked his tongue.

"Not good news for yer pappa, is it?" Louis asked as he propped himself up against the wall. He was struggling to stay standing. Even with his heightened metabolism that had been quite the dose of hypnotics he had just wolfed down.
 
He was having difficulty maneuvering as suave as he normally would have, but Louis dealt with the problem. 

By the time he returned to the living room, he was with one less shoelace and no kid to be seen or heard. 

Quite suddenly, a chill ran down Charlotte's spine. It was something about this man. It wasn't a good sensation, but things had progressed too far. It was too late to back out or change direction. It occurred to her only then that she had two potentially threatening men in her house with a sleeping child and knocked out husband. Perhaps she wasn't the cunning woman she thunk herself to be. Oddly, she still wasn't frightened by the situation-- only enraged.

"He needs a deliverance." She thought the reference was evident in itself, though perhaps this man wasn't old enough to get it. After all, any man who had been alive and watching cinema in the 1970's would remember the film of a group of city folk mercilessly terrorized by old fashioned country men. It had left a stark burn on the collective psyche of masculinity; men, too, could be debased, and made to squeal like a piggie.

She looked away, with a baiting tone, "But maybe you aren't man enough."

The woman's eyes returned with an accusatory stare.

Charlotte stood, strong and straight-spined, even as Joe's face melted into an inappropriate grin. Certainly she was infuriated by it, but some men didn't understand who she was. Some men had to be taught, they had to learn what was expected of them. Clearly Joe was not as well-trained as she had anticipated, but like any other block of clay, she was confident he could be molded with the right hit of a hammer.

No was not a word that was spoken to her. The blonde woman felt a seething rage rising beneath her, boiling, building and building...

She could hide it for now. Her lips didn't even twitch.

That control over expression completely flipped as did Joe's appearance, her eyebrows shot upwards, jaw opening and dropping. If Joe's disobedience had been a surprise to her, this absolutely sideswept her.

To watch somebody grow from six to ten feet, from flesh to bone, from concrete to semi-solid- it was quite an overwhelming experience. To such a degree that for once, Mrs. Little was left speechless.

"My God," She hissed under her breath reflexively, eyes the size of the moon. The rage had seemed to leave her features, and was replaced with primal fear.

Charlotte's knees were buckling, and finally failed her as she dropped to the ground. Her eyes were watering, labored breathing. She was sniveling, not foregone completely to hysterical crying, as the woman was doing her best to hold back.

" The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou is with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

The prayer was barely audible beneath the weeping.

Downstairs--

Louis heard the sounds.

He moved through the house and up the stairs, encumbered by his drug-induced state, and he soon arrived in the doorway to peer at the spectacle of what was happening.

"Cut it out." His voice had a drugged lilt to it but was firm and authoritarian. It was not clear exactly who he was speaking to, either.

Charlotte's hysteria continued- she was unable to calculate the next move out of this scenario. Her house of cards had folded, at least, they had until Louis walked in the room. Her tear dimmed eyes looked to him, hopeful that he had been here to save her.

"Louis, please," She begged- that air of dominance had slipped from her, until-- "HELP me, damnit!" 

There was the attitude.

That sweet, sweet, sass that normally Louis would have been all over. Mixed beneath the tears in her expression was a woman's fury. Any other time she would have bent him with that. But he was here with a purpose. Charlotte had crossed one of his few lines, and she would learn that when Louis was crossed- he did not give in to manipulations.

He only watched Joe pull her up by the hair. Didn't stop it. Didn't look amused by it, either. 

The werewolf approached the woman with a blank face, and she kept withering on,

"What are you doing! GET OFF OF ME!"  She struggled against the grip of the demon but couldn't seem to free herself, and realized the more she struggled the more her pretty curls got pinched and pain rippled down her skull. Eventually she stood there, but was clearly not pleased.

It seemed she was no longer concerned about waking her son, or her husband. So far the man continued to be limp in the bed. 

Louis cupped her chin in his hand and looked at her real close up. It could have been the beginning of a tender moment.

"You took somethin' from me, Char, and I want it back." He whispered in a gravely tone. 

"What? I TOOK something? I didn't take ANYTHING!" She screamed back. Louis dropped her chin and closed his eyes, moving away, grasping at his head. Boy did her shrilly voice have a way of giving him a fucking headache. 

He moved around the room until he found a vanity, going through the dresser drawer, finding a pen and an envelope with an electric bill on it. The back was blank, so he flipped it to that side. 

Louis curled his index finger in a coaxing manner- not toward Charlotte- but at Laurent, indicating for him to bring her over.