Chapter 6: The Weight of Sin

Zophie’s question from during the movie, about redemption, kept replaying in my mind despite the fact I’d already answered her. After fruitlessly tossing and turning in bed for what felt like an hour, I finally decided it was a lost cause. As an immortal, I didn’t necessarily need to sleep, but that didn’t mean I’d feel just fine without it— especially since I avoided mortal food.

Wiping the residue from my eyes, I sat up in bed, the sheets slowly falling off me. Lead pushed down in my chest, over-exhaustion creeping through my bones. It didn’t matter, with how full my mind was and how antsy I felt, I knew I’d never get to sleep like this. Not until I resolved something first.

As I got out of bed, putting on dark, concealing clothing, I reflected on the state of things. I normally wouldn’t eat twice in the same week, but Zophie had barely any sins to her name— not enough to satiate me. I’d found someone else after that, but it’d still thrown my hunt out of rhythm. Hunting again now would be for the best, and I knew it’d help me fall asleep afterward, too.

I gently opened the door, slowly turning the knob so as not to wake Zophie. If she heard me leaving, I knew I’d have to answer questions. Avoiding that annoyance altogether made things easier for both of us.

For once, I actually grabbed my keys on the way out. I usually never bothered with locking the door, but again, I didn’t want some acquaintance of mine wandering inside and stumbling upon a mortal. That, too, would force me to answer annoying questions I didn’t want to bother with.

Just as I’d done earlier, I eased the front door closed, locking it from outside. I inhaled the crisp evening air; the sun had long set, leaving near-total darkness. I already felt rejuvenated, and the hunt had yet to even begin.

Hands deep in my coat pockets, I navigated through the city streets. The night was young, and quite a few folks were still out and about. The distant hum of traffic mixed with the laughter of a nearby group, the air thick with the scent of bar food and exhaust. I spotted more than a few couples on their way to or from a date. Normally, I’d be scanning the nightlife for an easy mark, but for some reason, there seemed to be more couples than I was used to. They kept drawing my attention, watching one woman in a short dress hanging off a man’s arm, obviously drunk. I snorted at the scene; poisoning myself had never appealed to me.

Making sure to avoid the lampposts, I weaved in and out of pedestrian traffic. More than a few intoxicated mortals might have collided with me had I not been paying attention. Luckily, I was long experienced in quickly moving through crowded city life, even if I disliked it. After noticing a tall, concealed figure rapidly pacing toward them, many crowds would even get out of my way voluntarily. I always loved when that happened.

A few sinners did catch in the corner of my eyes; one woman with a particularly nasty bruise across her cheek flinched every time the man beside her looked her way. For one tiny second, my heart dropped in my chest, a flash of her strawberry blonde hair reminding me of Zophie. Even once I realized it wasn’t her, something inexplicably heavy stuck in my chest.

I nearly swerved to deal with the man, but then I reminded myself of tonight’s goal: Zophie’s landlady. As I continued onward, away from the couple, I felt my jaw clench. I tried to soothe myself, repeating in my head that they were mere mortals, that such things happened rampant across the entire city. Eventually, my temper turned to ice, forcefully dampening the strangely intense reaction I’d had. This world was hopeless, and it’d be best if I remembered that. My mood flattened as I focused on my goal. Regardless, an image of Zophie with a bruise on her cheek intrusively superimposed itself in my mind as I continued on.

Ignoring the rest of the mortals bustling uselessly about, I eventually arrived at Zophie’s apartment building. I’d been here just yesterday, though it felt like it’d been much longer than that. I spotted a tenant standing on the stairwell, blowing acrid smoke into the air. Barely making note of him, I approached and quickly asked for the whereabouts of the landlady. Luckily, and just as I’d suspected, the landlady lived on the property— in a corner suite.

I paused at the threshold before the door. Sucking in a breath, I allowed my vision to narrow. Goosebumps flashed across my skin, the shadows pulling in around me. One moment, I was outside the apartment, a wooden door blocking my way. And the next, I determinedly pushed through the boundary. No wood was split, no doorframes smashed. And yet, here I stood, melded in shadow, observing the inside of the apartment around me.

In this place, between the bounds of mortal comprehension, anyone other than me would see only a particularly elongated shadow. The room moved around me, a flicker of my will having me explore the apartment’s main living space effortlessly. There, rotting in a couch, buried within her own flesh, a parasitic human sat glued to her expensive TV screen.

The fool did not even notice me, but how could she? Zophie was truly extraordinary, to see through me, but her landlady was not nearly as gifted. I fully manifested in the room, the landlady’s glossy eyes nonetheless staring at me.

“Wuh,” she sounded confused, halfway between a dream. “Who are you?” she whispered.

I smirked, slightly impressed she’d managed to notice me even to that extent. “You won’t remember anyway.” My wings flared behind me, spikes of shadow flying up the walls behind me. A black feather gently fell before my eyes, and then I was upon the woman.

My soul collided with hers, baring her Soulspace to me. Flashes of memory shot by, moments of importance. If I dug deeper, I knew I could explore her entire personality. While such a thing might have been enjoyable, and I was tempted, I once again brought my focus to my goal.

Stabbing my shadow through her Soulspace, I searched for a particular moment. There— a memory of this woman, Eliza, shutting off the heat to Zophie’s apartment. I dug deeper, a different memory coming into view: Eliza looking at a tenant’s bill, Zophie’s, and sneering. In response, my shadows sharpened, digging into Eliza.

Another memory of greed flashed through the woman. Children in a different apartment shivering in the middle of winter, their lips blue and their bodies stiff. Eliza cared not a bit, superficially self-satisfied. I saw how she murderously overcharged her tenants, not just Zophie, gleefully racking in money. And for what? Just to rot here on her couch, alone and infinitely unsatisfied?

I latched onto her sin, the sin of greed. With a tearing pull, I exited her Soulspace, bringing her sin along with me. Alongside it, came a shard of her soul. Blinking my eyes open, I watched as the woman recoiled and gasped. Light flickered in her eyes for a moment, only for her glossy-eyed stare to return immediately after. She moaned despondently, her hands trembling as they clutched at her chest, as if searching for something that was no longer there.

With disgust running through me, I observed the woman. “You’ll never feel satiated from greed again,” I said, my voice low and cold. “You’ll crave money, but it will never be enough. With a shard of your soul missing, you’ll feel listless and empty— nothing will matter, no selfish effort rewarded. Before your soul scars over, forever impossible to heal, abandon your greed, and perhaps you’ll find a happiness worth living for. But I doubt you will.” These words were for my own satisfaction, my answer to Zophie’s question.

I knew this woman wouldn’t change—she’d either die consumed by her sin or stumble into a hollow existence, her soul scarred forever. Perhaps if a miracle occurred, she’d become a better person, happy to give wealth unto others, and in doing so find a life past her sins. If Zophie was right, maybe this woman would find redemption. But, I knew for a fact, she wouldn’t be finding it from me.

And no matter what, Eliza would never cause Zophie to suffer again.