Note: With this final blog post, the Devil’s Advocate series is coming to a close. We’ve had a great ride, and now we’re wrapping up the series with a brief little conclusion to this tale. However, while our series has ended, the core of the story is a reality wherever you turn in this life. The Devil’s Advocate is the story of a deluded young man who is a victim of an addiction to momentary gratification and pleasure. This young man (Our hero Henry Walker) then turns a victim of a contract gone sour, and must find his way to redemption before the consequences of his actions catch up to him. Sound familiar? Well, in any case, enjoy, and be on the look out for an analysis of this series that should be out soon…
6 months was how long it took for me to truly slip into the role. I was a killing force, regarded by the community as just another mass murderer, but within their hearts I could see them realize that I was greater than what they wanted me to be. They could feel the fear building, and wherever he was, I knew Blacke was enjoying himself.
I’m not sure if I should be flattered, but there’s now an international manhunt for the man they deem responsible for marked up bodies under lakes and chilling messages written in crimson nail polish (which the media projected to be the blood of victims). I was gaining popularity, and slowly terror was taking hold.
I wasn’t sure if anyone was capable of following the events that had happened over the past few months better than Blacke and I, but I was contradicted one summer’s night.
It’s incredible how well velvet blends in with the night, because on Pier 7A I walked right past a parked car and yet another man in a tux. I would’ve entirely missed him if he hadn’t called out to me.
“No lifeguard on duty. Swim at your own risk. However, in your rather remarkable case just standing on the docks saw you to your end about a year ago.” I froze and pivoted on my heels to face the man who had called me. He was a soldier-stiff man in a black suit, crimson tie, and shoes shined to near perfection. My fingers flew to my knife, ready to attack the man, but something told me it would do no good. “So you went ahead and listened to that scumbag Blacke. Good on you, son.” The voice was stern, but sarcastic.
“You know about that? How do you know about that?” The knife came out entirely.
“Put the knife down son, you’re not a killer. You’re a boy whose been mislead so quit the act for a minute because we need to talk business.”
“Oh no, I’ve had far too much of that lately.”
“I know Henry, I know far too well of your recent deal with Mr. Blacke. I also know that he’s sent you on a path he wished he could’ve taken himself. A violent path of chaos and destruction.” The man stepped closer, a cane in hand.
“How do you know all this?”
“Mr. Harte.” Harte stretched out his hand, and I took it. This all gave me a strange feeling of deja vu. “I was once a well-liked, dare I say, successful politician on the rise in our very own country. It didn’t last for long, however, because I came to learn that today’s society doesn’t appreciate ‘good’. It doesn’t want or need ‘fair’ to function in a manner it calls just. Love is sacrificed for a much more convenient feeling; hatred. Soon, I began finding sympathy for a man who the majority of the people saw as a generally bad guy. He was a young man, no older than you who had been accused of manslaughter and assault on several accounts, but something didn’t seem right. I saw a chance for redemption, I saw something within him that told me that there’s something that we’re not seeing that could prevent us from placing him in a trial manufactured for him to lose and suffer. I saw that he wasn’t who the people said he was. When I went public with these statements, I thought that the so-called ‘goodness’ in people would allow them to see this man the same, but they didn’t. I became the ‘patron of killers’ and ‘criminal sympathizer.’ I lost my respect, dignity, position, and I’m still losing more to this world. Yet, I still feel that all people should see a chance for redemption.
I was left with no words. In the span of a few months I had met two ends of a wildly wide spectrum and by this point I knew better than to leave without hearing a deal from either.
“I see good in you Henry, and although you refuse to believe it, there might be redemption for you yet. In fact, here…take my card.” Mr. Harte briskly pulled a crisp new piece of cardstock from a pocket in his suit and handed it to me. On it was nothing, absolutely nothing. I looked up to ask if this was some kind of practical joke, but the hobblefoot was already on his way to his car.
“Harte! Man this isn’t funny! You hear? I’m the Devil’s Advocate! I am the Devil’s Advocate and I don’t want your redemption!” I shouted after him.
“Don’t worry about it Henry. When you need me, I know you’ll find me. Or better yet, I might just have found you.”