Possesed Lawyer - Adam Zamoyski

The water rushing over his hands was a lie. It was supposed to be hot, a scalding punishment, but the porcelain sink was a sudden, chilling drop in temperature. The blood, a rich burgundy that felt slick on his skin, wasn't his. If Adam was in charge now, his stomach would certainly tighten into a knot of churning revulsion. He watched the crimson swirl, a delicate pink at the edges of the pool, before it was finally gone down the drain. All he could do now was to watch. A silent observer from behind his own eyes when that damn Bies was in charge of his body.

"Please. Just stop. Please," Adam begged, a thought that felt less like a whisper and more like a desperate, clawing plea against the inside of his skull. "Ugh, they will find the body! And then what?"

A low, humorless laugh echoed in the bathroom. "Such a fragile thing, this morality of yours."

Marowid let the tap run, admiring the hands that were now almost clean save for a few faint, pink stains clinging to the creases of the knuckles and the faint lines of his cuticles.

Adam’s body was a well-crafted vessel, strong and commanding, honed by discipline. A man in his prime. Marowid could feel the remnants of a good workout in the tense, aching muscles of his host's back.

The man had deserved it. The arrogant, slick-haired lawyer who had been on the verge of exposing Adam’s firm and, by extension, Adam himself. But he was no more. Yet another obstacle removed from the bloody path to greatness. The thought of it, the chaos and the potential ruin, sent a thrill through Marowid, a warm, pulsing energy that was more potent than any drug.

"He was just a man. He had a family. He didn't deserve to die," Adam mused in the back of his skull.

"Stop whining, ​Ad-dumb," Marowid countered, his voice a low, steady rumble of thunder.

He held up a hand, inspecting it. Adam's nervous habit — the phantom motion of a thumb rubbing against the face of his vintage watch, a gift from his late grandfather — was a constant, maddening drum against the demon's will.

"This is a mistake. This is wrong. You’re destroying me." Adam’s voice was a frantic shriek, an endless note of disgust that Marowid drank in like fine whiskey. But then the will of the body's owner shook the hand, trying to regain some semblance of control. "When I'm back in charge, I'll drink a whole bottle of holy water just to wreck your nerves, you good for nothing bodiless demon."

"I am making you whole, ​A-hole-in-the-soul." Marowid growled at his image in the mirror. A shape of smoke and horns. "Did you think your success was free? Did you think you could bury that secret and not have it fester?" Marowid sneered and pushed away from the sink. His chin raised slowly and he shook his head in mock disbelief. "Your guilt, your self-loathing… they were a welcome mat. And now, you are my tool. A perfect instrument for my grand return."

A sound sliced through their internal argument. A distinct clink of metal against metal, a sound that made the hairs on Adam's arms stand on end. The doorknob turned, and keys jingled in the lock. The frantic, silent screaming in Adam’s mind intensified, a cacophony of fear and dread that made Marowid grimace.

"Someone's here," Adam thought, terror lacing every syllable.

"So noisy." The Bies let his head loll to the side. The muscles in Adam’s neck, coiled tight with the tension of his inner screaming, resisted. It was a tug-of-war for a moment, the human host’s primal fear fighting the possessor’s cold will.

But Marowid was stronger. He forced the head to tilt further, a small, sickening snap of the cervical vertebrae echoing in the host’s mind as if his spine had set. Then, his steel eyes darted to the hallway, while his hand palmed a clean now knife laying on the sink. Waiting.