Tonight I had a scene rolling around in my head that I had to get down on paper. It falls out of sequence with what I’ve written already, so I’m not quite sure where it fits. Regardless, I know it will be crucial to the story. I thought I’d post it here, as it provides some interesting follow-up to chapter one. I warn you, it’s dark by necessity. There is no humor here.

Since the spirit of NaNoWriMo is all writing, no editing, don’t expect polished prose. This is the raw, unedited stuff.

The defense attorney assigned to Brianna’s killer didn’t have to work hard to prove his client’s insanity. The murder itself was senseless. After Brianna went missing, there was no ransom, no clue as to why she disappeared. They found her body the next evening in a studio apartment filled with occult symbols. The sight was gruesome. Blood covered the floor and walls. The roomed reeked of seared flesh. Brianna’s body lay centered on a spray-painted pentagram, surrounded by candles. Her chest was carved open by hands lacking in surgical training. Her heart was torn from the cavity. It was enough to make even the seasoned homicide detectives recoil in disgust. One detective actually left the scene to vomit. When the man responsible for this monstrosity was put on apprehended, it was clear to everyone that his mental facilities were absent.

The trial would be quick. The killer confessed to the murder right away. He had no inclination to defend his actions. When asked why he did it, his response was always the same: “To share in the Dark Lord’s power.” His trial was not about proving his guilt. It was about proving he should be institutionalized for good. The jury would listen to testimony from the psychiatric specialists who assessed the killer. They would then watch him prove his own insanity on the witness stand. The prosecuting attorney told Scott and Brianna’s family that the best they could do was push to keep the killer locked in a secure psychiatric hospital for the remainder of his life. They all agreed not to contest the insanity plea. They just wanted it over as fast as possible.

The district attorney told Scott that his presence at the trial was superfluous. He encouraged him not to even bother coming. This baffled Scott, so he pressed for an explanation.

“Mr. Schumacher, it’s your right to be at the trial. We’re just concerned about how you might respond.”

“I don’t understand,” Scott said.

“It’s normal for members of the victim’s family to experience intense anger in the presence of the person responsible for their loved one’s death. Outbursts happen often in these types of trials. It’s one of the reasons weapons are forbidden in the courthouse.”

“Are you worried I’m going to sneak a gun in and try to shoot him or something?”

“No, Mr. Schumacher. This issue is that you won’t need to sneak anything into the courtroom. Your body is a potential weapon.”

Scott was offended by the intimation that he would use his power to harm someone else. He was not a monster. Such actions went against his moral fiber. Yet, he was able to understand the district attorney’s concerns. Despite his moral fiber, and despite what his mind told him about the sanity of the defendant, he could not deny his want to see the killer suffer. He would be the first to volunteer to be on the killer’s firing squad if such an execution was an option.

Scott chose to sit through the trail. He gave the attorney his word, no shape shifting, no matter what. His brother, his brother’s wife, and his parents sat surrounding him. They were there to both support him and to police his actions. Brianna’s family also sat close at hand.

When the killer took the stand, rage indeed filled Scott’s heart. His brother, noting his budding claws and fangs, grabbed Scott’s arm to calm him. Scott focused his energy on not transforming. It was much harder than he expected.

As the killer was in the process of being sworn in, his dark eyes met Scott’s green eyes. A expression of exuberance came over his face. It was the first time the two had been in the same room together.

The district attorney had just four questions prepared. He trusted that the defendant’s answers, were they the same as in his interrogation, would suffice in showing his need to be locked away forever. The district attorney had no clue that Scott’s presence would draw out the fullness of the defendant’s insanity.

“Mr. Kent, do you admit to killing Brianna Schumacher?”

“I do. I absolutely do,” he said almost giddily.

“Why did you kill her, Mr. Kent?”

“To share in the Dark Lord’s power.”

It was the same answer he had given in every interrogation. The district attorney, who had barely moved from his position from behind his table was about to ask his third question when, suddenly, the defendant threw out a curveball. He looked directly at Scott’s and said, “Now that we’re finally together, Dark Lord, I’m ready to receive my share of your power.”

Scott jerked in this seat, unsure of what was just said. The whole courtroom froze.

The district attorney took a step out from behind his table.

“Mr. Kent. Am I right in assuming that Mr. Schumacher is the man you are referring to when you speak of the Dark Lord?”

“Of course. He is one of the Dark Ones who rule this earth. His power is divine.”

The courtroom remained frozen. The defense attorney was about to call for a recess, but stopped, realizing his case for insanity was only being strengthened by this unexpected turn.

The district attorney stepped closer to the defendant.

“I don’t understand, Mr. Kent. If you hold Mr. Schumacher in such high regard, why take his wife from him?”

Scott’s skin began to turn reptilian. His brother squeezed his arm harder.

“Because she was the source of his power. He said so himself.” The killer turned to Scott. “Don’t you remember telling that reporter that your strength came from her heart?”

Memories of an interview held eight months prior came to the surface in Scott’s mind. He recalled speaking of his relationship with Brianna and saying, “She’s as beautiful to me on the inside as she is on the outside. A lot of my strength comes from drawing upon what’s in her heart.”

Scott sat stunned. How could this man twist his words to mean anything literal?

The killer leaned forward in the witness stand and grabbed the rail.

“I took her heart from her, Dark Lord. I took her power into my body. Now that you’re here, you can teach me how to use it. Teach me to be a demon as powerful as you are.”

All eyes turned to Scott. Since going public with his ability, he had been accused of being many things. This was not the first time he had been called a demon. Though no scientific testing had found the answer to the question of how he got his power, he never once entrained the thought that he was anything but a human with some genetic anomaly—a mutant, for lack of a better term. He easily dismissed those who feared his power, those who said he was an alien or a demon. But this was not fear being directed at him in the courtroom. This was reverence. Twisted reverence. Never, in all of the back and forth he went though in his mind about going public with his power, had he considered the consequences of reverence. Never had he considered that he would become another man’s god. The rage he was holding at bay turned inward. It was not this deranged man who was to blame for Brianna’s death, it was his own power.