Vengeance Owned: Part 3

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It was nearly midnight on a cold, cloudless New Years Eve as a heavily pregnant woman waddled her way up the steps of Saint Marks Catholic church in Brooklyn, New York. She pushed open the heavy oak door of the church and stepped inside with a groan. Slowly rubbing her hugely swollen belly she made her way down to the alter.

The old priest, A Father Leo Bruce by name, who had been Saint Marks priest for over two decades; came rushing down the aisle as she came in.

He was clutching a newspaper, and he looked quite irked at the interruption.

“I’m sorry my dear!” The old man said, eyeing her swollen form “We’re closed for the night.”

Surprisingly, all Father Bruce got for his trouble was a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “No room at the inn Father?” She sneered.

Father Bruce frowned at the young ladies smart mouth. “I’m sorry. I can give you the address for a shelter, but we’re closed.”

She glanced up at the big old clock hanging by the door to the rectory. It was Twenty minutes till midnight.

Another smirk decorated her face for a moment. “That’s okay Father.” She said calmly. “I didn’t come here looking for shelter.” Her eyes seemed to be changing color as he watched. “I came here looking for you.”

“W-what?” Father Bruce felt his heart jolt in his chest as he realized that the eyes he had been looking at had indeed changed color, from a warm brown to a searing red in seconds.

The old priest tried to back away, but Milo seized him before he had made it two steps. “Mustn’t be rude now Father.”

His paper fell from numb fingers as the Father ogled the sight before him.

The form in front of him had morphed from the harmless to the horrendous in the blink of an eye, and Father Leo Bruce found himself face to face with a creature that most humans are lucky enough never to meet. He found himself held tight in the grip of a demon of vengeance.

Scaly flesh and burning eyes winked at him mischievously. A small bow from the now almost seven foot monster. “Milo Andros.” It hissed sibilantly. A forked tongue flicked out across crusty lips. “You may call me Milo.”

“You cant possibly be here!” The priest squawked, trying frantically to break free of the iron grip on his arm. “This is Gods house! You cant walk on hallowed ground!”

“Normally Father,” The demon casually picked a loose thread from the mans garment, causing him to flinch visibly. “You would be absolutely right. I couldn’t come here without doing considerable damage to myself, but this time is different.” Milo gave the old man a smug grin. “This time.... I was invited.”

“W-who would possibly dare to invite you here?” The priest sputtered in disbelief.

“Why... God himself, of course.” Milo studied the man curiously. “Only the one who makes the rules is allowed to break them. Didn’t you know that Father?”

“In the name of God I cast ye out!” Father Bruce shouted abruptly.

Milo burst out laughing. “I just told you. Its in the name of God that I’m allowed here.” He patted the pastor playfully on the cheek.

“But... but why?” The priest said anxiously.

“Oh.....” Milo’s eyes danced with flames. “I think you might know why Father.” He gestured to the newspaper which had dropped from the old mans hand to flutter to the alter.

Father Bruce’s face went white as he saw the face staring up at him from the paper. The headline that screamed, "Thorn Midnight Execution."

The priest stuttered. “D-Daniel Thorn?”

Daniel Thorn was a young man, barely twenty one. His face looked boyish in the picture and he had the oddest eyes. Green, a dark pure green. Daniel Thorn was slated to die this New Years Eve night in the electric chair at a local prison. The boy was an orphan. He would die alone and unmourned, but for the zealots that had taken him on as a death penalty cause. No one really cared.

It had been only a few years ago that the boy, in a hallucinatory psychotic rage; had savagely used an axe to murder a whole family in a small nearby town. Five people had died at his hands that day. He had been tried as an adult. Found guilty, he had been sentenced to die.

Daniel Thorn had no appeals left, and even if he had he wouldn’t have bothered to use them. Daniel was basically forgotten, and now he just waited uncomplainingly in his cell to die alone when the clock struck midnight.

“Technicalities can be so bothersome.” The demon sighed. “Don’t you agree Father?”

Confusion darted across the mans face. “T-technicalities?”

“Oh yes.” Milo nodded solemnly. “You see Father. Daniel Thorn is a very interesting case. He was a ward of this church for some fourteen years or so before he ran away, I believe. Am I right?”

The priest watched him warily. “Yes. Why?”

“Well... you see...” The demon patiently explained. “In general this would be an easy one.“ Milo rolled his eyes. “A man has committed murder. Taken five innocent lives. Been found guilty in the court of man, and sentenced to death for his crimes. He goes straight to Hell. Easy yeah?”

Father Bruce nodded cautiously.

“However...” Milo continued. “In Daniel Thorn’s case there are some difficulties involved. You see Father.... Daniel Thorn is insane. Mentally deficient. Gone round the bend. Loony. Lost his nut... Etc... etc....”

The demon breezily waved one clawed hand as though they were discussing the weather.

“Therein lies the problem, as it were Father. If Daniel is insane; then he didn’t know that what he was doing was wrong. Therefore, he is innocent of any sin.”

Father Bruce shook his head. “I-I don’t understand.”

“The thing is Father.” Milo held on firmly as the man squirmed in his grasp. “God did not create Daniel Thorn insane.” Sharp fangs glinted as the demon smiled. “If the almighty had created him that way in his infinite wisdom, for whatever reason; then he is without doubt innocent, and when they throw that switch at midnight he would go straight to heaven. No questions asked.”

The Demons breath reeked of sulfur. “But God didn’t make Daniel Thorn insane.” He was leaning in so close that the priest could barely breath for the stench. “YOU did that.”

Father Bruce began to protest vehemently, but Milo cut him off; holding up one gnarled claw in what could best be described as a satanic "Talk to the hand" guesture. “Hence we have technicalities. Heaven wont take him in with the blood of innocents on his hands. Hell cant claim him because, technically; he is an innocent himself.”

The demon shook his head knowingly.

“You see the dilemma we have here Father Bruce.” Milo leaned over and picked up an old careworn bible from the pulpit by the alter. “And if you’ve learned anything at all from reading this book, then you should know. God and the Devil both HATE to lose.” He dropped the book with a thud.

“Heaven and Hell mutually demand justice in this case Father.” Milo leaned down so that he was practically nose to nose with the old priest. “Someone has to be held responsible for these crimes.” He pointed one long bony finger meaningfully at the old mans chest. “Then Heaven gets its innocent, and Hell can claim the real scoundrel in this little drama.” Milo smiled broadly, and it was truly a horrifying sight. “Then EVERYBODY is a happy little camper.”

“Well...” Milo looked thoughtful. “Not EVERYBODY. Because you’ll be burning in hell of course.” The demon shrugged. “Ahhhhhh, that’s too bad.... in any case, we cant have everything now can we?”

Father Bruce looked rather faint so the fiend shook him to get his attention.

“So Father; these are your choices.” Milo snickered as the priest gaped at him. “Sorry... sorry....” He almost bent double laughing. “Its just that I said choices like you REALLY have one.” The demon wiped at his eyes. “Sometimes.... I just crack myself up.”

The demon got himself back under control. “Okay. Choices. Listen carefully now.” Milo was still tickled. “Okay..
Choice one. Confess your crimes. Daniel is free to go to heaven. You burn in Hell for all of eternity or..” Milo paused dramatically. “Choice two. Don’t confess. Daniel is held in limbo until the second coming, when God will personally pass judgment on his case. You burn in Hell for all of eternity.”

Father Bruce gaped up at him in disbelief. “Those are my choices?”

“Your only choices I’m afraid.” Milo informed him.

The priest began jerking as he tried his best to escape the demons grasp.

“Father please...” Milo sighed in exasperation. “We don’t have time to play....”

Without warning Milo grabbed the priest' head in his large claws, settling his thumbs over the eyelids as the man continued trying to struggle. Some people just never learn.

“Hold on to what you got father.” Milo grinned fiendishly as he pushed two cracked and yellowed talons deep into the old mans eyes. The sharp nails easily punctured through his eyeballs and buried themselves deep in brain tissue. “Because this is really gonna STING like a motherfucker.”

Father Bruce screamed and flailed as Milo literally invaded his mind. The demon confidently began to speak the message he had been charged with delivering.

(Mark 10:14) “Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not...” Milo hissed and the priest screamed raggedly again as images began to flood his mind. Images of Daniel Thorn’s life after the boy had been placed into his caring hands. “for of such is the kingdom of God.”

Father Bruce found himself immediately locked in a dark basement as fear clutched at his heart. It seemed that he had been there forever. There were things crawling all over him! He screamed for mercy until his throat bled, but no one came.... No one came.

(Mark 10:15) “Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child....”

Daniel on his knees in the church, tears streaming down his face as he accepted God into his heart at ten years of age.

“He shall not enter therein.” Milo promised somberly.

The smell, the touch, the taste of the boy overwhelmed the old man suddenly as every sin he had ever committed in darkness was ruthlessly dragged kicking and screaming into the light.


"Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin." (James 4:17)

He had known. Oh God, he had KNOWN that what he was doing was wrong, but he had done it; over and over again, anyway!

The sound of a boy sobbing brokenly filled his ears as memory after memory assaulted his conscience.

(Mt 18:10) “Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you...” The demon quoted from memory. After all, he knew the scriptures like the back of his hand.

Father Bruce cringed at the memory of spitting on the boy. Cursing him as though he had no feelings. Like something not even human.

“That in heaven their angels do ALWAYS behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.”

Milo lifted the scrawny little man up into the air by his head. Gouging even deeper into his eye sockets as he did.

The priest thrashed wildly in the air as his feet dangled. The smell of Blood filled his nostrils. Blood seeping from the torn anus of an innocent child. Blood from blows given viciously and unjustly. The blood that was sticky on his own hands.

(Mt 18:6) “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.” 

Fourteen years of Daniel’s suffering at his hands invaded Father Bruce’s mind in a matter of seconds. Years of abuse. Years of shame. Finally, years of lunacy.

An image of Daniel, standing and shaking over the bloody bodies of the family he had just slaughtered in a fit of madness.

"Ye shall know them by their fruits ." Milo accused fiercely. (Matthew 7:16)

The priest began to shake in his hands as hard as Daniel now was in the memory.

“He knows you Father.” Milo dropped the man like so much trash on the alter. "He KNOWS you."

Father Bruce scrambled on his hands and knees, desperate to escape the inescapable. His hands flew up to his eyes which were now, once again, as whole as they had ever been.

“You can run Father....” Milo crossed his arms over his chest. “But really now, where are you going to hide?”

The old man stared up at him, wide eyed and trembling violently. Not a drop of blood colored the pale face.

“So, tell me Father Bruce...” Milo said softly. “Will you accept responsibility for what you have done, and release Daniel to Heaven? Or will you burn in Hell for the rest of eternity knowing that you could have and didn’t?”

The man sobbed and buried his face in his hands. Milo looked at the clock. Five till twelve.

“Either way your destiny is a pit of fire Father.” The demon shrugged. “It makes no difference to me which you choose, but make no mistake... You WILL choose.”

The priest drew in a shaky breath. “Either way I still go to hell.”

Milo smirked. “Now you’re getting it.”

“And if I take responsibility?” The priest dared to look hopeful for a moment. “Beg God for forgiveness?”

“Now?“ The demon laughed harshly. “NOW you want forgiveness?”

“Y-yes.” Father Bruce stammered. Shame finally burned some color into his pale cheeks.

“Believe it or not Father...” Milo spoke quietly, but with conviction. “Some things truly are unforgivable.”

“But....” The priest was wringing his hands.

“You get nothing Father.” The demon shook his head negatively. “Absolutely NOTHING, but the comfort of knowing that you did the right thing.”

Father Bruce stared up at him incredulously.

“Trust me on this one Father.” Milo leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. “In Hell.. You’ll need every speck of comfort you can possibly get.”

The man at his feet broke down completely. Wailing and rocking back and forth.

Milo sighed, glancing back at the clock. Two till twelve.

“Your answer Father!” He demanded.

Still sniffling and sniveling; Father Bruce finally raised his head. His watery blue eyes locked on the demons which were glowing red with the fires of hell.

“What say you Father? This will be your last chance to answer. Are you ready to pay for your crimes against this boy?” Milo’s patience was at an end. They were running out of time. “Answer me damn it!” The demon bellowed. “Yes or No?!!!”

With only a few seconds left until midnight, Father Bruce finally nodded. “Yes.” He whispered despairingly.

Miles away in a federal prison a switch was thrown right on schedule, and an innocent soul was welcomed into the arms of Heaven. In that same moment, the gates of hell swung wide open as Father Leo Bruce received the blazing reception that he had so thoroughly earned.


The scene at the church was nothing short of a debacle the next morning. Even jaded police officers had to turn their faces to keep from gagging at the sight that greeted them upon entry.

Father Leo Bruce, priest at Saint Marks for over twenty years, had been eviscerated and hung over the alter by his own entrails. The smell of blood and shit was suffocating.

One of the younger officers coughed and rushed outside to vomit.

Detective Dean Morris shook his head as he took in the scene of staggering brutality before him. “How could anyone do such a thing?” He said to no one in particular, and no one answered him. No one had an answer.

Morris turned to one of the officers who was beginning to look a little green around the gills himself. “Who called this in?” He asked.

The man pointed to a small nun standing just inside the door of the church worrying her rosary in distress. “She did.” The man gasped, then raced outside to retch himself.

Detective Morris made his way over to the small, scared looking woman in the black robes. She was such a tiny thing. Couldn’t be more than four foot eleven. Dean thought. So slender and fragile. The detective felt a moment of outrage. She should never have had to see something like this.

As he approached, she looked up from her beads. Soft blond curls framed a delicate oval face. Innocent blue eyes blinked at him as he approached her.

“I’m so sorry Sister.” Detective Morris said to her.

She nodded. Tears welling up in her eyes.

Feeling a unexpected protective urge, Morris escorted her outside for interviewing. It was the least he could do.

“I have to ask you some questions Sister....” He began reluctantly.

The diminutive nun nodded again, dropping her eyes.

A nearby bystander uttered a few choice expletive’s as he heard what had happened in the church. People were milling all around, most of them craning for a look at the carnage.

The Detective shot the man who had cursed a filthy look which shut him right up; then he turned back to question the little nun.

No one would ever be found that could say exactly where she had gone, or where she had come from in the first place for that matter. It turned out to be that it was the first, and the last time she would ever be spotted at the church. Many people would later claim that she was an angel. Saint Marks pews stayed packed for months afterwards.

Milo hummed softly to himself as he sauntered down an empty side street, lazily playing with his rosary beads.

He smiled.

“The good Lord works in mysterious ways.”


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::::::::A/N In this story, all of the scripture quoted is by the demon AKA/Milo.::::::::::