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Sarah knows, objectively, that 13 is too old to play with dolls. She just turned it two weeks ago, at least she probably did; no one was really sure, but she needed a birthday, so why not use her old one?
It didn’t matter much; as far as anyone was concerned, as far as her dad was concerned, she was 13 now. At 13 was too old to play with dolls.
But there she was in the bedroom, laying on her belly, playing with her doll house as she waited for the sky to clear.
It was a pretty dollhouse, a big, wooden one that was intricately painted. It was given to her a year ago, when she moved in with her dad. She was frightened, but he was gentle, patient.
She remembers when he gave her the house and a family of dolls to go with it. “You always said you liked dolls.” He told her. “Go on, play with them. It's okay.”
Sarah had never played with dolls, at least, not that she remembered. It wasn’t as weird as one would think to have someone tell her what she liked to do, what she liked to eat, what her hobbies were.
It was just weird that they were right. She did like playing with dolls, she did like chamomile tea, she did like reading about medieval history and Egyptology.
And her dad didn’t seem frightened by more alarming things. When she’d go silent for hours, unable to speak. When she’d ramble uncontrollably about whatever was on her mind.
When she’d wake up screaming from nightmares she couldn’t escape, things that hadn’t happened yet.
And things that already had.
They never seemed scared.
“Sarah? Have you had breakfast?” Her dad calls from the kitchen. “It’s almost eleven.”
Sarah puts her dolls back, gently closing the house. She tried to be gentle, she truly did, but she was clumsy, and forgot to be careful. Despite being so new it already had a few scratches on it. Sarah used to be scared that her dad would get mad about it, but he never seemed to notice.
He didn’t seem to care either when Sarah broke other things, when she dropped a glass or ripped a dress.
It was not what she was used to. But that's also hard to say when she isn’t used to anything at all.
“Coming dad!” Sarah called, a second before she stepped out of her room and to the kitchens.
Her dad was a large, old man. Really closer in age to a grandfather than a father. His only grandson, Raphael, was a few years older than her actually. But he was kind and gentle to her. Today was sunday, he wasn’t working and wore a sweater, with a pink apron over it.
He smiled at Sarah when she stepped out of her room. “Morning. How long have you been up?”
“An hour I think.” She shrugged, before skipping up to the counter. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggs, cooked all the way through.” He sighed. “I was going to make pancakes but we’re out of chocolate chips.”
Sarah wouldn’t eat pancakes without chocolate chips. She wouldn’t eat eggs that were running. She wouldn’t eat a lot of foods actually.
Usually that meant she just wouldn't eat a lot, but her dad was sure to only make foods she would eat.
She’d never ask, he just knew.
“Thank you dad.” She said, watching him carefully.
There used to be a pause when she said that. Some hesitation, some doubt. But not anymore. Now it just seemed natural. “Have any plans for today?” He asked, cleaning up the pan he used. “I have a meeting at noon at the station, I’ll be away for a bit. Do you need anything before you go?”
“No, I'll be okay.” She says, glancing out the window. The sky was gray, but the rain had stopped. “I was wondering if I could borrow Rapheal’s skateboard though. Do you think he’ll mind?”
“He won’t mind.” Mernadrier chuckled. “You know that.”
“It’s still nice to ask.” It was summer so Sarah saw Rapheal a lot more than she did during the school year, but weekends were still spent with his mother.
“Yes you can borrow it.” He said. “If you also borrow his helmet.”
She rolls her eyes, but nods. “Yes dad.”
“Thank you Sarah.” He says, before walking over on the other side of the counter, where Sarah had taken her seat and was starting to eat. “Are you gonna want any more?”
She shakes her head. “No this is enough.” Even with foods she liked, Sarah never ate much.
He frowned. “Well, finish up your breakfast. I’ll be home around three. There’s some lunch in the fridge if you get hungry later.” He said, before kissing her forehead. “Have fun Sarah.”
“I will.” She assures him. “Bye dad!”
He leaves. Sarah doesn’t bother to finish her breakfast. She eats half of it, cuts the rest up, and hides it in the trash. Then she slips her shoes on, grabs Rapheal skateboard, and heads out, leaving the helmet.
There’s a chill in the air, and it's quite overcast. The parking lot she always skates at is empty, even more so than usual.
She preferred biking; but only last week she rolled over a nail and popped a tire coming home from the library. Sarah snuck it back into the garage and told her dad that she found it like that the next day.
Sarah’s not sure if he believed her. But he wasn’t angry, and just said they’d get it fixed soon enough. But it was a busy week. So she had to borrow Rapheal’s skateboard instead.
Riding around was nice enough anyway, doing a few rounds in the parking lot, then splitting off and skating to the park not far.
It was almost as empty, but there were a few people around. An old man, a couple shivering together, a family with three young kids, A man in a black hoodie talking to one of the few vendors in the area-
She stops, her skateboard skittering to a stop, then looks back at the man, paying more attention to him.
Sarah couldn’t see much, only a black hoodie and dark jeans.
The hoodie was dark. So dark it seemed to absorb the light around it.
She knew that color. Knew it better than she knew herself, that that wasn’t saying much; she knew herself very little.
But she knew that color, and knew who the only person wearing that color was. They’ve met up several times that she remembers, and several more that she didn’t.
Sarah kicked her board up, tucked it under her arm, and made her way over to a park bench. It was still wet, so she took her hoodie off and placed it down before sitting down herself.
She watched.
And waited.
The man took his time. He seemed to take his time a lot nowadays; that didn’t line up with what others said, that didn’t line up with what was written about him, and that didn’t line up with the little she remembered.
But Belphegor was just so slow.
She sighed, leaning back, before abruptly pulling forward, unable to stand the feeling of water on her clothes.
Only then did Belphegor decide he was done talking to the salesman and stepped away from the stall, a paper bag in hand.
He’s even slower as he makes his way over. He didn’t even walk over directly, making his way down the trail, not even looking at her direction.
Only when he was about ten feet away from Sarah did he actually turn to make his way toward her.
His hood covered most of his features, along with a medical mask, but small bits still came through.
His skin was a greyish-tan, hair a dark brown with the slightest curl, and his eyes were a deep black. He was tall, slender, and seemed somewhat old, but not as old as he should be.
Her dad said Belphegor had to be fifty, on one of the rare occasions she could get him to talk about Belphegor.
He didn’t like to talk about Belphegor much.
There were a lot of things her dad didn’t like to talk about. Not anymore at least. But Sarah had her ways, and his coworkers, the other cops, Berthier, they were willing to talk about these things still.
At least until they remembered they weren’t supposed to.
But it usually took them a while to remember that.
He stops in front of her, and hands the bag over to her. “One strawberry danish, one raspberry.”
She takes the bag, and nods, taking out one of the pastries and nibbling on it. It was the raspberry one. “Thank you.”
Belphegor sat beside her, seemingly unbothered by the sensation of rain. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She shrugs. “My bike broke last week. But Rapheal taught me how to skateboard so it’s not too bad. He’s been letting me borrow it.”
“Menardier is still taking care of you?”
“Yeah, yeah, dad’s been good.” She
His laugh never quite sounded human. It was deep, off putting, and sounded like something you’d hear from a demon rather than a human.
Sarah didn’t find it scary though. She didn’t find it scary anymore.
She doesn’t remember finding it scary, ever, but she must have.
“It is still odd, hearing you refer to the Commissioner as ‘dad’.”
She shrugs. “Jacques thinks it's weird too.”
“Has he been good to you?”
“Yeah, he’s nice.” She says, swinging her legs back and forth on the park bench. “It’s hard to know what he thinks of me though.”
“It’s hard to know what he thinks?” Belphegor says, that low, unearthly laugh escaping from him again. “I do not think I have ever heard anyone say that about him.”
“Well he’s not hard to read.” She puffs up a bit. “He’s just, you know, he doesn’t seem to know what he thinks of me either.”
Belphegor tilts his head, silently prompting her for more.
“Well, he’s just weird.” She continues. “He’s nice, and he’ll play dolls with me, and he got me a really old book for my birthday!” She smiles, thinking about it; it was a book on Egyptology from the 1800s. It probably wasn’t very accurate, but she hadn't read it yet. The pages were so fragile. “And a really pretty necklace too! But sometimes he seems really sad when he looks at me. Sometimes guilty. Sometimes like he’s mourning. Sometimes he just looks confused.” Sarah shrugs. “It’s probably weird for him too.”
Sarah looks at him. Belphegor is always so expressionless. Even with the mask covering most of his face, his eyes just look empty. Hollow. Not depressed or hopeless, but like there's part of a human that just wasn’t there, or wasn’t where it should be.
Belphegor was either more than human or less than human. But it was impossible to tell one way or another.
“It’s weird for you right?” Sarah prompted, after a few moments of silence. “I mean, I know Jacques and I were a thing- No one ever told me, but I’m not stupid.” None of the adults were as careful with keeping it a secret as they thought they were. “But I don’t know what I was to you.” No one seemed to know. At least, no one seemed to agree.
He looks away. It’s still hard for her to read. But he says nothing.
“What happened that day?” She asked softly.
He stands. “Let's go for a walk.” Before extending a hand for her to take.
She puts the danishes on top of the skateboard and reaches up. It’s too high up for her to take it comfortably. She tries though, and within a few seconds he lowers his arm back down to his side, letting Sarah hold it far more comfortable.
His left hand is gloved; his right not, with a ring. A gold one, with a giant flat spot of gold, where some gem used to be. Sarah always took his gloved hand, preferring the velvet to touching skin.
She was particular about touch. It was something everyone around her seemed to know, something they seemed to respect.
“I forget that you are so much smaller than you were, even still.” Belphegor says as they walk slowly through the park. He doesn’t look at her though.
“Did I grow up to be tall?” She asks in excitement.
He nods. “Not as tall as me, but yes, you were tall.” He pauses. “You should eat more if you want to get taller.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “You sound like dad.”
Another chuckle. “I can’t say I’ve even been compared to Menardier before. Your mind works in interesting ways Sarah.” His voice trails off slightly, the closest he’s ever been to sounding sad; but not quite. “It always has.”
“What happened? Why do you stay around?” She asks, tugging his arm slightly. “I know I wrote articles about you.” It wasn’t hard to look herself up; her dad didn’t change her name, it was still Sarah Kozminsky. And she seemed to have made a bit of an impression on the world before…
Well, she’s still not sure.
Belphegor doesn’t answer right away.
“Menardier and Jacques said I died. And you brought me back somehow. Is that true?” They weren't good liars, but they lied a lot. And when they were really determined to hide something from her they seemed to find a way.
It was frustrating. They wanted to protect her from the truth. She hated it, hated being ‘protected’ from her own memories, her own fate, her own past.
But she couldn’t be too mad either. She was lying to them too, to protect them from her memories as well.
“It is…” He thinks. “Not a lie. That is what they think happened.”
“But that’s not what happened, right?”
Belphegor shakes his head. “When someone is dead, they are dead. They can’t be brought back.” He stops. They’re at the other side of the park now, where it’s far more empty. There was no one around.
Belphegor lets go of Sarah’s hand and flips his hood down. Despite his age there’s little grey in his hair, and his face isn’t worn at all. He looked up at the sun, and the emptiness in his eyes were even more clear. “You got… Corrupted.”
“Jacques said it was terrible to watch. It was horrible.” It took Sarah a lot of coaxing, and eventually getting him when he was drunk, to get the story. “That I was bending in ways I shouldn’t. That I was screaming. Then I just stopped. And you rushed over and did something, and I was… Well, you know.”
She was a child, with no memory of herself, no memory of her past, no memory of anything.
She couldn’t even talk.
That's what she’s told. The first few weeks were blurry. But eventually everything was sorted out. Sarah was moved in with Menardier, he became her legal guardian. She started to speak again, started acting normal; or at least, as normal as she had ever been.
Which didn’t seem very normal.
They tried putting her in school but that didn’t really work great; Sarah didn’t remember anything, but she still knew everything she did before and had the same knowledge. And that's not even taking into account how bad she was with socializing.
That ended up lasting only a few months.
“Your being got infected. Inside. Not physically, a different part of you. And everything had to be cut out.” Belphegor explained.
Sarah started, not really understanding.
“You have a sensitive soul Sarah.” Belphegor tries again. “Always have. It’s not as tethered to… To this time. To reality. As anyone else's is.” He looks at her, as unreadable as before. “The world found itself out of alignment. Then back in alignment. No one else felt it but for you… It is like your soul got stuck in bicycle gears just before someone started to pedal. It got torn, shredded. It had to be cut away.”
“And I was left?” She asks.
He nods.
She thinks for a moment. “What about your soul? Everyone says you have abilities, is your soul really sensitive?” If it was, how come he didn’t have the same effect?
“I don’t have a soul.” He responds straightly.
Sarah nods. That made sense.
“It was just your birthday, right?”
She nods excitedly. “Yes! Two weeks ago!” She pulls on his arm excitedly. “Do you have more pictures for me?”
Menardier and Jacques kept all the pictures they had of her as an adult hidden; or destroyed. Whether that was because they didn’t want her to see it, or if it was just too painful for them, she didn’t know.
But she wanted to see herself; she wanted to know what she was like, what type of person she used to be.
What type of person she was becoming.
“You know the deal.” He says.
“I’ve been training.” She pouts. “Just like you said.”
He looks at her, tilting his head. “Show me.”
Sarah sighs and rolls her eyes, before demonstrating a punch he’d made her practice dozens of times. “And I know to go for under the chin. Like you said.” She puts her arm down. “Why is it so important for me to know anyway?”
He kneels down in front of her, one hand on his knee. “I know you’re starting to remember.”
She looks down, ashamed. “I don’t remember much.”
“But you’re starting to remember.” He says softly. “Not much, yet. Just bits and pieces.” He pauses. “Does anything make sense?”
“I remember a bit of my first parents. They weren’t very nice. I don’t miss them.”
“You told everyone they died.” Belphegor tells her. “I’m sure Menardier knows they’re alive, but he probably figured it would be best not to send you back.”
She nods. “And school. I think.” She frowns. “And… Other things. Things I’m not sure if they’re past or future. I think I see you sometimes. It’s hard to tell.” She looks down at her feet. “It hurts. That’s how I know they’re not just dreams. They hurt.”
He puts a hand on her shoulder. “They hurt less as you get older.”
Sarah doesn’t look up, but nods again. “It’s hard. Dad tries to make it easy. But it’s still hard.”
Belphegor thinks. “When are you going to tell them? That your memories are coming back?”
She shrugs.
“You’re going to be yourself again one day.”
Sarah swallows. “Is that good or bad?”
He thinks. Lets her go, then stands. “I do have something for your birthday.” He says.
“Really?” Sarah immediately perks up. She didn’t think he forgot, but that doesn’t mean she expected a gift. At most she was hoping for another photo; he knew how much she wanted them, and was pretty much forcing her to train to earn them.
Maybe he would give her one for her birthday.
Instead, from one of his hoodie pockets, he pulls out a medium sized red box.
Sarah takes it gently. It was a nice box, reminding her of a jewelry box, but a bit too big.
Carefully she pops the hood, revealing an odd statue.
It was made of a large, white stone triangle, and a little hard to hold. There was a woman painted on, with black ink but some gold accents. She was topless, with a circular haircut, and seemed to have a crown. Her mouth was open, arms straight out and up, small arms jutting out from the stone.
“What is it?” Sarah asked, picking it up. It was cold; too cold almost. She turned it in her hands. “It’s… Creepy.”
“Are those your best words to describe it?” He asked. The tone wasn’t as hostile as the words made it seem.
She thought, then shook her head. “It’s not creepy.”
Another pause. “And?”
“I don’t know.” She said, placing it gently back in the box.
“It’s an object with a soul. That’s what you can feel.” He explains gently. “The strongest one I have.” He toys with the ring on his finger. “It’ll make you stronger. Focus on it.”
Though unsure, she nods. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll learn. You’re smart.” Belphegor tells her softly. “You picked up on defending yourself so well, you’ll pick up on this even easier.”
“Why are you so insistent?” She asked, frustrated and annoyed. “Why do you want me to be so strong? What’s in it for you?”
He plays with his ring again. “I had given up my blessing to Tanit. After it happened. After a few months she left. She’s gone now.”
Despite knowing how intertwined she was with Belphegor, Sarah had never actually seen him be Belphegor. After whatever happened to her happened, Belphegor vanished from the public eye, no longer stealing, no longer hacking, no longer doing anything.
It’s like he vanished the day Sarah did.
“And?”
“It means that she’s given it to someone else.” He pauses, and takes out a bundle of photos.
Sarah gasps and leans in close, trying to get a peak. There were several dozen at least; more than her collection
He hold them back, just out of reach. “These are the rest I have. I’ll give them to you, but you need to promise me something.”
“What?” She huffed, still trying to reach.
Belphegor takes her arm, and gently lowers it to her side, before making eye contact. His blank eyes always looked intense, but there was a slight red glow when he looked at her. So slight Sarah could almost convince herself she imagined it. But she was certain she didn’t.
“Tanit is going to give her blessing to someone else. Someone who is going to be like me, who's going to do the things I did.” He says, voice deep and soft. “And knowing her, and knowing you, you’re going to catch that person's attention. Do you understand?”
Sarah nodded slowly, stuttering ever so slightly. “I understand. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to promise.” He grips her arms, just loose enough that it doesn’t hurt, but barely. “That if that happens, when that happens,when someone like me catches your attention, starts to do the things that I did to you.” His grip gets tighter. “I want you to promise that you’ll kill them.”
She blinks. “What did you do to me?” They had a history, even if she didn’t remember. Her dad was very worried that he’d do something to her. There were still alarms on all their windows because he was worried Belphegor would take her away in the night.
Because, apparently, it's something that's happened before. Many times before. Along with a few other things that no one is willing to tell her about, or doesn’t even know about.
But Sarah knows it wasn’t good. Whatever he did to her, however he treated her, it couldn’t be good.
He’s nice now, but what would she think when she remembered everything?
Sarah looks down at her feet for a few minutes, before looking straight into his eyes. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”
His response is slow, but not hesitant. “No. Nothing except the end. And the person who takes my place won’t regret it either.” His grip loosens. “So you need to kill them. Do you understand?”
“I think so.” She whispers. “I don’t know if I can promise that.” She swallows. “Did I kill anyone before?”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice softens, and he stands. “But you’re capable of doing it. Of keeping yourself safe. You grow up into a very strong person.” He slowly hands her the photos. “Don’t think of it as murder. No one else ever will. Think of it as doing what you have to to protect yourself.”
She takes the photos, flipping through them, now unsure. “My hair was so much shorter.” She murmurs. There were a lot of photos; a lot of her and Jacques, some of her on stage, one with her and an award; probably the journalism excellency award.
“Are you planning on cutting yours?” Belphegor asked. It was hard to tell what he meant by it, but he didn’t seem to be judging her at least.
“No, dad doesn’t make me do anything with it.” Her memories from before she was 13 the first time, the ones that came back so far, were a lot clearer than the future memories. She remembered enough to know that her other parents always made her tie it back, or braid it, or wear a headband; all things that ached after a few hours at most. And trying to take it out would always cause some sort of fight or argument. One wouldn’t think there could be so much fighting about hair, but one would be mistaken.
Her dad, however, was very gentle. He didn’t mind that Sarah let it flow free, didn’t mind if it got tangled, and if something did need to be done with it he would always be as gentle as possible. Sarah would barely feel it at all.
But he did have a daughter before her, so maybe parents just got better the second time around.
“Well I think it’s very pretty.” Belphegor says. “You should probably tell Menardier that you remember a little bit.”
Sarah hums non-committally, flipping through the photos.
He just shrugs. “I know you well enough to know you won’t, but I should still say that regardless.”
Sarah doesn’t look up, though glares in annoyance. She didn’t have reason to tell him, not yet at least. Her memories weren’t even clear anyway. Maybe the day she actually remembered something important-”
Sarah froze. “Shit.”
“Sarah?” Belphegor questions, tilting his head slightly.
She starts to stutter, flapping her hands. “I-I-I left Raphael's skateboard! I left it on the park bench! I have to go get it!”
Belpehgor doesn’t respond for a moment. And then-
And then the corner of his eyes crinkle. There's a flash a life in his eyes, the briefest shine, and he laughs; a laugh, that for once, actually sounds human.
“What's so funny?” She demands in distress. “Rapheal loves that thing, what if someone stole it? Or moved it?”
“Nothing, you are just so very young.” He seems to still be smiling, offering a hand. “Let's go get it, but I promise it's still there. There are very few people in the park, and it hasn’t even been twenty minutes.”
She takes his hand and rushes back to the bench; not as fast as she’d like, as Belphegor is still rather slow, but at least he’s willing to pick up the pace slightly for her.
Though when the park bench was in sight Sarah let go of his hand and rushed forward, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief when she saw the scooter was right where she left it; and the bag of danishes as well.
She picks it up and tucks it under her arm. Belphegor joins her a few moments later. “Sarah, about what I said earlier.” His voice is soft, and he waits for Sarah to look at him before continuing. “You are young. Do not forget it, but do not try and think on it. That won’t be something you need to worry about for many years. Just be a child for now. You can worry about adult things when you’re an adult.”
“Then why are you telling me about it now?” She whines.
“I just want you to be prepared.” He says softly, then sighs. “But this won’t effect you till you’re much older. And it’ll make more sense when you start remembering what I did.”
“But you won’t tell me?”
He shakes his head. “No. I won’t. I’ll enjoy the time I have before you remember that you’re scared of me.” Despite the heaviness of the words he said them completely casually, and without guilt.
‘What did he do to her?’ Sarah found herself thinking for the hundredth time. Details of what happened between them were never written in the articles. Even if she was there she just wrote about what Belphegor did, not how they interacted, or not what he said.
“I did get you a different present though. Something you might like.” He says, then pulls out a slender box. “I hope you like it. I’ve seen you wear bracelets before, and I know you liked jewelry as an adult.”
Sarah lift the lid, and gasps; It was a beautiful bracelet made of connected, oval cut blueish-green gems. She brought it closer to get a better view, and the gems turned to purple. “Oh thank you! It’s so pretty! It’s my two favorite colors.”
“It’s Alexandrite.”
“Was it named after Alexander the Great?” She asks, taking out the bracelet, feeling the cold metal against her skin. “Is this real silver?”
He chuckles, before reaching down and helping her latch it on. It was slightly loose, even on the tightest setting, but wouldn’t fall off. “No one in the world would make a bracelet of real Alexandrite and use face silver.”
Sarah flips her wrist a little, watching the gems shine in the light. “Thank you. It’s really pretty. And I don’t think dad would notice. I pick up random jewelry at the charity shop all the time.” They sold some really cheap costume jewelry for a euro a piece. Some they sold for 50 cents, but those were always really ugly old lady jewelry that Sarah never liked.
“Your father is smart, but I don’t think he can tell the difference between real and fake jewelry. That isn’t really his repertoire.”
Sarah throws her arms around Belphegor and squeezes. “Thank you so much! It’s so pretty.”
Belphegor freezes, and then wraps her arms around her shoulders stiffly. “Happy birthday Sarah.” He says, then pulling away after a few moments. Sarah lets go, and looks up. His expression was still unreadable. “Don’t worry about what I said. Just worry about being a child for now. Can you promise that?”
She nods. “I promise!” Promising to have fun was a lot easier than promising to kill someone.
Belphegor chuckles, the same eerie chuckle from before. “That’s all you need to worry about Sarah. Nothing else. Just being a child, that's all you need to worry about.”