Paradox

     The silhouette still remained silent and still.

     “Say something!” he warned.  “What’s the matter with you?”

     Then, he gasped.  In this insufficient light, it was suddenly obvious that the shadow-man was holding a gun.

     With a new sense of fear, he took a step backward.  “Hey,” he said.  “What is this?  What’s your problem, pal?”

     The shadow-man took a step toward him.

     He took another step back.  “Why don’t you put that thing away?” he suggested.  “There’s no need for any of this.”

     He began to tremble as the shadow-man pointed the gun squarely at the middle of his chest.

     “Come on!” he coaxed nervously.  “Joke’s over!  Cut it out!  Who are you?  Are you that guy Lindsay keeps talking about?  What his name?  Danny Stark?”

     There was a silencer on the gun.  It hardly made a sound as the silhouette fired two shots.  His target stumbled back against the brick wall as the bullets sunk deep into the ribs near his heart.

     He dropped the keys in his hand.  He slid down into another shallow puddle.  He was in pain.  His chest was bleeding.

     Even from his vulnerable position, he still couldn’t see a face in that silhouette as it stood over him.  He looked up from the puddle.  The one light from the building next door made it look as if the silhouette had a halo.

     There was no face.  But there was a halo.

     The damp drizzle kept everything in a haze.  And as he looked up from the puddle, something else made him gasp.  He didn’t know if it was the haze, the blood or the pain.

     Maybe it was the alcohol.

     But somehow, it appeared as though horns had grown out of the silhouette’s head!  Just like The Devil!  It sent a cold chill up his spine.

     “Oh my God!” he cried.  “Who are you?  The Devil?  Satan?  Lucifer?”

     The shadow-man still said nothing.  He just aimed the gun right at his target’s face.

     “No, Lucifer!  Please!” he begged.  “Don’t kill me, Satan!  Please!  I don’t want to die!  Please!  Spare me, Lucifer!