This is the fourth part of this story. Read the first, second and third parts first, like any good boy would.
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He listens to the rooster crowing in the morning, a broken cry that pierces the dawn light. It's here, he thinks, the morning of his last day, and soon enough, sale time will end and then, what will he do? He is no longer in exile, so he must return, it seems, to his house from before. The place where fallen angels go when they're not fallen angels anymore. And where exactly is that? He's no longer a school boy, he can no longer listen to the old masters. He knows everything there is now, he knows what he's selling and how to make people buy. The masters are no longer needed, so he can't go back to school.
Now what?
He must find his answers, although he already dreads the night, when he will have to return, the prodigal son come back from the living grave to peddle his sins again. They all wait for him, they look for him through the cracks in the wall, they peer in as he struggles to sleep at night. Their curiosity is burning through them – they've all heard he's back and now, they all want proof, the young and the old alike, they wait to see if he's really worth as much as he used to be. And the truth is, he is. But he's never been one to boast, he doesn't look forward to coming home, to the stories he'll have to tell of great sin and the bargains he's made, the sinners coming now his way. No–
There's someone staring at him. A girl, she's small and frightened, her bony body shying away from his stall. He looks up from his thoughts and into her soul and sees she's not quite as young as he first thought she would be.
'Well?' he asks, impassable, but the woman says nothing. She shifts from one leg to the other and she's pretty in the dim morning light.
'I don't know.'
'What don't you know? What would you ask of me?'
And she shakes her head. Good, he's always liked a challenge, and the frightened children are always best.
'Well, you're in the big league now, so you better make up your mind.'
His voice is soft, like song, soothing perhaps the fear inside the woman's heart.
'They say you get people killed.'
Her words come out in gasps, like she doesn't really want to say them.
'Not more than the next man.'
'You do. They say you turned away someone a couple days ago.'
And he looks into her eyes and finally understands that she's not afraid of what he might take from her, but what he might give back.
'I never turn away a deal. That's not how this works. So if you want to ask, go ahead and ask.'
But he eyes her more carefully now, this customer of his, so pale and small before him. Out of the corner of his eye, it seems to him there aren't quite so many customers at his door this day and he wonders why.
'I don't turn away anyone who comes my way,' he says, louder this time, 'if you have something to ask of me, I will give you it. The price is what it's always been, no more no less. What you take from that is up to you, but I will never turn any of you away.'
'They say–' she tries to speak again, but he interrupts.
'Who says? Who are you talking about? And who did I turn away?'
'A boy, they say you told him he shouldn't.'
'Yes, but then I made him a deal anyway. A word of caution, that is all I offered. And it's what I would offer anyone who has something left to lose. That boy lost a remarkable talent when he came my way, I just thought it fair to warn him beforehand.'
'That boy lost more than that, for that boy is dead. They found him hanging dead in his room, just last night.'
And with that, she is gone, she's decided in the time of one second that she does not wish to make his deal, after all. That whether this creature did or did not turn that boy away, it's a price too big for her to pay.
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And the man watches her walk away. I warned him, he thinks, as he reaches for the next customer. One by one, he listens to their pleas and stories. Some more frightened than others, indeed some have heard the woman's accusations, some are worried for the brief time they have. But he doesn't warn anyone else on this last day. Quite simply because none of them are worth it. They will lose, surely, there's always a price to pay. But for them, it's not more and not less than the standard price. A soul with all the stories it carries, for him to feast upon. But there will be no joy for him as he feasts on their souls tonight. Although his strength has come back tenfold to him, he's clouded by great regret. For the life the boy might've had if only he'd kept the voices in his head. And now, all that's left is for him to burn – alone and completely soulless – in the great fire. What a pity.
At evening, he boards up his stall and hides it in a safe place. Here, it will remain for the next year, waiting for sale time to begin again. And he walks through the fallen city, looking at the other vendors, demons lapping at their lips, hungry, eager, for a moment happy.
They too will look for him, when they're back home, dying to hear of his exploits, his glorious return to the market of souls. They'll want to know what deals he's made and exactly how many souls the infamous prodigal has come back with.
And they will look for him in vain.
'Where are you going?' the old master asks him, when the man passes him by.
'Home,' he replies, without turning back. 'I'll see you again in a year's time.'
And with that, he returns to the shack he's lived in for so many years, for this is his home now. He must stay here with his humans and with the voices in his own mind.
