Siggy found himself unusually agitated as he sat in his workshop staring at his two latest subjects. Jack was restrained in the dentist's chair and the Predator was safely secured on the metal chair which was bolted to the floor. The Predator was beginning to stir and it was his presence which disturbed the artist.

Siggy had never been confronted with this type of evil before and he was having difficulty dealing with it. His heart raced and he found himself desperately needing to calm himself. He walked to the small sound system that was installed in his workshop and selected Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis by Ralph Vaughan Williams, turning the volume up until the music filled the room. The piece always soothed him, and after a while he calmed significantly.

He decided he wanted to interview Jack first. In order to focus he put a chloroform soaked surgical mask over the Predator's face to keep him unconscious. Siggy moved his office chair in front of Jack and waited for him to stir, all the while swaying slightly to the strains of the music. A smile crossed his lips.

Jack was securely strapped into the dentist chair with padded restraints. He was still unconscious, but began to twitch and moan as the curare wore off.

Siggy stood up and photographed him several times with an old digital camera. He studied the young man carefully from all angles. Jack was angelically handsome with a crop of tightly curled hair that made him look like he belonged in a renaissance painting. Siggy was pleased and sat back down, eyes closed, enjoying the music and patiently waiting for the young man to fully awaken so they could converse.

After about twenty minutes, Jack opened his eyes and became aware of his surroundings. He began to struggle against his restraints.

"What the fuck is going on?" He exclaimed weakly.

"You're groggy, don't struggle." Siggy replied calmly, "I just want to ask you a few questions."

Jack focused on Siggy, "I remember you! What the fuck is this about? Let me the fuck out of here!"

"Calm down. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner this will be over."

"You sick fuck! You're just like that bastard who zapped me. Let me the fuck out of here!"

"I know you're upset," Siggy replied, "but try to focus. I've got the guy who attacked you. He can't harm you. Just answer a few questions honestly and this will be done."

"This is so fucked! What do you want?"

"I told you...to ask a few questions."

Jack calmed down appreciably, "Why?"

"I'm an artist. I want to do your portrait, but I need to know about you to do it properly."

"That's pretty weird, man. Let me loose and I'll answer your fucking questions."

"I can't do that. You're young and strong and I'm pretty sure you'd just bolt if I undid your restraints."

"You can't keep me tied up the whole time you paint my picture." Jack protested.

"I'm not going to. I'm going to take a few photos and work off them."

"And if I answer your questions, you'll unstrap me?"

"Yes, I promise, but you have to be honest. I need you to be truthful, so I know how to represent you in my portrait."

Jack no longer seemed afraid, just slightly confused and angry, " Fine, whatever... as long as you get these things off me. What do you want to know?"

"Good. Do you have a family?"

"Yeah, like everyone else on this fucking planet."

"Are they alive? Do you live with them?"

"They're alive... and no, I don't fucking live with them. I split when I turned seventeen."

"Why?"

"I didn't want the fucking life they laid out for me, you happy?" Jack replied with bitterness in his voice."

"What life? The truth."

Jack went quiet for a moment before answering, "They're Later-day Saints, okay? Hardcore."

"You're a Mormon?" Siggy asked, his curiosity piqued.

Jack laughed, "Don't let them hear you call them that. They hate being called Mormons, to them it's like calling black people the N-word, but yeah," he sniggered, "I always said Mormon... just to piss them off."

"Why was that a problem for you?"

"Do you know anything about Mormons?" Jack asked incredulously, "I love pot and meth and they won't even drink coffee. Dear old mum and dad expected me to go to some shithole country when I turned nineteen on a Mission. They call it sacred service, do I look like a fucking missionary to you. Fuck that and fuck them!"

"So you left."

"So I fucking left. Actually, my dad threw me out... told me to reconsider my life, whatever the fuck that means... said I could come back when God re-entered my heart. Fuck God, God is fucking boring. I haven't seen them since. I stay with my buds and do what the fuck I want."

"Like smoke meth and rob cars." Siggy said with disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah, like smoke meth and rob cars. It's my fucking life and I can do what I want with it."

"The first time I saw you, you were harassing a young mother and her kid begging for money... is that also what you want to do?" Siggy asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

"You mean that illegal Mexican cunt in the parking lot? Fuck her," Jack said with venom, "She  should have stayed south of the fucking border, those parasites just take shit from the rest of us."

"And her baby?"

"Yeah... it's like that Mormon story," a sinister smile crept onto Jacks lips, "when the Mormons became such a pain in the ass in Missouri, the governor said they should be exterminated and armed vigilantes killed them, kids included. When someone asked one of the vigilantes how they could kill children, he said 'nits begat lice'. It's the same with the illegals... they'll just grow up to be adult fucking parasites."

Siggy suddenly felt terribly sad. Jack was horrible and heartless. He had all the advantages and a family that cared about his moral makeup, and he had rebelled and resisted until his father threw him out. Siggy realized how he would approach the portrait.
"Lucifer!" He exclaimed loudly.

"What about the Devil?" Jack asked in confusion.

"Not the Devil," Siggy pointed at the Predator, "that's the Devil. The Devil is evil incarnate... You are Lucifer, cast out by your father for rebellion. Not yet completely evil, but doomed to be through bitterness and rejection."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your portrait and his... a diptych... Lucifer and the Devil. Perfect. Thank you. I'm going to take your photo now and then we'll be done."

"It's about fucking time!"

Siggy snapped some photos from all angles. He walked behind Jack to the metal table and picked up a pair of syringes. Without another word he injected Jack in the neck, emptying the contents of the needle. The young man went instantly limp. He injected the second syringe. That complete, Siggy removed all the restraints, just as he had promised.

Siggy moved Jack's body to one of the steel tables near the rear of the workshop. He carefully laid it flat before rigor mortis set in. That complete, he approached the bound Predator and removed the chloroform soaked mask. He turned off the music. In his mind the Predator did not deserve the soothing strains of Ralph Vaughan Williams. Siggy sat down facing his captive, waiting for him to awake.

About fifteen minutes later the Predator began to stir. He regained his senses and stared at Siggy. A sinister smile crossed his face.

"The vigilante, I admit I'm surprised," he closed his eyes for a moment, "excuse me, I have a splitting headache."

"I apologize," Siggy said sincerely, "that would be the chloroform."

"Yes, I imagine it would... speaking of which, what did you shoot me with? It was absolutely debilitating... and so fast."

"Curare."

"Curare? How exotic, effective though," the sinister smile returned, "I'll have to remember that. So, what is this? Are you holding me for a reward? Sorry to disappoint, but no one even knows I exist."

It was Siggy's turn to smile, "They will soon. I called 911 on your phone and reported a break-in. When they search that Addams Family home of yours and find your playroom, they'll know what a bad boy you've been."

A quick expression of disappointment crossed the Predator's face, but he quickly regained his haughty attitude, "Clever. I imagine that will certainly spur a reward. Oh well, it won't be that bad... assuming I can't convince you to let me go," he stared at Siggy for a moment, looking for a reaction, and seeing none, continued, "I'll be a celebrity, get my own cell, trade locations for perks..."

"Trade locations?" Siggy asked.

"Locations of remains... to give the families of my victims closure. I can trade those for things like a better diet, my own television, books, all sorts of things."

Siggy held back his disgust, "What makes you think I'm going to turn you in?"

The Predator laughed, "What are you going to do, kill me?"

"Maybe."

The Predator's laugh became a guffaw, "Look at you... you're no killer, you're a wannabe hero who got lucky. A middle-aged chump with delusions of grandeur. What could you possibly know about killing?"

"I know I don't enjoy it."

The Predator stopped laughing and his voice became ominous, "Well in that case you're not doing it right. Take it from me it's a blast...it makes me hard just thinking about it. So, did you kill someone in a war or something... or maybe you hit someone with your car and this whole vigilante thing is how you're trying to make amends."

"I'm not a vigilante, I'm an artist."

"Me too," the Predator chuckled, "you should see what I can do with a blowtorch."

Siggy raised his camera and snapped a few photos of the Predator's face as he glowered and gloated.

"You really are the Devil," Siggy said in a satisfied tone that confused his prisoner.

"Thank you, that's very kind... it means a lot to me coming from my captor," he broke out in laughter again, "the artist."

Siggy found himself getting angry, "I'm going to make an exception and do something I never do."

"Oh really? And what might that be?"

"I'm going to tell you that I am going to kill you. I don't like to frighten people, but you deserve to be frightened."

"Frightened? Of you? I'm tired of laughing. I am your worst nightmare... I've killed eighteen people... slowly, painfully. I know about death. I am fucking Death. And you? You killed some guy during a war or something and I'm supposed to think you're going to erase me. Me? I know what killers sound like and it ain't you."

"I've killed more than one person... and yes, I hate it and only did it because it was necessary, but I'm fully capable."

"Oh, are you?" The Predator chortled looking directly at Siggy, who now hung his head sadly, "and how many of these so-called necessary murders have you committed?"

Siggy hated that he didn't feel guilty at the thought of killing this beast. He raised his head and stared with suddenly dark eyes into the eyes of his captive.
"Eighty- three," he said in a chillingly bleak voice.

The Predator went silent and looked into Siggy's eyes and realized he was telling the truth. For the first time in many years, he felt fear. Gut-wrenching nihilistic fear. His demeanor changed from arrogance to desperation.
"Look, I can be of use. I know I've been acting like a dick, but I didn't know I was in the presence of a master. I thought you were just some schmuck. I was wrong, I'm sorry. We're the same, you and I."

This infuriated Siggy, "We are nowhere near the same. You destroy, I create. You rejoice, I mourn. You gratify your sick needs, I celebrate my subjects. Fuck you, you sick fuck!"

The Predator finally and truly realized he was now the Prey. He had no response as Siggy stood and walked past him to the table where the syringes of curare lay. Unlike with Jack, he walked back in front of the Predator and let the beast watch him brandishing the needle. He slowly brought it forward, ignoring his captives ever more desperate pleas, and inserted the needle into the Predator's thigh. The captive slumped forward.

Siggy briefly considered harvesting the Predator after only a single shot and dumping him down the well while still alive, but after much thought, he injected the second syringe. Siggy took a deep breath. He turned the music back on. It was playing Williams's Fantasia on 'Greensleeves'. Siggy closed his eyes and smiled.