As a child, I remembered the face of my imaginary friend better than that of my own father. Unlike my father, my imaginary friend was a continuous presence. As a child, he seemed, to me, a giant with large hands and a towering stance. Somehow, I never felt frightened by his less friendly features, namely the sharp canines and scarlet red eyes. I absolutely loved talking to the "tall man," as I called him. A workaholic, my mother elected to ignore me when I brought him up. Not that I blame her, after twelve hours on the ward, I probably would have done the same. I could always be found alone with a book; kids would stare but not approach. They would point and whisper, but keep on walking. 

"Are you dumb or just antisocial?" a voice asked. 

Looking up, I met the eyes of Claudia and her fifth-grade gang. Instead of responding, I returned to my book. 

She snickered, as did her cronies. "I guess he's just dumb."

I tried my best to ignore her until she put her hands on me. Claudia picked me up by my shirt collar, which hurt like Hell. I looked at the teachers standing near the end of the playground, smoking cigarettes. Claudia used my distraction against me. She threw me to the ground with an impish grin. Once I was down, she went to punch me, but a hand grabbed her wrist and twisted it in a way that caused her to scream. I sat up, looking behind me to see the tall man. There one moment and gone the next. Claudia gripped her deformed wrist, and several of my classmates stared open-mouthed. No one tried to punch me again. 

"Marc, are you okay? Do you believe this is an actual person you're talking to?" She asked, her eyes full of concern. 

I bit my lip and looked out the car window.

 "Of course not," I replied, incredulous. 

My mother nodded her head slowly, hands gripping the wheel. After that day, I elected not to talk to the tall man anymore. What if he hurt me or someone I cared for next? Slowly, I forced him to fade into the background; every day I didn't see him was a blessing. 

It would last ten years. I used to frequent this bar back in 1989. It was called something like Dark Hollow Tavern? After ‘92, they shut it down for some kind of health code violation, which tracks. Nonetheless, I frequented that bar after I had finished a long shift at the hospital. It was when the kids were still young and my physician mentor was a pain in the ass. I was still young then, twenty-five years old, I think. One night, I was there late, even though I had promised Julie I would be home early to tuck the kids in. Checking my watch, I saw it was just after midnight. I sighed deeply and took another swig of my beer. 

There was a thud and the clink of ice as someone set down a drink. I slid my eyes to look at him. The man was tall, at least six five, and his short tousled brown hair fell in waves. Despite the warm weather, he wore a grey wool winter coat, a dark blue tie, and a white dress shirt. The man seemed to be wearing a full suit in a fucking dive bar. It couldn't be, but it was. 

"Hello there, young man," he said in a deep, clear voice, one that had filled my childhood. 

The Tall Man held out his hand to me, which I shook hesitantly. I had never made physical contact with him before. To my surprise, his hand felt solid and... somehow real. 

"Thomas Dante. I don't think I ever told you my name," he chuckled.

Stunned, but still, I couldn't help but reply. "Marc Alderman." 

"I know your name, Marc. How's Julie?" Thomas questioned. 

"How's your wife?" I retorted, noting for the first time the black band on his left hand.

Thomas smirked. "Ah, you noticed that. Now you're dodging my question, how's Julie?"

I started to chuckle softly, putting my head in my hands. No. Fuck no. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"You're not fucking real!" I screamed, drawing eyes.

He scoffed. "I'm perfectly real, Marc." 

"I got rid of you!"

"I was waiting for the right moment," Thomas shrugged. 

I backed away from him slowly and out of the bar. Getting into my car, I slammed the door and locked it. I eked out shuddering breaths into my hands. The hospital. This had to be dealt with immediately. I heard a sigh next to me. Looking over there was Thomas fucking Dante. How in the ever-loving fuck did he get in the car? I swore I locked the doors. It didn't matter now; I pushed the key into the ignition then sped down the road. 

"You know, Marc, this is a tad bit of an overreaction. Honestly, I don't know what your issue is."

"Because you are a delusion! You are not real!" I hissed, slamming on the brakes as I hit a red light. Thomas grabbed the handle above his head. 

"Honestly, I find it offensive every time you tell me I'm not real. Whether I was real or not didn't bother you before."

"Before I was a child! It was fine and cute to have an imaginary friend," I screamed hysterically, jesticulating wildly. "Now it is quite the goddamn opposite! Not to mention you almost broke a child's arm!"

Thomas huffed and crossed his arms. I pulled into the lot and whipped into the nearest parking spot. Thomas once again grabbed the handle above his head with a wince. I carefully put the car into park and turned it off. A bored night nurse looked up from her crossword to stare at me.

"Where is your psychiatrist?" I demanded. 

She blinked incredulously at me, snapping her gum, "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I think my friend has had a little too much to drink!" Thomas laughed, coming up behind me and clapping a hand on my shoulder. 

The nurse rolled her eyes, returning to her crossword. "Just get him out. I don't need another mess in here."

It took me a moment to realize the nurse had looked at him, heard him, and talked to him. Somehow, he was real. I started laughing almost in a hysterical manner. 

"Let's go, Marc!" Thomas declared, practically pushing me out of the lobby.

Back in the car, I sat in stunned silence, gripping the wheel. Thomas looked up, then back at me. 

"You have two young children, yes? Lucas and Holly are their names," Thomas stated.

I was frozen, staring out the windshield into the night. Thomas Dante chuckled softly, pushing his hair back with his hand. The car temperature seemed to rise about ten degrees. 

"I don't like to intervene much in these affairs; I could get in trouble with the higher powers. Sometimes I make an exception. Sometimes a person catches my attention. Say, for instance, a young boy with a heart hardened by the death of his father and years of suffering. Trust me, Marc Alderman Hell is not where you belong."

"Who are you?" I finally asked, looking at him, my voice hoarse. 

For a moment, Thomas's blue eyes flashed to that scarlet red they had been when I was a kid. He grinned at me, showing off those pointy canines that seemed to fill his whole mouth.

"Sometimes it's better if you don't know things." 

"You've been following me around my whole life! I think I deserve some answer!"

"I am Lord Thomas Alexander Caerus Dante, Warden of Hell, Satan, the Devil. Does that satisfy you?" he spat with venom. 

I was quiet, lost for words. 

"Go home, Marc," Thomas whispered before he opened the car door and disappeared into the cool spring night.