“Oh, err you know, just to be safe…” Sweat started to double up across the man’s forehead.
Dean held his eyes stern for a while. “Sure, guess you can come um...”
“I’m Michael,” the man grinned and held his hand out to shake Dean’s.
“And this is Rach-”
“Rachael. Yes, yes. I’m fully aware of who she is. You’re quite famous now.” I smiled awkwardly. Famous?
“Alright, well let’s go…” Dean hooked his hand around my elbow and steered me onward.
Chapter Nineteen:
The day was bright and hot. Dean worked off a map scribbled on the back of a napkin as we climbed onto the Glendale Bus 511. We sat side by side, Dean and me, as Michael took the seat behind us and we spoke about things outside of the topic of Banished souls. It was a far while to travel, climbing off one bus and getting onto another, our backs beginning to ache with the constant rattling until we were finally standing on the edge of a dirt road next to a cluster of dead bushes. Dean gestured to a far off store sitting between two small houses. The temperature had cooled down a lot in the late afternoon and my stomach grumbled for food. As we walked, the dust kicked into the air, grabbing a hold of the ends of our pants and shoes. Reaching the store, Dean didn’t slow to knock as he pushed the door open with his fingertips, walking casually inside as if this were his own home. I followed closely behind him.
The door rang at our entrance before a weary voice called from the back of the room, “Coming,” followed by the bustle of drawers slamming shut. I scanned the room from floor to roof, noticing the collection of art, beads, clothes, olden-day weapons, religious sculptures and black and white frames scattering the surfaces. The whole lot looking the same as an attic where a garbage truck had dumped its contents onto the floor. A man in his sixties emerged from the back of the room, wiping his brown hands clean with a stained cloth before sliding his half spectacles back up the bridge of his nose.
“Can I help you?”
“We need you to fix this for us,” Dean dug the blade out, holding it aloft.
The man took the blade with cautious hands, sniffing sourly at the stains on the coloured metal, before dusting his fingers across the crust to clear it off.
“This is a replica of the demonic blade called the Hemispike. Did you know, these weapons were designed to destroy or vanquish demonic spirits,” he continued to chip away at the dust with his blunt fingernails. “Of course, no one has tried it yet…”
“No wait!” I lunged forward instinctively, “Please, don’t clean it.”
“You kids, what are you been doing with this? Dunking it in dirt? This is very important piece of art, very important. You can’t just-”
“It’s our grandfather’s. This was the way it was passed down to us, and we don’t wish to remove its family value by cleaning off the historic earth. We just want to reattach the tip to its former glory,” Dean said.
“Ah…I see,” the man said, nodding his head and pulling his fingers back.
“It’s very, very important that you don’t remove the dirt. Being a man who appreciates the finer details in his art, I know you’ll understand.” Dean lowered his eyes and the salesman nodded once more, serious this time, before placing the knife onto the surface of his desk.
“Repairs require at least a couple of days...”
“An hour, if you please.”
“An hour? Son, it can’t be done.”
“There’s a plane we must catch that we cannot miss.”
“It’s impossible!”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way, I guess that’s why they call you the greatest blacksmith in Glendale,” Dean’s lips twitched as he shot me a quick glance. Yeah, that’s only because he is the only blacksmith in Glendale - I bet that’s what he was thinking.
“Yes well that is true,” the man puffed his chest out at Dean’s fluttery. “Hmmm... well, how about this then? Give me two hours, three tops.”
“Thank you,” Dean nodded as his hand turned; slipping onto the table surface what appeared to be the colour of a 20 dollar note, before leading the way out.
“Where to now?” I asked as we re-entered the empty lanes of the town.
“Something to eat?” Dean proposed. Michael sighed with agreement and I nodded my head too, no longer able to ignore the protests of my hunger. We entered a small café and took a seat at the back, thumbing through the menus.
We quickly gave our orders to the waitress. Michael was seated next to me and Dean straight across on the other side of the table. I helped myself to some water while Michael took some bread rolls.
“You’re amazing you know.” I coughed my drink back, choking. Dean grinned at me smugly before leaning back into the curve of the cushion.
“You’re making fun of me?” I snapped at him while wiping the water from my chin.
“No, I’m being serious. This thing you have with Lock, it’s amazing…”
“Well, you’re the first person to think so -unless you mean something else, then there’s no ‘thing’ with us anyway.” My face heated like someone had turned the hair dryer on me.
“Hey, I’m talking about your connection. You got Sabotage so worked up that after you went to bed; we tried to perform the Forbidden Act, too.”
“You did? What happened?”
“It didn’t go very well. Actually, it was a total disaster, I was left barely breathing and Sabotage nearly had to be scooped up into a tin can of ashes before Nails stepped in…”
“Oh… I didn’t realise it was so dangerous.”
“That’s what makes it even more amazing that you did it. Both of you, without a single clue as to what to do, managed to pull off such an ancient ritual.”
“Well, Lock did most of the work, really,” I smiled at him politely.
“I dunno. You must’ve done something right.”
“May I ask you something Dean?” He nodded his head casually. “How did you and Sabotage-”
“We’re siblings…” I coughed in surprised. ”Don’t be shocked, it’s common with fresh Banished souls. They attached to people who were in the closest range of them at time of death. Sometimes it can be friends or family members. In Sabotage’s case, it was me. She was such an enthusiastic girl. Sure, she can be a little possessive, but that’s what you get with cute younger sisters.” He drummed the tips of his fingers across the table surface. “She jumped into the pool and uhh… she drowned.” He looked fragile, like he was going to shatter into a million pieces beyond any point of recovery.
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be, it happened about a year ago now. Man, I’ll tell you what, seeing your little sister’s dead body skimming the pool’s surface one moment, and then in the next, her ghost appearing right in front of your eyes in Banished form,” his entire body shook with one giant shiver, “I still have nightmares about it, even today. It seemed that only I could see her, that she had chosen me especially. Her name was Nicole and she was twelve years old when she died, but now she insists I call her Sabotage. It was like she had no idea who I was or even who she was. I guess I knew right then and there that this little spirit wasn’t my sister after all. I was certain that she wasn’t human either, but when I spent more and more time with her I came to understand that I was wrong. She may have been dead and called by another name but she was still my little sister…”
The waitress appeared by our table and set out our meals.
“So… you’ve been with her for about a year now?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s true. I probably don’t have much time left, but I don’t mind. I’m going to help my little sister no matter what. Even if she doesn’t know who I am, I’m still glad she chose me…” Dean smiled weakly, picking up his knife, ready to cut his sandwich in half.
We moved into our meals in silence with only the clicks of our cutlery making any chatter. I lost my appetite and ended up just moving some loose pieces along the edge of my plate, m
y mind tracing back to Sabotage and trying to imagine her smiling with rosy red cheeks and clean skin, unmarred by a smear of ash. That bright, little girl before she jumped into the pool…
I turned my eyes to Michael, noticing he was staring intensely at another table. There sat a couple, looking to be in their late teens or early 20’s.I immediately understood Michael’s captivation when I looked closely at them with their olive soft skin, doll faces, and harsh red hair sitting on their shoulders.
There were only two of them and they looked like family, brother and sister probably. The girl was older and had her hair sitting underneath a cotton pale blue beanie; the top section of her hair from her roots down to her collar bones was a colour of neon red where the rest of her hair down to her hips was dyed yellow. Her locks were dead straight and dry as if she had straightened it for too long and all of the moisture in the hair had evaporated. Her face was beautiful but also serious and slightly angry, that permanent glare you see on bitter old men with stern lines fused onto their faces. Sitting opposite her and leaning across the table on his elbows was what appeared to be her younger brother. His hair was comb sideways so it curved in delicately with his soft jaw line and high cheek bones; and among the red mane were patches of white streaks; a few dashed through his fringe, the crown of his head, and the tips of his hair. He wore a continuous smile.
“Wow… look at them,” I said. Dean swung his head up to look and nearly coughed up the mouthful of food back onto his plate. People like this could even make the cool Dean stutter.
“Whoa… how long have they been there?” he asked, but his words turned into nebulous mutterings for nothing mattered except these magnificent red headed people, these two strangers sitting like model dolls only two tables away from us. The couple didn’t have any meals set out in front of them or any drinks; even the complimentary water jug and bread sticks were left untouched. As they spoke their lips barely moved, as if that everything they told each other was under soft whispers. There was something about their behaviour that hit me as strange; the way they held themselves with a straight back and lifted chin, the manner with which they captured everyone’s attention even without realising it, their cool and calm exteriors giving off vibes that these were elite beings… that they were…
“They look like angels,” Michael cooed and at once all these realizations snapped and reconnected back together inside my head. Angels… they look like angels? There was another boy who looked like an angel and was exactly like these people. Gargoyle… Oh no, they’re hunters?
I shot down into my seat on impulse to hide my face. “Ah, crap! Crap! Crap!”
Dean glanced over. “What are you doing?”
“Okay, listen, you guys can’t freak out but those people over there are Hunters!”
“Hunters?” Dean’s eyes rolled back upwards, inspecting them again. “They’re not exactly what I pictured when Nicole explained to me about Hunters. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m positive. Lock and I ran into one back in Whitehaven.”
Dean tensed. “This is dangerous. If they recognise you-”
“It’s okay; they’re not the ones who saw me. They have no idea that we are Hosts... I hope.”
“You say that their Hunters… you mean, they are actually Angels? Saints?” Michael inquired from my right and I shrugged my shoulders to answer him.
“Err… yeah that’s another name for them, I guess…”
“We’re saved! Oh thank the Lord, we’re saved.” He leaned back into the chair’s cushion and slapped his paws together.
“What? Are you an idiot? Do you even know what they do?” Dean hissed.
“Of course I know what they do; they get rid of the demons! Of these damn Banished souls…”
“But Michael...” I whispered when he suddenly spun on his rear, capturing my cheeks into his warm, sticky hands. It was very unpleasant. His hands felt as if they had swollen to twice their normal size and through them I could feel his racing, excited pulse against my face.
“Rachael, this is our chance. We can be free; we don’t have to die early. You don’t have to risk the Sin world any more either, isn’t this just wonderful news?”
Dean’s enclosed fist rammed the table. “Shut up old man, stop talking shi-”
“Michael, why would you want to hurt Rip? Don’t you care about him?” I pulled away before he could melt the skin off my face.
“Care about him? Of course not, he’s a Banished soul. He’s a murderer! They’re all bad. Plus, I think the problem here isn’t me. You’ve been brainwashed by them, the both of you.”
“They’re people,” Dean snapped.
“They’re demons,” Michael snapped back. “I can’t believe you’re trying to defend them, haven’t you ever heard of angels and demons before? The angles are the good guys, demons are bad. Everyone knows that.”
“Shhh!” I knocked the table urgently with my flat palm. The Hunters were looking over at us, having grown curious of our conversation as it increased in volume. I could feel the warmth of their stares sitting on our group.
“We should go. Check please,” Dean called over the waitress, signalling for the bill. The atmosphere of the coffee shop had been replaced by the intense sparks between Dean and Michael; Michael running his sausage-like fingers through his hair and clothes while Dean kept a throttling hold on his fork. As for me, I didn’t dare look up, terrified that there was indeed something we Hosts carried with us that would set off a warning alarm for the Hunters. The bill came and Dean rammed a handful of coins and some notes onto the plate, keeping his walnut eyes keenly fused onto Michael. The chairs groaned as we pushed back and started our single file walk towards the exit.
My eyes shot up one last time at the Hunters but both had their heads turned away; exactly like before and I sighed with relief.
What made my eyes move back up again was probably just some sort of instinct. I didn’t have any conscious control; they moved all on their own, back to the table we were leaving behind us. Except this time something new was there, someone else among the Hunters, who stood at the edge of the table with his full attention directed onto me. As though he had known at that spilt second I was going to glance back up. My face flushed with emotion before I could control them; I told everyone everything in that spilt second.
Gargoyle.
My world stopped. Slammed the brakes and threw me through the windshield. He was here. Here. And he saw me, saw the look of panic spiral across my face. Had I just given us away? Maybe not, maybe he wasn’t looking at me? Every step that I took was heavy and slow, as if my boots had been made out of lead and gravity had intensified inside them. My breath, had it always sounded so deep? So ghostly; so hollow and cold? When will he attack me? Will he follow us and corrupt our minds for his own gain? Or better yet snap the chains while we stand here completely exposed and unprotected? The front door, where’s the front door?
A five metre walk had never felt so long, so painfully tiring that I wanted to crash onto my knees and just throw my hands up; to just give up on everything.
“Please! You have to help us!” Michael’s voice sprang out like loud crashing symbols from behind me before the choking hold of Dean’s hands strangled around his collar and dragged him out. My feet fell behind theirs, Dean taking the lead as he pushed me aside with Michael struggling in his grip. The door was kicked open and swung shut quickly. I leaned forward and squeezed myself through. The night air had never felt so good but I didn’t stop there; no, the further away I could get from that cafe, the better. So I can breath and think properly again.
Chapter Twenty:
There were loud grunts as I chased after Dean and Michael, stepping out of the streets and into an alleyway just in time to catch Dean swing his right fist into Michael’s cheek bone. The punch looked brutal as his neck cracked the other way, a small spit of red flying from his lips.
“Dean, stop it!” I jumped onto his back, pulling back on his arms but he was too str
ong for me. With ease, he yanked his arms free and took another swing, hitting Michael this time in the middle of his chest and drawing him to his knees. The grunts being knocked from his throat caused my skin to crawl. “Stop it Dean, please!”
“Why should I? He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anything but himself!” Dean roared and drew his fist backwards. Bam- Another hit, again into Michael’s head. Michael’s eyes rolled up to Dean’s fist, drawn back, watching the knuckles flex underneath his strength and the colour of his own blood weep between his joints. I could feel my stomach start to turn. I wanted to vomit but couldn’t, even the sight of violence was hitting a delicate nerve inside me. I rocked forwards at the same time Dean’s arm swung downwards for another punch. His fist closed in closer. My eyes squeezed to a tight close. Stop! Stop! Stop!
“…… Rachael, what are you doing? Move aside.” The darkness faded away with a crack of light underneath my eye lid. I dared to peek up, but only for a second; I didn’t want to watch his fist strike me down.
“Don’t hit him anymore, please…think of Rip. If you hurt Michael then you’re hurting Rip, too.”
“I think Rip is better off with a new Host anyway. I figure I’m doing him a favour.”
“Please Dean, you can’t kill him! Otherwise, you’ll become one, too!”
“What does that mean?” Dean’s voice lowered at the drop of his fist, “What are you talking about?”
“It’s the rule, that’s how you become a Banished spirit... You- you don’t know this?” His silence continued. “If any person breaks this rule they are to become Banished spirits and thrown into Hell. The rule is to never kill someone or to kill yourself…”
The pain breaking over his face made me feel like I’d just slapped him, hit him hard with my words. “Is that why my little sister is being punished like this? Because she fell into the pool and drowned it’s suddenly her fault, that she did this on purpose as a means for suicide!?”
I moved backwards, “I’m sorry-” yet his voice continued to rise with every weary step I took.
My Demonic Ghost: Banished Spirits Page 16
