Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

  The Devil squats upside down on the lamppost beside Asuka. He taps a cigarette against his silver case. “Hello, little bird.”

  “Stop this right now!” Asuka demands.

  “Wh-who’s that?” Merrick cries at the Devil’s appearance. His hold is slipping. He lets go of his book so he can grab on to Asuka with both hands.

  The Devil takes a drag from his cigarette. “I said to ask Mr. Grace about Phobetor. I never said he could go to the Underworld with you.”

  “Do you want me to do you this favor or no?” Asuka barks.

  The Devil stands, still upside down, and stares at Merrick eye-to-eye. “Living souls cannot enter. Not anymore.”

  “But Odysseus—” Merrick tries to say. “Odysseus went to the Underworld!”

  The Devil’s left eye twitches. “No more heroes. The ferryman will not come.” He smiles. “Except for the dead or those whose souls are already in the Underworld.”

  Merrick slips a bit more and yelps. “Asuka!”

  “I’m not letting go!” Asuka promises.

  The Devil reaches out and puts his finger underneath Merrick’s chin. “Want to make a deal?”

  “No!” Asuka screams as he hears the words slide from the Devil’s mouth. “Merrick! Say no!”

  Merrick’s wide eyes look between the Devil and Asuka. He swallows. “N-no,” he stutters obediently.

  The Devil sounds a dissatisfied grunt. He cocks his head at an unnatural angle and stares at Asuka. “Don’t fail me.”

  Asuka and Merrick stand at the foot of the lamppost. They look at each other. Monsters are falling from the sky, hitting the road with explosive splats.

  “Go!” Asuka says, pushing Merrick to the truck.

  Asuka unstraps his sword, throws it into the bed of the pickup, finishes with the wires, and climbs behind the wheel as the engine roars to life. He backs out of the parking spot and speeds down the road. Asuka dodges the plummeting masses with the skill of a patrol officer who’d excelled in rigorous driving courses and techniques while on the force.

  A monster is caught on a traffic light, and the balloon-like flesh tears, raining black oil down on the truck as they pass underneath.

  “Who was that?” Merrick finally demands.

  Asuka turns on the windshield wipers. The greasy substance covers the glass in a fine glossy coating.

  “What was that? The—the world was upside down. Right? I didn’t imagine that?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Like hell!” Merrick turns to face Asuka in the cab. “Make a deal? What the fuck does that mean?”

  Asuka tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “Never agree to a deal if one is offered to you. Got it?”

  Merrick swallows. “Do—do you mean to say that was the Devil?”

  Asuka glances sideways at Merrick but doesn’t respond.

  “Oh my God….” Merrick sags back against the door. “Is he really not going to allow us into—” He cuts himself off at further realization. “You sold your soul,” he states simply.

  Suddenly.

  His voice is so soft.

  A whisper of disbelief.

  Asuka says nothing as they shoot past the James A. Farley Post Office—abandoned construction barriers lining the sidewalk from a project never seen to fruition—the entrance to Penn Station at Madison Square Garden, and through the empty intersection of Thirty-Fourth Street.

  “Why?” Merrick asks as he turns to stare through the streaked mess on the windshield.

  “I had few other options at the time.”

  “No, I don’t—it’s not my business, your reasoning for selling it.”

  Asuka looks at Merrick again.

  “I meant, why are you helping the Devil?”

  “Phobetor is beginning to infect the Underworld,” Asuka replies. “If I stop the nightmares, the Devil has agreed to return my soul.” His throat is tight, and his voice shakes just a little as he speaks again. “I can’t dream without my soul. Literally….”

  He feels Merrick’s stare again.

  “Or conceptually,” Merrick murmurs as the final pieces of the puzzle that is Asuka Kawashima falls into place.

  “Yes.”

  They are silent for another block.

  “It’s between Eighth and Ninth,” Merrick finally says.

  Asuka swears and slams on the brakes at the corner. He leaves the engine idling as he gets out of the truck. “Come on,” he calls. He fetches his sword, straps it to his holster, and meets Merrick on the sidewalk.

  Merrick reaches up, places a hand on Asuka’s cheek, and pulls him down into a kiss. It’s a promise of some kind, but Asuka is unable to translate its meaning.

  They run down the one-way-traffic street. Merrick skids to a halt outside of a heavy, unassuming door. He puts a foot on the wall and yanks it open. They slip inside a makeshift indoor alley and pass by several dumpsters—a nauseating combination of food waste, soiled and weather-worn furniture, and the distinct odor of piss fills their nostrils.

  Merrick stops outside of a service elevator and hits the button. The doors sluggishly open with a groan that echoes through the hall with its overarching ceiling. They step inside, the doors shut, and Merrick chooses the fourth floor.

  V

  HE GOES by the name John Smith, and he specializes in putting people under. It’s a broad concept—whatever under means to the individual is what they are capable of experiencing in this drug-induced state.

  He is waiting outside of the elevator doors when Asuka and Merrick reach the fourth floor. He gives them both a wide smile. With a finger to his lips, John motions for them to follow in silence.

  The hall burns bright with the orange glow of too many incandescent bulbs. There are gurneys wherever they’ll fit—men and women from all walks of life, fast asleep. Others lie limp in chairs, some simply curled into balls on the hardwood floor. They all are desperate for the simple dreams, happy dreams, profound dreams they used to have. It is not nirvana they wish to experience, but the contentment robbed from them five years ago. John Smith promises a moment of peace from the nightmares, a night they can safely sleep and not fear becoming infected before awaking.

  It makes Asuka sick to see what his fellow city dwellers are willing to reduce themselves to. Motionless heaps sprawled on the floor, high on a dangerous chemical dream of wild flowers, rainbows, and their childhood puppy who is still living in that space between long-term memory and abstractness.

  This is no longer a fight merely for his soul.

  And it’s not a fight for Asuka’s right to dream and hope and wish again.

  It’s a battle.

  A battle for the unconsciousness of every human being who has survived and persevered through the relentless horror and monstrosities. It’s a battle to turn the lights off at night and not fear the nightmares.

  And it’s for Merrick. So he never finds himself on the raw end of a deal.

  John steps over a man crumpled in front of a door, opens it, and ushers them inside. The room is crammed with shelves from floor to ceiling. There are hundreds of glass bottles, from pill-size containers to gallon jugs. Labels are taped on the front, and a note is written in sloppy cursive as to its contents.

  “So what is it you wish to dream of?” John asks once Asuka has shut the door behind them.

  “This isn’t a typical under,” Merrick warns.

  John grins and shrugs. “What’s typical?”

  “I need to visit the Underworld,” Asuka states.

  John doesn’t appear shocked by the request. Thoughtful, perhaps. “That’s quite the journey.”

  “Money isn’t a problem,” Asuka replies.

  “I require half up front.”

  “So it’s possible?” Merrick interrupts. “To send Asuka not to a dream version, but the actual place?”

  “Sure it is,” John replies heartily before his expression turns somber. “For ten thousand dollars.”

  “John!” Merrick proclaims.

 
John puts a finger to his lips again. “Shh….” He shifts his gaze to the door to make his point. “They pay a lot to sleep here.”

  “It’s fine,” Asuka says. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and tosses the entire thing at John. “Pin number is six, six, five, two.”

  John examines the contents as he sits himself down in front of a computer at the end of the room. He’s quiet as he types, then eventually spins around in the chair. “Checking or savings?”

  “You can have both if this works,” Asuka states.

  John smiles again. He’s on his feet, poking about the shelves of ingredients. “You’ll need forget-me-nots,” he says, pulling down a small jar from overhead. “And river water. Merrick, second from the bottom, if you please.”

  Merrick stoops and carefully pulls a big jug from the low shelf. He walks across the room and sets it on a worktable.

  Asuka takes a step out of the way and backs himself up to the wall.

  “Lamb’s blood,” John continues, grabbing a mason jar of a foul-looking liquid. He hands off the contents to Merrick, who places it beside the river water. “Who do you intend to visit in the Underworld?”

  Asuka squares his shoulders. “Phobetor.”

  John shoots Merrick a quizzical look.

  “Oneiroi,” Merrick replies. “He’s one of the Dream Brothers.”

  “Huh.” John looks at Asuka once more, but he doesn’t question his motives. “Then you’ll need poppies,” he states. John grabs another jar and passes it to Merrick.

  “A black feather will help,” Merrick says as he sets the poppies on the table.

  John turns around. “I’ve just the thing.” He goes to the opposite wall. “And this will be a double dose?”

  “No,” Asuka says quickly. “I’m going alone.”

  John has a hand resting on a large jug. He looks from Asuka to Merrick and back again. “The journey through the Underworld is no easy task. A hero hasn’t made the voyage in a long time. You’ll go without aid? Merrick is extremely well versed in the tales.”

  Asuka feels uncomfortable. How much did Merrick open himself up to a chaotic-neutral man such as John in the past?

  But it’s not his place to judge.

  After all, Asuka sold his soul.

  He may have been lawful once.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Asuka takes in a breath through his nose and gradually releases it. “The Underworld is closed off to men who still have souls. Mine’s already down there.”

  John shrugs and again seems unfazed. “Very well.” He lifts the jug and walks it to the worktable. He takes a seat, pulls on a pair of goggles and gloves, and measures, snips, and mixes the ingredients. “You won’t be able to simply lie down and fall asleep,” he says over his work. “After all, it isn’t your intention to dream of the Underworld.”

  “What do I need to do?” Asuka asks.

  “Inject this.” John raises a beaker and swirls the concoction. “And then take the plunge.”

  Asuka narrows his eyes.

  “Jump into a river,” Merrick clarifies. “I think it’ll work as a crossover to the River Styx.”

  “Grab some coins, Merrick,” John says. “On the shelf in front of you—eye level.”

  Merrick goes to the jars and scans a few labels before picking one. Heavy coins clink against the glass as he shakes two free. He offers them to Asuka. “Payment to be ferried across.”

  Asuka pockets the coins. “Where will I find Phobetor?”

  “In a field of poppies will be a cave. Inside the cave will be a gateway. Nightmares used to pass through the gate made of ivory—for false dreams that cannot hurt us.” Merrick frowns. “But I’m certain that they’re now passing through the gate of horn—true dreams. Whatever you plan to do, Phobetor must not be allowed to dream through the gate of horn. That’s only for his brothers, Morpheus and Phantasos.”

  Asuka nods. “I understand. How do I return?”

  Merrick bites his lip. “I’m not sure.”

  “Heroes always find a way out of a pickle,” John says, not looking up from his work.

  “I’m no hero,” Asuka answers.

  Merrick slips his hands into Asuka’s. “You are,” he whispers. “You’ll stop Phobetor. You’ll regain your soul. I feel it in the marrow of my bones.”

  Asuka smiles, just a little. He raises Merrick’s hand and kisses it. “I’ll come back to you.”

  It isn’t hope.

  It isn’t a dream.

  It is truth.

  Merrick returns the smile. “I know you will.”

  VI

  THE TRUCK’S engine is still idling at the corner of Thirty-Eighth and Eighth.

  Asuka climbs in and pulls onto the road. He speeds through Hell’s Kitchen on his way toward Twelfth Avenue. The Hudson River Greenway is on the water, just a few blocks south of the cruise ship terminal. There are a few cars at the intersection. Horns blare as Asuka cuts through without consideration of traffic lights. He spins the wheel and brings the stolen truck to a sudden stop outside of a seafood restaurant on the pier.

  There are fewer inhabitants on the edge of the island, so there are less lights.

  Asuka grabs the syringe resting on the seat, gets out of the cab, and retrieves his sword once more. He sees movement from the corner of his eye while strapping the weapon to his back.

  There are monsters coming.

  He flicks on the chest flashlight and moves silently to the barrier at the water’s edge. Asuka peers over. The water gently laps back and forth. A nearby howl causes a series of ripples to shatter the mirrorlike surface.

  No time to waste.

  Asuka holds the syringe between his teeth and quickly rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. He pops the protective cover off, takes a breath, and then plunges the needle into his skin. He injects the mixture and a dizzying wave of nausea accompanies it.

  The cries of monsters are getting louder.

  Blood pounds in Asuka’s ears. He stumbles and grabs for the rail to steady himself. His vision doubles and blurs.

  A trash can nearby is overthrown. A screech sounds so loud, so high-pitched, it shatters a streetlamp.

  Asuka is engulfed in darkness. He grips the rail hard and forces himself to climb up and over.

  The monsters are here.

  Asuka shuts his eyes.

  And jumps.

  ASUKA SWIMS upward. His lungs burn and ache for oxygen.

  Everything and nothing is gray, save for that single ray of light shining from overhead.

  It’s the only hope Asuka has. He pushes himself—harder, farther—keeps swimming even when he no longer can. And as he reaches for the lone light, his fingers break the surface, cool air caressing his wet skin.

  Asuka propels himself and bursts out of the water gasping and coughing. His throat is raw and his chest heaves. He wipes the water from his eyes and takes his first look around.

  The water is gray. The sky is gray. The wind is gray.

  Asuka swims toward the barrier and grabs the metal bars. He hoists himself up and over, and his waterlogged body lands hard on asphalt. Asuka looks around.

  He’s in New York City.

  But something’s not quite right.

  It’s… daytime. At least, Asuka suspects it to be.

  But there are no cars.

  No people.

  No… nothing.

  Asuka reaches into his soaked pants and confirms the coins are still in his pocket. He’s supposed to supply them for safe crossing over the river.

  But what river?

  Where’s the field of poppies?

  The cave?

  Merrick couldn’t have gotten it all wrong, could he?

  Asuka takes a few slow, steady breaths, then starts across the desolate intersection of Twelfth Avenue. He makes his way down Forty-First Street.

  There are no delivery vans. No dumpsters. No garbage.

  “Hello?” he calls.

  Nothing but the wind replies.<
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  Asuka checks his watch.

  11:59 p.m.

  He’s not surprised.

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  Asuka looks up.

  The Devil stands in front of him.

  “Where are all your souls?”

  The Devil reaches into his pockets and pulls out handfuls of keys. “I save the ones I can find. The others?” He shrugs and returns them. “Some are made into monsters and travel into man’s world. Some the nightmares feast on.”

  Asuka narrows his eyes.

  The Devil looks… forlorn.

  Asuka begins walking again and says, “You miss them.”

  The Devil falls into step with him. “My brother does nothing but sleep. Death can be a lonely enterprise. These souls have kept me company for a long time.”

  Asuka takes this response in without comment. He then notices, with a minor delay, that his clothes are dry. He turns to the Devil, but Asuka is alone.

  He stops walking. Asuka requires a location that is big enough—monumental enough—to need passage from one side to another. He rubs his chin thoughtfully.

  Times Square?

  THE INTERSECTION of Forty-Second and Seventh is gray.

  Empty.

  Shuttered and silent.

  Asuka is unnerved by the ability to hear his own footsteps. He comes to a stop at the crosswalk painted on the street. The asphalt ripples like water. He crouches down and hesitantly puts his hand on the surface. It dips in like liquid, and then Asuka is yanked hard. He falls forward and struggles to tear free from what has his arm in a viselike grip.

  A face breaks the surface, crying and moaning. It tries to drag Asuka down into the river.

  Asuka swears. The soul is attracting attention.

  More rise to the surface of the intersection and grab for Asuka. He pulls his pistol free and blindly fires flares at the faces grabbing for him. They scream and sink below the painted asphalt.

  “Jesus!” Asuka is free and breathes hard as he crawls backward.

  Quiet settles over him again.

  Asuka looks up as a small boat crosses not far from him.

  The ferryman.

  “Hey!” Asuka gets to his feet and reaches into his pocket. He removes the coins and holds them up. “I need passage!”