by Mac Flynn
I stepped up the stairs and tried the key. It slipped in like a glove, and I slipped inside and flicked on the light.
I screamed when I found myself face to face with a dead fish. The door shut behind me before I could stumble backwards through it. My back slammed against it and I winced as the score became Door: 1, and Misty: 0.
I rubbed the back of my head and glared at the flying fish. It floated off and joined its school near the ceiling. The kitchen was a mess of tossed food and utensils. Broken plates and battered pots were strewn over the old, stained linoleum, and the place smelled like rotten fish.
I ducked beneath the fish as they floated leisurely above me and made my way over to the crates. I crouched down and took a picture of the emblem.
"Just as I thought. . ." I murmured as I lowered the lens. It was the red hoof.
I pocketed my phone and crept away from the school before the bell rang. The hairs on the back of my neck didn't rise until I reached out for the light switch. Something was wrong. I slowly turned around. The same fish from before floated a foot in front of my face. I blinked at it. It blinked back. The rest of the school stopped their slow circle and turned to face me. I stepped back and hit the door.
That's when the lead fish spoke to me.
"I'm delighted to meet you at last," the lead fish told me.
I blinked at it. "I don't recall making an appointment with a dead floating fish," I quipped.
The fish chuckled and its gills flapped in and out. "I make the appointments for the people I meet, though I have to admit meeting you is an exception to my rule. I generally don't make the acquaintance of someone who isn't on his naughty list."
"Santa?" I guessed.
"No, but he does occasionally sport a beard," the fish told me. "I myself prefer a simple black goatee."
A flash of red light blazed on the side of the fish. It was the hoof mark from the crates. The fish's red eyes blinked back at me. My eyes widened.
"Oh God. . ." I murmured.
He chuckled. "Not quite."
This was the red man himself. That not-so-jolly St. Nick of the dyslexic. Satan. I flattened my back against the door but tried to give him my best devil-may-care look.
"I plan on staying off of any list of yours," I told him. It. Whatever.
"Ah, but that's the beauty of the best-laid plans. They all lead to my domain, and I hope this one is no exception," he told me.
"'This one?'" I repeated. I gestured to the fish and their crates. "So you had these things sent here?" I guessed.
He shook his slippery head. "No. This was merely a convenient grudge to set the wheel in motion, but it's to my advantage. It's fortunate you returned alone. You see, I've come here to make a deal with you."
I snorted and shook my head. "Not interested. There's no microscope on earth, or anyone else, that can read your fine print."
"But you must at least listen to my proposal. It concerns your precious vampire," the fish informed me.
My eyes narrowed and I pursed my lips. "I'm listening."
"I want my soul returned to me, and you wish to always be with Roland," he pointed out.
"It's Roland's soul," I reminded him.
He chuckled. "Once a human becomes a vampire they forfeit their soul to me. It's part of the contract."
"Signed in blood and with no return policy?" I guessed.
His tail flipped to and fro in annoyance. "Something like that, but we digress. I offer you a chance at the best of both worlds. You return the soul to me, and I will make you a vampire."
I crossed my arms over my chest and snorted. "Sounds fishy. No deal," I told him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a picture to rub in a certain vampire's face."
I turned my back on the Devil, but his smooth voice called me back.
"Don't you want to know what your precious vampire has been hiding from you?" he cooed.
I turned and frowned at him. "He doesn't hide anything from me."
The fish chuckled. "I'm afraid that isn't quite true. You see, when he stole his soul from me and brought it to the world of the living he started to die. He's dying as we speak."
I glared at him. "You're lying again."
"Am I? Ask him yourself. You know where to find me if you need me," he dared.
The emblem on the side of the fish disappeared and it floated away. Its brethren turned away from me and became a meandering school of undead fish.
I pursed my lips and turned my back on the smelly mess. I'd find out who was deceiving me.
CHAPTER 3
I drove back to town and marched into the apartment. Roland was again seated in his chair. I stopped in front of him and dropped the phone in his lap. He picked up the phone as I crossed my arms and glared down at him.
"Something bothers you," he commented.
"I had a talk with the Devil at the restaurant," I revealed.
Roland started back. "He didn't-" I held up my hand.
"He didn't touch me with his unholy hand or anything. He talked through one of the fish," I explained.
"What did he say?" Roland asked me.
"He said it wasn't his fault the fish got to the restaurant and he had a deal for me." I looked straight at Roland. "He wanted me to steal your soul and give it to him."
Roland pursed his lips. "Did you agree?"
I frowned. A pain of hurt struck me in the heart. "Would I be telling you all this if I did?"
Roland fell back in his chair and sighed. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. I looked him up and down. Roland did have a bit more emaciated look than usual.
"What did he offer you in return?" Roland wondered.
"He offered me your life," I revealed.
Roland started. "My life? What of my life?"
"He told me you were dying." I bent down and caught his eyes with mine. "You are, aren't you?" Roland averted his eyes. That was the first time he'd ever done that. "Roland?"
Roland closed his eyes and gave a nod. Just a single nod. That's all I needed to see.
I turned away from him and ran a hand through my hair. "Damn it. . ." I muttered.
"Very possibly," he agreed.
"This is so serious I can't even laugh," I commented as I slumped down on the couch. My throat went dry, and a swallow didn't help. "How long has it been happening?" I whispered.
"Since I removed my soul from Hell," he told me. "But the strain from its theft has hastened the decline."
"How long do you have?"
"Only a few more weeks."
I pursed my lips. "Damn it. . ." I whispered.
"So it seems," he agreed.
I glared at him. "This isn't time for jokes."
Roland turned to me and smiled. "A joke would be worth a great deal to me at this moment."
I sighed and leaned forward. "Yeah, but I'm running on empty right now. Isn't there anything we can do to stop it?"
Roland nodded at the leaking box. "If I can reunite my soul then I will not die."
"You're sure about that?" I asked him.
"Nothing in life is certain but death, and I feel its dark arms wrapping around me as we speak," he commented. "My only hope lies in uniting my soul with my body."
I tilted my head and studied the box. "So if we get this box open all the way you'll be reunited with your soul?"
"That is my hope," he agreed.
I sighed. "That's a lot of hoping. Any chance something will go wrong?"
"A great deal," he told me.
"You're a coffin full of good news tonight," I quipped.
"There is very little to go around," he pointed out.
I leaned back against the couch and furrowed my brow. "So we figure out how to get it open and hope for the best."
"Precisely," Roland replied.
Figuring out how the box opened was harder than it looked. There didn't seem to be any triggering point. Roland had merely sat in his chair and the lid sprang up those few inches. The horizon brightened with the rising sun and Rolan
d winced. He stood up and placed the soul box gingerly in his chair. I looked up and frowned at him.
"I am sorry to leave you alone to figure out my dilemma," he apologized.
I looked past him at the oozing box. "Not as sorry as your chair's going to be if that keeps up."
Roland smiled and leaned down. He caught my lips in a soft kiss that left me wanting more for my buck, but I got what I paid for as he pulled away and slipped inside the coffin. He partially closed the lid, but paused as his eyes fell on me.
"For what little it matters, I apologize for not telling you earlier about my condition."
I shrugged. "It's okay. I should have noticed."
He smiled. "Thank you."
I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For being here for me when I most need you," he explained.
"It's what you do when you love someone," I told him.
His blue eyes lit up with his smile, and he bowed his head. "Until the evening then, my love."
I snorted and grabbed the lid. "Don't get too mushy on me or I might think about investing in the stake market."
I shut the lid before he could argue, and there was quiet.
The sun came up before my wracked mind could find an answer to the conundrum. I sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the lid for a good hour puzzling over the puzzle box in the chair. The blue mist died down with Roland's sleep.
My mind was so focused on the box at hand that I jumped when my phone rang. I looked at the name and sighed. Aunt Ma.
"Hi, Aunt ma, could I call you back?" I answered.
"What's wrong?" she asked me.
I stood and walked away from the coffin. Though I knew he couldn't hear me, I needed some privacy. I wandered into the bedroom and plopped myself down on the foot.
"It's just some stuff going on," I told her.
"Well, I only wanted to ask if I was to be expecting two for Thanksgiving," she wondered.
I shook my head. "I'm not sure, Aunt Ma. I'll have to get back to you."
"Misty, it sounds like something's going on between you and Roland," she commented.
"It's nothing. Really," I insisted. Nothing but him dying a slow death and me not being able to do a damn thing. I rubbed my eyes to stop the tears that welled up there. "But I really need to go."
"Are you sure you won't bring him over and-"
I jumped to my feet and gripped the phone hard in my hands. I'm surprised I didn't wake the dead with my screaming voice. "I don't know, okay? I just don't know!" I yelled.
There was silence on the other end. Warm tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them off with the back of my hand and let out a shuddered sigh.
"Listen, Aunt Ma, I'm really-"
"Wait a moment," she interrupted me. Her voice was soft, but firm. "I know you're a grown girl and I have faith you can solve your own problems, but if you ever need an ear you can have mine," she told me.
I fell back on the bed and held my head in one hand. "I'm really sorry. I've had a rough night. One with a lot of questions and no answers," I explained.
"You might find some answers a little faith," she advised me.
My eyes widened as a sudden thought hit me. I jumped to my feet and clutched the phone in my shaking hands.
"Aunt Ma, I could just kiss you!" I told her.
"Your uncle would be very jealous," she pointed out.
"Then I'll hug you at Thanksgiving! And I'll be bringing Roland, too!" I replied.
"That's wonderful! Does he like dark or white meat?" she asked me.
"I don't know, but I'll get back to you, bye!"
I hung up the phone and rushed into the living room. Roland's spewing soul box with its endless battle between good and evil sat atop his coffin.
"I know you didn't want this moved, but I think it needs a change of scenery," I told the sleeping vampire as I gingerly grabbed the box.
The mist, blue and red, didn't touch me, but I carefully packed the box in a large zipped duffel bag to avoid prying eyes. I don't know how I'd explain to the police about a supernatural force of good inside evil that was a ticking time bomb for a vampire's life. The conversation would end in offers for a padded cell and a new white suit. A few wisps of mist floated out, but nothing too dangerous.
I hurried out the door and jumped into my car with the box in the passenger seat. There was a man in a dark suit I had to see. He was my last hope for getting that box open.
I pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the road towards the old church on the hill. The streets were alive with the living as they drove to chores, school, alcoholics anonymous, the bar, and work. Maybe not in that order, but it made for a colorful group of peer drivers as I navigated my way through traffic.
Something that wasn't colorful was the car in my rear view mirror. It was a black four-door I'm-not-a-kidnapping-car-really-I'm-not sedan with two men in black suits in the front seats. They wore sunglasses and sat as stiff as a carnivore at an all-you-can-eat vegan buffet. The pair would've blended in better if they'd worn matching Hawaiian shirts. I wasn't sure what they wanted, but I had a feeling it wasn't to sell me any Girl Scout cookies.
I turned a corner, and they continued to follow two cars behind me. The car between us turned off and they kept the same distance. I hated to admit it, but I'd entered a detective movie with me being tailed by the bad guys. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to make some collateral damage around town without incurring a shit-load of tickets and a jump in my car insurance, if my car survived the chase.
I reached the road that the church sat on and picked up the speed. The car behind me did better than that. They roared to my rear and tried to pass. I knew a cut-off when I saw one, and these guys meant to cut me off before I hit the driveway up the hill. I punched the gas and zoomed down the street. The driveway was half a block down and fast approaching. The black car veered into the other lane and slammed its passenger side against my driver side.
"Watch the paint!" I yelled as I tried not to make the acquaintance of the neighborhood fire hydrants and lamp posts.
They slammed into me against and I barely missed violating federal law by breaking into a post box. That was the last straw. I gritted my teeth and turned the wheel sharply. My car slammed into theirs. The black sedan bounced over the curb and narrowly avoided a homeless man. His grocery cart, however, didn't make it and piles of clothes flew into the air and over the front windshield of the sedan. They slammed on their brakes.
I flew past them and had nearly reached the driveway when I spun the wheel. My two right wheels decided they were too good for the ground and rose up a few inches. I navigated the turn and sped up the driveway. My rear view mirror predicted more trouble, though, when the black sedan reappeared behind me.
I screeched to a stop in front of the open doors of the church, grabbed the bag with the soul box, and jumped out. The sedan stopped behind me and the men rushed me. I ran into the church with the guys close at my heels nipping at my pumping arms.
CHAPTER 4
The church was empty, but lit candles at the front told me help was nearby. Danger was even closer as one of the guys grabbed my arm and yanked me back. The bag slipped from my hand and dropped to the ground.
I swung around and tried to punch him in the face, but he caught my fist in his empty palm. He squeezed my fist until I heard my fingers crack. I couldn't see his eyes, but the grin on his face told me he was fine helping my body form into a human pretzel.
"Didn't your mother teach you to play nice with girls?" I growled at him.
"No," he growled.
The other man strode past us and picked up the bag.
"That's mine!" I yelled.
I tried to free myself from the thug who held me, but he twisted my wrist and I heard a bad crack as bones ground against bones. I winced and stiffened.
"Now shut up," my captor ordered me. He glanced at his friend who held the bag. "Is it in there?"
The man unzipped the bag. The trapped, ang
ry mist exploded like a bomb and spewed over the opening in the bag. The man screamed as it rushed over his hands. He dropped the bag and stumbled back with his hands held out in front of him. Or what was left of his hands. The mist had melted away a lot of his fingers and the smell of burned flesh floated over the church.
I took advantage of the confusion and really gross sight to kick my captor hard enough to make his children feel it. His eyes crossed and he clutched his wounded groin. I slipped from his weakened grasp and dove at the bag. The overflow of mist was spent, though a few puffs still tried to escape from beneath the lid.
My captor jumped me and wrapped his arms around mine. He pinned my arms to my sides and lifted me off the floor. His partner stumbled in the background screaming and waving around his stumpy hands. He'd have to learn to write using his teeth.
"What is the meaning of this?" a voice boomed.
All eyes turned to a door on the right of the altar. Father Malone stood in the doorway in all his short majesty, and with a terrifying frown on his face. He marched towards us with his long black frock billowing behind him. I had to get me one of those.
"Help!" I shouted at him.
My captor gave me a squeeze as though I was a squeeze doll and I choked on a breath of air. The man stepped back away from the father and held me between them.
"Get lost, padre," he warned Father Malone.
Father Malone stopped at the head of the pews five feet from us. His eyes flickered between the pair of us and the other man. He had his hands tucked in his armpits and his face was as pale as a ghost. Or Roland.
"God has no place for you here," Father Malone returned. "Release the woman and leave."
"Not yet," my captor shot back. He half-turned his face to the partner. "Get a hold of yourself and get that box, or we'll have worse done to us than your hands!"
The man stumbled forward towards the bag and box. He pulled out his stumps and my eyes widened as I watched them regrow. Sort of. Instead of pink flesh there was instead a black shadow with fingers that writhed and squirmed atop the palm. The thing reached for the box. I flailed in my captor's arms, and he responded by giving me a tighter bear hug that threatened to ration my air supply.
