by Hunter Blain
“Gerald. His name was Gerald,” I barked out while fighting the urge to clench my jaw until my teeth shattered. I squeezed my fists until they started to make popping sounds, drawing Locke’s attention to the severity of his situation.
I heard beeps from the oven as Depweg turned it to broil while I shot laser beams at Locke with my eyes.
“Gerald was right,” Locke said slowly and calmly, like talking down a feral animal. He was drenched in fear, and rightfully so. “We were there only for the land and property that was rightfully your family’s. BUT! If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else! I just did as I was told.”
“Another reason Satan chose you, then,” Depweg said, returning to the living room. “Doing whatever you’re told despite the consequences. You seem to excel at that.”
“Forgive me, but were you not a soldier who killed more than his fair share of enemy combatants?” Locke pointed out.
“That’s different and you know it,” Depweg growled in warning.
“What about the Jewish boy being held prisoner by Nazis the night you raided their camp. In your rage…” Locke began, but Depweg kicked the coffee table in the purest rage I had ever witnessed from him, startling both Lily and me, and sent Locke flying behind the couch with a nose-crunching thud. A throaty growl left his chest, making everything that wasn’t nailed down in the living room reverberate. I could see Depweg preparing to change—starting with his eyes, which had turned yellow with black slits for pupils.
“Hey!” I called out, putting myself between the two before Depweg decided to stomp on Locke’s defenseless head, or eat him. “Just go to your room for a minute and calm down, brother. No judgment here.” Depweg’s chest rose and fell with each heavy breath as tears started pouring down his cheeks. I leaned close to him and whispered, “He’s giving us some good intel, man…against Satan of all people.” Without looking at me, he turned and strode off to his room, slamming the door.
Lily had gone behind the couch to pick up Locke while this was going on. I righted the coffee table, which now had a crack down the center like a fork of lightning. I would have to ask Valenta to either fix it or craft a new one.
Lily sat Locke back down, sans the coaster, and his words started to sink in. This left me conflicted. Yes, he had killed my family, but he had spent what must have felt like a millennium in Hell being punished for it and many other crimes. His excuse of just following orders was not sufficient, and I still wanted to make an enchi-head-a in the oven.
What would the father say to me right now? Probably tell me to continue down the path of righteousness and forgive those who have trespassed against me while also focusing on the big picture—the apocalypse was coming and I was the key. There had to be some truth to this due to the number of supes leaving this plane and hiding—or being murdered by a Faerie Queen. This, coupled with the fact that Satan was clearly trying to piss in my Cheerios, provided all the proof I needed.
“Why does the Devil think I am the catalyst for the end?” I asked somberly while grabbing Locke’s nose and twisting it back into place.
“Ow! I don’t know, Jonath—” he started before I glared at him with eyes that glowed red, “John. Just John. But I would like to help stop it. Being a bodiless freak on Earth is infinitely better than even dipping my toe back into Hell. It’s not all physical torture, you know. Samael is entirely too clever, and personally comes up with the most devious of mental punishments.” Locke paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “He…he even made me endure the deaths I caused a thousand times over. Including what I did to your parents.” Locke’s eyes closed in remembrance, and he attempted to gulp. “I feel my mind is barely hanging on by a frayed thread, but the hope of never going back is keeping me sane. Before now, I did whatever it took to stay alive, in a manner of speaking; including trying to keep you subdued, which now I clearly see was an attempt to earn your attention. I was a pawn in his chess game; his sacrifice to lure you out. Now I am free from his influence, and I am just as determined to never go back as before. So please, let me help.”
“You were tortured in the bull?” I asked weakly, my voice losing the fight against the lump in my throat.
“Yes,” Locke said without breaking eye contact with me; his bottom lip quivered as he remembered each agonizing death.
“You had your intestines pulled out?” I batted my eyelids, trying to free my vision from the blurring scene.
“Yes. Each a thousand times at least. I lost count when weeks felt like days and years passed like months.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “I am truly sorry for what I did. Not just to your parents, but also to all those I hurt. I felt each of their pain over and over and over again, and I am sorry!” At that, his tears freed themselves and ran down his face, where they pooled on the table.
“What do you think, Lily? Do we trust this dickhead?” I asked while clearing my voice and wiping my face with the sleeve of my trench coat.
“I think that if the end is on its way, we need all the help we can get,” Lily stated honestly and with a slight touch of worry. Her eyes remained fixed on Locke, displeasure marking her features.
It was at this time that Da decided to join us by blinking into existance while holding a comically too big pizza box and saying, “I’ve brought pizzaaaaaaaaaahhhh! What is that thing doing on my coffee table? And without a coaster, no less?” he exclaimed while dropping the box on the ground and pointing at Locke’s head.
“Is that cheese?” Locke asked with genuine interest while sniffling back his tears and ignoring Da’s remarks.
Da’s gaze quickly shifted between Lily and me, awaiting an answer.
“It’s a long story. Well, it actually isn’t, but it sounded cool,” I said.
A minute and a half later, Da was caught up and picking the pizza box off the ground.
“Can you get him a flowerpot or something? I don’t want his neck cooties on my custom furniture,” Da said as his eyes stopped on the new crack. “My table!”
“I’ll get it fixed,” I said before doing a double take and throwing out, “The fuck you mean, ‘my table’? Val made that shit for me, bro. That there’s my table. But yes, I’ll get Val to work his magic.”
“See that you do,” Da said as he bit into a slice that was bigger than him while simultaneously ignoring my correction about the ownership of said table.
“How did you even buy this, Da? Did you float in, pay, and grab the box from the mortals before leaving?” I smiled warmly, thinking about what a sight that would have been.
With that, Da was a normal-sized man. There was no mist or ectoplasm growth, which looked like clay being added to a statue. He was simply a man.
“Nice glamour,” I said as I grabbed a paper napkin and set a piece of gooey hot goodness in front of Locke, who glanced up at me with a look that said, “Really, dude?” I patted him on his crispy head and sat on the couch, turning the TV source back to the Xbox where Aliens finally awaited. Locke stuck his tongue out and tried to use it for leverage on the slice in front of him. I chuckled—the Devil wasn’t the only one good at coming up with punishments.
“And who left the oven on? I leave for a few minutes and come home to pure chaos,” Da bitched dramatically as he floated to the kitchen. A few beeps later and the oven was off —which to me felt symbolic of a path that had been chosen on a forked road. It made my skin crawl to allow Locke even another second of existence, especially in my home; but I felt it pertinent to see where this might go.
As I pushed play, I glanced at Depweg’s room and thought about what Locke had said about the Jewish boy. Depweg had killed an innocent, and it still weighed heavily on his soul. At that moment, I felt even closer to my brother from another supernatural mother.
6
I lay in my newly repaired iron coffin hidden underneath my fake bed in my room. The LED lights were off. My rotation of books closed. This week’s consisted of a series that centered around a shiny, asshole beer can help
ing out a group of humans in a stolen spaceship. I wasn’t sure who I most identified with: the gullible human protagonist or his sarcastic, ancient, and powerful AI sidekick.
I could feel dawn approaching and I fought the urge to surrender to its will. My head was swimming. My emotions were conflicted. The decisions I would make could forever alter this plane of existence, and with it, all mortal life.
I knew I was a key piece on the eternal chessboard, but I didn’t know what moves I should, or even what moves I could, make. Did I trudge forward and call Mephistopheles’ bluff? Did I retreat to my front lines and lie low? What about the other planes in a lateral move? That seemed to be the answer for most supes. Then again, I probably didn’t want to show my face to them right now. I was still fair game for accidentally showing my powers to the mortals. Moreover, word was bound to get out about me being the suspected cause of the apocalypse. Any rational being would be in the right if they were to take me out. Like a controlled flame before the big fire.
My foggy mind drifted to recent events and to the hooded figure in the limo with glowing eyes who had hired the trio of comedic relief. I felt there was something there. I knew it like a child knew there was a monster in the closet without any accompanying facts and in spite of his parents reassuring words. Without further thought, the answer clicked into place like a key sliding into a lock; I would find Mr. Limo and have a chat. I hadn’t put much thought into him at the time. I hadn’t even bothered to chase him down as he drove off. But right now, something was telling me that he was an important piece to this apocalyptic puzzle.
My eyelids won their battle and embraced as I yawned, letting my will relax and accept sleep. Father Thomes’ face was the last thing I saw before being pulled under the waves of consciousness, the light fading as I descended deeper into the ocean of dreams.
7
I dreamed, and what I dreamed terrified me. My feet crunched on blackened earth. Smoke blotted out the stars above. Fires of varying colors danced in the distance, some from the hellfires below and others from the heavenflames above. The air was acrid with the smell of sulfur and charred flesh. All around, bones littered the ground as far as the eye could see. Though they had no faces or flesh, their postures made it clear they had died in agony and terror. A skeleton huddled in the corner of a crumbling building, its arms wrapped around a smaller skeleton which returned the embrace.
The wind gusted and pulled at my beard and the hair that spilled out from beneath my gray beanie. It felt uncomfortably warm against my exposed skin, like opening the door to an oven that had been preheated to over four hundred degrees. I walked aimlessly, letting my dream be the guide. It was going to show what it wanted to show, and I had no say about it. I was but a lone passenger on the roller coaster of fate. Sometimes you had to learn to put your hands in the air and enjoy the ride.
At that moment of self-surrender was when I saw them; a gaggle of demons huddled around a fire, cooking what I hoped was a human-shaped deer. I walked right toward them, ground crunching underfoot.
One of them must have heard this over the crackle of the fire, since he looked around, seeking the source. I blurred forward and stood in their circle, looking at the charring man-flesh with feigned interest.
“Hello there,” I said to the group, cheerfully.
“It’s him!” said a wiry-looking mofo.
“You were supposed to say ‘General Kenobi,’” I sighed as I let bloodswords coalesce. “You ruined my dream meme.”
“Wait! Don’t hurt us!” another one cried out as his hands went up defensively. They all cowered away from the blades.
“What kind of big bad demons are you?” I asked, annoyed and disappointed. This was a dream, so I had no plausible reason to fear a pack of Hell’s minions.
“We are what’s left,” said a large, oily-skinned humanoid.
“What’s left of what?” I asked, letting my blades drop to my sides while still leaving them out.
They all looked up at me as if I had asked what year it was and if Elvis was still alive.
“Of anything,” said the wiry demon. He gestured around. “This is what’s left of the War of Eternity.”
“Who won?” I asked.
“No one,” he said. “No one won. We all lost. God and Samael were so intent on proving they were right that they didn’t consider the possibility that they were both wrong.”
I chuckled at this as I sighed and said, “Pride.”
“Used to be one of my favorites,” said the little one who I was beginning to associate as the leader of this ragtag group of leftover demons.
“So,” I began, not knowing what question to ask. “Is Heaven…?”
“Heaven, Earth, and Hell are indistinguishable from one another right now,” he informed me while tearing a strip of meat from the body over the fire. It smelled surprisingly pleasant.
“Those are some big words for a demon,” I stated.
“What, you think all demons are big and dumb? That’s a hurtful stereotype. Not all of us gave into our rage when we had the long fall from grace. There are those of us who kept our minds intact at the sacrifice of brawn.”
Even for a dream, this was helpful information. Whether or not it was true was a completely different matter. But for now, I went with it.
“I guess it’s true, then, what they say about being big and dumb. At least in regard to demons.”
“Mostly,” he said around a mouthful of charred flesh. After swallowing, he continued, “There are the rare occasions where you can find those who gave in to their rage while fighting to maintain their minds. They,” he shuddered, “are truly terrifying, even for us.”
“Why’s that? Isn’t there honor among thieves or something?” I asked.
“Why? Because we are all demons? That’s racist, you blood-sucking abomination,” he said with a wry smile.
“The irony of that statement is palpable. But seriously…” I motioned for him to continue while letting my bloodswords retract into my palms.
“The hierarchy in Hell is no different to that on Earth. At least on paper. Those who can, do. Would you agree that there are those who aren’t—well…weren’t—afraid to slit the throat of their fellow man to climb to the top?”
“Point taken,” I accepted while gesturing for one of the demons to move over, allowing me to sit and listen.
“I know this is a dream and all, but I’m confused as to why I don’t feel the need to kill you all anymore. Except him,” I said while pointing to a particularly nasty-looking beast with tusks, a huge brow, and red eyes. He pointed at himself in surprise, fear somehow evident in his eyes.
“Just kidding, dude,” I said. “But for real. Why haven’t I ever heard of demons like you?”
“Garlic,” the leader said.
“Come again?” I asked.
“All the books and stories say vampires are deathly allergic to garlic, correct?”
“Ah,” I acknowledged. “Got ya.” I pondered for a moment and asked, “So you are just, I guess, the equivalent of normal dudes? I suppose that it makes sense that most books on demons only mention the super-duper scary ones.” I put on a British TV host’s accent and added, “Coming up next; we’ll follow the demon, Kevin, as he lies about his tax deductions.”
“Every plane has their mix of denizens. Keeps things interesting,” the smart demon said.
“Well, how do I know you aren’t trying to trick me right now?” I asked, only half sincere.
There was a thundering sound in the distance that filled the night.
“Couple things. First, the apocalypse has already happened and the war is over. What good would it be to try to kill you at this point? Second, it’s your dream, dude.”
The night reverberated again, louder in a staccato BANG BANG BANG.
“Goodbye, John,” the leader said.
8
Huh?” was all I could manage before my eyes blinked open. I was in my coffin. Someone was knocking on my bedroom door. BANG
! BANG!! BANG!!! Lifting the hydraulically powered iron lid, I sleepily called out, “What?” before yawning and rubbing my eyes.
Da entered the room and said, “It’s been sundown for quite some time now, John. It’s not like you to sleep in except—”
“Except on Sundays,” we said in unison. “That’s my day,” I finished.
“Yes, we all know that. However, it is not Sunday, now is it?” he said as he crossed his little arms.
“What time is it?” I asked through another yawn, still waking up.
“Half past nine,” Da answered while squinting his eyes at me. “Are you feeling well, John? You seem…tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Right, and doesn’t that strike you as a tad bit odd?”
He was right. Something was off. I dove into my information city and couldn’t locate a single time when I hadn’t been able to awaken within moments after the sun had retreated and let night take control. Except Sundays, when I willed myself to stay asleep as a treat to myself.
“Do…” Da started, “do I make you some coffee?”
“I appreciate it, dude, but no. I can’t synthesize the caffeine, which means I’d only be drinking bean-flavored water. Unless we have some enchanted coffee lying around? I mean, we do own our very own warlock now,” I said with a smile. “I am hungry though. Maybe I’ll go hunting.”
“Don’t wander too far. We all know how awful you are at managing your time, now don’t we?” Da chided.
Yawning yet again, I said, “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” I got up, stretched, and went into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth to prevent bacterial growth in the warm cavern that was my mouth, I splashed cold water on my face. Looking up into the mirror, I was greeted by someone I didn’t recognize. Water streamed down his face and pooled in his beard, but that wasn’t the odd part. Dark bags were prevalent under the eyes of the person staring back at me. Eyes that were questionably purple instead of unmistakably so, as if they were reverting back to brown. With the cold water still running, I leaned back over the faucet and splashed my face again with vigor. I did it again and again, soaking my shirt and the white granite vanity. Water pooled on the floor. I could feel it kissing my toes as I forcefully splashed my face, trying to erase the person that had stared back at me.
