by JG Faherty
Her eyes locked on Hank the entire time, she removed the envelopes and tossed them on the desk.
“Keep going.” Eddie motioned with the gun.
“That’s everything.” Her voice trembled as she said it.
“Next drawer. The one with the money you and Ned skim from the takes. Or should I tell Ned how you’re pocketing a grand every week from his share?”
Her lips tightened until they almost disappeared. Mouse’s eyes darted from Hank to Angela and back, a trapped animal desperately trying to find a way to escape.
The second drawer produced more than forty additional envelopes. He made her open the other two, but they only contained business files.
“Okay. Open them all and dump the money on the floor. Mouse, help her.”
Angela frowned, his request not what she’d been expecting. She emptied the envelopes out, packets of wrapped bills creating a pile in front of the cabinet. Eddie found himself gritting his teeth as he watched.
“All right. Now the notebook. You know the one I mean.” Eddie motioned the gun at the desk.
“Go fuck yourself.” Angela crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t—”
Eddie pulled the trigger again. This time the shot went right into the metal cabinet, leaving a quarter-sized hole in the top drawer. Angela’s eyes went wide and the color drained from her face. Her hands shook as she opened the drawer and removed the spiral book notebook. Seeing that made Eddie laugh.
“Sit. On the floor.” This time she did as he asked without question, positioning herself on the pile of money. “Good girl,” he said, and was rewarded with another killing glare.
“You, too, Rat-boy.” Eddie had to say it twice before Mouse realized he was being spoken to. The reference went right over his drug-addled head, but Angela caught it.
There’d only been one person who called Mouse Bates ‘Rat-boy’ and that was Eddie Ryder. He’d come up with the nickname after Mouse had spilled the beans to Ned one night how Eddie, in a drunken stupor, had let it slip that he’d had a dream about banging Angela.
That slip had earned Eddie, despite his good standing as an enforcer in the Hell Riders, two sucker punches to the stomach while everyone, including Angela and Kristy, had cheered Hank on, and three weeks spent cleaning Ned and Hank’s bikes at the clubhouse.
After that, Mouse had always been Rat-boy to Eddie, and although the other riders had laughed when he said it, none of them had ever actually used the term.
“But I don’t—”
Eddie aimed the gun at Mouse’s head. “Sit your ass down, or I swear to fuckin’ God you’ll get carted out of here in a body bag.”
Mouse quickly dropped to the floor and joined Angela, making sure not to touch her.
Eddie took the notebook and dropped it in Angela’s lap.
“Hold it up for the camera and smile.” With his free hand, Eddie took Angela’s cell phone off the desk and snapped several pictures of them. Then he scrolled through until he found a text from Ned. Prisoners weren’t supposed to have access to phones, but money worked just as well behind bars as on the outside, so it couldn’t have been hard for Angela to arrange one for him.
Three quick clicks and the pictures were sent.
“Damn. Ned’s gonna flip when he sees those.” Eddie stuck the phone in his pocket. “Too bad you won’t be around for it.”
Mouse groaned and shook his head. “You’re gonna kill us, aren’t you?”
Angela grimaced, and a tear ran down one cheek. Eddie smiled. Not so high and mighty now, are you, bitch?
Eddie smiled. “Hell, no. I need you alive. So when the police come and arrest Angie here for money laundering and tax fraud, you can tell them Hank is running the show now. This whole fucking town belongs to me, not Neddie.”
“You’re committing suicide, you know.” Angela’s voice held no emotion, as if she was already resigned to her own fate.
Eddie shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“You’ll care when you end up in pieces and fed to the gators.”
“Let him try. He already screwed it up once. Turns out I’m pretty hard to kill.”
A strange look came over Angela’s face and Eddie wondered if she was fitting the pieces together or just confused. Either way, it was time to finish things in the laundromat and move on. He stuffed as much money into Hank’s pockets as he could fit, used a roll of duct tape to bind and gag his two captives, and then left them in the office with the music still blaring.
On his way out, he dialed 911 on Angela’s phone. “Hello, police? I want to report a crime. Angela Barnes and Rat-boy Bates are in the laundromat on Main Street with a shit-ton of stolen money. You’re welcome.”
He let some energy trickle through is fingers. The screen shattered and he dropped the smoking phone to the ground. He was tempted to go back inside and put a bullet in each of them, a little murder-suicide to drive Jonesy-boy crazy, but he decided against it.
After all, the fun was just starting.
The killing would come later.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Still occupying Hank Bowman’s body, Eddie entered Rosie’s Diner and took the last empty seat at the counter, right between Clyde Holmes, town doctor and father to Officer Chet Holmes, and Officer Delbert Beauchamps. Hank’s basketball-shaped belly rumbled like an idling engine as Eddie breathed in the hot, greasy odors of hamburgers, French fries, meatloaf, fried catfish, and his own personal favorite, gator nuggets.
Damn. When was the last time Hank ate something?
Guess what, Hanky-boy? I think it’s time to spend a little of that money we took.
“What’ll you have?” asked Jenny Gunderson. Her husband taught science at the high school. Eddie’d always hated him, ever since the time he’d caught Eddie and Sandra making out in the stairwell and gotten them suspended for a week. But as much as he disliked Todd Gunderson, there was no way to hate Jenny. She was possibly the sweetest person in all of Hell Creek, a major reason why Rosie gave her all the best shifts at the diner. It didn’t hurt that her looks matched her personality. Not content with making her the nicest person in town, God had blessed her with a face made for television. Maybe not movie-star beautiful, but definitely TV commercial cute. Her pale skin was more suited to sitting under shady trees than frolicking in the surf, but it matched perfectly with her bright blue eyes and fiery red hair.
“I’m feeling mighty hungry, Jen. Gimme two orders of gator nuggets, an order of fries, and a chocolate-peanut butter shake.”
“Sure thing.” Jenny turned away, and Eddie belatedly remembered that he was Hank to everyone, which explained why Jenny hadn’t given him one of her sunny smiles, and why he was currently getting the stink eye from Delbert.
“You’re in a pretty fine mood, Hank,” Delbert said. His tone indicated he was nosing for information, not making conversation.
Eddie knew why, too. Hank Bowman in a good mood usually meant trouble for someone else. That, or he’d already pulled off some kind of crime or stupid stunt and he knew the police wouldn’t be able to pin it on him.
Like when they burned me alive in my own garage. Where were you then, asshole? Probably sound asleep behind the wheel, like always.
The familiar rage burbled up like swamp gas, and Eddie swallowed it down before it could escape. “Yep. Hard not to be in a good mood on a beautiful day like this.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Clyde Holmes chimed in. “Day like this makes you glad to be alive.”
“Yeah?” Eddie paused as Jenny put his milkshake down. “I wouldn’t know.”
Holmes’s bushy eyebrows dipped down as he frowned. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” Eddie dunked a gator nugget into some ketchup and popped it into his mouth.
Oh, man! I forgot how good these taste!
In fact, he’d forgotten how good it was to e
at anything. Or maybe it was just experiencing the food through someone else. The chunks of cornmeal-battered gator tail were perfectly salty and sweet; the fries were nice and crispy, with a flavor that could only come from old, reused grease. The milkshake was extra thick, so thick it was almost like eating a scoop of vanilla ice cream. And cold! His first sip sent spears of pain across his temples.
How about that. Even an empty-headed shit like Hank Bowman can get a brain freeze from a milkshake.
Eddie had worked his way through three quarters of his supper when he noticed that the diner had grown quiet. He looked up and found everyone staring at him.
“What?” he asked, through a mouthful of fries.
“Ain’t never seen anyone attack their food like that,” said Clyde. “You’re actin’ like you ain’t eaten in a week.”
“Must’ve been some good shit, give you the munchies like that,” added Delbert, favoring him with a disgusted scowl. The half Cajun, half Native American officer had a well-known dislike for illegal drugs of any kind, thanks to his younger brother OD-ing on some bad heroin a few years back. Heroin that Hank and Ned brought into town, although no one could ever prove it.
“Ain’t stoned,” Eddie said, and then remembered that he actually was. He’d smoked that joint with Mouse and Angela. And who knew what Hank had been doing before Eddie took him over. Hell, people could probably smell him a mile away.
“Yeah, and we all voted Democrat.” Someone laughed at Clyde’s comment, and the doctor went back to his double cheeseburger.
Screw this.
Eddie finished his shake and dropped two twenties on the counter. “Keep the change, Jen,” he told her. Her eyes went wide as she picked up the money.
Guess Hank Bowman’s not normally much of a tipper.
Well, tonight he will be.
Eddie spent the next two hours separating Hank from his money. He left ten dollars for a bottle of soda and a pack of smokes. And goddamn! but didn’t that first cigarette since he’d died taste awesome. He left two thousand dollars in the mailbox for Carson, with a note saying ‘in case of emergency.’ Then he went to the Saloon, laid the rest of the cash on the bar, and told the bartender to keep buying rounds for everyone until the money ran out.
At around nine p.m., after more shots of tequila than he could count, he decided he’d had enough fun with Hank, marched him into the men’s room, and made him piss all over his own pants.
Then he left him passed out and soaking wet between two urinals.
* * *
The moment Eddie departed Hank’s body, all the effects of the alcohol and drugs disappeared, leaving him clearheaded and positively bursting at the seams with supernatural energy.
May the motherfucking Force be with me!
Hovering over the town, he wondered what to do next. He was too charged up to sleep – or whatever his psychic form did when he rested – but he wanted to give the town a chance to spread the word about the crazy shit he’d done all day before he started in on the gang again.
I should check in on Carson and Mom.
Riding Diablo across town, he tried to tell himself he just wanted to make sure his mother was still okay and that his brother hadn’t suffered any side effects from his temporary possession. But deep down, he knew there was another reason.
Temptation.
Images and memories kept appearing in his head. Holding his mother’s hand. The taste of peanut butter, sweet and salty on his tongue.
Kellie Jones’ lips pressed against his in a velvet kiss, her mouth tasting of ice cream and candy.
But I’ve never even kissed her.
It felt like he had, though. The sensation of it kept coming back to him. Which didn’t make sense. He’d always been attracted to older girls, not younger. Girls who liked to get down and dirty, who had attitude. Not sweet, innocent things like Kellie Jones. Were Carson’s feelings for her lingering with him, affecting him somehow? Or was it the idea of forbidden fruit, reliving his first time all over again? He’d had his cherry popped at fourteen, two years younger than Carson was now. Best night of his life. Claire Pawling, who’d been three years older than him. A gift from Ned Bowman, for pledging with the Hell Riders.
Either way, you’ve got to put it out of your mind. She’s Carson’s girl, and he deserves to experience that prize on his own. And you promised yourself no possessing Carson unless it’s an emergency.
At the trailer, he found Carson and Kellie in Carson’s room, both of them focused intently on the computer screen.
If that was me, I’d have her on the bed. Why’re they wasting time on the computer?
Eddie glided into the room and moved behind them so he could see over their shoulders.
If he’d had a heart, it would have stopped the moment he read the first line.
Signs of possession.
* * *
“I give up.” Carson leaned back in his seat, stretched his neck back and forth, and then shivered as a momentary wave of cool air caused the hairs on his arms to stand up. He made a mental note to turn down the air conditioner later, so his mother wouldn’t get a chill.
“All these sites are about demons. There’s nothing about ghosts.”
Kellie took a sip of soda and looked at him, her head tilted slightly, which Carson had already learned meant she was thinking hard about something.
“Well, assuming you’re right and it’s Eddie who’s been possessing you, what makes you so sure he’s a ghost and not a demon?”
“What?”
“Let’s think about this. Maybe Eddie didn’t come back as a ghost. Maybe he, you know, went to hell and now he’s come back for revenge.”
“He’s not a demon. He can’t be a demon.”
“Why not? If you can believe in ghosts, why can’t you believe in demons?”
“Because he’s my brother!” Carson got up and walked across the room. He felt like kicking something, throwing something, but he held back, afraid Kellie might get scared off by a temper tantrum. He was lucky she’d even stuck around at all, after he’d told her his theory about possession.
“So it’s okay for him to come back as a nasty ghost, but not a demon?” Kellie raised one eyebrow, and he realized how stupid his argument sounded.
“It’s not just that,” he said, his embarrassment calming him enough so he could think again, try to be logical. “Demons are…evil, you know? So far, Eddie’s been…good. Not nice, but good.”
“You mean when he’s inside you.”
They’d already discussed the possibility that Eddie might have possessed other people, which would explain the strange way some of the Hell Riders had been acting.
“Yeah. I mean, all he’s done is give my mom dinner and save us from losing our insurance money. I don’t think a demon would do that.”
Kellie’s expression turned grim. “If you’re right, though, he’s also hurt and killed several people.”
Carson shook his head. “But maybe that’s not being evil. If those are the people who killed him, he might just be after them, and then he’ll, I don’t know, be at peace. Move on. You know, like in that movie The Crow.”
“This isn’t a movie. You don’t know what he’s thinking.”
He nodded.
“Then we’ll just have to find out.”
* * *
Eddie was about to take control of his brother again, make him tell Kellie he’d changed his mind, that the whole idea of possession was stupid, when their mother called for Carson.
“We’ll talk more in school tomorrow,” Kellie said, and then gave Carson a quick kiss and left the house.
As Carson went to see what his mom wanted, Eddie found himself getting angry at his brother.
The stupid shit has a hot piece of ass who obviously wants him, and he doesn’t do a damn thing except sit around the stupid
computer. If I was him, I’d have her legs up over my shoulders and….
Eddie’s internal rage, which had been dampened after his escapades during the day, returned to life and he had to fight the urge to enter his brother, follow Kellie outside, and have his way with her right on the side of the road. Break her in good and hard.
No! That’s Carson you’re talking about, not some gang-banger.
Eddie held back a scream that he knew would shatter all the windows in the trailer. What was happening to him? He’d been pissed off plenty of times when he was alive, but he’d never, ever thought about hurting anyone in his family.
Something’s changing inside me. Ever since what happened with Jethro, I—
No. Before that. From the moment I came back, I’ve been different. Not just stronger. Meaner. I’m always angry. Worse than when I was alive, like the hate is fueling me, making me do these things.
That made him pause.
Am I a monster? Did I really come back as a demon, like Kellie said? Or am I using my powers as an excuse? Was this evil inside me all along, just waiting to come out?
Thinking about it made his head hurt, so he decided to stop. He pushed up and out of the trailer, found Diablo waiting for him. With a roar of thunder that shook the whole neighborhood, he sent Diablo racing toward the swamps while heavy metal music blasted from imaginary speakers. It was time to pay the clubhouse a visit. He felt the need to drink, fuck, and fight.
And not necessarily in that order.
* * *
Halfway to the kitchen to get his mother a cup of tea, Carson paused. Thunder rumbled outside, but that wasn’t the sound that had caught his attention.
For one brief second, he’d been sure he’d heard someone playing “Hellrider” by Demon Dogs.
Eddie’s favorite song.
Feeling more than a little chilled all of a sudden, he poured a second cup for himself.
And wished his shivers were just from the air conditioning.
Chapter Twenty-Five
On most nights, the Hell Riders’ clubhouse was party central for many of the local scumbags and losers. However, when Eddie passed through the newly boarded-over front window, the crowd had a different vibe, with fewer strangers and hangers-on. And it was smaller, too. Conspicuously absent were Hank Bowman and Mouse Bates. Eddie assumed Hank was still home recovering from the abuse his body had taken, and that Mouse was cowering in a hole somewhere, afraid to face Hank after what had happened with Angela. Or maybe in jail. That left Duck Miller and Gary Rock as the only two full patch members of the Hell Riders in attendance.