by Rick Hautala
Is what I see…what I love…a mask, too?
At least with her head below the top of the seatback, the wasp demon couldn’t see her although she sensed that still—somehow—he could see her through the cushioned seats.
Fuck him, she thought. Fuck him and all of them!
She opened her eyes in time to see the sign for Waterville flash by her window, and she smiled, thinking, I may make it after all.
~ * ~
And make it back she did. At some point in the trip, she fell asleep again. She was amazed that she had, considering how wound up she was, but she was also wrung out from being awake more than twenty-four hours straight.
She awoke with a start when the bus’s air brakes made a loud gasping sound that hit her ears like the blast of a foghorn. The sudden deceleration ripped her from her sleep, and she let out a little squeak of surprise as she shook her head, blinked her eyes, amazed to see that the bus was on the exit ramp for Congress Street, heading to downtown Portland.
Home sweet home, she thought as the bus roared past the old, familiar landmarks—streets and buildings that told her she had made it. The bus driver clicked on the intercom and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re arriving in Portland. The time is two fifteen, so we’re a little ahead of schedule. If you had friends or family members meeting you here, you might want to give them a call and let ‘em know you’re a bit early.”
He clicked off the microphone before taking a wide, sweeping turn off the ramp.
The relief Claire experienced was indescribable even though she knew the danger was far from over.
If anything, it was only going to get worse, but she was sure she could face it as long as she was with Samael. She was almost frantic to see him, wondering—hoping—that he had gotten to the bus terminal early. She dug out her phone and dialed his number, relieved when he answered it on the second ring.
“Hello, darlin’,” he said.
“We’re almost at the terminal,” she said, pushing aside any paranoid thoughts that this might not be him. Hearing his voice and knowing this had to be the real Samael made her feel as though everything she had gone through over the past twenty-four plus hours would all be worth it when she was finally safe in his arms, feeling his body pressing against hers.
Before she could say anything more, her Call Waiting beeped. She scowled when she saw it was her parents—probably her mother, worried as usual—calling. The bus heaved and swayed as it navigated the narrow streets of the city, making its ponderous way to the Greyhound station on outer Congress Street.
“Hold on a sec. It’s my folks.”
“I’m on my way. See you in a few,” he said and then hung up.
Claire clicked to take the incoming call from her parents.
“Hi Mom,” she said, trying to sound more chipper and bright than she felt.
“Well, finally,” her mother said. She sounded like she had just run up a flight of stairs and was winded. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m fine,” Claire said. She almost added ‘Why do you ask?’ but decided not to encourage any more probing than necessary.
Her phone beeped three times, and she said, “My battery’s almost dead, so can you make it quick?”
“Yes. Your dad was talking to Wilfred Henry today. He said something about you taking a bus out of town first thing this morning. Is that true?”
Busted!
But she had known it would happen.
Claire took a breath, trying to collect her thoughts, but there wasn’t much she could come up with…unless she told the absolute truth.
But if she told the truth, her mother would worry all the more and probably have her committed. Nobody would believe the truth...unless they had seen what she had seen.
“I—ah. Yeah, we had some car trouble, and rather than wait around to get the car fixed, I decided to take the bus back home while—” She almost choked, saying the name because she knew her folks hadn’t met the real Samael after all. “Samael decided to have it fixed.”
“He’s still here in town?”
“No. We were down the road a ways.”
“Where?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, hoping to end the interrogation.
Her phone beeped three times again.
“We’re fine, Mom. Look, my phone’s gonna die soon. I’ll call you once I get back—home.” She hesitated on the word home because she wasn’t exactly sure what “home” was.
“You mean to tell me you thought it was easier—it made sense to sit in a bus station all night—rather than come home?”
“I didn’t want to bother you—”
The phone finally died as the bus heaved heavily to the right as it took a corner onto Congress Street. The lurching motion almost threw Claire out of her seat. She grabbed the seat in front of her to hold on. Up ahead was the bus station with another huge bus, waiting out front as people milled around, getting ready to board.
“Look. Ma. Everything’s okay. I swear,” she said into the dead phone. Then she closed it and slid it into her purse.
Yeah, right, she thought.
~ * ~
The relief of Samael holding her tightly in his embrace was almost too much for Claire to handle. She burst into tears and pressed her face against his chest, nuzzling into his neck and deeply inhaling his scent—smoky and musky. Tears carved warm traces down her cheeks, and she couldn’t stop shuddering.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered as he stroked her hair, cupping the back of her head. “You’re safe now.”
The steel-tight muscles of his arms crushed her against his chest, making it difficult for her to catch her breath. Tiny white dots of light sizzled as they zigzagged across her vision. She was afraid she might pass out, so she pushed him away and leaned back, looking up into his eyes.
How do I know it’s really you? She wanted to ask, but the light in his gold-flecked eyes and the smile on his face was proof enough that this was the real Samael.
She wondered how she could have been deceived so easily.
“You have any more trouble along the way?”
Biting her lower lip, Claire shook her head no, but then she told him about the wasp demon. Samael said he knew who that was but wouldn’t elaborate. She also told him about seeing “him” out the bus window, the imposter who had driven by in his Mercedes and flipped her off, but other than that—no, no problems.
“You didn’t touch him, did you?” he asked.
“Who?”
Samael hesitated, and then said, “The wasp demon” as if he didn’t want—or dare—say his…or its…real name.
“I brushed against him when I was trying to get away from him. I felt a few stings, but other than that…No.”
Samael nodded as though deep in thought.
“So what do we do now?” she asked. Her voice trembled as she exhaled.
They walked across the parking lot to Samael’s car, their arms wrapped around each other so tightly they staggered a little. Anyone seeing them would have guessed they were madly in love—which they were—and being reunited after a long separation.
“We go to my place,” Samael said.
“Is it safe there?”
Claire stopped him on the sidewalk and turned to face him.
“It will be,” he said.
She stared into his gold-flecked eyes, feeling like she had truly come home.
“They’re after you, not me,” she said, her heart filled with worry.
Samael was silent for a moment.
“So,” she continued, “the only real danger I’m in is if I get in their way, right?”
Samael looked to one side and then shrugged. Finally, he said, “Well, not entirely.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean it’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
“He’s taken a little part of you, and you probably have a part of him still on you.”
“Then I�
�ll take a shower and wash it off…with you,” she added with a flirty wink.
“This is serious, Claire. If they find an opening…if they see a chance to claim your soul, they’ll do it. And now that you touched…him— They can get inside your head. They’ll try to convince you that giving them your soul will save me.”
Not gonna happen, Claire thought as a shiver ran up her spine. She felt like she could start crying and never stop, but she had cried enough over the last twenty-four hours when they had been apart. Now that they were together again, she wanted him to see just how tough a “County Girl” could be.
“So we have to be extra careful, then,” she said. “Are you sure we’re safe at your place?”
Samael gave his tight smile as he nodded and said, “I have help.”
Claire was bursting to ask him what he meant by that, but they had arrived at his car. He opened the passenger’s door for her. An amazing flood of relief swept over her as she slid onto the car seat, and he closed the door firmly. As she watched him walk around the car to get in on the driver’s side, she noticed her iPod, right where she had left it yesterday, on their drive up to Houlton.
She nearly threw the car door open, got out, and ran as far away from him as she could.
How could her iPod be here in his car unless it had been him in this same car yesterday?
What the Hell is going on?
“Samael!” she exclaimed.
“What?” He looked at her, shock and surprise on his face. “Did you see someone?”
It took effort, but Claire shook her head and then looked at him with a cold, steady gaze. She was so close to screaming in terror, but she kept hold of herself, knowing if there was ever a time to be strong and deal with things upfront, this was it.
“Do you swear it wasn’t you?” she asked.
She had no idea how she kept her voice from shattering.
“Was me? Where? What are you talking about?”
“Yesterday…on the drive north…and again this morning.”
Samael’s brow furrowed with concern. There was deep hurt in his gold-flecked eyes.
“I…I don’t get what you’re talking about,” he said softly. He started to reach in to touch her, but she swept his hand away. They locked eyes, and she could see emotions struggling inside him.
“When we—when I and you or whoever was driving this car started out yesterday, I plugged my iPod into your system,” she said.
“Yeah…and…?” He looked confused.
“And—”
She indicated the iPod with a curt nod.
“It’s still connected to your sound system,” she said evenly, trying hard to mask her nervousness. “If that wasn’t you driving with me yesterday, how did my iPod get here?”
Samael’s expression suddenly went slack. He shook his head and was silent for a long time as he stared straight out the window.
Please, please, please let there be a rational explanation for this, she thought.
“Well…?” she said, drawing out the word.
Samael shook his head as though bewildered and said, “Claire, you have to believe me. No matter how it looks. Your iPod wasn’t here yesterday, when I drove home from work.”
“You specifically noticed that?”
Samael nodded and said, “I’m very observant.”
I’ll bet you are, she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she said, “So…What? It magically appeared here out of nowhere now that I’m back in town?”
Again, Samael shrugged and shook his head.
“I don’t know what to say.” And then his eyes brightened, and he snapped his fingers. “Wait a second. You saw him—the imposter—pass you on the highway?”
Claire nodded thoughtfully, seeing it coming.
“So what’s to say he didn’t come by my place and put it there…knowing that when you saw it, you would immediately doubt me?”
Samael shifted in the seat and turned to face her. The loving earnestness in his eyes was too much to take. Claire had to look away in order to hold her ground.
“Sounds reasonable enough,” she said, “but is it the truth?”
“You have to believe me,” he said. He took her hand and squeezed it. Her hand was sweaty in his grip. “You have no idea…no idea what they’re capable of doing. If you don’t believe me, then I…You have no idea what I’m risking here.”
“And I’m not?”
“I told you. You’re not the one they’re after. They can’t stand it when one of us decides to renounce our Evil ways. And they’ll do anything and everything they can to stop it and make sure I pay for it.
“My torments would never end, and it’s only you…your love that—”
His voice hitched, and tears brimmed in his gold-flecked eyes.
Holy crap! Claire thought. He’s crying!…Can a demon do that?
“You have to trust me, Claire. Please,” he said, squeezing her hand tightly. “And you have to promise me you’ll never let me go.” He swallowed hard, his gold-flecked eyes moist. “And you have to remember…”
“Remember what?” she asked.
“You’re my salvation…my only salvation.”
“Samael—” she started to say, but her voice choked off when she saw the earnest determination in his face.
“You’re the whole reason I’m doing this,” he continued, “and to be honest, I don’t think I can do it alone. Without you, I’m not even willing to try. I can only do this as long as you’re with me.”
Claire was stunned. Speechless. She pulled a glove from her coat pocket and used it to gently wipe away the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks.
His tears were warm—hot, and they tingled like weak acid on her fingertips, an almost pleasing sensation.
“I am,” she said, her eyes tearing up as well. “I’m with you all the way, and…and I always will be.”
~ * ~
“Something’s wrong?” Claire said as they pulled into Samael’s driveway. Above the pines in the direction of the house, a thin column of black smoke was tumbling up into the slate -gray sky.
Samael squinted and leaned forward over the steering wheel as he navigated the gently winding curve of the driveway. Claire tensed in her seat, staring intently at the pillar of smoke. When they rounded the corner and could see the portico of Samael’s house, they realized it wasn’t the house that was on fire.
“Looks like it’s out behind the house,” Samael said as the car skidded to a stop. They hurriedly got out.
“Thank God,” Claire said, and he shot her a quick smile. He dashed around the car to her and put his arm around her shoulder.
“Doesn’t look too bad now,” Samael said. And, indeed, the thick smoke was all but gone.
She shot him an “are you sure” glance, and he nodded as they started up the steps to the front door, holding her protectively to his side.
When they entered the house, Michelle was striding down the hallway toward them. The heels of her shoes clicked on the Italian tile floor and echoed in the vastness of the room. She looked perfectly calm, but Claire thought she detected a level of agitation lurking below the surface.
“Is everything all right, Michelle?” Samael asked. He, too, seemed to be trying to mask his concern.
Michelle nodded and said, “Michael’s out back. He has everything under control.”
Who the Hell is Michael?
Hand in hand, Claire and Samael walked down the long hall. They finally arrived in the breakfast room, which had a screen door leading out onto the back porch, which ran the length of the house. A man was standing on the lawn at the foot of the steps, looking out across the lawn at the smoke drifting up into the sky. It was coming from a small, black mound in the middle of the lawn.
Claire gasped when the man—obviously “Michael”—turned and regarded her with a long, steady stare. She had noticed, without too much amazement, his long, perfectly snow-white hair that cascaded to his shoulders. But when he turned, she was stu
nned to see his eyes. They had no pupils and were pure silver. Even in the dim daylight, they flashed like white fire.
Samael, still holding her hand, sensed her reaction and gave her a reassuring squeeze as he leaned close and whispered, “I understand…It’s always surprising at first.”
You could say that again, Claire thought as they moved closer to the man.
No…This most definitely was not a man.
“Michael. I’d like you to meet Claire,” Samael said simply. “Claire. This is Michael.”
Claire was dumbstruck. She could only stare at him in amazement. His presence was overwhelming, and she couldn’t decide if she should shake his hand, curtsey, or bow down.
“Don’t be afraid,” Michael said in a sweet voice that was at once soothing and powerful. He held his hand up with the palm facing toward her, like a minister giving a blessing.
Claire sensed great love and understanding…and power. She bowed her head in acknowledgment.
“Michael’s here to help,” Samael said to Claire, and then to Michael he said, “Tell me what happened.”
A faint smile passed across Michael’s lips, and his eyes flashed. Claire noticed that his face had an odd translucence that made his skin look waxy and pale, as if an inner light was shining from him.
“One of them tried to get into the house,” Michael said. When he nodded in the direction of the still smoldering heap, a cold shock went through Claire’s heart.
That burning pile used to be a person…or a demon…or whatever…
“A feeble attempt,” Michael continued. “They can and will do much better. We can’t lower our guard for an instant. I suspect they made such an inept attempt as their first move perhaps to lull us into a false sense of security.”
“Makes sense,” Samael said, stroking his chin. He stood for a while, deep in thought as he stared at the pile of ashes. The smoke had diminished now to a thin, black smudge against the sky. Claire couldn’t tell if Samael was angry or worried or satisfied or…what? And she sensed that now was not the time to bother him with questions. All she knew for sure was that he—and she—were in grave danger and, possibly, more than she could imagine. But after seeing the wasp demon on the bus, she didn’t think anything would surprise her. She moved closer to Samael and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.