Goodbye Lucifer

by John Harold McCoy

  * * *

  Melanie and Amanda, having decided they really did want to stroll leisurely home alone, had already walked to the front of Melanie’s house by the time the taillights of the two cars disappeared around the curve on the other side of the bridge.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Melanie was shaking her head, visibly upset.

  “I can’t believe I sat there in the back seat of that car giggling and gushing like a teenaged girl on a first date.” She took a deep breath. “Jesus, Amanda, what’s got into me? Seems like I embarrass the hell outa myself every five minutes around that guy.”

  Amanda wore a big smirk. “You’re in luuuvv, lady.”

  “Come on, that’s stupid. I just met him.”

  “Menopause?” Amanda chuckled.

  “Stop it, Mandy. I’m serious.” She was getting more upset. “I’m making a fool out of myself, every time I’m around him.”

  Amanda took her arm, stopping her on the sidewalk. “Look,” she said, gently. “You’re not making a fool out of yourself, okay?”

  “But—” Melanie was biting her lip.

  “No buts. Listen to me, Mel. It’s time you met someone. You’ve been alone for, what, nine years…since Karol died?”

  Melanie looked away. Her shoulders slumped. She whispered, “Karol.” A small tear appeared in the corner of her eye.

  “No!” admonished Amanda. “Stop it…don’t go there, all right?”

  Melanie brushed at the tear and straightened up. “Right,” she said, then laughed nervously. “Too many drinks.” She took another deep breath. “I guess I’m just a little confused.” She looked Amanda in the eyes. “Thanks, Mandy.”

  Then, with anther nervous laugh, “Whoa! …a little mini breakdown, there. I have been alone too long. Remind me not to drink when I’m lonely.”

  “Hey,” said Amanda.

  “What?

  Amanda smiled, “Don’t drink when you’re lonely.”

  They both laughed, then walked around the side of the house towards the back patio…and Dread.

  FORTY-TWO

  AMANDA SPRINTED around Dread’s prostrate form and through the rec room door, almost knocking Quackrak over in the process.

  “Patty!” she yelled, scanning the room for her daughter.

  She turned on Quackrak. Where the hell are the girls?

  Melanie burst through the door right after her. “Jilly,” she called, loudly.

  Quackrak was trying to explain, but Melanie and Amanda were too overwrought to concentrate on his thoughts.

  Melanie ran for the stairs leading up to the kitchen. She screamed, “Claudia,” just as the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Aunt Claudia appeared.

  Claudia yelled down, “Melanie, be careful. There’s something outside—” She didn’t get to finish.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Melanie shouted, “Damn right there is! Where are the girls? Are they all right?”

  Jilly and Patty crowded behind Claudia at the kitchen door. Jilly craned her neck to look around Claudia and down the stairs.

  “We’re okay, mom. Did you see something outside?”

  Melanie stopped halfway up the stairs. She ignored her daughter’s question.

  “Thank God! Claudia, keep the girls up there till we figure out what’s going on down here.” She turned and hurried back down.

  Amanda had seen that Claudia and the girls were all right. She was beginning to catch some of what Quackrak was projecting and was staring intently at the little demon, trying to get it clear.

  Quackrak was having trouble concentrating. He had never experienced violence before, and was badly shaken by whatever it was these women had done to Dread. The other demons had disappeared, probably hiding.

  Melanie rushed by Amanda and Quackrak and out the basement door. Outside, she approached where Dread lay on the ground, and looked down at the creature under the invisible web she’d thrown over it to keep it down. She couldn’t believe it was still alive. Amanda, seeing the monster at the door of the basement, had acted out of instinct for her child’s safety, and had thrown enough energy at it to kill anything alive. As they rushed into the basement, Melanie had seen that it was still moving and had thrown the web over it. Now, seeing it clearly, she was glad she had. When Quackrak and his little buddies had made their first appearance, everyone had freaked out. But this one—this one was different. This one was straight out of a scene from the Apocalypse—the classic demon of nightmares. Melanie shuddered.

  Amanda came out of the basement. She had the whole story from Quackrak, or what he knew of it, and had calmed down a little. She looked down at Dread, shook her head violently back and forth and made blubbering sounds.

  “It’s official, I’ve gone stark-raving mad! Take me to the funny farm!”

  She finished her act, and bent over Dread’s struggling form.

  “Yes, folks, that’s a real-live, honest to God Demon—just like you see in the movies.” She raised her hands above her head; her body tensed. “Step back, ladies and gentlemen, I’m squashin’ the damn thing!”

  Quackrak ran out the basement door, “Please, wait!” he cried.

  FORTY-THREE

  SARAH HUNG UP THE PHONE. “Aubrey, too,” she said, stunned. “What’s happening, Harry?” She sat propped up in the bed beside Harry, her back against the headboard.

  Harry had a pretty good idea what was happening. “Sarah,” he said, turning towards her then hesitating for a moment, wondering how she was going to take it. “Did any of you ever wonder why you had powers?”

  “Of course,” she answered, dismissing the obvious. “They’re to keep you from getting out of—” She stopped, her face blank, expressionless, then a quizzical frown.

  Suddenly, her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide, eyebrows arched. “Oh no!”

  “…’fraid so,” said Harry.

  “You knew we’d lose them?” she said, accusingly.

  “Huh uh. Never even thought about it till just now. But that’s gotta be why they’re gone. Just figures, right?”

  Sarah sat up straight, gaping at him. “Just figures? That’s all you can say? Just figures?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Harry ventured, timidly.

  She waved her arms, frustrated and angry at Harry, not knowing why. “Oh, I don’t know,” she cried, sarcastically. “How about, just figures? Say just figures again, Harry! That helps!”

  “Sweetheart, I just meant that—”

  “I know, I know.” she collapsed against his chest, almost in tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…not your fault. But what am I going to do, Harry?” She choked back a sob.

  Harry said, “About what?”

  “Damn it, Harry!” she jerked away, angry again.

  “About my powers! They’re gone, Harry! Don’t you know what that means?”

  Harry sat up in the bed, scooted back against the headboard and regarded her from a more confident position. He spoke firmly, but with tenderness.

  “No, baby. I don’t know what that means. But I do know this; you have all the power you need to keep me where you want me. I’d like to think that was enough power for one person.”

  “Oh, Harry, it is.” She fell against him, again. This time, tears did come to her eyes, and she sobbed, “I don’t know, Harry, I don’t… I’m so confused.”

  She sat up, again, suddenly. “Okay,” she stammered, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to compose herself. She turned, sitting cross-legged, facing him.

  “Okay,” she repeated, wiping the last tear and taking a deep breath. She desperately wanted him to understand what she was feeling.

  “You’re right,” she began, awkwardly, unsure how to continue so it would make sense.

  “I don’t… I don’t actually need powers. Not anymore. But it’s always been a part of me…just life. My mother, my grandmother, and on back for God knows how many centuries—”

  “Two hundred,” injected Harry.

 
; “Huh?”

  “Two hundred centuries,” he said, grinning.

  “Two hun—?” She saw his grin.

  “Harry, stop it!” she whined, irritated, but smiled in spite of herself, knowing he was just trying to lighten her mood.

  Harry pinched her nose, smiling with her.

  She did lighten up; glad and warmed that Harry was the way he was with her.

  FORTY-FOUR

  THE HIDEOUS CREATURE grunted, but didn’t squash.

  “Great!” blurted Amanda, “The damned thing’s immortal.” She had slammed it with everything she had, but it just lay there under Melanie’s web blinking up at her, unharmed.

  Quackrak rushed out and bent over Dread, yelling, “What did I tell ya? Didn’t I tell ya? You should’ve hid somewhere like I told ya!”

  Dread didn’t react to Quackrak’s rant. His gaze was locked on the two women looking down at him, his eyes darting back and forth between them.

  True, a few minutes ago one of them had hit him with something as massive as the door between Hell and Underworld and had knocked him flat on his ass. True again, the same woman, at least he thought it was the same one, had just tried to squash him with something even more massive. Also true, they were probably responsible for whatever was holding him down, sprawled on the flagstones of the patio unable to move—but all that wasn’t important. What was important was their souls—they glowed! The Master of Underworld, Keeper of the Unspeakable Archives, Ascendant of the First Evil Deed, sighed like a contented baby and smiled almost lovingly up at the two women with the shining souls.

  Melanie’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Oh—My—God!” she choked out with a gasp. “Is that thing smiling at me?”

  Amanda bent over and looked at Dread’s face. “Looks like it,” she said. “I think it likes you, Mel.”

  Dread kept smiling, wriggling a little to get more comfortable under the constricting web.

  “There, see,” said Amanda. “That was probably an orgasm. Yep, it likes you.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Amanda! Enough jokes, okay?

  Amanda was joking to keep from screaming. The last few minutes had stretched her nerves to the point of shattering. When she and Melanie had rounded the house to be confronted by the unthinkable thing on the patio…so close to her child, to both children; the force she’d unleashed at the horrid thing had been an instant reflex, unprepared, too much too fast. She had acted before thinking, and the results had been a tearing at her psyche. She was still reeling from it. Amanda turned to Melanie, the grin from her joke disappearing abruptly.

  She snarled, “I want it dead, Mel. God, I want it dead so bad. That thing…so close to Patty and Jilly…” she trailed off, shivering with anger.

  Melanie nodded, sympathizing. She felt the same maternal rage, but seeing Amanda almost rip herself apart with her initial reaction had kept her from doing the same. Right now, she couldn’t take her eyes off the ridiculous smile on the monster’s face. Amanda’s joke had made her skin crawl with a kind of humorous revulsion. She didn’t know whether to laugh or gag. Now that everyone had calmed down, she turned to Quackrak to get the whole story on this new beastie.

  But Amanda had not calmed down, or regained her composure as Melanie had expected—not in the least. Whether Dread was immortal or not, Amanda had found a way to deal with him. You just plain never…ever…threatened Amanda’s baby.

  FORTY-FIVE

  PEOPLE WHO THOUGHT it was cool to refer to everything by a silly vernacular called them “Hogs.” People who owned and rode them, and thought “Hogs” sounded stupid, just called them bikes. The people who built them called them Harleys. It’s hard to tell what Hank Crotts called his ’cause Hank hasn’t been around for a while. As a matter of fact, no one has heard from Hank since shortly after he showed up in Brandell.

  Nobody knew where ole Hank came from, just that one fine summer day he had come around the curve from River Road onto Brandell Boulevard and had ridden that big shiny Harley, with its deafeningly loud exhaust pipes, right down the main street of town all the way to the intersection at Stillman Road. If there had been a traffic light at the intersection—like there was ever any traffic—ole Hank would have ignored it. He was just that kind of guy; a free spirit some would say, but in truth, just an asshole.

  Of course there was a stop sign, and since Stillman Road was there first, the Boulevard got stuck with it. So in the absence of a traffic light to run, ole Hank, the free-spirited asshole, ran that.

  If Jack Harris had been cruising around nearby, maybe he would’ve just pulled out his trusty gun and shot ole Hank off that big bike for breaking the law that first time—probably not, but it would have saved a lot of trouble right off the bat. As it was, ole Hank just breezed right through, past the big rock house on the corner, up Meljac Lane onto the springs trail, finally pulling to a stop beside the old picnic table where Amanda Clark sat watching her three-year-old daughter play in the mud beside the clear Blue Springs water.

  Ole Hank turned off the noisy machine, kicked down the kickstand, and let the heavy bike lean slightly till it rested securely on the stand. He pulled his right leg over the tank, and with both feet on the ground, sat back on the seat eying the strikingly beautiful woman sitting at the old wooden table.

  Ole Hank had had his share of good-looking women, but nothing like this one. You never found one like this around biker bars, and that’s where ole Hank liked to pick his up—near closing time when they were drunk and easy. Ordinarily, he didn’t mess with these classy types. They were usually stuck up and wouldn’t have anything to do with him. But this one was smiling at him.