Goodbye Lucifer

by John Harold McCoy

  * * *

  Amanda was surprised. You didn’t see bikers in Brandell, but she wasn’t afraid. Amanda Clark wasn’t afraid of anything this side of Heaven or Hell, and in her case, that definitely included Hell. So she smiled at ole Hank; just being friendly. The biker seemed to take that as an invitation. He pushed himself up off the bike’s seat and sauntered over to the table, then hitched up his pants and sat straddling the bench a few feet from her.

  “Names Hank,” he drawled, elbow on the table, leaning on it, arrogantly.

  Amanda put her own elbow on the table and leaned on it, mimicking the biker’s machismo. She stuck her hand out and drawled back at him, pleasantly, “Well, hi there, Hank. What’cha doing around these parts?”

  Ole Hank thought he’d died and gone to paradise. Now, if he just hadn’t tried to force the issue…but being an asshole, he did. If little Patty hadn’t been there, Amanda Clark would have probably just run away. But little Patty was there, and when it came to anything that could threaten her daughter, Amanda Clark had a very dark side.

  She kept the big shiny Harley in the shed behind the house. Maybe someday she would give it to Jack Harris…if he promised not to ask where she got it.

  FORTY-SIX

  THE PATIO ERUPTED in a blaze of light, the air sizzling with astral energy. “Excalibur!” hissed Amanda, wrenching the fabled relic out of a thousand years past. A phantom whirlwind gusted across the flagstones, its sound a dissonant cacophony of tortured banshees drowning Quackrak’s futile protests.

  Melanie recoiled in shock at Dread’s scream as his smile turned into a grimace of pain from the sudden burning brilliance. Quackrak lunged at Amanda, literally crawling up her ridged body, grasping desperately at the gleaming sword of legend which she held high above her head poised to strike.

  Melanie was momentarily numbed, shaken by the intensity of Amanda’s unrestrained use of power. It had the feel of dark violence; a realm of magic and sorcery their kind had chosen never to enter. She cared nothing for the creature on the ground, but she feared for her dearest friend. Amanda had always been insanely protective of Patty, and now, even though Patty was safe, she could feel how the strain of Amanda’s first uncontrolled crack at the monster had unraveled her, left her running on momentum and instinct. Melanie was afraid that if Amanda killed the creature in her present state of mind it would push her into a kind of darkness from which she couldn’t return. It had to stop, now!

  Melanie tensed, gathering her own power, her mind expanding, encompassing the scene before her, every muscle in her body vibrating with the effort to project her will, to claim and command her surroundings and bend them to the reality she desired. She felt her power collide with Amanda’s, creating a churning turbulence between them. But Amanda was already weakening, her abilities badly depleted. Another push from Melanie, gentle, so as not to harm her friend, and Amanda’s magic shimmered and collapsed, the patio suddenly dark and silent.

  Amanda stood for a moment, arms still above her head, but her hands were empty, the sword gone. She staggered slightly, then caught herself. Quackrak let go of her and fell to the ground, landing on his rump.

  Melanie stepped towards her, reaching out, but Amanda, breathing heavily waved her off.

  “It’s okay,” she panted, breathlessly, “I’m all right.” She leaned over forward and braced herself, hands on her thighs, catching her breath.

  “…s’okay,” she whispered between pants.

  A moment more, a few more deep breaths, then, “Okay!” she said again, standing up almost straight and breathing more normally. She shook her hair out of her eyes, an embarrassed grin creeping onto her face. She looked drained and weak.

  “Let me try that again,” she said.

  Melanie started to protest, “ No, you’re—”

  “…kidding, kidding.” Amanda managed a weak laugh. She took another deep breath, back in control.

  “All right, what then? We gonna keep it as a pet…sell it to a circus? What?”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  IN MOST WAYS, Harry was a pretty capable guy. His evil-management skills were superb. As a bartender he was a natural. To Sarah’s delight, though she wouldn’t tell you about them, there were a few other things he was good at. But as far as driving went…well, not so much. Everything was going fine till, right out of the blue, the answer to why he’d been having the feeling that something was strange suddenly dawned on him. Harry’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide.

  “I’m still the Devil!” he cried in surprise, unconsciously jerking the steering wheel and swerving across two busy lanes of traffic. Lucky for Harry, people tend to get out of the way when large black Hummers come roaring towards them, so aside from a lot of horn honking and a few ruffled feathers, no real harm was done. Harry regained reasonable control of the big SUV and swerved erratically back into the lane he’d started from.

  “Harry, you’re gonna kill us!” Sarah’s face had turned pale. She braced herself with both feet on the dashboard.

  Harry was staring straight ahead, leaning forward slightly and griping the wheel with both hands. “I knew it!” he declared. “I knew something was wrong.”

  “Pleeeeeese, slow down, Harry.” Sarah was wishing she’d taken the extra insurance on the rented Hummer. “…and what are you talking about? What do you mean ‘something’s wrong’…aside from us about to get creamed on the highway. Slow down!” A little color was coming back to her face, but she was still braced for impact.

  Harry was looking back and forth between the road and the sky. “What are they pointing at?” he looked puzzled.

  Sarah glanced out the window. “What…who?”

  “Those people in those cars.”

  Sarah snapped at him impatiently, regretting it at once, “That’s called the finger, Harry…the bird.”

  Harry glanced at the sky, again. “I don’t see any bir—”

  Sarah persisted, “What do you mean, ‘something’s wrong’?”

  Harry had slowed the Hummer to a respectable speed. He didn’t think he was doing too badly. After all, he’d only learned to drive yesterday.

  “It just hit me,” he said. “I’m still the devil.”

  “Yeah, I heard that part. Whad’ya mean?”

  “Well…” Harry thought a moment. “The other day, when I told you guys I wasn’t the devil anymore, that I quit…uh, well… I didn’t actually do anything…like something formal…you know, like submit a resignation.” He chuckled at the thought. “…or perform some kind of ceremony, or whatever.”

  “And?” Sarah prompted.

  Harry went on not too confidently, “I just kinda…uh, decided.”

  “You decided,” Sarah grunted, sarcastically.

  “Yeah, decided…like a personal commitment not to be the devil anymore.” Harry wore a slightly guilty “okay-I’m-not-really-convinced-myself” look.

  Sarah felt the old feelings of righteousness creeping back into her brain. “You tricked us,” she said, suspiciously.

  “No, no,” Harry protested, upset where her thoughts were going. “Really, I didn’t. I honestly believed that it would be enough to just stop, to refuse, to just…just…quit! And it worked, right? I walked away, didn’t I? Please believe me, it wasn’t a trick.”

  Sarah wanted, needed to believe him, but…

  “Then what’s this about, Harry? What do you mean you’re still—”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think that’s quite right. I mean I don’t think I’m still the devil.” He paused, thinking, then said, “I think I actually wasn’t, but I’m going to be again.”

  Sarah moaned, “Jeez, Harry! You’re the devil, you’re not the devil, you’re the devil again. What’s next? You’re a fairy princess? What the hell, Harry? You’re not making sense.”

  “—fairy princess?” he frowned.

  “A joke, Harry!” Sarah was getting frustrated, afraid he had lied to them and desperately wanting it not to be so. “Look,” she
said. “A minute ago you practically yelled, ‘I’m still the devil,’ then you almost killed us, then you started babbling, ‘I’m the devil… I’m not the devil…’” she shook her head, confused. “Go back and start over, Harry. Please, you’re making me dizzy.”

  Harry was looking at the road. “Makes sense to me,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Damn it, Harry!” she shook her fist and stomped at the dashboard.

  Harry flinched. “Okay, okay!”

  Sarah slouched in her seat. “Sorry,” she offered meekly, embarrassed over her outburst.

  Harry tried a conciliatory smile, suddenly realizing the state she was in. He decided he’d better explain everything clearly before she exploded again. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry,” he began. “I’ve been kind of holding my breath for the last few days hoping everything would turn out right. But I keep getting this itchy little feeling that it wasn’t. Now I know why.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds, then, in a resigned tone, “You guys were right all along.” He glanced over at Sarah and smiled, ruefully. “I guess I should have listened, huh?”

  “Watch the road, Harry.” Sarah still wasn’t happy.

  “Right,” he said, eyes snapping back to the front.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I think what happened was this; and keep in mind that being the devil is no small thing.”

  “Big deal,” Sarah muttered under her breath.

  Harry frowned, looking a little insulted. “Hey, there’s only one devil, you know!”

  Sarah snickered in spite of her pique.

  “Anyway,” he said, haughtily, “Remember the other night, I was talking about rules, and I said I could quit if I wanted to because there weren’t any rules? Well, I figured since I was the only devil that ever existed, I could make all the rules I wanted about devil stuff and—”

  “Devil stuff?” Sarah sputtered, then laughed out loud.

  “What?” Harry snorted, insulted again.

  Sarah laughed again, louder this time. Harry pouted, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the road.

  Calming down, Sarah managed to stammer, “Harry, do have any idea how insane this seems? I’m sitting here in a rented Hummer, in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, with The Devil, the Evil One himself, for Christ sakes—whom, I might add, I am currently screwing—listening to him talk about devil stuff… I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Give me a hint, Harry. Which one should I do?” She finally ran out of steam.

  “I think,” ventured Harry, cautiously, “We should stop and have a drink …no, five drinks.” He smiled. “And have a nice calm talk.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  DREAD FELT WHATEVER had been holding him down melt away. Taking advantage of his sudden freedom, he jumped to his feet and grabbed both women by the neck, hoisting them off the patio floor and holding them up in front of him. Now, if he could only figure out how to get to their souls.

  Quackrak yelled, “Stop it!”—and kicked Dread in the crotch so hard the big fiend’s feet almost left the ground. Dread dropped the women and fell to the patio floor howling in pain.

  “You little bastard,” he screamed in agony.

  The two women crumpled to the ground, but recovered quickly. Through a fog of pain, Dread watched them spring to their feet, both women screeching and gesturing wildly as though they were throwing something at him. Right now, he didn’t care what they did as long as they stayed away from his crotch. In half an eternity, Dread never imagined something could hurt so bad. He rolled around on the flagstones with tears in his eyes. All he could think of was the pain, and finding that boiling oil Lucy was always threatening him with—and dipping Quackrak in it till the little bastard sizzled.

  Quackrak was pacing back and forth, waving his arms, yelling, “Enough, enough, enough!”

  Again, Amanda reached into the past for Excalibur, but there was nothing there. She shouted words of power. They sounded empty. A thought raced through her mind…of these last few days, the feeling that something was wrong.

  Melanie had stopped even trying. She grabbed Amanda’s arm. Her voice was frantic.

  “It’s not working. Nothing’s working.”

  “Our powers are gone.” The words came from Aubrey Crumb. Aubrey stood at the edge of the patio looking numbly at the incredible scene in front of her. She said, calmly, dazed, without expression, “Anyone care to introduce me to whatever these horrors are that you seemed to have unleashed?”

  Dread was breathing heavy, but recovering from the pain. He looked up at Quackrak and panted, “Who’s that?”

  Quacked looked at Melanie and Amanda. Who’s that? he asked,

  Melanie and Amanda were both staring at Aubrey. Aubrey sighed, shook her head slightly, and said, “Never mind…too much for me. I’m going home.” She turned and walked away, around the corner of the house.

  Aubrey’s appearance, and subsequent disappearance, somehow dampened the action on the patio. All eyes were glued to the spot where she had stood. Melanie recovered first. She whirled on Dread.

  Quackrak yelled, demanding, Stop it! Now! He pointed at Melanie, You stop! then at Amanda, You stop! then down at Dread, …and you stop! The little demon’s commands halted the impending renewal of frenzy before it began.

  Be still, be quiet, and listen, he went on, insistently. Everyone was still, quiet, and listening, all of them, even Dread, oddly relieved that he’d taken charge.

  Quackrak pointed down at Dread, who had managed to sit up. This is Dread, he said, and it would be best if you’d stop trying to kill him. You can’t, anyway, he added.

  Melanie sneered, Good God! That’s that unspeakable keeper thing you were talking about. What’s it doing here?

  Quackrak answered with a tinge of sarcasm, That’s what I was trying to find out before you showed up and flattened him.

  Melanie snapped back, Well, you’d better find out in a hurry before “Mandy the Madwoman” over here flips out again and lops his head off.” Amanda did a little imaginary swordplay to drive the point home.

  First of all, said Quackrak, he’s not the Unspeakable Keeper Thing. He’s the Keeper of the Unspeakable Archives. And second, the reason he’s here is…uh, he looked down at Dread, impatiently, I asked you before. Why are you here?

  Dread growled, nodding towards the women, I want their souls. And there are others here. I want them, too.

  Quackrak frowned. Why? You’ve got vaults and vaults full of them, already.

  Dread said, None of your business.

  Look, said Quackrak, trying to be reasonable, you don’t… I mean we…us…in Hell and Underworld, and all…we don’t get souls like these, at least as they are now. They go… It occurred to him that he didn’t know where they went. …somewhere else. Besides, you only get souls from dead people. These are still alive.

  Dread shrugged. I’ll just kill ’em then.

  Melanie shoved Quackrak aside and stuck her face inches from Dread’s. Here’s a flash for you, slime ball. If you thought it hurt when quacker, here, kicked you in the balls, wait’ll you feel my genuine, Italian leather, pointed toe, high heel shoe kicked up your evil ass!

  Amanda shook a warning finger at Dread. You really don’t wanna tangle with her, she said. She’s a real bitch this time of month.

  Melanie snarled, God Damned right, I am!

  Quackrak freaked out. He screamed at the top of his mental lungs, Nobody’s getting any souls! Then to Melanie, more calmly, And please don’t kick him.

  Melanie gasped, incredulously, Don’t kick him? Are you crazy? He just threatened to kill us.

  Quackrak waved his hands in front of him, dismissingly. Nobody’s going to kill anybody. You’re just overreacting.

  Melanie practically shouted, I’m overreacting? Why you little snot…

  Quackrak huffed, insulted. Now, that was uncalled for. Please, if we could all just calm down for— He stopped in mid-sentence, tilted his head back, sniffing the air, a curious expression
on his face, then blurted out, Oh, no, no, no! Dread, what have you done?

  At that moment, a slight breeze stirred the air, bringing with it the subject of Quackrak’s sudden realization. Amanda and Melanie both clasped their hands to their mouths.

  Melanie choked, Good Lord! What is that stench? Amanda was trying to keep from retching.

  That, ladies, Quackrak was speaking to Melanie and Amanda but was staring accusingly at Dread, …is essence of pure evil. Lovely scent, don’tcha think?

  He said to Dread, with false pleasantness, Would you like to tell the nice ladies, here, why they’re about to puke all over their nice clean patio.

  Dread had shrunk a size or two, and had totally lost his demonic appearance. He muttered, guiltily, …uh.

  Quackrak was wearing a big sarcastic smile. Oh, the cat seems to have gotten Mr. Dread’s tongue. His big smile beamed even more sarcastically. Please allow me. You see, when somebody, he paused for effect. …leaves the door to Underworld open, another pause. Then Quackrak exploded angrily, Very bad stuff gets out. Right, Mr. Dread?

  FORTY-NINE

  ANOTHER THING Harry was good at was finding nice little bars—cool, dark, comfortable places to just sit around in and talk for a while. He had a knack for it. This one was in a Steak House across the road from the beach. It was between lunch and dinner hour, and except for the bartender, he and Sarah had the place all to themselves. They sat at a cozy booth as far from the bored bartender as the small room allowed.

  Harry took a first sip of his icy scotch and water, smacked his lips with a pronounced “ahh” and chuckled.

  “What?” asked Sarah.

  He said, “I was just thinking of that little “take-me-master” act you did the night we met.”

  Sarah blushed, stirring her drink, idly. “I thought I was pretty good.”

  “Sooooo corny,” he mocked.

  “You fell for it.” She grinned, coyly.

  “Fell for it? Hey, a cute babe throws herself at me; I figured I’d died and gone to heaven.” He caught himself. “Oops. That didn’t come out right.”

  Sarah laughed. “Nope, Harry, it didn’t.”

  “Anyway,” Harry laughed too. “I just figured I’d gotten lucky. He reached across the table and took her hand, “…very lucky.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, smiling, then Sarah pulled her hand gently away from Harry’s. Her smile faded, and she looked down at her drink.

  “So,” she said, not looking up, her voice very quiet. “What’s next for us, Harry? We live happily ever after? A little house somewhere? Maybe a white picket fence?” It wasn’t really a question. She didn’t expect Harry to answer, and he didn’t. Finally, she looked up at him, a sad smile on her face. “You’re going back, aren’t you, Harry?”

  Harry’s sigh was surrender to reality. “I don’t have a choice,” he admitted to her and to himself.

  Sarah sat up straight, her own reality-check kicking in. She shook her head slightly, shaking off the sadness…shaking off…what? …a silly dream? Small town girl finds happiness living in the suburbs with the devil?

  “When?” she asked matter-of-factly. Then without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly, her voice pleading. “What if you don’t, Harry? What if you just don’t? What if we walk on the beach, and we just keep walking, and the sun never goes down, and—” She pulled away from him, suddenly.

  “Shit, Harry!” she spat out, her voice angry. “It just makes me wanna break something.” She snatched up her drink from the table. Harry thought she was going to throw it, but she chugged it down, instead. She finished the drink and slammed the glass down on the table, punctuating her frustration.

  “When?” she asked again, more composed.

  “Now,” he said.

  “Right now?”

  “Well, no, not like right now, right out the door. But there’s evil afoot, Sarah, so tonight for sure.”

  “Evil afoot?” Sarah suppressed a laugh in spite of her sadness.

  “Yeah,” Harry looked puzzled. “What?”

  “Never mind,” she said, smirking. “We’ll go with the evil afoot.” Then, more seriously, “Do you think something has happened?”

  “I know it has,” he said. “I just don’t know what. I do know one thing, though; I have to go back, and I have to be what I am, or rather what I’m supposed to be. I honestly thought I could change it, but now I see that, well, whether I like it or not, there is a Hell, and there’s got to be a devil in it. I don’t know what else to say, Sarah.”

  Sarah reached out and touched his face for a few seconds, then stood up. “Neither do I, Harry,” she said. “But whatever it is…” she turned towards the door, “What the hell; let’s say it in bed,” then mumbled to herself, “…least I’ll get my powers back.”

  FIFTY

  TWO EGGS OVER EASY, stack of pancakes and sausage. It looked good on the breakfast plate—it didn’t look so good on the ground beside the road where Jack left it after the smell hit him. The day started out great. The Mockingbird nesting in the tree outside his bedroom window woke him with its usual early song. Most mornings, he seriously considered shooting the damn thing and going back to sleep. This morning he yawned, stretched, thought of Amanda, and happily yelled, “Good morning, bird.”

  Harris hopped out of bed, showered, and hummed a pleasant song. After donning a fresh uniform, he jumped in the car and drove to the Waffle House for breakfast. He whistled a tune all the way there. After breakfast, he headed the cruiser up the Stillman side of the mountain, over the top, and down the Brandell side. Just before he reached the Brandell Bridge, the smell hit him. That’s where Jack slammed on the brakes, pulled to the side of the road, jumped out of the car, and ralphed up the two eggs over easy, stack of pancakes and sausage.