Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Nada,” I answered. “I’m here meeting someone. He might have a reservation already under Lewis Jackson.”

  She checked the list and nodded, motioning towards a booth on the right side of the restaurant. “Yes, he’s over there. I’ll have someone come by with the menus.”

  “Gracias.” I walked towards where she pointed, spotting Lewis under the dim red lights overhead. Deep breath, Amador. Time to take the plunge.

  “Hey,” he said when I sat down, and the tone of his voice sounded like relief.

  “Was starting to wonder if you were gonna show.”

  “I try to be a woman of my word,” I replied, unable to keep from sounding cold. The waitress came by and handed us menus. I flipped mine open to avoid having to look at him.

  “So what’s good here?”

  “Everything, really. Michael and I come here all the time. I’d recommend the shrimp tacos for a first time visit. Gives you a good idea of how they season the food.”

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I could tell he had resisted the urge to frown when I mentioned Michael. An improvement, I supposed. When we went out, Michael told me he sometimes got nasty glares from black guys. I hardly noticed them at all because I didn’t care. Lewis didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

  “Sounds good. I think I’ll take that, then,” Lewis said, setting his menu aside.

  I continued pretending to peruse mine until he spoke again. “So…I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

  I lifted my eyes enough to meet his solemn expression. “You really shouldn’t lead with that.”

  “I don’t believe in beatin’ around the bush, as you can tell. And it’s the truth. You may not believe me or care, but I did love your mother. I still love her and I always will.”

  I lowered my menu and folded my hands. “Alright, fine. Are you sure you want to do this? Lay all your cards on the table, right here? Right now?”

  He gestured towards me. “Go for it.”

  “When I was five years old, Aunt Carmen convinced a psychiatric hospital that my mother needed to be treated because she was a danger to herself and me. They institutionalized her for about a month. She committed suicide towards the end of August of 1993. The day they took her, I was sent to live with Aunt Carmen in New Jersey. I got a part-time job in high school and saved up enough money to run away. An old woman named Selina LeBeau gave me a ride to Albany and let me stay above her candy shop until I had enough money to move out and get my own place. I met Lauren and got a job at the Sweet Spot. I met Michael two years later and we got married last year. That’s the abridged version.”

  His gaze dropped to my chest. My duster was still on, but I knew he was looking for the scar. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Mugging that went violent a year ago.”

  “And the scars on your back?”

  “Aunt Carmen.”

  “Jesus,” he whispered. “How did she get away with it? Didn’t you try telling people?”

  “I could never prove anything. She told the police I got mugged one night and they marked me up. The neighborhood we lived in was thick with gangs so they believed her instead of me.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t believe it. I never liked her in the first place, but I have half a mind to drive back to Jersey and snap her in half.”

  “It’s in the past. I’ve learned to deal with it and you’ll have to do the same thing.”

  The waitress returned and we ordered our food, waiting until she left to continue the conversation.

  “So why are you really here? Do you actually care about me or are you just guilty?”

  He stared at me with an unreadable expression. “I finally got a reason to stop being a coward and apologize for what I did. I’m not proud of it. But…what your mother wanted, I couldn’t give. I thought it was better if I left before you were born and got attached to me. Figured you could spend your life hating me in peace because I didn’t love you and leave you—I just left.”

  “Where did you go? I know Mom lived in Madrid before she came here and had me.”

  “Before we…fell out, I ran a consulting business overseas. We met in a study-abroad program the year before we both graduated. She wanted to be a professor to help exchange students learn English so they could move to universities over in the States. My business went under right after she got pregnant. I couldn’t handle the pressure so I left. Moved back to Detroit and tried to keep my head above water.”

  His words were frank and honest. They hurt, but it was better than him trying to win me over with sugarcoated promises. I didn’t like being patronized and he seemed to understand that. At least we had that going for us.

  “So do I have any other family members?”

  “Yeah. I have an older brother and my mother’s still alive. Never told them about you, though. If I do it now, I’m pretty sure they’ll be pissed.”

  I almost smiled. “I bet. They’d owe me like twenty-three years’ worth of birthday money.”

  He chuckled. This time, it was a genuine sound and not a bitter one. It felt weird to hear. “I know you were too small to remember a lot about her, but you are almost exactly like your mother. You both have this presence. You’re a bit more of a tomboy than her, but it’s still the same.”

  “I think that’s the closest you’ve come to complimenting me yet.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A moment later, the waitress returned with our food and we ate in a silence that was far less strained than I expected it to be. When I was younger, I had hated him so much for leaving me in my aunt’s clutches, but as time went on, I grew to accept it. If he had come to see me back then, I most certainly would have punched him in the face and told him never to return. Now, while I was still hurt and angry, I didn’t feel that same rage. A lot of it had to do with the other things in my life that were more threatening. Compared to murdered Seers and an angelic serial killer, my father wasn’t so bad.

  We finished our food at a leisurely pace and the waitress put the bill on the table, which left me in an awkward place. He was allegedly fifty thousand dollars in debt, but did that mean he had no money at all or just not enough money? My conscience got the better of me and I paid for it. He muttered his thanks, seeming uncomfortable. Not that I blamed him.

  “So what are you going to do about your debt?”

  Lewis scratched the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

  “So you’re not a…”

  He glanced at me then. “A what?”

  I bit my bottom lip, rephrasing the sentence. “What is it that you do? Or don’t I want to know?”

  “It’s not important. I’ve got a lead and I’ll take care of it. I shouldn’t have asked you for help. I was just being an asshole because I heard you were dating some guy in a rock band and I thought you were well-off. Hoped you’d be happy to see me.”

  I watched him. “You wanted me to get angry, didn’t you?”

  He shifted in his seat, not answering me. I continued anyway. “You felt like you deserved it so you purposely came at me the wrong way so it could get rid of some of your guilt. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Again, he said nothing. I shook my head. “At least now I know where I get my messed up social skills from.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I rolled my eyes and then glanced at my watch. “I have to get going.”

  “Alright, but one more thing.”

  He took a deep breath, finally looking at me. “Earlier, you said you already had a father. Who were you talking about?”

  I winced. “I was angry when I said that, but…it’s sort of true. There was a man that my mother knew. He couldn’t get custody of me, but he sent me letters that helped me keep my head up. His name was Andrew.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah. He died a few years ago,” I replied in a soft voice, wrapping my fingers around the hem of the grey duster.

  “I see. Sorry to hea
r that.”

  “Me too.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you had someone to support you.” He stood up and I followed suit. We left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk.

  Lewis reached inside his pocket and withdrew a business card. “Here. You don’t have to call me or anything, but if you ever want to, that’s where I can be reached.”

  I accepted it. “Thanks.”

  He shook his head, looking pained as he did. “Don’t…don’t thank me. Ever. I’m sorry about everything I’ve done and haven’t done. I know that’s not enough, but I thought you should know.”

  I merely nodded in reply. He stepped back, clearing his throat. “Take care, alright?”

  “Yeah. You too.”

  He turned and walked down the street. I put his card in the pocket of my duster and buttoned it up before going in the opposite direction. I’d have to catch the bus to Michael’s place and the bus stop was a few streets away.

  As I walked, I felt a prickling sensation along the hairs on the nape of my neck like I was being watched. I kept my same relaxed posture and checked the reflections in the windows I passed to see if anyone looked suspicious. I stretched my energy outward to sense the presence of an angel or demon, but couldn’t feel anything.

  Just then, someone grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into a nearby alley one street away from the bus stop. I whirled around and punched my attacker in the ribs. He let go in an instant and I raised my fists in a fighting stance.

  “It’s me, you fool!” the stranger hissed.

  I squinted in the dim light to find Belial glaring down at me. I shoved him hard enough that he hit the brick wall behind him.

  “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “Hush. Come with me.” He grabbed my hand in his gloved one and pulled me behind a dumpster, forcing me to squat next to him.

  “Belial—”

  “Shh,” he said, holding up one finger. I opened my mouth to demand what he was trying to pull, but then I heard footfalls in the alley. Heavy, solid, distinctive, as if the person wore dress shoes. A shadow fell across the grimy concrete in front of us. Belial jumped up, grabbing the man from behind. The man thrashed, trying to get the demon off his back, and that was when I saw the gun in his hand.

  I leapt up and slammed the heel of my hand into his solar plexus, winding him. His grip loosened on the gun. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it at a painful angle. He cried out and dropped the firearm, but his other fist came around and hit me in the temple. Pain sparked across the side of my face. I went spinning backward, clutching the injured spot. When I recovered, Belial had produced a large knife from somewhere and held it against the man’s neck.

  “Move again and I’ll slit your throat,” the demon growled.

  The man’s face settled into a furious look, but he held up his hands in surrender. He was white, dark-haired, about six-foot-one, easily over 250 lbs., with a muscular frame like an ex-football player: big shoulders, big hands, thick legs, and a heavy stomach. In the dim light of the alley, I spotted a silver class ring glinting on his right hand. Good thing he’d popped me with his left.

  Belial shoved the guy against the wall, keeping the knife just below his chin. I stood next to him, still rubbing the sore side of my face.

  “Are you alright?” the demon asked.

  “I’m fine,” I grumbled. “Just tired of getting hit in the face by guys. Whatever happened to chivalry?”

  Belial let out an amused snort. “It’s a dying art.”

  He faced the attacker. “Now then, who are you and why are you following my lovely friend here?”

  “Bite me.”

  Belial grinned and it was similar to the way I imagined a lion would at an injured gazelle. “Oh, don’t tempt me. Answer the question while you still can.”

  “I wanted her phone number,” the man replied with the utmost sarcasm. He seemed very confident for a guy with a knife at his jugular.

  “This is getting us nowhere.” I flipped the guy’s coat open and found an inner pocket housing his wallet.

  I opened the wallet, locating his driver’s license. “Marsellus Wallace? Really? That’s the best you could do on a fake ID?”

  The man shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a Tarantino fan.”

  “Great. It says here that you’re a Detroit resident. So I’m guessing you’re here to kidnap me as collateral?”

  “Winner, winner, pizza dinner.”

  Belial glanced at me, arching an eyebrow. “Collateral? I’m assuming this has something to do with the gentleman you had dinner with a few minutes ago.”

  I shot him a dirty look. “How long have you been following me?”

  “That’s not important. I’d be more grateful if I were you. Without my help, this fellow would have made off with you and your husband would be none the wiser.”

  “What? Do you want me to thank you for that?”

  He flashed me a smug grin. “You do owe me one.”

  “Blow it out your ass.”

  “Jesus Christ, get a room,” the man said.

  Belial dug the knife a little deeper, forcing the guy to stand on his tiptoes to avoid getting nicked. “Manners, my good man. Manners.”

  “Alright, Mr. Wallace, who are you working for?” I asked.

  “Santa Claus.”

  I sighed. This guy was the snarkiest henchman in existence. “Look, I know Lewis owes some very bad people money and he hasn’t got a lot of time left. If you’re here, I’m guessing he has somewhere around forty-eight hours to get the money. If you tell me who you work for, I might be able to get you the damn money. Won’t that make everyone happy?”

  “Sorry, honey. The man who pays me don’t pay me to run my mouth. I just do what I’m told and I was told to pick you up to give Mr. Jackson some incentive.”

  Belial cleared his throat. “Jordan, may I intervene?”

  I eyed him. It was probably a bad idea to let an archdemon interrogate someone, but so far my methods weren’t working. Time to take a gamble. “Go for it.”

  The demon aimed a polite smile at the henchman, one that made my skin crawl. “Mr. Wallace, is it? About how much do you weigh?”

  Wallace gave Belial a weird look, unsure of where the conversation was going. “Two sixty and change.”

  “Ah. So that means you have probably about ten pints of blood in you. Have you ever suffered from massive blood loss before, Mr. Wallace?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “It’s a terrible feeling, really. Especially when caused by a knife. Gunshot wounds are quicker. They may hurt much more, but when you lose blood by a knife, it’s a slow process. There’s the prick of the blade that causes a sharp pain. However, this depends on where it is on the body. On the arms, it’s a very distinct kind of pain. If you cut deep enough, your whole arm goes numb, but the shallow cuts are the worst part of it. My personal favorite is abdominal bleeding. Depending on where the injury is, it can take hours to bleed to death. You can try to staunch the wound, but the internal damage is always what does you in. The pain is deep and your breathing gets labored as you put the pieces together and finally realize that you’re going to die. It’s amazing how some people react. I’ve seen some of them cry and beg to be saved, but the ones who are the most interesting are the ones who take the knife and slit their own throat just to make the death a little easier and faster. It’s spectacular what one little knife can do.”

  He started to lower the blade to the man’s stomach and I almost grabbed his wrist, but Wallace finally broke.

  “Jesus, man, I work for Lamont! Lamont Brooks!”

  I stepped forward. “And who is Mr. Lamont Brooks?”

  “Jackson wanted to buy a building for his consulting business. Someone came in with a better offer so he had to come up with the money fast. He went to Lamont and took out a loan, promised to pay it back in a month. He bought the place, but Lamont changed his mind, said he wanted it in two weeks. Jackson couldn’t come up wi
th it in time and skipped town, so they sent me and one of my partners to follow him.”

  “How many days does he have left to pay it off?”

  “Two.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. “What’s he up to?”

  “I don’t know, but by the looks of things, I think he knows he’s a dead man. If you’re who I think you are, he came to put his affairs in order before Lamont catches up to him.”

  “Where’s your partner?”

  “He’s following Jackson. Should be calling in any minute now.”

  “Here’s what you’re going to do, Mr. Wallace. You’re going to call off your friend and you’re going to go back to Detroit and tell Lamont that his little loan shark game is over. If he doesn’t listen, you can tell him I can make one phone call and he’ll be rotting in jail for the rest of his miserable life.”

  I fished the phone out of Wallace’s pocket. “Do it.”

  The henchman reached up to take it, but Belial interrupted us. “That won’t be necessary.”

  I glanced at him. “Why?”

  “I’ve already taken care of his associate. You may go on your way now, Mr. Wallace.”

  He lowered the knife from the man’s throat and handed him his cell phone, dropping his voice to a whisper. “But believe me when I say that you had better adhere to your instructions or one day you will wake up in your bed and I will be there in the darkness waiting for you with my knife, and then we will find out just what kind of man you’ll be when you die.”

  Wallace swallowed hard and stumbled out of the alley without looking back. Belial stashed his knife and straightened his clothes.

  I faced him. “What do you mean ‘took care’ of his associate?”

  He tilted his head to the side, giving me a contemplative look. “Would you prefer a lie or the truth?”

  I balled my hands into fists. “Answer me, you son of a bitch. Did you kill him?”

  Belial’s face went blank. “He decided not to cooperate. I had no choice.”

  I closed my eyes as a wave of anger rolled down my body. “You bastard.”

  “You are the most ungrateful person I have ever met,” the demon snapped. “That is twice now that I have saved your life with nothing to show for it.”