by Ryan Hill
“I don’t know, sweetie,” Sam said.
“I wish we did,” I said. “Really.”
Then we could get out of here and deal with the Mop Tops.
I made my way over to the garage. The door was down, which wasn’t a problem. I looked back to make sure Sam couldn’t see me, then lifted the door up six inches. It made a metallic crunch, and chances were I’d ruined the belt it used to raise itself, but that was a convenience charge for putting up with Duffy. I knelt and peeked inside. No cars. Nobody home.
Sweet-holy-mother-of-bacon, would we ever get rid of this kid?
I went to the front yard and leaned against a tree, lighting a cigarette. The mix of tar, nicotine, and who knew what else tobacco companies put in the things was soothing.
Sam and Duffy sat on the front steps. I took it as a sign we were waiting with Duffy until one of his parents came home. The kid’s eyes were red from crying but now he sat there, arms crossed, all cried out. I figured so long as the tears didn’t resume, I could hang back and smoke until this detour ended.
“Smoking is bad for you,” Duffy said.
I shook my head. “Maybe for you.”
“It’s bad for everyone.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Bartholomew,” Sam said. “How old are you?”
“Semantics.” I pointed at the kid, the ash falling off the top of my cigarette. “He started it.”
“Smoking is bad for you.” Sam’s gaze met mine, a pleading look in her eyes. “And you shouldn’t do it, right?
“Right.” I took a long drag, then puffed out circles. “Eat all of your vegetables, too. Make Mama proud.”
Sam sighed, shaking her head.
I fought off the urge to smile. A sigh had never made me so happy. Sam wasn’t only preaching to me, she was using her handcrafted sigh that sounded half-disappointed and half-disgusted in the hopes of making me feel guilty. It was fantastic. At long last, sunlight found a way through the torrential downpour of doom and gloom surrounding the almost-angel. Maybe some weird maternal instinct in her had taken over and blocked her depression. Maybe she’d decided to move on. I took one last, satisfying drag on my cigarette, then flicked it in the yard.
“Litterbug,” Duffy said.
This kid tried my every last nerve. Before everyone decided it wasn’t cool to mess with kids, Duffy might have met an unexpected and tragic end. I could’ve removed his head from his body, then punted it into the next zip code. Demon or not, that didn’t mean I’d actually mess with the kid. Instead, I banged my head against the tree trunk.
“I’d throw it in the trash can, but it’d probably start a fire. Actually, I rather think I’d prefer that.” I bent over to pick up the cigarette.
“Just leave it there,” Sam said. “We don’t need a fire.”
“You’re no fun, you know that?”
“So you’ve said.” Her gaze wandered to the side. “Many, many times.”
Before I could answer that landmine waiting to explode, my phone buzzed. Veronica was texting me. Feeling kinky. How do you feel about hot wax and swings?
I felt pretty good about those, and told her so. She didn’t wait long to respond.
Off work early. My place in thirty?
I bit my knuckle. Sam wouldn’t mind if I called a cab and left them alone, would she? It wasn’t like I was leaving her alone in a time of need, or with a circus clown. It was great the artificially sweetened angel felt better, but that wasn’t getting me laid.
“I’m going to call a cab and leave you two to this,” I said.
“Why?” Sam tilted her head like a confused dog. “You have somewhere you need to be?”
“Yeah, you have somewhere you need to be?” Duffy asked, taking on Sam’s tone.
Fantastic!
The kid was taking after Sam. I may have enjoyed her preaching, but that affinity didn’t extend to this tyke.
In truth, I didn’t need to go anywhere. I just wanted to get away from that kid before he drove me insane and hooking up with Veronica was the perfect excuse. I figured time with her would make for a nice de-stressor, saving me a few cigarettes in the process.
“I’m following up on a lead.” Sam didn’t need to know about Veronica right now. Might send her back down the rabbit hole. “Besides, I can’t be around this kid much longer.”
“I’m rubber, you’re glue.” Duffy stuck out his tongue.
I wanted to flip him the bird, but for once maturity got the better of me.
“What kind of lead?” Sam hopped up and walked over to me. “What’s up?”
“I’m meeting up with someone that might have some information.”
Information of a carnal nature.
“Liar.” Eyes narrowed, she laid her hands on her hips. “What’s her name?”
Shit. I knew it. Sam saw right through my lie. I could lie through my teeth better than a used car salesman to everyone—Rogue’s honor—except for Sam. She’d spent too much time around me. Even worse, her discovery of the lie made her body language drop again.
I decided to double down on the lie. “I’m meeting a girl, yes, but like I said, for information.”
“What’s her name?”
“Veronica.”
She crossed her arms. “Is she a virgin?”
I wish.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged and ran my shoe through the grass. It came as no shock that Sam would have problems with this. I just wasn’t sure why. What did it matter to her if I messed around with someone? Not like she’d have anything to do with me. Unless… “Are you–”
Before I could finish, a Jeep Grand Cherokee turned into the driveway. Duffy hopped up, excited, and the SUV came to a stop. A woman in her mid-thirties stepped out, eyeballing us suspiciously. Her movements were slow, controlled. Defensive.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Mommy,” Duffy shouted over and over, running to the woman. “I missed you.”
His mom only stared at Sam and me. She didn’t notice Duffy racing toward her; his arms wide open and ready to dish out the hug of a lifetime. She didn’t grin at the sight of her missing son. Didn’t hear him shrieking like a little girl who got a pony for her birthday, and definitely missed the part where Duffy moved through her body.
I couldn’t believe it. Duffy was a ghost. Just when I’d thought we were getting rid of him and resuming our search for the elusive Mop Tops, the plot thickened.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Check Out the Pipes on This Kid
Ghosts were weird. They didn’t have any rhyme or reason. In theory, when a person died, their soul left the physical realm behind and moved on to the next plane of existence to await final judgment. The result gave the soul a one-way ticket to Heaven—or my personal preference, to Hell. Still, moving from one realm to another wasn’t a perfect system. Mistakes happened. One soul would get lost in the paperwork. Some souls were so naïve, they refused to accept death. Others waited to see how a TV episode ended and simply missed their ride. It didn’t matter the reason. If a soul didn’t make it to their final destination, they became what we in the business referred to as a ghost.
Take Duffy. He could sit in Sam’s car and on the front steps of his home, yet the kid ran straight through his mom and into her car. How did such a thing happen?
Because he’s a ghost!
Ghosts were ghosts. They couldn’t make the living take notice of them, no matter how hard they tried. It was physics. Or metaphysics. Whatever.
Duffy cried as he got to his feet. “Mom, I’m right here. Why won’t you look at me?”
Sam’s hand moved to her pale face as she realized that Duffy wasn’t a real boy. “Oh, no. He … he can’t be.”
“Afraid so.” I actually found this to be a pleasant turn of events. In a roundabout way, it served the kid right.
“I didn’t even think ghosts were real,” Sam said.
I gave her a sideways
glance, too stupefied to respond. Of course they existed.
“Do you think the Caelo maybe had a hand in this?” Sam asked. “All these strange things happening at once…”
“It’s peculiar, I’ll grant you that,” I said.
“Can I help you?” Duffy’s mom asked.
Duffy was trying over and over to hug his mom, as if that would make it actually happen. I was chuckling at the futility of it.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Sam’s eyes watered.
Great. Now there were two crying entities to deal with. For most of my existence, I was the one who made people cry. Handling crying people wasn’t my area of expertise. That responsibility fell to some other ass waffle. This turn of events was not amusing.
Duffy’s mom looked confused. Her body stiffened, as if on defense. “About what?”
I debated the likelihood of Sam telling the woman the truth about her son. Part of me thought that yes, Sam would rehash beat for beat what happened. The rest of me knew better. Duffy’s mom would question how Sam and I knew so much about her son. Refusing to believe that her son’s ghost had explained his situation to us, she would promptly call the cops. At that point, Sam and I could go quietly and pray for the justice system to work in our favor—fat chance of that—or go on the lam. Something told me Sam wouldn’t do well on the run. No, with this delicate of a situation, honesty was not the best policy. I hoped Sam knew that.
“Is this about my son?” Duffy’s mom asked.
“Why won’t you see me?” Duffy plopped himself down on the ground and sobbed.
The awkwardness made my butthole tighten. Duffy was an annoying little fart donkey, but kids were off limits. Always. It was sort of an unspoken rule. Killing a kid, even to someone like me, was wrong. Prudence demanded that whatever offed Duffy would lose no more than three, but no less than two limbs. Things were different with teenagers. There was a bit more of a gray area. I once heard about a demon killing a child. After Lucifer got his hands on the demon, nobody ever heard from him again. The story went that Lucifer had the demon erased from existence. A pretty despicable punishment, but better than winding up on the Ninth Circle of Hell, where souls only wished they could be erased.
Sam’s lips sputtered as she tried to speak. Good. That meant she did know better than to tell the truth. Fortunately for the two of us, I had zero problem with lying through my teeth.
“You have a son? Fantastic,” I said. “Maybe the two of you could spare a few minutes to talk with us about the Good News.”
Duffy’s mom went pale. “My son has been missing for three days.”
My face dropped. “That’s terrible. We will pray for his safe and speedy return. Would you like to pray with us?”
She yanked a cell phone out of her purse. “Leave now, you goddamn pieces of shit, or the cops will make you leave.”
“What about Duffy?” Sam asked in a hushed tone.
“Can’t exactly tell him to come along, can we?” I glanced back at the kid, who still sat on the ground, balling his eyes out.
“We can’t leave him here,” Sam said.
“Sure we can,” I said. “We get in your car and drive away. Easy as that.”
Sam’s face turned red. If we weren’t posing as street preachers in front of this woman, the almost-angel probably would’ve hit me. Leaving Duffy greatly reduced the kid’s chances at moving on to Heaven, and staying around the living—especially his family—for too long increased the chances of becoming an angry poltergeist. Then, Duffy’s age wouldn’t matter. He’d be Hell bound, no questions asked. But, Sam clearly didn’t like that idea. She could ensure the kid’s transport Upstairs with one phone call, provided he stuck with us.
“Can you think of a way to get his attention?” I asked. “Because I can’t.”
Sam looked over at Duffy’s mom. “We’ll pray for your son. We’re sorry. Truly. We didn’t mean to intrude.”
That was clever of Sam, getting the mom’s attention. With her looking at Sam, I was free to signal for Duffy to come with us. He gave me a confused look.
Of course. Why would he get the message?
“No,” Duffy said. “I’m staying with Mom.”
“Come on,” I mouthed to Duffy.
The kid shook his head.
Sam kept offering kind words to Duffy’s mom, but I could tell she was running out of things to say. I wished Duffy were a dog, and could easily be lured away with a treat. It’d have made everything much easier.
“That’s a lovely Jeep.” I moved closer to it. “What year is it?”
“Please don’t go near my car,” Duffy’s mom spat.
I moved next to Duffy and kneeled, pretending to look at the Jeep’s tires. “Your mom can’t see you. Not that I want you to, but you need to come with us. You can stay here and keep pouting, but nobody’s going to hear you. Not even your mom.”
“No.” Duffy puffed out his cheeks. Classic tantrum.
“Listen to me. You come with us, we’ll do what we can to make sure your mom can see you, okay?” I failed to mention that he’d see his mom after she died—provided she behaved herself—but a little white lie never hurt anybody. “But you have to come with us.”
Duffy paused, mulling over the offer. “Fine.” He got to his feet and stomped to the car, moving through the door to get in.
I took Sam by the shoulders to lead her away from Duffy’s mom. “Turns out, I think we got the wrong house. Have a blessed day.”
Walking to the Mercedes, I glanced back at Duffy’s mom. She was hurrying to the front door; her heels click click clicking on the driveway. Chances were she would collapse in tears the second she was safe and sound inside her home. Not that I blamed her. Even former demons can appreciate the awfulness of losing a kid. It didn’t stop us from taking advantage, but we did appreciate the severity of the situation.
“What’s wrong with me?” Duffy asked the second Sam and I got in the car. “Why can’t Mom see me?”
Sam drove us out of the neighborhood, even speeding a little. That wasn’t like her. She didn’t say a word, probably expecting me to explain things to Duffy, which wasn’t happening. This helping Duffy business was Sam’s deal, all the way. I was only tagging along.
She leaned close to me so Duffy couldn’t hear. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell the truth,” I said. “Or don’t. I don’t care, so long as you’re the one telling him he’s a ghost.”
“A ghost?” Duffy asked in a high, shrill voice. He’d leaned forward and eavesdropped on us. “Did you say I’m a ghost?”
Terrific. Just … terrific.
I shot Sam a look that let her know how much I wanted to strangle someone. It wasn’t so much Sam that needed a good strangling, though. It was me. I didn’t want to deal with this, yet here I was, begrudgingly lending a hand.
“Don’t look at me,” Sam said. “You’re the one who said the magic word.”
Which meant I had to break the news to the kid. Fan. Effing. Tastic. I made a mental note to purchase the strongest wire available with which to hang myself.
“But I’m not dead,” Duffy said.
“How else do you explain why your mom can’t see you?” I turned around. His face was red. “Or the fact that you ran straight through her?”
“You and her can see me.”
“Yeah, but we’re different.”
“Different how?”
I groaned. It was like prying open a Russian doll with this kid. Sam and I would make it through four dolls, only to discover there were fifty-eight more to go.
“Sam is an angel,” I said. “And I’m–”
I felt the heat of Sam’s eyes drilling through the side of my head and into my brain, branding it with a simple message: Do not tell Duffy you used to be a demon.
“I’m special,” I said. “I guess.”
“Prove it,” Duffy said.
Sam held out a hand, letting it light up with the Hand of God for a few moments. Duffy gasped, looki
ng like he’d seen the coolest thing ever. It was clear the gears in his head were churning.
“But I don’t want to be dead.”
I shrugged. “There are worse things you could be, like a clown, a washed-up rock star coasting off fame earned thirty years ago, a barber in the middle of a lice outbreak… All of those are way worse.”
“This sucks.” Duffy cried into his hands. It wasn’t a soft, fighting back the tears sort of crying. It was the loud, weepy kind that grated after two seconds. He cried and wailed until his body’d had enough, then coughed.
“Buck up,” I said. “It’s not so bad being dead. Think of all the girl’s showers you can sneak into without anybody seeing you. Who wouldn’t love that? I know I would.”
Sam smacked me on the arm. “Stop it.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re lying,” Duffy said. “I’m not dead. Take me home.”
“Sweetie,” Sam said. “We’d love nothing more than to take you home.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said under my breath.
“Duffy, we’re trying to help you,” Sam said. “You saw the light come from my hand. We’re going to make sure you’re taken care of and everything is okay, aren’t we?”
Sam gave me another death stare.
“Absolutely.”
“Stop lying,” the kid said. “I’m alive.”
Duffy screamed he was alive over and over, the pitch getting higher and higher. My eardrums vibrated. Wow, Valkyries couldn’t hold a dime to Duffy. The screams reverberated in my brain like a linebacker blindsiding me. Sam was struggling with the sound too, so at least I knew it wasn’t some demon/ex-demon thing. The kid had some wicked powerful pipes. The volume reached a level that made my eyeballs hurt. I couldn’t take much more. My skull felt like it was cracking. Duffy needed to shut up, or my head would explode. Sam’s too, most likely.
Then the screaming hit a peak. It was like a firecracker went off. The Mercedes’s windows exploded, showering glass everywhere. Amazing. Of all the things that tried to do me in over the millennia, this blessed kid would be the one to finally succeed.