by Jason Beymer
Wanda pounded the floorboards and drove aimlessly on and off freeways, waiting for the beacon. She could no longer sense the demon lord’s life force, which meant he was dead. Not the way she wanted to spend her first few days back among the living.
Focus on the beacon, she thought. Only the beacon mattered now. With the demon lord’s life force gone, a new demon would take its place. The question was: Where?
From the passenger seat, the dog produced a wrinkled smirk. “Sucks, huh? This is a French car. Burklin hates it.”
Wanda turned to look at the dog, and her left cheek slid down her face like melting candle wax.
“You look good,” Pearl said, “except for your mouth. When you peeled off the duct tape, it took your lips with it. Meh, you don’t need them, right? By the way, I hate to mention this given our circumstances, but Burklin forgot to feed me this morning.”
“Ungh.”
“He’s always forgetting things. Anyhoo, I’m grumpy with an empty belly. It’s bad enough you kidnapped me. But not feeding me? That’s barbaric.”
Wanda tried to ignore the dog, and concentrated on keeping her foot against the pedal. She had regained enough strength to tear through her bonds and escape the pit earlier, but motor control wasn’t quite there yet. Her legs tingled as the Netherite worked its way down.
“Um, nice lady?” Pearl said. “Can you open a window so I can jump out?”
“Uht,” Wanda moaned. “Soul.”
“Good point. We should come to some sort of understanding. See, I have nothing against you. I’m a neutral party. We’re both ladies, right? Even if we’re of different—”
“Ungh?”
“I was going to say heights, but that works. You might want to flex your leg a bit and get those platelets circulating. That swollen foot is all syrupy. Deliciously syrupy.” Pearl sighed. “Can I take a bite out of your left cheek? Maybe the left hand? You’re a righty, aren’t you? You don’t need both hands to drive this thing. It’s an automatic.”
“Nungh.”
Pearl groaned and plopped back down on her belly. “Cruelty to animals is a crime. We’re vulnerable and helpless. I’m a member of PETA, too, if that makes any difference. Well, Burklin is. I pay the monthly dues with his credit card. Where you come from, they probably use dachshunds as portable heaters. Or tote bags. Or hors d’oeuvres.”
Wait for the beacon, Wanda told herself. Believe in the Nether.
Pearl barked. “Are you driving in circles? It’s like chasing my tail.”
“Ungh!” Wanda cried. Her left eye discharged a spray of ink onto the dashboard as something twitched inside her head. A sudden flash erupted in her skull. In it she saw the hotel, the senator, and miles of road. She stomped on the brakes in the middle of the freeway and screamed.
Pearl fell onto the floorboards. “Cripes!”
“There,” Wanda said. “Happening.”
A beacon exploded in the atmosphere to the north, one only she could see. A blue light glowed in front of her. In it, Wanda saw the senator rush toward the ladies’ room. She saw the exterior of the hotel, an aerial view of the freeway, the route she had to drive to get there.
She saw everything.
Wanda put her foot against the accelerator and repeated, “Happening.”
She merged onto the correct freeway and drove north toward Napa.
Chapter 22
Divine Satiation
Senator Kamilla McPhee raced through the hotel lobby, kicking up a strong wind in her wake. She clutched the intern’s hand and squeezed the splint on his broken finger. For the first time in her life, appearances meant nothing. Even the prospect of losing the election didn’t rattle her. She cared only for survival, which meant living through the stabbing pain in her abdomen.
One goal. Find the bathroom.
“Stop!” Kamilla picked up her feet, one at a time, balancing her hand on the intern’s shoulder. Her toes swelled and ripped the seams of her high heels. She tore both of them off, revealing two manicured white bags of fluid.
“Your feet,” the intern said, pointing.
Kamilla remembered this eventuality from her pregnancy with Max. Everything had swelled, especially her breasts. Water had collected in places she didn’t know it could accumulate. Garrick had locked her in the basement of Hoppy’s Diner and talked her through it. His words stayed with her now, on the tip of her tongue, but the pain drowned them out.
Kamilla dragged the confused intern to the registration desk. She let go of him and slammed her palm against the silver bell.
“Yes, senator?” one of the hotel employees said.
“Bring out a manager. Now.”
A squat woman emerged from behind the wall, a broad smile on her face. “Yes, I’m the manager. Can I help you?”
“I’m going into the ladies’ room,” Kamilla said.
“Excellent. It’s right over there.”
“I know where it is. You’re going to keep everyone else out.”
“Others may have full bladders as well.”
“If anyone walks in there, I’ll kill you.”
“Kill me?”
“Wait. No. Strike that. I’m a senator. Why would I murder you? What a silly thing to say out loud.” She laughed uncomfortably. “No, I’ll close this hotel, bring down the wrath of the health inspectors and … and I’ll have you blacklisted.” She took a deep breath and added, “Is that better?”
The manager’s face changed colors. Her jolliness subsided.
“Good.” Kamilla hurried to the bathroom, dragging the intern with her. She turned and spotted her security detail. “Oh, there you are. You two apes stay out here. Make sure nobody comes in or interrupts us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The gorillas took their positions in front of the door.
Kamilla dug her nails into the intern’s arm and flung him into the bathroom. She shut the door behind them and locked it with trembling fingers.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be inside the ladies’ room,” the intern said.
Kamilla stooped to look under each stall. She found nothing but cleaning supplies, plungers and rolls of toilet paper. They were alone.
“Why are we in here?” he asked.
Kamilla slithered toward the door and double-checked the lock. “I have … issues. I’m not sure how to explain them with words.”
The intern touched her shoulder. “I know you’ve had a stressful morning. I know you’re sorry about breaking my finger. But I’ll be okay. I took a bunch of pills. I have more upstairs if you want some.”
She shook her head. “Narcotics won’t help. Only one thing will satisfy me now.”
“I’m flattered,” he said. “I know we just started having sex last night, but I have feelings for you. Real feelings.”
“Uh-huh,” Kamilla said. “Lie down.”
“The floor? But it’s cold there. And it’s … yucky.”
“Thousands of interns would jump at this chance.”
Kamilla’s expensive blond hair rose atop her head like a porcupine’s quills. It moved with a life of its own. She removed the pantsuit and allowed the clothing to fall, revealing the eight-hundred-dollar lace bra and panties beneath. “When I’m done with you I’ll return to the auditorium and finish my debate with that overconfident prick. Don’t you want to help my campaign? Don’t you believe in what I stand for?”
“But women come in here to, you know, pee and stuff.”
“Stop making me talk.” She kissed him with her dried lips. “Can’t you see I want you? Now, get down on the floor and take off those clothes.”
The intern glanced back at the door. “What if a woman walks in? And the lighting is bad. The floor is all urine-stained and cold.”
“Take them off. I locked the door. Those apes will make sure nobody disturbs us.”
The intern sat next to a drain hole. “Okay, okay.” He unfastened his belt, pulled down his pants and flung them aside. He took off every article of clothing, including hi
s Catholic cross necklace.
“So what happens next?” he asked. “I’m sorry it’s so limp, but I’m freezing. Maybe you could use your mouth to make it bigger?” He glowed red. His words echoed off the mirrored walls.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Momma’s gonna take care of you now.”
In one motion, Kamilla climbed on top of him, clenched her thighs around his waist and pinned him to the floor.
“Wow,” the intern said. “You’re fast. Hey, aren’t you going to take everything off, too? I mean, just the pantsuit? Why not the bra and panties? Can I play with your, um, breasts? Maybe that will help.”
“No.” She closed her eyes. The pain in her gut grew stronger. “Lie there and say nothing. I’m going to eat you.”
“Eat me? Is that cougar-slang for sex?”
Kamilla licked his bare chest and worked her tongue along his ribcage. She bit his left nipple, slobbered and teethed on it, with gurgling moans of pleasure.
“Ow!” the intern said. “No teeth, please.”
Kamilla grabbed the intern’s chin and thrust it upward.
“I’m sort of ticklish there,” he said. “My nipple’s burning. What’s up with that? And why are your teeth getting long and sharp?”
She stared at the veins along the stubbly flesh of his neck, salty on her tongue. It wasn’t too late to let him go. Garrick had warned her not to do this. She could put her clothes back on, leave the ladies’ room, return to the auditorium, step up to the podium and say, “Okay, where was I?” Answer the questions about California’s slumping economy, the unemployment rate, the homeless, the fucking illegals. Win the election. She shouldn’t eat this young man—this nice, succulent, meaty man.
Kamilla dove in with teeth bared and tore a chunk from the intern’s neck. She chewed once before swallowing.
“Fuck,” she said. “That’s the stuff.”
He struggled as she bit deeper into his throat. She severed the vocal chords before he could scream, silencing him. The intern gurgled, and a jet of blood spattered against her face. He tried to wiggle away, but Kamilla’s strength immobilized him. With every bite, she grew exponentially hungrier. The salty flavor of the meat exploded but dissolved like wads of cotton candy on her tongue.
With Max’s birth, Garrick had been there in the basement of Hoppy’s, guiding her through the pregnancy. He’d held her hand and whispered words of encouragement. Then, after delivering the baby, he’d promised to watch over Max as his guardian angel.
So where was Garrick now?
Kamilla worked her fingers over the remains of the intern’s throat, searching for a pulse, but found none. She tried to peel away the meat, but couldn’t get a good grip. Too slippery. She needed something more efficient than her fingers.
As Kamilla stood, her head swam from the coppery taste in her mouth. She stumbled away from the intern’s carcass, taking a moment to adjust herself in the mirror. Blood slathered both cheeks.
She couldn’t worry about her face now. She moved to the door, unlocked it, and opened it an inch. “Knife!” Kamilla demanded, careful to keep hidden.
The security detail jerked their heads back, but maintained the barrier between her and the curious onlookers. One of them produced a blade from his belt.
“Thank you.” She took it, closed the door, and locked it once again.
Kamilla launched herself at the dead intern and carved into his chest. She brought the blade to her lips and ate, repeating in a steady flow while humming under her breath. Eventually she found her groove. Cut, bring to mouth, chew, swallow, repeat.
Seventeen years ago, before Garrick had found her in front of the abortion clinic, Kamilla had suffered from a horrific appetite. She had sampled a variety of fruits, deli meats, and pastries trying to satisfy it. Nothing had worked. The pit in her stomach had become a fussy, fickle parasite, growing and demanding more sustenance. She needed people. Not their company, but their flesh. Yet most delis didn’t serve people-meat. Garrick had locked her in the basement, away from temptation, until it subsided.
Kamilla filtered out everything around her and devoted her attention to the intern. She worked on his thighs, his breast, his back. Not enough. So hungry. She grabbed the corpse by its ankles and dragged it to the nearest bathroom stall. The body slid like a paintbrush, marking the path with a thick, red line.
She checked her reflection in the mirror. The color had returned to her cheeks. She ran water in the sink and tried to rinse the blood from her face. Her stomach growled, but she felt ready to debate that lying bastard, Potankin.
Kamilla unlocked the door and cracked it open. She examined her security detail. Both of them worked to keep the cameras from catching her. Her gaze fell on the security guard on the left, an ex-linebacker. She licked her lips and considered the man’s thick, corded neck.
Maybe a light snack first.
Chapter 23
Drifting
Burklin glided on a cushion of air. Down or up, he couldn’t tell, but he was a bullet with arms. Whispers reverberated in the distorted glow, replacing Garrick’s voice.
“Who’s out there?” he asked. “Who are you people?”
Burklin let his body go limp. He remembered the old man shaking him, trying to tell him something important. What was it? Did it even matter anymore? He was dead now. No more cramped studio apartment. No more watching Garrick have sex with the only woman he’d ever loved. Never again would he transport a dead child to the Dumpster. Freedom. Though, without his soul, where could he go? “The mark you bear will carry your consciousness into the Nether.” Wasn’t that what Garrick said? What did that even mean?
The whispering grew louder. Unrecognizable tongues chattered. He picked up some words: “soul” and “Garrick.” “Drifter” concerned him most. Where had he heard that before? The current shifted and he plummeted down, pulled by a thousand wild horses. Then the pulling stopped, and his feet hovered above a rocky floor.
The voices quieted.
Burklin opened his eyes and wiggled his fingers in the silent darkness. The floor looked like a series of rolling dunes in a sunless desert, with barely visible walls. The rocky ceiling arched overhead. Wait, not a desert at all. A cave.
“Hello?” The word rose on the air and echoed down the long space.
After three steps, he came to a door six feet high, three feet across, bordered by a one-inch groove. A thin string of light shot through the bottom. Shapes moved on the other side, in and out of the beam. Burklin started to knock and his hand passed through the solid wood. He pulled his arm back and looked at it, expecting blood and thousands of splinters. Instead, it looked normal, and he could see right through his palm.
Voices came from the other side, faint and muffled. “Give me meth,” one said. “Shrooms, paint, glue, anything.”
“Where did that door come from?” a woman said.
The door handle turned. The grooved portion of the wall opened outward, swinging on invisible hinges. Light poured from the other side and flooded the darkness. He shielded his eyes.
A surprised voice came from the light. “You?”
“Is this heaven?” Burklin asked.
“Not if you’re here, it isn’t.”
“Lorraine?” Burklin squinted at her silhouette. He rushed forward, wrapped his arms around the corpulent body and squeezed. His arms grasped at air, moving right through her. “Lorraine!”
“Get off me. How did you wind up here? And why are you all … ghosty?”
Burklin tried to embrace her again, but failed. “Can you stop being a bitch for ten seconds? Let me make sure you’re okay.”
“When did I give you permission to touch me?”
“I don’t think I can.” Burklin scratched his head. “Naked?”
Rolls of fat jiggled under Lorraine’s enormous breasts, but she didn’t seem self-conscious. Burklin started to address the mole over her left nipple when he noticed his own lack of outerwear. “Jesus!”
Bur
klin’s genitals engorged, and he raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t had an erection in two years.” He touched it, relieved his hand didn’t pass through his own body. “I forgot what it even looked like.”
His eyes adjusted to the room. Black paint crept down the walls around him. A teenager sat on the floor on the other side of a table, wiping drool from his chin. “Your junk is all hard,” the boy said. “Funny.”
“Who said that? Is that Max?”
Lorraine nodded.
“Hurts,” Max said. “Are you doing this to me, fatty?”
“Where does it hurt?” Lorraine asked.
“Everywhere. Give me some meth.”
“I don’t have meth.” She turned to Burklin. “Are you going to tell me how you got here?”
“The old man sent me,” Burklin said. “Well … Mom killed me.”
“Wow, you’d think I would’ve seen that coming.”
He covered his erection again. “Can you please stop staring?”
“It’s so pale and veiny.”
“It’s not used to blood flow.” He nodded in Max’s direction. “Why is he rocking back and forth?”
“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” Lorraine clapped her hands at the demon. “Hey, stupid. Knock it off.” She sighed. “At least it keeps him from trying to kill me, if that’s even possible anymore. When Garrick sent you, did he say anything about this place? Any information we can use to get out of here?”
“He didn’t have time before Mom beat me to death,” Burklin said.
“Why are you ghosty while Max and I aren’t?”
“I think it has something to do with my body dying without a soul inside it. Garrick told me …” He trailed off and stared at her.
After a few seconds, Lorraine said, “What? Did your brain shut off?”
“I just remembered something.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Our first apartment … Remember when you used to walk around naked on the patio?”