Not a name I’ve ever been called before and I was none to excited about hearing it then. I couldn't see his face, what with my neck being in a chokehold and all, but I was pretty sure it was Hazy Face reintroducing himself to me.
"You should have stuck to playing your queer bag shitty music." He started yanking me back towards the pond and he didn't seem at all interested that his grip was making it very difficult for me to breathe. "Now, I'm gonna rip your balls off, break every one of your toes then send you where ain't no one ever gonna find you."
I started to lose consciousness and the Bud that was still in my stomach started to make a triumphant return. But Hazy Face’s chokehold prevented traffic both ways and the acidic regurgitation was forced to bounce between my heaving stomach and the roadblock in my neck.
I started seeing black dots in the periphery of my vision. Those dots started to get bigger and to join together to form larger dots. Just before all the dots joined to form a whole lot of blackness, Hazy Face dropped me to the ground. I reached for my neck (mostly to make sure it was still in the same shape it was in when I last saw it) then started to scramble away. I didn't get very far before I felt a boot—probably a steel-toed one at that—slam into my rib cage. I dropped to the ground in a heaping lump of pain. I rolled onto my back, looked up and saw Rachel standing above me.
"I can't believe how completely and absolutely stupid you are, Mac."
My breathing returned to somewhat normal though the wheezing and rattling I heard in my throat was a bit disconcerting. But I could talk. "What?…Why?…I don't…" I said I could talk, not that I could say anything that made any sense.
"Let me put it all together for you, Mac," Rachel said. "First off, you are a sender. One of only twelve in the world. Well, actually, one of only nine in the world after some recent developments have caused a sudden dwindling of your population. But I am not a spotter here to help you. No, no. I'm a spotter here to help one of my partners eliminate you from the battle. I think I told you about my lover, Henry Winchester? Yes, I’m sure his name came up in conversation. Now that I think about it, we talked about Henry just before you asked me to do you a favor and shared a bit of your precious soul with me.” Rachel bent over at her waist, braced her upper body with arms resting on her knees. Her hair dangled straight down, framing her head and giving me the impression that her face was at the end of a dark tunnel. I felt a few pangs, one right after another as I looked up into her eyes. The first pang hit when she mentioned about me sharing a bit of my soul with her. Not sure how big my soul is but if I really did share some of it with that first demon and another bit with Rachel, I figured I may be running low in my soul reserves.
The second pang struck when, just for a split second, I wanted to ask Rachel if she ever felt anything for me, like I had for her. It would have been a pretty pathetic sight had I actually asked her.
What a sorry ass I was. There I was, laying on the ground with two demons, both seemingly ready to rip my head off, and I’m wondering if one of those same demons had feelings for me. Not exactly one of the highlights of my life.
As she stood above me, hair gently swaying in the slight breeze that picked up, Rachel smiled. That sent another pang racing through my body, mind, and soul. It was a gentle smile and appeared to contain at least a hint of compassion. It was the type of smile given as a gift to someone the smiler once cared about. At least, that’s what I thought. Seeing that smile gave me a glimmer of hope. I hoped that Rachel was sending me a message through her smile, that she was still on my side and was actively coming up with a plan to get me out of the situation. The smile gave me hope that she did have actual feelings for me and was saying, “I’m sorry for all this. If I had a choice, this would have never turned out like this.”
“I believe you have already met my friend? You call him 'Hazy Face' but, since he is going to kill you, I thought you'd like a proper introduction." Rachel leveled her gaze towards, I assumed, Hazy Face. "Mac, meet Ron Novak. Ron, say hello to Mac."
My hopes were dashed, making me feel even smaller as a person.
Strange what people think about when they're in dire straights. When I was waiting for Hazy Face, hereafter known as Ron Novak, to say hello, I started thinking about that kick I took to my ribs. It was hard and it hurt like nobody's business, and I was pretty sure the kicker was wearing steel-toed boots since there was no "give" to the kicking foot. When Ron stamped his big black boot on my chest, sending every last bit of air from my lungs out into the air, I noticed how perfectly formed the toe box of his boot was and took a bit of comfort in knowing that, despite being in the situation that I was in, that I could still identify a kick from a steel-toed boot. It didn't help me at all, but, hey, in my situation, I had to find something to feel positive about.
Ron was, as I feared, very, very strong. He grabbed a hold of my hair and pulled me straight up to my feet. He held me at arm's length then pummeled me with punches to my kidney area. I tried to get into position to throw a few haymakers his way, but each time I tried to twist my body, Ron just tightened his grip on my hair and snapped my head the opposite way from which I was twisting. A few more punches landed and those black dots made their reappearance.
Rachel walked into my view just as the remaining Budweiser—the same Bud that had already tried to escape my body like rats from a sinking ship—launched out of my mouth. My vomit smacked Rachel directly in the face. That made me happy. But only for a second.
Ron employed his steel-toed boot to kick me on the outside of my right knee. I heard the snap and felt the entire lower part of my leg erupt in fiery pain, ending my short-lived happiness. Ron added a few more jabs to the back of my head before letting me drop to the ground.
I was done and I knew it. There was no way I could get out of this setup alive.
But then I remembered the pond behind me. If I could, somehow, get to my feet quickly and ram myself into Ron, he might lose his balance and stumble into the pond. If that happened, I knew I could summon my strength, jump on top of him, and drown him.
I wasn't worried about drowning but I knew he was. I had done it before. And while anything Rachel told me was now being called into question, she was right about me drowning demons to kill them.
I heard him laughing above and behind me, and I was fairly sure he was laughing at Rachel. She was pretty much covered with my puke. I knew I had one chance. So I took it.
Despite the extreme pain in my knee, ribcage, kidney area, throat and back of my head (so, basically my whole body) I jumped to my feet then charged, shoulder first into Ron. I hit him directly in the chest and heard the air being pounded out of his lungs. I kept driving him back towards the pond. After driving him back a few feet, I heard his feet and legs splashing into the water. I stopped charging and dove headfirst towards him. I can still remember the look of utter shock and amazement in his eyes.
Don't ask me how, but I somehow got my body behind his and had his neck in a chokehold. Knowing that he was much stronger than me and that my element of surprise had a time limit (which was about up at that point) I decided to strengthen my chokehold and drop all my weight straight down. I was sure he would either fall backwards into the pond or his knees would collapse. Either way, he'd be in the pond and I'd still have a hold of him.
Remember that I told you a while back three mistakes were the reasons I ended up here? The first was getting that first demon talking. That one got part of my soul scattered all over the demon world. The second mistake was falling for Rachel, which, I'm sure you have figured out was a pretty horrible mistake. The third mistake also involved Rachel. It turned out that I can indeed be drowned when battling with a demon. She also lied about magical sobriety, but I was fortunate enough to know the machine-gun breathing technique so the beer didn't really come into play. In fact, that lie sort of helped me. If I didn't drink so many beers, I probably wouldn't have puked all over Rachel. And if I hadn't puked all over Rachel, Ron wouldn't have taken a laughing break from his beatdown of me
and I would have never ended up in the pond with him.
Actually, since I ended up drowning in the pond because I had too many beers and puked all over Rachel, causing, as I've already detailed, Ron's laughing break, I guess the beer lie was pretty bad after all.
Damn. That Rachel was a bitch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
So that's how I ended up here, with you and all the others. I'm not sure exactly where "here" is but I think it's where incomplete souls end up. Remember, I lost a part of my soul and I guess Rachel was right; I'll never be able to rest until I recover all of my soul.
You? I'm not sure but I don't think you're dead. Actually, I don't think I'm dead yet, either. If I had to guess, your body is still on Earth, maybe in a hospital room or lying in a ditch someplace; I don't know for sure. As for me, I assume that old Hazy Face is still holding me under the water and the last of the bubbles of air are about to pop out of my mouth any second now.
I think we get pulled away from our dying bodies right before we actually die. Maybe to prevent our souls from being trapped inside our bodies. If our soul is complete, we go to whatever and wherever heaven is. If they're not complete, I guess we end up here. For you, I'd say, and this is only a guess, that you have some decisions to make. Namely whether to live or to die. That's your call. I can't help you with that one.
Why don't I choose to keep living? Because there's a two hundred and twenty pound demon strangling me and my head is a foot underwater. I don't think I get to make that choice.
I hope I do. I'd hate to end up roaming around here for all of eternity. That would suck. At least, I think it would.
I'd like to get back somehow. I'd send back Ron if at all possible, then spend the rest of my days gathering back the pieces of my soul. I’d also like to talk with Rachel. I’d like to know if she really is a demon or if, somehow, she was hypnotized or drugged, or… I don’t know. I’d just like to talk with her. But unless a miracle happens or someone happens to show up at the pond, it doesn't look good for me.
But hey, thanks for listening to my story. If I do make it back and if you decide to give life another shot, I'll figure out a way to find you. It would be nice to talk face to face, I think.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Phillip began to understand several things. As long as he searched to find the governor, his direction and speed of travel was set. And he was traveling, moving at a pace that he began to recognize. He could notice when the pull was swift as well as when it seemed to be no stronger than the slightest of draws. He understood he was being led to a higher area, not to the depths he had first thought his target resided. The depths where he believed his target should reside. And where he was going was brighter. The diffused light he could hardly notice when he first arrived was now growing more certain, centered and combined. The light burned and tore at his eyes. It offered no relief but only promises of pain.
He also understood the familiar substance which surrounded and moved him. He became aware of the taste of salt that filled his mouth and the feeling of smooth, liquid motion enveloping his body.
“I’m in the ocean,” he said, the sound of his words muffled, muted, as if he was hearing them only inside of his head.
There were sudden pains as his awareness grew. Contracting, tearing pain that radiated from his core. As he drifted in the current, he doubled over in pain. It was as if something inside of him needed to be pulled away. It needed to be outside of his already distorted, altered, and wracked body.
New pains erupted as he was pulled higher, shallower, towards the light. The light burned his eyes and revealed things inside his mind he wished he could burn away. But the light was not there to burn them away, only to remind him of their continued presence.
He screamed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cardinal O’Keefe couldn’t keep his laughter inside. Though his view of the pond and the skirmish happening a few feet from its shoreline was partially obstructed with tree branches, what he saw would keep him amused for a very long time. He knew laughing was risky business in the demon industry, however, laughing at another demon’s misfortune was certainly acceptable. As the sender’s vomit was dripping off Rachel’s shocked face, O’Keefe stumbled out from his hiding place. Just as he was about to say something that he was certain would piss Rachel off, the sender bum rushed Novak, sending him stumbling backwards into the pond.
Rachel was wiping the vomit from her eyes and spitting out more than just a few drops that found their way into her mouth, while the sender positioned himself behind Novak and had secured, what looked like, a damn good chokehold. O’Keefe moved towards the pond, knowing he had to make sure Novak wasn’t sent back. If Novak couldn’t handle the sender, then O’Keefe was certain that he’d be next and he had no intentions of being sent anywhere.
“Give me a hand, you stupid bitch,” O’Keefe yelled at Rachel. “We can’t let that sender win.”
Rachel was fuming. “Gladly,” she said as she started charging towards the pond.
Rachel was much quicker than he and probably a bit stronger as well, so O’Keefe watched the pond struggle from the dry and much more comfortable shore. As Novak and Rachel turned the tables and got position on the sender, O’Keefe relaxed enough to recall that Flannigan was due to arrive any second. He glanced around the area and was relieved no one was yet in sight.
“Hurry up and kill him,” O’Keefe said to Rachel and Novak. “Flannigan will be here any second.” Novak and Rachel ignored O’Keefe and simply continued holding the still struggling sender beneath the water. “I’m heading back to my ambush spot. Hurry the fuck up.”
As the sender’s struggling defense weakened, Rachel felt comfortable enough to employ her hands in the much needed act of splashing water onto her face to wash away the vomit, then to flash a one-fingered message to O’Keefe.
He was still climbing the hill that led to his hiding spot when he saw them: Two women, one pointing a gun directly at his face and the other standing stiff as a board, a look of shock and terror blanketing her face.
“Freeze,” Lisa screamed, “and get that man out of the water, now!”
O’Keefe raised both arms, glanced over his shoulder and saw Novak and Rachel, who had obviously heard the gun holder’s command, staring at each other. Around them, the pond was still. “You should put that gun away before someone gets hurt,” O’Keefe said to Lisa. “You have no idea what you’ve just walked into but, trust me, that gun is not going to help you here.”
“I said,” Lisa yelled back, “get that man out of the pond, then step away from him. I need all three of you on your knees, hands above your head. I need that now!”
Novak figured Mac the sender was dead enough. He winked at Rachel, pulled Mac’s lifeless body above the pond’s surface, then called to the uninvited guests. “Okay, you got us,” he said as he dragged the lifeless body out of the pond then dropped Mac, face first, onto the snow covered ground. “But you don’t understand what’s happening here.”
Lisa screamed, “On your knees, hands above your head.” Then she turned to Jen and said, much quieter, “Call the police.”
Jen ripped off her mittens, dug into her pocket and pulled out her iPhone. “Shit,” Jen said. “No signal.”
“Run back towards the parking lot till you get a signal.”
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Jen said.
Lisa said, “And I can’t…”
Lisa fell forward, dropping the gun next to Jen’s feet. Jen heard the thud but had no idea what had made her friend stop talking mid-sentence—something Lisa seldom did—then fall to the ground in a sudden heap.
“What are you doing here?”
The voice was familiar but the tone and timbre were unplaceable. “How did you find this place?”
“Flanngan,” O’Keefe called out, “how nice of you to join us.”
Jen turned and saw Stacy Flannigan staring at her. Flannigan was holding a pretty thick stick, which, suddenly obviou
s to Jen, was used to render Lisa unconscious. “Please don’t make me use this on you,” Flannigan said. “Just get on your knees and don’t move. They’re in charge around here.” Flannigan nodded her head towards the three people at the bottom of the hill. “Do what they tell you and please don’t make me use this. Get on your knees.” Her voice was rapid but kept low. Jen understood that Flannigan didn’t want the three others to hear what she was saying. “Knees, now,” Flannigan said again.
Jen slowly kneeled down, arms raised defenselessly above her head. She removed her gaze from Flannigan and looked at Lisa’s too-still body. Blood was spilling from her head onto the snow, creating a sickening crimson halo around Lisa’s head. “If you killed her…”
“Shut up or they will kill both of you,” Flannigan muttered.
“Having a private conversation up there are you Flannigan?” O’Keefe said.
“She’s on her knees,” Flannigan replied. “I just told her to get on her knees and not to move.”
“Looks like she’s in the perfect position for you,” Rachel said to Novak as the two of them moved closer to the bottom of the hill.
Flannigan shot a glance at Jen, widened her eyes quickly, then shot a quick back and forth glance towards the ground beside Jen’s right leg and Jen’s face. “Get the gun,” she said through gritted teeth. “Gun.”
“Flannigan?” O’Keefe called. “It appears that you know that lovely woman kneeling beside you. You haven’t schemed something up, have you?”
“I have no idea who this is. I did you all a favor. I knocked out the girl that was holding a gun on you.”
“And for that,” Rachel said, “we are eternally grateful. Now kill the other one and make sure that they’re both really, really dead.”
Jen had never fired a gun before in her life.
“Gun!” Flannigan gritted again.
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