Demon Hunter
Page 7
Denny barely remembered any of it. She remembered seeing Patterson had been shot and then...she could barely make out the shadows of her memory of what happened. He was on the ground one minute and then lying twenty feet away the next.
How did he get there?
The memory slowly came to light, like a flashlight widening to show the whole landscape.
“Oh my god.” Her hand covered her mouth. “I did that, didn’t I?”
Patterson nodded. “Now you remember? They’da shot me again, Denny, but you made sure they didn’t.” Patterson shook his head. “I don’t know how you did it, but you fuckin’ chucked me like I was nothin’ more’n a football. It was...unbelievable.” His eyelids closed slower and slower.
“That it is, and if you tell people about it, no one will believe you, so can we stay mum about it?”
“Mum?
“Quiet. Not talk about it. Please, Patterson, can we keep this between the two of us? I’m not a fan of the press.”
“You sure? Everbuddy would be in awe, man. You’ll be a hero.”
“Right, and I had enough of everyone’s awe when my brother was on trial. I’d like to get back to my life. I don’t need another audience. Please. Let’s just keep this between us.”
Patterson nodded. “Whatever you say, man.”
Smiling, Denny squeezed his hand before letting it go. “Thank you. I appreciate that. My sister and I don’t need another media circus, you know?”
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before Denny backed away from the bed. “Well, hope you get back to the field soon.”
“Doctor says three weeks at least. The bullet went right through the meaty part. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m glad.” Denny was almost to the door when Patterson called her back. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
He averted his eyes. “I won’t ever say that word again. I swear. You’re right. I’ve…been a douche, and…I don’t wanna be.”
“Then don’t be. It’s a choice. I don’t think you have to be. Choose wisely.” Denny left the hospital room, stunned and somewhat blown away by what she had found out.
She remembered now what had happened, and she had, indeed, thrown him about twenty feet.
But how?
****
“Slow down, Parnelli, or you’ll kill us both.” Victor touched Denny’s thigh to get her to slow down. “Ophelia ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Easing off the gas, Denny unclenched her hands from the wheel. “Sorry. I just…I need answers yesterday.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Victor said softly. “You tossed that cow of a man how far?”
“Twenty, twenty-five feet. Give or take.”
Victor whistled. “Jiminy Cricket, girl, even I couldn’t do that. Musta been one of those survival adrenaline rushes, ya know?”
Denny nodded. “It’s weird, though, that I couldn’t remember it until later. It was like I’d blocked it out.”
“I can imagine why, Den. You must have been scared to death.”
Denny shook her head. “Actually, that was the other weird thing. I wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t what?”
“Scared. At all.”
Victor turned to her. “Uh uh. Dudes shooting at you and you weren’t afraid? Who are you, Angelina Jolie?”
Denny smiled and shook her head. “I wish. Victor, I stood in the middle of the street as if daring them to shoot or come back after me. In the middle of the goddamned street.”
“Oh girl, that’s messed up. Maybe you are Angelina.”
“Ya think? Then he’s shot and I chuck him like a rag doll, and I didn’t remember any of it until later.”
“Patterson owes you, girl.”
“No. No, he doesn’t. He’s just a guy who got caught up, you know? He was rejected and lashed out. I get that.”
“How can you be so damned forgiving? Is Sister Sterling rubbin’ off on you?”
Denny barked a laugh. “Hell no. I just...I don’t know. I think people get typecast in their own lives and sometimes they have to break some windows to get out.”
“Well, I’m proud of you, Butch.”
Denny laughed harder, glad to be out and about with Victor.
“Now, Mama is going to size your story up, work it all out and then tell you what she thinks. You just gotta be silent. Don’t go all talk show host on her or she shuts up like the privorbial clam.”
Denny grinned at his mispronunciation. “Got it.”
“And don’t look in her eyes unless she tells you to. Makes her nervous when people try to read her. She don’t like people in her head.”
Denny remembered that from the first time she’d met Ophelia. “Okay.”
“And answer her just like she asks. No more, no less.”
“Victor, why are you so nervous?”
“‘Cause she don’t like surprises, and since she don’t have a phone, this is a surprise.”
When Denny finally pulled into the driveway of a house no bigger than a garage, she looked over at Victor. “Thank you for this.”
He nodded. “Remember what I said.” He led Denny to the front door with its torn screen door falling off the hinges and several coats of paint peeling off the windowsills like rotting lizard scales.
When Ophelia opened the door, she lowered her blacker than black face and peered into Denny’s face.
“I knew it’d be you. I seen it yesterday.”
“Mama, you remember—”
“‘Course I ‘member her, Victor. I’s old, not stupid. Come on in ‘fore them flies do.”
Denny and Victor entered a small family room that hadn’t changed since the fifties. The blue curtains had been there the first time she’d come. One of the loveseats was ragged and torn. The loveseat facing it was better for wear and had blue throw pillows scattered across it.
Even though the room was not well lit, Denny could see layers of dust on the bases of the floor lamps and across the brick hearth. It was a small, yet cozy room.
Denny sat on the old loveseat and Ophelia and Victor sat on the other one. Ophelia and Victor were carbon copies in different genders. Wide noses, large eyes, ample forehead—it was easy to see that the apple hadn’t fallen far.
“What did you mean—” Denny started.
Victor cleared his throat and glared at her. Denny caught the look and shut her mouth.
Ophelia was wearing a flowing purple pantsuit that continued moving even after she stopped. “I am sho’ my son explained the ground rules. Normally, I don’t see unscheduled visitors, but seein’ how you always been supportive of my incredibly gay son, I’ll make an exception.”
“Thank you.”
Ophelia spoke to Victor without looking at him. “Lemonade, three ice cubes, rim with sugar.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Victor shot out of the room to the small kitchen.
After Victor left the room, Ophelia zeroed in on Denny. “There’s lotsa psychic energy ‘round you, girl. Lots.”
Denny nodded. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
Ophelia held up her hand. “Not your garden variety psychic energy, Golden. This goes beyond your crazy house ghost. This is somethin’—”
Denny leaned forward. “She’s not crazy.” The words flew from Denny’s mouth before she could stop them.
Ophelia lifted an eyebrow, her gaze intense. “She crazy ‘cause she don’t know when to leave. Nevertheless, this energy is sho’ strong and—” She paused and studied Denny as one might a piece of lint. “You ain’t here ‘causa the ghost, is you?” She tilted her head from side-to-side. “No, I’d say not. However, it is somethin’ of great magnitude in your world. Somethin’ supernatural. Somethin’ beyond your limited vision. What can Ophelia do for you?”
Denny explained the car accident that took her father’s life, caused her mother’s catatonia, and what all she was hoping to accomplish with this visit. When she finished, Ophelia waved for Victor to bring the lemonades in.
“I’m willing to take that chance. If my family is in danger, then someone needs to step up. That someone is me.”
Ophelia nodded slightly. “Ain’t no better thang to protect than one’s family.”
“Then you can do it?”
Ophelia leaned back. “Of course I can do it. Will I, is another question altogether.”
“I can pay.”
She waved this off. “It not about the money, child. You is my boy’s friend. You is a good friend. I don’t cotton to puttin’ my boy’s good friend in danger.”
Denny nodded. “What do you need for payment?”
Ophelia studied her carefully, her dark eyes narrowing. “My prices are...selective and unique. What I wish as payment is the opportunity of speakin’ with your ghost.”
Denny shot a look over to Victor. “My...ghost? You want to speak with Rush?”
Ophelia nodded. “I know ‘bout ever ghost and spirit in Savannah, but no one in town will let me into they homes to see they ghosts. No one.”
“What do you want to say to her?”
Ophelia’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, my. That’s a pretty long list. I gots lots to say to a ghost.”
Denny thought about it as she reached for her lemonade. “Fine, I’ll ask her if she will, but I have a few stipulations myself.”
Ophelia could barely contain her excitement. “Absolutely. Name ‘em.”
“You don’t ask her about her death. You don’t ask her why she is still there. Don’t talk to her about her family, and don’t—”
Ophelia held her hand up. “Whoa. Wait a minute. You makin’ it sound like—”
“I know her? I do.” Denny sipped her lemonade. “I know her very well, and she’s not fun to be around when pissed off, so I insist you do not do that.”
Rubbing her hands together, Ophelia agreed. “Done. Oh my, this is the most excitin’ thing I done in ages. Agreed. Anythin’ else?”
Denny nodded. “You speak of it to no one. Not Victor, not your husband. No one. I need your word.”
Ophelia extended her hand. “Deal.”
Denny shook her hand. “You can talk to Rush after I talk to my mother.”
Ophelia rose and pushed her shoulders back. “You will need to sign a waiver.”
“A waiver?”
She nodded. “You need to sign a form releasin’ me from any responsibility should anythin’...adverse happen to either you or your mother”
“Adverse?”
Ophelia nodded. “There are things worse than death.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the state your mother is in.”
****
The Demons
A short demon played pool in a bar, sinking the eight ball and grinning as he swiped the money from the table for the fourth time. “Too damn easy, partner.”
“Double or nothing?”
The demon tried not to grin. “Dude, I kicked your ass. I’d rather play someone more challenging.”
The cowboy stared as the demon paid for his third beer. “You fucking kidding me? I don’t see anyone else’s money on the table, pal. Double or nothing.”
The demon chalked his cue stick and stared at the man.
Ego kept humans from asking for help. Ego prevented them from seeing the truth of a situation. And this guy would be needing some truth very soon.
“Look, dude, I don’t get off on kickin’ a guy’s ass who is clearly a beginner, so come back when you’ve had a bit more practice.”
The man pushed his out chest and looked to see who was watching.
The demon blew on his cue stick. Time slowly melted.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You did not just call me a beginner, asshole.”
The demon smiled a tobacco-stained smile. “I’m sorry. I just assumed by the zero balls you sunk that you were a novice. Does that word go down easier?”
The man slammed his beer bottle down on the bar, the foam bubbling over the top.
“Look here, you son of a bitch—” He took two steps toward the demon, who flipped his cue stick up and swung it like a baseball bat, the fat end cracking the man in the forehead. He dropped like a stone, his forehead split open and blood cascading down his face.
The ensuing fight caused thousands of dollars of damage, sent six men to the hospital, and resulted in the arrest of a dozen others.
All-in-all, a good night’s work for the demon.
****
“You want me to what?” Rush paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, her outline almost completely visible. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“It’s like an interview. Just answer her ques—”
“I’m not some sideshow freak you can use as a bargaining chip, baby, and I resent the fact that you would even agree to such a deal without at least consulting me first.”
Denny bowed her head. She’d known all along that Rush wouldn’t be happy with her agreement with Ophelia, but she had to take the deal while it was fresh. “I know I should have spoken with you first, Rush, but she caught me off-guard.” For some mysterious, and as yet unspoken reason, Rush disdained all things supernatural, paranormal, or psychic.
Disdained.
She wouldn’t talk about it, either. She believed it was best to leave well enough alone.
“Yes, you should have—especially since I agree with Sister Buzz Kill about you getting all tangled up with Quick.”
Rush sat on the coffee table, her knees touching Denny’s if they had been real, of course. “Baby, I’ve been watching you in this house since you were eight years old. For thirteen years. More than half of those I watched your brother goad, cajole, and tease you into doing things you ought not to have done. Need I remind you of the failed umbrella jump from the roof? Or what about car surfing? Or—”
“He’s just—”
“Let me finish. You ate an entire mud pie when you were eight. You burned that scar on your knee with a magnifying glass in the sun when you were nine. At ten, you gave yourself a Mohawk. At eleven, you burned your ass trying to light a fart on fire.”
“Rush—”
“I’m not done. At twelve, you got stuck climbing the tallest tree in the neighborhood. When you were thirteen, you glued horns to your forehead with Super Glue and had to have a doctor cut them off. This, my love, is just a partial list, a very incomplete list of the myriad of stupid stunts your brother glamoured you into performing.”
“Glamoured?”
“Sister Tight Ass may make me nuts, but she was dead on about your brother’s sobriquet. His charm is endless, so yeah, you fell for it then and you’re falling for it now...only now you’re dragging other people into your insanity and it’s not fair.”
Denny studied Rush as she crossed her arms defiantly. “You’re right. It isn’t fair. It’s also not fair that my parents were killed, my brother is in jail, and the most important person in my life is a ghost. But life goes on, plodding through unfair muck attempting to slow us down. Well, I’m not going to slow down.” Denny rose. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first. I’m sorry people like Ophelia frighten you. I’ll call her and tell her you won’t do it.” Denny rose and grabbed her car keys off the hook.
“Where are you going?”
Turning around, Denny inhaled deeply. “To find another ghost. If you won’t talk to her, I know someone else who will.”
****
Denny’s Journal
Rush has never explained why the supernatural frightened her so and, in all honesty, I found it bizarre that ghosts could even be afraid. I mean, what was there to be afraid of? They were already dead, right?
I left Rush sputtering curses to my back as I left in the car.
>
She knew where I was going.
Savannah has often been neck-and-neck with New Orleans as the country’s most haunted city. It has been called a city of southern elegance and dark mysteries. One of these mysteries lived at 17 Hundred 90, a downtown inn that attracts people from all over the country because of its resident ghost. Most people who have seen the ghost know little of her story.
Anna Powers is one of at least five ghosts haunting the inn. There are conflicting stories about the way Anna died. Some say she jumped from a window after finding out her husband had cheated. Others believe she was pushed out by the mistress. The other resident ghosts include a chef, two maids, and a little boy and all are mum on the subject.
Mum ghosts are a rarity, but I had once spoken with the chef, who had a thing for Rush once. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but I was going to capitalize on it if I could.
I was going to see the chef.
She would talk to me for sure.
****
The inn was a local hotspot and served wonderfully intricate southern dishes. Denny had gone to high school with the sous chef, who let her hang around the kitchen before work. Today, Denny didn’t want the kitchen. She merely needed a—“You take one more step, Golden Silver, and I swear to god, I will tear Sarah’s ghostly hair right out of her head and spit down her neck.”
Rush.
“Maybe it’s not important to you, Rush, but my family could very well be in danger and right now, I need a ghost who will be willing to talk to Ophelia.”
“And you think Sarah will? Why? Because she talked to you a couple of times? Because she’s a hussy who can’t get over being dead?”
Denny shook her head. She hated it when Rush was jealous. It made her tempestuous and cranky. “It’s worth a shot. I need to come up with a ghost to talk to Ophelia, and if you won’t do it—”
“I’ll talk to Ophelia. That crazy ass woman has been wanting to talk to me for years, and if Rushalyn Holbrook won’t do it for you, then I sure as hell would love to.”