Chapter Eight
Keegan didn't know what Smith had seen, but whatever he’d witnessed obviously scared the bejeezus out of him. Smith didn't frighten easily.
Eager to help Smith, Keegan grabbed Echo's hand and led the way to the mouth of the toran, grateful that she allowed him this small chauvinistic act.
The darkness impeded his retreat, forcing him to slow down and proceed cautiously. He couldn't risk using the penlight. Maybe Smith had alerted the demons. They could already be bearing down on them. The thought motivated him to pick up the pace despite the possible obstacles.
The mid-day sun blinded Keegan when he re-entered the alley. He squinted to give his eyes a moment to adjust.
Echo, apparently unaffected by the brilliant rays, speed-walked to Smith. "What happened?"
Smith, breathing in sporadic bursts, leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. "Get us out of here," he said between gulps of air. "Asap."
Seeing the normally unflappable Smith shaken, unsettled Keegan. He became as restless as Smith to leave the alley.
In the next instant, Keegan stood in his living room on one side of Echo with Smith on the other. Smith, still visibly upset, stumbled to the sofa and plopped down onto the cushions.
Keegan poured brandy into a snifter and handed the glass to Smith. "Here."
Without a word, Smith downed the shot and handed the tumbler to Keegan. "'Nother."
After he finished the second drink and seemed calmer, Keegan asked, "Want to talk about it?"
He shook his head and rested his forearms on his thighs, and, staring at the floor, rocked on the edge of the sofa.
With each crack of Smith's knuckles, Keegan became increasingly alarmed. He had never seen Smith in such a state and looked at Echo for assistance.
"He needs time to digest what he saw," she said low enough that Smith wouldn't hear.
Keegan sat beside him and talked about the weather, about the Thanksgiving Day festivities the town was putting on, about his new client, the unnamed one who should be seeing Dr. Phil.
Echo watched Keegan with Smith, marveling at their friendship and at the same time feeling cheated for missing out on a supportive relationship like the one they shared. She couldn't explain it, but lately, she found herself open to the possibility of experiencing something new like Keegan. The man was unique and remarkable. She wondered why some woman hadn't snatched him up. He was a find. That was a fact.
So she had thought of Bartholomew, too. He had shown her kindness, as well. They'd made love, too, as if their bodies wouldn't survive without the other. Every look, every touch of his hand had made her think she was his world, just like Keegan made her think. But she was mistaken, then.
That wouldn't happen a second time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. There would be no more shame on her. Not this time. Not ever again.
Smith threw himself back on the sofa and draped an arm across his eyes. "I never smelled anything like it. Like rotting garbage, only ten times worse, and their cries, their pleas for mercy..." He turned tear-filled eyes toward them. "I'll never forget the sound of the whips." He shivered. "Their backs were cut into strips from the whip and the ones who weren't being whipped were suspended by chains and dangled naked over pits of fire. And that's only what I saw on a glimpse. The place went on for miles." Smith shuddered.
Echo sat beside him, sympathizing and wishing she could wipe Smith's memory. Her powers only extended so far. "You have to keep in mind that those people are murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and the like; horrible people who committed atrocities on men, women, and children and wouldn't be where they are if they didn't deserve to be."
Smith nodded. "I know that."
"Did anyone see you?" Echo asked, keeping her voice soft and soothing.
“What? I don't think so. Maybe. One creepy-looking guy, he must have stood seven-feet tall. He had red eyes and scaly skin and a tail that kept flicking back and forth, back and forth with each slap of the whip as if he relished their torture. He probably saw me. He looked right at where I hid and hissed. That's when I got the hell out of there."
Keegan looked at Echo. "Do you know this demon?"
She nodded. "Maybe."
Keegan understood her grimace to mean she wouldn't want to tango with the fellow. Keegan wanted to know everything there was to know about demons – their strengths and weaknesses, if they had any – and particularly about that one. If he saw Smith and chased after him, and they had managed to outrun him, it was only a matter of time before he came knocking on his door with a few friends. It scared him to think that he might end up defending himself against those demons, but he knew he should prepare himself for every event, just in case.
Keegan turned to Echo. "Can these demons be stopped? Can you stop them?"
"They can be killed, if that's what you're asking."
He felt better, until he envisioned himself in combat with the demon of all demons, which reminded him of something else he wanted to know. "Were you able to close the portal?"
"No. There was some sort of barrier I'm not familiar with."
"That complicates things." Keegan rocked on his heels and bit the inside of his cheek, remarking on his composure. Two days before, he would have argued whether any of this were possible, and now he was talking about demons, Hell, and portals like everyday conversation.
"It does."
"But only momentarily?" Keegan held his breath while he waited to hear the only answer that would stop the fluttering in his stomach.
He let out his breath when she nodded. Smith’s groan pulled their attention to him.
"What is it?" Keegan asked, unable to keep the question from sounding desperate.
"What happened to the body in the alley? The one you saw the demons eating, Keegan. Did someone find it? Are the police involved now?" The questions spewed from Smith like a prepared list. "Maybe we should call the cops." He looked at Echo. "No insult intended at your prowess."
"None taken, but there's no need to worry. The demons dispose of their victims, leaving nothing behind for anyone to find."
Smith said out the side of his mouth, "That explains the multitude of missing persons."
"Better that than walking dead," Echo said matter-of-factly.
Keegan sputtered the words. "Walking dead?"
Echo looked at him as if he’d just arrived from Mars. "Of course. I'm sorry. I assumed you knew."
He wished she would have come with a handbook. The Dummies Guide to What’s Fiction and What’s Fact in the Supernatural. Everything would be much easier. Well, not easier, but definitely more easily understood.
"You'll have to bear with me. This is my first experience with the hereafter." And, he hoped, the last for a very, very long while.
"How noble of the demons to clean up their messes," Keegan said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
"Oh, not noble at all. More self-preservation. They learned a hard lesson several hundred years back. Vampires came in after the demons’ kill, sucking the victims dry. Then those victims rose to walk the earth, and the few turned into hundreds, then thousands. Soon, there were more vampires than demons. The demons found themselves in jeopardy, but not only that, these 'pires were actually attacking demons. Rumor has it that there are still some of those heathens at loose."
"You're joking, right?" Keegan asked, willing her to answer affirmatively.
"No. Why would you think so?"
That was the stuff movies were made of, not de facto occurrences happening in small towns that were a dot on a map. Keegan took a moment to ponder. Strange how, in the face of violence, the mind could be coached to believe and accept the unbelievable and the incomprehensible; the things that, in ordinary circumstances, would be discarded as ridiculous.
Keegan and Smith exchanged glances, mutely conveying they would discuss this at more length privately.
Echo stood. “Now that we settled that, I'm famished. Let's order pizza. I'll h
ave the vegetarian delight. Where do you keep your Ouija board?"
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