Morningstars, Parts 10-12

Louis worked hard to conceal his injuries, but he couldn’t hide how hurt he was from Bruce, who, upon seeing him shook his head and immediately hopped on the typewriter.

HURT HOW BAD

Louis read the paper in the typewriter and sighed. “How bad does it look?”

REAL BAD STINK BAD TOO

“Yeah, I guess I do kind of stink; I kinda puked on myself. I got beat up pretty bad too. My insides … things are moving around, so I’m still healing, but I think I can finally feel my fingers again.”

He held his hands up. They were covered with dirt and dried blood, but he was able to wiggle his fingers again. He looked at his palms and was glad for his ability to heal; the holes were completely gone, leaving only vague red marks behind. In time even the marks would vanish.

He sat down at the kitchen table and began to explain everything to Bruce. Tears welled up in his eyes when he spoke of Elizabeth’s death. He couldn’t hold back the emotion, and part of him was just glad that he could feel.

“We’re relatively safe now, at least for the time being. B’lial’s back in Hell, licking his wounds like a beaten dog.” Louis chuckled and grabbed a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. “He probably lost face there too because he hasn’t been able to bring me over to his side. It sucks being him today.” He chugged deeply from the carton.

HUNGRY

PIZZA

“No. I mean, yeah, I’m hungry; I just regenerated so much tissue and bone that I’m weak as a kitten. I didn’t realize that would happen when I heal. But I’m not sending out for a pizza. I remember what happened that last time I did that. I ended up picking cheese out of your feathers for days. It was gross. No way, I’m not going through that tonight. It’s Chinese or nothing. They still deliver this late too, so I won’t even have to go out.”

Bruce nodded his head, approvingly.

Louis made the call, and then went upstairs to shower. He didn’t bother adding his clothes to the existing piles of laundry strewn about. After what happened he just threw them in the trash.

He felt a little stronger than he had when he first arrived home, and thought that maybe he was growing used to his new life and physical abilities. It was happening more quickly than he expected. The hot water was a welcome friend, and he stayed under the faucet after scrubbing himself until the room was a billowing cloud of steam, and there was no more warmth to the water. He promised himself that he’d soak in a hot tub later that evening and read. He hadn’t read a good book since he threw the last one over the balcony railing, and felt vulnerable without having something to read. He dressed in soft, comfortable sweats before he went back downstairs.

Tindili crossed his mind when he paid the delivery boy for the Chinese food. He remembered that he still hadn’t spoken to him since being put on the murder case. Since B’lial wasn’t an immediate threat anymore, he decided to call and invite him over to talk over the case. Tindili agreed after Louis prodded him with an offer of Chinese food and a couple of cold beers.

“Good to see you again,” Tindili said, walking into the kitchen a few minutes after their telephone conversation. “Should I say ‘hello’?” He asked Louis, gesturing to Bruce.

“Sure. He’s as much of a man as us deep down,” he replied with a snort. “His mother just dresses him funny these days.”

“Hi, how’s it going?” Tindili said to Bruce. He was surprised to see the bird nod his head and cackle, as if he was answering. He looked at the ancient typewriter quizzically. “What’s this for? Writing your memoirs already?”

“Bruce, show him what it’s for.” Louis said.

Bruce hopped up on the keys and typed:

HI

LEAVE ME BEAN SPROUTS LOTS

“He loves the bean sprouts,” Louis laughed. “They look like worms, so I think somewhere in his head he still has something of a bird’s appetite.”

The three began to eat. Louis spoke sparingly about his battle with B’lial. He left out Elizabeth completely, and toned down most of the fight, not wanting to reveal too many details about how hurt he had been. He didn’t want Tindili taking the father role and be worried about his injuries, especially since they’d, for the most part, fully healed.

“So you kicked butt,” Tindili asked. “B’lial’s gone for good?”

“Not for good, just for now,” Louis replied. “But I think he’ll think twice about coming after me any time in the near future. When he does, I’m sure he’ll have something even worse planned out for me. One of these days I’ll see if I can find a picture of him in one of the texts I use for research. You gotta see him, he’s one nasty looking demon.”

“Are there any that aren’t?” Tindili asked, half serious.

“Actually, yes,” Louis said. “The two female demons that were there today were a particular type of creature called a succubus. They seduce men and steal their souls. They look gorgeous, hot as hell, if you know what I mean. Great to look at, just don’t touch them or allow them to touch you.”

“I guess even Hell has its hookers,” Tindili laughed.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Louis said laughing with him. “But their price is a lot higher than a few bucks.”

Bruce had begun to make an ungodly loud shrieking sound while trying to tear apart a piece of chicken from the chicken and broccoli that Louis had ordered. He finally found a way to do it by holding the meat down on the plate with his foot, and pulling it apart with his pointed beak. Louis and Tindili looked on amazed that he was able to do it without help.

When Bruce finished the meat, he typed

STILL LEARNING
HARD TO USE BODY
NO HANDS FEEL CRIPPLED

“I feel for ya little guy,” Tindili said. “We’ve got a man in Administration that’s handicapped. He used to be an officer, but he took a bullet a couple of years back. Now he can’t move anything below his neck. It’s a struggle, even with the gadgets he can use.”

“Bruce doesn’t remember any of his past,” Louis said. “B’lial had his memory wiped clean when he had his soul transferred into that body. We’re hoping to find some way to free him eventually.”

“You know, it just dawned on me. You said something about the cemetery that rubbed me the wrong way,” Tindili said. “If your mother’s grave was destroyed, why wasn’t it reported at all? Someone would have noticed by now, even if it were just vandalized. I’m sure you would have gotten a call when they found out whose grave it was. ”

“B’lial said that no one could see us while we were there. Maybe his power had some kind of blanket effect on the whole area,” Louis replied. “Keep an eye out, because it’ll probably wear off soon.”

“Yeah, but if he was hurt as badly as you say, don’t you think it would effect whatever he did to create the illusion?” Tindili persisted. “Maybe we should go check it out.”

“You’re right. Let’s go.” Louis dropped his fork and held out his arm for Bruce to perch on. He stepped into the middle of the kitchen floor and gestured next to him. “Come here, I’ve got a quick way to get use there.”

“Is it going hurt or anything?” Tindili asked, uncharacteristically timid. “I’m not as young as I used to be y’know.”

“You might feel a little cold for a second, but that’s about it. When all this craziness began, I found out that my shadow is actually a separate part of me and has a very unique quality. It actually acts like a doorway to whereever. I can use it to bring me places as long as I can give it a destination.” He called to his shadow, and the dark reflection of himself that was cast on both the floor and wall of the room flowed like syrup, forming into a three dimensional copy of him. Tindili was noticeably shocked at the standing shadow.

“Take the three of us to the cemetery,” Louis commanded. “Specifically to my mother’s gravesite.”

The shadow slowly widened and silently swooped down upon them, engulfing their bodies in the frigid liquid darkness between heaven, hell, and earth. Tindili was scared for a minute, than after the rush of cold blackness hit him, it was like being splashed with icy water, and he opened his eyes to the night sky in the cemetery.

“We’re here!” he said, surprised.

“Yeah. I told you it works,” Louis said casually. He walked down an isle of gravestones that led to his mother’s. “That’s how I really got to Gold’s house the morning we nailed him , but I couldn’t tell you about it yet. It was actually the first time I’d used it to travel.”

Bruce hopped into the air, swooping upward to check the surrounding area. He began to circle high above them.

“I don’t see anything wrong around here,” Tindili said, looking around. “I mean, it’s dark and all, but there’s no damage.”

Louis reached his mother’s grave and was surprised to see that it remained where it always had been. Not even a blade of grass looked damaged.

“What the fuck!“ he said angrily. “He pulled the coffin from the ground and blew it up. I saw it, felt the force of the explosion. There was debris all over the place!”

“B’lial’s a deceiver, a liar, right?” Tindili said as he approached Louis. “Maybe he was too weak to actually do it, and just made it look like it happened to piss you off.”

Louis touched the gravestone, felt the deep cut of the letters in its face. He smoothed out the grass in front of it and cursed to himself.

“God damn!” Louis stood up and looked at Tindili angrily. “What if none of it happened? He could have somehow conjured it all up. I might not have even been hurt.”

Tindili stood directly in front of him and shook his head.

“No, something did happen to you, because there are still some marks on your face. And I could tell when you were in the kitchen that you’d been hit hard several times. Bruises, even fading ones, are noticeable.”

“You’re probably right. He must have just faked destroying the grave to mess with my head,” Louis speculated.

“It’s very possible that some of it didn’t really happen, but as for the grave,” Tindili said, “by that time, if what you said is correct, he was beaten and probably just wanted to save face.”

“You sound too logical,” Louis said sarcastically, then thought about Elizabeth. “If he could fake all that, then maybe-’’ His words trailed off as a glimmer of hope warmed his heart. “I’ll be right back.”

He ran down the narrow slope to where Elizabeth had died in his arms. There was still a vague outline of where her body had turned to powdery ashes, but much of it must have been taken away with the evening wind. He thought even that could be an illusion, until he touched the ground and felt bits of Elizabeth on his fingertips. Frustrated, he resisted the urge to curse and returned to where Tindili was.

“John, I need you to look up a woman by the name of Elizabeth Duffy,” he said.

“Who’s she?” Tindili looked at him quizzically. “One of those succubus things you were talking about earlier?”

“No. She was a friend that came here when everything happened, an ex-follower of B’lial’s that helped me out when I really needed it,” Louis replied. “If it wasn’t for her I don’t know if I would have made it. From what I saw, it looked like she died. Her body turned into a pile of ashes. I just want to find out who she really was, if there was any truth at all to what she told me about herself. I won’t be anyone’s fool again if I can help it.”

Louis wondered about the store. Did it truly exist, or was it created solely for him, with the illusion of a storefront and customers? Had she created the entire scenario just to seduce him to darkness and then have to wipe it all away because she fell painfully in love with him?

“You’re still technically on the payroll as an outside investigator, so I’ll be able to check the data bases without anyone asking questions. I’ll call you in the morning and pass on what I find,” Tindili said. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Louis said. He called to Bruce and then he had his shadow return them all to the kitchen of the brownstone.

“Thanks for coming by tonight.” Louis shook Tindili’s hand and walked him out. “I’m glad we were able to go over things.

“Take care of this guy, Bruce. He needs all the help he can get,” Tindili said to the raven affectionately. “Have you taught him to play poker yet?” he joked on his way out.

“No, but as crazy as it may sound, that’s not a bad idea,” He replied.

When he returned to the kitchen, Bruce had typed:

NOTHING WRONG
CEMETERY FINE
WHY

“I don’t know it’s confusing. I’m wondering now if Elizabeth is actually dead. It looked like it, but I don’t know. It’s late, but I think we should go and check to see if her store really existed.” Bruce hopped on his arm; they traveled there via shadow.

As Louis had anticipated, when he appeared with Bruce on the street directly in front of the store, it wasn’t there. There was only an abandoned storefront that would have by no means been large enough to be Elizabeth’s store. There never really was a bookstore called “The Pit and the Pages.”

“Is she still alive?” he wondered aloud, feeling both confused and frustrated.

He returned home and searched for the books he had purchased at her store. They were still real enough, but they were the only proof he had that she ever existed besides his own memory. He felt a momentary sadness at the irony, because he realized that it was always that way when someone died, human or hellbound damned. The only thing that remained of them was memories and objects. Both could fade away unless kept alive by their owners. Louis put it all out of his mind in favor of soaking in a hot tub. Bruce left him to fly down to the kitchen and finish up some more of the Chinese food, so Louis went directly to the task of finding a book to read in the library. It was something he looked forward to doing since he’d lost the last book he’d been reading.

There was an entire section of shelves that he had, up until the present, ignored since he was in his late teens. It was filled with old fantasy books written by some of whom, he considered, the greatest authors of the genre. He flipped through novels by Robert E. Howard, Philip Wylie, the pseudonym Kennith Robeson, and Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Louis was eager to escape from reality in the broad pages of the old books. He respected the work of the authors because they truly had no one else to follow, so everything came from their own minds. It was total creation, and even though at times some of the stories were too fantastic, he loved them anyway.

He accumulated a large pile of books on the floor by the time he finally decided on reading “A Princess of Mars”, by Burroughs. He’d read some of Burroughs’ other tales as a youngster, had even seen some movies based on them, and was never disappointed. The book he began to thumb through was listed as a first printing, dated 1912, but was in surprisingly good condition for a hard covered book. It was the first book in a fairly long series and he looked forward to reading them all.

The tub filled with steaming water. Louis, a fast reader, began to delve into John Carter’s adventures on Burroughs’ mythical Barsoom by candlelight, allowing the pounding sputter of the faucet to lull him into a mesmerizing serenity. Before he knew it, he was lost in the pages. It was as if he walked on the red land of Mars along with the Virginian, his four-armed allies, and a woman that he loved whom Louis thought, by his reading of her description, coal black hair, beautifully chiseled face, and voluptuous figure, resembled Elizabeth.

He felt himself dozing near the end of the novel, and jumped out of the tub before he fell completely asleep. His muscles were no longer sore, and he looked forward to the softness of his bed and a full night’s sleep without nightmares.

Louis was abruptly woken the next morning by the ringing of the telephone on the nightstand next to his bed. He grabbed the receiver and refrained from throwing it, speaking into it with a voice that sounded like dry rustling leaves. “H’lo.”

“Louis, it’s John. I got the information you were looking for,” he heard. “The name you gave me didn’t correspond to anyone in our files, but they only go back thirty years.”

“What are you saying?” Louis said, turning over in bed to grab an open pack of cigarettes. “She doesn’t exist?” he asked lighting one, welcoming the rush the dusty smoke brought to his grogginess.

“No, she exists, or maybe I should rephrase that. She existed.” Louis could hear Tindili flip through pages on his end. “She died at the age of thirty, but that was over fifty years ago. I had to go through the old files in the basement to get the information. They haven’t been put in the main database, and with the way the budget’s been looking these days I doubt they ever will. It wasn’t easy getting my hands on this stuff. You know what the old file room smells like? Ever actually smell a rat’s armpits?”

“John it’s too early in the morning for this, c’mon just tell me what you’ve got,” Louis said with a yawn.

“Full Name is Elizabeth Jayne Duffy, born February 18, 1921. Her parents were from Sweden and Hungary; both came to the states in 1901. Her father Samuel was a carpenter, mother, Vera, a seamstress. Elizabeth modeled her mother’s work; gowns mostly. Doing that opened the door to catalogue modeling for her. It was a big deal back in those days. There’s even a picture, but it’s from the forties, so it’s not the greatest. I’m sure there’s more out there somewhere, we’d just have to track down old magazines, maybe an old Sears catalog or something.”

“It figures,” Louis said absently. Elizabeth was a model. It all fit neatly together like the pieces of a puzzle. She told him that she didn’t want to get old and die alone. He was glad that he was there with her at the end. “How’d she die back then? Was there even an obituary?”

“Apparently the building she lived in burned to the ground. I crosschecked the address with the address of the bookstore you mentioned. It’s the same.”

“I got a little ambitious last night and checked the store out,” Louis said, “it no longer exists. She must have conjured it up there because it was the site where she ‘died’ the first time.”

“The funny thing about fire is, she was the only reported casualty,” Tindili continued. “There’s a copy of the newspaper story, and it says that even the pets, a couple of dogs and a cat, got rescued from the building; everyone but her. The coroner’s report is vague at best, which I expected. They reported finding charred bones, a full female skeleton, but back then there wasn’t much they could do to prove whose they were.”

“She didn’t die in the fire, that’s someone else’s skeleton. I’d stake my life on it. That’s probably when B’lial took control of her life. The fire was just a way to cover it up, to justify her disappearance,” Louis said, kicking his way out of the covers on his bed.

“Well, that’s all I found,” Tindili said. “There’s no listing of any surviving family members. The last name is pretty common though.”

“Yeah. Too common.” Louis thought about pursuing it further, but let it go. “Thanks for the information John. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I know I asked you to help me out with that other case, and you are still on the payroll, but why don’t you take a few days for yourself. Get yourself back into the swing of things. You’ve been through a lot. Call me if you happen to find out anything new, okay?” Tindili asked.

“Sure, thanks for all the help John.” Louis hung up and got out bed, fighting himself to not just roll over and find sleep again. He pulled back the drapes. The sun blazed in, and he wondered if she was out there somewhere. She said that others would be after her if she survived. Maybe she just wanted to protect him from that, and leaving him the way she did was the only safe way she could think of doing it.

“I can’t second guess her. Maybe I just don’t want to accept her death because I don’t want to have to mourn again. I don’t know,” he argued to himself, frustrated. “If I think of all the possible scenarios for her being alive I’ll get a headache for nothing. It’s simple really,” he said, trying to convince himself, “she’s dead. I saw the ashes. I took the last breath from her lips. Unless she comes back and says ‘hello’, that’s the way it is.”

His mind was set on leaving it at that, but he knew there would always be a little thought, a tiny suspicion as to whether or not she was still alive in the back of his mind.

Part 11

Louis attempted to take Tindili’s advice and spent the following day just walking around New York City like a tourist. He’d been away from everything long enough for it to feel new, and went window-shopping while sipping gourmet coffee and sampling food from the many street venders. He felt like a kid again, at peace and able to just roam around freely without a care in the world, until he unwittingly reached the financial district. It was then that he suddenly found his worst nightmare upon the realization of what time of the year it was. He cursed at himself for not keeping track of things better.

He found a tobacco shop and purchased a box of vanilla flavored cigars and took a taxi home, dreading what he knew would have to be done when he got there.

The den in the brownstone was used for many things. Of late, it had been the place where Louis read his mail, and a haven for he and Bruce to communicate. When Louis got home from his excursion, it became a private hell where he imagined “big brother” watching him, ready to send in the “men in black” whenever what they saw did not meet their expectations.

It was there Louis sat when he got home, all through the night and the following morning. He sat alone. On occasion he would curse to himself or laugh mirthlessly while he stared at the disorganized stack of papers on the wooden desktop in front of him. It was tax time, and he just about missed the deadline. Trying to make sense of the mess that the previous year had given him had fast become something he would trade for a good beating.

Doing his taxes was never an issue in the past. In fact, it was a rather simple process. He would pay an accountant and hand over the paperwork. It was a painless way to get things done, and Louis practically enjoyed signing the check to pay for it, knowing that paying was by far better than taking care of it by himself.

Currently, the task was his, and involved cigars, and a pot of steaming chocolate raspberry coffee. A normal human being would have coughed up blood and pieces of lung for as many cigars that he inhaled during the long hours of sorting through the mire of paperwork. Louis Simon Darque was glad that he was anything but ordinary. The smoking didn’t affect him, nor did the lack of sleep.

Louis leaned back and absently tapped the top of the antique desk, wondering what it would be like in ten years or so. Tindili would be retired, but he would still be the same. He imagined that he would outlive everyone he’d ever known, and it started to depress him. The idea of having to eventually create a new identity for himself because of his age crossed his mind. He had years to think about it, and how to do it, so he decided not to dwell upon it just as Bruce flew into the room. The raven perched himself on Louis' shoulder, nodded toward a coffee mug and began to squawk in shrill tones.

“You’re not getting anymore coffee Bruce,” Louis said, gnawing on the plastic tip of his cigar. He exhaled a rich smelling cloud of smoke and sighed. “You’ve had just as much as I have, you’re going to be wired for the rest of the day, and you probably won’t be able to sleep either.” He pushed his coffee mug away from the bird and puffed deeply on the cigar again. The warm smoke was moist, and tasted good as it filled him.

The raven leaned over and began to obstinately tug on the long strands of Louis’ dark hair. He’d made the mistake of not tying it up in a ponytail since the previous day.

“No more cereal either! By the way you eat that sugary stuff dry I’m beginning to think that you’re going through your second childhood.” He grinned and twisted his head to look into one of Bruce’s black darting eyes. “Now I can understand how you got addicted to drugs so easily when you were still a man; you love caffeine and sugar. You must have been one hell of a speed freak.”

The bird persisted in his squawking and hair tugging. When Louis returned to the facts and figures, and ignored Bruce completely, the raven began to make an angry cackling noise.

“Just relax and let me finish this crap! If I make a mistake we’re both screwed!” Louis snapped through a thick cloud of smoke. “I’ll take you outside later, and we can hunt down a nice dead rodent for you to peck at, okay?” There was no hiding his sarcasm or wicked grin.

Bruce shrilled, as if he were cursing, then, promptly relieved himself on Louis’ shoulder before taking to the air again. Like a wind blown dark cloud, he fled the room before Louis could utter a foul word.

Louis leaned away from the desk and stood his full height, which fell just short of six feet. He shook out of the loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirt he wore, tossed it aside, and shook his head angrily, running his fingers through his hair. His chest rippled tightly. Having sat for as long as he had caused his muscles to grow stiff and sore. He wordlessly stretched and flexed, laughing to himself when he heard joints pop and crackle like a bowl of dry cereal when milk was poured in it.

“God, if I have to go through this for another fifty years I’m going to end up in a padded cell.” he muttered to himself, noisily cracking his knuckles.

He realized that Bruce must have really needed a break from being cooped up so long while he did his taxes. Bruce didn’t have to stay in, but he had typed a message to Louis earlier that he didn’t want to leave him alone. He didn’t think it was fair.

Louis knew that taking a break would probably be a good idea, but it would also give him idle time. Idle time was a thing that he knew he wouldn’t take very well. It gave him moments to let his mind wander and think about things other than his work or present situation. He hated being depressed, but during quiet times he couldn’t help but reflect and slip into the abyss. It had become a hazard of day-to-day living.

He gripped the edge of the wooden desk tightly, undecided, before he sat back down, and stared off into the nothingness of the floor, lost in images and memories of happier times. Diane. He realized that he would probably never be able to get that close to another person again, unless they were like he was. If not, he’d outlive them. He’d already had the experience of watching someone he loved die and didn’t want to go through it again in the same manner.

In his thoughts, their relationship was imperfect perfection, because it ended in death, and could never be tainted. Concerning his taxes, her illness and death had brought about new meaning to the term “medical write off”.

His line of work and the way he was being paid made doing taxes even more frustrating thing. Tindili had arranged for him to get paid as a private contractor, but Louis couldn’t figure out exactly what could be written off. Business calls? Electricity? The other nonsense on the tax forms was kind of a joke to him, since it was written in what looked to be another language that he’d missed learning while growing up. For a moment, he began to reconsider visiting an accountant. He was well off, and since the money wasn’t really a concern, why worry? Then reality stepped in and he realized that the issue wasn’t merely money, it was being perceived as sane. Accountants worked closely with attorneys, so it wouldn’t take much to get himself committed if he came across as anything other than totally sane. He imagined what a conversation would be like with an accountant.

“Yeah sure, my bird is technically a man, and I support him, so I can claim him as a dependant, right?” Louis smirked to himself at the irony. “Can I deduct the cost of candles since I use them so much for work? How about my clothes when they get destroyed from being in Hell?” He knew what he said sounded insane, but that was his real life. “All I’d have to do is slip once, and I’d either end up flying over the cuckoo’s nest or locked away in some church getting studied like a sacred lab rat.”

The thought of being so open to another person, even an impersonal accountant, about his life made Louis shiver. In a sense he would have enjoyed having someone to be able to talk to about it all besides Bruce and Tindili, but he knew that if he opened up it would eventually hurt more than it was worth, even with B’lial currently out of the picture.

Louis mashed out his cigar and smiled. “I’m alive but stagnant, isolated, and it’s probably never going to change. And forever is a long time.” He laughed dryly as Bruce flew back into the room.

The raven had a black tank top stuck in its beak, the shirt billowing out behind him like a flag as he came through the door. There was also what looked to be brightly colored crumbs stuck randomly all over Bruce’s body.

Louis smiled at the bird and took the shirt from him. He stood up and held out his arm. “You just couldn’t wait to get into that new box of cereal could you?” Louis sounded slightly irritated. “Was it good?”

Bruce squawked a happy reply, ruffling his own feathers. The raven perched itself on Louis’ forearm and stood still as he brushed away the crumbs. “Thanks for the shirt, but I’m not making up with you that easily. You’re too much like a spoiled kid these days.”

Bruce flew off Louis’ arm and landed on the desk, directly across from the tax forms that, right or wrong, were nearly complete. The bird waddled over to them and twisted its head toward Louis in a comical yet menacing fashion

, as if he were about to again relieve himself. “Don’t even think about it!” Louis said. His eyes suddenly glowed bright red.

Suddenly the raven leaped onto the old typewriter. He typed:

TAKE A WALK
ONE ROOM TOO LONG
NOT GOOD

“I know I’ve been doing this since yesterday.” Louis nodded. “You’re right. A walk would be good about now. Maybe we could go to the village and check out some of the shops. We’re almost out of candles and there’s a place there where you can have them custom made.”

Bruce squawked in approval and ruffled his feathers again.

The echo of chimes from the front door caught their attention. He looked at Bruce and smiled. “I’d better get that. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be a couple of those annoying people from Jehovah’s Witness again.” For a moment his eyes glowed red and he grinned. “Remember how they ran and screamed last time?” His laughter resounded wickedly behind him as he paced out of the dim lit room.

The stairs were not lit, nor was the rest of the brownstone. That gave Louis no trouble, since he was perfectly at home in the darkness. He’d learned that the absence of light meant nothing to one of demonic parentage, whether it was real or figurative. His sight came in the form of what he’d grown to call “gray vision” when there were no lights. He could see everything, but only in shades of gray.

Louis knew that Tindili was at the door before he opened it just by the sound of the man’s throaty smoker’s cough from behind the door. He made a mental note to tell Tindili that his cough was a dead giveaway.

“What’s up John?” Louis said, swinging open the door. He startled Tindili with his abruptness, and a thick cloud of cigar smoke that drifted from his lips.

“I’m sorry for dropping in like this, but I really need to talk to you,” Tindili said looking haggard and older than he should have. “It’s about my son.” His eyes darted around nervously.

“C’mon in.” Louis’ brow formed a straight line over his eyes. He was confused. “Is something wrong with John? Did something happen to him at school?” he asked nervously. He gestured for Tindili to sit down on the nearest couch in the living room.

Tindili’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he sat down, already poised to light a cigar. “He’s in the hospital,” he said, quietly, staring off.

“What?” Louis said in shock. “What happened?”

“He’s in a coma. It looks like he tried to kill himself. Pills.” Tindili took a deep drag off of his cigar and sighed out a cloud, shaking his head sadly. “I know, it sounds crazy, but we found him this morning passed out in his bed. He was alive, but completely unresponsive, so we called an ambulance. I was going to call you from there but, well, I’ll get to why I didn’t in a minute.”

“What do you think caused it?” Louis asked. “Do you have any idea what he might have taken?”

“Well, rumor has it that there’s a new drug on the streets; an upper called Mystic. It’s only been around for a week or two and it’s supposed to be like old-fashioned crank or speed, only cheaper and there aren’t supposed to be any side effects. The thing is, we’ve already had two other cases like John’s in the past four days, and Kevin Conners is handling them. Conners said they’re both Mystic related, and the kids have gone downhill pretty fast. Those are only the cases we know about. There are probably more. I shouldn’t even be involved, but Conners is allowing me a little slack with my son. I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

“Okay, so there’s a little history. Whatever John and the others did, it’s highly probable that they weren’t intentionally trying to kill themselves, but medically that’s the direction they’re headed in,” Louis proclaimed. “Did you get a sample for the lab?”

“Yeah, there was a pill on his nightstand. They’re working on it right now. It’s the first sample to date that we were able to get.” Tindili’s expression tensed. “It was just sitting there like it was no big deal.” He stared off again, as if searching for something.

“Well, from his perspective, if it was as safe as he was told, than it wasn’t a big deal,” Louis said. “Why do you think he took it?”

“He was probably just looking for an easy way to study. Usually he just drinks all the coffee that we have in the house.” Tindili sighed. “It’s midterm season. You know how he is. Everything has to be perfect.”

Louis nodded, remembering himself how difficult the tests could be, and how much pressure school in general could add to it. John was always studying hard because he wanted to earn a scholarship for college. He never wanted to burden his parents with paying for his education. Louis always thought he was too good of a kid to be real.

“I came over as soon as I could because even though I tried not to associate what’s happened with your father, I know he’s involved,” Tindili said. “Which means I need your help now more than anything else.”

“What makes you think B’lial has a hand in this?” Louis asked.

“It’s pretty clear to me, unless I’ve gone completely insane. Your name is written in blood across the wall in John’s hospital room. The only problem is, no one can see it but me.” Tindili rubbed his forehead and cursed to himself. “It wasn’t there at first when we got there, but after my wife and I sat with John for a few minutes, it just appeared. I watched it happen. It looked as if it was being written right in front of me, but Cindy couldn’t see a thing. The doctors insist that it’s because I’m under a lot of stress. Can you believe that?” Tindili laughed sarcastically. “Me, stressed out? They tried to sedate me and send me home.”

“If it’s B’lial, than he’s got to be behind that new drug you mentioned too. Especially if it’s affected other people the same way. Overdosing is a form of suicide, and that sends the soul directly to Hell. Do not pass go, don’t collect two-hundred dollars,” Louis said.

“You think he’d do something like that?” Tindili asked.

“What do you think? The more souls he gets, the better off he is. He’s probably trying to make up for the fiasco with me in the cemetery, too. Dealing a drug that kills, well, it’s not an original idea, but for him it’s perfect,” Louis said. “He gets to reach me through you, and get a bunch of others in the process. I’m surprised he didn’t think of using something like this before. I guess he’s in better condition after our bout than we anticipated.”

Louis flung back his head and ran his fingers through his hair from widow’s peak to the split ends that reached his shoulders. “Damn, this is what I was afraid would happen all along!” Louis turned away and pounded a fist in his hand. “I knew I should have stayed away from everyone! I caused this!”

“It’s not your fault,” Tindili reassured him. “It would have happened regardless if B’lial has begun dealing. The stuff was out there, and it looks like it’s pretty damn lethal. I might not like it, but John’s old enough to make his own choices, and he decided to try it. There’s nothing I could have done to stop him.”

“Is the word out on the streets yet about the drug being fatal?” Louis asked nervously.

“Yeah, it is now,” Tindili reassured him.

“Good. Maybe the kids will wise up and stop taking that crap.” Louis shook his head angrily. “I wonder how many times this has happened before, y’know, when there was a demon behind it all, but no one knew about it?”

“Probably a lot,” Tindili replied cryptically. “I guess now that you’re around we won’t have to worry about that so much anymore, huh?”

“Oh great, leave it all up to me. There’s no pressure, right?” Louis gnawed on the plastic tip of his cigar and stared at Tindili. He sat down next to him and wondered if there was a way to get into the boy’s mind so he could find out exactly what happened. In the back of his mind he repeatedly heard B’lial’s threat about never having a moment’s peace. He obviously wasn’t kidding. Louis recited a silent prayer to a god he’d never seen and hoped that John Jr. would not die and have an eternity in Hell.

“I need to see him. Can you get me into his room?” Louis asked.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem, he’s not in isolation, but he is under strict observation.” Tindili stood up, looking a little stronger than when he’d arrived. He smashed out his cigar in an ashtray on an end table next to the sofa and grinned sternly. “I don’t think anyone can pull rank on me either, and as of right now, you’re on the payroll for this case.”

“John, don’t bother with that. You know the money isn’t a big deal,” Louis said.

“Yeah, but if anything goes wrong I need you to be there on an official basis so we both don’t wind up with our asses in a sling,” Tindili retorted. “Connors is usually by the book, geek that he is.”

“If anything happens, pull whatever strings you have to, but until then, I’m just going there as a friend. Look at it this way, if every time something unexplainable happens and I’m on the case’’

“Okay, I get it. We’ll try to keep a low profile for now.” Tindili said.

Louis called to his shadow. Tindili watched, still amazed at how the blackness oozed like some kind of living tar and formed into a three-dimensional figure.

“Maybe we should drive there?” Tindili suggested.

“It’s not a bad idea, but time might be an important thing later on, so we might as well get a good head start.” Louis said. He told the shadow where he wanted to go and waited to be whisked into its darkness. Nothing happened.

The shadow shook its head vigorously and held its hands out. A dark shape formed between them, swirling into a No Smoking sign.

“Wise ass,” Louis said. He crushed out his cigar in the palm of his hand after taking in another lung-full, and turned to Tindili. “I’ve probably got the only politically correct shadow in the history of good and evil.” The two were suddenly engulfed in Louis’ shadow. They stepped out of the utter darkness and found themselves in the hall down a short distance form John’s private room.

“We made it,” Tindili said with a rush. “I hope no one saw us.”

“If anyone did, they’re probably rubbing their eyes right now, not believing what they saw,” Louis said with a chuckle. “I know I wouldn’t.”

Tindili brought him down the empty hall to John’s room. Cindy was there, sitting next to John’s bed, holding a tissue, eyes red with crying. She was in her late forties, no taller than five feet, with the light skin and dark hair characteristic of her Italian nationality. When she saw Louis and her husband enter the room she immediately stood up and walked toward them.

“Louis!” Cindy said in surprise. For a moment, her tear stained face lit up. “Thanks for coming. John would be happy that you came to see him.” She held her arms out and hugged him motherly. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Too long.” She pulled away and looked at him. “You look so skinny. Are you okay these days?” Cindy kissed her husband lightly on the cheek and then held his hand as they went over to John’s bedside.

“I’m fine, really, I just don’t have Diane’s cooking to keep meat on my bones anymore. I have to get used to taking care of myself all over again,” Louis said, immediately seeing his name written across the far wall. It resembled graffiti. He took note of the scent of blood, and felt relieved when he recognized that it wasn’t human blood, but that of a horse. It dawned on him that it was probably a horse from the police mounted unit and guessed that there would be something out in the newspaper about one of their horses getting gored. “How is he?”

“He hasn’t gotten any better, but he hasn’t gotten worse yet either,” she said to them both. “I’m so scared that we’re going to lose him. The doctors haven’t really been able to tell us much. They’re still trying to figure out what was in his system.”

Louis stepped behind Cindy, and tapped Tindili on the shoulder so that she wouldn’t see him. He pointed to the writing and nodded, acknowledging that he saw it. Then, he focused on John’s body. He couldn’t see any aura. It was as if the flesh was alive, clearly seen by the beeping monitors next to his bed, but empty. He soul was gone, taken prematurely. He could smell that B’lial had been in the room, and knew that he had John’s soul.

“Can I talk to you for a minute,” he said, gesturing to Tindili.

“Sure. Let’s go out in the hall.” Tindili pointed to the door.

“He’s been here, I can still smell him. He’s got John’s soul too,” Louis said in hushed tones when they were in the hallway. “The blood is from a horse, so at least no one else was murdered. Check out the Mounties, I bet he killed one of their horses because I was a cop.”

“What are we going to do?” Tindili asked frantically. “Can we get his soul back?”

“Well, I can think of a way, but I know it’s a trap. I’ll have to sneak into Hell and get his soul out of there somehow. He’s not dead, so B’lial shouldn’t really be able to have too much of a hold on his soul,” Louis said, trying to think of a plan. “Honestly, I didn’t think he’d be able to take a soul prematurely like this, but I’m not exactly an authority on the subject.”

“How are you going to get there?” Tindili asked nervously.

“Hell? The same way I got us here, my shadow can take me. I just have to know where I’m going. If this is categorized as an overdose, than it stands to reason that he’s on the suicide level of Hell.” Louis said, thinking out loud.

“Suicide level?” Tindili echoed. “What are you talking about?”

“Hell has a place for every sin. Suicide has it’s own level, or pit, as it’s sometimes referred to,” Louis said. “You should read the “Divine Comedy” or “Paradise Lost” someday. Neither one is completely accurate, but in some ways the stories are pretty close in the ways they describe Hell. It’ll give you an idea of what things are like there, as well as who does what.”

Tindili just stood there with a blank expression on his face, looking lost.

“I need to get back to my house. I’d try to get there from here, but I don’t want to risk it. Something might escape, and the last place we want a demon loose is in a hospital full of people. I have a few safeguards at home in case anything goes wrong that I could never arrange here.”

“Take me with you.” Tindili said urgently. “He’s my only son! Don’t leave me out of this, I need to be there!”

“I’ll take you to my house, but you can’t go with me.” Louis shook his head. “There’s too much risk involved. Besides, you’d be more help on the outside. If I fail, I’ll need someone to clean up after me that’s able to cover things up as legally as possible.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Tindili said, annoyed. “Let me go tell Cindy that some emergency has come up and I’ll be gone for a while, then we can get out of here.”

“See, you’re covering up already.” Louis laughed. “Quite well I might add.”

“Just be lucky that I can,” Tindili replied. “I don’t like lying to Cindy for any reason.”

When he returned, Louis had his shadow bring them to the basement room that he used in the past to contact other demons. He lit several candles in the darkness, all the while explaining to Bruce what the situation was and what he planned to do. Bruce settled on the wooden perch, shaking his head. Louis knew that under the circumstances, Bruce didn’t like the idea of him going into Hell, but he would remain there in the basement room with Tindili until he knew Louis had returned and everything was safe again.

“John, if anything does go wrong, and I can’t get out of there, I need you to arrange a death for me. It’ll be tough, because there won’t be a body, but it needs to be done, and it needs to be done without you looking as if you had a hand in any of it,” Louis said. “If that does happen, you need to be unattached, because in the event of my death, I’ve left everything to Jean, you and your wife. I don’t want your boss making you a suspect because of that.”

Tindili blinked several times, stunned and suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He couldn’t find any words to describe what was running through his head. “Louis, you can’t-’’

“Shush! It’s already been done, written and signed when Diane died, so there’s no point in arguing now. You guys are all the real family I have,” Louis said abruptly. “Now let me do what I have to do.”

Tindili stood in the back of the room, shrouded in darkness, but still within the safe circle’s boundaries. The flicker of candlelight held his eyes as if he were in a trance. He heard Louis call out to his shadow.

The dark featureless mass appeared.

“I need you to open a gateway to Hell. Specifically the suicide level, near the soul of a young boy named John Tindili. Get me as close to him as you possibly can.”

The shadow shook its head and held out its hands, between them formed an old-fashioned padlock. The shadow nodded to Louis.

“What do you mean he locked me out of Hell? He can’t do that!” Louis made a fist and grunted in anger. Red hate glared in his eyes as he turned toward John. “I can’t get there! We can’t do it!”

“What are you talking about? Why not?”

“The bastard locked me out of Hell somehow. I didn’t think he’d ever be able to do that.” Louis’ thoughts raced for an answer to the dilemma, suddenly coming up with an awkward solution. “Give me your gun,” He said to Tindili.

“Huh?”

“I know you probably aren’t carrying your regular piece, because you’re not on duty, but I bet you’ve still got the .38 that you used to always keep in your boot,” he said quickly. “I need it, hurry up.”

“What for?” Tindili asked as he unclipped the revolver from the holster in his boot and handed it to Louis.

“I have to shoot myself. End my own life. Suicide. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only other way I think I can get to your son. Suicide was considered one of the worst possible sins, because life is a gift not to be trifled with. For throwing away such a precious and glorious gift, a soul falls directly into Hell. B’lial can’t keep me out if I travel that way no matter what he tries, because it’s the natural order of death, but it’ll leave me very vulnerable. Only my soul will be in Hell, with my body alive and trapped here. My body will heal itself here in probably a couple of hours or so. When that happens my soul will be returned to it automatically. I’m pretty much immortal these days. I just hope that I have enough time to do what needs to be done.”

“And if you don’t come back?” Tindili went pale. “What happens to you here? How will I know for sure what happened?”

“Once my body completely heals, I should revive and have John’s soul with me. If I don’t get up, you’ll know that B’lial’s captured my soul. My physical body will be alive, but stuck here, a mindless vegetable, like a zombie, and I’ll have failed. Since I won’t age or get sick, you’re going to have to figure a way to burn my body to destroy the evidence. We couldn’t very well have me lying in a hospital bed indefinitely in perfect physical condition without someone catching on eventually.”

“My god, Louis you can’t just-’’ Tindili’s eyes bulged in disbelief.

“Can and will.” Louis grabbed the gun from Tindili and roughly pushed him aside. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back with John Jr. as soon as I can.” With a quick movement he aimed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack of thunder, then a thud, as if an overly ripe melon had been dropped on the floor. Louis slumped to the floor in a puddle of his own blood with bits of bone and brain all around him.

Part 12

Louis didn’t remember hearing the gunshot or feeling the bullet penetrate his skull. His actions had turned into a blur of slow movement. After he tugged on the trigger he felt a split second of intense pain, like his body had been charged with electric current. Then there was nothing but blackness and a tremendous sense of relief, euphoria so overwhelming that he’d lost his identity, and wished it would never end.

There was an abrupt sensation of floating, and for a fleeting moment he saw himself lying on the floor in the basement room, with Tindili standing over him and Bruce still patiently waiting on the wooden perch. The vision was followed by the jarring suddenness of falling. He remembered the feeling from a dream once, when he’d fallen off of a particularly high ride at an amusement park. It was that same feeling that always woke him from the dream in a cold sweat, startled and completely disoriented.

He’d successfully left his body, and fallen through the Earth, passing into Hell. His essence, in the form of a golden butterfly, reached the world of damnation in the blink of an eye, where he felt the familiar revulsion that accompanied entering Hell. Even stripped of human flesh, a bare soul, the foul realm still had that sickening effect on him.

He imagined that Tindili probably still stood near his splattered body, aghast as he stared at the colors of death that were smeared around him. On the job, such a sight wouldn’t phase him, but it was always different when the victim was a friend.

Louis, for all intents and purposes, was physically dead until his body healed itself of the head wound. He hoped that watching it all, including his body healing, wouldn’t be too much for Tindili. He knew the man was emotionally strong, but everyone had their breaking point and Tindili had been put through the wringer of late. Louis thought that it would be a miracle in itself if everything worked out well and the man was still sane when he returned. He mentally corrected himself, if he returned. He had a sinking feeling that B’lial had plans to keep him there, and could possibly succeed.

His astral body formed suddenly, flowing into existence from the golden shape of the butterfly, and he looked just as he did while alive and in the basement of his brownstone, clad in leather boots, jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t will it to happen, so he surmised that it must have been the involuntary norm after a person took his or her own life. The soul would cast itself into the image of the person it belonged to, and then would be dispatched to the proper pit of damnation. He’d read that some souls were damned so many times in so many different ways that they would spend eternity traveling from pit to pit divided amidst their sufferings, their own private Hells.

The area that he was in was differed from the pit where he had his previous battle with Dantalian. From what he saw and felt around him, Hell was cold and dark. Winds shrieked, carrying to voices of terrified souls, and a red mist, a fog, filled the air. He heard whispers from above, but saw nothing in the expansive blood red sky. The clouds that floated looked gray, charred in some spots, with blotches of dripping red, as if they were bleeding.

To his surprise, there was no sign of any demons in the vicinity. Not even a residue of his father’s scent lingered in the foul air. Louis began to hope that perhaps he was wrong in assuming he’d been set-up. He searched for a place to escape the howling din of the damned where he could collect himself, and found solace in an opening between two boulders a short distance away, just off of the pathway where he’d arrived.

It was a small cave. He crouched low to the icy ground, leaned forward, and his eyes warily searched for any kind of movement. When he was satisfied that there was no one in sight, he made a mad dash and sprinted to the cave in hopes that it too, was empty. He felt his heart pound in his chest as his clutched for breath from the thick repugnant air that permeated the pits. Louis slipped into the cave, and followed the narrow opening into a small chamber that followed. It was on a slight decline, dark and empty except for a small skeleton lying in the center of the floor.

“What are you doing here?” A greasy voice broke the silence. “You don’t belong!”

“Wha-’’ Louis jerked his head toward the skeleton, unable to control a shudder that rocked his entire body.

The two hands from the skeleton broke away and grasped his ankles firmly as if to hold him in place. Louis felt the cold grip like steel and panic struck him. He reacted quickly, using his will, burning the skeleton to black powder. The twisted hands quickly released him and fled the chamber, leaving him alone in the darkness with a portion of the smoldering essence that was once a soul, a dusty heap on the floor.

Everything he remembered from his studies of the past year would have to come into play, since he had never experienced Hell in such a manner, from the inside, and not with a physical body on the outside looking in. When he fought Dantalian he hadn’t really seen Hell, merely the minor demon’s realm. And even in that, he had a physical body and was alive.

He looked himself over; astonished that he could feel his toes in his shoes as if they were really there. The ground at his feet was reddish and burned gray and black in some places, but it felt solid and cold when he pressed down on it with his hands. He could tell that the air around him was tainted with the heavy scent of burned flesh and sulfur, but it wasn’t as nauseating to him as it had been in the past. There was no getting used to such a thing, so he thought that his senses must have been dulled while he was in his current state of being. Which led him to confusion, more questions of what reality was in Hell, and how to continue on his soul saving mission with greater hopes for success.

Louis had read in several texts that certain religions believed that a soul created its own Hell. He began to wonder if he had inadvertently done that himself, creating his surroundings in the image he saw in his mind, from what he thought things should be like, and not what they actually were. He tested the theory, but when he repeatedly tried to alter the appearance of the small chamber through force of will, nothing happened. He wasn’t disappointed, just more sure of himself. Hell was Hell, unchangeable to him.

If not his surroundings, he thought, then perhaps himself. Had he subconsciously created himself, the way he looked? He reminded himself that he truly had no body, with no physical senses to speak of. There was no real way he could feel the ground beneath his feet, feel his own heart pound or smell the foul air except by memory and assumption. Was his astral body just an imprint of his soul? Did he have control over it? If that were the case, then it would mean that he could safely alter it and transform himself into his demon body without the threat of being trapped that way and lost to the fires of Hell. Changing his form by force of will alone wouldn’t cause him to change his soul, his essence, because he knew that being powerful didn’t necessarily mean he’d be corrupted or evil, unless it was something he chose to be. His self- image would merely be a stronger way to perceive himself and to be perceived in Hell.

The idea seemed as fantastic as anything he’d lived through in the past year, so he wasn’t surprised in the least bit, but he was afraid that B’lial could have possibly set him up to think he could transform without there being any consequences, without him being trapped that way or forced to stay in Hell. That concerned him greatly, so he experimentally attempted to morph only his hands above the wrists.

The change painfully began with the color of his skin. It took on a dark gray hue, and burned as if acid had been poured on his hands. He felt his skin thicken, tingling with pinpricks as it grew into a toughened scaly surface. The joints of his fingers crackled as they stretched in length, feeling as if each joint had become dislocated. Sharp talons slid into open air from his wide fingertips, and he winced with their razor sharpness cutting through flesh in birth.

The pain ended abruptly. Louis held up his hands and flexed his fingers in and out of fists, running his fingertips across each other to get used to how they felt. He had a difficult time thinking that the hands he saw connected to his wrists were his own. It was still an incredible and unbelievable transformation, even if it was technically an imaginary metamorphosis.

The real test came when he forced his hands to revert back to normal. For a split second, nothing happened, but before panic rose in his throat, he concentrated harder and his hands slowly faded back into humanity. They were his own again. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, echoing with surprising loudness in the chamber, and he caught himself, forcing a gulped silence.

Carefully, he crept up to the opening of the cave and peered out. He saw souls, images of men and women, broken and scarred by torture, soar past the cave opening like a gust of dry wind, raving, howling for God to ease their suffering. There were demons following them gleefully, holding weapons of all sorts, boasting loudly to each other of their recent cruelties.

He thought of suicide, the reality of how people would just give up life on earth, not realizing the torment they faced once they tossed the precious gift away. It was a sad fact as he watched the tormented souls carried by the heavy gusts of wind in Hell, shrieking for salvation that had yet to truly untaint their hearts.

Many souls were sent to Hell out of ignorance, he knew that from his work as a detective. People would fall under the pain in their lives and not have the ability, or not allow themselves to have the ability, to rise above it, before despair overcame them, and they took their own life. Many of them didn’t realize that all they had to do was ask for help, to reach out however they could, and their torment would end. No one is ever beyond redemption or above a fresh beginning, even those manacled in the pits. He’d read that even Adam, from Genesis, who had fallen into Hell after his death, had found redemption and been brought to Heaven by the hand of Christ himself.

Louis realized that his mind was wandering, nervously stalling his progress. Putting any further such thoughts aside in favor of finding the boy, Louis searched the maze of pathways in his line of sight from the cave opening. All around him were dusty trails, narrow pathways that led to rocky openings and lolling amber colored mountains in the distance. Any direction his eyes followed led deeper and deeper down into the bowels of suicide sufferings, deeper into Hell itself. He could feel Tindili’s son, knew his soul was nearby, but he could not pinpoint where it was, or if there was anyone else around it.

Louis ducked back into the cave and quietly walked back down into the chamber. He saw no point in attempting to travel the walkways of Hell if he didn’t have to risk such a journey, so he called to his shadow. The dark image appeared, and awaited his command.

“Do you know where the soul of John Tindili Jr. is?” he asked his dark reflection. The shadow nodded. “Take me to it,” Louis whispered nervously. There was no way for him to know where he would appear, so he was in effect, “flying blind” in Hell. It was a scary thought, because he imagined that he would appear amidst B’lial and others bent on torturing him and trapping him in there until he agreed to do their bidding.

When he stepped out of the darkness that was himself, he was in a large cavern lit by dozens of burning bodied shackled to the walls. The bodies, eternally alive, howled with the crackle of flames, and gurgled sickening moaning sounds, filling the cavern with maddening noise. There were a few minor demons and imps present, elated by their tormenting of those hanging, taunting and prodding them with sharp pikes. Vile curses echoed from their twisted mouths, but they had yet to see Louis. He immediately crouched low, hidden in the shadows of the cavern’s entrance, and searched for John’s soul, knowing it was out there somewhere, but praying he wasn’t one of those unfortunate enough to be a burning light. A suffering beacon of flesh to light his way.

Finally, in the far corner of the cavern, Louis saw a pillar of bones, but it could have just as well been a silver platter. On top of it was a small cage, he could barely see it, but he knew that the cage held the soul of John Jr. Louis pressed his eyes to focus, straining them as he had never done before, and he saw that the soul was still in the form of a butterfly. Its color was dull, looking more yellow than gold, and its wings were hanging at its sides like a dingy cloak. It was weak.

Louis sensed that he had to reach the soul soon, or it would form a body of its own, and John Jr. would be lost. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it was a gut feeling, instinct from some unknown part of him, he knew he had to pay heed to it. If he could snatch the soul from the cage before any of the demons or imps reached it, he would have a chance of returning it to John’s body before the boy went insane from suffering. Louis was sure that John would still be traumatized from spending time in Hell, witnessing the torments, if he remembered being there at all when he revived on earth, but at the very least he would be alive and coherent. He’d have a chance at a normal life.

Louis fought the self-resentment he felt for putting Tindili and his family at such a risk by staying in contact with him. There was so much anger bottled up inside him about it that he had to put it away, or succumb to it and lose control of himself in its lust.

He whispered for his shadow, calling it to bring him to the pile of bones. The darkness swung up from behind, engulfed him, and sent him standing in front of the mound, with none around the wiser. The pile rose slightly over his head, so he had to climb the gross stack of brittle bones in order to reach the cage. It was an easy climb, but he was still wary of his surroundings, certain that things were too easy.

He couldn’t tell how far along his body’s healing was, and he had no way to judge how much time had passed, so if he decided that if he could reach John’s soul and leave the cavern without incident, he planned to return to the chamber he’d hid in upon his arrival and wait out his short stay in Hell.

“I’ll have you out of there in a minute,” Louis whispered reassuringly, when he pulled himself to the top of the mound. The wings of the butterfly suddenly flicked upward, as if the soul understood him, and waited to be set free.

Out of the blue, Louis felt that his body was nearly healed back on earth. He could feel that he was slowly being drawn back to it. It was an odd sensation, which he likened to being caught between sleep and wakefulness, a sort of unsettling limbo. The groggy slumber when he heard the cars beeping outside, yet was unable to move.

“I think I can carry you, absorb you, while I’m in this form. Relax, it shouldn’t hurt at all.” He hadn’t tried to carry a soul in himself before, but theoretically he thought it should work. He knelt down and quickly passed his hands through the slim bars of the cage and over the soul. “Shadow,” he whispered, “Take this soul inside us, and hold it safely. Don’t release it until I tell you to.” There was a nearly inaudible crackle of energy, and the butterfly was gone. Louis could feel it, knew its young innocence was inside him, where it would stay until he returned it to its physical body.

Suddenly Louis caught a familiar scent being carried by a frigid rush of wind. A chill slowly crawled up his spine when he realized from whom it came. He cursed to himself, feeling foolish for thinking he could get away with what he was doing without running into his most bitter of enemies.

“It’s good to see you son,” B’lial said sarcastically, soaring over his head. “I’ve been expecting you for quite some time now. I knew my little ploy would work.”

“You’re stooping pretty low these days, going after a kid,” Louis said angrily. “He wasn’t even dead yet and you stole his soul!”

“It was a suicide, so I can do that if it pleases me.” B’lial snarled. “You think this is bad? You should have seen me during the days of Moses. I helped wipe out practically an entire generation of little baby boys. I’m still pissed that people hadn’t created microwaves or blenders back then yet. It would have made things so much more colorful and fun!” The demon laughed maniacally and swooped low to slash at Louis with his claws, missing his mark by a slim margin. He cursed and swooped around in a loop to try another pass.

“You had no right to hurt this child in order to get at me! It wasn’t even his time yet!” Louis stood up and shook a fist at the demon. He had to delay B’lial as long as possible, delay any sort of conflict. The sensation of being pulled back to his body was increasing by the minute, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He had to survive against his father and however many minions were sent in his wake.

“Does this look like a courtroom to you? There’s no such thing as ‘rights’ here. This is Hell sonny boy not OZ; remember? There are only different shades of evil behind the curtains, no hidden Wizard,” B’lial replied haughtily. “As for his time, does anybody really know when their time really is? Does anybody really care?” He sung in a parody of an old Chicago tune. “Look, I’ve brought you some new playmates.”

Suddenly, the imps and lesser demons that roamed the cavern had encircled the pillar of bones. Snarling and spitting curses, they climbed up to reach him. They clawed and groped as they neared him, but before they could get a secure hold and pull him off of the mound, he pulled free and leaped away.

Louis tried to call for his shadow, but as it appeared, it dissipated like a cloud of smoke before it could solidify and transport him to safety. Angry, he concentrated, tried again, and met with the same results.

“Don’t even bother trying again!” B’lial shouted, enraged. “You’re just another suicide while you’re here without a body, so even though I let you use that tar-baby apparition before to get around, I won’t allow it now!”

Louis cursed himself for being a fool. B’lial knew where he was all along! He didn’t know B’lial had that much control over suicides, and he really hadn’t thought of himself as one, even though he was. A plan formed in his mind, and he hoped to stall B’lial and his ‘troops’ a little while longer with it.

“If you’re going to deal drugs now, than maybe I should just go public about you!” Louis threatened. “Everyone will be hunting after you if I do that! You could never come back to earth, because you and your petty lackeys would be the perfect thing for priests and ministers to hunt down like a herd of deer caught in somebody’s back yard! They’ll stuff the lot of you and hang you on walls like you’ve done to these poor souls!”

“That’s it, be spiteful! That’s a good thing!” the demon bellowed. “Try it! Go ahead, tell the world about me and you’ll see a war like you’ve never imagined!” B’lial grumbled. “Rivers will fill with the blood and limbs of innocents! Can you live with that on your self- righteous little conscience Louis? I hope so, because you’ve got one hell of a long life ahead of you!”

Louis picked up on the fact that he was getting to B’lial with his threat. He’d never called Louis by his first name before. He decided to press the issue and play it out further.

“If you continue what you’re doing, that’ll happen anyway, and I couldn’t live with that either!” Louis shouted, racing away from the creatures that stalked him. “There’s nothing for me to lose, is there? I can’t ever have a normal life because of you, so even if the church has me dissected like some circus freak, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’ll be screwed. You’ll be the one that’s hunted and trapped! Forced to look over your shoulder every second you’re on earth. I’m sure your Master will love that! I’ll be around to see it all happen.”

“All this because the kid tried a new drug?” B’lial shouted, his voice wavering, suddenly sounding uncertain. “It was only supposed to keep him awake so he could study,” B’lial cautioned sarcastically. “One of my human agents gave it to him. There weren’t supposed to be any side effects.” The demon began to laugh. “But I think I made it a little too strong! I guess it’s back to the old drawing board!”

“It had better be!” Louis said, running from his gang of pursuers. “Because if I find more of that Hell in pill form on the streets, I swear I’ll go straight to Italy and have a discussion with the Pope himself!”

“Ah, now that’s something I would do if I were you!” B’lial scoffed. “You’ll be with me soon at this rate. There’s more of me in you than even you suspected, you sneaky bastard! It’s just going to take time for it all to come out, and I’ve got all the time in eternity to wait.”

Anger burned deep inside Louis. He wasn’t being pulled back to his body quickly enough. The demons and imps were upon him, and he was in for the fight of his life as well as John’s, so he let the darkness of his being take over. He began to morph, but it was different than when he was alive and fighting Dantalian in the pit of cast-offs. It was more difficult because it was nearly impossible to focus and concentrate while fending of B’lial’s thralls. The nauseating agony was something he didn’t expect during the metamorphosis.

The pain began in his fingertips. It felt as if he’d grabbed a live wire, raw voltage coursing through him until his eyes filled with tears of sticky blood. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as the sounds of his own flesh stretching and tearing resounded loudly in his ears. It caused his head to agonizingly pound with every beat of his heart.

The demons and imps piled on him, dragging to the ground, but with a rush of anger he shrugged them off easily, howling furiously with a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.

He felt the dormant wings come to life under the skin of his back next to each of his shoulder blades. With a sickening popping sound, the skin on Louis’s back tore open and he felt the wetness of his new membranous wings stretching out behind him. As they opened, he could feel them, control them. He forced the coiled steel muscles of his legs to kick himself high into the air, half doubled over in pain as his feet grew and stretched, but he needing to get away from the ripping claws of his enemies, so he took a chance. His wings opened fully and he glided effortlessly out of their reach and away from B’lial.

“Stop that bastard!” B’lial yelled angrily. “Or I’ll destroy you all with my own hands!”

Louis allowed the demon transformation to take over completely. He felt his teeth lengthen, unwittingly cutting into his lips. Horns snapped free of his skull and lengthened until they turned slightly inward and ended sharply. It continued that way until, in a matter of a few painfully throbbing heartbeats, he looked worse that his father.

He grinned with sudden elation when a rush of icy air hit him full in the face, and he flapped his wings skillfully, attempting to navigate the winds. The pain had subsided, and he was fully a demon in shape. There was an enormous sense of freedom to soar in the air, through the skies of Hell, that he hadn’t expected. He welcomed it as the only thing he appreciated about resembling his father. It wasn’t until he saw a group of winged demons chasing after him that he regretted taking to the air.

There were dozens of them, thin sickly looking demons with ragged limbs carrying swords and spears. He twisted in the air to duck past a spear thrown at him and surprisingly succeeded, then dove low in an attempt to soar under the entire group, but overshot his mark and nearly smashed into the ground head first.

“You can’t get away!” B’lial shouted, flying toward him. “At least not in one piece! And that soul you’re carrying is mine!”

The demons, used to flying, were easily able to out-maneuver Louis. They raked their talons across his flesh and pounded on his back, evading his feeble defenses. Their hit and run tactics sent him plummeting to the ground where B’lial suddenly stood waiting for him.

Louis felt his hold on sanity slip away as he tumbled roughly to the ground, feeling bones break with the impact. He craved taking to the air again, and flying into the horde to tear them limb from limb, but held his temper, knowing it was just a product of how he looked and where he was. He couldn’t afford to lose control. The logical side of his mind forced him not to fight, knowing it would be the death of him and John’s son if he did. He fought too hard to get where he was just to throw it all away during the heat of battle.

Suddenly, he felt salvation at hand.

“It’s over for now!” Louis shouted, standing his full height in front of his father. The demons were almost upon him when the familiar pulling sensation that meant his body had healed overcame him with a rush. He held out his hands and watched them fade away, knowing the rest of him was also vanishing as normal sensations of being alive began to return to him.

“I got him,” He heard his real voice mumble weakly. He felt the weight of his real body again, and discovered a mire of pain that came along with it. “He’s with me.” His eyes fluttered, then closed and he passed out.

“Hurry! Wake up! Come on you can make it buddy!” He heard Tindili shout through the farina that his brain had become. “Cindy just called! He’s dying, damn it, you have to hurry or we’ll lose him to that sick bastard anyway!”

He felt Tindili shaking him, lightly slapping his face, and he pulled his mind through the waves of a bloody ocean to fully return to consciousness.

“I got him,” Louis repeated weakly. “I got him. He’s with me.”

“Hurry, there’ll be doctors in there soon!”

The weight on his eyelids felt enormous, but Louis found the strength to open them slightly. He could feel John’s soul inside him trying to break free, but Louis wouldn’t release it until it could be safely dropped back into his body.

“Help me up John, please,” Louis said in gravelly tones. His mouth felt as if someone had walked through it with dirty shoes on, and his throat was raw. “I have to get to him.” His legs felt like there were no muscles in them, just stiff heavy objects. He could feel his toes, but wasn’t able to move them yet.

Bruce cackled and flew over to them. He landed on the floor next to Louis and tugged spasmodically on his bloodied t-shirt.

“I’ll take you to the car and drive us there with the cherry on!” Tindili nervously lifted Louis to his feet and held him steady. “No one will try to stop us!”

“No, no time.” Louis struggled to say. “Shadow, bring us to the hospital room where John’s son is,” he commanded.

The three of them were there suddenly, appearing right behind Cindy, who was bent over the side railing of John’s bed, holding his hand and hopelessly in tears. There was no one else in the room yet. The heart monitor had slowed, but still beeped. Louis let out a sigh of relief for not being seen and also for John Jr. still being alive.

“Take me over to him, hurry!” he urgently whispered to Tindili.

Cindy turned to them suddenly, red faced with hysterics and startled. “How-“

“We came in really quiet, honey,” Tindili said nervously. He brought Louis over to John’s bedside, while trying to angle him so that Cindy would not see the blood and gore that still clung to his shirt, but had long since dried into a filthy mess. Louis gripped the bed railing firmly to hold himself up.

“Can you take it from here while I step outside with Cindy?” Tindili whispered hopefully.

“I think so,” Louis whispered.

“Where’d that bird come from? Get it out of here, it might be carrying some kind of disease or try to hurt him!” Cindy said, sobbing loudly. Tindili held her for a moment, said a few soothing words to calm her, then gently ushered her out of the room.

“Let’s go in the hall for a minute,” he said to her quietly. “Everything is going to be fine now, you’ll see.”

“But the raven-’’ She persisted irrationally.

“Don’t worry about the damn bird, its trained. It’ll be okay,” Tindili said, closing the door behind them.

Louis, looking filthy and smelling worse, steadied himself on the railing with his left hand, and silently put his right hand over John’s heart. The hand glowed brightly and John’s body was suddenly wracked with spasms. The boy sat up abruptly and gasped his way back to life, coughing until his face reddened. He shifted to his side and held himself up with one arm, gripping at his eyes with the other.

“What? Where was I?” John’s voice was nearly inaudible.

“You’ll be fine now,” Louis said. He pulled himself up to stand.

Having heard the coughing, Tindili and his wife suddenly burst into the room. They stared wide-eyed at both Louis and John, not knowing whether to shout or cry.

“What the hell is going on in here?” He heard Cindy shout.

“Everything’s okay. He’s fine now. I have to get out of here,” Louis said, twisting around to lean on the railing. “I feel so weak.” He crossed his arms over his shirt so that most of the blood and gore wasn’t visible to Cindy, but he was sure that John Jr. could see the mess on his back.

“Maybe you should rest here for a while, we’ll get you to a bed,” Tindili said, helping him stand. “You don’t look like you’re in any shape to be walking around.”

Louis looked at Tindili, then nodded toward, Cindy, who was already at John’s bedside.

He whispered, “Let me get out of here while she’s busy. I’ll come back and see John as soon as I’m feeling stronger. I can’t afford for anyone to see me like this.”

“Let me walk you out,” Tindili said.

“No, it’s okay, I’m going right home. The road might be a little dark, but I’m sure I’ll make it.” He emphasized the word ‘dark’, and nodded to Tindili. “I’ll call you on your cell phone as soon as I’m able to.”

“Okay, but you’d better be careful.” Tindili gripped his shoulder tightly, “Thanks for saving my boy.” He grinned and returned to his son’s bedside where Cindy cried quietly, talking softly to her son.

Louis called for his shadow just as he stepped out the door of the hospital room, and upon stepping through it had returned to the sanctuary of his brownstone before the door swung closed behind him.