I stood and walked away from the coffin. Though I knew he couldn't hear me, I needed some privacy. I wandered into the bedroom and plopped myself down on the foot.
"It's just some stuff going on," I told her.
"Well, I only wanted to ask if I was to be expecting two for Thanksgiving," she wondered.
I shook my head. "I'm not sure, Aunt Ma. I'll have to get back to you."
"Misty, it sounds like something's going on between you and Roland," she commented.
"It's nothing. Really," I insisted. Nothing but him dying a slow death and me not being able to do a damn thing. I rubbed my eyes to stop the tears that welled up there. "But I really need to go."
"Are you sure you won't bring him over and-"
I jumped to my feet and gripped the phone hard in my hands. I'm surprised I didn't wake the dead with my screaming voice. "I don't know, okay? I just don't know!" I yelled.
There was silence on the other end. Warm tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them off with the back of my hand and let out a shuddered sigh.
"Listen, Aunt Ma, I'm really-"
"Wait a moment," she interrupted me. Her voice was soft, but firm. "I know you're a grown girl and I have faith you can solve your own problems, but if you ever need an ear you can have mine," she told me.
I fell back on the bed and held my head in one hand. "I'm really sorry. I've had a rough night. One with a lot of questions and no answers," I explained.
"You might find some answers a little faith," she advised me.
My eyes widened as a sudden thought hit me. I jumped to my feet and clutched the phone in my shaking hands.
"Aunt Ma, I could just kiss you!" I told her.
"Your uncle would be very jealous," she pointed out.
"Then I'll hug you at Thanksgiving! And I'll be bringing Roland, too!" I replied.
"That's wonderful! Does he like dark or white meat?" she asked me.
"I don't know, but I'll get back to you, bye!"
I hung up the phone and rushed into the living room. Roland's spewing soul box with its endless battle between good and evil sat atop his coffin.
"I know you didn't want this moved, but I think it needs a change of scenery," I told the sleeping vampire as I gingerly grabbed the box.
The mist, blue and red, didn't touch me, but I carefully packed the box in a large zipped duffel bag to avoid prying eyes. I don't know how I'd explain to the police about a supernatural force of good inside evil that was a ticking time bomb for a vampire's life. The conversation would end in offers for a padded cell and a new white suit. A few wisps of mist floated out, but nothing too dangerous.
I hurried out the door and jumped into my car with the box in the passenger seat. There was a man in a dark suit I had to see. He was my last hope for getting that box open.
I pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the road towards the old church on the hill. The streets were alive with the living as they drove to chores, school, alcoholics anonymous, the bar, and work. Maybe not in that order, but it made for a colorful group of peer drivers as I navigated my way through traffic.
Something that wasn't colorful was the car in my rear view mirror. It was a black four-door I'm-not-a-kidnapping-car-really-I'm-not sedan with two men in black suits in the front seats. They wore sunglasses and sat as stiff as a carnivore at an all-you-can-eat vegan buffet. The pair would've blended in better if they'd worn matching Hawaiian shirts. I wasn't sure what they wanted, but I had a feeling it wasn't to sell me any Girl Scout cookies.
I turned a corner, and they continued to follow two cars behind me. The car between us turned off and they kept the same distance. I hated to admit it, but I'd entered a detective movie with me being tailed by the bad guys. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to make some collateral damage around town without incurring a shit-load of tickets and a jump in my car insurance, if my car survived the chase.
I reached the road that the church sat on and picked up the speed. The car behind me did better than that. They roared to my rear and tried to pass. I knew a cut-off when I saw one, and these guys meant to cut me off before I hit the driveway up the hill. I punched the gas and zoomed down the street. The driveway was half a block down and fast approaching. The black car veered into the other lane and slammed its passenger side against my driver side.
"Watch the paint!" I yelled as I tried not to make the acquaintance of the neighborhood fire hydrants and lamp posts.
They slammed into me against and I barely missed violating federal law by breaking into a post box. That was the last straw. I gritted my teeth and turned the wheel sharply. My car slammed into theirs. The black sedan bounced over the curb and narrowly avoided a homeless man. His grocery cart, however, didn't make it and piles of clothes flew into the air and over the front windshield of the sedan. They slammed on their brakes.
I flew past them and had nearly reached the driveway when I spun the wheel. My two right wheels decided they were too good for the ground and rose up a few inches. I navigated the turn and sped up the driveway. My rear view mirror predicted more trouble, though, when the black sedan reappeared behind me.
I screeched to a stop in front of the open doors of the church, grabbed the bag with the soul box, and jumped out. The sedan stopped behind me and the men rushed me. I ran into the church with the guys close at my heels nipping at my pumping arms.
CHAPTER 4
The church was empty, but lit candles at the front told me help was nearby. Danger was even closer as one of the guys grabbed my arm and yanked me back. The bag slipped from my hand and dropped to the ground.
I swung around and tried to punch him in the face, but he caught my fist in his empty palm. He squeezed my fist until I heard my fingers crack. I couldn't see his eyes, but the grin on his face told me he was fine helping my body form into a human pretzel.
"Didn't your mother teach you to play nice with girls?" I growled at him.
"No," he growled.
The other man strode past us and picked up the bag.
"That's mine!" I yelled.
I tried to free myself from the thug who held me, but he twisted my wrist and I heard a bad crack as bones ground against bones. I winced and stiffened.
"Now shut up," my captor ordered me. He glanced at his friend who held the bag. "Is it in there?"
The man unzipped the bag. The trapped, angry mist exploded like a bomb and spewed over the opening in the bag. The man screamed as it rushed over his hands. He dropped the bag and stumbled back with his hands held out in front of him. Or what was left of his hands. The mist had melted away a lot of his fingers and the smell of burned flesh floated over the church.
I took advantage of the confusion and really gross sight to kick my captor hard enough to make his children feel it. His eyes crossed and he clutched his wounded groin. I slipped from his weakened grasp and dove at the bag. The overflow of mist was spent, though a few puffs still tried to escape from beneath the lid.
My captor jumped me and wrapped his arms around mine. He pinned my arms to my sides and lifted me off the floor. His partner stumbled in the background screaming and waving around his stumpy hands. He'd have to learn to write using his teeth.
"What is the meaning of this?" a voice boomed.
All eyes turned to a door on the right of the altar. Father Malone stood in the doorway in all his short majesty, and with a terrifying frown on his face. He marched towards us with his long black frock billowing behind him. I had to get me one of those.
"Help!" I shouted at him.
My captor gave me a squeeze as though I was a squeeze doll and I choked on a breath of air. The man stepped back away from the father and held me between them.
"Get lost, padre," he warned Father Malone.
Father Malone stopped at the head of the pews five feet from us. His eyes flickered between the pair of us and the other man. He had his hands tucked in his armpits and his face was as pale as a ghost. Or Roland.
"God has no place for y
ou here," Father Malone returned. "Release the woman and leave."
"Not yet," my captor shot back. He half-turned his face to the partner. "Get a hold of yourself and get that box, or we'll have worse done to us than your hands!"
The man stumbled forward towards the bag and box. He pulled out his stumps and my eyes widened as I watched them regrow. Sort of. Instead of pink flesh there was instead a black shadow with fingers that writhed and squirmed atop the palm. The thing reached for the box. I flailed in my captor's arms, and he responded by giving me a tighter bear hug that threatened to ration my air supply.
Father Malone stalked towards the formerly-maimed man-thing and rolled up his sleeves. They reached the bag at the same time.
"Back, demon spawn!" Malone yelled.
He swung a fast right that connected with the other mans' chin. The black man lost his balance and fell face-first into the rough carpet of the aisle. There was a sizzling sound and a wisp of smoke rose from his cheek. I could see a nice, burned imprint of Malone's hand on the thing's cheek. He twitched, but didn't get up.
Father Malone turned to us and positioned himself in a boxing stance. "I must ask that you release her at once and surrender," he demanded.
My captor did as he was told and tossed me to the side. He wasn't up for the whole surrendering bit, though, as he charged the father. Father Malone sidestepped a fast swing from his enemy and tried to give as good as he almost got. The man in black dodged and swung. The punch slammed into Father Malone's cheek and the father stumbled back. The priest ducked low and swung out one of his hidden legs from beneath the frock. He knocked the man in black off his feet and he slammed his back onto the floor.
The man sat up and glared at Father Malone. His cheek, too, sizzled and burned with the priest's holy hand. Malone towered over the thing with his fists at the ready and a nice shiner on his cheek.
"I must apologize for not warning you sooner, but I was a former light-weight champion," Malone informed the stranger.
The shadow-thing stood up and wiped the sizzle from his cheek. The flesh repaired itself. Malone frowned and dropped his fighting stance. He crossed himself and placed his hands together in prayer. His voice echoed in the small chapel and rang like church bells on a holy Sunday.
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom-"
The thing grimaced and stumbled back as though he'd been struck by an anvil. He turned away from us, and rushed to his fallen friend and the box. The thing tried to grab the box, but the blue mist spewed out at him. He recoiled, and instead grabbed the unconscious man-thing. The man in black slung his companion over one shoulder and made a quick escape through one of the paned windows to the right.
Father Malone straightened his frock and turned to me. He held out his hand to me and smiled.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, but you seem to be in different company," he commented
I grabbed his hand and he helped me up.
"They were tag-alongs," I told him. I strode over to the box and knelt beside it. The mist had melted part of the aisle carpet, but the wooden floor was untouched. I gingerly picked up the box, carefully set it in the bag, and turned to the father. "You've got some tough floors," I commented.
"They are held up by faith and the Lord," he pointed out. His eyes looked over the box in my hands. "But it seems you haven't come here to discuss the architecture. Your strange box appears to be possessed, and the men who follow you are not men at all."
"I don't know what those guys were," I told him.
The father turned to the broken window and pursed his lips. "They were as men only in flesh, but prayer revealed their true selves."
"And a good right-hook," I quipped as I hefted the bag over one shoulder. "And I'm sorry about the window."
He chuckled. "A window can be replaced, but am I right in believing your problems may not be so easily solved?"
I nodded at the bag on my back. "Would you believe the box has a soul trapped in it and I want to get it out?"
He smiled and gently grasped my shoulder to guide me to the side door. "A soul prison of sorts?" he guessed.
"Roland and I prefer the name soul box, but that works, too," I replied.
Father Malone led me through the rear hall and out the back of the church. His cottage stood in front of us. "Might I inquire who's soul is trapped?"
"It's a friend's soul," I told him.
He opened the cottage door for me and chuckled. "This friend doesn't happen to have a strong affection for you, does he?"
"Maybe," I answered as I took a seat on his old couch.
I set the box on the coffee table in front of me and the father seated himself in his chair. He leaned forward and inspected the container. His eyes narrowed and he furrowed his brow.
"These cloven markings are very strange. They seem to-" He reached out to touch them, but a spark of darkness whipped out and clawed at him. The father pulled his hand away and frowned. "The devil's work is on this box."
"Yeah, but I think you might have lifted some of it," I told him. I pointed at the ajar lid. "That popped up last night, and the only thing I can think of is that maybe you touching it or maybe it being in the church broke some of the lock on the box."
He raised an eyebrow. "An interesting suggestion, but why would it work after so long?"
I shrugged. "You're the expert on these God-vs-Devil things. You tell me."
Father Malone rubbed his chin. "Perhaps like all good things goodness takes time to overcome such a spell as what lays on this box."
I grabbed the box and held it out to him. "Time is something we don't have much of, so I was really hoping you could speed up the process by hugging this thing for an hour or so."
He furrowed his brow. "I'm not so sure that will-"
"It's worth trying," I interrupted as I shoved the box in his hands.
The box didn't like that, and it made its anger known when a blast of mist spewed from under the lid. Father Malone dropped the box and we both jumped back. The mist hit the floor, and made a moat of bubbling rug and flooring beneath it.
"Damn it. . ." I muttered.
I winced when Father Malone stepped around the box and set a hand on my shoulder. His voice was soft, but firm. Aunt ma would have approved.
"What makes you in such a hurry to set this soul free?" he asked me.
I let out a shuddered sigh. "It's. . .it's Roland, that guy I was with on Halloween. This is his soul."
Father Malone smiled. "I thought as much. Is he in great need of his soul?"
I snorted. "It turns out it's kind of a requirement to have your soul in you and not in a box."
"Then he is dying?" the father asked me. I closed my eyes and nodded. "I see. And you hope you can save him by melting me?"
I opened my eyes and frowned. "I didn't mean to-" He held up his hand and chuckled.
"I know you didn't, but in matters of the soul nothing can be rushed or all is lost. Especially the soul," he warned me.
"But we don't have time. Roland only has a few more weeks," I told him.
The father's face fell. "I see. And the change in the box didn't occur until last night?"
"Yeah."
"Then this is serious, but we can't rush matters. We must be gentle with the box, or more of my floor will suffer," he teased.
I smiled. "It has a thing against rugs."
"Then let us try a more gentle approach, and see what comes of it," he suggested.
CHAPTER 5
The father pushed me back onto the couch, and stooped beside the box. Only a little bit of mist spewed from the lid. There wasn't enough for the red clawed hand to bother with. Father Malone gently picked up the box and sat down in his old chair. He set the box on his lap and smiled.
"See? A gentle hand and patience are rewarded," he told me.
I slid down the back of the couch and frowned. "I just wish we knew if this would work."
The father tilted his head to one side and studied
me. "How did you happen to come to know Roland?" he wondered.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
He shrugged. "We have time to kill."
I snorted. "I thought priests were supposed to refrain from murder."
Malone smiled. "Generally speaking, but I am curious. How did you meet him?"
"He just sort of floated into my life," I admitted.
"Might I take that literally?" he asked me.
"Only if you promise not to stake him," I returned.
He raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the box. "I see. Roland is quite an unusual person, isn't he?"
"You have no-" I jumped when my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw it was from Candy. "Do you mind-?"
"By all means," he invited me.
"Hello?" I answered.
Candy's voice was an octave higher than usual. "Misty,whatthehell'sgoingonatthediner?" she asked me. "TheplaceisclosedupandIcan'tgetaholdofRalphandthereareabunchofflyingfishinthere."
"Breathe, Candy, and slow down," I pleaded. "I can't understand a word you're saying."
She took a deep breath and breathed out. "I wanted to know what happened to the diner. It's closed up and I can't get a hold of Ralph and there's a bunch of floating things in there that look like fish and should I call the policeoristhisnormalwhatamI-"
"Candy, another deep breath," I instructed her.
She breathed in enough oxygen to support a third-world country for a year and breathed out. "What in the world is going on?"
"Ralph's not feeling well, so the place is closed up. If anybody's going to be poisoning people at the diner, he wants to be a part of it," I told her.
"What about those fish?" she asked me.
"It's a prank somebody pulled on Ralph, and he didn't get the joke," I explained.
"Those don't look like a prank," she argued. "They look really real."
I forced myself to laugh. "Oh, come on. It's not like the diner is haunted and needs. . .an. . .exorcist." My eyes slowly swiveled over to Father Malone who sat innocently cradling the Devil's box.
"Hello? Misty, are you still there? What was that about the diner?" Candy asked me.
I continued to stare at Father Malone as a crazy idea formed in my mind. "Never mind, it's not important. How about you go back home? Ralph'll call you when the place opens back up."
"All right, but if you see him first you tell him I'm taking my vacation time starting now," she told me.