A Ghost of a Chance (22 page)

Maneuvering around him, Isabella peered out the window into the night.

“I think I can squeeze through here all right, but what about you?” she said testing the sides of the window.

“I think so. Let me lift you up.”

He put the flashlight on the small window ledge and grabbed Isabella around the waist to lift her through the window. When her legs were out, she flipped onto her butt and Keenan could see that her legs reached the ladder without a problem. Gaining a purchase, she had her feet on one of the rungs and pulled herself out the rest of the way, holding tight to the rung just above her head.

“Come on,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “I’ll pull you out and guide your feet to the ladder.”

Keenan moved his hand through the window and grabbed a lever he had seen earlier. Isabella scowled at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing the handle firmly. “You’ve got to get out of here. I’m not going to lose you, Isabella. Go to my house. Stay there. I’ll see you later.”

The last words were a little more ominous than he intended, but without hesitating, he pulled the lever down. The ladder, with Isabella holding firmly to it slid to the ground under the kitchen window and locked into place on the ground. The security cage surrounding it fell with it, blocking the window entirely with crossed bars. There was no way for her to get back in.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? You’ll never get out!” she cried up to him. “I’m calling the police!”

“Listen to me,” he pleaded, shining the light down on her. “There is something I have to do and, like I said, you have to trust me. Please.” He put as much of his heart into that one word as he had ever into another. “Go to my house and stay there.” He dug his keys out of his pocket and struggled to get the house key off the ring, then threw it to her. “If I’m not back by sunrise, call the southeast precinct. Ask for a Sergeant named Thompson. I love you, Isabella. Please trust me.”

The expression on her face was a comic twisting of joy and frustration. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. Instead, she bit down on her lip and balled her fists at him. With a huff that could have very well contained a disdainful
men!
in it, she turned toward the parking lot and stomped off.

Keenan jumped down from the counter and sunk to the floor to bury his face in his hands.

He had never regretted anything more than leaving Isabella. She was what he had wanted all his life, what he had dreamed of as long as he could remember. More than solitude from the throng of the ever-present entities; more than comfort, satisfaction, or even peace; more than fame, fortune, or any other wisps of glory most men craved. Isabella was his holy grail, his Mecca, his religion. He knew it down to the sinews of his soul. And he had left her behind.

His heart was screaming at him for being such an idiot, his head was lecturing him soundly about the odds of getting out of this alive, and his body was whining that it had had more than enough for one night, thank you very much.

But in the end, it was his devotion that silenced them all. Courage may make him a fool tonight, but he was going to give it that chance.

Standing up from that floor and heading for the chapel was the bravest thing Keenan Swanson had ever done.

Chapter Eighteen
The Devil in Mr. Swanson

Keenan stood in the center of the chapel. The environment had changed dramatically from a few hours before. There weren’t any candles. The rugs had disintegrated in so many places all they consisted of were ragged tatters of reds and blues. High over his head, the stained glass windows he had thought were so beautiful were blackened and invisible; the chandelier was a web of hanging wires and dusty bolts. The room was as wrecked and broken as the rest of the church.

There was no alter, no shining bubble of ghostly friends, no storm cloud of Amos. All that remained was the musty smell of age and an even deeper void in his heart. They were all gone.

Even his voice sounded empty. “Hello?” It thumped against the darkness without even an echo to keep it company.

He had sent Isabella away and probably ruined his chances with her forever for nothing.

Flicking Thompson’s flashlight over the room, something white caught his eye against a far wall. He walked as light-footed as possible so he didn’t stir up too much dust. Sitting in one corner of the room was a pair of white gloves and above them a gleaming pair of unattached eyes. The rest of him materialized in slow motion.

“Reggie,” Keenan whispered.

The apparition pulled out of the corner and floated toward Keenan. He took several steps back, not knowing what the demon would do to him.

Reggie seemed essentially the same; smart clothes, dapper mustache, swarthy irreverent sneer on his face, but his body had solidified—it looked almost living now—and his eyes had changed color. They were a deep black without iris or pupil, with no more emotion in them than a shark. The effect was profound; it scared the shit out of Keenan.

“Hello, old fellow.”

It was probably Keenan’s imagination, but Reggie’s voice seemed a bit more sinister. Searching to see how close the door was, Keenan took another step back.

“I suppose the game is up, isn’t it?” Reggie stopped and a long cigarette appeared in his fingers. He juggled it between them and popped it into his mouth. Clicking his thumb and forefinger, a flame shot out from one and he touched it to the end of the cigarette, and then blew it out. Keenan had seen him do this a thousand times before, but this time he could smell the smoke, could feel it brush softly against his face. This was no ghost. He took another step back.

“Don’t be frightened of me, old friend.” Reggie picked a piece of tobacco from his lip and flicked it out into the darkness. “I’m still the same old Reggie.”

Keenan ran his flashlight around the room to try to buy some time. He had no idea what he was going to say to Reggie, if anything. His first inclination, and a very good one he thought, was to turn tail and run. Something inside that stupid new courage was keeping him from it.

“It is a bit dark in here.” Reggie’s smile only made the strange eyes more frightening when Keenan glanced at him. “How about some illumination?”

The room started to take on an odd golden glow that crept up from the floor and didn’t look like it had any real source. The glow did nothing for the chapel’s condition except lighten its decay. Without thinking, Keenan turned off the flashlight and put it back in his coat pocket.

He watched his friend. The ghost (er, demon Keenan guessed now) pulled the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground. Stamping it out with a dusty boot, Reggie folded his arms and searched their surroundings, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.

“This won’t do. It just won’t do at all.” He winked at Keenan. “Needs a bit of cleaning up, what? I can do much better than this.”

Reggie snapped his fingers again and a flow of rejuvenation started from the back wall that moved in a matter of seconds to the front. What was left was a new room Keenan didn’t recognize.

Along every wall were now cases stuffed with old books, ancient artifacts, and international trinkets. It looked like a room from the Smithsonian.

Reggie stood behind a huge dark desk, probably teak or some other expensive wood. There was a red tucked leather chair behind him and another just in front of Keenan. Old, yet very well maintained lamps sent soft light up the walls, making it warm and comfortable. On the desk, beyond the normal office accoutrements, was a large cut crystal decanter containing some ruddy brown liquor and two crystal brandy snifters. Reggie had a pipe instead of a cigarette, and the brocade smoking jacket he had on looked very expensive.

When Keenan turned around to search the room, there were no doors or windows. He was trapped inside with Reggie.

“Please.” Reggie pointed the stem of his pipe toward the opposite chair and sank down into the one behind the desk. Satisfaction melted down his face as he flexed his neck against the leather and adjusted his butt into the seat.

Reluctantly, Keenan sat down in the other chair. The leather was worn and as soft as a kitten, but he ignored the comfort.

“This was my office some years ago,” Reggie began, picking up a golden tool to clean out his pipe. “Of course, it’s all just an illusion, you understand. I thought you might be more comfortable here for our little—chat.”

“Where are they?” Keenan’s voice sounded a lot braver than he actually felt inside. Those eyes were creeping him out and he had to swallow hard to get over it.
Steady, boy.

“Safe,” was all Reggie said as he repacked the wooden bowl.

“What do you want, Reggie? I came back to get on with this.”

Reggie puffed on his pipe to get it going and let the smoke fill the void above his head. Keenan had expected it to smell like tobacco, but when it reached his nostrils he almost gagged; it smelled more like burning flesh.

“Anxious, aren’t we?” A soft gleam flashed in one of those animal eyes. “I suppose Amos told you who I was.”

Keenan moved his chin slightly. “Not really. Some kind of demon, right?”

“Balls!” Reggie snorted and put the pipe down. “Give an angel a little leeway and all they can come up with is
some kind of demon
. I, sir, am the father of all incubi.” He picked the pipe back up. “Azazel,” he finished with an air of self-importance.

Keenan was unimpressed and said, “So I’ve heard.”

That took something out of Reggie’s prowess and he twisted his lip. “Obviously, you don’t know what that means or you’d show a bit more respect.”

Keenan grabbed his crotch and squeezed it. “Yeah—respect this.”

The pain came out of nowhere. It was like someone had thrown a spear through his gut and given it a good twist. Keenan doubled over in the chair and couldn’t breathe or even move for several pounding heartbeats. The pain stopped in a flash, not even leaving a memory.

When he sat up, he glared into an arrogant sneer on his ghostly friend’s face. It was obvious Reggie could read the fear in Keenan’s eyes because he started to laugh.

“God, that was rich. You, actually growing a set of balls. Never thought I’d see it, old corker. But really, it’s a bit late in the game to get all heroic on me. Are you ready to listen or do you want to pound your chest at me again?”

Keenan sat back in the chair and gripped the arms until he could feel his knuckles go numb, but he didn’t say a word.

Reggie took another puff on the pipe. “I know you think I’m all evil incarnate, my lad—and honestly, I think that’s very sweet—but you really need to get the whole picture here.” It was hard to tell from those soulless eyes, but Keenan thought he saw a fleeting urgency when Reggie asked, “What did Amos tell you?”

“Ask
him
.”

“I did. He wasn’t very cooperative and I didn’t have much time to, um, persuade him. So I’m asking you.”

Keenan lifted his chin in an act of defiance and replied rather nonchalantly, “Suck my dick.”

Reggie sighed and clicked his tongue.

Another wave of agony twisted Keenan in his chair, this time burning a hole in his chest. He screamed, but the sound came out muffled. When the pain subsided, the memory was much clearer. Keenan knew this would only get worse.

“That really is getting to be tiresome, old boot.” Reggie stood up from the chair and poured some liquid from the decanter into one of the goblets. “I
could
torture you all night—if you were anyone else, that prospect would hold a certain charm for me—but I’m not fond of torturing my friends.” He came around the desk and thrust the glass into Keenan’s hands. “Will you at least give me the opportunity to explain my position before you start believing whatever nonsense has been crammed into that monkey brain of yours? Not everything is as it appears. Angels are not always the…angelic characters you would imagine. Nor are demons as evil as all that.” He turned to the desk and filled the second glass. Taking a sip, he sat on the edge and stared off into space for a moment.

The aroma of the liquid coming up from Keenan’s drink was doing something to him. As soon as it reached his nose, he had a powerful compulsion to drink it—all of it. Without thinking, he lifted the glass to his lips and tipped it up to spill the contents into his mouth.

The warm nutty liquid was like an organism inside his mouth. It instantly sent tendrils of pleasure through his face, neck, and chest. Nothing had ever tasted so good. The heat got into his blood and coursed through him with each beat of his heart. When it was distributed everywhere, it was as if his senses had exploded.

Reggie pursed his lips and blew a simple breath in Keenan’s face.

When the wind hit Keenan’s skin, it was a paradise breeze, filled with sandy beaches, palm trees, and the breasts of hundreds of beauties. The currents rippled against his cheeks like a rainstorm. The sound burned against his eardrums, humming a deep music that flamed directly into his soul. The sweetness of the liquor on his lips made him want to suckle the glass and lick away the sticky remains. Keenan had never experienced such rapture.

“From my personal stock,” Reggie said. “Another?”