The Graveyard Shift (23 page)

“Got it?” he said.

“What happened there?” she asked, as she eyed the hand that had been cradling her mouse. It was now palm up on the desk, and the quarter-sized sigil that was burnt into his flesh shone prominently, though he had thought it shone only to him.

“You can see that?” he asked; his voice was full of discomfort.

“Of course. Does it hurt?”

William pulled his hand away and cradled it to his stomach. “Oh, yes, it’s fine. It’s just a… a cigarette lighter burn. Got it when I was young. Young and stupid.”

“Oh. Sorry if it’s a touchy subject.”

“It is,” William said gruffly, and pulled away.

He went back to his office, locked the door, and took out a large life insurance policy on himself. No sooner had he named his wife the benefactor than he went to Google and searched painless ways to end his life. In the reflection of the screen, as he read about pills and guns and running cars, he saw an empty face float into vision.

“Don’t think that killing yourself rids you of this contract,” the demon said, from just over his shoulder. Though he knew nothing was standing behind him, he could feel the heat of the breath whispering against his cheek. It was unsettling.

“I’m not,” William said, voice cracking, as he closed his eyes. “This is for my family.”

“And yet it means nothing,” said the demon. “A piece of paper will not stop me from destroying you, and your family, and every single person you have ever loved. Just ask Chris Rodriguez. My contract binds you in blood and in flesh. You have three days.”

When William opened his eyes, the demon was gone.

*

That night, when William went home, he couldn’t bring himself to spend time with his family. While they watched TV, William retired to his office under the guise that he had work to do. Grace joked not to let this become a habit, and William barely choked out that it never would.

He spent the night staring at Rebecca Anders’ resume, turning the stone knife over in his hand, reliving every moment of his time with her. Reliving the joy she gave off, like a beacon, illuminating the dark hospital hallways with a warmth he could hardly describe. It was a beacon that William would have to extinguish if he wanted to keep his happiness, his family, and most of all, his eternal soul.

At the end of the night, just before he went to bed, William slunk to the bathroom in the darkness and planted his hands on the sink. The spot where the demon’s sigil was burnt into his flesh radiated fresh heat.

“Demon,” William said, in the blackness. “I know you’re here. I need to ask you something.”

At first there was silence, and then after a brief moment, William heard a raspy sigh.

“I am not here to do your bidding,” the demon spat. “You are here to do mine.”

“Fine. I’m here to make you a promise. By the end of tomorrow I swear to have upheld my end of the bargain.”

“Good.”

“But before I do, I have one question.”

The demon snarled, and from behind him, William smelled the faint pungency of the creature’s breath. “This is the last question you will ever ask of me, manling.”

“That’s fine. This is all I need to know.” William let out a deep breath. “The pure soul. What happens when I stab them? When I kiss them?”

The demon snorted beneath his breath. “I take their soul.”

“No, I want to know the process,” William said. “You said it was a ritual. The knife doesn’t kill them, so what happens?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” the demon reminded him.

“And I feel like I’m a dead man anyway, so just humor me.”

There was another moment of silence, and then finally the demon spoke. “So be it, human. The knife entering the body makes for an opening, and the kiss of betrayal allows for an invitation into the human body. Into the human mind. From there I access every thought, every memory, every dark recollection, and I use it to create a personal Hell in which to consume and destroy their soul. This is how you crush a man, William T. Bellows. Through his mind. Hell is not a lake of fire and a constant stab of hot pokers. Hell is every terrible memory you’ve ever had, every feeling of remorse and regret you’ve ever experienced, amplified and emblazoned into your being for eternity.”

William swallowed the lump in his throat. “Even for a pure soul?”

“
Especially
for a pure soul. The mind is a wasteland of imagination, both good and bad. To exploit that horror in the brain of someone good, someone pure, someone that was never meant to be mine… there is nothing finer.” The demon exhaled. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes,” William breathed.

“Then do not ask for me again, not until you’ve carried out your task. And if you do not carry out your task by the end of tomorrow, as you’ve just promised me…” William felt an icy tingle chill his core, as a single finger traced the outline of his spine. “What I just described will happen to
you
.”

*

The next morning, when William dropped Lynette off at school, he hugged her so hard she complained that he was crushing her. He retracted, fought back a tear, and watched her prance off. Soon after he did the same to his wife, outside of her office, and gave her a long, passionate kiss that drew out an, “Ewww, gross,” from Dana.

“I love you,” William told Grace, as she turned around toward her office.

“Yep, you too, honey!” Grace said nonchalantly. William’s heart sunk, knowing this may be the last time he ever heard it, and not even the way he had hoped. But then again, his wife knew nothing about his situation. He wondered if he should have told her. He wondered if she even would have believed him, or if she would have just chalked this up to an overstressed CEO trying to get his company back on track.

“Dad?” Dana asked quietly, some five minutes later. “Is it true that Leah Ishmael and you… uh, hooked up?” She looked down at her lap and mashed her hands together nervously. “There’s, uh, a rumor going around.”

“No,” William replied. “Jesus, no. I’d never do anything so terrible.”

“Oh. Well, that’s what I thought,” Dana said, sighing in relief, “but you know how stupid people can be. I’m sorry I asked.”

William smirked. “Don’t be.”

“So… can you take me to soccer practice tonight?”

“No, sorry, not tonight,” William said, eyes locked firmly on the rearview mirror. “I have to stop by the hospital and see someone from the office.”

The demon in the backseat caught his glance in the rearview mirror. William felt its empty face smiling at him, if only for a moment, and then it retracted back into the shadows.

*

The tiled floor passed by in a shiny white blur as William walked briskly to the north wing of St. John’s Medical Center. He passed a middle aged nurse that asked him kindly if she could help him, but he grunted and kept walking with his head down. William, as far as he was concerned, was beyond help.

He crept through the hallway, as much as one can creep without looking suspicious, and grimaced when he saw no sign of Rebecca. She had mentioned that Friday night was the other day she volunteered—made a joke about how she helped give shots while everyone else her age was out taking shots—but maybe he had heard her wrong. Or maybe she had taken this particular night off. It would have been just his luck.

And so, after a fruitless ten minute search (and countless nurses asking if he was looking for someone), William headed back toward his car. On his way there he passed the chapel doors, almost kept walking, and then stopped. His clearest thinking had taken place in one church or another over the past few days—maybe because he felt a sense of protection, or maybe because he knew the demon couldn’t follow after him. Whatever the reason, he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

But this time he wasn’t alone. Rebecca was kneeling at the foot of the altar, and she smiled when she saw him. William walked up the aisle, head bowed, and knelt beside her.

“Hi, Bill. What are you doing here?” she whispered, voice tinged with surprise.

“Doing some praying. And some thinking,” William replied. “I know it probably sounds stupid, but the last time I was here I had an epiphany of sorts. I… I guess was hoping for a repeat performance.” He slid his hand into his pocket, clasped the rosary that was still tucked within, and felt it burn his scarred sigil. He kept his fingers on it anyway.

Rebecca smiled. “That’s not stupid at all.”

“And what are you doing?” William asked, and then stopped himself. “If you don’t mind me asking. I mean, I thought you were supposed to be volunteering.”

“I was, but I’m taking a break. I’m praying for my patients.” Rebecca lifted her head. “I always do.”

Of course you do,
William thought bitterly, and then shamed himself for thinking it.

“I’m praying for Robert Barnes in particular.” Her voice was shaky as she said it.

William wrinkled his brow. “Who’s that?”

“I told you about Robert. The patient on life support. I was talking to his parents earlier, and they asked me a very difficult question. They wanted to know whether they should take him off life support or not. I told them I’m just a volunteer, but they don’t want a doctor’s opinion. They want
my
opinion. His life is in my hands.”

William smirked. He knew the feeling. “And what are you planning to say?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca said. “That’s why I’m praying on it. I’m praying for an answer. On one hand, he might come out of it. On the other hand, he might have thirty to forty years ahead of him, spent wasting away in a hospital bed. The doctors… they declared him brain dead. But, but in freak occurrences, people have come out of it.” She sighed. “I’m really scared. I don’t want to give them the wrong answer.”

William pondered this, and then placed a hand upon his waistline, upon the stone-hilted knife. He felt it. He felt that the moment was drawing near. “I think I know the answer. Are his parents with him, in his room, or is he alone?”

Rebecca shook her head. “They stepped out for a while. They’ll be back in, I don’t know, an hour? It’s not a lot of time.”

“I have a solution that can work for both of us,” he said, and stood up, offering a somber smile and his hand. “Rebecca, you won’t
have
to give them the wrong answer. I… I promise it.”

Rebecca took his hand, fingers slipping along the scarred sigil as she was pulled to her feet. It radiated warmth against her palm, hot and uncomfortable.

“Close the door,” William instructed, as they walked into Robert’s room. Rebecca did so. They were left to silence, save for the breathing machine that kept Robert’s lungs moving, and the steady beep of a heart monitor. Robert, meanwhile, lay in permanent slumber. He looked no more than Rebecca’s age, just a young man with a few scraggily hairs on his face, having gone unconsciously through puberty.

“I want to tell you something, Rebecca,” William said. “You might think I’m crazy, but I need to get this off of my chest before I do it. You deserve that much.”

“W-What,” Rebecca squeaked, feeling fear overtake her. “What is it?”

William turned over his hand, showed her the sigil, and ran the index finger of his other hand across it. “This wasn’t from a cigarette lighter. I made a deal with the devil. Well, not the devil himself, but a demon. A beast. Some kind of evil creature. And it wants to take my soul unless I offer it someone else’s. Someone untainted. Pure.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Rebecca stuttered, and backed against Robert’s bed. “What are you talking about? I thought you were going to help me.”

William drew the stone-hilted knife. “I am, Rebecca,” he said. “I’m helping both of us.”

In the glass paneling above the hospital bed, William saw an empty face float into view. He could also feel it smiling at him. He could feel its eagerness.

“I know you’re just a volunteer,” William said, “but can you apply pressure to a wound and bandage it up?”

“I… yes, of course I can. Why?”

William nodded. “Because I need to make sure no one gets hurt.”

He lunged forward with the knife held firmly in both hands, blade turned downward. Rebecca screamed, but the knife was not meant for her. William plunged the blade into the flesh of Robert’s stomach. He then gave it a sharp turn as he leaned forward, kissed the comatose boy upon the cheek, and pulled away.

“Now,” William barked. “Do it now, Rebecca.”

“W-Why did you do that?” she asked, as she fumbled some gauze out of a nearby drawer. She applied pressure to the wound, which was an inch long and not terribly deep, and watched as deep red soaked quickly through. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“He got into this accident when he was what, ten? Eleven?” William said, watching as the boy’s body began to convulse. “He’s pure. But more than that, he’s brain dead. No functioning part of his mind remains.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” Rebecca cried.

“It means,” said William, “that he’s a living container.”

Robert’s eyes flipped open, solid black lumps of coal set into bony sockets, and lips that hadn’t moved in ages barely twitched as a voice rose up from the pit of his stomach.