The Wrong Goodbye

19.

“So, do demons really smell like brimstone?” Gio asked once we were back on the open road.

“Not any demon I ever met. Though I once knew one who wore way too much Drakkar.”

“Then why the hell’d we hightail it outta there so quick?”

“Because that doesn’t mean it’s not a clue.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, it seems to me if it wasn’t the demons that reeked of sulfur, maybe it was the place they took him to.”

“You sayin’ you know where that is?”

“Nope,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Then where the hell’re we headed?”

“Library.”

“Library?”

“Yeah, you know —big building, lots of books. They were all kinds of popular back in the day when people actually used to read. Don’t worry, you’ll like it —they have Google.”

“Thanks, smart-ass. What I meant was, why are we going to the library?”

“I’m working on a theory,” I said. “One that’s gonna take a little research to confirm. Believe me, when I know something, you’ll know something, OK?”

Gio fell silent for a moment. “Hey,” he said finally, “you think Shaw’s gonna be all right?”

“Hard to say. Seems to me, it’s fifty-fifty whether or not his wife comes back —and I’m pretty sure his spot on the choir is gone for good. But my guess is, he’ll be OK.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“He’s got faith,” I said. “And once the dust settles, his faith is going to be stronger than ever.”

“How the hell you figure that? The poor bastard just got bitch-slapped by the universe —you really think it’s gonna help his faith?”

“I don’t see how it couldn’t. The way I see it, even the most devout among us have their moments of doubt. Enough bad shit happens to good people in this world to rattle even the churchiest of Christians, and you can’t tell me that a hardcore atheist doesn’t plead with God to make it stop when he’s got the bed-spins after a couple drinks too many. It’s human nature —we’re all of us stumbling in the dark, latching on to whatever brings us some measure of comfort and security, no matter how fleeting. Only Shaw managed to stumble into something bigger and scarier than himself —the kind of something his precious Bible’s been warning him about all his life. Doesn’t matter much the book was written by a bunch of clueless saps just like him, trying to piece together the unpieceable; once the shock of his encounter wears off, he’s bound to start seeing his no-good-very-bad day as a big fat confirmation of everything he’s ever believed.”

“The way you talk, you almost sound like you’re jealous of the dude.”

“Jealous? No. If, in all of this, he loses the woman that he loves, he’s gonna be hurting something fierce. That seems to me like way too high a price to pay for what he’s getting in return. But a guy like Shaw? My guess is whatever happens, he’ll accept that it was simply meant to be. God’s plan and all that crap.”

Gio snorted at that last. “Don’t put much truck in God’s plan, do you?”

“And you’re what —surprised? Tell me, Gio, where did God’s plan ever get you?”

“Hey, I can’t complain. I did OK for myself —good job, nice ride, a pretty lady to come home to every night.”

“Dude, do you even hear yourself? You’re on your way to hell.”

“That ain’t God’s fault. I’m man enough to take responsibility for what I done. Ain’t nobody to blame for where I ended up but me.” He squinted appraisingly at me from the passenger seat and shook his head. “But hey, you feel like the big man’s gotta take the fall for your fuck-ups, that’s between you and Him —it ain’t no business a mine.”

“No,” I said. “I chose this path. But if God’s plan hadn’t included killing the woman that I loved, maybe I wouldn’t have had to.”

A pause, long and awkward. Neither of us eager to break it.

Finally, Gio did. “The deal you cut —it was to save your wife?”

I clenched my jaw, gripped the wheel so tight it hurt. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said, willing the aching in my chest to cease. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Was she, like, sick or something?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” I snapped.

Gio flushed, fell silent.

I let out a breath and willed the pounding of pulse in my ears to slow. “Tuberculosis,” I said, once the knee-jerk flush of anger had subsided. “Diagnosed at nineteen, if you can believe it. Her whole life ahead of her, and then bam. For a couple years, she got off light. No sign, no symptoms. We started thinking hey, maybe we can make this work —after all, most folks with TB go their whole lives without ever getting past the latent stage. But then the coughing started, and she went downhill quick from there. This was in the days before a cure, mind you, and the two of us were poor as dirt. All we had was each other. I couldn’t afford to give her the kind of care she needed, and if we’d thrown ourselves at the mercy of the medical community, they would’ve locked her ass away —another lunger off the streets, safe to rot within the walls of some decrepit sanitarium. So I did my best to take care of her at home —but of course, it wasn’t enough. And when I got sick of watching her slowly drown in her own blood, I did what I had to do to save her life.”

When Gio spoke, his voice was small, unsure —as if he didn’t know if he should respond. “Did it work?”

The roadway blurred. I raised a hand to my eyes, and wiped away the moisture with my sleeve. “Yes.”

“Hey, that’s somethin’, right? I mean, you two got to live out your happily ever after for a while before you got collected —didn’t you?”

Happily ever after? Yeah, that’s how I thought my deal would play out, too. But it very fucking didn’t —Dumas made sure of that. See, part and parcel of my deal was, I was at his beck and call —required to do his bidding at a moment’s notice, day or night. At the time, I didn’t know he was a demon; Dumas had fashioned himself in the image of a gangster, which made me a gangster’s errand boy. For months, he pushed me and he pushed me toward a life ever more dark and violent and despicable, until finally, I pushed back and killed him. Well, I thought I did, at least —turns out bullets aren’t so effective when it comes to killing demons.

But the fact he couldn’t die doesn’t absolve me of his murder; when I pulled the trigger, I thought I was ending a human life, and that level of moral corruption doesn’t come without a price. The blood I spilled that night served to seal my deal for good. And of course the fucker played dead just long enough for me to tell Elizabeth what I’d done. She couldn’t stand the man that I’d become, and so she left —left me broken, alone, afraid —and took our unborn daughter with her.

I suppose Dumas could’ve had me collected then, as I lay reeling from the loss of the woman I traded everything to save, but he didn’t. Instead, he made sure I stuck around long enough to see Elizabeth find someone else —and to watch our daughter grow inside her, knowing full well that I’d never get to meet her, hold her, know her —before he sent the meanest, most vicious Collector hell had to offer to deliver me to my fate. By then, the pain of death seemed like a respite. Sure beat the pain of a life without Elizabeth.

Or, at least, that’s what I thought at the time.

Now, of course, I know better. Now I know that I’ll be living without Elizabeth for eternity. I’m sure the thought would bring a smile to that shit-bag demon’s face, maybe put a little spring in his step.

So happily ever after?

“Not exactly,” I replied.