It all started quietly enough. He had stayed up five days straight working on his formula. He’d nearly discovered the key, broken the truth free from bondage, when he started seeing things.
The beasts were the color of blood. They stood only three feet tall, but they had impressive wings and a set of horns that made them appear much larger.
Though he was never religious, Lime took to calling them demons, for they certainly fit the description. He watched them cautiously out the corner of his eye as they lurked in the shadows eating garbage and snorting smoke.
Then they started noticing him.
They fornicated for laughs in the middle of his classes. They butchered each other and painted the walls with their comrade’s blood. They whispered into his ears the tales of dead classmates, decapitated professors, and how he should assist them in the coming massacre.
Lime wondered about his sanity. Truly, they could not be real. He’d been awake too long and his mind had taken to cruel fantasies.
He wanted to tell someone. He needed help. But no one wanted to help him. He was alone in a crowd of thousands.
He suspected that his lack of sleep was playing tricks on him, willing him to enact certain urges created by his social ineptitude.
Upon deciding that his theory was sound and that all he needed was rest, Lime swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. It was a half-hearted suicide attempt.
He awoke to find claw marks covering his chest and back. Every night that followed produced even more. Soon they were crisscrossing old scars with new, bloody gashes.
He didn’t bother changing his bed sheets anymore.
Though fully rested and more or less sane, the demons continued to visit him during all parts of the day.
To satisfy his scientific curiosity as much as anything else, he decided to sneak up on one of the winged hellions and stab a butcher knife through its skull.
The demon died twitching while all its buddies flew around laughing manically.
Lime dissected the demon, coming to the conclusion that it could not be mistaken for anything from the known animal kingdom.
The next step was to decide if the thing actually existed in the first place or if he was still just seeing things.
He chopped off its head and left it on the university’s front steps one night. The next day everyone was wowed by the demon’s wretched face, which had contorted comically during death. They determined that it was indeed real flesh and blood but ultimately the work of a most elaborate hoax. Lime knew better, but was thankful to learn that others could reach out and touch the same devilry that taunted him every night.
Then one day the demons simply left—and in their wake, the world began to spin out of control around him.
Furniture moved on its own. He could no longer trust a chair to stay in place beneath him. Now he only sat down in booths and other things fastened to the floor or wall.
Car accidents always seemed to happen around him. As a result, he didn’t drive anymore, nor did he use public transportation.
The shower was always scalding hot. He washed now with the use of buckets and a rag.
Dogs behaved strangely towards him, often on the verge of attack. Cats hissed at him when he walked past. Even birds seemed to dive bomb him from overhead.
The demons were gone and in their place was some invisible dark spirit, lording over the world around him, taking away any sense of safety, leaving him in a constant state of panic.
Last night he tried to get out to spend some time around people, hoping the presence would loosen its grip for fear of being noticed.
But when the lights exploded at the bar, Lime realized that it would never leave him alone.
Enough was enough, Lime decided. This could not continue. Let the demons kill me or let them leave, but I will be haunted no longer.
He switched off the TV and the room descended into screeching silence.
“Show yourself or I’ll kill you,” Lime said.
An empty threat—anyone could see that. Violent threats rolled off the tongue like a third language for him.
Lime took a chopstick from the ramen bowl and pressed it against his own throat. He pressed hard. It hurt. He felt warm blood on his neck.
“Show yourself or I’ll kill myself,” he said.
The lights dimmed and the shadows seemed to take on a life of their own, growing outwards, becoming like oil. The soupy darkness grew upwards into the shape of a man. Definition came to its face. The dark man’s handsome features were chiseled from stone. He had long, black hair and eyes a burning red like the magma of an angry volcano.
When he spoke, and he most certainly liked to speak, his voice was cool and soothing like a late night DJ.
“Don’t be rash,” said the dark spirit. “Let’s talk.”
“Who are you?” Lime asked.
“Satan,” it said quite matter-of-factly.
“Fuck, I am crazy,” Lime said. His hand trembled, he dropped the chopstick from his throat.
“Not crazy,” the Devil said. “Special.”
Lime started to stammer, failing to put his rambling thoughts to words.
Satan rested a cool hand on Lime’s cheek, startling him.
“How would you have me?” Satan asked.
“What?”
The Devil’s dark makeup changed. He grew shorter, thinner. The long hair remained the same, but his chest blossomed and his face became more feminine.
“Is this better?” Satan asked with a sultry voice.
Lime wept as he went to the kitchen looking for a knife.
“Did you prefer the other way more?” Satan asked.
Lime pulled a butcher knife from a drawer. Without hesitation he pulled the blade across his own throat, spilling blood down his chest.
Coughing and sputtering, Lime hit the kitchen floor and dropped the knife next to him.
Satan came into the kitchen. His form turned into something else entirely, something not quite human. Horns adorned his head. Wings sprouted from his shoulders. His hands, once soft and cool, were now tipped with talons.
“Stupid,” Satan said as he knelt down next to him.
Lime wanted to close his eyes, let it pass quietly, but he couldn’t look away.
Satan reached his talons through the hole in Lime’s throat. He pushed deep and upwards while Lime gagged and gushed blood.
The talons went up the back of Lime’s throat and caressed his tongue. The fingers worked his mouth forcefully, treating him like a grotesque ventriloquist dummy.
With his claws deep inside Lime’s jaw, the Devil lifted him to his feet and brought him face to face.
“I had plans for you,” Satan said. He stroked his claws through Lime’s hair. “You’re stupid to have given them up. However, we can adjust. You can still serve a purpose.”
Lime tried to speak but he had the Devil’s claws stuck in his mouth.
Satan withdrew his hand from Lime’s throat and wiped blood on his shirt.
“Let me die,” Lime managed in a broken mumble.
The Devil leaned in close and whispered into his ear. “No.”
Lime whimpered and tried to pull away. Satan held him close. He embraced Lime like a lover and their lips connected. Blood poured out of the kiss, splashing on the floor between them.
Lime’s jaw went wider and wider until it unhinged—and Satan pushed deeper, the kiss becoming stronger, until his lips and nose were within Lime’s mouth.
Lime cried as the Devil pushed deeper.
Satan’s body crunched down in impossible ways as he forced his skull and neck through Lime’s open mouth.
The Devil’s shoulders contorted sideways and disappeared into Lime’s gullet one arm at a time.
Soon Lime was swallowing his chest, his belly, and finally his legs.
Lime bent over onto his knees, only dimly aware that the blood had stopped flowing from his neck.
He remembered thinking about God and then he felt his b
ody go limp.
When he stood up once again, Lime was no longer at the controls. He watched the world pass him by as he left the bloody kitchen and walked out into the world. He watched from a pit of darkness, trapped within his own body, with the Devil in command.
Chapter Four
Talbot found April on a park bench talking to a dead kid.
He watched her converse with the ghost from his car, smoking a cigarette that he promised to do without.
She was good, telling the ghost child what it needed to hear to move on, find some solace, and expire.
The ‘expiration’ of a ghost sounded bad, but it was really the best thing for them. Ghosts were trapped here, often due to fear of what comes next. With a little reassurance, a ghost might see that Heaven holds greater promise than a life stuck between worlds. A ghost expires and the soul moves on. It was true that some of their fears were well deserved as not all souls go to Heaven. Most of them make it, though. Talbot had come to understand that God can often forgive us for the things that we cannot forgive ourselves.
April continued with the spirit, feigning ignorance to the curious glances of onlookers who wondered why she was apparently talking to herself.
The ghost stepped away from her. It nodded its head and Talbot watched as it started to disappear, changing into particles of dust in the air.
April sat back on the park bench and looked up at the sun through the trees. There was a sense of accomplishment on her face, but it did not hide the sadness in her eyes.
Talbot stepped out of the car. He smashed his cigarette beneath his shoe and walked through the park to April.
“You’re quite gifted,” Talbot said.
She looked back at him so startled it was as though he had seen her naked.
He felt bad. A horrible awkwardness set in and it was a great struggle to close the gap between them. He sat down on the bench beside her, but with enough distance so that she did not noticeably recoil.
“I see them, too,” he said. “Most people who see ghosts either go mad or they sell out their abilities to ‘help’ the living with their services. Not you.” He shook his head. “Not me.”
“Who are you, mister?” April asked.
Talbot smiled. She was a young girl, probably half his age. Too young. Pretty, though. He didn’t allow his mind to linger there for long. He’d come here on assignment, but more than that he felt that perhaps the angels were right, there might be something special about this one.
“My name is Jameson Talbot,” he said. “I work with other gifted individuals like you. Together we try to make the world a better place for both the living and the dead.”
April frowned. “You’re a nutjob, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but that has nothing to do with my occupation, I assure you.”
April eyed him cautiously. She looked ready to run.
“That was my attempt at a joke,” he said.
“It wasn’t a funny one,” April said.
“Sorry.”
“You see them, too?”
“Ghosts? Yes, and more.”
“More?”
Talbot repositioned himself on the bench so that he could address April more directly.
“I’m not going to waste your time,” Talbot said. “I know what having your gift can be like—there’s a lot of people who will bother you with requests for palm readings, last questions to a dead grandparent, and so on. I’m not one of those people, April.”
Her left eyebrow perked up.
“I came here to meet you, April,” Talbot said. “Your abilities have caught the attention of the right people and we want to see if you’re willing to help us help others.”
“You’re with the government,” April said. “Spook? You’re a spook.”
“No, we have no government alignment. We’re an international organization, with members spread out across the world. I could tell you more, but you’d have to tell me whether you want to hear it.”
She stared at him for a long time. Talbot did his best to look trustworthy.
April said, “You’re the first person I’ve ever met that sees the things I do.”
“There are more of us out there than you might think,” Talbot said.
“Do you come to meet them all?” April asked.
“No. Most gifted continue their lives oblivious to our organization’s existence. The world has some kind of an idea that gifted individuals exist, even if they’d rather pretend that we don’t. Our organization knows secrets that even the common gifted cannot be trusted with. We deal in secrets, April. And only the ones we deem most special are sought out.”
“I’m not special,” April said. “I can barely survive college day-to-day.”
“You don’t have to decide now.”
Talbot gave her his card.
“Call me if you want to know more,” he said. “Or throw the card away if you don’t ever want to hear from us again. There’s no rush and I can’t tell you which you should choose. Working with us will grant you answers you could not get otherwise, but not all of it is pleasurable work. Or you can continue without any further guidance or responsibility except that which you give yourself. It’s your choice.”
Talbot left her on the park bench, knowing that she would call him back within a day’s time.
They always did.
Chapter Five
April called him back.
It wasn’t without some deliberation, but from the very beginning it felt like the decision was obvious.
For too long the world had only presented her with more questions.
“How will I die?” Brett had asked once.
“Did Hank ever love me?” asked a bereft, elderly friend of the family.
“Will I ever be successful?” her drunken father asked. “Can you at least tell me that much?”
And most troublesome of all, “April dear, can you at least try to be normal?” asked her mother.
Jameson Talbot might be a spook but he was a spook who promised answers for the first time in her life.
He meant to key her in to what it all meant. He planned to teach her how to control her gift. He wanted to make things better for the next girl like her, so that she wouldn’t have to suffer in the same way.
How could she turn that down?
Talbot explained some things on the phone, but left a lot for ‘later.’ He said that she would have to drop out of school. She didn’t like the sound of that, but realized that she was in school just because everyone else was, and hadn’t really succeeded in learning how to live any better.
She left college a week later. Her roommate didn’t even say good bye.
Her friends Abby and Josh were sad to see her go.
April tried her best to set Abby’s mind at ease, but Abby never stopped worrying for her, even after all that could be said already had been. April realized, as if struck by a lightning bolt, that Abby was the best friend she had ever had.
She’d miss her.
Talbot took April on a train ride to downtown Chicago. The entire trip he remained evasive. There was a sense that he knew the answers to her questions, but did not know if it was his place to tell her or not.
Regret and anxiety grew in April’s stomach like a cancer. She had done the wrong thing and it was too late to back out of it now. She’d hitched a ride with an older man she knew nothing about, under the false promise that he would one day make it all better.
Talbot did see ghosts; that much April was sure of based on how he talked. But surely even gifted seers could be con artists, right?
By the time the train rolled into Union Station she felt sick with worry. Her foot would not remain still as it hopped to an electric beat inside her heart. She translated it as Morse code directed to her brain.
R-U-N. Y-O-U. S-T-U-P-I-D. G-I-R-L.
Talbot gently took her arm as they stepped off the train together.
Security stood nearby. She wanted to call out to them, report Talbot as s
omething he wasn’t just to distance herself from the mistake she had made.
And then she saw them.
Hundreds—no, thousands of ghosts. They walked the station heading in every possible direction, apparently oblivious not only to the living but to each other as well.
Some clearly dated back centuries and others were among the newly departed, all equally vacant and lost.
“I’ve never seen so many,” April said in hushed awe.
Talbot pulled her out of the way so that the other passengers could get by.
“Why?” April asked. “Did they die here?”
“No,” Talbot said. “Well, at least not most of them. This is one of the supernatural wonders of the world, April. The reasoning for it isn’t clear, but all over the world the dead gather in certain airports and train stations. Psychology more than psychic powers could help us understand it.”
“Psychology,” April said. She tore her eyes away from the ghosts and looked at him. “You pulled a psyche student out of college to study ghosts at a train station?”
Talbot smiled and shook his head. “We want you to be with us to help the living, not to figure out the dead. However, I’ve always been drawn to these sorts of places. I figured if nothing else it would be a good puzzle for you. If the dead want to travel then why don’t they get on the dang train?”
The spirit of a woman from the 1950s passed through April. She shivered and moved further away from the train.
April stepped into the center of Union Station as the living and the dead brushed past her. She rarely felt so connected to humanity as when dealing with the disconnected and the wayward, whether they be travelers or the dearly departed.
There were no smiles in the crowd on any of the living or the dead. They maneuvered the station with equal disdain, as if wishing to be anywhere else but here.
Where was ‘here’ for most of them? Was this home or the distant destination?
Talbot came up beside her.
“Do you know anything about the spirits?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Talbot said. “Hundreds of thousands of people die every day in the world. Everyone’s important but their deaths can go unnoticed and forgotten. There’s little special about these people beyond the fact that they were people. Why they’re here or why others gather in LAX or other places of mass transit?” He shrugged. “Who knows?”
April said, “Everyone’s trying to get somewhere.”
“If it’s as simple as that, I’ll be a little disappointed.” He nodded to a group of dead school children, all with their bouncing backpacks and cartoon-themed lunch boxes. “As long as they stay here, there’s no way they’re making it to Heaven.”