Viajo por Cerber – Creepypasta

31 de marzo Yo cabalgo por Cerber

Me llamo Jim He estado entrando y saliendo de contratos de construcción durante los últimos diecisiete años. Entre estos contratos, hago lo que puedo para ganar unos dólares adicionales, porque nunca se sabe cuándo aparecerá el próximo contrato y el desempleo le paga lo suficiente como para quedarse despierto por la noche. La mayoría de nosotros hemos oído hablar de Uber y Lyft. Pensé que era la manera perfecta de mantener mis hábitos de burrito para llevar hasta mi próxima orden de trabajo. Sin embargo, mi historial de manejo no está completamente limpio.

Debo unos miles de dólares en multas por mi DUI de hace tres años. Antes de que alguien se levantara, nadie resultó herido y no estuve involucrado en un accidente. Estaba saliendo de la licorería por tercera vez esta tarde y un policía me detuvo, esperando en el estacionamiento para que volviera a mi auto. Es bastante estúpido considerando que la licorería está a una corta distancia a pie, pero mi cerebro borracho estaba más preocupado por ser asaltado que ser atrapado por la policía. Lección aprendida, ahora estoy sobrio. Más grande que una solución oral en la comida mexicana, pero sobrio.

Cuando no cumplí con los requisitos de Uber, me conecté en línea para buscar algo similar al viaje compartido o algún tipo de trabajo P2P, similar a un teléfono inteligente. Encontré una aplicación llamada Cerber. Estaba leyendo una de esas "10 maneras de ganar dinero sin sangrar" cuando vi un anuncio de Cerber al lado del artículo. Grandes letras naranjas brillaban sobre un fondo negro con la frase "los movimientos infernales se volvieron celestiales". Me pareció que era marketing cursi, pero como nunca antes había oído hablar de este negocio específico, pensé que era una startup y no lo haría. Sea demasiado exigente con los participantes. Seguí adelante completando una breve solicitud, presentada y esperando lo mejor. Aquí es donde comenzó a ponerse raro. Inmediatamente después de hacer clic en "enviar", sonó mi teléfono.

Eran las 11:47 p.m. cuando me enojé cuando sonó el teléfono. Miré mi teléfono para ver "DESCONOCIDO" iluminando la pantalla de mi habitación con poca luz. No atiendo estas llamadas durante el horario normal de oficina, y mucho menos a altas horas de la noche. Decidí respetar su privacidad, ignorar la llamada y no molestarme en averiguar quién me estaba llamando. Me puse otro taquito en la cara y me dirigí a mi cama sin hacer. Tan pronto como me sumergí en mis almohadas planas y rancias para comenzar mi fiesta de lástima, mi teléfono volvió a sonar. Siempre decía "DESCONOCIDO", pero ahora venía como una emergencia. ¿Por qué?

Respondí el teléfono a la voz de una mujer velada de buen humor que debía ser alimentada con cafeína y cocaína. "¡Hola! ¿Ese es James Atwell?"

"Uh … ¿sí? ¿Quién es?"

"¡Hola! ¡Aquí está Adeline con Cerber que te recuerda la solicitud que acabas de enviar!"

"Oh, eh," todavía sostenía el taquito de pollo de mis dientes "hola. Fue horriblemente rápido, ¿me sometí incorrectamente?", Dije con aprensión clara pero entusiasmo moderado. Estas personas fueron rápidas .

"¡No, para nada!" Podía escuchar su clic con el mouse mientras me hablaba, "¡Solo quería que supieras que hemos revisado tu solicitud y me gustaría saber cuándo puedes comenzar!"

"Uh", tuve problemas para ponerme los pantalones, acunando el teléfono entre mi oreja y mi hombro. Termino de abrocharme los pantalones y decir "ahora, supongo". ¿Las personas son activas tan tarde? "

"¡Oh, sí! Nuestras horas más activas son entre las 10 p.m. y las 4.30 p.m.", deja de hacer clic con el mouse "Descargue la aplicación en su teléfono, cree rápidamente un perfil y estará listo para recibir solicitudes ¿Tienes alguna pregunta? "Puedo escucharla sonriendo, asquerosa.

"Uh no. No lo creo" dije mientras terminaba de cerrar mi chaqueta.

"¡Genial! ¡Gracias por elegir a Cerber! ¡Dales el infierno, Jimmy chico!" Colgó antes de que pudiera responder. ¿Darles el infierno? ¿Qué demonios? real … bueno, bueno, no hay tiempo que perder, supongo.

Descargo la aplicación, creo mi perfil y me marco como disponible. Conduzco un SUV relativamente nuevo, así que no estoy exactamente seguro de ser la primera opción. El gas no es barato y todos quieren ahorrar dinero. Eso significa que tengo un poco de tiempo para limpiar las hojas de tacos y los botes de cartón de mi automóvil. Después de unos veinte minutos tratando de aliviar mi automóvil del olor a jalapeño y queso viejo, tuve mi primer anillo. Fue una solicitud de transporte para una persona, un hombre llamado Ray, en busca de un viaje a San Francisco. La ciudad está a aproximadamente una hora de donde él pide la ruta, pero es una ruta que conozco muy bien. Toco "aceptar", tiro la bolsa de basura a la basura y empiezo a dirigirme a la ubicación anclada.

Para mi sorpresa, me dirigieron a un vecindario a pocas cuadras de mí. Aparqué afuera de una casa suburbana de estilo post-80, cubierta con pintura brillante y rosa salmón. Desde la puerta, veo a Ray salir de su puerta verde pastel e inmediatamente supe que algo estaba mal.

Ray era oscuramente alto. Debía de medir solo siete pies y medio, extendido. Puso sus manos pálidas en los bolsillos de su chaqueta gris, la capucha se cubrió bien sobre su cabeza para que no se viera su rostro. Sus piernas largas y delgadas, adornadas con jeans azules y zapatos de vestir negros y limpios, llevaron su esbelta figura a un paso tranquilo hasta mi vehículo. Cuando se acercó, noté que llevaba una corbata y una chaqueta formal debajo de su sudadera con capucha normal. Disparos diferentes, supongo.

Se acercó a mi ventana, con la cabeza gacha y dijo "¿Jim?"

"Sí, ¿eres Ray?" Se ve tan normal. Este hombre es cualquier cosa menos.

"Sí. ¿Sería demasiado difícil pedirte que doblaras la primera fila de asientos para mí? Porque sabes …" Señala debajo de su pecho hasta las rodillas, mientras mantiene la cabeza baja No quería que le viera la cara, pero no me sentía amenazado por él, así que simplemente ignoré su falta de contacto visual.

"Sí, por supuesto. No hay problema en absoluto". Retrocede para que pueda abrir la puerta y acceder al asiento trasero. Doblé la primera fila de asientos para que la tercera fila sea el único lugar para sentarse. # 39; sentarse.

Ray trepa, se sienta y se abrocha el cinturón. "Gracias, hombre".

"Claro, compré esto por comodidad de todos modos, ¿entiendes lo que quiero decir?" Me río. Permaneció en silencio, con la cabeza vuelta hacia la ventana. Embarazoso.

El silencio del viaje fue insoportable. Hice mi mejor esfuerzo para no pasar demasiado tiempo viéndolo. Apenas se movió. Cada pocos minutos, se descruza y vuelve a cruzar las piernas. Mis tendencias nerviosas finalmente me vencieron y tuve que ser "esa polla".

"Estos son tallos serios", me reí nerviosamente, "¿jugabas baloncesto cuando eras niño?"

Manteniendo la mirada por la ventana, responde: "Este es un problema grave, ¿comes mucha comida?"

Inmediatamente me puse a la defensiva, pero traje esto sobre mí y mantuve la boca cerrada.

"No se siente bien, ¿verdad? Alguien comentando tu altura", dijo con calma.

"No, ese no es el caso. Me disculpo", le dije con los dientes apretados. Ya no me inspiró para hablar más durante el viaje.

Unos treinta minutos después, llegamos a su destino, que me lleva al viejo Fort Miley. Nunca recordé que este lugar tenía una dirección real. Mientras mi mirada estaba fija en la ubicación, disuadiéndome de entender por qué alguien querría estar aquí tan tarde, salió lentamente del auto y cerró la puerta. Me dio la espalda y sacó su teléfono mientras se alejaba.

Todavía estaba en un estado de "qué demonios" cuando recibí una notificación en mi teléfono. Me dio cinco alas de murciélago y una propina del 20%, lo que elevó el total a $ 1,279.37. Mi mandíbula golpeó mis rodillas ante la cantidad astronómica. Cuando levanté la vista para tratar de detenerlo y alertarlo de lo que debía haber sido un error, siguió caminando, levantó la mano y saludó. Lo miré hasta que estuvo muy lejos en los árboles antes de finalmente mirar mi teléfono. Dejó una revisión escrita a los otros corredores que decía: "Tómatelo con calma". El es nuevo. "

Lo que sea. El. Real. Mierda.

Regresé a casa lo más rápido posible sin denunciar una patrulla de carreteras. Corrí dentro de mi casa, corrí hacia mi computadora y traté de averiguar en qué me estaba metiendo. Para mi pesar, no encontré nada en Internet sobre Cerber. Ni siquiera un sitio web, más allá de la página de aplicación que ofrecían a través de publicidad.

Me recosté en la silla por un momento, con las manos sobre las rodillas y continué procesando todo. ¿Quién paga este tipo de dinero por una hora de viaje? ¿Quién demonios estaba en mi auto? ¿Qué fue el infierno en mi auto? Agarré mi teléfono y abrí la aplicación nuevamente. Quizás había algo que podría proporcionar algún tipo de respuesta. Bueno, encontré mi respuesta.

Hice clic en la opción de menú que vería para la mayoría de las aplicaciones y encontré una opción de descripción. Se lee de la siguiente manera:

"Cerber es una compañía de viajes compartidos que brinda anonimato y transporte seguro de lo paranormal".

Luego habla sobre tarifas, servicios y medidas de seguridad. Nunca tuve la oportunidad de leer los términos y acuerdos, nadie lo hace. Volví a revisar todo lo que firmé y, por supuesto, es un servicio de transporte de fantasmas y cosas así.

Las tarifas que se aplican a mí son demasiado buenas para ser abandonadas. Dos tercios de lo que costó pagar mi hipoteca se hicieron en una hora. Tal vez sea peligroso, tal vez sea completamente loco, pero me quedaré con él y veré a dónde me lleva.

* * * * * *

¡NO ESTABA LISTO!

Esta noche fue una locura. Tengo fundas de asiento "impermeables" (seamos sinceros, el agua no es el problema aquí) y refrigerios sin sal. Luché por encontrar una manera de obtener "aperitivos", así que conseguí nueces sin sal y frutas secas. No tenía idea de lo que comían las entidades paranormales, así que apuñalé. Rápidamente aprendí que las entidades paranormales no podrían preocuparse menos por las almendras deshidratadas y las nectarinas. No puedo culparlos.

Hice mi mejor esfuerzo para descansar bien después de la noche extraña que tuve. Una parte de mí estaba demasiado sacudida para dormir, la otra parte era una emoción parcial sobre cuáles serían mis próximas salidas. Finalmente dejé de dormir y fui a una tienda de bocadillos, botellas de agua y fundas de asientos. Después de cubrir mi auto con la mayor cantidad de vinilo posible, me compré unas enchiladas y una Pepsi fría. Después de mi comida, me sentí lo suficientemente logrado como para tratar de dormir nuevamente. Me despertó otra llamada "DESCONOCIDA" a las 11:47 p.m.No tome un cohete para averiguar quién me estaba llamando. Recibí la llamada con impaciencia, dejé caer el teléfono, "¡Tengo preguntas!"

Adeline estalló en una risita de histeria y respondió: "Oh, estoy segura de que sí, Jim. ¿Qué te gustaría saber?

"En primer lugar", estaba levantando un dedo en el aire, sin saber que era una llamada telefónica y no una confrontación física, "por qué diablos me llamas tan tarde?

"La última vez que hablamos, fue a esta hora precisa. Entonces respondiste y me dije que si te llamaba al mismo tiempo, responderías a la hora exacta. Dijo tranquila y lentamente. Buen punto Continúo con falsa confianza, tratando de fingir que no me siento tan estúpido como creo.

"Segundo, quiero saber si el pago que recibí fue un error", le pregunté, masticando mi pegatina.

"No, en absoluto. ¿No fue una compensación adecuada? Parece que Ray te dio una propina bastante generosa. ¿Te gustaría presentar una disputa?" Lo escuché presionar su mouse nuevamente .

"¡NO!" Grité al teléfono. Especialmente porque no quisiera ver lo que les espera a quienes molestan a Ray. Me aclaro la garganta y continúo: "No, lo siento. ¿Siento que tal vez fue demasiado generoso? ¿Por qué las tarifas eran tan altas para Ray? "Tengo tanto miedo de la respuesta.

"Jim, puedo asegurarte que la compensación no fue un accidente. ¿Recuerdas la parte de la solicitud que te preguntaba si tenías un cónyuge, padres, hijos o amigos? Mi corazón se fue a mi colono. Sabía a dónde iba.

"Sí, lo recuerdo". Casi crují mi respuesta, mi garganta estaba tan seca.

"Bueno, para decirlo lo más suavemente posible", deja de hacer clic con el mouse, "los jinetes que llevas no son seres típicos como tú. La mayoría de ellos son inofensivos, pero algunos. "Inserte un largo descanso innecesario para embarazadas" … tal vez peligroso. Si algo le sucede, preferimos no preocuparnos por las demandas. No es que su vida tenga poco es decir, es solo el caso de Jim ". Me siento y recuerdo mi respuesta. No tengo a nadie. Respondí" no "a esta parte de la demanda

Dejé entrar la respuesta demasiado tiempo y escuché a Adeline sonar: "¿Sigues con nosotros, Jim?" ¿Tienes alguna otra pregunta? "

"Uh", cierro los ojos y trato de ordenar mis pensamientos, "Sí. ¿De qué equipo y medidas de seguridad debería preocuparme?", Pregunto mientras me froto la sien estresada.

"Vamos a comenzar con el incómodo tema de las medidas de seguridad, eliminemos lo travieso", comienza en un tono suave pero siniestro, "debes conseguir un recipiente hermético para contener salvia y un más ligero por dentro. A veces, algunas entidades pueden dejar un residuo invisible, y para cuando sientas pesadez después de que tu pasajero se vaya, querrás quemar parte de él en tu vehículo hasta que sientas que la tensión ha desaparecido. disipado. Me apresuro a buscar un cojín y un bolígrafo para escribirlo. Ella continúa: "También querrás invertir en un impermeable o un poncho".

"Una lluvia – Adeline. . . Pregunto con exasperación.

"Sí, Jim. Impermeable. Pongo los ojos en blanco y sigo haciendo mi lista: "Asegúrese de invertir en una máscara facial, gafas y pantuflas". Nunca puedes ser demasiado cuidadoso. Ella termina

"Muy bien", completo el resto de la lista de artículos recomendados, "¿Y el equipo?"

"Depende de qué tan dispuesto esté a ensuciar las manos de sus motociclistas", escuché una sonrisa, "¿Qué tan importante es para usted garantizar a sus motociclistas la experiencia de la más alta calidad? ? "

"No mucho", dije a la defensiva. Estoy seguro de que el gobierno ya está conectado a mi línea ahora: "Solo quiero conducir y tal vez no morir. Los pasos adicionales parecen alterar esto. "

Ella suelta una risita, "¿Hay algo más que pueda hacer por ti, Jim?"

"Uh, no", no me siento seguro ahora hasta que respondo la llamada, "gracias, Adeline".

"¡No hay problema, muchacho Jimmy!" Su asqueroso personaje regresa como si todo esto fuera tan normal en sus noches de trabajo, "¿Podemos contar con usted para que continúe conduciendo por nosotros?"

Miro la pared del dormitorio, masticando esta pregunta. ¿Porque no? El dinero es bueno, el trabajo es interesante y hago mis propios horarios. Estaría completamente loco rechazar esto. Lo peor que sucede es que muero y después de discutir el lamentable estado de mi privacidad y la falta de personas, no parece tan malo.

"Sí", dije, pasando el teléfono de oreja a oreja, "Sí". Seguiré conduciendo por Cerber. "

"Maravilloso!" Ella exclama: "¡Buena suerte! ¡Estaré en contacto!"

"Gracias. Buenas noches, Adel …" La línea murió antes de que pudiera terminar.

Ya era medianoche, es hora de comenzar mi trasero. No tengo tiempo para recoger los artículos de seguridad, sobreviví sin ellos la última vez y

Tengo la impresión de que recibiré más solicitudes de viaje el viernes por la noche, el equipo de seguridad tendrá que esperar.

Me estaciono en una tienda local de donas que permanece abierta las 24 horas del día. No son tacos, pero puedo poner un churro allí, lo suficientemente cerca. Mi teléfono suena a petición de alguien llamado Borg en una zona residencial a solo cuatro minutos de distancia. El destino final fue un viaje de doce minutos a un antiguo edificio industrial que pensé que estaba cerrado. Acepto la solicitud, desempolvo el azúcar de canela de mi camisa y empiezo a conducir. Me siento aliviado al instante cuando veo que la solicitud no es de Ray. Fue lo suficientemente amable, pero su potencial es absolutamente aterrador. Me detengo en una casa muy simple y vaga. Estaba bien mantenido con una valla nueva, era simplemente normal. Hasta ahora todo bien. Entonces salió Borg.

De nuevo con el grande! Era un mamut humano, de al menos siete pies de altura, con la mandíbula floja, con un gran conjunto de colmillos que pesaban enormes mandíbulas, goteando saliva. Borg arrastró un martillo muy grande, con equipo de construcción suave, que incluía un casco, cinturón de herramientas y botas de corteza de cemento. Mis ojos estaban muy abiertos, atrayendo tanto de esta criatura como mis retinas podían soportar.

"Jim?!" Gritó como si estuviera tratando de llamar mi atención en cuatro campos de fútbol.

Mi cuerpo todavía está vibrando, respondo: "BORG ?!" No sé qué me hizo arriesgarme a gritarle, pero mi cuerpo se estaba volviendo pícaro en este punto.

"¡SÍ, BORG!" Borg abre mi puerta con impactante delicadeza, se sube al asiento trasero y golpea accidentalmente su martillo con su propio pie. No se inmutó, pero lo entendí totalmente.

Borg mira la parte de atrás de mi reposacabezas, respirando como un cerdo con bronquitis. Su aliento era lo suficientemente malo como para atragantarse con una mosca.

"¿Acabas de salir del trabajo?" Le pido que intente repeler los ruidos húmedos que huelen detrás de mí.

"SÍ. BORG CONSTRUYE CERCA. BORG NECESITA CERVEZA". Oh amigo, puedo entender.

"¡Jesús, Borg! ¿Tiene un dial de volumen? ¡Bájalo y rompe el botón, por el amor de Dios! Finalmente me quebré. Así es como me muero.

Para mi sorpresa, Borg suelta un ruido atronador tan fuerte que estoy seguro de que me causó cáncer de próstata, "¡JIM DIVERTIDO! ¡A BORG LE GUSTA JIM!" mi atención en el camino. Terminamos la última vuelta del viaje.

Me estoy acercando al almacén abandonado y está tan deteriorado como puedo recordar. Las paredes y el techo de metal estaban cubiertos de óxido, las vigas de madera que crecían en su lugar con podredumbre seca y parches descuidados de maleza envolvían todo lo que pretendía ser callejón. Me detengo por completo y Borg hunde sus enormes botas sobre la grava. Graciosamente cierra mi puerta y se dirige a mi ventana: "¡GRACIAS JIM!" ¡DORMIRÁN! JIM MIRAR MALO! ¿Me estás tomando el pelo?

"BUENAS NOCHES BORG! ¡DORMIRÁN! BORG DEMASIADO FUERTE! Le ladro con una sonrisa. Él le devuelve la sonrisa y comienza su corta caminata aparentemente dolorosa hacia las puertas de entrada del edificio. Me sorprendí con una media sonrisa cuando las puertas se cerraron en su turbia mansión, cuando fue interrumpido violentamente al darse cuenta de que el olor emitido por Borg no lo había seguido fuera de mi auto. Oh no. Esto es muy malo

Rápidamente voy a una estación de servicio cercana para evaluar el daño. Este feto gigante y pegajoso hizo todo este ruido por una razón. Literalmente cagó sus propios pantalones en mi asiento trasero y su material interno se filtró POR TODAS PARTES, dejando grandes marcas en las nalgas de Borg.

Mi noche fue claramente derribada. Compré toallas de papel, lejía, ambientadores y algunos taquitos en la estación de servicio donde me arrestaron. Me tomó dos horas completas limpiar estos desechos peligrosos de mi automóvil, pero aún así logré disminuir la evidencia blasfema de mi asiento trasero. Eran alrededor de las 3:52 a.m. cuando terminé. Recordé a Adeline diciendo que el horario de apertura más alto terminaba alrededor de las 4:30 p.m., así que seguí adelante y puse una señal lista para intentar salva mi noche Como hubiera preferido tener a Ray en su lugar, nada más hubiera sido mejor que esta experiencia traumática.

Recibí otro ping casi instantáneamente después de apagar la señal. Al menos tenía otro gran pago que esperar. Entonces noté algo extraño. La solicitud vino de la estación de servicio donde ya estaba estacionada por alguien con el nombre de Angela. Aún más extraño, no siguió ningún destino. Aunque extraño, pensé que era un mal funcionamiento de la aplicación y aún así acepté la solicitud. Inmediatamente después de aceptar, mi puerta trasera se abrió y cerró tan rápido que casi sonó como un movimiento fluido.

"Hola James" Esta voz No hay manera Mi sangre instantáneamente se convierte en hielo y mi cuerpo comienza a temblar violentamente. No pasa No puede ser real.

Lentamente giro la cabeza, tiritando a la mujer en el asiento trasero. Mi mirada horrorizada se encontró con sus ojos lechosos, rompiendo mis sentidos como el cristal. Con todo el terror, la tristeza y la desesperanza que he encontrado en mi vida, es incomparable con lo que estaba sintiendo en este momento. Las lágrimas cayeron involuntariamente por mi rostro, mi boca abierta, mis manos estiradas en puños en mi volante, con un golpe blanco como si me pudieran romper el techo de mi auto. No es real No puede ser real.

La solicitud … vino de mi hermana fallecida, Angela.

* * * * * *

Angela murió a la edad de 24 años, yo tenía 28 años. Mi hermana era una mujer pequeña, inteligente, cursi e independiente que se enorgullecía de su capacidad de citar todas las escrituras de la Biblia de una manera no confesional, al tiempo que podía recitar a cada dios griego, su cónyuge, sus hijos. y sus historias Tenía una curiosidad natural por las historias, una sincera compasión por los que no tenían voz y amaba profundamente a su familia. Angela nunca se ha perdido una sola cena de Navidad. Ella estaba preparando su doctorado en mitología internacional antes de morir. ¿Todos pensaron que un título de filosofía era inútil? Angela y yo estábamos muy unidos. Los cuatro, como unidad, teníamos relaciones muy saludables y siempre podíamos contar el uno con el otro. Mantuvimos nuestro círculo pequeño y apretado.

Su cuerpo fue encontrado abandonado al costado de la autopista 5 y estaba en muy malas condiciones. Para aquellos de ustedes con estómagos débiles, los invito a saltear este párrafo. Su cuerpo fue severamente agredido sexualmente con instrumentos que consisten en cortar jamón festivo. Su cabeza estaba casi completamente cortada de sus hombros, se encontraron apéndices en una bolsa de basura negra colocada justo al lado de su cuerpo. Aún más extraño, su causa de muerte no se debió a ninguno de estos golpes fatales. La heroína la quemó y murió antes de que esta masacre pudiera tener lugar. La razón por la que saben esto es porque cuando un cuerpo muere, la sangre coagula y adquiere una textura viscosa, lo que hace que la sangre pase a través de las venas y las arterias a un ritmo mucho más lento. Combina la coagulación con un corazón detenido, que ya no puede circular y bombear sangre, obtienes un trastorno muy mínimo y pocas salpicaduras de sangre. Quizás la parte más inquietante y confusa, fue encontrada usando un collar que nadie en mi familia reconoció. Una pequeña bola plateada colgaba de una delicada cadena plateada. Fue como un anti-trofeo, una ruptura limpia con el típico psicópata. Esta persona era un showman sádico que quería confundir y brindar un valor de shock irracionalmente alto a cualquiera que se enterara de este crimen. Ha funcionado. El caso se ha enfriado y no se ha vuelto a abrir desde entonces. Ninguno de nosotros ha logrado el cierre de su muerte. Solo dos años después de haberla enterrado, nuestros padres se suicidaron. Se encerraron en el garaje, se rociaron con gasolina y se encendieron en el fuego. Fueron encontrados tomados de la mano sin ningún signo de lucha. La muerte de mis padres no me afectó tanto como la muerte de Angela. Esperas que tus padres expiren. No esperas que disparen a tu hermana pequeña. Nadie es ya listo para una llamada como esa.

Mi hermana pequeña, la que había conseguido un trabajo intencionalmente en la librería para colarse en los libros solo para aprender, se había ido. Toda esperanza y bien que quedaba en mí fue enterrada con ella. Intercambié nociones de comenzar mi propia familia por un futuro más tangible en el alcoholismo. Mi equipaje era bastante agotador para mí, no hay razón para presentar este tipo de locura. El dolor punzante finalmente adormeció y formó un tejido de cicatriz mental invisible para cubrir cualquier daño residual de este impacto. Sin embargo, ella estaba allí, mirándome con una expresión vacía desde el asiento trasero de mi auto.

Salté al asiento trasero y la abracé, sollozando durante varios minutos, mientras ella intentaba silenciarme como si nos estuvieran observando.

"James, por favor", dijo, tratando de reprimir al adolescente inconsolable que era en ese momento. "Necesito tu ayuda".

Inmediatamente tomé represalias, agarrando sus brazos. "Pensé que nunca volvería a verte, Angela. Han pasado diez años. Dije, recogiendo mi compostura.

"Lo sé", miró hacia su regazo tratando de ocultar su propio dolor, "lo siento. Hubiera venido antes …"

Lo corté, colocando mis manos sobre mis rodillas y diciendo "espera, ¿por qué ahora?"

Ella me miró y dijo: "Hubiera venido antes, pero te estabas destruyendo a ti mismo". Ver fantasmas solo amplificaría este tipo de comportamiento, así que observé desde la distancia. "

"Está bien", asentí, mirando más allá de la lechosa desaturación de sus ojos y hacia su alma ahora muy presente. "Puedo entender eso, pero ahora estás aquí. ¿Con qué necesitas exactamente mi ayuda?"

Su rostro se volvió muy severo, respondiendo: "Me equivoqué. ¿Sabes cómo estudié las masas negras, el ocultismo y el espiritismo ritual? Asentí y ella continuó: "Bueno, me encontré con las manos vacías en cada camino que caminé, así que profundicé. . . "Se puso incómoda y se movió en su asiento". Decidí navegar por la web oscura para encontrar lo que podía invocando entidades. Terminé entrando en contacto con un hombre que solo se hacía llamar Wade. "Giró la cara hacia el respaldo de mi asiento y cerró los ojos como si tuviera que rascarse la parte inferior del cerebelo para recordar los siguientes pasos", afirmó que podía convocar a Baphomet y que #39;il effectuerait de telles assignations pour moi. Cependant, je savais déjà que Baphomet ne pouvait pas être convoqué. Donc, soit il allait se ridiculiser, soit j'allais assister à l'une des entités les plus intelligentes jamais écrites. Ces deux résultats auraient été fructueux pour mes recherches. J'étais tellement préoccupé de vouloir simplement plus d'expérience, je n'ai jamais cessé d'évaluer les risques. »

Elle se laissa mâcher pendant une minute. Elle avait l'air de vraiment vérifier la conversation, alors j'ai doucement dit "Angela?"

Elle secoua la tête, se remettant à la discussion, "Je vais bien." Elle repoussa ses cheveux et c'est là que je vis l'ecchymose géante et sombre avec un petit trou au centre, comme un halo mystérieux. J'ai choisi de l'ignorer pour l'instant parce que je m'impatientais et que je voulais qu'elle le termine.

«Nous nous sommes rencontrés dans un café près de chez moi et il nous a éloignés de deux heures de ce qui ressemblait à un bâtiment à peine debout, les lumières vacillant toujours à l'intérieur. Nous sommes entrés et il m'a demandé de retirer mes chaussures et de m'enlever. Quand j'ai fini d'enlever ma deuxième chaussure, j'ai perdu connaissance. Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'ai été absent ou ce qui m'a rendu inconscient, mais je me suis réveillé clairement drogué. "

«C'était de l'héroïne», l'interrompis-je, «les flics nous ont dit que vous étiez à balles chaudes. C’est comme ça que tu es mort. Ils nous avaient dit que vous n'étiez pas toxicomane, car vous n'aviez aucune autre détresse physique liée à une utilisation active. "

"Ouais," elle se frotta le cou, regardant en avant, "eh bien, il ne m'a pas tué tout de suite. Il m'a mis une perfusion intraveineuse directement dans le cou et l'a délivrée assez lentement pour me calmer en premier. »Une expression claire de rage parcourut son visage, sa voix toujours calme,« Je me suis réveillée dans ce qui ressemblait à une morgue. J'étais sur un vieux chariot métallique, soutenu par des lanières de cuir. Ce n'était même pas nécessaire, je ne pouvais même pas lever la tête et encore moins m'échapper. Je savais que j'allais mourir. J'avais juste peur que ça ne soit pas rapide. Il m'a dit que j'étais stupide de chercher des réponses sombres à des questions sombres et que ma disparition était entièrement de ma faute. Il n'avait pas tort. Je me suis mis dans cette position exacte, je me suis senti idiot. J'aurais dû savoir que convoquer Baphomet n'était pas possible et cela aurait dû suffire à lever des drapeaux rouges. »J'ai roulé des yeux à cette dernière partie. Alerte nerd.

"Il m'a dit que ma mort était importante quelle que soit la manière dont j'étais arrivée à cette situation", a-t-elle poursuivi, sa voix prenant une inflexion monotone ", il a dit qu'il ne faisait même pas partie d'un secteur religieux connu. Qu'il était un homme seul et que c'était parce qu'il était un vrai dieu parmi les hommes. »Sa bouche se recroquevilla en un petit sourire narquois et elle dit:« J'ai cependant riposté verbalement. Mes derniers mots avant d’intégrer la Chine dans ma jugulaire étaient «Je pensais que les dieux étaient parfaits? Vous avez de la moutarde sur votre chemise et vous sentez un après-rasage dans un magasin à un dollar. Vous n'êtes pas un dieu, vous souffrez juste d'un trouble de la personnalité narcissique. »Elle gloussa à sa propre remarque. Je voulais pleurer juste en la regardant refléter toute sorte de sentiment positif. Elle m'a tellement manqué.

"Eh bien, ça l'a assez énervé pour y mettre fin," dit-elle à moitié souriante, "J'espère que cela vous apportera une sorte de paix sachant que je n'ai pas souffert."

J'ai hoché la tête et j'ai répondu "oui, mais avec quoi avez-vous besoin de mon aide exactement?"

"Eh bien, je veux que vous le trouviez, je suppose", dit-elle en haussant les épaules, "Je ne suis pas sa première et seule victime. Je ne sais pas exactement ce que je veux que vous fassiez une fois que vous l'avez trouvé, mais je veux qu'il arrête ce programme psychotique d'église de soi. "

"Avez-vous une sorte de piste que vous pouvez me donner?" Je demande avec impatience. Peut-être qu'elle ne savait pas quoi faire après sa découverte, mais j'avais quelques idées. Je peux même appeler Ray pour obtenir de l'aide.

"Cela fait dix ans." Dit-elle, en me regardant directement dans les yeux, "mais je me souviens où est l'endroit. Le salon funéraire dans lequel je suis mort. »

Mes mains commencent à trembler, mon souffle tremblant, "où était-ce exactement?" C'est alors que j'entendis mon carillon de notification Cerber. Elle a finalement ajouté la destination au trajet qu'elle avait demandé. Je regarde son téléphone posé sur le tableau de bord vers elle. Elle souriait avec un sourire si chaleureux et si charmant d'être si morte.

"Que dites-vous, James," leva-t-elle le doigt, pointant mon téléphone, "allons-nous commencer?"

Mon corps s'est enfui avec des piqûres d'adrénaline pure, "Enfer ouais", j'ai sauté sur mon siège avant, "J'attends ça depuis dix ans." Nous avons commencé à descendre l'I-5 sud. Nous avions un voyage de trois heures devant nous. La pointe vaut mieux être grasse.

* * * * * *

Angela et moi avons passé le trajet dans un silence relatif pendant la première heure. Quelque chose n'allait pas bien avec moi. En me disant qu'elle voulait que je le trouve, mon esprit était trop concentré sur les possibilités de torturer ce crackhead qui a tué ma sœur, j'ai failli manquer cette dernière partie.

«Angela», mon inquisition trancha à travers le bourdonnement silencieux de mes pneus et pénétra son regard sur la route.

"Ouais?" Elle se tenait comme si elle avait froid.

"Il y a quelque chose qui me dérange." Dis-je en tapant du pouce sur le volant.

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Aucun signe de conscience coupable et je ne suis pas sûr de me sentir si réconforté par cette notion.

"Quand vous avez dit" trouvez-le, je suppose ", qu'est-ce que cela signifie exactement? Que voulez-vous dire, "vous devinez"? "J'essayais de cacher le ton accusateur, mais j'ai toujours été horrible à me composer.

"Eh bien, je ne sais pas vraiment. J'ai envie de le trouver et la résolution qui y règne peut me permettre de quitter ce purgatoire de simplement me promener dans les vivants. Vous savez, des affaires fantômes inachevées. »Elle semblait vraiment théorique.

"Vous voulez dire, vous ne savez pas?" On dirait toujours que je l'interroge. Je ne peux pas m'en empêcher, j'ai vu des conneries bizarres et depuis qu'elle est ma sœur, j'ai l'impression de pouvoir demander, sans retenue.

“Strange, isn’t it?” She says, cocking her head to the side, allowing her eyes to do what I assumed was a blank stare. Her peepers didn’t creep me out until then. “You would think that dying delivers a sense of clarity or answers some questions. That’s just not the case. Dying is like exiting scene one and walking into a different set, in a different costume and unrehearsed lines. It’s confusing. I’ve read a lot about souls being trapped because of unfinished business and I can’t help but think I’ll be closer to resting if I try every avenue, no matter how cliché it sounds.”

My heart crawled into my throat, choking me with sadness. I just got her back and she’s already trying to leave. I try to soften the mood and say “Well, why do you even want to go to heaven? There’s no affirmation in the Bible that says there will be tacos on the other side. Why chance it?”

“I don’t even know if heaven is real. I know this isn’t necessarily my eternity, but heaven could just be a fairy tale for all I know,” dammit, that backfired. Now I feel worse.

“So you’re saying that, what? Your soul just dissipates?” Still swallowing as much sorrow as I could.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she almost sounds annoyed. I’m not sure if my stupid questions are irritating her or if she’s irritated with her own lack of answers, “I’m saying I don’t know. I’m saying that I do know that I’m stuck and don’t know what  the next step is or what arrives thereafter.” She stares out the window, concluding this discussion. I may suck at reading women, but I could tell I wore out the topic. I left well enough alone, grabbed another cold, gas station taquito and munched in silence. Sorte de. So crunchy, even cold.

My phone dinged with another Cerber notification. I squinted at the request to share a ride with the current passenger. I guess even the supernatural care about the environment too. Makes sense, they’re typically immortal or live longer than humans anyway, being mindful of cutting back where you can is never a bad idea. They may also be just as cheap as my sister too, who knows.

“Hey Angela, someone wants to share your ride for about fifteen minutes, is that cool?” She nodded, still brooding in her own, nerdy and dramatic state of despair. I hit accept to someone named Siobhan.

I pulled up to a lake that was pinned in the request. Standing there was a gorgeous woman, long red hair, waxen skin and a black dress that only revealed her head, hands and shoes. She was a petite little thing, which I thought would be a relief. She looked WAY too normal.

Siobhan climbed into the back seat and said “Thank you, I didn’t think drivers were ever in this area.” She flashed a sweet smile and buckled her seatbelt. She looks like a human, but humans are definitely not allowed to use Cerber, so what is she? This wouldn’t typically bother me if she had a third eye or a protruding underbite of razor-sharp teeth, but she just looked like the average commuter and that was unsettling in this very specific circumstance.

“I can’t say that they are, I just happened to be in the area,” I said staring at her through my rear view window. Angela seemed to be fairly unfettered by the new passenger. She had nothing to contribute.

I pulled back onto the freeway, glancing every few seconds to see a smiling Siobhan, looking back at me. She’s likely under the impression that I’m thinking of a decent pick-up line. In actuality, I was trying to read the room a bit to see if it was appropriate to ask possibly the dumbest question I’ve ever verbally vomited.

“So uh, what are you?” I ask.

“W. . .what’s that supposed to mean?” She asked so defensively.

“I mean what kind of thing are you? You look way too normal to be using Cerber. So what are you?” It would take an expert team of surgeons from France to remove the foot I just shoved down my own throat. If you can believe it, I was entirely shameless in my questioning. My sister was clearly appalled, since she turned her head towards me, mouth agape in utter horror. If she didn’t look so dead, it would’ve been funny. However, she looked very dead and that caused my body to visibly shudder.

“What are you talking about?! I’m clearly a beautiful woman!” Siobhan all but screamed at me.

“Yeah, James. Shut all the way the fuck up.” My sister hissed through her freaky, postmortem teeth.

“What?” I ask, thinking my question was perfectly valid. I should’ve guessed that Angela knew something that I didn’t by her reaction. I should’ve stopped there, apologized, waited until Siobhan exited my car and asked Angela what the big deal was. Pero no lo hice. Oups. Big oops.

From the back seat, I could hear gurgling and panting. I look in the mirror to see that Siobhan was shaking violently and her skin was bubbling. It looked like black billiard balls were crawling violently under her epidermis. Her eyes took on a bright yellow, a rectangular iris forming like that of a goat or frog.

“Goddammit, James. Now you’ve done it.” Angela yells in a panic, wincing and huddling by the car door. It looked like she was trying to brace herself for a detonation. Well, I guess she technically was.

Siobhan’s face started to stretch, her face forming a long, horse-like muzzle. Her arms wiggled into a transition of black tentacles, writhing and rapidly becoming larger. Her long red hair morphed into wet, obsidian strands. She looked like a horse-octopus. Between glances of the road and my rear view mirror, her physical being became far more atrocious and I couldn’t help but autopilot my way down I-5 in the meantime. I could see her chest heaving and falling with every snort of hot breath. She went from being this tiny doll to being a massive mess of tendrils behind a set of glowing eyes. She quite literally filled most of my car.

“What…what the hell are you, lady?!” My voice cracked as if I was sixteen again. That sort of sight will suck the masculinity right out of you and make you a mouse in no time flat.

A sharp bray escaped her horse-like lips and caused me to lose hearing. I could see that Angela was trying to bark the answer at me, “what?” I ask, hearing my own heavily muffled reply.

“She’s a kelpie!” Angela screams, throwing her hands up.

“The fuck is a. . .” I couldn’t finish my question before one of Siobhan’s slimy tentacles plunged its way into my mouth. As if I hadn’t humiliated myself enough with my tone-deaf night of interrogations, I subjected myself to real life hentai on top of that. Super.

I take one hand off the wheel to try and yank the tentacle out of my throat, swerving at 75mph in a frenzied panic. Another appendage wrapped around my chest, my throat and my left leg. As if my stupidity wasn’t done controlling the events of this evening enough, I decided to let go of the steering wheel entirely to get a better grip. Bigger oops.

I was losing consciousness and strength quickly. I haven’t been able to breathe for a good two minutes now and with a surging adrenaline rush to try and stay alive, my legs involuntarily stiffened to find leverage. On the gas pedal, of course. Biggest oops.

I found myself speeding down an empty highway, wrestling with a pissed off pony-pus, trying desperately to stay alive and crashed my tank of an SUV into a ditch. Though it was extremely dangerous and entirely unintentional, totaling my vehicle is what saved my life.

I blacked out temporarily and woke up to an uncomfortable stillness that followed the car accident. I could hear Siobhan breathing quietly in the back seat and it sounded like that’s all she was doing. I slowly looked back, blood trickling into one eye and see that she’s still knocked out. After feeling relief wash over me, I was hit with an overwhelming amount of pain from the impact as well as overexertion from defending my airway. I crawled out of my car and dropped to the ground, directly onto my back, knocking the wind out of my already fragile chest. I gripped my shoulder and let out a man’s groan. I lay as flat as possible, looking up and trying to mind too much movement of my neck and back. Angela pokes her face into my vision directly above my body and I ask her to get my phone.

Angela hands my phone to me and I tap on the emergency number, bringing the phone up to my ear.

“Hi, Jim! It appears you’ve been in an accident,” it’s Adeline with her annoying, jovial voice, “I’m sending two drivers to your location, both equipped with Cerber employed physicians. I assume your sister will be joining you?”

That bitch. I’m agitated and grateful all at once. “Yeah. . .” I choke out to her, “have him pick up three tacos, a burrito with extra nacho cheese and a bottle of acetaminophen. You’re buying.” I drop my arm to my side and allow myself to pass out.

I wake up four hours later, suffering a very minor concussion, a shattered esophagus and some bruising on my bones. We were put up in a mediocre hotel room, stocked with an obscene amount of Mexican food and a tall bottle of heavy painkillers. I sit up, knock the painkillers off my nightstand and grab a burrito. Alcoholics shouldn’t touch opioids, I already knew that. I’ll pay myself on the back for the one responsible decision I made by stuffing my face with my favorite addiction.

I quietly ate my burrito in bed and glanced over at Angela. She was sitting in a dusty rose slipper chair, arms folded and staring at the ceiling with her legs crossed. I looked back down at my burrito and allowed myself to bathe in shame for my irresponsible lack of couth. The disheartening fact that I almost died in two different ways in a matter of five minutes was startling and blanketed me like a guilt quilt. I messed up so bad tonight and I’m due for a round of penance.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my mouth full of burrito innards, “I wasn’t thinking properly and put us into a dangerous situation-,” she raises her hand at me, gesturing for me to quit while I’m ahead. I listened this time, mostly because my mouth was full.

“I’m already dead, doofus,” she calmly reminded me as she continued to stare at the ceiling, “I wasn’t in any danger at all. There’s seriously no need to apologize.”

“Alright,” I say, emotionally wounded, “where’s my car?”

“You totaled it, James. We’re gonna be stuck here for a few days until Cerber can iron out the details with your insurance. Adeline called me and filled me in on the process and said she’s going to take care of it. There’s nothing that can be done for at least two days, so focus on healing. We waited ten years, we can wait two more days.” Her disposition softened, trying to soothe me.

“Okay.” I continue eating my burrito, reflecting on the antics for the evening, “Angela?”

“What?” She asked as if she was prepared for another blow of foolhardy questions.

“What the fuck is a kelpie?!”

* * * * * *

I was a complete ass to Siobhan and apologized to her. I added $1,000 of my own cash to her Cerber account. Sadly, that only gets her as far as four blocks. She was gracious about it. Siobhan apologized for power-fisting my throat, I told her she had no reason to be sorry and we ended our call on a good note. She gave me four bat wings and a review that read “He’s cute, for a Neanderthal. I’d ride him again.” Which was beyond kind of her, but now I’m not sure if she was pissed or flirting. Both, maybe? I will continue to do my best at keeping my mouth closed. My social ineptitude is staggering, but I’m learning a very valuable lesson in humility.

Not much transpired in the first day. I didn’t have insurance through Cerber and the agents that handle my claims specifically are human. Adeline is having a wicked hard time finding an “in” with the company that I’m insured with. She says that if it takes more than a week, they’ll just replace my car altogether and terminate the claims. Why they don’t just do that anyway, who knows. Maybe it’s her way of insuring that I stay in one place and heal as best as I can. She could just be putting it off to practice a little damage control. Something tells me it’s the latter.

Cerber put us up with some pretty awesome accommodations. Angela has been balls-deep in books for days now, trying to figure out what that silver bullet could possibly mean. She thinks that if we find its meaning, then we can find the origin of Wade’s beliefs. We find the origin, we can combat them properly. Not sure how useful I can be in this situation, but even if I just get a front row seat to watch her haul off on Wade, I’ll be satisfied.

Accommodations also include an unhealthy enablement of my Mexican food obsession as well as a personal nurse and doctor. They’re both black-eyed people, which I’m not entirely sure what that is, but they’re nice enough. Probably the tamest entities I’ve ever been around. Fun fact; paranormal medicine is a thing and it’s incredible. My esophagus, concussion and superficial injuries have completely healed. Get this- they were able to inject a rapid healing medication that was taken from a strain of werewolf flu! I look and feel like I may stand a chance talking shit to a kelpie again. Kidding. Sorte de.

I spent a lot of my time talking to Borg on the phone. I guess he caught wind of the accident and was disheartened by it. Ironically, he sent over an iron nail. It was delivered to me in a tiny, green box with a note that read “Borg sorry Jim got mouth violated. Borg send iron nail. Good for fence, good for kelpie.” What started as a gratitude phone call, turned into construction shop-talk on a few occasions. Borg like Jim. Jim like Borg.

On the second day in, I woke up at 2 A.M. to Angela’s face about an inch away from mine. I flew up onto my bed like a weird sheet surfer, screaming nothing intelligible with hands above my head, spider monkey style. I plunked down on the bed, gripping my chest and said “What, Angela?”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who startles so easy,” she says slightly amused, “I have found plenty on the silver bullet, but not anything that makes sense.” She walks over to one of many books she has littering the floor of our room.

“Alright,” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, placing my hands in my lap. “So what have you found, then? Can we use it against Wade in any way?”

“Not that I can tell, no,” she says, looking down at her book, “I’m only finding ways to defeat evil entities with silver bullets. Nothing that says they’re used to aid them. This is assuming, of course, that Wade is evil.”

“Excuse me, if?” I ask, completely bewildered.

“Yes, if. Just because he killed me, does not mean he is evil.” She said so confidently.

“Okay, I’m lost. What part of murder is not evil?” I ask, my head spinning.

“Murder to you, sacrifice to the other, martyrdom to another, death isn’t always meant to be sinister. Just because I didn’t want to die, doesn’t make his objective evil. We may have been going about this the wrong way the whole time.” Angela sat on the floor with her legs crossed, putting her head into her cupped hands.

“So, you’re thinking this is some sort of protection doodad?” I ask.

“I guess,” she folds her arms tight against her chest, “I’m still not entirely sure. We may have to just fly into this blind. I would suggest contacting a priest, but given your line of work, it could tarnish anything you have left of your credibility among the paranormal.”

I throw both fists up, give her the double-bird special, “Oooookay. On that note, I’m going back to sleep.”

As soon as my head hits the pillow, the hotel line rings. I throw a bit of a flailing tantrum before picking up the phone. On the other end, I can only hear a faint rustling of what sounded like wind, “uh. . . hello?” I ask, looking at my sister with one eyebrow raised.

“Hi, James.” It’s a man who sounds like a cat that ate the canary.

That’s when I notice that Angela is violently shaking, cowering against the corner of the room, eyes welling up.

“Who is this?” I ask the man with a hint of concern to my disposition.

“I hear that you’re looking for me,” he says in his smooth as cream voice, “I’m Wade.”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! You bet your sorry ass I’m looking for you!” I scream into the receiver. Pure rage surged its way through every nerve in my body like I was electrocuted with blind madness.

“Calm yourself, child,” now he definitely sounds condescending, “you’ll get your chance. I’m in need of a ride. Do you happen to have time for a request?”

“Oh, are little bitches considered paranormal now? That’s news to me. I thought cowards like you had a super cool fan club that congregates in the basement for pre-murder, circle-jerks. Does that come before or after fucking your mom?” Sorry, folks. I tried. But let’s face it, he had that coming and I’m sure a lot of you would be disappointed in me for not properly tearing this dick-wart to shreds.

He laughed in an unsettling manner, “oh child, you know not the dire situation you’ve stumbled into,” I clench my teeth, blood boiling so hot that I can feel myself sweat as he continues, “that’s fine. In due time, I suppose. In the meantime, please respond to my request. I’ll be waiting.” The line goes dead.

I waste no time and call Adeline immediately. She picks up the phone and starts with “James-“ panic shrouding her voice.

“I don’t want to hear it, Adeline,” I get dressed, putting the iron nail in my pocket, “get me a car. Ahora. I don’t give a damn what it is, get a car out front.”

“James, I’m not above begging, please don’t-”

“Car! Now!” I scream at her and hang up.

“Angela, we’re going for-“ I stop and come to the startling realization that Angela isn’t in the room anymore.

I frantically race to my phone, ignoring the Cerber notifications, and try calling her. My calls went straight to voicemail. I could feel my torso caving in, anxiety rushing over my body. He must have her. I don’t know how, but my intuition is telling me that he somehow has her.

I run down to the front desk of the hotel, finding a silver plate holding a set of keys and a note from Adeline that reads, “please, in the name of all things holy, don’t do this.” I swipe the keys and rush out to find a standard, black luxury sedan waiting for me. I all but fly into the front seat, turn the ignition and mount my phone on the dash. I tap the Cerber app and buckle up as it loads. My sister is gone, I am armed with absolutely no useful information, nor any weapons. I can’t just let this opportunity slip, especially with my sister being held hostage. I’m rushing into a situation with my presence and good intentions only. This is how he wanted it, though. I had no time to waste.

Cerber booted up to the request home page with one notification already three minutes old. I tap on accept. “Gotcha, asshole.” I say as I accept a request from Archangel Michael.

* * * * * *

Before we get into this next installment, I wanted to dedicate this episode to the memory Keith Flint and the thousands of others who have lost their fight with depression. This one also goes out to those currently fighting your way through it, you’re not alone and help is more local than you know. Thank you, Keith, for bringing an edge to electronic music and for trying your best to fight your demons. You will be greatly missed in both the music industry and the hearts of all your fans. The candle in the window tonight is for you, brother.

Now, on with tonight’s installment.

The location to picking up Michael was a shanty little bar that looked like it allowed indoor smoking and turned a blind eye to quaaludes. Michael was dressed in cowboy boots with an adorable matching hat, a pastel orange, western-style shirt and very neat blue jeans. He resembled either a cop or someone who was trying to be cowboy for the very first time. Kinda like those Scandinavian folks who are obsessed with westerns and intentionally go to the Alamo without a field trip slip. Westerns are boring and I’m not sorry for saying it.

He almost anxiously got to the front passenger seat of my car. His apprehensive nature completely negates what I heard on the phone. Goody, more weird shit that doesn’t make sense. Maybe I’m just too simple, who knows. He gets into my car and I look at him like I’m expecting the first swing. Up close, he looks exhausted and in the middle of existential crisis. I did NOT want to relate to this weirdo.

“Are you the asshole?” I ask, completely ready to die. It’s inevitable in this line of work.

“Are you the intellectual? Oh, right, you’re the dumbass that is about as well-mannered as a toddler riled up on Red Bull.” Oh my god, he es moi. I think I’m in love.

“Who are you?” I ask, completely befuddled. I wanted to kill this guy just two minutes ago, very slowly. Now I kinda want to take this inside for a beer.

“Now you can’t read either? How did they even let you have a license? In fact, how are you even still ALIVE?” He gave me this crazy, wide-eyed expression, leaning his face entirely too close to mine. Oh, and yes. He did sound like a genuine cowboy.

“Are you just going to keep asking me unhelpful questions or are you going to play ball and tell me what in tarnation is going on?” Yeah, I mocked him. We’re in love now, it’s okay.

“Alright. I’m not Wade, I’m Michael. The archangel. I’m not going to waste anymore of your time, we have shit to do, son.” He said pointing to my mounted phone. On the screen was a destination in a residential area. A nice neighborhood. That doesn’t settle me in anyway, rich people are creeps worse than my passengers. Self-made monsters. Terrific.

“While we make our way there, you mind telling me why you decided to intercept my very well-earned date with death and dismay?” I ask, less pushy. Despite enjoying this back-and-forth banter, I figured it was a bad idea to piss off an angel responsible for assembling victorious, ethereal armies. I may be sassy, but I promise I’m not as stupid as I look. I don’t care about dying, but no one is actually trying to earn a fast track to hell.

“Divination, son, what’s it look like?” He asks putting a poorly, handmade cigarette in his mouth, “you’re about to go marching to your death and you have the balls to think you’ve got the balls for it.”

“Uh…what…” I ignored the fact that he lit up a cigarette in my car, which is typically a no-no, since this is technically a company car and I’m still pissed at Adeline. I was just traveling down an even deeper rabbit hole of confusion, “Alright, I need to re-examine the facts. You’re an angel, right? As in one of THE angels?”

“Yeah,” he took a long, heroic drag of his cigarette and continued, “And I’m here to save your sorry ass. You’re about to tangle with a lone skinwalker.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

“The Native American myth?” Guess I shouldn’t call it a myth at this juncture.

“That’s right. What’s dangerous about a lone skinwalker is they’ve been cast out of their tribe. He’s only 150 years old, very young.”

“Yeah, he’s basically a fetus.” I say rolling my eyes.

“No, you would be a fetus in this situation. There are skinwalkers that are nearly as old as me.” I immediately wanted to ask how old he was, but I thought better of it. “The reason he is so dangerous is he’s lawless. Not bound to any tribal rules, though skinwalkers have little of those to begin with.”

I impatiently tap my thumb on the steering wheel, now slightly excited to land at our next stop. I think I know what’s coming.

“Since you’re too bullheaded to back down and too stupid to handle this alone, I decided to help you out.” He grins, showing a couple gold-capped teeth and radiating confidence. In turn, I also felt confident.

“Thanks. Now where are we?” I ask, putting my car in park and killing the ignition.

“I have a guy who keeps everything you need right here in his home. Can’t exactly run a store front with this type of material on account of licensing being a necessity in this state. Some folks just need to handle an advanced problem just one time.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car.

Michael doesn’t bother knocking and enters the home. Every room was unburdened by furniture as well as a lack of lighting. We head down to the basement which was lit with a light violet, bathing the room in an emotional shade of calm. Littered about the room, which I can only describe as an organized mess of different types of weapons, stood a drag queen. Sí. Very clearly a drag queen. The only reason I could even guess this was the cartoon inspired makeup and a wig that looked like it could be a living creature, piled high on his head. From the neck down, he was dressed in a skintight tracksuit, exposing his well-kept physique. I know, keep your mouth shut, Jim.

“Azazel, I’ve brought the kid with the mouth on him,” Michael says, pointing behind himself and at me.

In the most flamboyant voice imaginable, Azazel replies, “hey, honey. You’re dancing with a skinwalker?” Azazel does a mild salsa dance behind his work bench.

“So I’m told,” I’m trying to remain professional because not only am I standing in the presence of an archangel, the drag queen standing before me is a demon. I know what Azazel is.

“Okay, I’m going to give you a 9 millimeter handgun, two 11-round magazines of pure silver, a Molotov cocktail and a lighter. Now, you can’t kill a skinwalker with silver, it’ll only slow it down. Do your best to aim for his legs and arms. When a skinwalker dumps its human form, it’ll have freakishly quick abilities in both arms and legs, so don’t skip any limbs.” By the time Azazel was finished giving me these directions, he had piled everything into a backpack.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” both Michael and Azazel were looking at me as though I was burdening them, “Angels and demons work together?”

“Fallen, asshole. I’m a fallen.” Azazel crosses his arms, glaring at me.

"Droite. You guys actually work together?” I ask.

“Yes,” Michael replies, “fallen were angels once too. Not all demons have bad intentions. Some like humans quite a lot and want to maintain a sort of balance.”

“Alright,” I grabbed the backpack, completely done with religious topics, “You mind fixing the interception, Michael? I would really like to finish this.”

“Sure, kid.” he waves at Azazel and we begin our ascent from the basement.

“One more thing, Jim,” says Azazel, waving, “don’t miss. You can’t afford to miss.”

I nod with a smile and say “Thanks, Azazel.” He smiles and turns around to finish his original project.

As we’re walking back to the car, I rehearse my plan in my mind. I’ve never actually shot a firearm before, so this was going to be interesting. I’ve also never had to huck a Molotov before. I may actually die trying to kill this thing.

Michael and I get back into the car and I ask him, “Alright, I have to know, why is Azazel a drag queen?”

Michael let out a single chuckle and said “Well, Azazel was cast out of heaven for teaching humans how to build weapons and put war makeup on. He’s always enjoyed cosmetics, so he decided to make it a hobby.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said, with a genuine nod, “so what does Wade want?” Obviously, Michael has answers, I’m not going to be shy about asking. Not that I ever had that problem to begin with.

Michael pulls out another shanty stoge, lights up and gets comfortable, “Do you remember what it was like losing Angela? How you felt lost and empty, and your life just had less flavor?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“Well, when some folks lose their sense of home in their people, they begin grieving in one of two common ways. Some become hollow, much like you. Some become angry and develop an insidious agenda. They hurt others to gain control of their own pain.” Michael says, never breaking eye contact.

“So why Angela?” I ask.

“Victim of circumstance, son. She’s special, but not that special.” He replied.

“Any idea as to why there was a silver bullet hanging from her body? What about the insanity parade he conducted on her corpse?” I’m angry now. Not at Michael, I haven’t had a taco in several hours.

“I put the bullet there. I was hoping that someone would have caught onto that clue. Of course, that was bust,” He takes another drag of his cigarette, “the mutilation was pure rage. He’s lost and upset. That’s why he killed Angela before he had his fun with her-“

“Watch it, Michael,” I said swiftly, “my sister isn’t a sideshow attraction.”

“Easy, son,” He said calmly. I was actually hoping to piss him off, “point being is he didn’t have a reason. The whole point of all of this is he’s just doing vile things out of rage.”

I was entirely unsatisfied with that answer. It’s one thing to murder someone with intent, but to entirely disregard all life over a temper tantrum is a whole other level of evil.

“Do you know where Angela is?” I asked.

“She’s home, kid,” he said, pointing upward, “her time here was served. She brought you to where you needed to be. So it was time for her to return.”

The oxygen in every fiber of my being was sucked right out of my body, “oh. . . "

“Sorry, kid,” he puts one hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “but we all go home at some point. That’s just how it is.”

“Yeah.” I croaked. What was the point of even going after this thing now? The only reason I got involved was to help Angela cross over. She’s done that now.

“Listen, I know you’re probably thinking of quitting. Would you honestly want this to happen to another young lady? A child?” He asked me, gently.

“You put way too much faith in my integrity,” I shook my head, scoffing, “but no. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. I’m going to finish this.”

“Good.” Michael said patting me on the shoulder.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence while Michael chain smoked. I continued to rehearse my plan and I was losing confidence with every repetition. Maim and set it on fire. Maim and set it on fire. Maim and set it on fire.

I pull up in front of the bar I had originally picked Michael up from. Since Michael was not a danger to me in the slightest, his ride ended up being free. That’s fine, I was in no position to pout about finances after the free gear to roast my sister’s killer.

Michael gets out of the car and rounds his way to my window, “You gotta lay off the Mexican food, son. It’ll kill ya.” He half-smiled and walked away.

“Thanks, Michael.” I replied, watching him walk into the bar.

I decided that this job was far too much for me. I couldn’t possibly do this. Well, not alone. I exit the Cerber app and decide to make a phone call.

“JIM?!” Borg barks into the phone.

“BORG!” I replied, attempting to match his gusto.

“HI JIM! FEELING BETTER?!” I can hear his tusks scraping the phone as he spoke.

“Yeah, Thanks Borg,” I put the backpack of arsenal in my back seat, “you feel like taking down a skinwalker with me tonight?”

“BORG HATE SKINWALKER. BORG HELP. JIM HAVE RIGHT PROTECTION? JIM STUPID, BORG HAVE TO ASK.” That gelatinous, jovial dick.

“Yes Borg,” I say, trying to remember his honesty isn’t personal, “I have silver bullets and a Molotov.”

“OKAY, JIM. ONLY FIRE KILL SKINWALKER. BORG WRESTLE FOR JIM.” I could hear whatever poor recliner he was ascending from cry out as he stood.

“Thanks, Borg. Oh and one more thing,” I add.

“YES, JIM?” Borg replies.

“Take a shit before you get into the car, please.”

* * * * * *

After I finished my call to Borg, I spent the drive steeping in my own thoughts. My heart found a new way to break as I sat in silence, knowing I likely won’t be seeing Angela again. I never questioned if she was dead or not, but I had become so subconsciously numb that I completely forgot what it was like to hurt. I was actually grateful for the pain. With every tick that increased the number on the odometer, so did my wrath. I didn’t even have the urge to stop and get taquitos. I spent ten years waiting for some sort of closure and even though I was robbed of an opportunity to say goodbye for a second time, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of completion. I know who killed Angela and I was on my way to give him a Borg beatdown, there’s no better closure. I may not be able to say “goodbye” to Angela, but I take great comfort knowing that I’ll be able to say “hello” again instead. For now, I will allow myself to hurt. It helps chip away at any fears that I may have left.

I pull up to Borg’s dilapidated ruins. Borg is outside carrying what looks like a large sword as he waddles his way up to the car. Shit, is he going to fit in the car?

“Borg, what in the holy hell do you have in your hand?” I ask as he packs himself into the front passenger seat.

“BORG BRING FALCHION SWORD. GOOD FOR MURDER SPORT!” Borg says with an infectious amount of excitement.

“You don’t think it’s overkill? I have a gun, you know.” I reply.

“JIM HAVE PITIFUL BOOM STICK. BORG HAVE REAL WEAPON. JIM JUST JEALOUS.” Borg says, hauling the ridiculous blade over his shoulder and into the back seat. I dropped the topic.

“Borg?” I swallow loudly as I continue, “You wouldn’t eat me. . .would you?”

“BORG LIKE JIM. BORG NO EAT JIM. EATING JIM WOULD BE LIKE JIM EAT DOG.” Borg says, matter-of-factly.

“You sassy bastard,” I laughed, “alright, well I’m glad that you find me too adorable to eat.” I fire back.

Letting out his booming laughter, he replies, “JIM NO CUTE. JIM JUST HELPLESS.” He laughs harder, clutching his gelatinous gut.

“Alright!” I chortle, “Are you ready to help me end this?”

“YA, JIM. BORG AND JIM GO PARTY NOW.” Borg smiles. Jesus, this is how orcs party? Ogres? I shudder to think of what a Borg bachelor party would be like.

We spent most of the ride talking about our plan and construction hacks, all while Borg sharpens his sword. I don’t think scraping this thing on a rock actually improved anything. However, I grinned at the idea of Wade suffering at the will of a dull blade.

“In five miles, take exit for Fink Road.” The GPS chimes.

Borg semi-silently lifts his head, looks at the phone, then looks at me, “NOW WE GET SERIOUS JIM.” He was trying his best to keep his voice down, but still failed.

“I know, Borg.” I said, throttling the gas.

“In a half mile, take exit for Fink Road.” The GPS continues.

I come off the freeway and start my way down Fink Road. The road is barely paved and unlit. I flip my high beams on and continue speeding my way through thick darkness. Looking behind me, I can only see a faint glow of my brake lights reflecting off of the clouds of dust kicked up behind me.

“In twenty-five miles, your destination will be on the right.”

Borg must have sensed tension and says, “JIM, WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT PLAN.”

“Uh-huh.” I say, keeping my eyes on the road.

“WHEN BORG SEE SKINWALKER, BORG ATTACK. BORG STAB SKINWALKER AND PIN HIM TO GROUND. JIM SHOOT SKINWALKER KNEES, ELBOWS AND EYES, IF JIM CAN AIM.” Borg says, as gently as an orc can.

“Yep, got it. Then what?” I ask, still keeping my gaze focused.

“JIM LIGHT MOLOTOV AND SMASH ON SKINWALKER HEAD. SKINWALKER WILL IGNITE. VERY FLAMMABLE.” Borg replies.

“Flammable?” I ask, puzzled.

“YES. SKINWALKER AFRAID OF FIRE, BECAUSE SKINWALKER CATCH FIRE EASY. BORG LIKE TO WATCH.” Borg lets out a creepy, thick giggle.

“That’s sick, Borg.” I nervously laugh along with him.

“In seven and a half miles, your destination will be on the right.”

I feel my knuckles whiten, death-gripping the steering wheel. I accelerate to seventy miles an hour. I am so ready for this and truly looking forward to my next burrito. If I can manage to make it out alive.

We pull up to a vacant mortuary. No one appeared to be standing outside, no lights were on and the atmosphere was entirely silent as if we were standing at zero gravity.

Borg reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses, taking great care not to scratch the lenses.

“Great,” I say, “I’m armed with weapons I’ve never used and my backup is a handicapped Ogre.”

“BORG NOT OGRE! BORG ORC! JIM HAVE HANDICAP MOUTH!” He barked at me.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just nervous, I guess.” I reply.

“IS OKAY, JIM. PLEASE FOCUS.” Borg replies with sincerity and confidence.

I keep my headlights on and stare at the front door of the mortuary, waiting for this thing to emerge. I almost missed Wade walking out from behind the left-hand side of the building. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit, slicked jet black hair, bronzed complexion and a fairly young face. Michael said he was around 150 years old, but he looked like he was in his early twenties. He stood grinning at me, locking my gaze. Borg and I look at each other, nod and get out of the car. I swing the backpack over my shoulder and Borg does the same with his falchion sword. We begin towards Wade at a cautious pace as he glides towards us, entirely unfettered by our preparedness.

We all stop walking once we’re about ten feet away from each other and I say, “Wade?” My voice was about as smooth as gravel.

Wade opens his arms as if to embrace, “Jim!” Both Borg and I put one leg back, bending our knees to receive an attack. Wade puts his hands up and lowers his head slightly, “Alright, you don’t trust me. That’s probably wise on your part.”

“I learned a little bit about you.” I start in with my infamous false confidence, “That you’re a skinwalker and not even your own tribe wants anything to do with you. Did you get caught strangling the family pets?” I finish, satisfied with that low blow, which I could see ticked him off.

“No, not for strangling family pets,” he started pacing, circling. I didn’t see Borg flinch, so I tried to relax as much as possible. I trust that Borg will lead when it’s time to move, “I can see that you’re not entirely certain what a skinwalker is, or you wouldn’t be asking me such a foolish question. That’s your first mistake.”

“Trust me pal, I’ve made many mistakes before this one. Pretty sure a kelpie popped that cherry for me.” I reply with cool ease.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes, “well, a skinwalker is essentially a Navajo medicine man that’s succumbed to dark magic.”

He looks up at us, as if expecting some weird withdraw or newfound fear. I’ve met quite a few beings who could decimate this freak.

When Wade doesn’t receive his desired reaction, he continues, keeping his hands behind his back and standing up straight, “Medicine men have been known to live far beyond the normal expiration of a human. However, medicine men who insist on using dark magic to assert themselves in war? That is greatly frowned upon. My tribe couldn’t handle my ideologies, so I was cast out and you know what? It’s been the most liberating experience I could have been gifted. I roam as I please, I live as I please and I kill as I please.”

“Gross.” I reply, my blood boiling. Borg remains stoic and silent, fixated on our target. He looks so damn cool right now.

Wade gets impatient, “Child, you will either worship me or fear me. The only other option is death.” He sneers, his voice starting to gurgle. I’m guessing this is his rendition of wolfing out.

“I didn’t come here with silver bullets and an orc to join your shit show religion, Wade.” I yell at him. Years of frustration, pain and despair have led me to being absolutely fearless and angry. “I came here to annihilate you for your crimes against humanity, particularly against my sister. I have literally ghost-toted legendary entities that would serve you up on a slice of toast before a morning run. You’re just a well-preserved human with magic tricks.” I reply with searing vitriol.

This does him in, I finally touched the nerve.

“You will respect me!” He screams in his watery voice. It sounds like something is bubbling up from his throat. His skin begins to turn bright red. I don’t mean his cheeks, every exposed portion of his skin is turning red. I can see Borg bracing for something. In turn, I do the same.

“Looks like the tea is on. Come at me, bitch.” If those would have been my last words, that would’ve been epic.

The skin and clothing begins to melt from Wade’s exterior, revealing a dark shade of espresso. I could hear his bones crack and his limbs disjoint until he drops onto all fours with his head down. His roar could only be described as a puma’s with the bass cranked all the way up. Once Wade was finished transforming, he slowly lifted his head and that’s when I finally felt dread in his presence. Half of his face was occupied with a lipless mouth adorning large, pointed teeth. He had small, black eyes fitted just above his shapeless nose and long black hair that went down to his waist. I watched his chest heave and fall with every breath as he stared straight at me.

Borg snaps into action and darts after Wade, raising his falchion, accidentally smacking me in the face with it. I hit the ground and yelp out like a wounded coyote, holding my face in efforts to quell the ringing in my ears.

Borg turns around, still holding his sword up high, “JIM?!” In a flash, Wade tackles Borg right into the car with enough force to cave the driver side door in. Broken glass rained on top of them as they struggled. Wade sunk his massive teeth into Borg’s shoulder, causing Borg to scream and release his grip to favor his new wound. As I squint in their direction, I notice Borg trying to get on his feet while Wade starts speed-crawling towards me. I panic and start scurrying backwards, trying not to look away from this horrifying psycho, spider sprinting in my direction. In my sad attempt to back away, I realize that I’m nowhere near my weapons. Fucking oops.

I hear Borg stumbling his way towards us, falling to his knees every so often, undoubtedly from the pain. I just had to stall this thing for a few seconds to allow Borg to catch up. Wade jumps on top of me, sitting on my stomach and squeezing my throat with both hands. He laughs in a very moist, deep and devious manner while I try clawing at his arms for release. It simply wasn’t working. I could hear Borg getting closer, breathing heavy and clearly struggling. I have to do something.

That’s when I remembered grabbing the iron nail that Borg had gifted me. I quickly shove my hand into my pocket, feeling the cold, rough surface of the nail. I yank it out of my pocket and slam it right into Wade’s neck, causing him to release his grip and reach for the nail. In that split second, I wiggle from underneath him. Borg grabs Wade by the hair and slams him onto the ground. Borg treated Wade like a ragdoll and kept swinging him around until Wade could no longer move, entirely immobilized and worn out. Borg slammed Wade into the dirt, shoving his falchion through his chest and burrowing the other end into the ground beneath him, pinning him in place.

“JIM, GET MOLOTOV.” Borg says with exhaustion.

I fumble my way to the backpack, pulling out the anarchist’s grenade, and run over to Wade’s body. What’s really creepy is he was still breathing even with the blade buried deep into his chest. He didn’t bleed either, like some sort of sentient corn husk doll.

I stand over Wade’s body and light the Molotov, watching him look up at the sky. He had nothing to say and no fight left to offer. I very nearly felt sorry for him. I raise the Molotov above my head and slam it right into his stomach. His whole body engulfed in a matter of seconds in soft chartreuse flames. Borg and I both dropped and sat in silence, panting from expulsion of adrenaline and newly acquired pain.

“Are you alright?” I ask Borg through breaths.

“BORG FINE.” He replies, shifting his weight.

“Thank you, Borg. I couldn’t have done this without you.” I try really hard not to tear up, but since Borg and I have already crossed the threshold of leaking bodily fluids a long time ago, I allowed myself to sob.

“IS OKAY , JIM,” Borg says, gingerly hugging me about as gently as a rusty bear trap, “WADE GONE. NOW JIM CAN HEAL INSIDE.” He finishes, patting me on the back.

I limp over to the car to retrieve my phone and realize I have thirteen missed calls from Adeline. Et c'est parti. I call her back and she picks up in the middle of the first ring, “Jim?! Are you alright?!”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks to Borg, of course.” I reply.

Adeline lets out a sigh of relief and says, “Thank goodness. Is Borg okay?”

“Yeah, we need a ride though.”

“What happened to the company car you had for a grand total of six hours?” She’s furious. So much for being worried about my safety.

“Well, the driver side got crushed in the middle of our dispute.” I reply, wincing at my own words.

She lets out a snort and says, “Alright, I’m sending a car after you two.”

“Thanks, Adeline,” I reply. “After this, you won’t be hearing from me anymore. I don’t think I can work for Cerber any longer.”

“Think again, Jim,” she says with a maniacal tone, “You now owe me a car. I’ve already ironed out the kinks with your own car, but you’re going to stay on with Cerber and regain enough funds to cover the damage of the one you borrowed. Once you repay me for this car, only then will we talk about releasing you from Cerber. Do you understand me?” She huffs.

“I guess,” I reply with defeat.

"Bien. I’ll allow you one week to recover, but then I expect you to be accepting rides immediately after. Oh, and watch your mouth. I’m getting complaints about your attitude from the clients.” She finishes.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry, Adeline,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Wonderful!” She replies in her signature, bubbly tone, “Get well soon, Jimmy boy! Thank you for being a loyal employee at Cerber!” The line clicks and dies.

Dammit. I really need a burrito.

---

Credit: Mofucious (Instagram • Reddit)