Jon Merz - Vicarious

“Depends on who you’re referring to it being good for. It’s good for God. He’s getting one helluva great lady in his service. Kinda sucks for you, though, huh?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real poet with words, Kwon?”

“No. Don’t expect ‘em to either.”

“Good bet.”

“Don’t get off the subject, Steve. You’re just all confused about what to do with this lady, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Try definitely.” Kwon chuckled. “I tell ya, first time I laid eyes on you, I would’ve banked money betting you were el’ Mr. Suavo with the chicks. Turns out you’re just a big shy guy, huh?”

“I haven’t got any time for women.” He frowned, but Kwon was right. He did have a problem believing he could talk to women.

“When was the last time you got laid?”

Curran peered through the windshield. “That’s not really any of your business.”

“Crap — that long?” Kwon laughed some more. “Brother, no wonder you’re having such a hard time swallowing this Devil story. You haven’t had your mind properly expanded.”

“I need sex to believe in the Devil?”

“I didn’t say that. I said that constant sex keeps you open to new possibilities is all. You don’t have sex all that often, you start to shrivel up mentally.” He chuckled. “And physically.”

“I’m sure,” said Curran. “So, how often do you have sex?”

“Twice a day,” said Kwon.

Curran sniffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Twice a day whether I need it or not — even if I’m by myself,” said Kwon with a smile. “You oughta try it sometime. Works really well. All those endorphins. Hoo-yah.”

“I think I’m doing fine.”

“Oh yeah, you’re doing great,” said Kwon. “The only woman who’s shown you any kind of interest in all the years we’ve known each other has you flip-flopping over her profession. You’ve got some kind of galactic battle brewing between the powers of good and evil, possibly involving Satan himself, and you’re sitting in a crappy car on Beacon Hill — in the rain no less — talking to some slick gigolo Korean when you oughta be out doing anything related to what I just said.” He took a sip from his thermos. “You’re doing great. No doubt. No doubt.”

“I can’t believe we’re discussing this.”

“Hey, you dragged me out here. I was all happy with my former plans for this evening.”

“Yeah but we have to discuss this?”

“I don’t watch TV. Besides, this is the most relevant thing in both our lives right now. May as well hash it out if we can.”

I’m tired of discussing my non-existent love life, thought Curran. “So you’re convinced that there really is a Soul Eater?”

“Sure.”

“You say it so cavalier.”

“Nope. Just acknowledging what makes the most sense.” Kwon sighed. “Look, I’m a man of science. I deal in human bodies. I see the results of civilization and lifestyle on a very physical basis. You eat a lot of red meat and don’t exercise, I see pounds of undigested gunk in your intestinal tract. You smoke butts — ahem — and you end up with black lungs. You screw everyone you meet and don’t play it safe, you get — ”

“- what’s your point?”

“The point, super cop, is that the one thing I don’t see is how this world affects us on a spiritual level. See, I’ve got no scientific facts and figures that will help me figure out why someone who is otherwise super healthy will just drop dead. So, when I run up against something like that, I usually find I’m pretty open to explanations that I might not otherwise be.”

“And you think I should be, too?”

“Probably make your life a lot less stressful.”

Curran listened to the rain hitting the roof of the car. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“You know what I think?”

“Do I want to?”

“Probably not. I think you’re just scared to start believing again. That nasty-ass priest freaked your belief system up real good. You’ve never wanted to believe in a God since that day because you couldn’t fathom how someone supposedly so super-powerful would ever let an evil man do that kind of stuff.”

Curran stared at Kwon. Kwon eyed him back.

Curran chewed his lip. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I absolutely mind. Don’t kill me with your passive suicidal tendencies.”

“You’re drinking.”

Kwon raised one eyebrow. “There’s no evidence that liquor burps will kill you. Leave the butts where they are.”

Curran cracked the window. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Self-revelation doesn’t work that way. Despite what Oprah says.”

Curran glanced at him and grinned. “Thanks for hanging out tonight.”

“Forget it. Next time I’ll just unplug my phone so you can’t call.”

Curran’s phone rang. He picked it up. “Yeah?”

“Steve?”

Lauren. Curran smiled. “Hey.”

“Where are you?”

“Beacon Hill. In the cold rain. Kwon’s with me.”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“Where are you?”

“Marlborough Street.”

Curran frowned. Something about her voice. Anger? No. Fear. “You okay?”

“Steve.” She paused. “I think someone’s following me.”

Lauren marveled at the way Marlborough Street could go from looking like a picturesque and homey slice of upscale urban life to a shadowy enclave of hidden secrets and deeper fears. The dogwood trees that blossomed white in the Spring groaned under the gusts of cold wind whipping through the street. Cold rain and sleet sprayed across her face even though she waited under the entryway of the secret library. The closest streetlight put out a pitiful amount of illumination that barely penetrated the ravenous shadows lingering on the yellowed fringes.

Please hurry, Steve, she thought.

She wasn’t sure when she’d become aware of him. She wasn’t sure when he’d started following her.

But she knew he was there.

Right now.

Close.

She could feel him lurking. A presence. Out of sight, but still nearby. Waiting.

But for what?

Was it the Soul Eater? Or just someone who had some other unnatural interest in her? She supposed she was attractive enough to warrant a stalker. But it had never happened before. And things hadn’t gotten strange like this until she’d gotten mixed up with Steve.

And his case.

The bushes closest to the stairs shifted. She jumped. A lone gray striped Tabby cat, its fur matted down wet and cold slunk along the edge of the building looking for a place to lay low for the night.

Lauren exhaled.

She knew the trip from Beacon Hill to her location shouldn’t take long. But every second seemed to crawl. Every minute took an hour. Every breath a lifetime of worry.

Behind her, the doors to the library were locked up tight for the night. The lone staff member had already gone home.

Lauren stood on the front stoop.

Alone.

Did he know that? Did her stalker know she waited by herself? Was he watching her right now, smiling to himself at her obvious discomfort and fear? Maybe he could smell it bleeding off her in waves the way sharks do when they scent their prey from miles away.

Lauren imagined the vibrations emanating from her body in ripples that fed out into the night. She could picture the predators who knew how to tune into those ripples. She could see them hungering for her. Salivating. Reaching for her…

Another cold wind snapped across the front of the building. A rustle in the wet leaves to her right sounded like a footstep. And then another sounded even closer.

Lauren drew herself into the shadow of the column closest to her. She wondered if its darkness would shield her from view.