Heart's Redemption (MxM)

Chapter 16 ~ Sam

"Damn it, Carlos! Again!?" Ian yells from the bathroom of the small cabin we'd rented for the night.

We'd crossed from Canada into Alaska the day before, after almost two weeks on the road, during which time I'd come to regret my decision to give Carlos a chance.

He hadn't lied about anything, but it was one of those situations where the reality didn't quite match the promise—like the difference between ads for fast food, and actual fast food.

Sure, he could probably have fixed Ian's truck when it started leaking coolant—if he'd had the right tools; he could probably hustle pool like a pro—if we'd found a place with people willing to gamble more than five bucks on a game; and technically he could cook—as long as frying eggs and making sandwiches counts as 'cooking.'

He was also really high maintenance.

"Sam!" Ian yells again.

I roll my eyes. "Just jiggle the handle. It'll go down."

"Sam—just get in here!"

"Fine."

I've been lying in bed, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep before we hit the road again, and now I have to get up and save Carlos from whatever crawled up his ass this time.

When I join Ian, I see the problem.

Carlos is in the corner of the ceiling, horror movie style, his head canted weirdly to the side and a bizarre, rictus grin stretching his face.

I can see the thing possessing him almost like an overlay, it's hollow eyes filling the sockets of Carlos's skull like black oil.

It's not a demon though; it's a human soul, but dark and twisted almost beyond recognition, probably trapped here by some awful deed—hopefully one that occurred long before this place was being rented out to guests.

I reach for it almost lazily. Somehow they never see it coming—never expect someone with the ability to physically grasp the nonphysical. It probably thinks I'm going to try a ritual or say a prayer or something, like a normal exorcist would. Instead, I just grab it by its face and yank hard.

Carlos's body drops from the ceiling in a limp bundle. Ian catches him with his good arm, wincing as the effort jostles the sling immobilizing the other.

Fortunately, the break in his collarbone had been clean, and it hadn't required more than painkillers and a sling, but it won't be fully healed for at least another two weeks.

Meanwhile, The spirit writhes in my grasp, hissing and spitting like an angry cat.

Ian can't see it, but he can see me struggling with something as it tries to claw at me with shadowy hands.

"Sam—get rid of it!" he says.

"I'm trying, Ian," I retort.

Truth is, I'm not sure what to do with this one. Once exorcised, a demon will naturally return to its native realm, or to the person who controls it. Human spirits are different. They might return to a particular location, or an object, or even a person. They might move on to wherever they were supposed to go when the died. Or, they might just wander away, free to roam.

Usually, I don't consider it my responsibility to figure out which option they pick, but this thing is nasty, and I don't want it on the loose.

"Hey—get me Carlos's blessing salts, quick," I tell Ian.

He lets Carlos slide to the floor and steps past me, returning with the box of salts. I take a pinch and toss it in the toilet, hold the spirit over it, and flush. As the bowl empties, I let the sucker go and he disappears down the drain in the rush of holy water.