Here's the next installment. Hope you enjoy it.
Thanks for the reviews.
Considering how bad things had looked for him a week ago, this was the next best thing to having a time machine. He couldn't undo the errors in judgment he'd made, but he could undo all indications said errors had ever occurred.
The Congressman sighed and kicked off his shoes. He'd had a very successful day. The intern that was supposed to testify against him had been found hanging in a closet. Naked. With some very illegal pornography scattered around his gently swaying feet. The security camera footage that (allegedly) showed him entering a seedy motel with a hooker on his arm had, when played, turned out to be someone's audition tape for The Real World. And funds that had been (again, allegedly) misappropriated were back exactly where they belonged, with not so much as an errant penny to bring the IRS sniffing.
His soul had been well worth it. Heck, he was impressed with how good a job that Crowley fellow had done. No detail had been overlooked, and that simpering son of a bitch intern had gotten exactly what he deserved.
This called for a drink.
The Congressman walked over to the minibar, selected his favorite brew, and returned to his bed.
Or tried to. A bellhop was standing between him and downy comfort.
"What are you doing in here? I didn't call the front desk for anything," the Congressman said.
"No hablo ingles," the bellhop replied.
The Congressman gaped. What the hell was this? Somebody had invaded his privacy, and he couldn't even tell the guy to leave thanks to the language barrier! What kind of people was this hotel hiring? The kind that Immigration would be escorting out of the country, that's what kind.
"Go. Leave. Uh, vaya, yeah, that's it! Vaya!" The Congressman pointed at the door. "Adios, amigo."
The bellhop grinned. "Sorry, I was messing with you. I speak perfect English, and so does he, actually."
"Great. Wait, who's 'he'?" The Congressman looked around wildly for any friends the bellhop might have invited in.
"He, as in the meat-suit." The bellhop motioned to his body. "The guy I'm possessing."
"Possessing?"
The bellhop's eyes flashed black and the Congressman opened his mouth to scream. Before he could produce a sound, he found himself thrown backwards and pinned to the wall. When he tried to move, it felt like he was held there by an invisible hand. He struggled valiantly to escape from the wall but was as trapped as a fly in a web.
"I'm a demon. Like the one you sold your soul to. Only not such a whiny bitch."
"But- What- How do you know about that?" the Congressman demanded.
"Oh, I was there. The chick in the tube-top with the freckle explosion? Me!"
The Congressman tilted his head, as though looking at the young Hispanic bellhop from a different angle would turn him into a freckled female.
Meg sighed. "I guess nobody ever explained the finer points of demonic possession to you. Come over here and let Mama teach you."
Meg walked over to the bed, sat down, and patted the spot next to her. The moment she did, her hold on the Congressman released and he stumbled away from the wall. Instead of obediently walking over to the bed, he ran for the phone.
For a man his age, the Congressman could move. He had nearly made it to the phone when Meg tackled him to the floor. Another psychic hold would have required less effort, but some people just asked to be leapt on.
"Let me explain what happens if the police, Secret Service, or Men in Black show up here: chunks of police, Secret Service, or Men in Black end up clogging the pipes and painting the ceiling. And they never find chunks of you, Mr. Representative," Meg said. "Understand?"
The Congressman nodded frantically and Meg removed her elbow from his back. "Okay, let's try that one more time."
Now moving more like a man his age, the Congressman got to his knees and, using the bed for support, managed to stand. He then stiffly sat on the bed, his back to Meg.
"Good enough, grandpa. Now what were we talking about? Right, demonic possession. It works like this: demons don't have physical bodies of their own. Outside of hell, we're smoke. We can bowl into things, but there is no room for finesse. If we want to touch something, hold a conversation, sit down and chillax, we need bodies. So we take them. Possess them. Basically anyone we want. I wanted this bellhop, so I shoved my smoky essence down his throat, and now I'm riding him. I'm in total control. He's in here, alive, screaming and all that fun stuff, but I'm the boss of the body," Meg explained.
"Is that why you're here? To possess me?" the Congressman asked.
Meg snorted. "Only if you were the last meat-suit on Earth. Oh, that's what we usually call the bodies we wear. Meat-suits. Though I did once hear a demon call his body 'carne Armani'. For a demon, that's pretty creative."
"Then what do you want? To blackmail me?"
"Oh, damn, that's it. I was hoping we could play a little longer. But you hit the nail on the head."
"You're a demon! You're from hell! How are you supposed to blackmail me? Who's going to believe anything you say?"
Meg sighed. "Okay, maybe 'blackmail' isn't the best word. Maybe threaten is better. As in, threaten to kill you and send you down to hell ten years early, but before I kill you, force you to confess to every crime you escaped from today."
The Congressman swayed like a palm tree in a hurricane and then collapsed backwards on the bed. Meg looked at him and shook her head. She sauntered across the room to the kitchenette, where she picked up a plastic drinking cup and filled it with cold water. Meg returned to the bed and upended the cup, pouring its icy contents onto the Congressman's head. He woke with a sputter and a yelp.
"I kinda need you awake for this," Meg said.
The Congressman wiped water from his face. "For what? Tell me why you're here and what you want, damn it!"
"I need you to call Crowley."
"No! I never want to see him again! Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful I'm not on my way to prison for the rest of my natural life, but…he's queer."
"And kissing him reawakened long-buried feelings?" Meg asked.
"God damn you, no!"
Meg laughed. "I'm joking. It's pretty obvious power is your big turn-on. And, for the record, Crowley's not 'queer'. He's an equal-opportunity offender. He just loves messing with people like you. That's one of the reasons I needed you, and not some chick he made a deal with last year. He's more likely to show up, if only so he can needle you."
"All the more reason to never see him again," the Congressman groused.
"How about this then? I can pick you up and hurl you out that window, and while it may not seem like it, twenty seconds in freefall is really a long time to think."
Meg got off the bed and walked over to the window. She opened it and the sounds of the city flooded in. The Congressman felt his throat constricting.
"It's a long way down. You'd make a mess," Meg said. "And don't forget than confession I mentioned earlier. You don't want the authorities to break in here and discover your suicide note painted on the walls."
The Congressman slowly shook his head. No, he most certainly didn't want any part of that.
"So what'll it be? Willing to make one little collect call for me, or do you want to make some EMTs throw up?"
"Okay, I'll call him. But don't think for one second I won't sell you out! This is all your idea and I'll make sure he knows it!" the Congressman said.
"I wouldn't expect anything else from you. Now let's get you to a crossroads."
"Do I have time to change my shirt?" The Congressman motioned to his wet clothes.
"Nope."
"But—"
"Would you rather meet Crowley without any shirt, or with a wet one?"
The Congressman shut his mouth.
An hour later, Meg and her grumpy passenger disembarked from the SUV Meg had "borrowed" earlier in the day. She had chosen to drive far from the city to a deserted country road that was so ill-used weeds had almost erased its existence. Meg kicked down the goldenrod until she had exposed a section of earth. Once the ground was clear, she motioned for the Congressman to join her.
"How do I do this?" the Congressman asked, surveying the crop circle Meg had created.
"Just like the first time. Bury this." From her meat-suit's various pockets, Meg withdrew an assortment of objects, from stringy herbs to a bit of bone, and a small box to hold them all. She crammed the objects into the box, tucked the box under her arm, and then held out her empty hand to the Congressman. He stared at it like it was a tentacle.
"What? You want me to hold your hand?" the Congressman asked.
"No. I want some photo ID," Meg replied.
"Why?"
"So I can steal your identity and buy some sweet shorts on your credit. Because you need a photo of yourself to summon a crossroads demon, stupid! How did you manage this by yourself?"
The Congressman reached into his pants-pocket and removed his wallet. He had a driver's license, but didn't want to use that and have to tangle with the DMV to get a new one. Even for a high-ranking elected official, the wheels of the DMV turned slowly, and with much tortured squealing. And anyway, the first time he'd summoned Crowley, he'd just used a photo from a recent speech he'd given. He wasn't lucky enough to have a throw-away shot this time, but he did have a few family photographs.
Of the pictures in his wallet, the most recent to feature him was from Christmas. The Congressman carefully tore his wife out of the snapshot and then handed only his own image to Meg. She happily folded the picture in half and then jammed it into the box. Once the demon-summoning box was complete, Meg handed it all over to the Congressman.
"You have to do this part yourself," Meg said.
The Congressman knelt down and excavated a hole big enough to accept the box. Once the box was in the hole, the Congressman pulled the dirt back over, making a little mound. He patted the mound and stood up.
"There. Now what do you…" the Congressman trailed off. The demon who'd dragged him deep into the boondocks was nowhere to be seen.
The Congressman turned in a circle and found himself alone. The SUV was still parked there, so the demon hadn't driven off in it. But maybe it didn't have to. Demons had to have all kinds of evil powers, and disappearing into thin air might be one of them. The Congressman tried to remember if he'd ever, anywhere, even in a book or on a crappy straight-to-DVD, seen anything about demons and their abilities. All he could come up with was Jesus turning a demon into a pig. And he hadn't heard any oinking.
Whether the demon had turned into a pig and high-tailed it, or had run off in that Mexican it was wearing, there was no point standing around, waiting for Crowley to show up and…molest him again. The first time around Crowley had taken his sweet time to show up, and the Congressman, as he hustled to the SUV, prayed the demon deal-maker was just as lazy this time around.
The driver's side door of the SUV was open, and the Congressman dove inside. He slammed the door and locked it, and then fumbled for the keys. Which, of course, were not in the ignition. The Congressman gulped. Though he knew he wouldn't be so lucky, he flipped down the visor, checked under the seat, and looked in the glove box. No keys, just as he expected.
Since he'd failed to locate the keys, the Congressman had a decision to make. Did he remain in the SUV, maybe duck down or hide in the back, or did he try to run? Or, since he was a senior citizen, make that jog lightly before his aching knees forced him to limp.
While the Congressman tried to decide whether he wanted to die in a stranger's SUV, or out in the middle of nowhere, where the local wildlife would pick his bones clean before anyone found him, there was a light knock at the window. The Congressman went rigid and white as a freshly bleached sheet at a Klansman's house. He turned his head and found Crowley smiling at him. The demon waved.
"Come to thank me for a job well done?" Crowley asked. "You could have just sent muffins."
"The Mexican demon made me do it!" the Congressman screamed.
Crowley's eyebrows rose. "Is that a more racist version of 'the devil made me do it'?"
"No, maybe, I don't know! But an hour ago I was at my hotel, preparing to celebrate, and then there was this bellhop and he kidnapped me! And then he drove me out here, and now he's gone! It's all his fault! I never wanted to see you again!"
Crowley's perky grin turned into a wounded frown. "Never again? After all I did for you?"
The Congressman thought fast. "That isn't what I meant. I am thankful, you saved my life and my career, but I was just kidnapped by a demon and I am understandably upset."
"Tell me more about this demon." Crowley said.
"He was a bellhop. No, he was wearing the bellhop, that's what he said. It was a meat-suit. And he said he knew I sold my soul to you, because he was there, watching. But he was a girl back then," the Congressman said. Then he put a hand to his head. "I don't understand you demons. Have you ever been a girl?"
Instead of replying, Crowley frowned. He knew exactly who had kidnapped the Congressman, and the surface reason was obvious: to get Crowley topside. But beyond that, Crowley couldn't glean why Meg would risk pissing off the King of Hell with her shenanigans.
"Where is she? He. Whatever," Crowley said.
"I don't know. He made me bury the box, and when I stood back up, he was gone. Oh."
"Oh? Oh what? If you've had an epiphany, please share it with the class."
"He's right behind you."
Crowley whirled around and came face-to-face with Meg and her new meat-suit. Before he could say a word, Meg seized his wrists and snapped a pair of ancient-looking manacles on them.
Crowley looked down at his bonds. "We've already played this game, and with nicer jewelry."
Meg shook her head, but couldn't shake the smile off her face. "Not like this, we didn't."
Crowley jerked his arms, intending to snap the handcuffs as though they were made of spun sugar. When the metal did not break, he tried harder, putting more muscle into his efforts. When that didn't work, Crowley's poise slipped just a little. He glared down at the cuffs, his eyes flashed red, and a spark of blue flame like a will o' wisp appeared on the heavy chain that connected the two cuffs. The flame burned and spat like thermite, and Crowley allowed the reaction to continue for a full minute before he extinguished the fire.
Once more the King of Hell tried to escape the cuffs. Despite the sixty seconds of intense heat that should have melted the iron, the chain between the cuffs remained completely intact no matter how hard Crowley pulled.
His rage tangible in his voice, Crowley growled, "Take. Them. Off."
"I have a better idea. Why don't you meet me in, I don't know, Philadelphia, downtown, at rush hour, and then we can talk about it," Meg replied.
Crowley's mouth fell open.
"Not so nice when you're on the receiving end, is it?" Meg taunted.
Crowley grabbed for Meg, intending to pull her head off and play soccer with it, but the handcuffs made his motions ridiculously slow and clumsy. She danced out of his reach and before he could recover or adapt to the burden strapped to his wrists, she was running around the front of the SUV to the passenger's side door. She threw herself into the SUV and slammed the door.
"Drive!" Meg said, slamming the key into the ignition.
"Where?!" the Congressman demanded.
"That way!"
The Congressman stepped on the gas and the SUV shot off. Crowley was left in a cloud of dust and seething fury.
Crowley watched the SUV's taillights retreat into the night. When he got his hands on her—hands free of these ridiculous cuffs—she was going to wish she'd never been born.
Just as soon as he figured out how to get to Philadelphia without the whole demon and human world learning Meg had gotten the jump on him.
To Be Continued
The story about Jesus turning demons into pigs is legitimate. It's from the book of Mathew, though to be totally fair, Jesus doesn't turn the demons into pigs, but exorcises them from their human hosts and the demons then escape into the pigs.