It was nearing noon when Michael and Troy caught up with Father Jeremiah. Like the triplets, he had retreated to the relatively security of the Bradford Hotel when Armilus arrived. The move was to protect Michael's sons rather than fear for his own safety. The boys were nearly a year old, bigger and more advanced than most would be at that age, but they were still just tots. They needed a safe place where they could eat and sleep in peace. They were both doing the latter when Michael arrived, leaving the men free to speak without interruption. The immediate subject at hand was Constance.

"When Armilus arrived, he scattered the souls that wouldn't side with him," Jeremiah explained.

Troy was behind the hotel bar fixing himself and Michael something to drink. "How many did he flush out?"

Jeremiah, seated on one of the barstools, shrugged and spread his hands. "I couldn't say. When he bottled Constance...that's when I left."

"Bottled her?" Michael prompted. He was still on his feet, pacing slowly nearby.

Jeremiah nodded. "He put her in one of the crystal whiskey decanters and left with her. When he came back, the bottle was gone. He said he hid her 'someplace precious'."

Troy slid a tall glass full of mixed alcohol and cherries down the bar in Michael's direction. Without looking, he put out a hand and caught it deftly.

"I'm sure he thought he was very clever," Michael muttered. He plucked one of the cherries from the top of the glass by its stem and sucked on it, thinking. He quickly came to a conclusion. "We don't have time for guessing games."

He bit the fruit off the cherry and tossed the stem to the bar. Troy had another cocktail made by then and offered it to Jeremiah, who demurred by holding up a hand. Troy shrugged and claimed it for himself.

Michael tuned them out and focused instead on the familiar signature of Constance's aura. He felt nothing at first, but closing his eyes helped him filter out distractions. In the distance he could sense her. She was far across town, somewhere near the ocean. He concentrated harder, homing in on her vibrations.

"There," he said when he pinpointed her location. He opened his eyes. The room swam for a moment as he adjusted to being fully back in his body. "She's in a mineshaft near Bodega Bay."

"Bodega Bay?" Troy echoed. "Where's that?"

"Northern coast," Michael supplied. Then he had a hefty swig from his glass, nearly draining it.

"It'll take a while to get there if we're driving," pointed out Troy.

"We're not going," corrected Michael. "You're going to stay here with the twins. I'll take Jeremiah with me the quick way."

Troy didn't bother hiding his disappointment. "There are other people who could babysit," he said after a swallow from his glass.

"I want you here," Michael said. His tone was mild, but the look on his face brooked no further argument. "We'll be back once we have Mother Constance."

He downed the last of his drink and set the slender glass down on the bar. "Do you need anything?" he asked Jeremiah.

The man shook his head. "Ready when you are."

"Let's go," said Michael. He took hold of his former guardian's arm and willed them away.

Suddenly alone, Troy leaned on the bar. "Great," he grumped. "Power of the sun and I get stuck babysitting."

A coastal wind blew through the verdant valley Michael and Jeremiah found themselves in. Above them, perched atop a blunt hill, a series of old refinery buildings decayed. They had been covered with graffiti in years past until every surface was covered. Over the past decade or so, no one had been out there to add to it or keep up the urban murals, so it too had fallen victim to the elements. Rust eroded the once-colorful pictures and word art. The whole setup looked on the verge of collapse.

Beneath the work buildings a cracked and overgrown concrete platform stood, blackened by years of weather. Below that, a small and boxy entrance was the only evident way into the abandoned mine. There was a dry stream bed nearby, the bottom of which was sun-bleached sand. Gray rocks flanked either side of the dead bed, colored only by a rusty red wandering line that ran down from the refinery to join the defunct spring where the miners once backwashed. The grass near that stain was dead and yellow.

"There," Michael motioned to the boxy entrance.

"Neither of us can fit in there," observed Jeremiah as they drew closer.

"We don't have to," answered Michael.

He concentrated and almost immediately there was a clattering of feathers as a small portion of his flock of murder crows arrived. They lit on the edges of the broken-down buildings, cawing and scraping at the ancient metal with their sharp claws.

Michael summoned one down to him, holding an arm out so it could perch where he could make eye contact. "There is a clear glass bottle down that shaft," he told it. "Find it. Bring it to me. Carefully."

The crow gave a raspy screech and took wing. It disappeared into the boxy hole.

While they were waiting, Michael lit a cigarette and brought Jeremiah up to speed about the encounter with Armilus, ending with: "Once we're done here, I'm going to take Belial out with the last Armageddon dagger."

Jeremiah's brows went up. "If you do that, you won't have all of the relics."

Michael made a face. "What else can I do? I don't think Troy's stupid horn-sword will work."

"If you must fight him, doing so in a mortal form is going to get you killed," advised Jeremiah.

The cryptic words irritated Michael. "What am I supposed to do, then?" he flared. "Fight him as a carrion crow?"

"Fight him in your true form."

The blunt answer cooled Michael's temper. "What?"

"Michael, this—" Jeremiah motioned to the whole of the younger man's body. "Is not you. You're not human. You never have been. Humans can't transport themselves over miles by will alone. They can't summon creatures to do their bidding. They can't kill with a thought. Your body is just a shell." He paused, then added: "It's only as real as you want it to be."

Michael let that sink in. Then: "How do I assume my true form?"

Jeremiah couldn't help a chuckle. "You've shown it a couple of times already. When you were extremely upset. I'm fairly certain you can unleash it deliberately if you just try."

It was a compelling thought. Michael considered. He pulled a last drag off his clove and flicked the butt into the rocks. Then he dug inward, trying to summon the 'real' him. But how? He thought about how he had changed forms before, becoming a bird and becoming one with the water. It seemed logical it couldn't be too different from that. Jeremiah has said his body was a shell. What would happen if he tried to break out of it?

He remembered seeing Belial split out of his Billie Dean guise at the asylum and tried to will the same thing to happen to him. He envisioned the real him — the Self at the root of his thoughts and feelings — to emerge. The more he focused on it, the stronger he could sense the Self contained within the fleshy outer rind.

Once he grasped that, he felt energy flow through him in a rush. It was like when he encountered Apsinthos, only more so. He felt radiant, powerful.

From Jeremiah's viewpoint, it was quite astounding to behold. He watched as Michael shut his eyes to concentrate. Within seconds, the young man began to glow like metal superheated. He quickly became too bright to look at directly. And still he grew brighter and brighter, until Jeremiah had to shield his eyes.

The crow emerged from the mineshaft just as the brightness was reaching its apex. The poor creature was blinded and spun out of control, dashing itself into the stony ground. The bottle flew from its grasp and shattered on the gray rocks.

The sound brought Michael back from his voyage of self-discovery. In a few seconds, the light was gone, and Jeremiah could see again, though he suffered from the distortion of vision one got after looking directly at the flash of a camera.

"Shit!" Michael swore when he saw the broken bottle and injured crow.

He and Jeremiah started toward them but both paused when a cloud of vapor coalesced over the shards of broken glass. The mist hung for a moment then solidified into the form of Constance. She looked rattled and her flower-print kaftan was askew, but she otherwise unharmed.

"Where are we?" she asked, bewildered by her surroundings.

Jeremiah smiled in relief and went to her, offering her a hand instinctively. Her green mule slides were not adequate for walking on rocks. She accepted the aid though she didn't need it. She was a ghost after all, but she preferred to be treated like a lady.

"Bodega Bay," Michael said. "You were...displaced."

"Displaced?" she exclaimed, offended. Then: "That son-of-a-bitch! He tricked me!"

"Armilus has been taken care of," assured Michael. "But we should get back to the house. I'm about to pick a fight with his father."

Constance stepped down to flatter ground with Jeremiah's help. Then she looked to Michael in obvious concern. "If the son's been dealt with, why? Why not just leave well enough alone?"

Michael sighed impatiently. "I don't know much about Belial, but I'm quite sure he won't leave 'well enough alone'. I'd rather get the jump on him than show up at another place with him or his offspring waiting for me."

Constance looked to Jeremiah for support, but he just shrugged. "Oh, Michael. You always did like meetin' challenges head-on," she said, resigned. "Are the boys okay?"

"They're fine," Jeremiah assured, patting her hand. "Troy's with them at the hotel."

Constance wrinkled her nose. "You two left that moronic queer in charge of my grandsons? Jesus H Christ! Let's get back before he loads their bottles with vodka or something equally stupid."

...


Author's Note:

What Lies Beneath was a Zemeckis supernatural horror film about a couple living in a haunted house. American Horror Story season 1 seemed to cull some inspiration from it. I thought it was a fitting title for this chapter for other reasons.

Our Hollywood Storyline is coming up on its final climaxes. There are two chapters left, then this Season will end. It's taken nearly 10 real years to get this far. I've really enjoyed having your company. I will be writing more in the future, but it will be published work. More info on that in the last Author's Note.

Next time: Guess who's coming to dinner?