Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings (8 page)

Dewanal—and you could bet he did too—chomped with glee upon his sandwich. His face, hands and chest glistened with grease. “Holy fucking shit, Travis, it’s like I cum with every bite,” he said, spewing bits of food all over himself,
and
Travis,
and
the window,
and
the floor,
and
a baby and her horrified parents two tables away who suddenly decided they had someplace better to be.

Travis thought Dew’s—that’s what he was told to call the demon—show earlier at a Starbuck’s was bad enough. The demon had consumed enough lattes, frappuccinos, and espressos to tweak out a small army. Travis had been fine with his non-fat, half-decaf, half soy, mochacino, no whip. Tall. Dew called him a fag while spewing foam from his deformed mouth. Now this…

“Bitch, you need to eat one of these things. I mean seriously, it’s better than sex.” The demon paused, “Well…most sex.” Then he roared with laughter, giving the floor another coat of chewed up food.

««—»»

“So how come I can’t see what everyone else sees?” Travis asked, hoping Dew would let him see the human façade that everyone else saw instead of the mess he had to look at.

“Aw, what’sa matta, baby. You don’t find me pretty anymore?” Then Dew let out an anguished sob and started huffing as if caught up in a deep crying fit. “You used…to think I-I-I…was sexy.”

Travis sat there, jaw hanging open.

“Remember when you used to call me your little pretty pony and ride me all night long? Huh, do you?” cried Dew.

The people in the restaurant who toughed it out during the feeding frenzy stared at the two of them. Everyone likes a free display of drama.

“You were the one who wanted kids, not me. You’re the one who said you’d pull out. You bastard!” Dew shouted, standing and slamming the table with his palm. “You’re the one that did this to me. You ruined me and now you don’t want to fuck me anymore. Well, fuck you, Mr. Man.”

Travis shot uneasy looks at those around him. Even people on the street were looking in the window.

Dew’s theatrics were in full-gear. Tears running down his face, wheezing, trying to catch his breath between sobs. “Well, you just go off to your fucking whore. We’re through and I’m taking you for everything, you cheating bastard.” Dew stood there panting for a second or two, then stormed out, leaving Travis with all eyes focused on him.

Travis slowly stood up and tried to keep his composure while getting the hell out there as fast as he could. He smoothed his jacket, as was his habit, slid the chair through the grease-covered floor into place under the table, gave a slight nod to everyone watching, turned and casually walked out the door.

He caught up with Dew about a block away. “So I take it everyone sees you as a woman?”

“I thought it would be fun,” Dew said somewhat distracted, as if looking for something.

“Nice.”

Dew shrugged. “Strippers.”

“What?”

“Strippers, whores, women. Need some titty in my face. Need to put my log in the fire.”

Travis just stared at Dew, stunned by his
eloquence
. “Wow,” was all he could say for a minute.

“What? When was the last time you went all raw dog on a bitch?”

Travis stood silent.

“Exactly,” Dew said slapping Travis on the back. “We need pussy.”

Travis started to protest, then stopped, thought a minute. He could stand to get laid. It
had
been a long time. When he did have sex it was usually part of some rite or ritual and always ended in him covered in blood and shit. Would be nice to just find a hot whore and just have her fuck his brains out.

“Okay, we
need
pussy. Only problem is, there are no strip clubs or hookers around here that I know of. Kind of a conservative town.”

Dew started to say something, stopped before any words came out, sniffed the air. “Vegas.”

“What?”

“Vegas. We need to go to Vegas.”

“It’s like 2000 miles away. How the hell are we going to get to there?”

Dew smiled—maybe, who knew with that face—and pulled Travis close. “Hang on, baby. Daddy’s just bought us a ticket on the Cooter Caboose.”

Dew raised his arm high in the air and started swirling it around. Travis could feel a shower of energy fall down around them. He had a sudden feeling of complete claustrophobia. The air was forced from his lungs as the energy wrapped itself around him, squeezing tighter and tighter.

He saw it coming like a wall barreling toward his face—darkness—pure, pitch black, scary-as-hell darkness. Then it hit him full-on and Travis fell hard and fast into its cold embrace.

««—»»

Knock, knock, knock.

Travis shot bolt upright in his bed. “What the hell?” he said, panting. He shook his head trying to get the images from a nightmare out of his head. He was wrapped in his sheets, or more like glued to them. His entire body was covered in sweat.
 
He started to struggle with the soaking wet sheets and quickly gave up and just sat in the middle of his bed, dazed and confused.

Travis never had nightmares—
never
—until just now and man was it a doozie. He wasn’t even sure what had happened in the dream. Just chaos, blood and screaming. And in the middle his wife… She was…that guy…
What the fuck?
was all Travis could think.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Shit,” Travis said, realizing someone was at the door. He tried to get up and—
thud
—quickly found himself face down on the floor, the sheets firmly wrapped around his legs. “God
damn
it!”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hold on,” Travis yelled. He rolled onto his back and began furiously kicking his legs to loosen the sheets.

Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m coming. One second. Christ!” A couple of more kicks and Travis was finally free. He pushed himself up and spun around trying to get his bearings. He saw his robe, grabbed it, and headed toward the door while pulling it on.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Keep it in your pants! I’m coming.”

Knock, knock, knock.

Travis was getting pissed. He reached the front door, grabbed the handle, turned it and yanked the door open hard. “Son of a bi—”

Travis cut himself off when he saw the two uniformed men standing in front of him. The dour looks on their faces told him something was wrong—
very
wrong.

“Mr. Burnsfield?” asked the one on the right.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Mr. Travis Burnsfield?”

“Uh-huh.”

The two officers stood there giving Travis an up and down with their eyes. Then they gave each other a quick look as if deciding to continue. “May we come in, sir?” asked the same officer.

“Umm, well… Ah,” Travis realized he was sounding like a babbling idiot, but he was a little stunned to see two cops at his doorstep. He took a second and pulled it together. “Sure. Please,” he said and stood to the side to let the officers in.

He led them to the living room and offered them a seat. Neither took one. Instead: “I think it best if you sat down, Mr. Burnsfield.”

Shit,
Travis thought.
This isn’t good.
So he sat. He didn’t do it because they told him he should. He sat because he knew what they were going to say.
Oh, God,
he thought,
I know what they’re going to say.

The same officer began talking again. “Mr. Burnsfield, your wife…”

No, not Sally…

“Mrs. Sally Burnsfield…”

Oh, God…

“Well, we’re very sorry, Mr. Burnsfield, but there was an incident at the school today.”

An incident?

“At approximately 11:20 this morning a man entered Jefferson Elementary. He worked his way to the classroom of your wife.” The officer paused. He was trying to stay calm and be cool and distant, but Travis could tell he was having a hard time. The other officer just looked at a spot somewhere above Travis’ head, chewing his bottom lip.

“And after entering your wife’s classroom the man pulled a knife and well…” It was as if he suddenly decided that the details weren’t all that crucial right now. “Your wife was rushed to the hospital, but was pronounced dead on arrival.”

The other officer finally lowered his eyes and looked right at Travis who had looked to him as though trying to ask if this was a joke. Finally the other officer spoke, “We’re very, very sorry, Mr. Burnsfield.”

“Yes,” said the first one. “Rest assured we have every officer available looking for this man. And I promise you—”

The words just filled the space between Travis and the officers. All Travis could hear was a loud
hum
as the officers babbled on—a
hum
, a
buzz
, then just static. And then he saw it coming—a wall of darkness barreling toward his face—pure, pitch-black, scary-as-hell darkness. Then it hit him full-on and Travis fell hard and fast into its cold embrace.
 
 

««—»»

“Hey, T-man.”

Travis felt himself being shook. “Sally?” he croaked groggily.

“What? No, man. Come on. Snap out of it. We’re here.”

Travis felt a hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him some more. “Here? What?” Travis said trying to get his head to stop spinning.

A loud, boisterous voice answered him back, “Vegas, baby.
VEGAS!”

Travis was finally recovering from the effects of the trip. He looked up and immediately closed his eyes to the assault of light from a million flashing, colored light bulbs. “Fuck!”

Dew looked down at Travis and laughed. “Trip a little rough on ya, buddy? Here…” And Dew touched Travis’ forehead very delicately and suddenly Travis felt fine.

“Damn. Thanks.”

“Uh-huh,” said Dew distractedly. It was obvious his mind had already moved on to better things. “You know what?”

“Uh… Let me guess… Pussy,” Travis said knowingly.

“Ab-so-fucking-lutely. Daddy’s dip stick needs to check some bitch’s fluid. Know what I mean?”

“Well, although masterfully subtle, I think I get your innuendo.”

Dew laughed, “I like you, T-man.” Then he raised his arm and Travis braced himself for a hard slap on the back. But just before the hand reached him, Dew yelled, “Psyche,” and mussed up Travis’ hair instead. “Let’s roll.”

And they were moving. Travis had to laugh; here he was, walking down the Vegas strip next to a demon he had just summoned a couple of hours ago.
This is like some sort of fucked up Harold and Maude shit,
he thought. He looked up at the abomination next to him and wondered what others were seeing. “What are you now?”

“Huh?”

“What are people seeing you as? Still a woman?”