“Charley.”
“Okay, here goes. Reyes Farrow is the son of Satan.” Whew. I’d said it. I’d laid it out there. Bared my soul. Spilled my guts. And then I waited. And waited. I checked my phone. Still connected. “Gemma?”
“As in, the Satan?”
“Yes.”
“Because I had a client who’d changed his name to Satan once. Are you sure that’s not Reyes’s dad?”
I tried not to laugh. “No, Reyes Farrow is the gorgeous and stubborn and unpredictable son of Satan, and many centuries ago, he escaped from hell to be with me. He waited for me to be born, then chose a family and was born on Earth himself. Only to later be kidnapped and traded off to the man who raised him, Earl Walker. But he sacrificed everything to be with me, Gemma, knowing that when he was born, he wouldn’t remember who he was or who I was. And the memories of his past have been coming back to him over the last few years, kind of like things are revealed to me. Slow as molasses in January.” I passed a truck hauling cows, their big sad eyes looking on as I drove by. Poor little guys. “Did you hang up on me?”
“Okay, I have an opening Tuesday at four. I’m going to pencil in a two-hour session, just in case.”
“I’m not crazy, Gem. You know that.”
With a reluctant sigh, she agreed. “I know you’re not, but I’ve never even believed in Satan and you’re telling me he’s not only real, but he has a son? And that son has been stalking you since you were born?”
“Yes. Well, basically. And he’s been in prison for the last ten years for killing the man who raised him, the man from that night.”
“Holy cow, he killed him? That doesn’t happen often.”
“I know. It’s rare for an abused child to turn against his abuser, but it happens.”
“So, Reyes was the being who used to follow you?”
“Yes. From what I’ve found out, he used to have seizures as a kid, and it was during those seizures he would leave his body and become that being, or the Big Bad, as I used to call him. He was this huge, larger-than-life entity that would save my life whenever I was in danger.”
“That was him? When you were, what, four or five?”
“I can’t believe you remember that. He was there over and over. When that convicted sex offender tried to play house with me, the Big Bad was there. When a classmate tried to run me down with his dad’s SUV in high school, the Big Bad was there.”
“Oh, I remember that. Owen Vaughn tried to kill you.”
“Right, and the Big Bad stopped him.”
“Owen seemed so normal. Did you ever figure that out?”
“No. He hates me to this day.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, and one time this man was stalking me in college and decided to get to know me better one night while he held a knife to my throat and the Big Bad was there.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” she said, her tone scolding.
“You weren’t talking to me anymore.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, because you told me not to.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Any more life-threatening situations you’ve been in?”
“Oh, yeah, tons. The abusive husband of a client felt the need to end my life with a chrome-plated .38 once, and Big Bad was there. And the list goes on. So, for the life of me, I was never really certain why he scared the bejesus out of me. Nothing scared me growing up. I’ve been playing with dead people since the day I was born, so it’s good thing, yet the Big Bad scared me. Which brings me to the reason I called.”
“Which was to give me nightmares for the rest of my life?”
“Oh, no, that’s just a plus. Why was I so scared of him?”
“Hon, for one thing he was this powerful, massive, black smokelike being.”
“So, you’re saying I’m a racist?”
“No, Charley, I’m saying you have the instinct to preserve your life just like the rest of us. And you couldn’t help but see him as a threat. You are too driving. Where are you going?”
“Will you think on it and get back to me?” I asked, completely unsatisfied with her answer. Absolutely no Freudian theories in there whatsoever. No Jung or Erikson. Not even a hint of Oprah. “Which brings me to the second reason I called. I’m headed to Santa Fe to see him. And remember how he was injured in the basement of my apartment building a couple of weeks ago?” She knew that Reyes had been injured. She didn’t know why.
“Yes.”
“Well, a funny thing happened on the way to eternity. Demons escaped from hell—several hundred, actually—and they were torturing his physical body to try to lure me to them.”
“Demons.”
“Demons.”
“As in—”
“Yes. Hellfire and brimstone.”
“And why would they try to lure you to them?” she asked after a long moment, her voice a bit shaky.
“Because, as the grim reaper, I’m the portal to heaven, and they want it.”
“’Kay.”
“But, you have to understand, Reyes is the portal out of hell, and they want that, too.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I know, right? Thanks for telling me, Rey-Rey. And remember his tattoo from that night? It’s a map to the gates of hell, but that’s another story. So, he’s all, ‘I’m too vulnerable like this. I’m going to let my physical body die,’ and I’m all, ‘No, you’re not,’ and he’s all, ‘Yes, I am,’ and I’m all—”
“Charley,” she said, totally interrupting. “None of this is possible. What you’re saying—”
“Stay with me here.” I could hear the breathless panic rising in her voice. But really, she was part sister and part therapist. No one was more qualified for me to talk to about this stuff. I had discovered this really cool ability that night and ended up vanquishing all the demons, but the things they did to Reyes. I could hardly think of it without growing light-headed. She probably didn’t need to know that part.
“I’m trying.”
“So anyway,” I said, charging ahead before I lost her, “to keep him from basically committing suicide, I bound his incorporeal self to his physical body.”