Page 155 of Devil Inside

Faster.

Faster!

Her body slows. I don’t know, maybe her legs give out. Or she gives up. But the margin between our bodies widens, thank God, opening into a gulf before her tiny frame fades into the distance and I abandon the bike path, hitting the cross bridge and riding out.

Everywhere. They’re everywhere...

It’s happening again. Only more. Eyes everywhere. I’m seeing them wherever I go now. In the faces of people I pass by. Behind their eyes. Their smiles, lingering on their lips.

Demons.They’re following me. Watching me.

Happy hour is here. Ipanema gets a decent mix of hipsters and college kids. Doesn’t take much for this basement bar to get crowded, but it seems—I don’t know—exceptionally hectic. All these bodies press up against each other, sharing the same air. The general din of conversation lifts so high, a chorus of voices, I can’t even hear myself think.

I don’t want to think. I’m here to drown. Get blackout drunk and fall straight into that black hole. Never climb out from this abyss. I don’t want to see demons anymore.

Wicker Men is tonight. Just what I need. A fucking house party. I promised Lys I’d go, but before I hit the road, it’s time for a little pre-gaming. Just a drink to balance the nerves.

Make that two more drinks. Who’s counting?

I’m losing myself in the light refracted off the ice melting in my glass, the colors swirling in an oil spill spiral. Look at that—an entire cosmos in my scotch on the rocks.

I can’t stop thinking about her. The demon within. It was easier before, when it was just her. Now I’m seeing them everywhere. They’re in my sleep, my dreams, all around—

“Is this seat taken?” A woman’s voice beckons behind me.

I turn, expecting to find Lilith.

The woman standing before me is not someone I’ve ever met before, but that doesn’t mean much these days. She’s tall, much taller than me. That’s saying something. She’s wearing an emerald-green dress along with a black satin choker, hair pinned back.

She slides in next to me before I can answer. “What are you drinking?”

“Scotch. Rocks.”

She turns to the bartender and asks, “Two scotch on ice, please.”

The bartender brings them. She raises a glass to me. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Clink.I take mine down in one gulp. I can feel the fire work its way down my throat, scorching everything in its path. The burn blossoms in my belly, a full-on fire.

This woman’s eyes haven’t left me. She’s taking me in, sizing me up. I can only imagine what’s on her mind, if they’re even her thoughts at all. Because let’s be honest with ourselves here, okay? The only folks interested in chatting with me these days are demons.

“Looking a little wounded there, soldier,” she says. “You on the rebound?”

“At least I got a purple heart.”

“It’s bleeding all over the bar...”

“Don’t want to stain the wood.”

“I don’t mind,” she says, leaning in.

I lean back, trying to keep a wee bit of space between us. “Do I know you?”

She presses her palm to her chest, mortally wounded. “You don’t remember me?”

“The faces tend to blur,” I say. “Then again... that’s not your real face, is it?”