The Devil's Son (Book 3 of the Jamison Brothers Series)

And So It Goes

                                    Range

     Hot, steamy water drenches me like a downpour of heavy rain. Droplets fall from the ends of my hair, and they roll down my eyes before they drip from my nose, finally splashing down to the puddle of pink-tinged water at my feet. Crimson ribbons trail all down my body, mostly my hands. I make sure to scrub beneath my fingernails—that's where bits of flesh and fresh meat have taken residence.
The residue of my latest prey is still stuck between my teeth. My Reaper would consider it something to savor, but I am utterly repulsed as I desperately try to pick it out with the tip of my tongue.
     Monsters are real. Demons, Witches, Vampires...they're all real, and I and my brothers are few of many. We're Reapers—demons who feast on the hearts of wicked souls. Strictly by the scent of their beating hearts, we track down those who are truly evil, and we force them into Hell. Even knowing the wrongs my prey has done, doesn't make the aftermath any easier to deal with. Believe it or not, I don't like the aftertaste of blood in my mouth. Not one bit.
     After I shut off the water, I stand in silence for a moment, reliving my latest hunt.
     It was a woman, about mid-thirties. She had long ebony hair with little streaks of blue here and there, she wore an oversized grey t-shirt with a pair of baggy jeans, and despite the thick layer of snow on the ground, her feet were bare. She had stepped foot into my bar, which was the worst mistake she'd ever made.
This woman had evaded the police for so long that she had gotten cocky. So cocky that she figured she'd score a drink or two, and toast to the six lives she had taken over the last three years. She just got done scattering the remains of her latest victim—a seventeen-year-old girl who had found herself going down a dangerous path that ultimately led her to her demise.
How do I know this information? I read it all in a journal I found in her car. As I said, she was cocky.
I finally will myself out of the shower stall just as my phone indicates a text. With a groan, I wrap a towel around my waist as I make my way over to read the message.
Fletcher: Council meeting in one hour.
   Damn it. Can't I have one night off? Just one?
I step out of the bathroom, and I cross the narrow hallway to my bedroom. I set my phone on my end table as I look longingly at my bed, its sheets beckoning me. Hopefully, this meeting won't take too long.
I've barely got a pair of pants on when Kale comes through the door with a bag of leftovers from the bar's kitchen in one hand, and his cane held lazily out in front of him in the other. There's no privacy between the two of us, considering he not only co-owns the bar, but also lives in the unit across the hall.
"I brought burgers!" He calls out.
"Not hungry," I poke my head around the corner as I fasten the button on my jeans.
"Oh, that's right," Kale folds his cane and stows it away on the coat rack by the front door, "you just ate."
"Don't remind me," I try to stifle the nausea I always get after a hunt.
"You don't still barf afterward, do you?" Kale scrunches his nose, "if so, I'll take my burgers and leave."
"I'm okay," I assure him as I stuff memories of hurling into the toilet to the back of my mind. Becoming a Reaper wasn't as easy for me as it was for my brothers. I mean, they had their challenges, but they got used to it. I never did. I've just learned how to cope over the years.
Kale unwraps a burger, and I fight to force down the bile climbing its way up my throat as he takes a bite. Juice dribbles down his chin, which he wipes away with the back of his hand. The mere sound of his teeth smashing the squelchy meat and bun into a ball of mush sends shivers down my spine.
"I was thinking we could take Fletcher out tomorrow morning," he says around a mouthful of beef and condiments, "a change of scenery, you know?"
"He doesn't go out anymore," I sigh hopelessly, "you know that."
"He's such a buzzkill lately," he takes another heaping bite just after he swallows his first, "he used to be fun."
"Yeah, before spending time in solitary confinement, falling into a coma, and coming back mute," I reply with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "gee, I wonder what went wrong."
"Shut up," Kale grumbles.
"Did he text you about the meeting?"
Kale shakes his head, "Nope. He probably figured you'd relay the message."
His annoyance is clear, and it's completely understandable. Fletcher doesn't communicate directly with Kale anymore, and I'm just as frustrated as Kale. It's hurtful, and Fletcher knows it. Kale didn't do anything to deserve that.
"It's in an hour, so you'd better finish eating if you want me to find us a good parking spot," I locate a t-shirt from the basket in the laundry room, and then I reach into the coat closet for my favorite lined flannel jacket. I've had it for years, and Dex and Fletcher have always teased me for looking like a lumberjack in it, but jokes on them—it's warm, comfortable, and practical.
"I wonder what Dex is up to," Kale says thoughtfully, a bit of sadness in his voice. It's been nine months since Dex left, and we haven't heard a peep from him. No calls or texts; to Kale, this is just like the last time he left town.
"I don't know," I zip up my jacket, "I just hope he's safe."
     After Kale finishes his food and cleans himself up after a long day working in the kitchen downstairs, we head out together. I got a new truck, and man, it's nice. It's a huge, deep maroon beauty. I'm confident there's not a terrain it can't handle.
     After I take a moment to appreciate my vehicle, Kale and I load in and I push the engine start button. The truck purrs to life, ready to take on whatever adventure we throw her way.
We cruise along Main Street, which is quiet and dimly lit by old-fashioned lamp posts. Most of our town's nightlife occurs at my and Kale's bar, which we just renamed, The Jamesville Tavern. Thank God we just hired a general manager, because the workload was becoming a bit much. Kale still goes down to help in the kitchen, because that's what he enjoys. He loves to cook; it's the whole reason why he agreed to start the business with me.
I pull into the parking lot, which is filled to the brim with cars. This might be a small town, but there's a lot of us Jamison's. There are only a handful of us who still carry the Jamison surname; me, my brothers, and our parents. Still, the curse runs through the veins of every single descendant of Rory Jamison, the man who started it all. We had all once been led to believe that Rory's curse was the result of a forbidden affair with a witch, but that's far from the truth.
The witch was his wife. When he nearly died, she saved him by bestowing the Reaper's Curse upon him. She was then killed by a group of supernatural hunters, and when Rory could no longer handle his grief, he begged the members of her coven to exorcise him.
He died too, but he was never able to reunite with his wife. Instead, he was sent to Hell, where he persuaded the devil to allow him to become the Gatekeeper of Purgatory. From then on, he has been tasked with leading more spirits than necessary to Hell. Occasionally, he graces us with his appearance, but that's only when shit hits the fan. Luckily, he hasn't been around since the whole ordeal with Fletcher. I wonder if Dex has seen him.
Kale grabs hold of my arm in standard Sighted Guide stance. I lead him into the courthouse and down to the basement, where everyone has congregated. There's coffee, so that's a plus.
"Coffee?" I ask Kale.
"Hell yeah," he replies.
I take us over to the table where all the coffee fixings, along with doughnuts, are set out. I used to stick with protein shakes, but as of late, coffee is my addiction. I've been dealing with severe insomnia, what with my head playing over every possible scenario. I imagine Dex burning alive for all eternity in Hell, or I see him transforming into the monster we were all so afraid he'd become after we witnessed his insatiable hunger. He ate the flesh of his prey right down to the bone, something none of us do. Our Reapers eat only the hearts before we revert to our human form.
Dex's Reaper seems to have a much larger appetite, and I'm afraid he might be a little less human than any of us. What if he succumbed to that part of himself? What if there's no Dex out there, just a Reaper who used to be Dex?
     I pour Kale a styrofoam cup of coffee and place it in his waiting hands just as Fletcher joins us. He looks so much better than he ever has; his cheeks are full of color, his eyes aren't nearly as hollow, and his hair is back. Well, it's not insanely long like before, but he has a nice set of brown curls similar to Kale and Dex's.
     I didn't inherit Dad's curls. Instead, I only have a slight wave to my hair, which has grown down my neck. Mom fussed about my needing a haircut, but I just leave it be. Who cares if I'm starting to grow a mullet?
     "Hey," I say.
     Fletcher nods toward me. His version of a greeting.
     I clear my throat, desperate to include Kale in the conversation, "Kale and I have been learning some tactile signs. You're more than welcome to join."
     Fletcher heaves a sigh. Ever since he lost his voice, he has shown little to no interest in learning sign language. Mom and Dad tried to persuade him to no avail, and when all their efforts failed, they turned to me. No luck whatsoever.
     Fletcher begins to write in the notebook he keeps in his pocket. Once he's done writing, he holds up the page.
     Stop, it says, I know what you're doing.
     I read his message aloud, that way Kale can be kept in the loop. I've had enough of this.
     "Let's talk in private," I tell him. Turning to Kale, I add, "You okay?"
     Kale nods, "yeah. I can find my way. I've been here loads of times."
     After I give him a pat on his shoulders, I lead Fletcher away to the stairwell. It's quiet here, and no one likes to take the stairs, so it's private.
     I get a text from Fletcher, his eyes full of anger.
     I'm not interested in sign language. I'm getting my voice back.
     With a scoff, I shove my phone in my pocket, "humor me. This is for Kale, not just you. You refuse to communicate with him, and don't you dare say you can't. There are plenty of ways."
     Fletcher looks at me long and hard. A couple of minutes pass, and I can feel myself begin to squirm beneath his fiery gaze. I see his hands clench into fists, and then slowly unravel to reveal red marks in his palms from where he dug his nails in.
     "Please, Fletch," I plead once more.
     He nods once, and then he lifts my hand. I'm confused at first, but I catch on as soon as he starts to spell the alphabet against the palm of my hand. I was wrong—he had been trying. All this time, he was trying. How could I forget how difficult this is for him?
     "Thank you," I breathe.
     Fletcher offers a tiny smile as he nods at the crowd that is slowly filing into the courtroom. I don't want to go in. We've had a lot of late-night meetings that just drag on and on for hours on end. The topics are all the same; we discuss who the next Head Elder will be, which still hasn't been decided. Then we move on to trying to figure out where Dex is and whether or not he's gone rogue, to which my brothers and I all tell them the same thing every time. Dex sold his soul to the devil, who has summoned him for work.
     And of course, the next two questions that always get the crowd riled up: where is Robert, and what are the Jamison boys hiding? We stand our ground on this one because we've never once wavered from the truth: Robert is in Hell, and we're not hiding a damn thing.
     Seriously. Let's hope this meeting is productive.
...