Visions (Hell Portals, Book One)

Chapter Eight: Yeah, That Fucking Hurt

NATE GRABBED TWO ICE-COLD BEERS FROM THE DINGY MOTEL REFRIGERATOR. He removed the bottlecaps with the bottle-opener on his keychain and handed one bottle to Jack, who took it gladly and gave it a good, long swig.

"Ah...now that hits the spot," Jack said with a smile.

Nate sat down in the easy chair across from Jack, settled in, and enjoyed a long swig of his beer as well. It was obvious the boys needed a break. The past few days had been horrendous and taxing. They had hardly been able to come to grips with the new lives they had been given, their new jobs so to speak, before being thrust into a gruesome situation that seemed to come right off the screen of a summer blockbuster horror flick. The Morgue. Farnsworth. Demons. Sally and her kid killed by Tabby. Rosie and her goons. Beatings. Tallahassee AKA Hosiel the archangel. It had been a roller coaster from day one of their adventure—an adventure that was supposed to be all about riding the great highway, experiencing true Americana, sleeping under the stars, and Jack helping a friend who had just gotten out of prison experience the feel of true freedom.

And here they were in a crappy motel in Bartle, CA, bruised, cut, and sore to the bone. At least they had their beers, and icy cold beers at that. Thank goodness for something to be grateful for. But there were other things to be grateful for, Jack realized. While they hadn't been able to save Sally or her cute little Charlie, or even Tabby for that matter, they had been able to free Rosie and her two associates, whom the boys had learned later were named Frank and John. Frank was known to Jack as Buzzcut, and John was the tall, muscular dude.

Jack and Nate had saved those three from perpetrating more acts of torture and killing, and possibly had even saved the three's lives. It wouldn't have made sense for the demons to let them live once they were ready to move on to new bodies to possess, so likely Rosie, Frank, and John would have become meat for the demon-grinder.

"Nate," Jack said, "we've done a good thing. As much pain and scary shit as we've gone through in the past few days, we saved some people, Rosie and her friends, and we probably saved more people who would have been killed by them later. People we don't even know. People we couldn't begin to count at this point. What if we saved fifty people? A hundred? I don't know. It kind of makes it all worth it, don't you think?"

"Agreed. I mean, it's not the trip I was expecting while sitting in my cell at Susanville, but in some ways it's better. Before this, I could do little things for people, like give them some chow I didn't need to eat, or say an encouraging word when someone was down. But now I get to make some real difference. In a way I've never been able to do before. This is some crazy, but cool, shit. It's like we're superheros or something. Man, I guess I'm glad this has all happened. I haven't had time to really think about it, but I'm glad as hell. I still think Farnsworth is a little prick, but I'm sure glad he grabbed us up and gave us a second chance."

"No doubt, friend, here's to doing some good for a change," and Jack raised his bottle. Nate raised his in agreement, and they both took a deep, long drink of the beer that felt so good on their parched throats.

"Now we just have to figure out what to do next," Jack said.

"Yes we do, that's mutha-suckin' true."

"Sounding a bit more like your old self," Jack said with a grin.

"Yezzum, I am. Getting my second wind."

"That's a good thing, dude. Think we're going to need it for what's ahead. You heard Rosie talk about this Serin demon in San Fran. Sounds like he's a head-honcho. No telling what that'll be like."

"I say let's go kick his evil-loving arse!" Nate exclaimed and in his excitement spilled some beer on his shirt. Looking embarrassed, he wiped it and then wiped his hand on the motel chair upholstery.