The Wrong Goodbye

matter how small, would be a great help to us in our investigation.”

Shaw slumped in defeat. “I wish I could help you —really, I do. But I’ve been over that night a thousand times, and I’ve no memory of it at all. If you don’t mind my asking, what, exactly, are you investigating? What could have done this to me?”

“Demon,” Gio muttered, but not quietly enough. Shaw’s eyes went wide with sudden fear and disbelief.

“Worshippers,” I interjected. “Demon-worshippers. We’ve been tracking them across the lower fortyeight for months. They’ve got a nasty habit of drugging people and luring them out into the desert for their weird-ass ceremonies. Word is, they’re trying to conjure up a demon. But you’ve got nothing to worry about, Mr Shaw. Once they strike, they’re unlikely to return to the same target a second time, and the fallout from the drugging aside, they shouldn’t pose any future threat to you or your family. They’re just a bunch of misguided nuts with no more idea as to how to call a demon than you or I.” More you than I, I thought. I mean, I’m not a crack conjurer or anything, but I know a couple blood rites that’ll summon in a pinch.

But Shaw found no comfort in my words. Instead, he looked pale and drawn, and his hand trembled as he reached for another batch of candy.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I wouldn’t be too sure of that. See, there is one thing that I recall from Sunday night —only it seemed so crazy, I assumed it was a dream.”

“And what’s that?”

“An awful stink, the likes of which I’d never smelled before. But even still, I know exactly what it was. Deep down, I guess I always knew.”

“Knew what? What was it that you smelled?”

“Brimstone,” he said. “The devil’s stench.”

19.

“So, do demons really smell like brimstone?” Gio asked once we were back on the open road.

“Not any demon I ever met. Though I once knew one who wore way too much Drakkar.”

“Then why the hell’d we hightail it outta there so quick?”

“Because that doesn’t mean it’s not a clue.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, it seems to me if it wasn’t the demons that reeked of sulfur, maybe it was the place they took him to.”

“You sayin’ you know where that is?”

“Nope,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Then where the hell’re we headed?”

“Library.”

“Library?”

“Yeah, you know —big building, lots of books. They were all kinds of popular back in the day when people actually used to read. Don’t worry, you’ll like it —they have Google.”

“Thanks, smart-ass. What I meant was, why are we going to the library?”

“I’m working on a theory,” I said. “One that’s gonna take a little research to confirm. Believe me, when I know something, you’ll know something, OK?”

Gio fell silent for a moment. “Hey,” he said finally, “you think Shaw’s gonna be all right?”

“Hard to say. Seems to me, it’s fifty-fifty whether or not his wife comes back —and I’m pretty sure his spot on the choir is gone for good. But my guess is, he’ll be OK.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“He’s got faith,” I said. “And once the dust settles, his faith is going to be stronger than ever.”

“How the hell you figure that? The poor bastard just got bitch-slapped by the universe —you really think it’s gonna help his faith?”

“I don’t see how it couldn’t. The way I see it, even the most devout among us have their moments of doubt. Enough bad shit happens to good people in this world to rattle even the churchiest of Christians, and you can’t tell me that a hardcore atheist doesn’t plead with God to make it stop when he’s got the bed-spins after a couple drinks too many. It’s human nature —we’re all of us stumbling in the dark, latching on to whatever brings us some measure of comfort and security, no matter how fleeting. Only Shaw managed to stumble into something bigger and scarier than himself —the kind of something his precious Bible’s been warning him about all his life. Doesn’t matter much the book was written by a bunch of clueless saps just like him, trying to piece together the unpieceable; once the shock of his encounter wears off, he’s bound to start seeing his no-good-very-bad day as a big fat confirmation of everything he’s ever believed.”

“The way you talk, you almost sound like you’re jealous of the dude.”

“Jealous? No. If, in all of this, he loses the woman that he loves, he’s gonna be hurting something fierce. That seems to me like way too high a price to pay for what he’s getting in return. But a guy like Shaw? My guess is whatever happens, he’ll accept that it was simply meant to be. God’s plan and all that crap.”

Gio snorted at that last. “Don’t put much truck in God’s plan, do you?”

“And you’re what —surprised? Tell me, Gio, where did God’s plan ever get you?”

“Hey, I can’t complain. I did OK for myself —good job, nice ride, a pretty lady to come home to every night.”

“Dude, do you even hear yourself? You’re on your way to hell.”

“That ain’t God’s fault. I’m man enough to take responsibility for what I done. Ain’t nobody to blame for where I ended up but me.” He squinted appraisingly at me from the passenger seat and shook his head. “But hey, you feel like the big man’s gotta take the fall for your fuck-ups, that’s between you and Him —it ain’t no business a mine.”

“No,” I said. “I chose this path. But if God’s plan hadn’t included killing the woman that I loved, maybe I wouldn’t have had to.”

A pause, long and awkward. Neither of us eager to break it.

Finally, Gio did. “The deal you cut —it was to save your wife?”

I clenched my jaw, gripped the wheel so tight it hurt. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said, willing the aching in my chest to cease. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Was she, like, sick or something?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” I snapped.

Gio flushed, fell silent.

I let out a breath and willed the pounding of pulse in my ears to slow. “Tuberculosis,” I said, once the knee- jerk flush of anger had subsided. “Diagnosed at nineteen, if you can believe it. Her whole life ahead of her, and then bam. For a couple years, she got off light. No sign, no symptoms. We started thinking hey, maybe we can make this work —after all, most folks with TB go their whole lives without ever getting past the latent stage. But then the coughing started, and she went downhill quick from there. This was in the days before a cure, mind you, and the two of us were poor as dirt. All we had was each other. I couldn’t afford to give her the kind of care she needed, and if we’d thrown ourselves at the mercy of the medical community, they would’ve locked her ass away —another lunger off the streets, safe to rot within the walls of some decrepit sanitarium. So I did my best to take care of her at home —but of course, it wasn’t enough. And when I got sick of watching her slowly drown in her own blood, I did what I had to do to save her life.”

When Gio spoke, his voice was small, unsure —as if he didn’t know if he should respond. “Did it work?”

The roadway blurred. I raised a hand to my eyes, and wiped away the moisture with my sleeve. “Yes.”