Page 43 of An Unexpected Ascension
“I-I was just leaving,” I say, trying to squeeze past the demon loitering in the doorway.
Hermes blocks my path, his arms rising as he grips the top of the frame. To get past him is to literally plow through him, and I am not in the mood to touch the demon.
“You don’t want to stay for the show?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, you must be curious.”
“About what?”
“About what Hell is going to be like. Come and I can show you.”
I scoff. “You’re insane.”
“Demon. Demon. Demon! Ascent and the rightful God will take his place,” the woman rambles.
My mouth curls into a frown at her strange words.
“What is she talking about?”
“Who knows? This old bat was cuckoo before she even died.” He dismisses her.
Worse yet, he snaps his fingers and sets her aflame. Her body ignites, engulfed in a roaring fire. She mutters a prayer over and over again, seemingly calm through the immense heat.
“Don’t you need to go with her?” I ask, remembering the last neighbor of mine he damned.
“Eh, I find being here with you to be way more interesting.”
“Well, I have somewhere to be, so if you wouldn’t mind getting out of my way, that would be great.” I step forward, but he doesn’t budge.
“And where would that be?”
“The orphanage, somewhere you are not welcome.”
Sister Agatha mentioned the other day, after asking as manysubtle questions as I could to get the answer, that the demon is not allowed near the children or saints or nuns. They were all off limits to the Devil.
I, on the other hand, am free to pester apparently.
“Join me after, at the cave. I have something I want to show you.”
An amused snort leaves me. “Yeah right.”
Finally, I muster up the courage to push past him. The moment our bodies touch, heat zaps my skin like lightning.
“The cave, Angel. Wouldn’t want you to regret blowing me off.”
Ignoring him, I collect the clothes from the bench and promise myself never to give in to the demon.
“No!”I laugh.
“Yes! You would never believe the face he made. Wait, I can show you.” Jessie squeals in delight.
“Jessie, no!” Will begs, dragging his palms down his face. “Oh jeez.”
In an instant, my wall is graced with pictures of a young Will holding his infant son. My heart melts as he coos at him, the chubby child giggling. The baby must be no more than six months, still reliant on his parents to move around.
Jessie sits on the couch next to a woman I assume is Melinda and Will’s playfulness escalates. He tosses his son in the air and a fit of giggles explodes all around them. The laughter cascades and infects everyone else, fits of joy in every corner of the room.
