Dark Night of the Soul” part 2

Welcome to the second installment of Dark Night of the Soul. In the previous issue of The Raven, you met Gerald, a man struggling with an unknown physical ailment, an illness that is siphoning his life. Doctors have been unable to diagnose the problem and death seems inevitable until the night Maria comes to the door, filling Gerald with terror but also promising hope, if Gerald believes in witches. Check out part 1 here.

by Ann Fields

I remained on the walkway in the dark, staring after Maria, my mind a jumble of words—witch, protection, life consuming, crosses, candles, spiritual warfare. I had no idea how to knit the words together to make sense of them. The only thing that came together was a feeling of exposure and terror. I shivered.

“Gerald!”

I turned and caught up to Amanda. I waited ‘til we’d entered the house, closed and locked the door before asking, “What do you make of that?”

“Ridiculous!”

I headed for the family room and flopped down on the sofa.

“I knew she was a big religious freak, a kook,” Amanda said from the kitchen. “A co-worker said she used to walk around our building seven times, praying, and burning some herb or spice or something. Another co-worker said she used oil on a patient one time.” Amanda walked into the family room carrying a towel and a bottle of cleaner. Her fingers were crooked in air quotes. “’Blessed oil,’ smeared on the patient’s forehead.” Amanda rolled her eyes, dropped down in front of the coffee table, and started working on the carpet stain. “But I never figured she would go this far. Coming to our house?!” Amanda straightened and her eyes flashed with renewed anger. “How she knows about your heart, that I get. People talk at work. But how she got our address?! And had the audacity to spout that nonsense to our face, that I don’t get.”

“She said angels directed her.” I was proud of myself for figuring that much out.

“Angels, my ass. I’ll be speaking to her tomorrow, that’s for damn sure.”

“You don’t know anything else about her?”

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“Just the basics. She’s single—no surprise there—but she has a lot of photos on her desk. A large family, I guess. I don’t know. We rarely speak. She spends ninety-nine percent of her time in the field at the jails and homeless shelters.”

Amanda rose to sit on the sofa. “She’s a nut, Gerald! A freakin’ religious lunatic!” I could tell by the curl of her lip she was through with the whole Maria business, but still upset by it. “How evil of her to try and link a witch, an urban myth to your health. That’s awful. Inexcusable. What kind of mind thinks of that?”

“I get you don’t believe her, but …?”

“You do?”

“I …” Did I? Growing up, I’d heard the phrase ‘a witch is riding you,’ but had grouped it in with scary legends like saying “Candyman” three times in the mirror in the dark. But don’t all stories have some basis in fact no matter how tiny the fact? I shrugged. “I don’t know. The doctors haven’t come up with anything.”

Amanda laid the towel on the table and sat close to me. She clasped my hands, looked deep into my eyes. “We are not giving up, honey. The doctors will come up with something. I bet after this heart monitor test, we’ll have more information. Maybe even an answer.”

Seeing the love in Amanda’s eyes, hearing her encouragement, it was easy to cast Maria and her fearful visit aside. I laid my forehead against my wife’s. “Thanks, babe, for being in my corner. I know it hasn’t been easy on you.”

“Me?” She sat back. Her brows wrinkled in concern. She squeezed my hands. “You’re the one I’m worried about. But you’ll be fine, Gerald. I believe that. Many years from now, we’re going to be in our rocking chairs on the porch, watching our grandchildren playing in the yard, and we’re going to laugh about this.”

“Hell, if we remember!” I teased. “At that age, you might not even remember my name let alone this night.”

“Boy, please!” Amanda playfully pushed my head. She rose, snatched up the towel and cleaner and headed for the kitchen.

I chuckled and clicked on the TV, hoping to catch the ten o’clock news. I tried to follow the day’s news, weather, and sports, but my mind kept veering off to Maria’s visit, her chilling explanation, her dire instructions, and those intense, dark eyes. I wanted to hold on to Amanda’s encouragement and the light-hearted moment we’d shared, but the feeling of unease and fear hovered heavy and dark like a shadow.

Around midnight, I felt drowsy. I turned off the TV and forced myself up the stairs, dreading sleep and the pain, wondering if tonight would be the night I blacked out for all of eternity. I settled into bed, and just before clicking off the lamp thought, what can it hurt? I slipped out of bed, looked to see if Amanda had awakened with all my moving about. She hadn’t. She snored lightly, her face a picture of peace. I rummaged around in her jewelry cabinet until I found a gold cross. It was attached to a chain that was long enough to loop several times around Amanda’s neck. That’ll work. I put it on and tucked it under my t-shirt. In the bathroom, I picked out a white candle, one of those huge, three-wick numbers that could burn for hours. I lit the wicks and carried it to my bedside. Feeling like a fool, I glanced over at Amanda. Still sleep. Still snoring. I know my wife to be a very good judge of character, and if she thought Maria was crazy, then I was going to be in for a harsh tongue-lashing in the morning when Amanda saw my getup. Unless it works, I thought, deciding to chance being a stupid, ridiculous fool. Better that and Amanda’s sharp tongue than that searing pain which surely one day would take me out.

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“Gerald … Gerald .…” I cracked one eye open. Amanda shook my shoulder. I opened the other eye. “You’re in bed. Not on the floor.”

I sat up slowly, struggling to emerge from a deep, heavy sleep. God! I felt like I’d been asleep for 40 years. I stretched my arms up and out and yawned – long and loudly.

“Gerald, did you hear me?” Amanda shook me again. I rubbed my eyes. “I said you’re in bed. Not on the floor. That’s the first time since this nightmare started.”

Amanda’s words sunk in and my heart leapt then pounded furiously. I stretched out the neck of my t-shirt. The chain was tangled in my chest hair, the cross laid against my skin. I looked over at the bedside table. The candlelight flickered and danced. I checked the time. 7:00! I’d slept the whole night through, not in fits and starts as I’d become accustomed to. I’d had no heart pain. No blacking out or vertigo effects or shadowy dreams. I felt great! Like my old self. No! Better than my old self.

I whooped and crushed Amanda to me. I rocked her side to side, laughing. “Baby, it worked! It worked! I’m myself.”

“What worked?”

I uncovered the necklace. Amanda stared. “That’s my …“

“Maria’s protection plan.” I dropped the necklace and reached for the candle. I presented it to her as if it were a gift. “I slept! I feel great!”

Amanda’s brown eyes opened wide. “Oh, my God!”

“I know! Can you believe it?”

Amanda narrowed her eyes. “Oh, my, God,” she said, in a lower tone. She took the candle from me and blew it out with gale force.

Clueless me jumped out of bed, as excited as a child on Christmas morn. To test the obvious, I did a couple of jumping jacks. I stretched my arms high in the air and swooped down to touch my toes. I did a couple of torso twists. No pain. No difficulty breathing. No weakness. And, my stomach growled! I wanted food—bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast–anything except cranberry juice and water.

I punched the air a few times and, swear to God, tears were in my eyes.

I scrambled onto the bed and kissed Amanda hard. I pulled back expecting to see a joy on her face that matched my own. But her eyes were pinched, her brows furrowed.

“You think…” Amanda shook her head, tried again. “Gerald, do you really think this is Maria’s doing? It’s a fluke, babe, a coincidence.”

“Helluva coincidence,” I mumbled, crushed.

“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t mean to be negative. I just want you to think about what you’re saying. To believe in Maria’s cure means you believe in her diagnosis—a witch.” Amanda pressed her lips together in disapproval. “First of all, that’s childish and second, why would a witch target you?”

I wished I knew.

I ran water in the sink, determined to wash the breakfast dishes while I felt good. But almost immediately, I shut the water off, dried my hands on my sweatpants, and walked to the kitchen table to grab my phone. I needed to speak to Maria. Otherwise, the question—Why me? —would haunt me. I’d have no peace. I googled the number for Paisley Lane Mental Health, admitting to

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myself I didn’t know who to believe—Amanda on the side of logic and reason or Maria on the side of evidence, evidence that required me to believe in witches. I wasn’t willing to own the supernatural, but … I had slept soundly. It had been three weeks since I’d slept that good. Three weeks since I’d eaten a solid meal and helped my kids prepare for a day at school. Three weeks since I’d felt hope instead of fear. Until three weeks ago, I’d no idea how precious those things were.

I was just about to hit the “dial” button when the doorbell rang. The sound, seeming extra loud in a quiet, still house, startled me, making me drop my phone. I picked it up, thinking the call to Maria would have to wait a minute longer.

Expecting a door-to-door sales rep, I threw open the door without checking the peephole. I stumbled backward. “Maria?!”

As she’d done the night before, Maria scanned my head, shoulders, and chest. She frowned and shook her head. “Come with me.”

I stood there, staring after Maria, shocked. Had I conjured her up? And what the hell had that frown been about? Go with her where? I needed answers. Lots of answers. I grabbed the house keys we kept on the entryway table, locked the house, and joined Maria.

“I know. It’s hard to believe,” Maria said before I’d settled the cross, candle, and candlestick—Amanda and mine’s candlestick—that were in the passenger seat in my lap and belted in. She stared straight ahead as she pulled away from the house. “Who is new in your life?”

“What?”

Maria cut her eyes at me before repeating the question.

“No one,” I answered. “No new family, in-laws, friends?”

“No. What does that …”

“Some witches attach to people on their own, drawn to the spirit of the person. More commonly, witches are sicced on you, like a dog. Usually by an enemy. Since yours is a recent encounter, I wondered about a new enemy, a new person in your life.” Maria nodded at my lap. “Put that candle in the cup holder.”

I did as I was told. “You’re telling me I have an enemy who sicced a witch on me?” I sneered. Amanda was right. This woman was way out there.

“We’ll know when we find the witch’s master.”

I threw up a stop sign hand. “Wait! Stop! This is ridiculous. Do you hear yourself?” What made me think she had answers? I must be losing my mind along with my health. “Let me out.”

Maria pulled over in front of a house in our sub-division. “Your life. Your choice. But that witch is going to ride you ‘til there’s no more life in you.” She nodded again at my lap. “Leave my cross. Take your candlestick.” She faced forward.

I picked up the cross. It was much simpler than the one that dangled from Amanda’s necklace. “I slept like a baby last night.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t,” I said, not caring that my tone was harsh. Fear. I was sinking deeper into fear.

“I scanned your aura last night and again when you answered the door. It was brighter this morning. Not by much but enough to tell me you’d used items to protect your heart.”

I shook my head. This is too much. I dropped her cross

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in the other cup holder, opened the door, and put one foot on the ground. I turned back to Maria and checked her out, looking for signs of crazy—mismatched clothes, a huge, ugly wart with a single hair growing out of it, a crazed expression in her eyes, an obvious tic. Other than her far-fetched words, everything else checked out normal. Actually, she was quite attractive with dark eyes and dark hair against olive-colored skin. She was dressed in slacks and a jacket, similar to what Amanda had worn to work this morning. She looked quite professional and sane, but that didn’t stop me from asking, “Are you crazy? Are you a witch?”

She stared at me with those dark eyes and in a voice that never rose or fell said, “You won’t know until the end. Which end—life or a quickening death—is up to you.”

A chill passed through me, making me shiver.

“Either get in and help me find your enemy,” Maria commanded. “Or get out so I can go to work.”

My mind was made up before Maria finished speaking. The sliver of normalcy I’d had this morning had whetted my appetite for more life. I wanted more mornings with my family. I wanted to return to coaching my son’s basketball team and taking my daughter to dance class. I wanted to return to work in full health. I wanted a full, loving, long life. More and want superseded my doubts about Maria and eclipsed my fear. I resettled in the car and slammed the door shut.

I woke, blinking slowly. A sharp pull in my neck made me groan and tilt my head in every direction. While massaging my neck, I realized we were parked in front of a red brick building with a green awning extended in welcome. I didn’t need to read the cursive sign on the building to know we were at Liaisons, the gentlemen’s club where we—me and my colleagues—closed many deals with the help of attractive, nearly naked women, every type of food men loved, and a bar stocked with premium liquors and cigars. Surprised to be here, I turned to Maria. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving, although no sound came out. Praying, I assumed, or casting a spell. Whatever practice she was doing I decided not to interrupt. Moments later, she turned to me. Her eyes were glazed, coated with an extra layer of light. “This is where it started. Get out.”

“Here?” I looked again at the vintage building, home to a number of my professional successes. “You’re saying I picked up a witch here?”

Maria checked the candle in the cup holder then exited. Earlier, when we’d started our quest, she lit the candle. I objected to a live fire in a moving vehicle, but Maria countered with some madness about the white light strengthening her connection to spirit, and spirit guiding her, and the light making me sleepy. Well, she’d been right about the sleepy part. The candle hadn’t been lit for long before I conked out cold. The other part, the claim of light-connection-spirit-guidance, well, it brought us here.

I shook my head while getting out the SUV. I quickly caught up to Maria. “They don’t open this early. I don’t know if …”

“We’ll get in. I trust my spirit guides.” Maria kept on walking, fast. At the triple, front doors, all painted a wicked shade of red, she stood on tiptoe to reach the buzzer and didn’t release the button until we heard the crackle of a speaker coming to life. “Deliveries in the back,” a staticky voice informed.

“Health department. Open up.”

“Shit!” we heard before the speaker cut out with a crackle.

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I looked at Maria, both impressed by her ability to lie on the fly and concerned that she’d done the same to me—lie.

“I have learned to lie to make others comfortable,” Maria stated.

I mentally stumbled, unsure if I’d spoken my thoughts aloud or if she was a mind-reader in addition to being a witch-hunter.

Maria turned and pinned me with her eyes. “Would you rather I tell them we’re tracking a witch?”

“Hell no! I’m still wrestling with the notion myself.”

The middlemost door opened and Jake Herriman, Liaisons’ co-owner smiled at Maria while putting on a custom-made suit jacket. The expensive apparel did not upgrade his appearance. He still looked like Herman Munster – big, square head, dark, vacant eyes, craggy forehead. Jake checked out Maria from legs to hair and his smile grew broader. I’d seen him direct that same appreciative smile to a few of the hostesses at the club. Apparently he had a type – petite and dark.

“Surely you’re here to apply to be a hostess, not inspect our kitchen,” Jake said in his kill-em-dead voice. He leaned close to Maria and I wondered if he was going to kiss or smell her. Maybe both.

Maria pushed his shoulder then stormed past him, huffing. Jake looked after her, grinning like his most treasured fantasy had come true. I clapped his arm. “Jake, how you doin’?”

Jake turned to me. “Gerald, my man!” We did the one arm man hug with hands clasped between us. “You’re real early today. Must got a big fish on the hook.”

“Actually, I’m with her.” I eased past Jake and his raised brows.

With the house lights off and only accent lighting at the stairs, bandstand, and bar, it wasn’t as dark as midnight, but pretty damn close. I knew the layout of the place but didn’t think Maria did. “Hey, Jake, can we get some light?”

“Sure,” Jake’s voice came from behind me. It moved farther away as he said, “I didn’t realize you worked for DSC and the Health department. Man, how do you handle two jobs?”

I chuckled. Good ole Jake! How someone so gullible maintained a successful business was more a testament to the idea of mixing men, barely clothed women, and booze.

My eyes adjusted to the semi-dark and I could make out Maria, weaving in and among the chairs and tables on the main floor, heading toward the long perimeter brick wall. Along that wall were about twenty private spaces, partitioned by thin, black curtains. We referred to the spaces as living rooms and just like living rooms at home, each space held a sofa, coffee table, armchairs, side tables, and a bar. DSC maintained a permanent lease on one of the living rooms and it was there where we entertained potential big fish customers. It looked like Maria was taking the most direct path to DSC’s living room.

I watched transfixed as Maria unhooked the red velvet rope at the entry of our living room. There was no way she could have known about Liaisons or DSC’s private room. Just like there was no way she could have known I’d slept with a cross and candle. She was proving to be the real deal, which shook me to my core. Until this point, I was willing to go either way, flip-flopping between the logical and the mystical, but now the last domino of resistance fell. I was fully in Maria’s camp. Which, as my wife said, meant I accepted the truth of a witch riding me. But more disturbing, it meant I had an enemy who hated me so much they wanted me dead,

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an enemy with access to supernatural powers, an enemy who was someone I called family, friend, or associate.

The truth hit me hard, like a gut punch, forcing me down into the nearest chair. I watched as Maria moved around DSC’s living room, touching the curtains and furniture, trailing her hand along the bar. I was seeing her but not really seeing her because I was lost inside my head, still coming to grips with someone hating me enough to want me dead. I riffled through a list of possible enemies. Cousin Stanley? I’d refused to serve as a character witness during his trial. But to give him a great send off before serving life in prison, I’d hosted him and his boys at Liaisons. Matthew? My ex-friend had threatened me on the day of his divorce. I’d refused to lie to his wife about his whereabouts and she’d eventually uncovered his mistress. But that was years ago. Who else? I came up blank. I wasn’t a saint, but I didn’t go out of my way to harm or terrorize people either. But apparently there was an unknown other.

The house lights flooded on. I cupped my hands over my eyes, preferring the dark as a backdrop for my distressed heart and mind. It was odd that I wanted the dark now when before I dreaded the darkness because of the pain it brought on. How strange that now, the darkness was my comforter. I felt a squeeze on my shoulder and jumped out of my seat, fists clenched at my chest in a boxer’s pose.

“Whoa, there Hoss!” Jake said, hands out in protection. He pointed at Maria. “What she doing?”

I looked. Across the room from us, Maria was seated on the sofa, eyes closed, swaying side to side. A balled fist

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rested on top of her heart. I was getting used to Maria’s abrupt movements, her cryptic responses, her oddity, but how could I explain her to Jake? How could I tell him she was engaged in spiritual warfare? I decided to ignore his question, just as Maria was ignoring us.

In a burst of movement, Maria sprung up and bolted toward us.

What now? I thought. Jesus! What else?

Maria was several tables away when she said, “A hostess used a lint brush on your collar, shoulders. There was an exchange. Hair for money.”

“Wha …?” My mind collapsed.

“The hostess is not important,” Maria said as she zoomed by me and Jake. “We want the man.”

I spun to follow her and stumbled, bumping into Jake. I recovered quickly and sprinted to catch up to Maria.

From behind me, I heard Jake’s raised voice. “Hey, don’t you want to see the kitchen?”

“What man? What’s his name?”

Maria started the car and pulled out of the parking space. “My guides are giving me initials. D.S.C. And …”

“DSC! That’s my employer. Not a man.”

“Shhhhh, I’m concentrating …”

“It’s Matthew!” I insisted. “Matthew Knox. He’s hated me ever since his marriage fell apart.” I fell silent, thinking about the last time I saw Matthew. He’d come raging into DSC after leaving his attorney’s office and headed straight to my workspace. He got loud. I stayed quiet, knowing as the black man in the equation I would be the one to lose my job. But my silence enraged him more and when he started throwing things off my desk someone called HR and Security. When the dust settled, Matthew was no longer an employee of DSC, no longer a friend, no longer married. Last I heard, he and the mistress broke up and he moved out of state. But he could have moved back, harboring the same old grudge. But why now? Why would Matthew wait a decade to heap vengeance?

I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket and checked to see if I still had Matthew’s number. No, gone. But maybe there was someone who had stayed in touch with him over the years, someone who could give me his number. I scrolled through my contacts, but when Maria stopped at a red light, I looked up. She seemed to be headed to DSC. “Maria, we don’t need to go there. We need to find Matthew Knox. He’s the man. He used to work with me at DSC. He entertained customers at Liaisons, too.”

I didn’t say the rest of what was in my head, that being, I didn’t recall Matthew following the occult, supernatural, or anything like that. All the years we’d hung out, I never heard him say anything remotely connected. I never suspected a thing.

Maria didn’t respond. She stared ahead. When the light turned green and I was sure she was following the twomile stretch of surface streets from Liaisons to DSC, I tried again. “Maria, we don’t need to go to DSC. Ask your guides how to get to Matthew Knox. If we can find him, I can end this.”

Maria glared at me. Clearly, she wasn’t going to take my word over her angels or spirit guides or whatever she called them. I sighed, opened a browser, and typed Matthew Cole Knox. She’s not the only one with guides, I thought.

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By the time Maria pulled into DSC’s parking lot, I was buying a background report on Matthew. “I’ll have his address and phone number in a minute,” I told Maria, staring at my phone screen. The next thing I heard was the sound of her cutting the engine, opening and closing her door. “Maria,” I yelled. Of course she didn’t hear me with the windows up. Even if she had, she was well underway, marching to the entrance of DSC. Determined, if her straight back and stiffly swinging arms were any indication. I pushed open my door and hightailed it after her, calling her name while keeping an eye on my phone. It bothered me greatly that she was bringing this mess to my workplace. Even though it had started here, I didn’t want weird Maria messing up my livelihood. Besides, I knew who our guy was. I was just waiting on the report that would tell me where he was and his phone number.

I caught up to Maria and grabbed her arm. She snatched it away and kept moving.

“Will you listen to me? I found our guy.” I stuck my phone in her face, halting her. “This is Matthew. See …” I pointed at the report with his photo that had finally come through.

Maria studied my phone one split second then pushed it aside. “Not him.” She resumed fast-walking.

“Yes, him,” I stated firmly. I told Maria the story of Matthew’s firing, his threat, and his knowledge of Liaisons. We reached the entrance and I planted myself in front of her. “There’s no reason for us to go in. He lives at …”

I scanned the report, but unfamiliar with its layout could not find his address. I scrolled back up to the top and read more slowly, learning he was remarried, had four kids, was working in pharmaceutical sales, and lived in …Lawrence. Matthew lives in Lawrence, Kansas?! I stared at the phone, confused, then decided to re-read, even slower. But by the end of the report, nothing had change. So maybe he doesn’t have to be here in St. Louis to cast a spell? Or, maybe he came to town to get my hair, cast the spell, then ran back to Kansas? Or maybe this is old information. I searched for the report date. Damn! It showed the data current as of today. I looked up to ask Maria questions about proximity and supernatural practices. She was gone.

I rushed into the building and saw her at the elevator bank. I sped as fast as I could and made it in time to slip into the car with her and several others. I recognized the few employees by face only, wished them a good morning, then glanced at Maria. She had her eyes closed but thank goodness she wasn’t swaying or moving her lips silently or clasping a cross to her chest. I focused on the control panel and saw three buttons lit up with the sales floor being the last stop. I’d have to wait a few floors before I could pick up the conversation with her. I wasn’t happy about that. Hell, this was my life. I was the one dying! A little listening and cooperation on her part would be appreciated.

Unfortunately, one of the employees rode to the sales floor with us so I had to temper my anger and sit on my words for longer than I wanted. As soon as the doors opened, I stepped out and held the door open while the two exited, Maria first. By the time I skirted around the slow-moving employee, Maria was already headed to my work section.

Before this witch started riding me and sucking me dry, I could have caught up to Maria in a few long strides. But in my current state, I didn’t corner her until we were in my boss’s office. At this time of morning, Bill and the sales reps were out at appointments and wouldn’t come rolling in ‘til closer to lunch, if then. The only people who could interfere with our unwarranted presence was his

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admin who’d been absent from her desk and the support staff who officed on the other side of the building. Still, I closed Bill’s door. I meant to have that showdown with Maria.

She stood behind Bill’s desk, eyes closed, swaying with the cross over her heart. I didn’t care about her communing with spirits. I broke in. “Maria, your guides are way off this time.”

She opened her eyes. That glazed look was back. “It’s him.” She pointed the cross at Bill’s desk. “The man.”

“Matthew is in Law…” Wait. What? “What did you say?”

“Him.” Maria picked up the family portrait on Bill’s desk and tapped Bill’s face.

“Bill? You’re saying Bill is the man?” She nodded and I pulled back, surprised and affronted. “No way! I just told you. Matthew is the man.”

Maria shook her head. “I see Mississippi. Black and green.”

“How …” I stopped, realizing I knew how she knew Bill was from Mississippi, born and raised. Her guides had told her. The CEO, flanked by Human Resources, had told us. Bill had moved to St. Louis for the sole reason of taking the VP of Sales job, a job I’d turned down.

“He is the new person in your life. This visit is confirmation. Dark energy lives in this space.”

I stopped listening at ‘new person.’ When Maria asked me earlier today who was new in my life, Bill hadn’t even entered my mind. Why would he? He was a minor character in the story of my life. A background player. Besides, we’d established a comfortable relationship from the start, one any outsider would think had been in place for years. But … He wants me dead? He’s my enemy? He can control witches? I dropped down in the same chair I’d sat in just yesterday when he’d handed over the sick leave packet. I wanted to fire you, he’d said, but HR wouldn’t let me. You are after all, top gun.

Anger seared through me like a lightning strike. That two-faced bastard! Trying to take my life? To leave my wife husbandless, my children fatherless? Oh, hell, no!

I sprung out of the chair, circled the desk, and pushed Maria—who was busy snooping through Bill’s drawers— aside to access his computer. I pulled up his online appointments calendar. Wherever he was, I was going there to confront him. No! I was going there to beat the shit out of him.

I snatched a sticky note, wrote down the name and address of the company where he was, and headed for the door. Flinging it open, I stormed out.

This time, I beat Maria to her SUV and waited impatiently for her to unlock the doors. As soon as I was inside, I stuck the sticky note on her dashboard and said, “This is where we’re going. This is where we can find Bill’s cowardly ass.”

“We’re battling both the natural and supernatural. We have to prepare first.”

“I don’t need to prepare for an ass kicking.” I pointed at the note. “Just drive there.”

Maria shook her head. “You’re letting emotions blind you.”

“I just found out my new boss wants to take me out. Not fire me, Maria, but kill me! And I’m not supposed to be emotional?” I thought about the times Bill and I had talked sports, had exchanged personal stories over lunch or while riding together to a customer appointment. I

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grew hotter, angrier by the second. My hands itched for violence.

Maria started the SUV. “There’s work to do.”

“So you’re not taking me to Bill?” Maria didn’t respond. “Then take me to my house. I’ll drive myself.”

Maria exited DSC’s parking lot and pointed her car in the direction of my house. A vision of me confronting Bill, beating him senseless—not to the point of death, but enough to get my point across—filled my mind. I was so focused on all the ways I would exact revenge I didn’t notice Maria had ignored my demand until she pulled into an extended stay hotel less than a mile from the office.

I took in the modern, grayish-white stucco exterior, the lush landscaping, and the marquee that advertised rates as low as $109 a night. “What are you doing? This is not my house.”

“This is his lair. We prepare for him here.”

“No! You do whatever the hell kind of prep you want. Me? I’m out of here.” I was done with Maria. I had my answer. I just needed to get to Bill. Now!

I navigated to On the Fly’s app and ordered a car. Eight minutes. I stared at the photo of the young Indian girl who would be my driver and hoped she wasn’t squeamish. I planned to meet Bill outside by his car, handle my business, then hop back in her car.

I laid my phone on my knee and focused on Maria. She was driving toward the rear of the hotel, which was clearly marked by hedges and a tall property fence. At the back, she crept along a block of rooms. She braked and closed her eyes. When she opened them seconds later, she backed into a parking space by a dumpster. Something Maria had said returned to me. Lair. “This is where Bill does his evil spells?” “It’s his home,” Maria said, opening her door.

“No, it’s not. DSC may have set him up here initially, but I’ve heard him brag about his house in Ladue, that it’s so big he had to hire two full-time maids.”

“He’s lying.”

I almost challenged her, but considering Bill’s far-fromupstanding record, I shrugged. “I wonder why he would lie about that. I mean, what is that lie gaining him?”

“Black and green. I’m receiving those colors again.” Maria got out, taking the cross and candle in the cup holder with her. She opened the back door and stuffed the items in an overnight bag that sat on the back seat. “Are you coming?” She grabbed the bag, slammed the door, and strode toward the rooms facing the parking lot.

Maria had said those same words in Bill’s office. Black and green. I got out the vehicle. Fatima, my driver would have to wait.

Will Gerald remain by Maria’s side or go off and confront Bill on his own? Will he shrink in the presence of darkness or rise to the challenge? Will he survive the ordeal? The answers to these and other questions in the final installment of “Dark Night of the Soul” in the next issue of The Raven.