mirrors from the walls.
I sensed the disturbance but didn't know what to make of it. I had lived through several Los Angeles earthquakes before, and frankly, they were unnoticeable. Nothing but passing tremors. This incident had the same physical properties that a cartoon earthquake might. It was more foreboding, though. It wasn't clear why until Violet spoke up.
"Somebody's coming."
I turned to the door and noticed the heavy metal frame wiggling on its hinges. The glass panel, however, revealed nothing outside but the desaturated gloom.
"Get out of here," I commanded. Although I had visited this world many times, tonight was the first that it had solidified. That anything of consequence happened. Really, I was ready to expect anything, and I didn't want Violet to be in danger.
The little girl wasted no time and banged at the elevator call button. The shaking grew worse.
"What is it?" I asked.
Violet just shook her head.
A loud ding announced the arrival of the elevator as the brass double doors slid open. "You should come too," said Violet, looking concerned.
"Don't worry about me." The girl hesitated but I nodded her on. She stepped into the car and allowed the doors to close. That should have kept her out of it.
The trembling came to a head all at once, thrashing violently as if to collapse the building, and then silencing so quickly it seemed to have been nothing more than a hallucination. A complete stillness filled the dense air and I was completely alone.
And then the front door swung open.
"Dante Butcher, you say?"
I trained my eyes on the source of the spectral muttering. A lanky figure materialized on the threshold. It was a sad imitation of a human with ratty patches of orange hair and skin blotched with scabs. He was both flesh and ghostlike at the same time and had the urgent twitches of a heroin addict. I'd never seen this man in my life before, but I had felt him. He was instantly familiar.
"Soren."
A bothersome tick spasmed in the man's left cheek as he tried to smile. "That name isn't mine here," he said.
Of course that was true. Soren was the name of the man this shade had possessed, the name of the man I had freed. This spirit was an entirely different person.
"Who are you then?"
"You can call me Nero." The fiend spoke in a way that made it difficult to understand individual words. As if he was in pain.
"What do you want?"
"To dance," he answered. "To drink. To fuck." His words wheezed out of his skeletal frame. "To live."
Violet had told me about the spirits, lost and wandering the Dead Side, usually unable to help themselves in death just as in life. When they broke down enough they became more like animals. Not even understanding their own desires, but fighting viciously for them as if it meant their survival.
In a way, it did. Try as they might, many shades never succeed in making a connection with the living. Of those that do, most have trouble staying for long. They inevitably fall back into exile on the Dead Side. Sometimes, however, they find a way to bond with a host, like Violet attaching to the pocket watch. In these cases, when the shades do lose their grip on the material world, they are sometimes able to reclaim their foothold. Again and again, they can return to the same human being. Coming and going as chance and pleasure allow. It's the kind of fateful oppression that destroys lives.
Expulsion, however, disrupts the connection. Exsufflation results in a forceful split. Not only are body and spirit sundered, but the long-term bond is obliterated as well. Soren had sucked in the white sage, so any permanent hold this fiend may have had on him was gone. The living Soren was safe. More importantly, this desperate creature before me had been cast out. The sage had done its work; this shade would more than likely never see the material world again.
"It's time to move on," I told him. "This is all that's left for you here."
The man's neck jerked before he recovered his
I sensed the disturbance but didn't know what to make of it. I had lived through several Los Angeles earthquakes before, and frankly, they were unnoticeable. Nothing but passing tremors. This incident had the same physical properties that a cartoon earthquake might. It was more foreboding, though. It wasn't clear why until Violet spoke up.
"Somebody's coming."
I turned to the door and noticed the heavy metal frame wiggling on its hinges. The glass panel, however, revealed nothing outside but the desaturated gloom.
"Get out of here," I commanded. Although I had visited this world many times, tonight was the first that it had solidified. That anything of consequence happened. Really, I was ready to expect anything, and I didn't want Violet to be in danger.
The little girl wasted no time and banged at the elevator call button. The shaking grew worse.
"What is it?" I asked.
Violet just shook her head.
A loud ding announced the arrival of the elevator as the brass double doors slid open. "You should come too," said Violet, looking concerned.
"Don't worry about me." The girl hesitated but I nodded her on. She stepped into the car and allowed the doors to close. That should have kept her out of it.
The trembling came to a head all at once, thrashing violently as if to collapse the building, and then silencing so quickly it seemed to have been nothing more than a hallucination. A complete stillness filled the dense air and I was completely alone.
And then the front door swung open.
"Dante Butcher, you say?"
I trained my eyes on the source of the spectral muttering. A lanky figure materialized on the threshold. It was a sad imitation of a human with ratty patches of orange hair and skin blotched with scabs. He was both flesh and ghostlike at the same time and had the urgent twitches of a heroin addict. I'd never seen this man in my life before, but I had felt him. He was instantly familiar.
"Soren."
A bothersome tick spasmed in the man's left cheek as he tried to smile. "That name isn't mine here," he said.
Of course that was true. Soren was the name of the man this shade had possessed, the name of the man I had freed. This spirit was an entirely different person.
"Who are you then?"
"You can call me Nero." The fiend spoke in a way that made it difficult to understand individual words. As if he was in pain.
"What do you want?"
"To dance," he answered. "To drink. To fuck." His words wheezed out of his skeletal frame. "To live."
Violet had told me about the spirits, lost and wandering the Dead Side, usually unable to help themselves in death just as in life. When they broke down enough they became more like animals. Not even understanding their own desires, but fighting viciously for them as if it meant their survival.
In a way, it did. Try as they might, many shades never succeed in making a connection with the living. Of those that do, most have trouble staying for long. They inevitably fall back into exile on the Dead Side. Sometimes, however, they find a way to bond with a host, like Violet attaching to the pocket watch. In these cases, when the shades do lose their grip on the material world, they are sometimes able to reclaim their foothold. Again and again, they can return to the same human being. Coming and going as chance and pleasure allow. It's the kind of fateful oppression that destroys lives.
Expulsion, however, disrupts the connection. Exsufflation results in a forceful split. Not only are body and spirit sundered, but the long-term bond is obliterated as well. Soren had sucked in the white sage, so any permanent hold this fiend may have had on him was gone. The living Soren was safe. More importantly, this desperate creature before me had been cast out. The sage had done its work; this shade would more than likely never see the material world again.
"It's time to move on," I told him. "This is all that's left for you here."
The man's neck jerked before he recovered his
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