Read Online The Demon Senders by T Patrick Phelps - Free Book Online

horrible and very distant memory, was reduced to liquid mush so long ago. He could not move, for his bones and muscles were nothing but a gelatinous, oozing substance that could never find a known structure again.
    He screamed in terrorized horror and pain, his voice the only recognizable reminder of who he once was. He dared not wonder if the wrenching would ever cease. He surrendered that hope so long ago, knowing even the slightest, most impotent wish for the pain to end, would result in greater pain.
    The wrenching pressed on, day after day, year after year, century after century. Yes, he knew it was not without its value, for the decision he had made granted him some dominion. But he never realized the power he lustfully desired and then obtained, would come at such a terminal and eternal price.
    There was one thing, however, that remained in him. Something the wrenching could not extract from him. It was a wedge that forced a gap between that which was left and that which needed to still be destroyed.
    What remained now served only to give life to his torture. To give it purpose. Though he guarded against thoughts of what remained, he knew it was still there and that his torment would always focus on bridging the wedged gap, burning out the remains of his life and ending it at last.
    And he knew the gap would never be bridged.
    He screamed.

CHAPTER TEN

    I don’t know how much time I have to spend with you so I hope you don’t mind if I skip over some details and get to what brought me to this place.  
    Rachel and I must have talked right through that first night and into the next morning. The more she said, the more I knew what I was.
    I was officially a sender.
    I wasn’t happy about it, mind you, nor was I convinced of everything.
    Later that day, I made my way back to my apartment. It must have been ten times during my trip home I was convinced I was being followed. Probably was, for all I know, but nothing happened. I got home, climbed the stairs and was immediately ignored by Al. By all accounts my life seemed to be exactly how I left it just a day before.
    I picked up my guitar, a beautiful black Takemine acoustic-electric, and played like nothing had changed. But the music I played and the songs I sang seemed shallow to me.  
    Like they meant nothing.  
    The more songs I played, the more they felt like songs you hear at a funeral.  
    They were songs for my funeral, I guess.
    My old life was over and my life as a sender, and whatever the hell that would mean, had begun.
    It took about three days after Rachel and I had our little chat before she showed up at my door. She held a look on her near perfect face that told me two things the second I opened my front door and saw her: One, she wasn’t here to get better acquainted, and two, she was pretty much filled up on the nervous meter.
    “We have to go,” was all she said. “Grab an overnight bag and something to eat on the way. We need to move, now.”
    “Where are we headed?” I asked, the reality of the moment causing mental paralysis.
    “Not sure yet,” she said as the nervous expression she had been wearing was evicted by the unmistakable look of impatience. “Just grab some clothes, some cash if you have any, a box of granola bars and let’s go.”
    My mental paralysis eased up long enough for me to do what she told me to.
    I climbed into the passenger’s seat of her car, tossed my stuff in the back seat and then, without any further discussion, she slammed the car into gear and headed out. I think we went east but I really wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter.
    We drove for at least two hours before she said anything. “We’re going to a small town south of Erie. We have some work to do.”
    I remember exactly what I was thinking as she said those words: That this trip was either going to remove any remaining doubts I had about being a sender (and trust me, there were still a ton of those), or that I would find out someone was pulling