Read Online The Devil Stood Up by Christine Dougherty - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Dougherty
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said, his temper and patience shot.
The Devil wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling.
“Amon, you’re a tool; you always were. Why are you even here?” the Devil said, turning to Amon with a smile.
“Why am I here? Why?” Amon shrieked, reached across and gripped the Devil’s arm, his grip like iron. “Because I’m taking your ass back to Hell, that’s why!”
The old Ford had been going faster and faster and now Amon jerked the steering wheel one handed, and the truck peeled sharply to the left. They screeched across both lanes, turning sideways, sending the Devil crashing into the passenger side door, but still Amon kept a steady grip on his arm. The skinny wheels hitched, hitched again, and then caught, sending the truck end over end. It flipped and flipped again, smashing first the passenger side, then the roof, against the blacktop. It bounced again and now the driver’s side smashed into the road and slid, gouging long furrows.
Amon held his seat and gripped the wheel with one straining hand, teeth pulled back in a grimace. With each bounce his head changed, becoming that of a wolf…a crow…a dog…changing with split second, blurring speed. Black feathers fluttered out the open driver’s side window, coming to rest on the blacktop behind them.
The Devil braced himself, pushing his legs against the floorboards, one arm against the dash and one against the roof. He didn’t bother with trying to dislodge Amon’s hand, there wasn’t time to fight him. If this body were to be killed, or Amon’s body was killed while they were still linked, he’d have to start all over again and who knew if that would even be possible now that God, Himself had caught wind of this disobedient trek.
He drew from the remembered strength of his Satan form, forcing this body according to his will, making the muscles rigid, making it hold on. Minute tears rippled across his muscles and the Devil felt a return of pain, so like the bound and aching limbs of his Satan form, so like it in fact that it was almost comfortable.
And so he strained, sweating, teeth gritted, and held this body in place, tearing muscle and tendon but holding, holding on as the truck flipped. Now slowing, now coming to rest, rocking, metal screeching and protesting and then becoming still, flat on the passenger’s side door, groaning and ticking.
The Devil relaxed all the torn and aching muscles in this body and let it go limp in a heap against the door, realizing that Amon’s hand must have left him at some point in the dizzying flips of the truck. He found he could not even lift his arm, could not shift his legs, could not turn his head to look for Amon.
He must find where Amon had ended up, because he wasn’t in the cab of the truck any longer.
Forcing himself, ignoring the throbbing protests of this body, he turned over and wormed his way out the opening for the windshield. The glass glittered and crunched beneath him as he dragged himself out and into the sunlight. He drew his hands under his shoulders and pushed, forcing this body up and scrambled his feet under himself, groaning, not even aware that he groaned.
Amon sat cross-legged on the shoulder, watching the Devil drag himself from the ruins of the Ford.
“Hey, Lucifer,” he said.
The Devil looked up, hands on his knees, panting. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, drawing a line of blood across his chin to just under his ear. He noted how Amon shimmered, becoming indistinct, his head seeming to fade into that of a wolf…a dog…a crow, but slowly, almost dispiritedly.
The Devil could see the trees Amon sat in front of, could see right through him to the road he sat on.
“Yeah?” he said.
“I thought I had you for a second there. I should have held on, myself.” Amon had kept the Devil pinned in the junkie’s borrowed body with the touch of his hand. But it had also served to make his one-handed grip on the truck too precarious to withstand the force of the
The Devil wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling.
“Amon, you’re a tool; you always were. Why are you even here?” the Devil said, turning to Amon with a smile.
“Why am I here? Why?” Amon shrieked, reached across and gripped the Devil’s arm, his grip like iron. “Because I’m taking your ass back to Hell, that’s why!”
The old Ford had been going faster and faster and now Amon jerked the steering wheel one handed, and the truck peeled sharply to the left. They screeched across both lanes, turning sideways, sending the Devil crashing into the passenger side door, but still Amon kept a steady grip on his arm. The skinny wheels hitched, hitched again, and then caught, sending the truck end over end. It flipped and flipped again, smashing first the passenger side, then the roof, against the blacktop. It bounced again and now the driver’s side smashed into the road and slid, gouging long furrows.
Amon held his seat and gripped the wheel with one straining hand, teeth pulled back in a grimace. With each bounce his head changed, becoming that of a wolf…a crow…a dog…changing with split second, blurring speed. Black feathers fluttered out the open driver’s side window, coming to rest on the blacktop behind them.
The Devil braced himself, pushing his legs against the floorboards, one arm against the dash and one against the roof. He didn’t bother with trying to dislodge Amon’s hand, there wasn’t time to fight him. If this body were to be killed, or Amon’s body was killed while they were still linked, he’d have to start all over again and who knew if that would even be possible now that God, Himself had caught wind of this disobedient trek.
He drew from the remembered strength of his Satan form, forcing this body according to his will, making the muscles rigid, making it hold on. Minute tears rippled across his muscles and the Devil felt a return of pain, so like the bound and aching limbs of his Satan form, so like it in fact that it was almost comfortable.
And so he strained, sweating, teeth gritted, and held this body in place, tearing muscle and tendon but holding, holding on as the truck flipped. Now slowing, now coming to rest, rocking, metal screeching and protesting and then becoming still, flat on the passenger’s side door, groaning and ticking.
The Devil relaxed all the torn and aching muscles in this body and let it go limp in a heap against the door, realizing that Amon’s hand must have left him at some point in the dizzying flips of the truck. He found he could not even lift his arm, could not shift his legs, could not turn his head to look for Amon.
He must find where Amon had ended up, because he wasn’t in the cab of the truck any longer.
Forcing himself, ignoring the throbbing protests of this body, he turned over and wormed his way out the opening for the windshield. The glass glittered and crunched beneath him as he dragged himself out and into the sunlight. He drew his hands under his shoulders and pushed, forcing this body up and scrambled his feet under himself, groaning, not even aware that he groaned.
Amon sat cross-legged on the shoulder, watching the Devil drag himself from the ruins of the Ford.
“Hey, Lucifer,” he said.
The Devil looked up, hands on his knees, panting. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, drawing a line of blood across his chin to just under his ear. He noted how Amon shimmered, becoming indistinct, his head seeming to fade into that of a wolf…a dog…a crow, but slowly, almost dispiritedly.
The Devil could see the trees Amon sat in front of, could see right through him to the road he sat on.
“Yeah?” he said.
“I thought I had you for a second there. I should have held on, myself.” Amon had kept the Devil pinned in the junkie’s borrowed body with the touch of his hand. But it had also served to make his one-handed grip on the truck too precarious to withstand the force of the
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