A Ghost of a Chance (23 page)

“Fuck, yes,” Keenan heard himself say.

When Reggie poured, the room seemed to be crisper in Keenan’s eyes, as if someone had turned up the contrast on a giant TV. The sound of the gurgling liquid mingled with his breathing and even (he thought) the rustle of the ancient volumes rotting on their shelves. He could read titles of books that were dozens of feet away, even the small imprints on the bottom of the spine. Details on an ornate Indian brass elephant were crystal, the intricate decorations as clear as day, though the animal couldn’t have been more than two inches high.

“What did you do to me?”

Reggie finished pouring and handed the glass to Keenan. “This? A trifle. You’d be amazed by what other delights I have at my fingertips.”

Keenan slammed the glass on the desk and got up from the chair. Pacing, he tried to shake the effects of the drink before they went too far, but it was useless. The waves of pleasure coursing through his body were relaxing every muscle, opening every inhibition like a drunken whore. In the part of his mind that he still controlled, he fought the intoxication, but knew he was losing the battle. Despite his best efforts, he was starting to feel absolutely wonderful.

Finally surrendering, he stopped in his tracks and turned his face to Reggie. The relaxed grin on his face seemed more natural than breathing to him now.

“Better,” Reggie said and lifted Keenan’s glass from the desk. He crossed to his friend and placed it back in his hand. “Go ahead. I think you deserve a bit of a break from all the turmoil.”

Keenan looked down into the glass, fighting the urge to devour it, and nodded. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

Reggie’s laughter filled the room and Keenan was beginning to think this demon wasn’t so bad after all. “Seduce you? Hell, if I had wanted to do that you would have lost your cherry to me in college. I admit, you were an alluring piece of ass when you were younger and it was tempting,” he added with a wink. “No, my friend. I only want you to relax a bit…we need to talk.”

The liquor was dampening Keenan inhibitions, but he wasn’t drunk. It reminded him of taking speed when he was in high school. He sat back in his chair and sipped at the second glass of spirits and Reggie took his seat.

Stapling his fingers against the desk, Reggie lifted those black eyes to Keenan and his face turned serious. “We’ve been friends a long time, Keenan.”

“Yeah, about ten years.”

One side of Reggie’s brow went up. “Well, actually a bit longer than that, but we’ll talk about that later. I’m certain Amos filled your ears with all sorts of stories about me, yes?”

“Sure.” Keenan found himself fascinated by Reggie’s face.

“Told you that I was, for lack of a better phrase, the ‘bad guy’?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I’m not.” Reggie turned his chair until Keenan could see his profile in the soft light. Sharp angles creased the demon’s chin making his face almost cavernous. It was hard to look at him long. There was something moving under his skin.

“You see…” Reggie swirled the dark liquid in his glass, “…I believe in man’s right to choose his own desires, goals, or destinies. That there is an overwhelming need to have some frivolous god dictate a man’s future fills me with disgust. Do you follow?”

Keenan tried to fathom what he was talking about, but it eluded him. “I guess I’m not sure.”

“Of course not.” Reggie turned the chair and rested his chin on his fingertips. “Let me ask you a question; do you believe you control your destiny or that it is controlled by something else?”

The leather in the back of Keenan’s chair was contouring to his body, making him want to drown in the opulence. “At the moment?” he replied easily, “I think you’re pretty much running the show.”

Reggie smiled. “Touché, mon frère. For the moment I am, but otherwise, who controls your fate?”

Keenan shrugged. “Honestly, I think I control my own.”

“Spoken like a true Homo sapiens,” Reggie sneered lifting his glass in salute. “From my point of view, the truth of the matter is this. Humans were given the great gift of free will. In essence, the Father told them they could make their own decisions, good or bad, right or wrong; their fate was in their own hands. This royally pissed off our friends the angels, who have no such rights. Why, you may ask.”

Keenan wasn’t asking, but nodded anyway.

“Imagine, if you will, being told that the new guy they just hired to be your assistant is getting more money than you, a better office, and better benefits. You are told if you complain about any of it, you’re fired. So, what are you going to do? I’ll tell you; you’re going to create a situation where the new guy looks bad every time he enjoys even one of those benefits. You’re going to create sin.”

As the liquid worked its way through Keenan’s brain, his heightened senses seemed to be extending into his mental processes as well. What Reggie was saying to him made sense and he was able to follow without drooling.

“So what you’re saying is the angels created sin to keep man in line.”

Satisfaction spread through Reggie’s face like a fire. “Precisely.”

Keenan shook his head and downed the last of the liquor. “I don’t buy it. Men created sins, the bible, all of it for men. We’ve created our own sins. The angels needn’t have bothered.”

“Yes,” Reggie replied lifting an index finger. “But who do you think whispered into the ears of those men in the beginning, started them on that long path?”

“So you’re telling me that killing someone is not a sin…”

“Not at all. Humans do it every single day, many of them under acceptable circumstances, but that’s not exactly what I’m saying. Putting aside for the moment that man is reborn over many lifetimes and that death really doesn’t mean more than living through another hellacious childhood, most “sins” are harmless. Take sex, for example. That lovely creature you care so much about. What’s her name?”

A twinge of distrust hit Keenan’s windpipe. “Isabella,” he said.

“Yes, Isabella. Are you saying to me that you don’t want to throw that exquisite creature over a stump, hike up her knickers, and just take her, whether she wanted you to or not?”

“Of course not!”

“You say that because you’ve been raised to believe it. But what does your body tell you?” Reggie’s tone changed, softened, twisting its way into Keenan’s ears. “When your cock is hard and aching for the hot touch of those moist lips and pulsating muscles, does it give a shit about proprieties? No. All it wants is to slam home inside her body. And I’ve got news for you, my friend; if that hot little vixen desires you, it’s what she wants too. She doesn’t really give a rat’s ass about pleasantries, gallantry, or overtures. All she wants is for you to rip her clothes off and take her hard in a fit of passion. If she says otherwise, she’s lying.”

Keenan ignored the riot starting in his pants and narrowed his eyes at Reggie. “That’s horseshit, Reggie. Sure, the sex drive is pretty strong. I’ll grant you that. But you’re forgetting about two things: respect and love.”

Reggie blew air out of his mouth in frustration and wrinkled his nose. “Respect. Highly overrated if you ask me. But if you insist on love, then what about that? What if the object of your desire is with another man? Say… me, for example. Let’s pretend for a moment that I’m not an incubus and just another Joe Schmoe like you. What if this Isabella had been with me?”

Keenan shrugged, still trying to figure out what Reggie was trying to get at. “Then I back off and hope things will work out later.”

A glow gleamed in the demon’s eyes and he licked his lips. “What if you didn’t have to?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if there were no such rule? What if you and I could come to some arrangement? An understanding where we both could have her at the same time, with her permission, of course?”

The thought of an Isabella sandwiched between him and Reggie sent an unexpected pang of lust through his loins. The intensity of the picture amplified by the drink made Keenan squirm in his chair and Reggie’s smile deepen.

“You see?” he continued without losing a beat. “There are many, many pleasures that you humans deny yourselves in the name of sin and retribution. My point is there is no retribution, only fantasies and legends created by jealous angels to punish human spirits because they got a better deal.”

“You’re talking chaos. There have to be rules; without them, the world would succumb to anarchy.”

“And what’s wrong with anarchy? It is the true nature of things, isn’t it? Do lions have governments, religion… sin? Consider a moment. Wouldn’t Homo sapiens be better without all these rules that suppress their creativity, their desires? Survival of the strong, the best, the wise. Do you honestly think for a moment that you are better off the way you are?” Reggie got up from his chair and put his hands behind his back, circling around the desk and then stopping to speak in Keenan’s ear. “What if you could do whatever you wished, whenever you wished? What would you do?”

“Me?” The voice in his ear was starting to make too much sense.

“You. If you could do whatever you wanted without consequence?”

Keenan had to think about that one. Quit his job? Paint all day? Sleep for a week without ghostly intervention?

“Deeper.” That voice was creeping into his cerebellum, wrapping around Keenan’s pleasure receptors, and turning up the volume. “What are your desires? Where do your fantasies take you in the darkest part of the night?”

“Isabella,” Keenan heard himself whisper.

“Yes,” hissed in his ear. “Isabella, yes. But more…aren’t there more desires buried inside you. Mind you, I have seen your dreams. What about two or even three women like Isabella to service you? Imagine it. Open your mind to the possibilities.”

Keenan couldn’t stop the pictures opening up as three women caressed and sucked every inch of his body, kissed and licked each other for his enjoyment, and then descended on his cock in pairs with their hot mouths and soaking pussies. He saw himself taking turns with each one in every orifice, sharing them with his friends as he watched them squirm, and making them lick each other’s pussies.

“There is more.” Reggie’s voice was a salve against his resistance. “Money enough to buy every luxury, delicacies forbidden everywhere else, your enemies groveling at your feet, begging forgiveness. Think of it; you can live the way you wish without consequence. You can choose to skip bathing if you want to, punch out that guy that cuts you off on the freeway, take the neighbor’s Ferrari, or his wife, if you wish, and use them any way you want. The world is yours and no one can take it away from you.”

Keenan saw himself as a famous painter, rich beyond his dreams, in a mansion where the weather never turned cold. Servants waited on him, gave him everything he called for, did whatever you asked them to do. People worshipped his talent, his genius. He could do no wrong.

Reggie’s words blended with the images in seamless perfection. “You see, my friend, there is no such thing as sin. There is only living the way you want without consequences, without fear of losing anything, without apologizing for wanting something you deserve. Take it, Keenan, live it the way you wish. I can make it all happen for you. All you have to do is trust me.”

All you have to do is trust me…

There was something about those words that collapsed the images dancing through Keenan’s head like old paint crushed in his hand. He had heard them before. That voice had whispered those same words—had convinced him to abandon something. Something important. Something special. The demon’s voice smacked against an ancient memory inside him. It was so deeply buried, so old and far away, he couldn’t dredge it up, but it was there.

The heat in his blood flushed cold through his veins like ice water on a spitting radiator.

Keenan jumped from the chair and stumbled across the room, crawling away from the black-eyed demon as fast as he hands and feet could carry him.

When he had gone as far as he could, he glared back at Reggie and his body quaked. Keenan was terrified down to the laces in his sneakers; he had come so close to succumbing that a few more seconds would have been all Reggie needed.

“Fuck you!”

Reggie shrugged, got an amused smirk to dance across his lips, and picked up his pipe. “Oh, well. I had to try. It’s what I do.”

The drink began to wear off, leaving a bad taste in Keenan’s mouth. Reggie stood to one side of the room tilting his head at him as if summing up his expectations.

Keenan had enough. It was time for him to take a stand. So that’s what he did, stood up. An old fatigue rippled through his muscles when he took stock of his position.

Reggie wanted his body. Amos told him he had to give it to him. Keenan hadn’t been able to talk to Constance, which bothered him. And he prayed to God that he would find Isabella at his house after this was all done. That stopped him. So, what form would he be entering his house then? Ghost? Human? Angel? Demon? Hard to say, and the effort to sort it all out was making his left eye twitch. The only thing he could rely on right now was his instinct. That thought deepened his depression.

“I think I’m entitled to a few answers,” he snarled at Reggie, running a hand through his hair and then rubbing a sore shoulder. “Explain why it is you’re so hell bent on having a body. Trust me; they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”