Seers of River – Part 9 [End]

Randy: “Is this…?

Angel: “Yes, unfortunately.”

Randy: “Bittersweet I suppose.”

Demon: “Nope. Just sweet. The best part of the whole story. Woohoo!! Bring it on!

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David stopped at a small underused motel one mile from St. Louis, Missouri. Under his seat was a semi-automatic the driver he stole the truck from kept hidden. The weapon was strapped to the bottom of the seat and used for the driver’s personal protection. David’s energy showed him that the truck’s owner lined drugs inside of the furniture he was transporting. His supplier wouldn’t be happy about missing this shipment.

The gun accompanied him when he exited the truck. He didn’t stop at the front desk, because he learned from his visions there was a motel room with a broken lock. This was a room they never rented out.

Once inside the poorly kept room, he tried to rest, but he was wound too tight. He sat up on the bed, turned on the television, and began flipping from channel to channel to occupy his mind.

There was nothing he wanted to see, nothing that could keep his mind from what he knew. Seers were dying, being killed for the things their visions showed them of the future. A darkness was falling over the Structure and the world — a darkness harolding death. And that darkness was sending assassins after him. Not just any assassin if the myth about Demon’s Wrath was true. The best was coming for him.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, masking his energy. The technique had saved his life so far and would save him again. He had to believe that.

He had to sleep, but that was the last thing on his mind. He felt safer running, than sitting in that room. Unfortunately, his body refused to go further and his mind was barely keeping lucid thoughts.

He steadied his breathing, meditating, until he calmed himself to sleep. What woke him was a knock on the door.

Without a word, he pulled the gun from the side-table.

“David?” A smoky voice called. He recognized that voice. No way! DJ. Alive?

“Maybe he’s not here,” A female voice said.

Irene. David got up from the bed.

“My visions say otherwise,” DJ said.

“DJ?” He finally called back.

The lights went out. The midday sun faded from the windows. David held his gun out toward the walls closing in on him. Darkness swallowed him. He fired at the thick black around him again and again. A high pitch wail made him cover his ears. With the gun in his hand, he couldn’t cover his right ear enough to drown out the devastating sound. He dropped the weapon to cover it better. The noise was a searing pain screeching against his eardrum sending agony down his spine. Something reached out to him — a dark hand darker than black.

You thought you could run? Thoughts invaded his mind. So many voices — wailing, screeching, moaning voices taunted his existance. The evil hand wrapped around his neck.

He shut his eyes, trying to block out what he was seeing. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It was just an illusion. It had to be. Nothing was this vile. Nothing. “Help me!” He tried to yell but the moment he opened his mouth something foul slithered down his throat. Sickeningly sweet odors assaulted his nostrils.

His eyes shot open. His heart skipped. Before him, Hell opened up. Evil itself stood beautifully curved, a pure black oily image surrounded by and engulfed in flames that were inviting him to play. The being called to him, seducing him closer with a sensual terror that paralyzed him.

David. David. You can’t run, David.

He tried to close his eyes again, but no, the taint was in his eyes, mind, throat, nose, and the twisting pain in his chest. The oily flames danced closer both terrible and wonderful. Closer, as heat sizzled the hairs on his skin. The soulless depths of the devil’s eyes stared at him with a joy that made his cry with need.

Dropping to his knees, he wanted to plead for life or death, but his voice was raw. No. No! This was wrong. He needed to run, but the fires were too close, too scorching. The demand to shut his eyes and close out the torture weighed on his mind and aching heart. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t.

That’s right. You’re just tired

That’s right he fell asleep. This was a dream. He was dreaming. A bad dream… damned nightmare. All he needed to do was close his eyes and then wake up.

Close his eyes.

And wake up.

It wasn’t real.

Close my eyes.

Close your eyes

Close my eyes.

He reached up to his eyes.

That’s right, claws your eyes.

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RbH

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