As Guy Is My Witness
I had just wrapped up a pretty straight-forward haunting, a routine bone burning, and was trying to remember what it felt like to relax. I carried the litter box into the motel room, set a six-pack on the credenza and held the door for the cat. The skinny, long-limbed tricolor tabby had turned up about eight months ago, curled against my engine block for warmth in the middle of a bitterly cold Wisconsin night. I’d guessed she was about six months old when I found her about a month ago, rangy and fleabitten. But she looked at me like she owned me and had been with me ever since. Now, I ponied up the extra for a pet-friendly motel without thinking much about it and wondered what I was going to tell Ellie when I got home. Whenever I decided to go home. She sauntered into the room, sniffed around the bathroom, then curled up on one of the beds with her tail over her face. If Ma’am approved, the room had to be okay.
I kicked my muddy boots off by the door as I turned the bolt and swung the chain lock shut. A line of salt on the doormat and another along the edge of the window finished my evening prep and I sank onto the bed with a groan. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” I stared at the remote control for the television, sitting across the room beside the beer. It felt like a monumental effort to get off my ass and walk over to get them at the moment, so I just let myself fall backwards onto the bedspread. The cat hopped across the beds and perched on my chest with a querulous sound. “Right. Food.” She rode my chest up as I pulled myself upright, deftly flipping her tail until she was perched on my shoulder and purring loudly in my ear. She liked high places and there really weren’t many places higher in a motel room than my shoulder. She steadied herself against my ear with her tail wrapped around my forehead, just above my eyes as I stood and went to retrieve a can of Friskies from the cooler.
“Jenny is never going to let me live you down, Ma’am.” I scooped half the can onto a plastic salad plate and put it on the floor beside her water dish. She kicked off from my shoulder to land delicately beside the food, sniffed it and gave me one of her long, golden-eyed squints before settling in to eat. I ran one finger down her lower back and up her tail. She was a pretty little thing.
I pushed myself to standing again with a grunt, then retrieved the beer and the remote. Now that I was moving around and letting my brain function again, I decided that a shower and some clean clothes would be a good next step, too. Once I was clean and comfortable again, I dropped back to the bed and started flipping through the channels. I opened a beer and the cat returned to curl against my hip. She wasn’t much for laps, but liked to be nearby. I put the limited cable channels through their paces and sighed. Nothing interesting on any of them, really. As I made a second circuit, I saw a chunky guy with his bleached blonde hair in spikes and a bright grin saying something about diner food being the best. Nothing else was on. I stopped.
Now, I like a good burger as much as the next drifter, but let’s face it: not all burgers are created equal. The place the host was visiting seemed to be somewhere in Mississippi and boasted the best burgers in the state. I was starting to doze off with the cat purring against my leg when I heard the host’s voice say, “Am I boring you, John?”
I blinked and squinted at the television. “Whuh?”
“I said, am I boring you?”
I shook my head and pushed up against the bed. “What the hell?”
Guy Fieri was looking out of the television at me. He had a faint smirk on his face. “I’ve got your attention now, I see.”
I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes until colors exploded behind my lids, then looked again. He was still staring at me. “What the hell was in that beer.”
“Nothing unusual,” he said.
The cat opened her eyes and they flashed green with the reflected light of the television. Then, she stretched and yawned and curled up again, apparently unaffected by my hallucination. Slowly, I scooted along the mattress until I was closer to the set. “What am I seeing?”
“An easy way to contact you, that’s all.” Guy leaned on the table in front of him and folded his hands with a smile. “John. I’ve got a job for you.”
“You’re a fucking television show.”
“And you’re talking to me.” He shrugged. “You in or what?”
I’ve had some weird requests before, but this one definitely took the award for the strangest. “Um. I guess I’m in? Who are you?”
“I’m Guy Fieri, who did you think?”
The cat rolled over in her sleep with a stretch, then resettled with her paws against her chest. I stared at the figure on the TV. “If you’re Guy Fieri, I’m a Camero. If you want something from me, you tell me the truth or I’m checking out.”
“You can’t get away from me, John.” He leaned back with his arms crossed on his chest. “But if you insist. My name is Gabriel. I am an angel of the lord.” His expression took on a smirking quality as he extended his hands and a shadow of wings flared behind him. “Be not afraid.”
“Fuck afraid. You’re lying.” I snorted and leaned back to glare. “There’s no such thing as angels. Every hunter knows that. All that demons and angels shit is for megachurches and TV shows.”
My digital host’s eyes flickered and the whole television screen crackled with static before he gave me a slow, warning smile. “Be careful what you say, John. I might not be human, but I’ve still got feelings.” The TV buzzed into an inhuman pitch and the cat rolled suddenly onto her side with a yowl.
“You leave my cat out of this!” I snapped and stood up to stab a finger at the cheeky bastard on the TV. “Fine, you’re an angel. What do you want with me?”
To be continued...
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