v1 CHAPTER FORTY-NINE (18+): In which friends unwittingly reunite and old fantasies rekindle.

“You know, I still don’t know what the devil we’re doing out here… other than trying to find Micki, of course.” John shook his head. “We’re gonna end up driving onto a mountain trail, get stuck in a ravine…”

Someone had to drive, and the old moving van was technically a church vehicle, so John supposed it made sense that he was behind the driver’s wheel. Still, the one thing more frustrating than a backseat driver was a navigator at the very back of the van who kept yelling things like “Further west!” Or “the trail is veering left; can you make a left turn somewhere?” No, actually. He couldn’t have made a left turn at that point unless they wanted to drive into the Hudson River.

Susan was obviously doing her best to extract guidance from the mass of signals, screens, and indicators on the device she’d assembled to follow Micki’s trail. It was the best shot they had.

Cassandra sat in the back, sharpening something long with an unpleasant hook, never lifting her eyes from Susan. Maria, riding shotgun next to him, did more or less the opposite of the demon hunter: filing her nails, looking up random facts on her phone, and pointing at things out the window. The blonde girl had a wide-eyed enthusiasm that John could only assume came with a new lease on life.

Susan adjusted another dial. “I just hope this is the right signature this time.”

Cassandra craned her neck. “I have observed how your device works… for a while now.”

Susan looked up at her and smiled. “Oh, really? What’s your take… think I’ve got it on target?”

“My take is…” Cassandra mused, “that it has no reason to work at all. I can’t understand how it can do anything.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Not everything is visible to the naked eye, hunter. Etheric signatures—”

Cassandra raised a finger. “Those, I trained to see. When they’re warm. Like little wisps of smoke, if you attune your eyesight… perfect for tracking. But this?” She waved her hands. “I don’t know what it is.”

John cleared his throat. “I don’t know the first thing about etheric signatures. I’m just a pastor. But it sounds pretty theoretical, Susan. We’re trying to find a missing person, not invent a new model of supernatural science.” He paused. “It’s not working, is it?”

“Yes, it is!” Susan cried. “Well, kind of. We’re entering an area where there seems to be…” Something pinged inside her device. “Hmm, this effect could result from a high degree of supernatural activity.”

“Oooh,” chimed Maria. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere creepy. Is Spooky Hollow near here?”

“Yes.” Cassandra pointed one finger approvingly at Maria. “If you mean Sleepy Hollow.”

John looked at the GPS device’s screen. “The nearest town is actually called… Otterbrook.”

Maria raised her eyebrows. “Otters… are the exact opposite of creepy! But that itself might be suspicious.”

Susan frowned. “I’m just going to keep us moving toward the center of whatever’s causing these readings, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Father John. “Not a sane plan,” he added in a quieter grumble, “but it’s better than nothing.”

“I’ll drive if you’re getting tired, Johnny!” Maria slid towards the driver’s seat, her left breast pressing against the priest’s arm.

“No!” barked John. “Sorry, no—that’s fine, just sit back.” He glanced at the others; the three women stared at him expectantly. He sighed and kept on down the highway.

***

It turned out that most of the readings pointed them towards Otterbrook, or somewhere not far beyond. After a few hours of driving, the group arrived in the small mountain town, which boasted four buildings at its intersection: a gas station, a diner, a low-cost department store that was three times the size of anything else in the vicinity, and an attraction labeled “World’s Biggest Hairball.”

Cassandra hopped out and headed for the restaurant, muttering something about french fries. Based on readings, Susan was more inclined to head for the department store’s parking lot.

John parked the van on the side of the road. “I suppose locals might come down here to shop. A popular hub of activity when there’s nothing else near you.”

“Yep,” said Susan, whose attention still focused on her readings, enough so that she’d only been producing monosyllables. “Hold on.”

She got out of the van and looked around, then walked towards the store entrance. “Hey, wait up!” Maria followed her.

“I guess I’m staying with the car,” Father John sighed.

The store’s interior was cavernous and had a variety of sections. “I suppose we ought to check food… or tools?” Susan tapped her lower lip, furrowing her forehead. “No, I have no idea. What sort of supplies does one need to hold a succubus hostage?”

“Hmm, that guy in the checkout line is… checking YOU out,” said Maria.

“You think everybody is checking—” but then Susan realized her friend was right. Some guy was staring right at her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with an odd haircut that looked like it had been growing out a little too long, and a chiseled face. Something about him was strangely familiar.

“Oh my god, he’s coming over here!” whispered Maria. “Can we afford to be picking up guys on this trip? I mean, he is pretty cute—”

“Excuse me,” said the young man. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met?” Behind him, another man was approaching with a concerned look. The second man was older, wearing a hoodie… under a priest’s jacket, complete with collar.

“Uh… Sorry, we’re not from around here.” Susan adjusted her glasses. “I don’t think we would have met… Are you folks from the local parish? Or is there a Catholic retreat center near here? I love spiritual retreats…” Maria nudged her, and she realized she was babbling.

The man with the chiseled face laughed. It was a warm laugh, and his eyes crinkled up. “I’m glad to hear that. A retreat can offer a balm for the soul. But I’m afraid ours isn’t open—” The priest with the hoodie stepped up and placed one hand on the younger man’s shoulder. His care-worn face bore only a blank expression.

“Father, we really ought to be going.” He turned his gaze towards Susan, as if he knew her. “Forgive us, friends. We’re in a hurry, and our driver just pulled up in back.”

“Father?” Maria peeped. “You’re so young for a priest!” She took a step forward, and the tall man smiled again.

“And you’re quite beautiful,” he added, taking her hand.

“I’m sorry, perhaps I should have asked… who are you?” asked the older priest, looking between the two of them.

“Maria Johannsen, pleased to meet you,” she said, offering her hand to the older man, who now looked cautious.

“Hold on a second, I’ve heard that name before… are you an actress, maybe?” flirted the younger man, flashing a smile full of even white teeth. Maria blushed.

“Not yet. I haven’t even been a woman for very long. I’m modeling at the moment? But you never know, in the future!”

“Father, we really must go. We’ll be late for evening prayer,” protested the big priest in the hoodie.

“Now hold on, Father Kincaid. Help me out a moment here. Be patient!” The young priest’s tone was light-hearted but firm, and the older man immediately fell silent. The young man turned to Susan. “And how about you, miss? What’s your name? Or perhaps I should introduce myself; I’m Father—”

The younger priest, whose name they hadn’t caught, yelped in pain as the other man placed a boot on his instep. The bigger priest’s face was strangely neutral, even robotic. “Apologies, ladies. He’ll gab with you all day if I don’t get him back.” The older priest, taking the younger one firmly by the arm, steered him away through the store.

Maria watched as they disappeared into the crowd. “What the hell was all that about?” she demanded.

Susan narrowed her eyes. “Two Catholic priests, in Otterbrook? I’d say they’re our quarry. Quickly—we should get back to the van!” She practically sprinted out of the store.

Maria chased after her, tottering on high-heeled boots she hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. “You’re going to track them?”

“I’m going to see if they’ve left any significant traces, at the very least!” Susan yelled.

***

The ride back to the compound was tense. Brad, the third member of the work detail, tried to chat and joke, but neither priest in the van’s front proved easy to engage. Kincaid was silent, gripping the wheel tightly; Mick thought he saw the man’s eyes tear up once or twice. Neither had spoken a word about the encounter with the two women at the store. For Mick’s part, his mind was feverish with questions.

First Sherill, who Mick had somehow recognized; then, in the darkened offices of the disused building, further evidence that there might be aspects of his life that he couldn’t recall. Now another woman, the Asian girl from the store, who seemed to recognize him—who gave him an even stronger feeling of familiarity. When their eyes had met, something inside Mick had woken up.

Mick wondered about the strange things happening to him. Had he lived another life? Was it possible that his memories would come back, piece by piece? Did he even want to remember his old life? According to Monsignor Spencer, he’d gone through a time when he’d let the succubus take over. He couldn’t remember that.

A recent episode of possession didn’t explain the documents he’d found, files that suggested Mick was much older than he appeared, that he was gay. Ok, he thought, if I’m being honest with myself, that’s not all that surprising. Worst of all, however, he’d discovered that someone had labeled him a suitable “match” for Yael.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kincaid spoke.

“He said we had to make use of the demons we knew about,” the burly man said, staring straight ahead at the road, his fingers clenched on the steering wheel, “that the world was better off with them contained, harnessed, no matter the cost.” He looked like a man haunted. “But what do you think, young Father Belmont?” His voice was quiet, but held a note of anger.

Kincaid’s question hung in the air. The van hummed along the highway, forging deeper into the woods, the hills.

“I think I don’t know enough about this situation,” said Mick. “And I wish you’d tell me more… if you can remember.” The man’s mind seemed like a picture that someone had photocopied too many times. Mick cleared his throat. “I also know that the ends cannot justify the means. Particularly when the means are people’s lives. That has always been true.”

Brad looked back and forth between the two priests, confused and uncharacteristically silent.

“You’re a good man, Michael,” said Kincaid, turning to look at him. “Not like those who seek power.”

Mick turned away, trying not to let his roil of emotions show.

***

Something was off with Mick. That had been obvious ever since Brad had met the guy, to some degree. He acted too serious, too reserved, like a man twice his age; despite Brad’s encouragement, he never seemed to relish the amazing amounts of hot young pussy that threw itself his way. Some guys have all the luck, he thought, sex demon or otherwise. Today, things had clearly taken a turn for the worse, so Brad was worried.

He toted four cans of beer in a cardboard holder, walking back through the woods to the bonfire site. It was Saturday night, and Sunday services would crowd the following morning, followed by a day of rest, so a tradition of staying up on Saturday signing camp songs and religious variants of pop tunes had cropped up. Along with some drinking and other debauchery, of course. This kind of religious organization wasn’t too bad… if the folks in charge knew that people needed to let off steam.

When he reached the fire, he heard laughter and music echoing into the trees. A dozen men and half as many women sat around the flames, singing and playing guitar.

“Where the newbs at?” he asked, dropping the beers beside the cooler.

“Mick’s the only new kid, so far. Hey!” said the redhead holding a guitar. “There he is now!”

Mick strolled up to the fire, his face flushed and his hair disheveled. The unruly black locks seemed longer than usual, in need of a cut. “Hey, everyone. Brad, toss me one of those.” They all hung out in the warmth of the flames for a while, singing and talking. Then Mick caught Brad’s eye and cocked his head towards the trail leading away from the compound.

“What’s up?”

Mick smiled, but it was a faint smile.

“Follow me. Gotta ask you something.”

***

They emerged onto the hillside behind the compound’s church. At its peak stood a life-sized statue of Jesus, his arms raised in benediction. Below was a small supply shed. It was a pleasant view. Mick looked over at Brad. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

The lanky guy shrugged. “Sure. Shoot.”

“We haven’t known each other long. But you’re always telling me what I’m like. You said a few days ago that I seemed like an old man. What’d you mean by that?”

Brad hesitated; then nodded. “I meant—you seem to hold yourself together well. Like… maybe your mind is stronger than most guys’ would be after a demonic possession.” He laughed. “I’m sorry, that doesn’t make any sense, does it? I guess I just felt guilty about goofing off when you’re so serious. Seminary school, occult studies… There’s a reason you’re the Monsignor’s star pupil.”

Mick chuckled softly. He didn’t feel older. Just different.

Mick sat down, and Brad followed suit, handing Mick a beer. “What’s bothering you, man? If you need to talk, spit it out so I can get back to that girl with the tattoos, Melissa.”

Mick turned his head to look at him. “Do you think it’s weird that I used to be a girl? I mean, while I was possessed.”

Brad blushed. “That’s—that’s personal. No. Not really. I respect what you and the other Contained go through, and I figure it’s none of my business. Why?”

“You’re always pushing girls at me—I know it’s part of your whole… wingman strategy. But I was also wondering whether you’re trying to get me to be… more masculine, or something. A regular guy. Do I seem like a regular guy?”

Brad stared at Mick, his handsome face with a shock of black hair, and his eyes. In the dim light of late evening, they seemed to glow faintly.

“N-no. Of course not. But you have another being inside you, that’s probably why. Maybe I was just… trying to help you avoid worse temptations.”

Mick took a drink of his beer; the liquid was cold and refreshing, but the taste was bitter. What was wrong with his tongue lately, anyway? Was there something else going on with his body? He kept looking at Brad.

“What temptations are you thinking of?” Mick asked.

“Well, like—sex stuff. We all figured that if we got you laid, it’d help break the hold the demoness has on you.” He paused and frowned. “But, um, you haven’t seemed all that into it, sometimes.”

Mick sighed. “I can’t deny that you’re right. Feels like work sometimes. Or like… I’m detached from my body, and only interested in theirs in a… functional way? Doing it for them, to get their pleasure, fulfill their desire to be changed.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much how it seems. Sorry. Didn’t realize. Um, so… I guess the whole point is, that demoness isn’t in control of you. She’s gone. So don’t worry about anything. Okay?”

Mick shook his head. “Far from the truth, my friend. I feel her in me all the time, raging to get out.”

Brad swallowed, nervous at the whole subject. “What… would help? Can I get your back somehow, man?”

Mick leaned forward and put his hand on Brad’s knee. The gesture was casual, but his palm was warm and firm against the fabric of Brad’s jeans; the touch sent a jolt of electricity through his nerves. “This might sound strange, but—if you want to help, let me touch you, but without touching me. Don’t even think about me, just yourself, your own energy flowing. When you’re ready to stop, say ‘stop’, okay?”

“Okay,” said Brad. “Except…” he gulped. “If you get hard or start feeling really horny, let me know. I mean, I want to help you, but I don’t know if—d” Mick put a finger to Brad’s lips, quieting him. Then he reached for the drawstring of Brad’s pants.

As soon as his fingers touched the skin beneath the cloth, a wave of heat rushed through Mick’s entire body. His cock twitched, moving in his own briefs. He pulled the string loose. Now the two men were sitting close enough to kiss. Their faces drew closer, but Brad looked away. Mick leaned forward to give him a gentle peck on the cheek, and the moment his mouth drew near, Brad’s cock surged up, the head slipping above his waistband. Brad moaned.

Brad could hear himself breathing. His heart pounded in his chest. All his senses were alive. This was so good… wasn’t it? So wrong. He liked chicks. But he also liked Mick. Or was that just…  Mick’s power? No… Mick was awesome. He smelled awesome. His mouth was… Oh god, Mick’s mouth was hot and wet and soft, enveloping his cock, sucking and licking. It was so amazing—he couldn’t believe it was happening to him. No one had ever done this to him before; no boy had ever sucked his dick. And now it was so intense.

The world swam and went black. He heard someone speak: “No! Wait!” It was his own voice, yelling.

Mick paused and lifted his head. “Do you need me to stop?”

Brad trembled, looking down at his friend’s intense gaze, his mouth dripping with saliva, his cheeks flushed, his hair tousled. He wanted to see the face of his savior, his lover. “I… I want you to keep going, but…”

“Close your eyes, Brad.” He obediently did so.

“There’s someone you always wanted to fuck. Maybe someone from high school, or a celebrity crush. You know, your jack-off fantasy lover,” Mick went on, his voice sultry and smooth. “Who is it?”

An image leaped immediately to Brad’s mind. “It’s—it’s my teacher, Ms. Sutter. She’s the vice-principal of our middle-school. She’s super-hot. Blonde hair, green eyes, long legs, and perfect breasts. I’ve been fantasizing about her since sixth grade. God, she’s gorgeous.” He could picture her perfectly.

“Tell me all about her. What was her hair like? Long or short? Picture her face.”

“Her hair’s blonde. Short. Her nose is small. Kind of upturned. A little button. Her lips are full. They’re red. Like cherries. They look damn sexy when she smiles. I love the way her hair falls over them, over her eyes.” He was getting harder than ever, and he felt Mick’s hand encircle his girth.

“Mmmm, yeah. Sounds cute.” Mick’s voice was husky, mellow, and liquid. “Tell me about her breasts. What do you mean by… perfect breasts? Every detail.”

“They’re huge. They stick out like… big round spheres. Perfect round nipples. Not too big, not too small. Just right. I can imagine those nipples poking into me as she rides me. Oh, man. They’d be so fucking sensitive.” Brad felt something whisper across his knee, like a soft fingertip brushing him.

“Ohh!” gasped Mick, his voice breaking into a higher register. “They really are sensitive.” He sounded just like—like—

“Quick, Brad,” Mick interrupted. “Tell me about Ms. Sutter’s ass. Her pussy. Her hands.”

Brad closed his eyes; and the vision of his beautiful teacher flooded his mind. She was kneeling in front of him, her haunches lifted in the air, like he’d envisioned so many times when jacking off. “Her ass… her ass is so hot. Those cheeks must have dimples, and they’re so tight; her skin’s so smooth and pale. I wish she didn’t wear a bra. I want to reach around and grab that ass and squeeze her tits too, and then push her down so she’s lying flat on her back, and lift her dress and slide my cock in.”

Brad exhaled, a ragged breath leaving him. “I always imagined that her pussy would taste sweet, and she’s so wet already; her juices drip off her lips, and she’s shivering. I’m gonna—I’m gonna make her come. I’ll eat her cunt while she’s coming, and she won’t even notice. She’ll be so overwhelmed.”

Brad felt Mick’s hand grab his leg, then something warm and wet slid over his cock. He gasped and opened his eyes. His middle school vice-principal, Ms. Sutter, was riding him, lowering her wet cunt onto his hardness. She was wearing Mick’s black ribbed tank top, tight over the expanse of cleavage stuffed inside. She groaned. “Ms. Sutter? Mick?” he yelled in confusion.

The woman opened her eyes, looked down at him with Brad’s intense gaze. His eyes were yellow and wild. “Do you like it, Brad? Fucking the teacher you always wanted? I changed myself for you.” Then she began bouncing on his cock. The feeling was so familiar, yet so strange. So hot, tight. He was so hard. And so fucking horny, so turned on. Brad moaned. “Yes. Yes. Fuck. Oh god, Mick… Ms. Sutter.” She looked exactly like every fantasy he’d had.

Then the woman stopped. She lifted her hips up, sliding off his aching shaft. “Did you hear that?”

“No. Wait!” yelped Brad. Suddenly, a tremendous crash echoed from below. Firelight reflected up across the hill. Something was burning.

“Get your cock pack in your pants, Brad!” yelled his high school vice-principal’s voice. His friend Mick’s voice. “We have to get down there.” Mick was pulling his underwear up, stretched erotically over Ms. Sutter’s tight ass, and then his track pants. The woman who Mick had become hurried down the hill, barefoot. Brad groaned one more time, got up, and followed.