Judas Is the Demon I Cling To

I leaned forward over the gas tank of my motorcycle and stood up on the foot-rests, raising myself from the seat and enjoying the semi-weightless feeling as I whipped along the old county back road. I felt the rough breeze blow over my back and against my arms. Any other day, I would’ve let it sting my cheeks and rush roughly around my face as well. But not after everything that had just happened. Today, I wore my helmet with the tinted visor, concealing my face from any amateur demon look-outs.

Not that it would fool the experienced ones. I mused as I whipped around a sharp right curve, bending the bike down low on the left side, my left ankle nearly scraping the asphalt. They’d be able to clock me as a hunter as soon as I came into view.

I leaned to the right and accelerated as I came out of the turn, righting the bike and continuing on my way. Only a few more minutes, and I’m home free.

I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the road behind me for any suspicious vehicles. There was nothing. Just an empty stretch of county road stretching back as far as the eye could see, cutting the farmer’s fields in half down the middle and continuing on its merry way back to more civilized areas. Satisfied that nothing malicious was tailing me, I turned my attention back to the road ahead, the rough collar of my jean jacket scratching the side of my neck as I turned my head.

The road ahead seemed to stretch on forever. I stared intently at the horizon, focusing on the sun as slowly began to sink. I wondered briefly how many evenings I would have to watch the sun kiss the horizon. To wait patiently as day faded into night.
A mailbox whizzed past my peripheral vision and I shook myself out of my daze. I revved the engine and turned a sharp left just past the mailbox, slowing down as my front tire met the gravel drive I had turned onto. I listened to the muffled crunch through my helmet as the bike glided slowly down the driveway and squinted at the small farm house at the end of the drive.

It was painted a quaint read with white trim to match the large barn that stood behind it. As I came closer, I could make out the shapes of chickens running through the flower garden in front of the house. I stood up on the footrests and felt a smile start to spread across my face as I looked onto the homey front porch and glimpsed a sad old basset hound lying flat on his side, his greyed muzzle hanging over the edge of the porch.

Home.

As my bike crested a small mound of gravel and rolled into the main yard, I removed my right hand from the handlebars and grasped the side of my helmet. I quickly yanked it from my head, feeling my skin tingle in relief as cool air touched my cheeks. The hound perked up his ears at the sound of my approach and began to get up, his short legs stiff and over-worked from old age and obesity. I laughed and whistled for him, steering my bike toward the barn. I heard a happy howl sound out and heard his heavy steps as he made his way down the porch steps and into the side yard.

I let the bike drift to a stop before I reached the barn and cut the engine. I swung my left leg over the side of the bike and flicked the kick-stand down with my booted foot. I turned and knelt on the gravel, my thick jeans protecting my knees, stretching my arms out to accept the walking sausage that was waddling toward me.

“Homer! Hey boy.” I greeted him as he pushed his soft head into my stomach in greeting. I ruffled his long ears playfully, enjoying his quiet welcome.

A crunch sounded behind me, signaling someone’s approach. I felt my body tense reflexively. My right hand shot out and found the hidden pocket on the side of my right boot. A low chuckle rang out that caused me to check myself and drop my hand before pulling the knife from its pocket.

“Jesus, Ros. You planning on taking out your allies too?” A deep, bearlike voice questioned, laughingly.

I stood quickly and whipped around, my boots sending bits of gravel flying. I felt the tendons and muscles in my legs tense and then release as I crouched and pounced on my older brother, tackling him into a giant hug. He caught me hastily and stumbled backward to keep from falling over completely. I laughed and looked up at his familiar face, his blue eyes crinkled at the edges as he laughed along with me.

“How ya been, kid? I feel like we haven’t talked in, well, a month.” He released me and stepped back, running a hand through his bright orange hair as he waited for my answer. “How’d your hunt go?”

I sighed deeply, rolling my eyes at the mention of my hunt.

“I don’t even want to get into it now, Reu.” I turned and stepped back to my bike, reaching out and running a hand along its shiny, cherry red front end.

Reuben fell silent, but he didn’t leave. I knew he was waiting for me to give in and just talk to him, the way I always did. I could feel his eyes searching my face questioningly. I moved to the back of the bike without meeting his gaze and began untethering my bags of clothes. I let the duffels fall to the ground and looked up quickly. He was still standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and a look of concern on his face. I sighed.

“Dad didn’t tell you?” I grumbled and resumed my work, gingerly untying the pack that held my collection of prayer books and slinging it over my shoulder. The way Reuben was staring at me bothered me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason why.

Why wouldn’t dad tell everyone?

“He called me right in the middle of my hunt to tell me I needed to come back home immediately, but other than that, no. Was he supposed to tell me something?”

I ignored Reuben’s question and began to remove my knife case from the back of the bike. I heard him sigh in exasperation and stopped my work to glare at him.

“Reu, I don’t know much more than you. I just know that my hunt was, according to dad, a set-up. Planned by demons.” He opened his mouth in shock. I simply nodded once in response and dropped my head, returning my focus to the intricate locks on the basket that enclosed the knife case. I heard him take a deep breath in, as if he were preparing himself to say more, but I held up my hand to silence him.

“If you wanna know more, you’ll just have to wait until dinner.” I mumbled, flipping the lid of the basket back and removing the heavy iron case from its place.

I grasped the handle in my left hand and bent my right knee, leaning over and retrieving the dropped duffel bags. I shouldered them swiftly and walked away from Reuben, keeping my eyes on the house as I made my way toward it.

What is going on? I asked myself for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Dad pulls us all back, but doesn’t tell anyone why. Except me.

What could possibly be so special about me?