Page 8 of Satan's Son

My attention returned to the door as a young man stumbled out, looking drunk or high on drugs.

He pushed the black hair from his face and slid down a wall. My eyes opened wide, and I quickly knelt in front of him.

Alex!

My best friend, the strongest, happiest man I had ever met. He was a musician and a beautiful soul. I glanced at the broken guitar. Had he given up?

Tears streamed down his face, and he leaned his head back against the wall and stared across the room, through me. His eyes were full of sadness. He reached out for a bottle of vodka, which lay half-drunk to his side, and brought it to his lips.

“What happened to him?” I reached out to touch his face, but my hand disappeared right through him.

“You,” Ethan said from behind me. “He hasn’t taken your death well.”

“So, you brought me here to see this?” I stood up and felt my anger boil. “You brought me here to see how my death is killing my best friend?”

“No!” Ethan yelled and crossed his arms. “I don’t choose where we go; the map does. We were brought here to stop this.” He gestured to Alex as he drank silently on the floor.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been sentenced to be a guider until your retrial. A guider’s job is to guide the living back to life.” Ethan sat on the bed, and I was surprised he didn’t just sink through it. “Think of it as community service. You must stop them from taking their own lives or stop accidents that end a life before their time. Drunk driving, drug overdoses.”

“I’m confused. That doesn’t sound like a job someone from Hell would be doing.”

“Your friend here is about to die. When he finishes that bottle of vodka, he is going to have a seizure. The vodka will mix with the drugs he just took. He will lie here for two days before his parents come looking.”

“What?” My stomach turned in panic. “Can you see the future or something?”

“No, but we know.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You aren’t trained yet.” He got up from the bed and walked to Alex’s side. “That’s why I am here.”

“So, show me how to help him.” I wasn’t letting Alex die because of his sadness over me. “We are here to stop it, right?”

“Right.” Ethan glanced at me. “Place your hand on his temple.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Ethan snapped; patience wasn’t a strong characteristic of his.

“He can’t see us, can he?” I asked, not putting my hand on his temple. “Because if he could feel me, if he could sense I was here, he wouldn’t be doing this.”

“No, he can’t.” Ethan reached out for my hand and placed it on Alex’s temple. I was surprised I could touch him. “Now.”

“Can he feel me touching him?”

“No.”

“Why isn’t my hand disappearing?”

“Stop asking questions! Do you want to save him?” Ethan arched an eyebrow, and I remained silent. “Good, now you have to feel his mind and bring forward memories.”

“What do you mean ‘bring forward memories’?”

“When you are in their minds, you can feel happy memories. Bring them forward. You, in this case, have the benefit of knowing the person, so you might know certain memories that will trigger him to put that bottle down.”

“Okay.” I let out a low, nervous breath of air. What if I messed up? What if I didn’t get the right memories?

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