Bad Company: Avery's Crossing, #2

Chapter 1: Devil’s Coming

Gage:

My condo looked like it belonged in a spread in Architectural Digest Magazine, or some other shelter mag. I’d had it professionally decorated because, you know, A-list movie star. We were expected to have luxe surroundings.

Not that I really gave a shit, but hell I had the money, so why not?

The bedroom had slate-gray walls and a platform bed made of some kind of exotic black wood, everything understated, ultra-modern, masculine. It cost me a fucking fortune, but whatever. It looked good. I looked good. That was all that mattered in this town.

At the moment, it was dark, chilly with air-conditioning. My hair, still wet from a shower at the gym, made my scalp cold in the breeze coming from the A.C.. The air smelled flat, but at least it didn’t reek with exhaust fumes like so much of the outdoors around here.

Through the windows, the lights of L.A. twinkled at me, pretending to beauty that daylight would prove totally fake and winking at their own joke. So much of this town was like that. Fakery and illusion. Including me.

I sauntered across all the open floor space toward my walk-in closet. The bedroom, huge as it was, had almost no furniture. Just the bed, a long black dresser, a sling chair, two crazy nightstand table things with all these freaky angles. My designer loved the damn things.

The lamps by the bedside were wall-mounted, tubular light-dildoes. Again, the designer loved them. I didn’t care as long as they allowed me to see what the hell I was doing. Not that I did much in here. Sleep and fuck basically summed it up.

And I never let a woman spend the night or do more than doze for a few. I didn’t do girlfriends and I didn’t do overnights. Maybe that sounds like typical young male posturing, especially from a movie star of my status. But the thing is I wasn’t good for anything more than a couple of encounters.

The most important thing to know about me is this: when I was ten years old, my mom made a deal with the devil.

Seriously. I shit you not.

Right in the living room of our cheap-ass apartment. You’ve heard those stories about people calling up Old Nick at some lonely country crossroads, right? But my mom didn’t bother with that. She summoned him at an altar set up on our entertainment center, right next to our dying TV.

My dad, in case you’re wondering, had nothing to do with it. He took off when I was three and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t even remember him.

Nowadays, I didn’t live in that shithole anymore. We’d come up in the world since. That deal had propelled me into the movie business.

My career had moved slowly at first but I’d worked steadily, made a name for myself as a kid actor, then transitioned to adult roles, something a lot of child actors never manage. And for a variety of reasons, I strongly suspected The Deal had protected me from some nasty, child-molesting fuckheads who used their positions of power in the business to get what they wanted from vulnerable kids.

Some of my friends hadn’t been so lucky. If you can call a deal with the devil luck.

Now I lived in a two-story luxury condo with an ocean view. My mom had her own place bought with my money, from a career I hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.

I hadn’t seen the old apartment with its cardboard walls in fifteen years.

Still, when my mom called me five minutes before I had to leave for an important Hollywood party, I knew the devil was on her mind again.

I hauled the phone out of my jeans pocket as I went to my walk-in closet — roughly the size of your average airport concourse, with shiny black woodwork — to find something to wear. My thumb hovered over the talk button as I weighed whether or not to answer. She’d already left seven messages on my voicemail, all of them about him. And although I couldn’t do anything about the problem, I also knew she wouldn’t stop pestering me and leaving those nagging messages until I picked up and talked to her.

Shit. Maybe I could make this conversation quick. I hit the talk button.

Yeah? I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. She drove me nuts, but she was still my mom.

Gage? Are you okay?

Yeah, Mom, of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?

You didn’t answer my messages.

I walked across my half-empty closet and started flipping through my shirts. I’ve been busy.

I want you to be extra careful, okay? Her voice sounded kind of slurred, like she’d been drinking.

Why? What’s up? I chose a charcoal-gray silk. That was as formal as I got. No suit jackets, but a silk shirt I could do.

You know, my mom whispered. "It’s him."

Who? I knew, but I wanted to make her say it.

You know. About The Deal. I’m worried about it.

I’d showered earlier, after a hard gym session, so all I needed was a change of clothes. Tucking the phone between my chin and my shoulder, I stripped my T-shirt off with my free hand. Isn’t it a little late to worry now?

It’s never too late.

Huh. You could’ve fooled me. It seemed to me it was way too late to do anything about The Deal, like say not making the goddamn thing in the first place.

Gage? Are you still there?

I breathed in deeply through my nose. Patience. I needed patience. If I argued with her, we could be here all night, or until I hung up on her. I’m here.

He’s going to come for you. Soon. I want you to be super careful.

Mom, you’ve been drinking, I said, as calmly as I could. Call me back when you’re sober.

How can you tell? Anyway, I’ve only had a few. I know what I’m talking about.

Sure you do.

That’s no way to talk to your own mother. She was trying for parental dignity, but it was too late for that as well. Also hard to pull off when she was drunk.

I pictured her sitting at her kitchen table with a bottle of vodka and a cigarette, her hair messy and her makeup smeared. It was probably yesterday’s makeup.

I’ve gotta go, I said. I’m already late.

Everyone’s late to those parties. Gage, I feel like you’re not listening to me.

That’s because I wasn’t. I practically knew this lecture by heart. She could’ve just texted me with something like devil lecture, and we wouldn’t have had to talk at all.

Your friend Jeremy, she said. He’s been in a lot of trouble lately.

I frowned as I skinned out of my jeans. Yeah, but what does that have to do with the deal?

Jeremy was my closest friend, a former child actor like me. Also like me, he played guitar and fooled around with the drums and we occasionally played together. He’d struggled with heroin addiction for years. His family and I had done interventions and nothing had stuck so far. He’d do okay for a while, then slip up and start using again. I was hoping this time would be the charm, the one that saved him.

She made an impatient noise. "Haven’t you ever wondered if it’s because of him? Maybe he’s influencing Jeremy."

Yeah, I’m sure he is.

This isn’t funny! He told me... She started whispering again. He told me you had to die before he could take your soul, and if he couldn’t get to you then he’d go after the people around you. Maybe he’s targeting Jeremy.

Most people would probably decide my mom was playing with only a partial deck at this point. I mean, nobody believes in this stuff anymore, right? Except a few snake-handler types, that is.

But I’d been there. When she called up Old Scratch, I’d been huddled in a corner of the living room between the couch and the side wall. Hunkered down, terrified, peering out from beneath the ratty blue throw blanket I’d dragged over my head as the only protection I could think of, my arms around the stuffed-toy rabbit I thought I’d grown out of.

He’d materialized right in our living room, looking just as real as any regular human being except for the way his eyes glowed red. My mom hadn’t even flinched. She’d presented The Deal like she was a master Devil-negotiator, like she worked these contracts all the time. Probably because it hadn’t been her soul on the line.

I’d seen him. I knew he was real.

Jeremy just got out of rehab, Mom. He’s doing much better than he has in years. I hoped. I’m pretty sure the devil isn’t after him.

You don’t know that. In the background, glass clinked and liquid gurgled. She was pouring herself another fucking drink. He’s tricky. And if he can’t get you, he’ll take out each of the people close to you. He could come after me.

Now we got to the point. This was what really terrified her. The loss of her own skin. Although I had to wonder why the devil would take Jeremy or my mother? Why not just go straight to me, if I was who he wanted? That was the part of this whole scenario that I didn’t get.

Would you like me to kill myself so you don’t have to worry anymore? My voice was dry as the desert.

No! Of course not! She actually sounded like I’d offended her. Maybe she was the one who should’ve gone into the acting trade. I would never want you to hurt yourself. How can you even ask that?

You traded my soul for success.

There was a long pause. I took advantage of her silence to put on a fresh pair of black jeans. She stayed quiet so long I got my shirt tucked in and the jeans zipped and buttoned before she opened her mouth again.

What else was I going to use? she said in a small voice.

You could have left the whole thing alone. Hell, she could have thought to ask me if I even wanted what she was after. It was my potential career, but she’d never even tried to find out if I wanted to be a star. Let alone if I thought selling my immortal soul for success would be a good trade.

You’re the most successful young actor in Hollywood, she said. The whole world loves you.

And none of it came to me naturally. It doesn’t really belong to me. It’s all because of your precious Deal.

That isn’t true. You’re incredibly talented, Gage. You were always so good-looking and talented. Gifted.

I shoved my feet into black leather boots. So why make The Deal at all then? The way you’re talking, we didn’t need it.

Because success in Hollywood isn’t just about looks and talent; it’s about who you know. We didn’t know anyone. We needed an advantage.

Right. An advantage. Listen, Mom, I really have to go. I’m picking up Jer for the party.

She heaved a theatrical sigh. Okay. But promise me you’ll be careful.

Sure, Mom.

I hung up with relief. Conversation done. It had gone on a bit longer than I’d wanted, but a victory nonetheless. Now I could go out, have a good time without her nagging voice in my ear.

The be-careful shit was ridiculous. There was nothing to be careful about because nothing had changed about The Deal. My life was exactly the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and the day before that.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I rubbed at it in irritation. It felt hot in here, like the AC needed to be turned up. A skinny worm of unease wriggled its way up my spine.

I rubbed my neck again. This was bullshit. My mom and her drunken worries were just messing with my head. Tonight I had work to do, and fun to enjoy afterward, and I was going to make the most of both.

Chapter 2: The Cabin

Nova:

The sky visible through the gorgeous green canopy of big-leaf maple and Douglas fir was a hot, bright cerulean blue to match the heat of the summer day outside the car. Inside, air conditioning blasted an arctic chill through the air. The radio played a tired old country song, the kind where the singer just keeps on havin’ kids and the trailer roof is about to fall off and there’s no food in the cupboard. It was the only channel that came through clearly in this tiny mountain town.

My mom’s silver sedan grumbled up the steep country drive that led to our cabin, the low chassis scraping over the bumps, grooves, and epic potholes in the gravel road. Vine maple, chinquapin, and Oregon grape scratched against the sides of the car, dragging twiggy fingers over the surface like they were trying to hold back the invading vehicle, keep it from reaching the cabin. I winced at the thought of what that was probably doing to my mother’s formerly pristine paint job.

Maybe I should have waited to get my old truck back from the mechanic’s shop before I made my escape, but I’d been too impatient. My folks were going to deliver it to me in a couple of weeks.

Nothing of the cabin could be seen yet beyond the twists of the drive and the thickly overgrown forest underbrush. I rolled down my window, letting the heady scent of an Oregon mountain summer into the car, along with a healthy dose of hot summer air. It was even hotter in the valley I’d left behind.

I could smell my own sweat in spite of the air conditioning. Had I forgotten to put on antiperspirant this morning? Oops. Well, it didn’t much matter since I’d be alone up here.

Nobody cares what a hermit smells like, right?

My mom tilted her head to the side and gave me one of those Mom Looks. You know the kind. The ones that say, without words, that you’re making a mistake and if you were a reasonable human being you’d listen to her wise motherly advice, but she knows you’re going to do what you want regardless and she’s trying to be patient with you.

That look used to work on me. I’d cave and do whatever it was she wanted of me just to get her to quit staring at me.

She’d been giving me the look off and on the whole way from Portland. Hours of it. Wonderful, fun-filled hours of mom-induced guilt. Now we were finally here and she was apparently launching a last-ditch campaign to get me to change my mind about my plans for my near-future.

Nope. Her scheming wasn’t going to work. All I had to do was hold out in the face of the guilt-shame cocktail she was trying to serve me until she got tired and went home by herself.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, my gaze fixed on the front door of our family cabin. The log walls looked golden in the afternoon sun, the steeply pitched green metal roof blending in with the thick growth of Douglas firs that surrounded it. My mood lifted just looking at it, remembering all the happy summer vacations spent here during my childhood.

We’re here, I said, completely unnecessarily.

I noticed.

I’m going in.

She put her hand on my forearm. Honey, are you sure you want to do this? You’re going to be up here all alone.

I’m sure, Mom, I said, with what I hoped was a confident smile.

She sighed and shook her head, a slow single shake. That was another of her heavy-hitters. The sigh. Accompanied by that sad, I’m worried and disappointed look, it used to floor me every time.

Honestly, I didn’t know if this cabin thing would work out for me. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe I’d change my mind in a few days or weeks and come home again with my tail between my legs. But I wouldn’t find out if I didn’t try, and I wanted to know if I could manage by myself.

Plus it was quiet up here. No-one I knew lived in the tiny nearby town of Subalpine and my ex-fiancé disliked what he called redneck country intensely. There would be no awkward run-ins here.

I opened my door. Are you coming?

Nova—

Mom, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl. The air outside the car smelled sweet, the resinous scent of evergreens mixed with ripe berries and a hint of woodsmoke, like summer picnics and Christmas rolled into one. I got out, just to forestall more argument.

But my mom was tougher than that. She popped out of the passenger side of the car, ready for battle. You’ve never lived on your own. I don’t think camping out up here is a good way to start.

Good grief, the cabin had running water and electricity. It’s not like I’d be living in a tent.

Camping out? Come on, we’ve got one of the best cabins in the area. I grinned at her and dangled the cabin keys from my fingers. It’ll be great. Lots of fresh air.

"But