The Devil's Gunman by Philip S Bolger

Author:Philip S Bolger [Bolger, Philip S]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blood Moon Press
Published: 2019-01-22T07:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Nine: Nick’s Date

I think the worst thing about my old life was the Grand Canyon-esque abyss between the front I and the missus used to put up and how we really were. I don’t know if I ever loved her. I told myself I did, but I had the emotional depth of a kiddie pool, so it’s hard to know how genuine my feelings were.

I know she didn’t love me. That became clear when I showed up in the basement and found out I was slated to be a tribute to a devil, so she could get a small raise or a bigger quarterly bonus or some fucking stock options.

We used each other in ways that got us both ahead, got us a little more money. We satisfied our shallow urges in a weird kind of codependence. I think we needed each other more for the creature comforts our money provided than for any kind of intimacy. Sometimes we’d fuck, but we never made love. Our marriage was a tribute to Mammon, a show of exclusivity and luxury not sanctified under any other religion, despite the professional photos we had showing her beaming in a white dress and me cheesing it up in a tux.

I suppose, in hindsight, it was inevitable the marriage would end. If it hadn’t happened because of a misspoken ritual, it would’ve been over 100,000 dinnertime arguments and social frustrations. I’d watched that kind of slow bleed in many failed relationships, where people were too arrogant and blind to realize they’d failed, and it never ended well. I’m not saying it was better to end in ceremonial murder, just quicker.

Given all the lessons I’d learned in service to the Patron, I occasionally wondered if I’d ever love anyone. I liked the idea of having someone to share my life with. I think part of me thought that having someone to care for would give my life some meaning.

I know that sounds like the kind of sappy shit that makes a guy call in to Delilah after Dark and ask her to play a favorite Spice Girls tune (I did it once, and she played a Phil Collins track instead). But the thing about reintegration—about finding yourself back with more than a thread of mortality—is that you have to try, because this pounding desire at the bounds of your mind screams about how great love could be, if you could find it. No matter what I did, no matter what fears about vampires, devils, police, or crazed gunmen crept in, as soon as I was a bit lonely, that screaming part of my mind—perhaps the animal drive to reproduce—perhaps the soul of love, immediately lit up.

I guess my delaying was part of that, part of satisfying my mind. I was pleased I had a pretty girl who enjoyed talking to me, even if it was mostly through texts and emojis. It wasn’t the same as filling the void of someone to care for and share your life with, but at least it was something along that track.

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