by the sheer otherness of him. This time I'm just pissed. I march over to him and slap his face. Hard.
He rubs his jaw, though I have the distinct impression that my palm hurts a lot more than his cheek.
I shake out the pain in my hand as discreetly as I can. "Tell me what's going on before I have you arrested."
His eyes widen in surprise, but he looks more amused than angry. "You really aren't what I expected."
I glare at him, my fists on my hips. "Why were you expecting anything at all? Who are you?" My jaw hurts from gritting my teeth.
"You can call me Asher, and I'm the only one who can save your mother. With your help."
I glance at her still form lying in the hospital bed. "What's wrong with her?"
"Your friend was right, mostly. She bears the Mark of Cain and is in a hell dimension for all eternity." He speaks glibly, as if this is all just a joke to him.
I step back and frown. "Right. Of course. That makes perfect sense. Mark of Cain. Hell dimension. Demons. What happens next?" I hold up a hand before he can speak. "No wait, let me guess. You tell me I'm some kind of chosen one and in exchange for my soul or some such nonsense you will save my mom. There's probably a prophecy involved, and some danger, and you think your sexy charms will overcome all that and sway me to your way of thinking, yes? Sorry, dude. I've seen that movie."
He tries to speak, but his mouth just kind of hangs open, no sound coming out. He has a look of confusion on his face, but he recovers quickly, snapping his mouth closed and staring at me, his eyes unreadable. "What are you?"
"What am I? Are you seriously asking me that? After everything you just tried to sell me?"
His eyes dart around the room and land on my mother. "You have an uncanny way of seeing to the truth of things," he says. He returns his gaze to me. "Be that as it may, you aren't entirely wrong. Your mother's soul is trapped. You are her only hope. And... " he steps closer to me and grins... "I'm glad you at least think I'm sexy."
Now it's my turn to stare gape-mouthed. "I never... "
He winks at me. "You did. You accused me of having 'sexy charms.' Close enough. So, now that we are on the same page, let us get to the crux of this shall we?"
I cross my arms over my chest. "What is the crux of this? What do you want from me?"
"Your soul, of course."
I roll my eyes. "You evil guys should come up with better lines."
He pulls a scroll out of a briefcase and hands it to me. "This is what I want from you, in exchange for your mother's soul."
I unroll the beige, ancient-looking parchment. It's so old I fear it will disintegrate in my hands, the paper crinkled and webbed. It even smells old, like ink and ancient castles from books. I begin to read. It takes me a while, the font is some kind of calligraphy that doesn't exactly encourage skimming. He could stand to learn about font choices and their impact on reading.
When I'm done, I roll it up and shove it back at him. "Am I being tricked?"
He looks down at the scroll in his hand in confusion. "What?"
"Tricked? Or something? Is there some new reality show I'm the star of? I can't imagine my mom would be a part of this, but maybe for enough money she would. Is this a joke? Some plot to make a fool of me or try to sway me to believe in God and demons and the supernatural?" I don't believe my own words. I've seen my mom, and she's well and truly missing from her body, but none of this makes sense. I feel trapped in some surreal alternate reality where nothing is right. Everything is wrong. This is wrong.
"I do not know what you mean by 'reality show' but I can assure you I would never associate myself with such a crass sounding thing. This is deadly real."
My bravado is fading, because he doesn't look like the kind of man who plays pranks, and my mom doesn't look like she's faking a coma, and this hospital is entirely too real. I point to the paper in his hand. "That says my mom made a deal