Billy slowly awoke. But surely, that cannot be the right word. He slowly became more aware. But it felt like waking up. It felt like he'd been wrapped in a thick, heavy blanket of unconsciousness and he was being forcefully hauled up out of it.

He'd had similar, brief glimpses of moments like this during his long absence. A teenager playing at a ouija board, a séance or two, and even once some dark ritual with black wax candles and pentagons. Each of the brief scenes poked at the blanket of unbeing, but none had lasted more than a few moments. Nothing had made him feel half as awake as whatever was happening to him now.

He could see, he could hear, but he could not feel. He found himself trying to blink, trying to breathe, but both impulses left him feeling odd and confused. The absence of those natural sensations, so casual to ordinary life, made him feel anxious. In no time at all, it was all he could think about. He tried desperately to clench his eyes shut, he tried to gasp for breath, but the nothing turned into more nothing.

But after a minute or two, he realized that the other sensations he should be feeling were gone too. His eyes should be tearing up, his lungs burning for air, but all was empty. He calmed enough to make sense of his surroundings. It was dark, the only source of light came from a white lance of brightness, a phone flashlight pointed at the ceiling in an attempt to cast the light about the room.

It was a small room, filled with row after row of wooden pews. Unlit candles lined the outside of the room, and at the front, a large crucifix, adorned with the suffering visage of Christ. Clearly, a small parish somewhere.

In the glow of the flashlight, he noticed his companion. A young man, unshaven and road weary, maybe in his late twenties sat relaxed. He had his feet up on the back of the pew in front of them, worn hiking boots, and his head was lolling back onto an orange coat he had balled up behind his head. He looked to be asleep, or perhaps he was praying, either way, Billy had lots of questions for him.

"Hey!" he said, hoping to get the man's attention. At least, that's what he meant to say. But having no mouth, no lungs, he made no sound at all. The man however, opened his eyes and sat up.

"So, there is something to be found here." the man replied. He spoke loudly for the small space, and there was an odd lilt to his voice.

"Who are you?" Billy asked.

"Well, I'm Sean. Are you William Randall?"

"Yeah, that's me. What's happening?"

Sean didn't answer, he was rapidly browsing through pages on his phone.

After a short silence, Billy asked again, but again Sean just flipped through pages on his phone.

Frustrated, Billy yelled, "Where the fuck am I?"

Sean replied calmly, unphased by Billy's angry cussing. "I am in the lovely parish of St. Apollonia, patron saint of dentists, if you were wondering, in the quaint town of McIntosh, Alabama. As for where you are, that's a bit of a question."

He turned his phone around so it was facing Billy and set it on the pew between them. "You see, Billy, you've been dead for eight years."

Displayed on the screen was a headline from a news story:

Local Man Disappears After Winning Lottery

William Reuben Randall, winner of last years lottery jackpot, disappeared last weekend, and is presumed dead. His disappearance comes just one year after he ...

Billy tried to pick up the phone and read the entire article, but he could not touch the phone or even locate any sort of limb to do so with. Instead he reread the headline, and the date associated with it, June 10th, 2021.

"What year is it?" Billy finally managed to ask.

"It's 2029." Sean answered, putting the phone back in his pocket.

"If I'm dead then how are we talking?"

"Well, that, " Sean replied as he lit himself a cigarette, "brings us back to that 'where are we question' you were asking earlier. You aren't supposed to be here. You fucked up. Colossally I'd imagine, based on your story."

"How so?"

"Released from prison under remarkable circumstances, daughter miraculously cured of cancer, lottery winner, all within the same week. One year to the day later your mysterious disappearance. I have seen the pattern before."

"But who are you? Why are you here?" Billy asked.

"I'm here to save your soul. I know you sold your soul to salvage your mortal life, but somehow you skipped out on the check. Satan doesn't have you, or you wouldn't be here. If I can find your soul before Satan and his minions do, I can still save you from eternal damnation."

Billy tried to roll his eyes, but found, of course, that he did not have any.

"I don't believe in heaven, Satan, God, or angels. Take your preaching somewhere else."

Sean did roll his eyes. Assuming a mocking tone, he said, "Ooh, big surprise, the guy who sold his soul to the devil doesn't believe in God. Don't you realize that if the big bad guy is real, the big good guy is too?"

Billy tried to roll his eyes again. He was getting irritated. "Listen, preachy, I didn't sell my soul, and i didn't win the lottery or any of that shit. I was in jail, and now I'm here. I have no fucking clue what happened in between."

"You don't have those memories, because those things happened to you after you made your deal with the devil. Anything after that, you weren't really a part of."

"I call bullshit."

Sean groaned. "Fine, let's do this another way. Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Of course not."

"Well take a moment and really think about your situation. You have no body, for starters. You can't move or breath or blink. I'd be willing to bet this is the first conversation you've had in the last eight years. YOU, William Randall, are a ghost. Your soul is trapped between Earth and the afterlife."

Billy tried to think of any other possible explanation, but he came up empty. He couldn't make himself believe it, not just yet. Instead he asked more about Sean.

"What's your story? If I'm dead, how am I talking to you?"

Sean sighed heavily. "That is a long ass story. But to speed it up, let's just say that I'm a medium, and I happened across you quite accidentally. I came to this church to clean up its occupants, and felt that particular tug that happens when a spirit is nearby."

"What do you mean, clean up the occupants?" Billy asked.

"Come see for yourself." Sean said, and he led the way out of the parish hall.

Billy tried, but couldn't manage to move in any way. However, as Sean moved across the room, Billy was pulled along, as if on a tether.

"What did you do to me?" Billy shouted. "Why am I stuck to you?"

"I didn't do anything to you. As far as I know, you are just stuck to me until I get too far from wherever your soul is hidden, then you'll drift back into nonbeing."

Sean opened a door then, a small closet that had the parish's water heater and furnace. Wedged between the two was an old white man, dead. He had clearly been murdered as he tried to hide. A crucifix had been sharpened to a stake and driven through his chest.

Billy stared for a moment before he could form any kind of response. Finally he managed to ask, "You did this?"

"Yes. This prick was one of those hate preachers. The kind that read Genesis and Leviticus but none of the rest of the Bible. Completely skipped all the 'love thy neighbor' parts. He is actually the head of a militia, 'Sons of the Pure' they call themselves. I managed to cut the head off the snake before they actually hurt anybody."

Billy wished he could be sick. There was a profound emptiness where his stomach should have dropped. "Fuck me. You're a religious crusader." he accused.

Sean blinked. "Huh. I guess I am. Shit, I never thought that'd be me." He shook his head.

"So basically, you're telling me that the only hope I have is to put my faith in a fucking crazy religious nutjob that goes around murdering priests?"

"Or you can wait for Satan to find you. He's got lots of little pets out looking for you, and literally all of eternity to spend searching."

"Fuck me raw." Billy exclaimed quietly.

"Decide quickly." Sean said. "I want to be across the state by the time this prick gets found."

Billy floated there, unaware how to do anything but just exist in that moment. He had to admit, this guy Sean seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself at this point. He tried to take a steadying breath, his inability to do so made him yet more anxious.

"Fuck me." he repeated, not for the last time. "Let's do it then."