Epilogue

Hep arrived in Oklahoma the next morning. During the process of buying his tickets, he learned that they’d been gone for approximately one week. He’d been mildly worried that Ares and he would arrive back two centuries later, or something like that. It had happened before.

He went to the storage lot where he and Scroat had left their motorcycles. He was relieved to see Scroat had already gotten his motorcycle.

Hep had been mildly worried that Scroat and Sarah would stay too long at Cyrus’s house. They did, after all, love consequence free partying.

Hep paid for his parking, and set off towards Arizona. It was a fourteen hour trip. Hep was glad there wasn’t anyone else with him. He could just blast through Texas and New Mexico without stopping. Hep figured he’d be home in twelve hours, tops.

He stopped at a gas station on his way out of Oklahoma City to pick up some things to munch on as he rode. He got gum, water, corn nuts, peppered beef jerky and a couple of snickers bars. He stashed the bag in his sidecar, and rode on.


Ares arrived home to find everything as he’d left it. That is to say, in total chaos. He was a little disappointed he hadn’t gotten to finish the fight with Satan, but assumed there would be plenty of opportunities for a re-match in the future. In the meantime, he had no problems finding trouble to get into.


Scroat and Sarah had taken a couple of days to get back to Arizona, since they were in no particular hurry. Once they had reached the house again, Scroat parked the bike, Sarah put Killer in his cage for a bit, and the two of them set about fucking like it was going to go out of style.


Grace got herself a new job working as a volunteer for a charitable organization. She had plenty of money. In fact, in his will, Reverend Cyrus Evander Milton had left her everything he’d owned, since she had been his best friend for the last several years. Grace wasn’t exactly sure that was true, but was happy to accept the money. Now she had a great job where she didn’t even have to show up if she didn’t want to. She made a point to give generously, and tried not to rip anyone else off.

She was able to sell off Joe Anderson’s house without too much difficulty, along with most of his possessions. She kept the motorcycle, though.


The other preachers continued doing revivals. No one really noticed Reverend Milton’s disappearance, though many of the other preachers attempted to imitate his showmanship. One or two of them may have gotten demons of their own, but that’s a different story.


Hep’s trip back to his house was extremely dull. For all of the wonder and beauty in Texas, it sure is spread out all over the place. The great majority of the state is a whole lot of boring. That was OK though, because Hep had had enough excitement for a while. He just really wanted to get back into his shop, and start tinkering again.

Hep arrived home, and heard the horrible noises coming from inside the house. Apparently all the excitement had not calmed Scroat’s sex life in the slightest. Hep hung his head for a minute, then got off the bike, went over to the garage door and opened it. Hep rolled his motorcycle into the garage and debated getting to work on another project in order to avoid going in the house.

Ultimately, he decided he was just too tired to stay awake any longer. He went inside, and was greeted by Killer yelling “I’ll swallow your soul!”

“Maybe not tonight,” Hep said.

He went into his bedroom, pulled the covers up over his head, and fell asleep within seconds. He did not dream, and didn’t move all night.

The next morning, he woke bright and early. He got out of bed, dressed, and pounded on Scroat’s door, then yelled “Wake up! It’s time for breakfast!”

Scroat and Sarah were grateful Hep did not wake them in his usual way.

For breakfast, Hep had a gigantic pile of bacon, hash browns, some fresh fruit, and a whole lot of coffee. He spent the rest of the morning reading the newspaper, and once he was certain he was well rested enough, he went out to his shop, fired up the forge, and spent the rest of the day and the next evening working on a new project.

It was good.


Nubbins did indeed get revenge on the last few demons who had slighted him, and now held a position he felt suited a demon of his experience and power.

He quickly got back to his old tricks, seeking out challenging souls to tempt and torment. You might think some of the more recent military actions and political fiascos were his doing. They were not. He assigned things like that to his underlings, now.

Speaking of underlings, he was now regarded with an appropriate degree of respect and fear among the ranks of Hell. Anyone caught using office politics was cast immediately into the pit, and overall, Hell got a lot worse. Or better. Or worse. Or, you know. People got tortured in Hell, and possessed and tempted on Earth a whole lot more.

Nobody called him Nubbins anymore. Not a single solitary damned one of them.