Going Home

"I need to go home," Angela says in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

"Home?" you ask in amazement. You've been trying to get away all this time. Why would she want to go back?

"My Mom and my little sister ..." she rasps, "They need me ...."

Angela's eyes flutter as she hovers on the brink of consciousness.

Against your better judgment, you give in and shake Angela to rouse her yet again.

"Where do you live?" you ask.

"3228 Grove Street," she says, "on the north side, off the Park."

That's about 15 miles away you think, but if you take the local roads, you may be subject to a roadblock, or worse, an ambush. A more circuitous route on the highway will take longer, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, with sunrise on the way. You turn the wheel hard and turn onto the interstate.

Forty-five minutes later, you are traversing the streets of Angela's neighborhood. She's been sleeping peacefully and you think that she was not infected by Maria's kiss because she's not shown any signs of the Lilith Strain. Still, you keep a tire iron you fished out from under the seat handy, just in case.

You're alone on the street when you pull into Angela's drive. You make two passes in front of the house before you stop, just to scope out the area before you decide that it's safe to stop. You leave the engine running as you pull to a stop and half carry Angela to her door.

The door opens wide as you approach. A woman, a human woman, is in the doorway, looking quite distressed. "Angie," she screams, "what happened to you? Where's your father?" As she scoops Angela out of your arms.

Angela's in no shape to talk, so you volunteer. "She was attacked by a demon, but I think she's okay."

"And Robert, my Husband?" the woman asks.

You just shake your head no.

A pained expression comes over the woman's face. Then she turns to Angela, "Mommy's gonna take care of you, baby." as she leads her upstairs.

"Look," she shouts from the top of the stairs, I don't know who you are, but Melissa will show you where you can rest.

You turn and notice a woman who looks to be about 2 years younger than Angela in the next room.

"I'm Melissa," she says hesitantly, "you want to eat 'r something."

You follow Melissa into the kitchen, trying not to stare at her legs and ass left uncovered by the short tee shirt she wears as pajamas. She helps you make a sandwich and pours you a drink. While the soda tastes good, you wish for something stronger after all you've been through.

The first rays of the sun are peeking over the horizon when Melissa says, "I'd better go check on mom and Angie."

Melissa is about half way up the stairs when a bloodcurdling, orgasmic scream emanates from the bedroom upstairs. You can't tell if it was Angela or her mother and, as **** as you are to find out, you feel that duty and honor compel you go upstairs. You bolt over Melissa on the stairway and rush the door.

At the same time, the front door bursts open and Melissa screams, "Daddy."

You know there's an incubus below and probably at least one succubus above.