Free The Soul Hunter by Melanie Wells

necessary. I knew what was in there. I’d recognized the song immediately, even at stentorian volume.
    Peter Terry had selected a CD I hadn’t listened to in maybeten years—a leftover from a reject boyfriend who was into metal music. The CD was an old one, released in 1991.
Use Your Illusion
by Guns N’ Roses. The first cut on the record, the one Peter Terry chose to wake me with, is called “Right Next Door to Hell.”
    Guns N’ Roses’ lead singer is a man named William Bailey, a choir-boy turned criminal turned rock-star with an astonishing vocal range, passable guitar technique, and a powerful ability to claim an audience.
    His stage name is Axl Rose.
    I turned off the stereo and unplugged it.
    “Very funny,” I said out loud.
    I snapped off the light and went back to bed.

8

    M onday morning came early, on the heels of two nights of demon-visitation insomnia. But this is not the sort of thing you complain about out loud. Normal civilian people do not have problems like that. And they think you’re batty if you do. So I painted a smile on my face and greeted the plumber as though I were fresh-as-a-daisy rested and happy to see him.
    His name was Paulie. Of Paulie’s Pretty-Quick Plumbing Repair. When I opened the water heater closet, he let out a whisde of admiration.
    “I never seen one so clean before.” He reached out and touched it gingerly, as though it were a rare work of art. “You just buy this or something?” He squinted at the Whirlpool emblem. “But it looks pretty old.”
    I pictured myself at Twelve-Step group.
Hi. My name is Dylan. I spent an hour and a half cleaning my water heater yesterday.
    “It came with the house,” I said. “I don’t know how old it is.”
    He hiked his pants up and squatted down. “Let’s take a look,” he said, “see what the problem is.”
    He shined his flashlight into the hole and reached up in there while I busied myself making tea.
    “Can you tell what’s wrong with it?” I asked.
    He was fully prone now, in the water-heater worship position, his hand way up inside its belly.
    “The line’s pinched off,” he said at last. “It can’t get no gas.”
    “That would explain why the pilot won’t light,” I said, nodding.
    He looked up at me, puzzled. “You try to move it or something?”
    “The water heater? No. Why?”
    “The line’s pinched off,” he said again.
    I pictured a length of rubber tubing with a kink in it. “Can’t you just straighten it out?”
    “Line’s copper. It don’t pinch by itself. Looks like it got pinched off moving it. Or something.”
    “It’s a metal line?” I asked.
    “Copper. And it’s pinched off. Like someone took pliers to it.”
    “I doubt pliers were necessary.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing. Can you fix it?”
    “Have to replace it.”
    “The whole thing?” I tried not to panic as I calculated the cost of a new water heater.
    “Naw, just the line. Take ten minutes.” He scooted himself upright and went out to his truck, returning with tubing and a blowtorch and a box of tools.
    A blowtorch and a gas line didn’t seem like a safe combination to me, so I went into the bedroom to pack for my day. I had office hours in the morning and a senior seminar to teach from two to five. A brutal day in the salt mines for an academic. We try not to work more than an hour or two a day if we can possibly help it.
    I got my books together and twisted my hair into an emergency up-do. There was no way I was taking another goose-bumping, toe-bluing shower. I grabbed my swim bag and returned to the kitchen just as Paulie was dusting himself off.
    He handed me a business card. “Might want to give my brother a call.”
    I looked at the card. Randy’s Right-Now Rodent Removal.
    “I think I got rid of them,” I said.
    “Take a look.” He shined the flashlight under the water heater and, sure enough, there were the little brown pellets again. I peered behind the water heater. The monsters had chewed through my