With Mephisto gone, the night’s bizarre encounter finally came to an end.
Evenson and Melinda got back on the road.
This time, Melinda insisted on driving.
"You know," she said after several miles of silence, "life gets a lot stranger whenever I’m around you."
Evenson leaned back in the passenger seat.
"Neither of those two showed up because of me."
He sounded genuinely aggrieved.
"Besides, you’ve worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for years. Don’t tell me this is the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen."
Melinda laughed quietly.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. exists on the line between the ordinary world and the impossible."
"I thought I’d gotten used to that."
She glanced sideways at him.
"Then I met you."
"You somehow live between the impossible... and whatever comes after that."
Evenson tilted his head.
"Rude."
A beat later, he grinned.
"...But I kind of like that description."
Melinda shook her head, smiling.
"By the way..."
"We really just left Johnny Blaze out there?"
They had climbed into the car and driven away without another thought.
Johnny, forcibly reverted to human form, was probably still sitting in the middle of the desert trying to convince his arms and legs to function again.
"He’ll survive."
Evenson waved the concern away.
"How long before he gets his powers back?"
"Five or six days."
He thought for a moment.
"Maybe."
"I’m not completely sure."
His expression became unexpectedly serious.
"But let me warn you."
"Whatever you do..."
"Don’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. start getting ideas."
"I’m different."
"Johnny isn’t."
"He has no freedom whatsoever."
"The only being capable of controlling the Ghost Rider..."
"...is Mephisto."
Melinda smiled.
"We’re not planning to recruit him."
"I just watched what happened."
"I have no interest in cooperating with the Devil’s puppet."
"Monitoring him is another matter."
"You’re serious?"
"Of course."
"That’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s job."
Evenson chuckled.
"Then you’d better assign someone genuinely pure-hearted."
"When the Ghost Rider attacks..."
"He won’t show the restraint I do."
Melinda laughed.
"A pure-hearted S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?"
"That’s almost funny."
The profession rarely attracted saints.
"It won’t matter anyway," Evenson said, lowering his seat until he was almost lying flat.
"The Ghost Rider won’t exist for much longer."
"Devils don’t leave their power wandering around indefinitely."
"When they need a Rider, they make a contract."
"When the contract ends..."
"They reclaim the power."
"So the Ghost Rider is temporary."
"Exactly."
His voice had already grown drowsy.
"Like a mayfly."
Melinda glanced over.
"You okay?"
Evenson looked utterly exhausted.
"My injuries healed hours ago."
He rubbed his eyes.
"I just burned through a ridiculous amount of mana."
"I’ll recover after some sleep."
He looked up through the windshield.
"The sun’s bright."
Fishing a pair of sunglasses from inside his coat, he put them on before settling back into his seat.
Melinda couldn’t help asking,
"Shouldn’t you be unconscious or coughing up blood or something?"
Evenson slowly lifted himself onto one elbow and peered at her over the top of his sunglasses as though she’d said something incomprehensible.
"I exhausted my mana."
"My brain isn’t broken."
"Why would I pass out?"
He dropped back onto the seat.
"And while we’re on the subject..."
"I’ve never understood why fictional mental injuries always involve vomiting blood."
"What exactly are people coughing up?"
"Neurons?"
Melinda couldn’t suppress a laugh.
"So you’ll recover pretty quickly?"
"Three days."
He yawned.
"The Ghost Rider will take longer."
"We both ran out of power..."
"But I was the one doing the draining."
"He was the one getting drained."
"Big difference."
"That’s good."
Melinda nodded.
"Thanks for worrying about me."
His words were lazy, almost slurred with exhaustion.
Then his eyes snapped open.
"Hold on."
He sat upright.
"You asked how long the Ghost Rider needs."
"Then you asked about me."
He narrowed his eyes.
"You’re planning something."
Melinda tilted her head innocently.
"I was just wondering whether you’d be able to fulfill your contract on time."
Evenson slumped dramatically.
"So I imagined the concern."
"My mistake."
He sighed.
"I’m the one who signed the contract."
"Why are you more anxious than I am?"
Melinda frowned.
"’A living Hell.’"
"Doesn’t that phrase bother you at all?"
Evenson burst into laughter.
He laughed so long that Melinda’s expression darkened to the point where she looked ready to punch him.
Only then did he stop.
"You really bought that?"
"Mephisto scared you."
"A living Hell?"
"Please."
"That’s not happening."
He stretched lazily before beginning his explanation.
"To actually transform Earth into Hell..."
"You’d have to permanently connect this dimension to Hell itself."
"Otherwise you’re just creating a distorted imitation."
"The problem is that Hell and Earth exist under entirely different dimensional laws."
"The amount of energy required to merge them is almost unimaginable."
He shook his head.
"The thousand damned souls inside the Contract of San Venganza aren’t even close."
He paused.
"Now..."
"Creating a small region that resembles Hell?"
"That’s possible."
"But we’re talking about a town."
"Maybe."
He shrugged.
"If I somehow fail..."
"You can always request a tactical nuclear strike."
"Erase the place from the map."
Melinda blinked.
"...Would that actually work?"
"I have no idea."
His eyelids were already drooping.
"Never tried."
"Tch."
She clicked her tongue.
"Very reassuring."
"Oh..."
His voice drifted sleepily through the cabin.
"You mentioned monitoring the Ghost Rider."
"That actually reminds me..."
"What?"
"I thought you said there was no point."
"There usually isn’t."
"But while you’re at it..."
He rubbed his temple without opening his eyes.
"Find out which graveyards Johnny Blaze has visited recently."
"Graveyards?"
"Yeah."
"They need to be old."
"Isolated."
"At least a hundred years old."
He paused, thinking through the haze of exhaustion.
"And..."
"There should only be one caretaker."
"A man in his sixties or seventies."
"He used to go by..."
"...Carter..."
"What was it..."
Then recognition flickered across his face.
"Carter Slade."
"I don’t know whether he’s still using that name."
Melinda repeated the request automatically, the habit of a veteran agent.
"An isolated cemetery over a century old."
"A male caretaker approximately sixty to seventy years old."
"Possibly still using, or formerly known as, Carter Slade."
Silence.
She looked over.
Evenson had already fallen completely asleep.
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