A Friend of the Devil

by David Beers

  He hadn’t been able to do anything about it, nor was he able to stop his curse from affecting others. Only by complete quarantine was that possible.

  But Emi was different. Abel hadn’t seen her before in his dreams, and he never wanted to again.

  You don’t get to control that, though, and you know it.

  What did it mean?

  You know that, too. You rubbed off on her a long time ago, and now she’s near something she shouldn’t be.

  Abel shook his head. That didn’t have to be the case. It could have just been a misfire in his dream, some random flare shooting up.

  No. You know it. She’s got your oily stain on her, just like Nurse Fecker did. Something might see Emi just like it did Nurse Fecker.

  Abel sighed and closed the blinds. He went back to the bed but didn’t lie down. He didn’t want to tempt sleep again. He wouldn’t be able to get coffee for a few hours, but he thought the short sleep he had would keep him running for a little while.

  He was sure the dead weren’t done yet.

  Not by a long shot.

  “What’s her name again?”

  “Emi Laurens,” Abel said.

  “You’ve mentioned her, but not much. You knew her before you were brought here?” Dr. Thoran asked.

  Abel nodded, remembering briefly having been ‘brought’ here. For a time, his commitment wasn’t voluntary. But that had been when he was younger, before he understood truly what he was. What he possessed.

  “And you haven’t dreamed about her before?” Dr. Thoran asked.

  Abel shook his head, looking past Thoran to the diplomas behind him. He often stared at them when speaking with Sunny Acres’s leading physician. Abel could make eye contact; it wasn’t that he disliked it—only, he found it easier to think when he wasn’t staring at someone.

  “No, not once,” he said. “I haven’t even considered her in God knows how many years.”

  “When did you start dreaming?” Thoran asked, and Abel understood what he was doing. Dr. Thoran would talk with him—had to talk with him, actually—but he would never, ever believe Abel. Right now, he was trying to diagnose how long the dreams might last, based on past episodes. He was trying to get a handle on how deep Abel was into it, and what sort of medicine might be needed.

  Of course, Abel could lie to him, but he wouldn’t. The consequences of such an act would be dire.

  “Last night was the first dream, but I’ve known they were coming for a few days.”

  “The usual way?” Dr. Thoran asked, leaving Emi alone for the moment. Abel was really only concerned about her, about that portion of his dream, but Thoran thought she was just another symptom of his underlying belief system. Thoran didn’t believe there was anything to actually worry about. Just another person in one of crazy Abel’s crazy dreams.

  “The usual way,” Abel said.

  Not quite shadows, but close. The dead operated under very different parameters than the living, and Abel only knew their ways because he’d lived with them for so long. They couldn’t simply burst out onto his reality—at least, not at first.

  Yet, Abel thought that’s what they actually wanted to do.

  Because whenever they were gearing up to come for him, he saw them in the hallways. Not full on like the dream last night—but glimpses. Someone turning down a hall just as he entered it, but instead of a doctor’s white robe, they wore the gray of an SS guard.

  Or, he’d wake up in the morning and go to the mirror in front of his sink, and just as he turned on the light, he’d catch a glimpse behind him. Someone naked and frail, with no eyes in their head.

  When he turned around, heart thudding in his chest—they’d be gone.

  Dr. Thoran scribbled something down on his pad. He’d told Abel he never wrote anything with other patients in the room, because they might be curious. Abel never was, though. It didn’t matter what the people here thought.

  “I want you to be honest with me,” Thoran said. “Are you going to try to sleep on your own? You know what happens if you don’t.”

  Abel sighed, still not looking at the doctor. He didn’t want to agree to it, but what choice did he have? The plan had been to use the few hours he got last night to keep him awake for at least a couple of days. Yet, if he said no, they’d just start with the Ambien. Sleeping on his own meant he wouldn’t have to do it as long—the Ambien would force the full eight hours on him.

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  “Okay. I’m going to have us check in again in a couple of days, and I want to see how you’re feeling. We don’t need anything more serious, especially if we can nip this in the bud now.”

  Abel didn’t nod, but he did finally meet the doctor’s eyes.

  “Now, did you want to talk about Emi some more?” the doctor continued. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Abel. It’s just, if you don’t sleep, bad things could happen.”

  Abel did want to talk about Emi, but not because he thought he’d get any help out of Thoran. One of the hardest parts about this self-imposed exile was not being able to actually communicate. Before, he’d had her, Emi, to talk with—but now, he was judged whenever he spoke. He was critiqued. He was monitored. Yet, Abel had to process this all, these dreams, and Thoran practically forced him to do it aloud. They weren’t communicating, though. Abel was simply talking, and then Thoran would do his duty and talk next—yet Abel hardly ever heard a thing the man said, because it never mattered. They lived in two separate realities, and never the twain shall meet.

  He wondered if Thoran understood that, though he’d never asked. Abel wouldn’t have lied if called upon, but he still thought it would be rude. Most likely, though, Thoran was used to being ignored—given the clientele he worked with.

  “I’m worried about her,” Abel said, his eyes automatically moving to the diplomas. “Or … I’m not worried about her, I guess. I don’t know her anymore. I didn’t even know if she was still alive until last night. I’m worried … that I might have done something to her.” That felt right.

  “You’re talking about how you feel you rub off on people? That’s what you mean?” Dr. Thoran asked.

  Abel nodded, though not really considering the question. “We used to be close. She was my best friend. She was the person that was with me when everything happened. If I were going to affect anyone, she would be a prime person.”

  “What do you think might happen to her?” the doctor asked.

  “I don’t know. The dead … They show me these things to torture me, I think. Letting me know that this curse I carry isn’t just limited to me. I’ve seen it with others. Nurse Fecker.”

  “You’ve told me,” Thoran said, “but what happened to her had nothing to do with you. It didn’t then, and it doesn’t now.”

  “Then how did I know?” Abel said, his eyes flipping back to the psychiatrist. “You certainly didn’t tell me. It’s not like the staff was volunteering a lot of information about her.”

  Thoran leaned back in his chair, settling himself and not taking the bait Abel was laying out in front of him. “A lot of things could explain you having a dream about her, but we don’t need to get into that right now. You don’t even need to worry about Emi, Abel. You can call her. You can look her up and give her a call and see how she’s doing.”

  His challenge about Nurse Fecker over, Abel looked back to the diplomas. “No. I’m not bringing anyone from that life into this one.”

  “Well, what do you think is happening to her? You didn’t really answer me.”

  “What happened to Nurse Fecker?”

  “She had a nervous breakdown. You know that.”

  “I know that’s what you all termed it, but what really happened was she cut her own throat and bled out all over her kitchen table.” Abel chuckled. “Nervous breakdown, radical suicide. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe, I guess.”

  The doctor paused for a second, then asked, “Do you think the apparitions that come for you will come for her?”

  Ab
el shook his head. “No. That’s not how this works, and I don’t think the dead that talk to me would want her anyway. They’re vengeful, but they’re not evil. She has nothing to do with this. Emi did nothing wrong.”

  “Then how would you rub off? Isn’t it them that would rub off onto her?”

  “No,” Abel said. He knew what Thoran was doing, trying to poke holes into his theory. Trying to show him the ridiculousness of it all, slowly—over the course of years. Thoran was patient, but Abel was too; Abel also had the added benefit of not caring at all what the man said on the subject. “They don’t rub off. They’re not doing it, per se. The curse, that’s what rubs off.”

  “But if the dead aren’t coming for her, then who is?”

  “Who came for Nurse Fecker? It wasn’t my dead people, but something got her. That’s for sure.”

  Nurse Fecker was actually Erin Fecker. She was 47 years old when she died. There were two theories about how it happened: the one held by Abel Ease, and the one held by everyone else.

  Abel knew what happened to Erin Fecker, and that’s why he was so concerned about these new dreams. It’s also why he couldn’t make Dr. Thoran feel the same concern, because to him, Erin Fecker was nothing more than a tragic accident.

  Abel didn’t know everything about the curse that haunted him, let alone everything about all of the realms he couldn’t see. He only knew others existed, and he knew that because of the one that overlapped his own from time to time. The realm that contained the dead. His dead.

  Nurse Fecker had been close with Abel. Not quite friends, because a line existed between the two that wouldn’t allow it to happen—but they were close. They both genuinely liked each other, and Nurse Fecker appreciated Abel’s honesty as well.

  Abel wasn’t sure exactly what created the opportunity for his curse to become hers, but he thought it might be that he cared for her. Not romantically, or any such sophomoric notions, but as a person. He thought it was that caring which passed the disease to her.

  And she hadn’t been prepared for it.

  Because Nurse Fecker didn’t believe Abel either. He was a nice person, and his affliction made him someone to be pitied, but not believed.

  So when the other realities—other realms—came for her, there wasn’t much Nurse Fecker could do. She didn’t have Abel’s upbringing, his knowledge, of how to deal with such things. And maybe, if Abel was being cruel (though he truly didn’t want to be), she didn’t have his grit either. It took strength—a resolve that no one would ever understand—to continue living when you looked into the black depths of hell.

  Regardless, Nurse Fecker wasn’t ready, and she hadn’t survived.

  Abel wished he could have helped her. He truly did, but it had happened so quickly, he didn’t have a chance to speak with her.

  At night, when he was alone and in his bed, he sometimes thought about what he might have said. What he might say in the future if it ever happened again (Though, he was doing his best to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t want to begin caring for anyone, not ever again.).

  What about … They can’t hurt you?

  That wasn’t at all true.

  You can win.

  Something else that Abel’s father had showed him wasn’t true.

  They’ll go away eventually.

  But they always came back, at least for Abel.

  The truth was, even now, Abel didn’t understand what had come for Nurse Fecker—but it really didn’t matter. For all intents and purposes, Abel had been the one to run the knife across her neck. Dr. Thoran might call it late onset psychosis, but Abel knew the truth. Physically, Abel hadn’t touched the knife’s handle, but his fingerprints were all over it just the same. Something had come for her, but it was only capable of such a thing because she knew Abel Ease.

  Nurse Fecker started complaining about shadow people, that’s what he’d learned later. There was even an entry in the night guard’s records.

  Nurse Fecker said she saw an unauthorized visitor just after midnight in the common area. Sweep of premises revealed no abnormalities.

  That’s what he’d written down, but that wasn’t what happened at all. That was whitewashing what Nurse Fecker actually told the guard.

  “In the corner,” she had said, wide eyed and whispering. By that time, the shadow people had been following her for a week. Wearing her down. Breaking her. “You see them? There’s four of them.”

  The lights were blazing in the common area, leaving no place for anyone to hide.

  “Nurse Fecker,” he said slowly, “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about. I don’t see anything.”

  Nurse Fecker’s hand reached forward, her finger pointing in the corner. Her whole arm was shaking. “They’re standing right in front of your goddamn face!”

  She shouted as loudly as someone could and still be whispering. Doing her absolute best to not make the dark shadows look her way.

  The night guard had walked over to the corner and stood in the middle of the four creatures. He turned around and simply said, “Nurse Fecker, I don’t see anything.”

  I’m going insane, she thought. I’m losing my mind.

  No you’re not, a much scarier part of her said. He just can’t see them.

  Nurse Fecker had fled then, because one of the shadow people reached up and touched the night guard. Simply placed their black hand on his shoulder as if trying to guide him somewhere.

  She never came back to work.

  The night guard went to the administration, and calls were made to the house repeatedly over the next day. Most were not answered, but in the afternoon, Nurse Fecker did pick up.

  “I’m fine,” she told Nurse Allison. “I just needed a day off.”

  No one at the hospital believed she was fine (as a frenzy, Abel might have said had he known at the time), but they also had no reason to suspect what came next.

  That night, sitting at her kitchen table, the shadow people came for her. They filled her house, hundreds of them, and they pushed in on her. All looking right at her, but none saying a word. They didn’t have to, because Nurse Fecker knew what they wanted.

  Her.

  And only her.

  Nothing else would do.

  Nurse Fecker hadn’t been prepared, and when the darkness came, she submitted. She took a large butcher knife from her kitchen drawer and drew it across her throat. She started high, almost at her ear—because she didn’t want any chance of failing—and she drew it all the way down, then back up the other side.

  Giving herself a second smile.

  The blood spilled forth, hot and red, first hitting her shirt and then the wooden table in front of her.

  Nurse Fecker had looked up, the red gash opening wider beneath the flow’s pressure. She was smiling as the shadow people nodded. All of them saying, in their own way, “Good job.”

  The next day, the police were sent to Nurse Fecker’s house around 3:00 in the afternoon, after she hadn’t answered repeated phone calls. They found her, deceased obviously.

  A psychotic break.

  A nervous breakdown.

  Schizophrenia.

  Any number of terms were used, and everyone was very, very sad. Tears were cried and condolences given. It was a horrible, horrible accident. A goddamned shame, if you wanted to be honest about it.

  But it wasn’t Abel’s fault. He hadn’t rubbed off on her because that simply wasn’t possible. To even consider such a thing started the conversation in the realm of the unbelievable. Thus, how could someone like Dr. Thoran understand the worry that Abel now felt? If Nurse Fecker had simply suffered from a severe brain mishap, then Abel could not be responsible. No, the only thing Thoran could ever conceive of doing was to convince Abel he had no guilt in her death. To try and show him how far-fetched his ideas were.

  And from Abel’s point-of-view?

  Those monitoring him, the doctors and nurse, had no idea what they were talking about. They allowed him a place to stay—or rather hi
s family’s money did—and they kept him from hurting anyone else. Or at least, hurting them like he could, like he had in the past.

  That was what Dr. Thoran didn’t understand. He could look through the records and see what had happened with Abel, and probably see that Emi was involved too. The record, though, only showed what society wanted to believe. It didn’t show the truth.

  If Abel’s curse was transferable, and if anyone should have caught it, that person would be Emi Laurens. They had been too close, and she’d seen too much.

  Abel left Dr. Thoran’s office with nothing resolved. Nurse Fecker was still dead, and it didn’t matter what the psychiatrist said; Abel thought something similar might be happening to Emi.

  Abel went to his room at about 9:00 in the evening.

  Geoffrey was waiting for him outside the door. Abel knew Geoffrey could have gone inside if he wanted—there was no privacy here, despite Abel’s wing. There was a technical term for it, but Abel just thought of it as low security. The patients were less violent, better equipped to deal with reality in a constructive manner. That didn’t matter, though; there was no personal property. Geoffrey standing outside was simply an act of courtesy.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Abel smiled, despite the horror coming for him on the other side of his bedroom door. He couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the world around him. His life was beyond insane, and had he not lived it, he wouldn’t believe any of it.

  Here he was, about to go inside this room and manage maybe three hours of sleep while people 70 years dead ripped him and his family limb from limb. And the man standing here, he knew it too—or at least knew that Abel believed it and would experience it. Geoffrey understood exactly what was about to happen, and yet they would both stand here and have a normal conversation, as if the dead didn’t walk these halls.

  “Hey, Geoffrey,” he said, still smiling.