A Friend of the Devil

by David Beers

  “Maybe,” Thoran nodded. He was quiet for a second, and then turned. He walked around behind his desk and sat down in his chair, sighing as he did. “What I’m not understanding, Abel, is why you want this all of a sudden? Why today, out of all days, you want to simply walk off the premises?”

  “Am I in my rights to do it?”

  “That’s debatable. You’re voluntarily here, but if we think you’re a danger to yourself or others, we can detain you involuntarily.”

  “For how long?” Abel asked. These were questions he’d never considered. There’d never been any reason to, because he’d never thought of leaving.

  “Three days.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then, I can petition a court to keep you longer, or by law we have to let you leave.”

  Abel was quiet for a moment. It both mattered, and yet didn’t, what he said next. If he sounded insane, then he wasn’t going anywhere for at least three days … though, that might already be the case.

  “Why don’t you want me to leave, Dr. Thoran?”

  “I want you to be safe, Abel. That’s all I’m concerned with. Your safety.”

  “And you don’t think I’ll be safe if I leave here?”

  “I think your hands are shaking and that you almost hyperventilated. That gives me pause as to whether or not you’re being honest with me about why you want to leave. That then gives me pause about whether it would be safe for you to leave.”

  “If you petition the court, what are my rights?” Abel asked.

  “You will be allowed to present your case about why you should be allowed to leave.”

  “Who will win?”

  The question was simple, and he thought he’d get an honest answer from Thoran.

  “Most likely you. You’re delusional, but you’ve shown no propensity for violence or self-harm. Delusion in itself isn’t a reason to detain someone, and being remanded involuntarily, your trust wouldn’t pay for your stay, and the state certainly couldn’t afford it.”

  Abel leaned back into his chair, a weird relief flooding over him. He didn’t want to leave, not in the slightest, but in the hour or so since the dead man came, he wasn’t sure he had any other choice. He had to go, and Thoran had just said he would be allowed.

  “I doubt I can keep you against your will for very long, but that’s not what I’m trying to do, Abel. I just want to know what’s going on. We’ve known each other a long time; I feel I’m owed that.”

  Maybe he was, and maybe one day Abel could tell him the truth.

  Not today, though—for today belonged to the dead.

  “I’m ready to go,” he said. “That’s it.”

  “Do you think you’ll come back?”

  And Abel wished with all his heart that he could. He truly had no idea what was happening with Emi, nor what he would do when he got out of here—not how to get to her, or what he would do once he did. Yet, more than anything in this world, he hoped he could come back here.

  He needed to come back here.

  But he couldn’t say that either, because to imply his return would imply he wasn’t ready to leave.

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  The two looked at each other for a few seconds and then Thoran shrugged.

  “I’ll handle the paperwork. There will be a few forms to sign at the front desk in 10 minutes or so. Stop by on your way out.” He paused. “Do you even have any luggage, Abel?”

  Of course he didn’t. He had nothing.

  “Here’s my number,” Thoran said, as he started scribbling on a sheet of paper on his desk. He ripped it off and handed it over. “You call me if you need me. I’ll get you back here if I can.”

  Abel nodded, but said nothing. He felt if he did, he might cry. He only took the paper.

  “There’s the door,” Thoran said, nodding behind him. “I’ll need to make some calls to get the paperwork ready.”

  And if Abel had been bluffing, it’d just been called.

  The dead man spoke again, whispering inside Abel’s head.

  There are things, whether you want to believe in them or not, that are much, much worse than my colleagues and I.

  Those things were going after Emi now.

  Abel nodded, stood up, and left the doctor’s office.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vince Demsworth stared at the woman. Her eyes were closed and tubes were attached to her. Medical devices surrounded the back and side of the bed, though Vince paid no attention to any of them.

  They don’t matter, Vince. She’s almost with us now. There’s nothing wrong with her, nothing that all these devices can fix. She’s just … in waiting.

  Vince heard the voice but didn’t so much as nod. It was hard to say who was actually in control as he stood next to the bed, him or the voice, or if there was really any difference anymore. Perhaps they were the same now. Perhaps the voice was only talking to itself.

  We need to get her out of here, though. That’s why we came.

  Vince’s head raised and he followed the tubes and cords hooked to her. There was an array of things they were attached to and Vince didn’t know the first damned thing about removing them.

  Shh, shh. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.

  Vince’s hands started working, taking off the things attached to her. For a second, the machine on the right started beeping, but Vince leaned over and simply unplugged it from the wall. He immediately returned to the business at hand.

  It took another minute or two, but then Emi Laurens was completely free.

  Vince stepped back, looking at the woman as if he was wondering what to do next. There were no feet thudding outside, nor the sound of voices wondering what was happening inside the room. Vince heard only silence. No alarms were being raised yet.

  He knew they would be soon, though.

  Vince turned to the door and walked outside into the hallway. He paused looking both left and right, and then decided that what he needed was most likely in the lobby. He strode past the waiting room, barely registering families as he passed. The nurse didn’t look up from her station, and Vince didn’t glance at her either.

  He looked around the lobby for a second, knowing that what he wanted had to be here. People often arrived in the emergency room unable to stand and—

  There! the voice shouted inside his head. That! That’s what we want!

  The voice wasn’t able to think of the word, but Vince knew what it was. A wheelchair.

  It was light and small, sitting next to the automatic doors. Vince went to it, grasped the handles, and started pushing it back down the hallway. No one looked at him as he went. It only took a few minutes for him to roll the chair back into Emi’s room.

  “Here we go,” Vince said, though his voice sounded nothing like him. It sounded darker, with more bass underlying the words—as if it might be booming from some large speaker in his chest. He wheeled the chair to the side of the bed then reached down for Emi. She didn’t move at all, her eyes were closed and her face turned toward the ceiling.

  Vince’s exercise routine had consisted of short runs—3 to 5 miles a few times a week. He rarely lifted weights, and though he was fit, no one was going to mistake him for a bodybuilder. Yet, when he bent down to grab her, he lifted the woman as if she weighed nothing. He might have only been lifting a pillow, and a thin one at that.

  He placed her in the chair without a grunt or any strain showing on his face.

  She slumped down and Vince pulled the chair back so that he could get a better look at her.

  “That won’t do,” the deep voice said.

  The FBI Agent was splayed out in the chair. Vince couldn’t very well roll her out like that.

  This isn’t going to work, he thought, his actual self reaching up through his mind, trying to bring some rationality to this.

  “Shhh,” his mouth said. “Shhh, Vince. We’re okay now. Just a little hiccup. That’s all. Shhhh.”

  And Vince listened, the dar
k voice coming from his body quieting him, just as a mother’s voice does a baby.

  He squatted down and looked at Emi, taking measure of how bad she looked. He reached under her arms and lifted her up, his body moving her again as if she weighed nothing. After straightening her body, Vince unfolded the footrests at the bottom. He placed the woman’s feet in them.

  “That should help,” he said.

  Vince looked at her head; it lolled down against her chest. He lifted each arm up and placed them on the armrests, but that just made her look worse. He put them back on her lap.

  “That’ll have to do,” the deep voice said.

  He stood and went behind her.

  Almost done, Vince, the voice spoke internally. Get her out of here and then we’re going to be one big happy family. That’s part of the … the AMERICAN DREAM? Yes, that’s right.

  The wheels started rolling underneath the wheelchair as Vince pushed the woman toward the door.

  There are other parts to the AMERICAN DREAM, and that’s what we’re going to do next. We’re going to work for the things we want. So many things. So many Altars. So many, many Altars, Vince.

  He pushed the wheelchair out of the hospital room and then down the hallway. No one gave Vince Demsworth any trouble. The world was busy—as it so often is—tending its own problems to look for new ones.

  Vince walked right out with Emi Laurens, and for all intents and purposes, it was the last action Vince Demsworth ever took.

  Abel and Emi

  1990’s

  She was 14 years old when he introduced them to her.

  The dead.

  That’s what Abel called them. There were no other names. Just the dead.

  Emi knew about them, of course. She’d known about them for years, though Abel didn’t discuss them too much. She heard about their sightings briefly, and it mainly came about when one of his parents dealt with them.

  Truthfully, Emi didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know whether to believe Abel, or think him absolutely crazy. She only knew she didn’t really care either way. If she believed him and dead people haunted him, then that was fine. If he was actually delusional, and his entire family was too, then that was fine. Fine as a frenzy and sane as a psycho.

  She didn’t care.

  Abel was her safe place, and that’s all she cared about. Dead people or not, when her parents started beating on each other, Emi could go to him. He accepted her and so she accepted him, crazy or not.

  Yet, she hadn’t seen the dead yet.

  Or, at least, seen him seeing them.

  It’d been late at night. Her parents had managed to hold it together for much of the evening, but around midnight, she heard them start in on each other. The screams woke her up and she’d laid there for 20 minutes or so, hoping they would shut up. At 14, she didn’t flee as often as she used to, but finally Emi grew fed up. She still had to be up in the morning for school, and their screaming apparently wasn’t going to abate.

  She packed all her stuff in her book bag, putting on the clothes that she’d wear to school tomorrow, and then climbed out her window. She tracked through the woods, crossing delicately across the rocks that dotted the creek, and then into Abel’s neighborhood. She found his house and went around to the back as she usually did, prepared to knock on the window.

  Abel hardly ever used his blinds, preferring them up day and night (though Emi thought that more because it made it easier for her to get in when she needed). The moon shone through it, and as Emi raised her hand to knock, her eyes focused on what the light revealed.

  Abel was in his boxers, his right shoulder facing her. He was on his feet, in front of his bed, and looking at the closed bedroom door. His right hand was shaking, and his lips were trembling.

  She held her hand like that, a fist ready to knock, but unable to move. She’d expected him to be asleep, curled up in his bed, facing her with his eyes closed. She’d expected him to open them as he always did, staring straight forward at the window, not frightened—as if he’d been half expecting her.

  Not this.

  He’s sleepwalking, she thought, knowing immediately that was a lie. Abel didn’t sleepwalk.

  She knew, even in those brief moments, what was happening.

  You’ve seen it coming, even if you didn’t want to admit it. You’ve seen the patches under his eyes, because he hasn’t been sleeping. But neither of you said anything.

  Abel had told her all about it, how they came when he slept and how if he stayed awake long enough, they’d take him then too.

  He’s seeing them, she thought. He’s seeing them right now.

  Emi didn’t knock, but simply pushed up on the window. It was always a tough slide, but once she raised it enough to get her fingers beneath, she finished it quickly.

  Abel looked over as she climbed in, his reaction time slow. His lips still trembled and his hands still shook.

  “You need to leave,” he whispered while she stood up inside his room. The window was open behind her, but she didn’t turn to shut it, wasn’t even thinking about it. “You need to leave right now.”

  She’d never heard Abel sound like this. His voice was the sound of wind blowing through air vents, only audible in complete silence.

  He turned his head back toward the closed door. “They’re here, Emi. You have to go.”

  Emi didn’t move at all. Not forward, nor backward. “Where?” was all she could think to say.

  “At the door. She’s looking at you.”

  Emi’s eyes didn’t need to go to the door to know nothing was there—nothing that she could see anyway.

  “Can I come to you, Abel?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Just leave. Please. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Emi said.

  “They’re tired of waiting.” Emi didn’t know if he was talking to her or himself. “You don’t want to see this.”

  “I’m fine, Abel, but please let me come over to you. Or you come here. Come to me.”

  He only shook his head.

  Emi, for long, long years after, would always think back to that night. So many things would happen later, but that was the first time—the very first—that she understood how different Abel Ease was. She would think about it and wonder what happened. Whether Abel had it right, or whether what the doctors later said was true.

  For sure, Emi only knew what she saw.

  Abel’s feet lifted off the ground. An inch, then two, and then he shot a full foot up. His head jerked toward the ceiling, as if someone gripped his entire neck.

  Emi didn’t move, her body frozen in place.

  A small croak escaped Abel’s mouth, and even in the room’s darkness, she could see his face turning a dark red.

  Emi wanted to help. More than anything in the world, she wanted to go to him … and … and do anything. Anything that might help him get on the fucking floor. Yet, she hadn’t been able to move. She only stood there, staring, as her best friend was strangled to death, his feet not touching the floor.

  Emi’s eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed to the floor.

  When she opened them, Abel was next to her.

  They were on his bed and the blankets had been pulled up over her shoulders. His eyes were open, and she’d known he’d been watching her sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a few moments; his voice held a raspy, sandpaper like quality to it.

  She blinked a few times and then opened her mouth to say something. She only held it there, though, as her eyes saw his throat.

  It was bruised, and badly.

  Blue and purple flesh intermixed all the way up, looking swollen and like it might be hard to breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t … I didn’t think you’d see any of that.”

  A few more moments passed, and Emi had to shut her eyes to actually say anything. She couldn’t look at Abel’s throat and come up with a single coherent thought.


  “What happened?” she finally asked.

  “They were here.” He paused for a second. “One of them at least. I’d been avoiding them too long. Not sleeping. They came out to teach me a lesson, I think.”

  She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing, but unable to shake what she’d seen the night before. His feet had been off the ground, yet nothing around him. That wasn’t possible, regardless what he wanted to say right now. It defied the laws of everything she knew. Science. Physics. Fucking whatever. It defied reality.

  “They’re gone, I think,” he said.

  “How do you know?” she asked with her eyes still closed and despite the fact that what she’d seen was impossible.

  “I don’t really know. They don’t come at me like they do my dad. Last night ….”

  He rolled over on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “That was the worst it’s ever been.”

  Emi opened her eyes and saw that sunlight was flooding the room. “What time is it?”

  “Noon.”

  “So much for school,” she said, staring at his bruised neck. She managed to push what she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—away for a moment, and focus only on what was in front of her. “What are you going to do? How are you going to hide that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll show my dad today. Luckily, he’ll cover for me if I need. I can’t go to school until it’s healed, though.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Fine as a frenzy,” he answered with a smirk.

  The two were quiet for a bit, and then Abel said. “I’m sorry, Emi. I didn’t think you’d ever see something like that.”