The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

“You want something? Coffee, maybe?”

  “I’m good,” he replied without the slightest trace of sleepiness in his voice.

  “I’ll be back in a sec, then,” Claire said.

  She walked out barefoot into the kitchen, automatically looking for Mittens, who would demand to be fed. She didn’t give it much thought when she didn’t see Mittens, and she set about brewing some coffee as if it was early morning. While the coffee was brewing, she grabbed a bowl, spoon, and box of granola. She decided to forego thawing a cupful of blueberries she usually added to the cereal. She poured a bowlful of granola, drenched it with milk, and then sat down to eat.

  Moments later, Samael strolled into the kitchen, stark naked. She couldn’t help but stare at his unusual physiology. As casual as can be, he sat down at the opposite end of the small table. He had a perfectly neutral expression on his face as he propped his clenched fist under his chin, rested his elbow on the tabletop, and stared—unblinking—at her.

  “So,” he said, drawing out the “S.”

  “So, what?” Claire replied, not sure where he might be taking this. She was still wondering if she would ever get used to him not having genitals.

  I will if he keeps using his tail the way he did last night, she thought and couldn’t suppress a small chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Samael asked, looking at her, his eyes glistening in the dim light like wet marble. His skin looked brick red.

  “No…Nothing,” Claire said even as she wondered if he could really read her mind and was asking simply to test her or to amuse himself.

  “Well, it’s gotta be something,” he said.

  Claire tried to avoid his steady stare because she knew—especially now—just how hypnotic it could be. She felt as though she would do, say, or think anything to please him, until she reminded herself that he was a genuine demon…as in one of the meanest, baddest of the bad guys.

  “No,” she said, “I was just thinking…there’s so much we have to learn, to get to know about each other.”

  Samael smiled in a way that made Claire wonder if he already knew all about her…no doubt, too much. But before she could say more, her cell phone chirped. Irritated, she grabbed her purse from the counter, fished around inside it until she found her phone, and glanced at the Caller ID.

  “Oh, shit,” she muttered when she saw her parents’ number.

  Samael smiled at her. The two tips of his tongue flickered out between his impossibly white teeth.

  “Let it go to message if you don’t want to talk to her,” he said.

  That did it. With that comment, Claire knew he had ways of knowing things about her that were not ordinary. Even if he didn’t know it was her mother, how did he know the caller was female?

  Claire was tempted to answer the phone simply to avoid talking to Samael for the time being, but the phone chirped two more times and then went silent. It was still in her hand, her palm so slick with sweat it made the plastic housing of the phone feel greasy, when it beeped to signal that her mother—or father—had left a message, something they usually avoided.

  Maybe something’s wrong? Claire thought.

  Maybe something had happened to one of them…or her brother, who still lived in Houlton and worked as a mechanic at a local garage.

  Her hand was trembling as she placed the phone down on the counter. Then she took a deep breath, held it, and turned, determined to confront Samael, at least on this one minor detail.

  “How’d you know the person calling me was a woman?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  Samael looked at her, his expression all innocence.

  How easy it must be for him to lie, she thought.

  “What’s that?”

  “You said to let it go to message if I didn’t want to talk to her. How’d you know it was a woman…my mother?”

  Samael laughed and shook his head.

  “I didn’t,” he said without missing a beat. “I was guessing it was your roommate. I know she snuck in when you—when we were asleep, and I know she doesn’t like me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah…Really.” He was still smiling…but the smile didn’t look quite so friendly now. His tongue was no longer visible, but his teeth were exposed, making small indentations on his bottom lip. “Yeah…because she wanted me to pick her instead of you.”

  Pick me?... That sounds ominous…What did you pick me for?

  A shiver ran up both of her arms to the nape of her neck. She was about to confront him on this whole “picking me” thing when her phone started ringing again.

  “If that’s your mother, she’s persistent. I’ve got to give her that,” Samael said, but Claire experienced a cold hollowness in the pit of her stomach when she saw on the Caller ID that it wasn’t her mother.

  It was a number she didn’t recognize. If it was the student loan company calling again…

  “Hello,” she said after snapping the phone up off the counter.

  “Yes, hello. This is Boyd Harris at the District Attorney’s Office. Is this Claire McMullen?”

  Claire's eyes widened and she flashed a look at Samael. For some reason, she was suddenly convinced something had gone wrong, and she was in trouble with the police.

  “Yes, this…this is she,” she replied, irritated by the tremor in her voice.

  “Ms. McMullen,” Harris continued. “I’ve got a…a rather unusual situation here, regarding your case.”

  He paused, and in the pause, Claire had time to say, “What is it?” while her nerves tightened.

  “The man we arrested last night, Ron LaPierre, the person who allegedly assaulted you—”

  Allegedly?

  “—has asked if you’d be willing to come down to the police station and talk to him.”

  “Me? Talk to him? Are you—?” She gulped dry air that felt like a hot coal lodged in her throat. “Why would I want to talk to him? Isn’t it, like, illegal or something?”

  “It’s not typical, for sure,” Mr. Harris said, “but it’s not unprecedented.”

  Claire considered for a few pulsebeats and then asked, “Well, do you think I should?”

  “Your call, but I wouldn’t advise it. No point to it. He says he’s innocent, so anything you say to him could hurt the case against him. At this point, the evidence against him doesn’t look good…for him.”

  Claire noticed that, as she spoke into the phone, Samael kept shifting in his chair. Maybe he was sitting on his tail and couldn’t get comfortable. She wondered if his hearing was sharp enough so he could hear both sides of the conversation.

  “You want to speak with him, you can do it. You might want to have your lawyer with you, if you got one. ‘Course I or someone from the DA’s office would have to be there, too.” Harris paused, took a breath, and then said, “But—again, I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “No,” Claire said quickly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, either…not a good idea at all.”

  The conversation was bringing back last night’s events so fast they rushed over her like a dark tide, filling her with unfathomable dread. Her breathing was hitching hard now, and her body was shaking as if she were facing an Arctic blast. The sound of her pulse was heavy in her ears; her neck and wrists ached with dull pain. When she looked at Samael, he was hiding his smile behind his hand.

  Is he enjoying this…what this is doing to me? She wondered.

  “It’s just,” Harris continued, unaware of Claire’s reaction, “he insisted that you speak to him. He says he didn’t do it.”

  “Didn’t do…” She couldn’t finish the thought.

  “He says it wasn’t him…that he was there, but he has no memory of attacking or trying to hurt you.”

  “But you—you caught him doing it.”

  “He says he wants to apologize.”

  “Which implies that he did do it.”

  “Look. I’m just doing what he asked…throwing it out there so you’d know. That’s all.”

  “Yes. I
…Thank you.”

  Claire had no idea what to make of it. Why would she want to speak to or even see the man who had tried to rape her?

  She wanted to ask Harris more questions, to find out exactly what her assailant had said and why he thought speaking with her would do any good. Maybe get her sympathy and try to get her to drop the charges. She watched as Samael got up from the table and, without a backward glance at her, sauntered down the hallway, back to the bedroom.

  Is he recharged and ready to go at it again? She wondered. In spite of what she was dealing with here, a deep warmth throbbed in her lower belly, and she smiled.

  Am I ready to go again?

  She suddenly had grave doubts about what she was doing—not about the rape charges, but with Samael. As impossible as it seemed…as impossible as it was, she knew in her soul that she should have absolutely nothing more to do with a demon, no matter how charming and attractive he might appear…That was the operant word here:

  Appear.

  And it certainly didn’t matter how good he was with his tail!

  “I—I appreciate your call, Mr.—”

  “Harris.”

  “Mr. Harris.”

  She ended the call, noticing the emptiness inside her without Samael in the same room where she could see him. She considered for a moment—

  Why would Mr. Harris from the DA’s office be calling in the first place if it wasn’t advisable for her to talk to LaPierre?

  This was just weird!

  Why stir things up like this?

  Why not just let things take their course?

  She had no doubt that she would experience psychic echoes from last night’s events for a long time to come, and she wondered—and worried—that over time, things would get worse instead of better.

  It certainly didn’t help to have someone from the DA’s office suggest something as foolish as going to visit her “alleged” assailant in prison.

  She hadn’t even known his name until just now—Ron LaPierre.

  She told herself that she honestly didn’t care to see or hear from him or even think about him ever again. The trial—if it came to that, and she had to testify—would be ordeal enough to sit through. Some women may want to face their attacker and ask him, simply, why?

  But not her.

  Mr. Ron LaPierre could rot in jail from now until the end of time, for all she cared.

  She walked down the hallway to her bedroom. All she wanted to think about was how incredible it felt to be wrapped up in Samael’s embrace and experience the thrills that coursed through her body when he penetrated her with his tail.

  After this call, she was more than ready to start in again.

  “Are you...?” she started to say, but her question died on her lips when she saw that Samael wasn’t in the bedroom.

  “Samael?”

  The lighting in the room was dim. No wonder. Samael liked it that way even on a bright, sunny March day. She looked carefully at the bed to make sure he wasn’t under the covers, but the rumpled bed sheets couldn’t have hidden him. After looking all around to make sure she wasn’t missing him in the dim light, she assumed that he was in the bathroom.

  But then a thought hit her—

  He doesn’t have to urinate…How could he…without a penis?

  And then another thought struck her.

  Does he also not have an anus?...Does he ever have to excrete?

  “This is getting too weird,” she mumbled to herself as she walked out of the bedroom and down the far end of the hall to the closed bathroom door. She rapped on the door with her knuckles, a few quick taps.

  “You in there?” she called out.

  No answer.

  “Samael?”

  Again, she knocked, and again…

  No answer.

  Bracing herself, she reached down and clasped the doorknob. The brass knob was slick in her hand. She turned it slowly until the latch clicked; then she pushed the door open a crack and peered inside. When she saw that he wasn’t sitting on the toilet, she swung the door all the way open.

  The bathroom was empty.

  But the shower curtain was drawn.

  Is he in there?…Getting ready to take a shower?…Or maybe hiding…planning to jump out and give me a scare?

  She entered the bathroom cautiously, approaching the closed shower curtain. The linoleum floor was damp, and her bare feet squeaked on it. Her body was tense, and she told herself she was ready for anything as she got ready to slide the shower curtain open. Her hand wavered only slightly as she gripped the plastic edge, balling it up in her fist.

  Holding her breath, she mentally counted to three and then ran the shower curtain open.

  The sound of the plastic rings sliding along the metal bar set her teeth on edge, but when she saw what was inside, she realized that she wasn’t ready for anything…

  Because there…in the tub…was…something.

  “What the…” she muttered, so shocked at first that she didn’t realize that the thing—whatever it was—was moving.

  Only then did she hear the faint buzzing sounds coming from it. At least she assumed the sounds were coming from it. Once she keyed into the sound, it rose steadily in volume…a loud buzzing sound of…

  Bees…or flies.

  The lighting in the bathroom was never that good, even at noon with the ceiling light on, so she leaned forward and stared at the thing on the floor of the shower.

  That’s when she realized it really was moving…a writhing ball of…something…something that was so rotten it was swarming with flies. She leaned closer, and the pungent stench of decaying meat hit her like a body blow to the stomach.

  “What in the name of…”

  At first she thought someone might have dropped a piece of steak or hamburger or something in the shower where it had rotted and drawn flies.

  But that didn’t make sense.

  And where did all these flies come from?

  It was March. The apartment windows were closed tight. They might have been wintering in the attic or maybe in one of the other tenants’ apartments, but how did they get in here?

  Her initial panic began to subside only to be replaced with a wave of nausea as she watched the houseflies crawling over the rotting thing. It was the size of a meatloaf, and tufts of slimy fur poked through the red and black flesh. She knew it couldn’t have been, but it looked like it had been here for days…maybe weeks. Her stomach lurched, and the joints of her jaw started to ache.

  She knew what was coming next.

  Holding her breath and trying not to inhale that rancid smell, she let go of the shower curtain and backed away from the tub. After a few steps back, she pivoted on her heel and dropped to her knees. Clasping both sides of the toilet bowl, she leaned her head down just in time before her stomach heaved.

  The first hot blast of vomit hit the water in the toilet bowl so hard it splashed back into her face. But she ignored that as her stomach convulsed several times, and more streams of vomit shot from her mouth. The joints of her jaw were throbbing now, and the sick stench of vomit made her want to heave all the more until there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up.

  Behind her, she was aware of activity. Her first thought was that Samael—wherever he had been—had heard her getting sick and come to help her. She wanted to look up to see if he was standing there behind her, but she couldn’t stop vomiting.

  Through her sickness, though, she realized that it might not be Samael behind her. The buzzing sound of the flies grew unbearably loud, and when her stomach finally settled enough for her to turn and look, she was amazed to see a cloud of houseflies flying in a swirling tornado-like formation, moving behind the shower stall and banging into it hard enough to make the plastic jump.

  Her throat was burning as she covered her mouth with the flat of her hand to block the scream that threatened to burst from her. She watched in mute horror as the cloud of flies—there had to be hundreds…or thousands of them—rose to
the bathroom ceiling in a dark, whirling mass.

  Claire wanted to cry out for help, but she knew she was alone in the apartment. She could feel it, and a cold fist tightened in her gut.

  Samael had deserted her.

  Again.

  Whimpering softly, she lunged for the door and yanked it open. By now, the buzzing sound was as loud as the crackling burr of a chainsaw, and as she staggered out into the hallway, she fully expected the flies to swarm over her like a heavy cloud. All too clearly, she could imagine flies crawling into her mouth and nose and ears, buzzing and chewing her like she was already dead flesh. Nearly blind with panic, she yanked the bathroom door closed behind her and took a few unsteady steps down the hallway until she stumbled over her own feet and fell.

  Her knees hit the carpeted floor first, and then she flopped forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her chin hit the floor hard enough to send a bright splash of stars across her vision. Somehow…miraculously…the buzzing sound cut off when she closed the bathroom door, and it took several seconds of lying on the floor, panting hard before she realized she’d trapped them. The flies hadn’t escaped from the bathroom.

  With tears welling up in her eyes, she somehow found the strength to sit up and take stock of what had just happened. Her gaze fixed on the closed bathroom door.

  It was silent in the bathroom. Eerily so…

  “Hey, what’s up? You okay?”

  Samael’s voice, coming so suddenly from behind her, made Claire squeal and spin around to face him. Her fists were clenched, her heart racing. He was dressed, and she couldn’t help but notice how neat and slick he looked.

  Maybe too slick?

  The sight of him made her flash with anger.

  “What the fuck? Where were you?”

  She struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill as they stared at each other. The buzzing sound of the flies behind the door gradually faded away. For the first time since she had found out the truth about him, all Claire could see was the demon he truly was.

  He was enjoying this…He relished her fear and confusion. It amused him.

  “I’d like you to leave,” she said, her voice low and broken. “Right now!”

  Samael stared at her but didn’t say a word, but he took a few steps forward, his arms raised, his hands extended as though to help her to her feet.