The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

  You got that wrong! Claire thought, but as she considered what he’d said, she began to see there were truck-sized holes in his story. Maybe he wasn’t such a good liar, after all.

  It would be irresponsible for Detective Trudeau to put a civilian at random into the lineup? And he wasn’t just any “civilian.” He was a witness to the very crime they were having the lineup for. If the case ever went to trial, Samael would—no doubt—be called upon to testify. If he said or did anything in the lineup room to Ron LaPierre—or had any contact with him at all before the trial—it would ruin the state’s case against LaPierre.

  So then what?

  Was he trying to get him off?

  A suspected rapist would go free…to rape again.

  What was a city detective doing playing Cupid so Samael could see her again, anyway?

  This was all complete and utter bullshit, and she was tempted to tell him that to his face.

  For one thing, how could he have seen her through the one-way mirror? He couldn’t…unless he was able to see through the reflective glass.

  But even if he could, when would he have an opportunity to speak with her? She and the suspects were separated by thick walls and bars and glass because he would have been in the secure holding area along with the others, LaPierre included.

  “Bullshit,” she said, keeping her voice low so the people sitting around them talking or wanting people to see them writing their screenplays wouldn’t hear her.

  “What’s that?” Samael said, raising one eyebrow.

  Claire was positive he had heard her the first time, but she leaned forward and, folding her hands together, said, “I said ‘bullshit.’” She hissed the last word.

  Samael’s smile didn’t fade, but he eased back in his seat and stared steadily at her for the longest time without blinking. Maybe it was the lighting in the coffee shop, but for the first time Claire noticed something weird about his eyes. The pupils weren’t round, like a normal person’s. His were dark, oval slits with flecks of gold in the irises, like cats’ eyes.

  Is this how he appears to everyone, she wondered, or—like the tail and the tongue—is he only allowing me to see him like he really is?

  How much can he change or alter his appearance to…anyone? And what is his real appearance?

  When she found out the answer to that last one, she was well past being shocked or terrified.

  Now, a stirring of disquiet filled her as she wondered how much he could control things—even the way he appeared to humans. She wasn’t sure where she found the courage or fortitude—it wasn’t like her—but she stared right back at him and never once blinked. She could see her reflection in his eyes, but even now, she had the impression he was looking at her from behind a reflective one-way mirror.

  She would never be able to see behind it to glimpse the real him because—

  Well, you have to admit it, she told herself, no matter how much you don’t want to

  —he has no soul.

  Chapter

  6

  Two Kinds of Hell

  Two hours later, they were bathed with sweat—at least Claire was—and naked in her bed with Samael on top, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her. If she had thought the first time with him had been mind-blowing, it paled to insignificance compared to what she had just experienced. She had held open the possibility that she might have exaggerated that first experience, but—no. This one had rocked her world even more…and much better—more fulfilling and satisfying, if that was possible. It was like nothing she had experienced or even imagined before with a man.

  Then again, she had to remind herself, he’s not a man.

  Under any other circumstances, she might have used the word “heavenly.”

  Samael’s skin was flushed, and in the dimming light of a late winter afternoon seeping through the curtains, tinged with a deep reddish glow that seemed to come from inside him.

  Like he’s on fire on the inside.

  Whenever she touched him, no matter what part of his body, an intense heat radiated from him that was almost to the point of being uncomfortable. But he never seemed to sweat. Even now, after an hour-long bout of lovemaking, his flesh was dry and warm.

  “Wow,” she said, smiling at him as she gazed up into his eyes. As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to ring a little bell to slow down or stop him. There had been no time to get one, anyway.

  “Um-hmm…I’ll say,” Samael replied, not even a bit breathless.

  “Yeah.”

  He rolled off of her and flopped down on the mattress, making the bedspring squeak.

  As satiated as she was, Claire decided they needed to talk. It bothered her that she could never figure out if he was lying to her…Maybe he didn’t say the exact opposite of what he meant, and maybe he didn’t really lie to her, but he twisted his words, giving them nuance and shades of meaning that hinted at things below the surface, sometimes sinister. It was something she was going to have to get used to if they were going to spend any more time together.

  And she did want to spend more time with him.

  She cleared her throat, determined there wouldn’t be any “elephants in the living room,” as they say; but she also didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and pushing—or driving—him away again.

  She chuckled to herself and, sighing, shook her head.

  “What is it?” Samael asked.

  Claire almost said, Come on. You can read my mind…so you already know, but she wasn’t absolutely convinced he could read minds. Maybe it was a simple case of him having a much deeper understanding of human nature, having been among humanity for…

  How long?…She had no idea. Maybe thousands of years?

  He easily could be centuries…even millennia old. She wanted to ask him, but not yet…not now…

  Why ruin the afterglow?

  “I was thinking…about what you did today…about getting into the lineup.”

  There you go, she thought, having—like him—successfully avoided what she really wanted or needed to talk about. Now you’re getting the hang of it.

  She was privately amused and pleased with herself.

  Let’s see if I can lie to or at least try to deceive a demon and get away with it.

  “What were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?”

  Samael rolled over onto his back and laced his hands behind his head, smiling as he stared up at the ceiling. His profile was stunning…statuesque, even. Greeks and Romans should have—may have—sculpted him. Claire looked at his thick, dark hair and reminded herself to check for any horns when she got a chance.

  Maybe when he’s sleeping…if he ever sleeps.

  When he sighed, she could have sworn a faint puff of smoke drifted from his mouth and nostrils like if he was exhaling the smoke of a postcoital cigarette. She chuckled again—louder this time—wondering if that constituted smoking after having sex.

  “I wanted to see you again,” Samael said almost dreamily. “It’s that simple. So I did what I had to do.”

  “Seriously?” She wanted to believe him, but after all, he was a being who existed to screw around with people…create mayhem and get them to damn themselves.

  Well he’s certainly created enough mayhem in my life!

  “Yeah. Seriously.” He shifted on the bed as though trying to get comfortable. Maybe he was lying on his tail.

  “And you don’t think you could have come up with something a little less…dramatic?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I was there to identify the man who tried to rape me. He could have killed me. You didn’t think that might—you know, upset me at least a little that you’re just…playing around?”

  “I didn’t think I was playing around…I guess I didn’t think that all the way through.” He turned away for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly, and then looked at her with an intensity that was palpable. His gold-flecked eyes glistened. “I’m not sure what’s happening here." His
fingers lazily twirled through her red curls. “But I—I find myself genuinely attracted to you, and I think maybe…maybe for all the wrong reasons.”

  His words stunned her. A comment like that—“for all the wrong reasons”—was not what she wanted to hear…especially when she was lying in her own bed next to the man who had just pleasured her so intensely.

  Samael looked away again, his eyes focused on some far-off point in the distance.

  Uh-oh, she thought…Here it comes. He’s gonna use this to leave and never come back, now that he’s had his conquest.

  “Well, right or wrong,” Claire said, not sure where the words were coming from, “I’m glad we met and…did this.”

  “You have no idea how much I do, too.”

  Again, Claire had to wonder how much—if anything—he said was true and how much he was still toying with her, trying to manipulate her. For the first—but not the last—time, she considered that it might be a simple fact of their relationship that she would always be left wondering.

  That is, if this even is a relationship…

  “I guess your little ploy worked, then,” she said, brushing her hand across his chest and marveling at the smooth hardness of his flesh and the rock-solid muscles beneath. As much as the simple act of touching him turned her on, she checked herself because she was filled with a sudden urge to ask him point-blank if he really meant it. She didn’t say a word, though, because she still believed she couldn’t trust his word on anything.

  Rule Number One when dealing with demons, she decided, was: Never take what a demon says at face value.

  “So what happens next?” she asked, after a long silence where he just lay there on his back looking up at the ceiling, and she caressed him. She resisted the temptation to take his tail in hand and maybe—she smiled at the terrifying and beautiful attraction of the thought—starting in again.

  “What, you mean with LaPierre?”

  No! I mean about us, you dummy! She wanted to say but didn’t.

  “Uh—yeah…What’s gonna happen to him?”

  She looked directly into his eyes to see if he gave any indication that he knew she had just…well, maybe not lied to him again, but certainly “diverted” him again.

  “The police have statements from you and me, and now that you’ve positively identified him, the DA’s office will move ahead and prosecute him. He’ll be arraigned in District Court—if he hasn’t been already, and they’ll determine if he can post bail before he stands trial.”

  “Post bail?” Claire was stunned. “Are you kidding me? He might get out?”

  A faint smile touched the corners of Samael’s mouth, but he looked at her, his gold-flecked eyes flat, his expression impossible to read.

  “All part of the Great American Legal System, don’t yah know.”

  The way he said that reminded Claire of a movie she’d seen years ago called The Devil’s Advocate. She wondered if Samael hadn’t told the truth about what he did for work and was, himself, a lawyer. It would make sense. He had told her he was in business of buying and selling and maybe trading…but he easily could have lied to her.

  “But he—you’re telling me a man who…who attacks and…and molests a woman in alleyways may walk free?”

  She couldn’t accept that her attacker wasn’t facing mandatory life in prison or even the death penalty for what he had done. It’s what he deserved.

  “It all depends,” Samael said, and the way he spoke so casually sent a ripple of chills racing through her. She had the distinct impression he was hinting or implying—without coming right out and saying as much—that he could easily take care of things for her if she wished…or maybe even if she didn’t wish.

  “What do you think should happen to him?” he asked.

  His question drew her up short because the first thing that popped into her mind wasn’t the terror she had felt that night when she was convinced she was not only going to be raped, she was going to die. That memory was still sharp and clear inside her, and she had no doubts that it would remain inside her for the rest of her life, a kind of PTSD, which—she knew—was very real for many victims of rape and attempted rape.

  No, the first image that came to mind was the expression on Ron LaPierre’s face when he ran toward the one-way mirror and started screaming at her because he knew she was behind the glass. There was no way he could have seen her, so he must have been looking at the reflection of his own terror-stricken face. She hadn’t heard anything he said because of the soundproofing, but she had no doubt what it was.

  He had been screaming that he was innocent…that he’d been framed…that he could never have done such a horrible thing to her…that he didn't deserve to be in jail.

  That’s what they all say, once they’re caught, she thought, but as much as she wanted to hate him, her first and strongest reaction was to pity the man.

  She couldn’t imagine the fear and terror he must be going through even now, while she was comfortably in bed with a man. He was an accused rapist. If he ended up convicted and doing any time in the state prison, a man so weak and frightened wouldn’t last a month unless he was in solitary.

  He had protested his innocence, and the crazy thing was—even not hearing his voice, part of her believed him.

  “What do I think should happen to him?” she said, shaking herself, suddenly aware that she had drifted off and hadn’t spoken for some time. Samael had waited patiently for her response. “I have no idea, and I’m glad it’s not up to me. I guess I thought he should get, like, life in prison or something, but…I dunno.”

  “Too bad Maine doesn’t have the death penalty—even for first-degree murder,” Samael said sounding almost sad about that fact, and—once again—she had the disturbing feeling that, if she asked, he would be more than willing to do something about it.

  And then she had a sudden thought.

  “You were in the room with him.”

  “The lineup. Yeah.”

  “What was he yelling when they dragged him off?”

  Samael took a deep breath and was quiet for a long time. Claire thought he might have drifted off to sleep. In the lengthening silence, she convinced herself that if he wasn’t asleep, and again she wondered: Do demons ever sleep?

  No. He was trying to concoct a plausible lie.

  But she knew…and he knew that she knew…he would be lying if he said something like that Ron LaPierre had been cursing her and vowing to hunt her down and do unimaginable things to her when he got out of jail.

  “Garbled nonsense, mostly,” Samael finally said.

  “Nonsense?”

  “Yeah. He was raving like a lunatic, not making any sense at all. I think—” Samael drew one hand out from under his head and circled the side of his head with his forefinger. “—being in prison has broken down whatever shreds of sanity he had.”

  “That’s so sad,” was all Claire had to say.

  “Sad? He tried to rape you! And he would have, if I hadn’t been there.”

  “I know,” Claire said, but her mind was already squirming with the unsettled idea that maybe…just maybe she had identified the wrong man.

  No!…That’s not true!…I saw him!

  But what if he is innocent?

  “Do you think he’s the type of person who really could—”

  “He’ll get what he deserves,” Samael said simply, cutting her off. His voice was still flat…perfectly emotionless. “Either in this world…or the next.”

  His words sent a biting chill through Claire. She rolled over onto her side and, propping her head on the palm of her hand, gazed at him. In the dwindling daylight, his body looked magnificent. The mere sight of it filled her with desperate, sudden lust, but she commanded herself to ignore it while, at the same time, she tried not to feel even a shred of pity for the man who had so threatened and terrified her.

  “What he deserves,” she repeated softly. “Who was it who said something about if we all got what we deserved we’d all get a
good whipping?”

  “Shakespeare,” Samael said, and he shook his head as though the name evoked a sad, disappointing memory for him. “Now Marlowe,” he said softly as if to himself. “He was something else.”

  Claire wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so she let it pass without comment. Besides, her mind was filled with thoughts about Ron LaPierre. The DA’s assistant had said he was desperate to speak with her, and today she had seen the abject fear bordering on terror in his eyes.

  The thought wouldn’t go away.

  What if he’s innocent?

  It unnerved her more than she could say.

  And she had to ask herself if she could live with the guilt of knowing she had sent the wrong man…an innocent person to jail and ruined his life by falsely identifying him.

  No, she thought, gritting her teeth with sudden determination. It was him! I was right!…I’m positive!…And he deserves everything bad that’s coming to him for what he did…or tried to do!

  As much as she tried to convince herself of this, though, she was left with the nagging thought that maybe…just maybe…there was a slight possibility she was wrong. She wanted to talk about this with Samael…to see what he thought, but she acknowledged that she couldn’t believe a word he said. Even if she thought or said the exact opposite of what he suggested, that, too, might all be part of his plan to deceive her.

  For what?

  To get possession of my soul…Isn’t that what demons do?

  “Plots within plots,” she said softly to herself, and Samael, lying there beside her, didn’t even bother to ask what she meant by that.

  Hell, he probably already knew…but damned if Claire could tell.

  ~ * ~

  It was night by the time they roused themselves from bed. At some point, they heard Sally come home. Claire glanced at the clock radio by her bedside and saw that it was well past nine o’clock. Sally knocked around in the kitchen for a while, probably rustling up something to eat, and then she went into her bedroom and closed and locked the door. Claire couldn’t tell if she had anyone with her, but she doubted it. She would have heard muffled conversation and—no doubt—Sally’s giggles. The sad truth was, Sally wasn’t very lucky with men.