The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

  “There’s this great diner out on Route One,” Samael said. “Called Ma Parker’s. Good, down-home food. Let’s grab lunch there, and then I’ll drive you over to the office, and you can go in and quit.”

  “You really think I should?”

  “Believe me. You will never have to work another day in your life,” Samael said.

  The temptation to do something dramatic to end her employment—something memorable and, ultimately, personally satisfying—was strong. She took pleasure imagining Marty’s reaction when she walked up to him and told him she quit. She grinned inwardly, picturing herself telling him what she really thought of him.

  Hell, that place will fall apart without me around, she thought. And—Good God-a-mighty, it would be worth anything…maybe even…

  She thought to finish the sentence my soul to do it, but she caught herself.

  She was determined not to let Samael influence what she said or did. She was her own person, and from now on, anything she said or did was going to be because it was her decision, not Samael’s or her parents’ or Sally’s, or anyone else’s.

  “I’ll even come into the office with you, if you want moral support,” Samael offered.

  Claire clutched her arms against her chest and shook her head.

  “No,” she said, moving close to him and embracing him. The heat radiating from him was intense. “I can handle it.”

  “I know you can,” he said.

  With that, they collapsed back onto the bed. By the time they were through, it was definitely time for lunch instead of breakfast.

  ~ * ~

  The sky was overcast, a gunmetal gray that was spitting snow as Samael’s car pulled into the parking lot of Montressor Chemical Company, and he killed the engine. Across the parking lot, which was filled with eighteen-wheelers, was a chainlink fence. Beyond the fence were the Downeaster railroad tracks. A long string of boxcars was moving by slowly, their wheels squealing and clanking. The ground shook with their ponderous passing.

  Claire bit her lower lip.

  “I can do this…I know I can.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her cold lips.

  “I’ll be waiting right here.”

  She felt remarkable calm as she walked up the cement steps, entered her pass code numbers, and opened the door when the lock buzzed.

  She walked past Edna’s desk and nodded a silent greeting to the receptionist.

  “I didn’t expect to see you today,” Edna said.

  Claire smiled and shrugged. She’d always liked Edna well enough, but it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. They never hung out at work or after hours, mostly because all Edna did was complain about her physical problems and her family life.

  “Marty in?” she asked.

  Edna nodded and started to say something, but Claire was around the corner and only heard, “But he…”

  The door to Marty’s office was closed, so Claire gave it a quick rap and then twisted the doorknob and pushed it open. Marty—the little Napoleon—was sitting at his desk with his feet up and leaning back in his chair. He had a sandwich in one hand and was chewing as he stared blankly up at the ceiling.

  “Claire,” he said. His eyes widened with surprise, and he dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. He placed the sandwich on its wrapping paper and brushed crumbs from his chest. “Where have you been? I’ve been call—”

  “I could have phoned it in, but I came to tell you in person.”

  His eyes widened. He knew.

  “I quit. Right now.”

  The words were out of her—fast and strong—before she had time to reconsider.

  And she had been right. The expression on Marty’s face was priceless. He looked for all the world like a fish that had been landed with the hook still impaled in its mouth. His eyes bugged from his head, and his face went ghostly pale.

  “You…quit?” he echoed.

  “Yup.”

  “I…I, ahh, I see.”

  He kept brushing crumbs from his chest as though that would restore his dignity. His mouth was making little twitchy motions as if his mind was flooded with thoughts but he couldn’t get a single word out.

  Finally, he managed to say, “You mean you’re giving your two-week notice?”

  Claire folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips.

  “No. I mean now. I quit. Today. This instant.”

  She knew this was the point where she should turn on her heel and leave, allowing him to deal with it any way he wanted to, but she didn’t. She wanted to stay long enough to hear what he had to say even though she didn’t expect any surprises.

  But there was a surprise.

  Instead of the anger and vitriol she was expecting, tears filmed his eyes. His lower lip was quivering. His face looked like it was made of pasty, white dough that hadn’t yet risen.

  “Is it…? Can we talk about this? Is there anything I can do about it?”

  Claire hadn’t been ready for him to take this so personally, and she experienced a genuine bolt of pity. His shock touched her heart, and she immediately regretted saying what she had said.

  But from somewhere that didn’t feel like it was coming from her, exactly, she heard herself say, “There’s nothing to discuss. I have to move on.” And then, as a token, she added, “I’m sorry I have to do it this way.”

  “Me, too. I mean…is it about pay? Did you find another job? We really—I really need you here. I depend on you in ways I…I…I’m not sure I can do my job without you.”

  “I’m sorry, Marty,” Claire said again, and suddenly she saw him in a completely different light. He wasn’t at all the martinet she had thought he was. He was nothing more than a frightened, insecure little man who, she had to admit, was simply doing the best he could under very trying situations. He made her life miserable only because he was an incompetent manager, not because he was a prick. It wasn’t as if his job was any more exciting or productive than hers. And the home office sure didn’t make it any easier for either one of them. Given different personalities, they could have been a helluva team.

  She was tempted to say something…to apologize…to try to take it all back. Marty wasn’t such a bad guy after all, she decided. But as she was phrasing her reasonable apology in her mind, the office floor suddenly started to shake. It shook several times a day as trains went by, but this time, the rumbling was more intense than usual.

  “What the bloody Hell?” Marty said, shouting to be heard about the thunderous sound.

  He lurched from his chair and took three quick steps to the window overlooking the parking lot. Claire started over to see what was going on outside, too, but she checked herself when a sudden flash of bright light flared across her view. A split second later, a heart-thumping boom shook the building. The windows rattled in their frames. Items on Marty’s desk vibrated like they were dancing, and the pictures on the wall went crazily askew. The light framing Marty’s face got rapidly brighter and began to flicker with a wicked red glow.

  “What’s happening?” Claire asked, her voice edged with panic. Her first thought was that Samael was waiting outside in his car and that the explosion must have hit him harder than it had the office building.

  She clasped the doorframe for support, expecting the office building to blow apart with her in it.

  Some fucking irony that would be, she thought.

  If something had exploded and was burning out there on the tracks or in the rail yard, she sure as Hell didn’t want to be anywhere near a window in case another, stronger explosion sent glass and steel flying.

  “Looks like a train derailed,” Marty said. “Must have been carrying something explosive.”

  The brief flash of light had faded, but it left an afterimage. Something outside was on fire, flickered wildly. Claire could clearly see Marty’s reflection in the glass.

  A stronger jolt of panic hit her in the chest when the fire alarm began to blare. />
  Is Samael all right outside in the parking lot?

  Without another word, she turned and ran down the corridor, past Edna’s desk. Edna was already on the phone, talking frantically to someone—no doubt the fire or police department. Hell, these days, it was probably Homeland Security. Without a word, Claire shouldered open the door and rushed outside.

  It had started to snow, but Samael was standing at the far end of the parking lot, leaning against his car, his arms folded across his chest as he watched what was going on. Sharp shrieks of twisting, tortured metal filled the air as more railcars derailed. The flames erupted with a whooshing roar, and a thick column of black smoke that looked like an approaching tornado spiraled into the sky. It contrasted starkly with the falling snow. Dozens of men—railroad and factory workers alike—were scrambling about. From far off in the distance, there came the rising and falling wail of sirens.

  Numbed by what was going on, Claire walked down the steps and started over toward Samael. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the destruction. In the seven years she had worked here, she had always feared something like this would happen.

  And now it had.

  She stepped up beside Samael, who was watching the flames rise higher with a look of pure, childlike delight on his face. And at that moment, remembering the scene last weekend at the floating restaurant, a thought too horrible to frame into words came to mind. She was trembling as she placed her hand on Samael’s chin and twisted his head around so he was facing her.

  “Tell me you didn’t slip again,” she said.

  “Honest. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Hand to God?”

  He winced when she said the name, but then he fixed his gaze on her and said, “Yes. Hand to…God.” It took effort to get that last word out, and she was proud of him.

  “So how’d it go in there?” Samael asked, nodding toward the building.

  “Fine…until the train blew up,” Claire said. She took a deep breath and took in a lungful of the smoky, chemical odor billowing into the sky. It made her throat burn. “It went about as well as you could expect.”

  It was Samael’s turn now to take her by the chin and force her to look at him.

  “You are an amazing woman,” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth. His twin-tipped tongue slid out like tiny snakes that worked their way between her lips and teeth. She was upset about everything that was going on, but she melted into his embrace and let him kiss her long and hard.

  As they kissed, the sound of approaching sirens got louder, and the first fire truck came screaming onto the scene. She and Samael stopped kissing and, like everyone else who had come to see what was going on, stood and watched as the fire fighters started to knock down the flames. They worked hard to make sure the nearby trees and fields didn’t catch fire from the sparks that roared into the sky.

  The fire was, indeed, spectacular, the flames mesmerizing; but as she watched, Claire couldn’t help but think how convenient this explosion and fire had been. They had occurred at the exact instant she had begun to feel sorry for Marty and was considering taking back what she had said. She might have offered to work a two-week notice or maybe even said she regretted quitting.

  Even though he had sworn he hadn’t, she had to wonder if Samael had caused the train wreck simply to distract her and everyone else so she wouldn’t back down. It was certainly of a piece with his previous behavior. She loved and trusted Samael, but still…

  That’s the thing about Evil, she thought. You start mistrusting everything and everyone.

  ~ * ~

  “I have to get clear on one thing, all right?” Claire said.

  Samael was driving as they crossed the South Portland Bridge into Portland. The snow had stopped, and the sides of the road were covered with a glazed coating of white that was quickly melting as the sun burned through the clouds. Casco Bay was gray, the wind-ruffled water looking like beaten metal.

  “What’s that?” Samael asked casually without taking his eyes off the road ahead.

  “You’re telling me the truth, right?…About not starting that accident or starting that fire?”

  “I already told you. I didn’t start…or even cause it.”

  Claire saw the difference and appreciated that he would point it out.

  “Yeah, but still—it strikes me that…and I don’t mean to sound critical or anything, but it seems it might be…you know, that you might find it kinda tough to give up your old ways just like that.”

  She snapped her fingers on the last word and saw him flinch…just a little.

  He glanced at her and then focused on the road, correcting his steering when it began to drift.

  “The road’s getting slick,” he said, but it sounded to Claire more like he was trying to avoid the topic.

  “Samael…We have to be honest with each other…all the time.”

  “I know. I never said we didn’t…or weren’t.”

  “So?”

  “So, what?”

  “So…is that what you’re feeling?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Is he being obtuse on purpose?

  “Is it tough giving up Evil?”

  “Well,” Samael sniffed with laughter and gripped the steering wheel tightly as they slowed for the traffic light up ahead, “when you say it like that, it sounds like you’re trivializing it. Like quitting smoking or something.”

  “I don’t mean to. Honest.”

  “I didn’t say you were. I said it sounds like it.”

  Jesus, why so defensive? Claire thought, but she wasn’t going to call him on it…not now, anyway. Let him concentrate on his driving.

  “We’re not arguing,” he said, but as he spoke, the muscles in his jaw kept flexing and unflexing like he was chewing a particularly tough piece of meat. He was clearly agitated about something.

  “I know we’re not, but I know how you like to stir things up…cause a little mayhem—”

  “Not this time!”

  He shouted this time, but it was more than a shout. It struck her like a firecracker going off close to her head. Her ears were ringing like Chinese gongs as she looked at him and saw the fiery glow in his gold-flecked eyes.

  “What did you just do?” she asked, holding her hands to her ears. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear him when he answered.

  Samael drove straight through the intersection of Congress Street, running the red light.

  “Do what?”

  “When you shouted just then.” Claire wiggled both of her forefingers in her ears and then tilted her head and hit her temple as if she had water in her ears. “Your voice just now…It did something…weird.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah.”

  Samael smiled easily at her, but only for a second or two. His mouth tightened, and he drove with more concentration than seemed necessary. There wasn’t much traffic downtown.

  “What do you mean, that?”

  “The Voice,” Samael said simply.

  “It’s a thing you do? A…a trick or something?”

  “Not a trick. More of a technique. It’s a way I can get people to do something I want them to do.”

  “A control thing, then,” Claire said as chills rippled up the back of her neck.

  “You might say that. It’s helpful when you…you know, do what I do.”

  Claire didn’t want to know any of the details, but his use of the present tense struck her, and she couldn’t let it pass.

  “What you used to do what you did, you mean. Right? You don’t do it anymore, right?”

  He shot her another quick glance, and he certainly looked sincere when he said, “Yes…Of course.” He slid his right hand from the steering wheel and cupped it over Claire’s thigh, giving her leg a gentle but firm squeeze. “I’m surprised by how you reacted to it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just…usually people—humans—have a much stronger reaction to it. It has the power to
pretty much eliminate any human resistance.”

  “Well maybe I’m tougher than the rest,” Claire said, quoting from one of her favorite Springsteen songs.

  “That’s one of the many reasons I love you so much.” Samael gave her a sidelong glance as though he expected to see something she wasn’t aware of.

  “Don’t you ever use that Voice thingie on me ever again. Understand?”

  Looking thoroughly chastised, Samael nodded and said, “I promise,” without a hint of any secondary meaning in his voice or expression.

  They drove past Deering Oaks and took a right turn onto Route 295, heading north. The snow flurry had already stopped, and the Back Bay shimmered blue and bright white now in the slanting afternoon sunlight. Claire thought it a miracle, how the day changed so fast from gloomy and snowing to sunny and bright.

  “So…what do you want to do with the rest of the day?” Samael asked as he sped up the road, sticking to 295 instead of veering off onto Route One to his house in Falmouth.

  “Actually, I’m kinda hungry,” Claire said.

  “Again?”

  “I didn’t eat much for lunch, remember? I was so worried about dealing with Marty.”

  “Oh, right,” Samael said. The steering wheel played loosely in his hands, and he was smiling as he stared ahead at the open road. “You’ll have to tell me more about how that went. Then, maybe, we should talk about when you’re going to introduce me to your parents.”

  “My parents?”

  Claire was dumbfounded. A cold knot twisted like a snake in the pit of her stomach.

  “Yeah,” Samael said, smiling as he drove. “I’ve dealt with them a little bit before in the past, but we’ve never been formally introduced.”

  “You what?”

  “Don’t worry…I never did anything to either one of them. Not that I didn’t try.”

  “I can’t believe you—”

  That was all Claire could say, but then Samael laughed out loud and said, “I never met them. I’m just teasing you.”

  Claire glared at him and said, “You’d better be,” but even so, she didn’t like the way that sounded.

  Chapter