by Rick Hautala
10
“The Pond”
It didn’t take long for Claire to get used to not getting up early to get ready for work, and while it was relatively satisfying—if not outright enjoyable—to tell Marty to shove it up his ass, it was quite a different story when she told Sally she was moving out of the apartment.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” was her response when Claire told her a few days after she had quit Montressor Chemicals. They were in Claire’s bedroom, and Claire was filling a box with her books. Every time she ripped off a piece of packing tape from the roll to seal a box, the sound set her teeth on edge.
Or maybe something else was galling her.
“You can’t be fucking serious.” Sally was pacing back and forth at the foot of Claire’s bed.
“For fuck’s sake, you don’t even know this fucking guy! For all you fucking know, he could be, like, a…a fucking mass murderer or something.”
“Or something,” Claire muttered to herself, smiling at how Sally would shit her pants if she knew the truth.
Claire could see, of course, that Sally was equally upset about how all this would impact her financially along with the hassle of finding another roommate. She felt guilty for letting Sally down on such short notice, but, hey—it was her life, and the future was wide open.
“What about next month’s fucking rent? I don’t have the—the fucking time to get a new roommate. And I sure as shit am not very fucking keen about advertising on fucking Craigslist. Jesus!”
“Relax,” Claire said. “It’ll be all right.”
“For you, maybe.”
It was a selfish thought, Claire knew, but it irked her that Sally couldn’t express even the tiniest bit of happiness for her. Of course, when she thought about it—that she was moving in with a man she had met less than two weeks ago—it didn’t make a lick of sense, but she knew she was doing the right thing.
“Well I think you’re insane!” Sally said.
Ignoring the snarkiness, Claire sighed and, smiling, shook her head and went back to packing up her books. There were a few—especially the science fiction and fantasy Howie Brandenburg had given her when they were dating—that she would just as soon leave behind. She had tried to read them, and she pretended to like them with Howie, but other than a few books by Michael Swanwick, she didn’t think they were even worth burying in a landfill.
“I’m in love, Sal,” she said. “Don’t you get that? I really am.”
“You may think you are, but is he?”
“Is he what?”
“In love…with you? Or are you just another toy?”
“Cut it out. We love each other.”
“Guys like that are just looking for the next toy. He’ll buy you a flashy ring and promise you the world, but you wait and see. He’ll kick you to the curb when he’s through with you.”
“Nope. This is really real, Sally. It’s funny how you don’t know until it comes along.”
“Aww, Jesus. Now you’re going all cheesy on me.”
Sally huffed as she sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing the box of books Claire was packing.
“Come on, girl,” Sally said. “Think what he’s doing.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s using you, is what he’s doing. And you don’t even see it. He’s gonna hurt you. Mark my words.”
Claire wanted to yell at her to stop but found it not worth the energy.
“You don’t think a guy who looks that good and has the money he has doesn’t have a goddamned harem?”
“Maybe he did…in the past…but this is different.”
“How do you know he’s not a mass murderer or a criminal or something?”
The sour smirk on Sally’s face was almost enough to set Claire off, but she fought back the sudden and powerful urge to tell her roommate exactly what she thought of her and her sniveling jealousy.
God, why am I letting this get to me? She wondered. There’s no need to be spiteful or hurtful with a friend.
She wondered briefly if Samael was having a bad influence on her, but she dismissed it and turned back to what she was doing, concentrating on filling up the box of books and winnowing out the ones she didn’t want to keep.
As for Samael possibly being a mass murderer…she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she thought about how Sally would react if she had any idea what he really did.
Of course, she doubted Sally would believe her, anyway.
“You can keep any of my stuff you want—the furniture and stuff,” Claire said, hoping this would mollify her roomie.
“You mean the couch…and the TV?”
Claire thought about the TV, but only for a moment. It had been a gift from her folks a couple of Christmases ago, and she had a strong sentimental attachment to it. Hell, it’s was just a stupid TV. She rarely watched TV as it was, preferring, instead, to read in the evenings when she wasn’t going out. But her parents weren’t exactly rich, and it had been a generous gift. She knew her father had been joking when he said they were giving it to her so he’d have a nice TV to watch football and baseball on when they came down south to visit.
“Sure. Why not? I don’t need it.”
Sally looked at her skeptically.
“It’s a whole new life for me, Sal. I wish you could be happy for me.”
“I am…I am, but—”
She paused and looked at Claire for a long time.
“But what?”
Claire didn’t like this feeling that Sally was envious of her. Envy was a bad emotion, and she tried to avoid it whenever possible. She surely didn’t want Sally to think she was rubbing it in her face, leaving her in the lurch like this. Sally had, after all, also expressed some interest in Samael that night they met, no matter how much she denied it now. Maybe she wished she had hooked up with him then…if that man—that asshole, Ron LaPierre—hadn’t tried to rape her behind the restaurant.
It was a good thing Samael had seen what was going on and reacted.
He probably saved her life.
Claire chuckled to herself, thinking, maybe he saved my life so I could save his soul.
“What’s so funny?” Sally asked. Claire didn’t miss the defensiveness in her voice.
“Nothing…I just…”
She fell quiet.
“Just what?” Sally asked, pressing.
“No. Nothing.”
She hoped that would be the end of it, but Sally obviously wasn’t going to let it drop. Claire hoped they weren’t going to start arguing again. Thankfully, a few seconds later, Sally made an excuse about having to be somewhere and left the apartment.
Just as well, Claire thought. A twinge of sadness almost overwhelmed her when she thought about how she and Sally used to be such good friends and how far they had drifted apart.
Used to be…but that was long ago and far away.
Here she was, opening the door to a brand-new life, and it was sad that her friend couldn’t be happy for her.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was almost three o’clock. Samael had said he would send some people over to her place tomorrow to load up her things and bring them to his house, and here she was, feeling sorry for herself because of Sally.
“Her loss,” she whispered.
She still had all her clothes, her tchotchkes, and some pictures and posters to pack. She jumped when the apartment door slammed shut as Sally left. Claire thought about taking the goddamned TV anyway, just for spite. Besides, whether she needed it or not, her parents had given it to her, so she had every right to take it; but in the end, she decided to leave it. It was the least she could do for her ex-best friend.
~ * ~
The next morning, the phone rang…early. Claire startled awake. Her first thought was that it was Marty, calling from work about one of the assignments she’d left behind on her desk. Maybe he was going to ask her—beg her to reconsider. She felt a twinge of guilt for dumping everything on him without notice, but then h
er next clearest thought was: Screw him!
“H’lo?” she said, squinting to see the caller ID. It registered “Private Number.” She wished she’d checked before she answered, but then—
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
It was Samael.
What the?
“You ready for a road trip?”
Claire made a piglike grunting sound and wiped her face as she tried to focus. The alarm clock by her bedside read 6:45.
“Road trip? What road trip?” The fog took its time dissipating. “It’s too early. I was enjoying my—”
“To visit your parents.”
“My parents?”
“Yeah.”
“Did we talk about this?”
“Not really,” Samael said. His voice sounded hollow over the phone. “I thought we could surprise them…and you.”
“Oh, did you now.” Claire rubbed her face, wiping away the sleep crust. “My parents don’t really enjoy surprises.”
“I’ll bet they’d like to see you, though. Wouldn’t they?”
Claire wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but the real question was—did she want to see them?
Today?
“I’m not sure,” she said. “’Sides, shouldn’t I be here when the movers come?”
“Not necessary. You’d just be under their feet, anyway,” Samael said. Even though she was more—but still not fully—awake, she still heard a funny note in Samael’s voice.
“So come on,” he said. “Get showered and dressed. I’ll be by to pick you up in—say half an hour?”
“I can’t—”
“Sure you can.”
Claire was still trying to clear her mind. She was starting to think it might be a good thing to surprise her folks like this. It would save her the anticipation of a planned meeting…and it might be fun.
“Give me forty-five. I need my coffee,” she said, gazing at her ring and chuckling, thinking about how her folks, especially her mother, would react when they saw it…not to mention her handsome—and rich—fiancé.
“All rightie, then,” Samael said. “I’ll be there at seven thirty.”
“Yeah,” Claire said, still wondering if she could pull it together that fast. She was used to hurrying out the door to get to work. Now that she didn’t need to do that…would never need to do that, she wanted to take her time…luxuriate a little.
“Love you,” she said.
Samael muttered something unintelligible and hung up.
Weird, she thought as she swung her legs out from under the bedcovers. Samael was usually so full of sweet nothings on the phone. She decided the signal must have dropped and never gave it a second thought.
Later, she would wish she had, but for now, she trudged from her bedroom to the kitchen to make coffee, vaguely thinking that this was the last morning she would wake up in her apartment.
Starting today—right now—was a whole new life for her.
~ * ~
The drive north on Interstate 95 to Houlton was—as always—achingly boring.
Pine trees…pine trees…and—oh yeah, more pine trees.
Every time Claire drove it, she vowed it was for the last time, but as long as her folks were still alive, she knew she’d be making the trip at least two or three times a year. For the first time in memory, though, the time went by fast. Too fast. She had brought her iPod along, and they played music nonstop. Claire played some of her favorites: The Dodos, Beach House, Raul Malo, and—her guilty pleasure—the oldie band, INXS; while Samael’s favorites, not surprisingly, ran more to 60s and 70s hard rock and heavy-metal bands like Black Sabbath, AC/DC, and Alice Cooper. This struck Claire as amusing because she didn’t think Samael would fall into such a cliché.
The music was incidental, though—a soundtrack to the day as she and Samael talked about anything and everything. In the first flush of “getting to know you,” Claire revealed things about herself to Samael that she had never admitted before to anyone.
Claire told him that in grammar school she had been a “paste eater” and been tormented for it. She couldn’t tell if Samael’s comment that “paste tastes good” was meant seriously or ironically, but she let it slide. After all, Annie Murchin ate her own boogers, even though she thought nobody knew it. Claire also confessed other, darker secrets—like how she had “experimented” with a brief lesbian fling in college—and a few times in college…and after…when she shoplifted things, mostly food and toiletries she couldn’t afford at the time.
At least that was her justification back then. She regretted it now, but she didn’t think she’d go to Hell for it.
Samael’s comment was something like that was perfectly understandable, but what did she expect, coming from a demon?
When they slowed for the Houlton exit off I-95, her heart began to race a little faster, and she steeled herself mentally for the onslaught she expected—no, she knew was coming when her folks—especially her father—met Samael. She was confident that Samael could hold his own with them, but still—she was nervous.
Hell, she thought, all he has to do is use The Voice, and it’ll be done and over with.
But she was looking forward to presenting Samael as her future husband. She prayed they’d be happy she was—finally—getting married and to see that she had caught a good one…who even had money.
“You think your parents will like me?” Samael asked as he took a left-hand turn off the exit ramp.
“How’d you know to turn left here?” Claire asked, suddenly suspicious.
Samael smiled and said, “What, you don’t think I Googled Callaghan Road before we left? Besides—”
With a nod of the head, he indicated the on-board GPS that displayed their position and destination even though the sound had been turned off for much of the drive.
“You know, Claire, if this is going to work, you really do have to start trusting me.”
Claire choked back any protestation and nodded.
“I do,” she said. “I really do. It’s just that…sometimes I—”
She wanted to tell him that he seemed distant and aloof today…more than usual. It was probably because he, too, might be nervous about meeting her parents, but what did he have to worry about?
“I know,” Samael said with a mild laugh. “I don’t blame you in the least. To be quite honest, it’s taking me some time getting used to this new way of looking at life.”
Satisfied, Claire settled into her seat and decided that worrying about this visit with her parents was worry enough for now. She was sure Samael would impress the Hell out of them, and she chuckled at the thought.
~ * ~
“Nice to meet yah, young fella’,” Gus McMullen said, extending his hand and shaking with Samael after giving Claire a quick kiss on the forehead. Claire thought he was putting on the “Old Man Act” a little too thick. He was, after all, only sixty-two, but he still had a fine crop of hair, and his green eyes sparkled like sunlight on a stream.
But as welcoming as he was, Claire thought the tone in her father’s voice subtly communicated the exact opposite. And she caught her father staring intently at Samael as if challenging him for possession of his daughter. Regardless, she was determined to make this encounter slide by as easily as possible. No upsets. No arguments. They planned to be on the Interstate heading back to Portland within a few hours.
“Nice to meet you, too, sir,” Samael said, his voice as oily smooth as a late-night FM disk jockey…or a used- car salesman, as he shook her father’s hand and did a quick bow.
Putting it on a bit thick, there, don’t you think? Claire thought, grinning.
When her mother joined them on the front porch, she gave Claire a bear hug that almost stopped her breath. She’d always gotten along much better with her mother than her dad, but he had always been protective of her. She knew it had been for her own good, but still—she had rebelled.
“Oh, my Heavens—what a pleasant surprise,” Anne McMullen said, wiping he
r hands on her tattered and faded apron. Her long gray hair was tied back in a loose bun on the back of her head. Her eyes, unlike her husband’s, looked dim and tired behind round glasses that gave her face an owlish look.
Claire had noticed Samael’s slight wince when she said the word “Heavens” and wondered—briefly—why that would bother him when he was getting comfortable saying the names God and Jesus.
“You should have called and told us you were on your way,” her mother said.
“We wanted to surprise you. Besides, we can’t stay very long.”
“Nonsense. You’re not going to drive all this way and not stay for supper,” her father said.
“You should have let me know,” her mother said. “I’m a frightful mess. I wasn’t expecting company today.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses.
“It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Claire said, glancing over at Samael and smiling.
“A five hour road trip is ‘spur-of-the-moment’?” her father said.
As usual, he had a cigar going and, as usual, the smell both repelled Claire and filled her with nostalgia, reminding her she was truly home. He held the door open for them, and they all entered the foyer.
“I don’t see any luggage,” her mother said. “Surely you’re going to stay the night.”
Claire and Samael exchanged glances. They had already agreed what they would say when this subject came up.
“Sorry, but we can’t,” Claire said simply. “Samael has to get back to the office first thing in the morning for an important meeting.”
“Oh?” her father said, turning to Samael. “And what is your line of work?”
Samael smiled but said nothing.
“He’s a businessman,” Claire said, realizing that she still wasn’t sure exactly what he did. How could she explain that he gathered—or used to gather—souls? She didn’t see how getting people to sell their souls could be profitable, but she wasn’t about to bring it up now.
Clair’s father squinted around a wreath of cigar smoke and said, “What exactly might that business be?”