The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

  She tried again to connect with Samael.

  “Is it really dead?” she asked. “I mean, how can you kill something that’s supernatural like that?”

  “It can be destroyed…at least driven away for the time being.”

  “Does that mean you’re also in some ways mortal?”

  “As far as you’re concerned, it’s dead…Leave it at that, okay?”

  “I don’t want to leave it at that.” It was difficult to keep her anger in check. “I have to know…We have to share everything!”

  “Even if it causes you pain?”

  “Yes!” she said impatiently. “Even then”…although she wondered even as she spoke what she had just agreed to.

  Samael looked at her now, his eyes as dark and glistening as black onyx. The wounded expression on his face made her heart swell with love and pity.

  “You want to know even if once you know it, you will utterly despise me?”

  “I couldn’t…I would never despise you, Samael. I love you.”

  Samael sniffed, making Claire feel as though her concern and care were inconsequential. That hurt. She stood up and began pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor. Her bare feet made faint squeaking sounds every time she turned and continued pacing.

  “I don’t give a damn about anything else,” she said, still struggling to control her anger, “but tell me…What really happened to Sally? I mean really. Is she all right? Or did you…did you really kill her last night with that sword?”

  “It wasn’t her,” he said simply.

  Relief flooded Claire like a geyser of cold water.

  “Then who was it?”

  “He has many names…and many manifestations, but other than a few things I have to do—some loose ends, you could say, that I have to tie up, it looks like it’s over for now.”

  “Are you positive?” she asked.

  “Come on, Claire. Be sensible. Do you think Evil is ever defeated or ever goes away?”

  Claire was silent.

  “Evil is always around—always has been. Always will be. And it takes any form that suits it in order to weasel its way into your life. Try as we might—even someone as kindhearted and forgiving as you are—will eventually be tripped up.”

  He lowered his gaze and clenched his fists so tightly they looked like ridged rocks on the table. Claire tensed. She had never seen him this angry…or dangerous…before.

  “So if you want to know if it’s over, I say yes, for now it is. But I have to…to do some things before I can be certain.”

  “What things, exactly?” she asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, I’m afraid, but first—”

  He sighed and reached out to her. She walked quickly over to him and, leaning down, clasped both of his hands. They trembled like captive birds in her grip.

  Samael sighed and pressed his face hard against her chest. His breath was hot on her skin through the fabric of her clothes.

  “First, then.” He heaved a shuddering sigh. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  An icy blade of anticipation sliced through Claire, and she involuntarily held him all the closer, wishing she could engulf him. After a few moments, he pulled away from her.

  “You may want to sit down.”

  Claire looked at his upturned face, seeing the heavy sadness in his eyes. With a pang of foreboding, she went back to her chair and sat down.

  “All right, then,” she said. She put her hands over his, took a sharp breath, held it, and then let it out in a long, slow exhalation. “Tell me.”

  “That night—” he began, and Claire knew instantly that he was talking about the night they met outside Margarita's Grille. It had only been a couple of weeks ago although it seemed a lifetime—if not ages—ago.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, coaxing him to continue.

  “It was me,” Samael said simply.

  Claire was jolted by what he said, but she was also confused.

  “Of course it was you.”

  On some level, she knew something bad was coming, but she had no idea what.

  “We met after that horrible man tried to—”

  “No. That’s not what I mean.” He took a heavy breath. “I was the one who tried to rape you.”

  Saying that, Samael hung his head. Claire was stunned.

  “I…I don’t quite get what you mean,” she said. “It was that creep…that LaPierre guy who…who did it. And you showed up and saved me.”

  Samael started shaking his head from side to side and let out the most pitiable groan she had ever heard a man—or a demon—make.

  “It wasn’t LaPierre.” He tilted his head back and sighed, blinking his eyes rapidly as he stared up at the ceiling for a long time. “I possessed him. I made him do it.”

  With those words, it felt like the bottom fell out of Claire’s stomach.

  “You…you what?”

  “I saw you in the restaurant,” Samael said, “and after we talked, I waited for you to come outside. When you did, and you were alone, I did something I know now I shouldn’t have done.

  What was that? Claire wanted to ask, but she was afraid she already knew.

  “I took possession of LaPierre, who was nearby. I entered his body. I used him—used his body to try to attack you—”

  “Rape me, you mean.”

  Samael was staring down at his feet.

  “But then I looked at you, and I changed my mind, so before he—or I—did it, I left him and returned to this body so I could rescue you…so I could be your white knight.”

  Claire was beyond stunned. Her mouth was hanging open, and there may have even been some sounds coming out of her, but they were far from intelligible or even human.

  “I did it to…as a way to get to you…” He looked directly at her now, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You have no idea how sorry I am…how humiliating this is—how ashamed I am now that I would even think to do something like that. It sickens me.”

  His voice took on a high-pitched buzzing quality that made it difficult to understand what he was saying. Claire remembered the wasp demon on the bus and wondered if that had actually been him…his true form.

  “But that was before I—”

  His voice choked off. Tears ran freely down his cheeks.

  She was surprised—again—to realize that demons—at least her demon—could cry.

  “Before you what?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong for the emotions she was feeling.

  He regarded her steadily now, his eyes glistening, black. For some reason, seeing him vulnerable like this made it easier to hold back her own tears and rage.

  “Before you what?” she said again, even stronger.

  “Before I…wanted to…change,” he said softly.

  The volume of his voice was a fraction of what she knew it could be. She had never seen anyone so crushed…so utterly defeated, but instead of being angry or upset, because love knows no reason, her heart ached for him and what he was going through. He had lost all of his former power and confidence, as if his life force had suddenly drained out of him.

  But a hot wave of anger also churned deep inside her.

  How can I love a man…or a demon…who would do something like that?

  He tricked me!…He used me!…

  Why?

  “You used me!” she said. It hurt like Hell to say it out loud, but she released his hands and scooted her chair back, away from the table. “How could you?…You didn’t need to…and LaPierre. Framing an innocent man…and…and driving him to suicide—”

  “I didn’t do that,” Samael said. “That was his choice, all the way.”

  “But he might not have done it if you hadn’t set him up in the first place.”

  “Trust me. He would have, but I know you’re right.” Samael’s face had lost its ruddy hue. He looked pale and gaunt. With the ceiling light shining down from above, his cheekbones stood out in stark relief. The shadows under his eyes were in
finitely dark and deep. He looked both pathetic—a mere shell of what he once had been—and, at the same time, absolutely evil. His eyes, as black as polished marble, fixed on her.

  Where did the gold flecks go?

  He opened his mouth to speak, and she saw his double-tipped tongue flickering back and forth like a snake’s, tasting the air…smelling her emotions.

  “That’s the whole fucking problem,” Samael finally said. He squared his shoulders and looked as if he was about to stand up to come to her, but when Claire flinched, he sat back down.

  “You have to understand,” he said in a low, trembling voice. “I’ve done a lot of evil things…things I’m not proud of—things that will take centuries to be forgiven—if they ever are, but you have to know before I go away that I truly love you, and that you really are the one—”

  “The one?”

  “I don’t know how or why this happened when it did, but—yes, you’re the one…the only person…the only mortal I’ve ever met who made me want to change. That’s why I married you…to make an irrevocable commitment to you, not to Evil.”

  Claire was filled with conflicting emotions. All she could do was look at Samael as she tried to sort her thoughts. He’d given everything up for her, and she believed in him—she truly did. She trusted him…with her life.

  “I know you did…and I’m amazed beyond belief that you would do that for me,” she said. “But I gave up my life, too. For you. And—look at us! Stuck in this house with these…these creatures that I couldn’t even imagine before I met you trying to…to destroy us.”

  “They’re only after—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know they’re after you, but you have to face the fact that I’m…it hurts that I didn’t get a fine romance and a fancy wedding much less a honeymoon.”

  “I can make that up to you.”

  “When? How long is this…this attack going to last?” She chuckled softly to herself. “I don’t think we’re going to have what anyone would call a normal life, and the way I see it, the future doesn’t look so bright, either.”

  Samael stared at her, his mouth a thin line.

  “Does that mean you…you don’t—”

  “Love you? Of course I love you, Samael. And I think—no, I know I made the right choice. It’s just…”

  A smile played across Samael’s face as he looked at her. Claire could tell he wanted to get up, walk over to her, and give her a tremendous hug and kiss, but she could also see that he was holding back. Then she remembered something he had said…something that had slid right past her.

  “Wait a second,” she said. “You said…What did you just say about maybe having to go away?”

  Samael looked at her without saying a word. The expression on his face was impossible to read, now, but then he slowly nodded.

  “I did…I do…have to go away,” he whispered.

  “You mean you’re…leaving me?” Claire was stunned. A cold emptiness opened up in the pit of her stomach. “Are you saying…”

  “I’m saying I have to go away…for a while…as part of my redemption.”

  Claire was dumbfounded by this, and without realizing it, she started shaking her head from side to side as if she still hadn’t heard him correctly or as if she didn’t believe him.

  “Where are you going?” she asked with a desperate edge in her voice. “Why do you have to—? What’s this for?”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” Samael replied, and Claire was happy to hear more of the usual iron in his voice once again.

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang, the deep-throated gong reverberating through the house.

  She cringed when she heard Michelle’s slow footsteps echo in the entryway.

  And then the door opened. A moment before Michelle entered the kitchen, a draft of chilled air wrapped around Claire’s ankles like a sudden flood of water.

  “Detective Trudeau is here to speak with you, sir,” Michelle said simply.

  Claire looked at her, wondering for the first time where Michelle had come from.

  Was she here last night?

  Does she have any idea what had happened?

  There was no way of knowing, and Claire was positive Michelle, for all of her apparent subservience, would never tell her if she asked directly.

  Samael’s mouth tightened into a thin, pale line. His face was bloodless, as white as chalk as he nodded. When he stood up from the table, placing both hands on the table edge for support, Claire could not believe how the life had drained out of him. They made brief but intense eye contact. His dark eyes were flat…empty, as if he had already died, and his body was animated by something else.

  She knew she had to go to him. She had to stand by him. Those wedding day vows, as clichéd as she thought they might be, were real. She had to be there for him no matter what had happened…or was going to happen.

  She followed Samael out of the kitchen and down the hall to the foyer. Detective Trudeau was accompanied by two uniformed policemen. He was talking intensely to Samael, but they broke off the conversation before Claire joined them. She didn’t miss the look—of what? Sympathy? Pity?—Trudeau gave her before acknowledging her with a nod.

  “Mornin’ Miss McMullen,” he said.

  “That’s Mrs. Pierson,” Claire said. Even before the words were out of her mouth, she had the disquieting thought that this was not Samael’s real name. He probably didn’t have a real last name and had adopted Pierson for legal reasons…to get him by in the world.

  “You’re married?” Trudeau said, looking genuinely surprised. “When did that happen?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, as a matter of fact,” Samael said.

  The expression on Trudeau’s face hardened like lines scratched in concrete as he turned to Samael and said, “Well, that doesn’t change anything. You still have to come with us.”

  One of the officers snapped a pair of handcuffs off his utility belt and started toward Samael, but Trudeau held out a hand and checked him.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, the officer scowled at Samael and then backed down.

  “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Claire asked. It was obvious the police were here to arrest Samael...or at least take him downtown to the station, but why?

  “We want to ask your husband a few questions,” Trudeau said. “He won’t be gone long.”

  There was something in his tone of voice, though, that made it clear—at least to Claire—that it might not be the case. If Trudeau had his way, Samael wouldn’t be back…maybe ever. She could see that the detective had it in for Samael. If he couldn’t pin LaPierre’s suicide on him, he was trying to find something else to hang on him.

  “I’ll walk you to the car,” Claire said, seeing the cruiser parked out front. At least its lights weren’t flashing. When she took hold of Samael’s arm, she noticed that both police officers changed their stance as if they were expecting her to freak out or start fighting.

  “You don’t have to,” Samael said, smiling at her mildly. For some reason, his smile reminded her of Michael. And when they looked each other in the eyes, she saw—once again—that his directness and control was back. Relief all but overwhelmed her.

  They were in this together.

  “Come along, then, Mr. Pierson,” Trudeau said.

  He stepped aside so Samael could grab a coat from the closet, and then they walked outside with the patrolmen a few steps behind.

  Claire walked proudly with Samael down the steps to the long, curving driveway. She smiled as Samael got into the back seat of the police cruiser. Before they closed the door on him, he looked at her. She couldn’t possibly miss the twinkle in his eyes as he waved to her and whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  She leaned down, kissed him on the cheek, and then stepped back before one of the officers closed the cruiser door. As she watched them drive away, she almost believed that everything was going
to be all right.

  Almost.

  Because something deep inside her told her things weren’t even close to all right.

  ~ * ~

  Later that day, about three hours after Samael had driven off with Trudeau and the police, Claire’s cell phone rang. Her heart leaped when she thought it would—finally—be Samael calling to tell her what the Hell was going on.

  But, now—it was Sally.

  “What the—” Claire muttered as she raised her phone to her ear.

  “Sally?”

  “Now do you believe me?”

  Claire was caught completely off guard.

  “Sally…How are you? Where are you?”

  “I’m in the frigging hospital, is where I am.”

  “The hospital?”

  “Yeah, thanks to that scumbag boyfriend of yours…or is it husband, now?”

  “Yeah. Husband. We—ahh. You never showed up yesterday, and when we came by the apartment to—”

  “That’s because your creep-a-zoid husband of yours got there first.”

  “What? When was that?”

  “Around ten o’clock…I was getting ready to come down to City Hall, and—”

  “No. That’s not right.”

  “Bullshit! He came here, and he…he…”

  “That’s impossible. We were together all morning. He couldn’t have been—”

  “And now I’m in the hospital…because of…of what he did to me.”

  A sudden pressure clamped down on Claire’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. Her vision shimmered and flickered, like the air was dancing with heat lightning.

  “You’re in the hospital? When…? How did you—?”

  “He beat the crap out of me, Claire!”

  Sally’s voice choked off, but her words cut through Claire’s confusion and rising panic. At first, she didn’t believe what she had heard. Then she wanted to say something in Samael’s defense, but it felt as though unseen hands were holding her by the throat.

  “Did you hear me? That piece of shit came to the apartment…on the day he was going to marry you…He beat me up and he…he trashed my apartment.”