The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

  “I am…It’s just…It’s not fair. You and I both know you didn’t do it. You couldn’t have done what she says.”

  Samael nodded while maintaining steady eye contact with her.

  “We’ll have to prove it,” he said with a slow, measured tone of voice. “Either that, or I’ll take the punishment that’s coming.”

  “You can’t! You didn’t do anything!”

  “But there’s no way I can prove I’m innocent…not without revealing…you know.”

  “That you’re a de—”

  “Don’t say it out loud,” he said, and his grip on her shoulder tightened painfully. He lowered his gaze until he was staring down at the cracked, linoleum floor. “I mean—all things considered, if I got punished for everything I’ve ever done wrong, your great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren wouldn’t see me get out of prison.”

  “I don’t think you’d want to be in prison that long,” Claire said wryly.

  He sniffed with laughter and shook his head slowly from side to side at the thought.

  “Actually, it’s not funny, Samael,” Claire paused, bracing herself before saying, “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll have to see what happens.”

  “You mean you’ll just wait around for…whatever?”

  “At this point, it’s Sally’s word against mine. No witnesses, so the police will investigate, but my double’s fingerprints are all over the apartment from when I was there.”

  Samael kept shaking his head and staring down at the floor as he spoke, then he raised his head and looked directly at her, his dark eyes shimmering. “Barring a miracle, they have enough to put me away for up to ten years, according to my lawyer.”

  “Ten years? Are you—?”

  Samael nodded.

  “Tony says he can probably plea bargain down to five years.”

  “Ten years…or maybe five,” Claire said, trying to grasp just how long that would be—

  Half of eternity.

  “It’ll be tough, I know.” Samael gritted his teeth. “It sounds like a long time to you.”

  “A day is too long away from you.”

  Samael nodded and said, “I keep forgetting how—”

  He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. Claire knew he meant to say: How short your human lifespan is.

  And it was true.

  Even if she lived with him as his wife to a ripe old age of, say ninety, it would be no more than a blink of the eye for someone who was practically immortal. But in the grand scheme of things, that small amount of time was all she would ever have with him, so every day meant everything to her. She wasn’t about to let even the tiniest bit of it slip.

  “You’re going to fight it, right?” she asked.

  “Of course. Like I said, I’m going to plead innocent, but if I get convicted, we can argue for the least possible time in jail. It’s not like I have a criminal record or anything.”

  “That they know of,” Claire whispered, and they both chuckled at that.

  They were still touching through the bars, and she tightened her grip on the sleeves of his orange jumpsuit and shook him as hard as she could. “We’re not going to let them get away with this.”

  Samael cocked his head to one side as though he was listening to something far off…something she couldn’t hear.

  “Well…? Are we…?”

  “There’s…” He took a quick breath and held it. Then he let it go. “I’m not entirely sure I can control any of this. There are forces at work here that even I don’t fully understand.”

  “But you’re totally innocent!”

  “Yes! Absolutely! I’m not lying to you. But there’s a lot more I’m being held accountable for by…others.”

  “Who are they? Who’s holding you accountable?”

  Samael’s only reply was a sad shake of the head as he stared into her eyes so intently she was positive he was reading her mind.

  “You keep saying there are things I won’t understand…that it’s all too complicated. Well, seriously. How stupid do you think I am?” She was speaking so fast, the words pouring out of her, she became breathless. “I’m your wife, Goddamn it! You have to tell me everything that’s going on!”

  Samael regarded her sympathetically, and in a low, gentle voice, said, “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Everything you want to, you mean.”

  “Everything I can, Claire. Some things are beyond words. I’m not trying to duck your question, love. But I really can’t explain it all.”

  “Could you use…you know…”

  “Magic?” Samael scowled. “Of course I could…but I won’t.”

  “Why not? If it means—”

  “Because if I do—if I use it, I’ll…I could slip back into my old ways. Once I gave that all up, I— No.” He shook his head. “I can’t. So—please. Don’t ask me to.”

  Claire wanted to say something—to insist that he was wrong…that they could still fight this one way or another, but she couldn’t find the words. All she could do was stare at him and think that everything she had hoped and prayed for was slipping away inexorably…that it had already slipped away.

  The life she had hoped to have with Samael was already dead and gone.

  But only now was she noticing that sad, simple fact.

  “So…so what do you need me to do?” she finally asked, her voice husky with emotion.

  Tears filled Samael’s eyes, and she could see that he really was one hundred percent honest and sincere when he said falling in love with her had changed him and made him want to repent. She didn’t understand why, but it was a fact.

  “Just keep loving me, Claire. Don’t leave me.”

  “Loving you is the easy part,” Claire said. She leaned closer and lowered her voice in case Trudeau or someone was monitoring their conversation. “But you still have your powers…your supernatural powers, right?”

  Samael’s lack of a reaction unnerved her, and they stared at each other for a long time without speaking until the answer occurred to her.

  Days, months, and years later, Claire was never sure if it was her own thought or a thought Samael planted inside her head through the power of suggestion or whatever. Maybe he had even spoken it out loud, but finally, she knew or at least had an inkling of what the answer was.

  He had given up some…maybe all of his supernatural powers when he decided to repent.

  Is that what’s happening now?

  Is he becoming mortal…like me?

  When—not if…when he got out of prison, would he have as short a lifespan as any normal person?

  “Will you stay with me?” he asked, looking desperate. His dark eyes gleamed.

  “You don’t have to ask me that. You know I will.” Raw emotion twisted her voice, and a burning sensation took hold of her throat. It was difficult for her to continue without breaking down, but somehow she maintained control. “I don’t care how long it takes. Even if you go to prison for something you didn’t do, I’ll be faithful to you and wait for you no matter what…even if you have to go to Hell.”

  Samael beamed a smile at her, but then his expression drooped, and he backed away, extending his arms to display his orange prison jumpsuit.

  “I’m already in Hell,” he said softly, “because I’m not out there with you.”

  ~ * ~

  The next few weeks and months certainly were a living Hell for Claire, mostly because she felt totally insignificant and helpless as the wheels of justice—or injustice, as she increasingly came to regard the legal system—ground slowly onward.

  There were so many times she wanted to call Sally or go over to the apartment and visit her, but Tony, Samael’s lawyer, said it would be illegal for her to have any contact with her husband’s accuser. The court might construe that as witness tampering or an attempt to threaten or intimidate the plaintiff.

  As it turned out, Michael returned to the house the day after Samael was taken off to jail. Over
the next few weeks and months, he came and went seemingly as he pleased. Claire knew enough not to ask him where he was going or what he was up to, but she sensed important things were astir…major issues were being decided. Michael volunteered little to no information.

  His simple presence was an amazing emotional support for Claire, giving her comfort and confidence that she could cope with anything that came her way. Still, even with the support of an actual angel and Samael’s lawyer, whose origin—demonic or angelic—Claire never could determine, Samael was found guilty on all counts. Because of Claire’s earnest testimony in Samael’s defense, and because Sally’s testimony was inconsistent to the point of irrational, almost like she was relating a bad dream, and because of the smooth sophistry of Samael’s lawyer’s skill, Samael received the minimum sentence.

  With time off for good behavior, he’d be out in less than five years.

  That was still too long as far as Claire was concerned. She hated being separated from him for even an hour.

  Immediately after the trial, Samael was sent to the state prison in Warren. His lawyer, of course, planned to appeal because Sally’s testimony had been so erratic and contradictory, but Claire doubted it would do any good.

  Less than five years still seemed like half an eternity to her.

  Every day did.

  One thing that bothered Claire was she never heard from Sally again, even though she called her several times after the trial. Finally, after three months, she gave up, resigned to the fact that she had lost her best friend.

  Over the first few months while Samael was in jail, Claire kept insisting to him that she should sell the house and either buy or rent a place closer to the state prison so she could visit him as long as possible every day. Samael told her not to. He explained—obliquely, as he often did—that there were aspects of the house that would be impossible to hide from or explain to any prospective buyers. Michael confirmed Samael’s decision, but when she asked him why, he—like Samael—told her not to worry about it. She was irritated at being given another “It’s too complicated for you to understand” explanation, but she still secretly held out the hope that Samael and Michael would use their supernatural powers to help him escape.

  During the third week of June, something unusual happened.

  It was Wednesday night. The weather was much warmer than usual for Maine with the humidity climbing so high that even at night it felt more like August in Philadelphia than June in Maine. As she did every day, Claire had driven from Falmouth to Warren and visited with Samael, who—as usual—told her that he was holding up just fine, all things considered.

  It was so good to see him she let his little white lie pass. She could tell by the expression on his face that being separated from her was hurting him as much as it was hurting her.

  Claire matched him lie for lie and told him she was doing fine, too.

  The lies became a game between them, but each of them could see through the other’s façade. One June day, though, before she left, she turned to him and said, “So tell me—honestly. Did you lose your supernatural powers or are you purposely not using them.”

  “Things are…changing,” he said.

  Claire didn’t appreciate the evasion.

  “All I want to know is, could you get out if you wanted to.”

  He didn’t answer for a long time, and then he finally said, “You wouldn’t or couldn’t understand the forces I’m at the mercy of.”

  “You mean inside? They’re still trying to get to you inside?”

  Samael shook his head.

  “You don’t have to worry. Honest.”

  “So what’s changed?” she asked.

  “You’ll find out all in due time,” was all he said…rather cryptically, but that wouldn’t satisfy her, and they both knew it.

  Late that same night after this conversation, exhausted from the drive and the visit, Claire was lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. The house always seemed much too big and empty without him…as did the bed. The night air was sticky with humidity. Claire found it odd, but somehow unsurprising that such an elegant home would not have central air. She was restless, feeling desperately lonely for Samael.

  Like tonight’s any different from any other.

  She still hadn’t figured out where their maid Michelle kept herself during the days or nights, but she had the uncanny ability to appear whenever her services were needed and then disappear just as quickly and mysteriously. She did, however, notice that Michelle’s attitude had improved. She was almost cheerful and chatty these days. Maybe she’d made an arrangement with Michael.

  Thinking and worrying about Samael kept Claire tossing and turning until well past midnight. She was despairing because she was going to have to get up early again tomorrow morning and drive to Warren.

  But the harder she tried to fall asleep, the more awake she became. She lay there outside the covers, listening to the leathery rustle of oak leaves, stirred by a few fitful gusts of wind. She hugged the pillow to her chest and inhaled, convinced that faint traces of Samael’s scent still lingered on it, even after all this time.

  “I’m like a damned dog,” she whispered to herself in the dark and smiled.

  At some point—she wasn’t sure when because she had finally started to drift off—the sound of the leaves fluttering outside in the wind took on a steadier sound that gradually invaded her awareness. After a long while, she thought that it sounded like a mass of buzzing insects—hornets, perhaps…or flies—somewhere in the room…in the window, perhaps.

  Claire stirred uneasily in bed, tossing from side to side, her mind coasting along with the sound as it rose and fell in the darkness. It created a white noise that lured her further into a dreamlike state until—finally—she remembered that she had heard that sound before.

  On a bus…

  Leaving Houlton!

  What the hell is that sound?

  She jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in bed and looked around.

  The bedroom was perfectly silent. A thin trace of moonlight spilled through the south-facing windows, lighting the curtains with a gauzy light. The memory of the sound remained like a faint echo or a buzzing inside her head.

  “Is…is someone there?” she called out.

  Her eyes shifted back and forth as she tried to pierce the darkness in the room. She could reach across the bed and turn on the bedside light, but she didn’t dare move. She didn’t want to feel any more exposed in the sudden burst of light. She felt totally vulnerable, like when a bloodthirsty predator has fixed its attention on its prey…only she was the prey.

  Is the house still safe?

  Are Michael’s defenses still up?

  Her body stiffened, and she let out a faint whimper when she saw a dark shape filling one of the bedroom windows. A blacker-than-night silhouette was etched against the glowing night sky.

  Her first thought was that it was Samael, leaning in through the opened window and watching her. She almost leaped from the bed, but then it hit her.

  He couldn’t be outside a second-story window, standing like he was on solid ground.

  “Is that…you?” she called out in a dry, strangled whisper.

  There was no answer, but the silhouette in the window shifted.

  And as it did, the steady humming sound of buzzing insects that had awakened her got louder. She also heard faint clicking sounds, like dozens or hundreds of insects were bouncing against the window screen.

  Moving slowly, she got up off the bed and, still keeping all of the lights off, approached the window. When she was about halfway there, she stopped and, peering into the darkness, tried to make out the figure.

  It was still there. It hadn’t moved. Its edges were rough, irregular, and the whole silhouette appeared to be vibrating along with the steadily rising buzzing sound that filled the room, setting her nerves on edge.

  Claire wished she had a flashlight she could shine on the figure. There was one in the bathroom for emergenci
es when the power went out during a storm or whatever, but she didn’t dare turn her back on…whatever this was outside her window.

  She sucked in another breath and whispered, “Samael?”

  The buzzing sound paused for a moment, leaving behind an eerie vacuum that made Claire’s ear thump in time with her rapid-fire pulse.

  Then—

  Is this really happening … or am I dreaming?

  —the solid black figure in the window shifted and became more solid.

  “…Claire…”

  He whispered her name so softly she didn’t believe she actually heard it, but it had definitely sounded like Samael’s voice.

  Is it in my head?

  She was convinced now that she was dreaming, but to determine if she was awake, she pinched the back of her hand. It felt like a bee sting, and when she looked down at her hand, she saw a dark insect shape—a large wasp—crawling up the back of her hand to her wrist.

  She let out a shrill scream and swatted it at the same time, feeling the hard shell of the insect’s body crushed against her flesh.

  When she looked at the dark figure in the window again, it was darker than a shadow in the night. The features were impossible to see, but the silhouette certainly looked like Samael.

  Her gaze was transfixed as she stared at the dense, black shape.

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?” Samael said.

  His voice was oddly distorted, as if it was being made not by vocal cords, but by the synchronized buzzing of the insects that were massing against the window. The dark shape was pulsating in the darkness. Claire was swept by a feeling of vertigo and felt as if she would suddenly pitch forward and fall into it.

  “It’s your house,” Claire said, deciding to put whoever or whatever it was to the test. “Do you need to be invited inside?”

  “Not at all,” a voice that sounded incredibly like Samael’s said. “Only vampires need an invitation. I just didn’t want to frighten you if you saw me in my original form.”

  Without another word, the dark figure pressed against the screen, making it bulge inwards. The buzzing sound dropped away, and Claire watched, fascinated, as the dark shape oozed through the fine metal mesh and began to take form in front of her.