Demon Dance

by Brian Freyermuth

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  She didn’t say anything. “Are you Amanda?” I asked. The girl nodded solemnly. “Does your mother know you’re here?” Another nod. I squatted down on my haunches to meet her eye to eye while ignoring the spike of pain through my right knee.

  “You don’t talk to strangers, huh?” A ghost of a smile crossed the girl’s face and she nodded again. “Well, Ms. Amanda, my name is Nick St. James.” I stretched my hand toward her. She giggled and shook it with her right hand, her left still hiding behind her back. “There. We aren’t strangers anymore.”

  The child laughed, the sound making the sunshine a bit brighter. Growing serious, she pulled out the hand hidden behind her back and solemnly presented me with her gift.

  I looked down at the drawing. A nasty bug with ten arms and legs lay squashed on the ground. A stick man made of orange crayon stood on the creature’s back, one hand raised to the sky. In his tiny round fist he held a bright red stop sign. Golden rays shot from the man’s head and a huge smile of victory went from one side of his face to the other.

  The girl walked up to me as I looked at the picture. “You squashed the bad man,” she whispered. “Are you an angel?”

  I looked at her. “Me? I’m no angel. Just…kinda like a superhero. My power is the power of sarcasm. The word is mightier than the spur…” I stopped. “And you have no idea what I’m talking about.” She giggled again. “But thank you for the picture.”

  She grinned happily and ran from the room. I could hear her footsteps fading into the distance. I carefully folded the picture and put it in my back pocket before following the girl out into the homeless shelter.

  From its dense concrete walls, bright skylights, and cavernous space, I figured the Arms of St. Padre Pio had once housed other freight besides the human kind dwelling there now. The dim sunlight covered the sad denizens of the place as they ate their dinners in silence. A few sat in whispered conferences with others, but most separated themselves, concentrating on their dinner or on the warmth of the space heaters. Little islands escaping the storm.

  I didn’t see Beth or her daughter, but I didn’t seek them out. I didn’t want to push her more than I already had. So I stepped around a bear of a man shuffling down the center of the room and prepared to head out into the rain.

  A hand lightly touched my arm as I approached the exit. Now usually I’d react badly to that, especially with demons hunting me, but I was too damn tired to care.

  A man stood next to me, and I kicked myself for not hearing him approach. Thick black curls framed a swarthy face lined with a roadmap of the Seattle streets. The man looked Middle Eastern, maybe from Iran or Iraq. He towered over my frame, topping off at around six foot five at least. A bulky army jacket hid most of him from view, along with dirty jeans and a pair of biker boots. He might be one of the denizens that frequented St. Padre’s, but I knew instinctively that it was by choice instead of circumstance. The streets were a good place to hide.

  “Can I help you?” I asked him.

  His hard eyes crinkled, and a smile played over his lips. “You are the one who rescued Beth, yes?”

  His voice held a strange accent. His words brought images of rolling sand to my mind. Desolation. He removed his hand from my arm and gestured. We stepped away from the door and made our way around the human islands to a darkened corner.

  “Did she tell you?” I asked him when I was sure no one could hear.

  The man nodded. “I helped carry you in. You are much heavier than you look.”

  “I work out.” Now it was my turn for a thin smile. “But what did she tell you exactly?”

  “She told me fantastical things. A man with blades in his arms and the strength of ten men. Flames that leaped up from nowhere. A talking troll. And you, like a white knight, coming to her rescue.”

  “And you believe all that?”

  “I believe in her. Whatever happened out there, you saved her life. For that I’m grateful.”

  “Well, you’re welcome. And you are?”

  The man smiled and extended a gloved hand. “Adam. I help out when I can. In return I get free room and board.”

  “Good to meet you,” I said. “So is this the part where you threaten to tear me apart if I hurt Beth?”

  Adam blinked, and I could see the wheels turning over my words. His smile crept away from his face. Obviously he wasn’t the sharpest needle to fall from the sewing kit. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Look, I can see you’re grateful for this morning, but you also feel threatened.” He began to protest, but I raised a hand. “You believed Beth when she told you a story out of the Old Testament. You have eyes for the woman, and whether the feeling is mutual is something I don’t care about. Just know that I’m going to try and get to the bottom of this before she or her daughter end up on the evening news. In fact, I could use your help.”

  “Help?”

  I shrugged. “I need you to keep your eyes open. You see anything suspicious, you grab Beth and her daughter and run like the devil’s got your scent. Which, in this case, might be the truth.”

  “I can do that,” Adam said.

  “Good. Now I’m going to go pound the pavement and see what I can find out.”

  The smile crept back onto his face. “You sound like you’ve done this before. Are you a private investigator?”

  I was tired of protesting. “Something like that. You watch out for Beth and the kid, and I’ll be back when I know something.”

  “May I have your name as well?”

  I turned back. “Nick, and if something nasty comes looking for you, don’t ever mention me.”

  “Why not?”

  I smiled. “You might piss it off even more.”

  <><><>

  I had one more errand to run before I went home, something I needed to prove to myself. It took four calls before I finally tracked down my goal.

  I needed to take two bus transfers before I ended up in front of West Hill General. The sun disappeared into deep night, and my various aches and pains grumbled again, especially the shoulder. But I didn’t come for the medical care. No, I stood in front of the whitewashed façade because a part of me still didn’t believe. As long as that doubt resided in my brain, I wouldn’t be able to think clearly.

  West Hill General was a newer building surrounded by the brick-and-mortar old-timers that made up most of the upper downtown. Rising ten stories up and spanning a city block, it was modest for a hospital, but it served its purpose. Mostly catering to those of low income, the building was surprisingly well kept and well-funded, mostly due to the contributions of Seattle’s wealthier philanthropists.

  The lobby tried to warm my soul as I pushed through the rotating front door. Tan walls and floor were a touch of desert in contrast the dreary storm outside, and an orderly gave me a welcoming grin. Yet for all the flowers lining the desks and the cheerful demeanor, the stench of illness hung under it all, like a blood stain covered up by an expensive rug.

  An elderly woman cut straight out of a Hallmark Christmas card gave me directions to the tiny gift shop. She smelled like old leather.

  Hanging balloons and greeting cards all proclaimed the wish for better health. A case of glass knickknacks promised to tell your loved ones just how much you're thinking of them. They were all talismans to keep the specter of death away from those unfortunate enough to find themselves behind these sterile walls.

  Finally my search came to an end in the back corner of the gift shop. After all, I didn’t need to keep death away; it was too late for that. So I walked out with a bag under my arm and went in search for item number 2.

  I didn't have many contacts in the Washington area, but a few lingered on the fringes. Jake and Thelma were two of the more powerful ones. Then there was Felix.

  I approached the morgue wearing a stolen nurse’s outfit and a name tag turned backward. My keen hearing caught slurping noises coming from behind the double doors. I sigh
ed.

  “You know,” I said as I pushed open the doors to the morgue, “one of these days you’re going to get your ass thrown in jail for that.”

  Felix shrieked and flung the two straws upward, where they imbedded themselves in the ceiling. Felix towered over me, pale and hunched, and he was so thin a strong wind from the Sound could blow him back to Oz. He stood by a dead body, mouth agape and blood dribbling down his chin.

  “Nick, thank G…well, you know,” Felix said sheepishly as he backed away from the examination table. He pushed a greasy bang out of his eyes.

  I glanced down at the two small puncture wounds in the corpse. “You’re also being disgustingly stereotypical. Don’t you ever see sunlight?”

  “I can’t, man. It burns.”

  “You know better than that.” I nodded at the body. “So what do you have?”

  Felix glanced up at the red-stained straws in the ceiling. “DUI. Alcohol was 1.8, and also traces of”—he licked some blood off his top lip—”cocaine. Man, this dude was tripping hard core. My lucky night.”

  “Except one day someone will walk in here and catch you. You need to start acting your age.”

  Felix suddenly grinned, showing two nasty canines. Maybe a sharp wind couldn’t blow him over after all. “I got you beat by almost thirty years, dude.”

  “Then start acting like it. You hear about the inmate that spontaneously combusted last year at the state prison? He was stuck in the yard for too long, if you catch my meaning.”

  He suddenly sobered and hunched over more. Jesus, I might as well kick some puppies while I was at it.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I told him. “Things have been crazy.” When Felix nodded, I sighed again. It was becoming a habit. “I’m here on business.” I tucked the gift bag under my arm as I said it.

  “Book business?” Felix asked.

  “No, my old business.” I turned and walked toward the metal cabinet doors that lined the far wall.

  “Old business? You back in the PI trade again?”

  “No,” I told him, “more of a side venture. Two bodies came in yesterday, charred beyond recognition.”

  The tall man followed me over. “What about them?”

  “You ID them yet?”

  The vampire shrugged. “One of them still had the dental work. I don’t think the detectives ID’d her yet, but this one is getting pressure from above.”

  That was interesting. “Pressure?”

  He shrugged again. “Not my department. I just find out the why and hows.”

  “OK, so what’s the how?”

  “That’s the thing, man. I don’t know nothing that can burn this quick and this fast. A body is a lot tougher than you think. The clothes burn right off, but the skin and muscles stay intact. Extra crispy, but still intact. This one was flash burned.”

  I flinched, but he didn’t notice.

  “Then there was the position of the body,” Felix said.

  My headache grew. “OK, I’ll bite. What about it?”

  “When a body burns it contracts all the muscles, like this.” He curled his hand up into his chest. “It’s called pugilistic attitude, but this one, man, this was laying all natural like. Real creepy. Hell, even the other was flash burned quick enough for it not to happen.”

  The other one. I closed my eyes briefly. I didn’t want to know the details of her yet. “So what’s it all mean?”

  “It means that whatever burned these girls was a lot hotter than your normal gas explosion. We’re talking thermal nuclear war here, dude.”

  “Or supernatural,” I said. I knew what it all meant. I didn’t need to hear it from him, but I was procrastinating. “I need to see the one without a head.” There, I said it. A heavy weight dropped over my shoulders.

  “You sure? It isn’t pretty, dude, even for me.”

  I nodded and stopped myself from hugging my arms to my chest as Felix walked over to the cabinet and pulled out the long tray. The plastic shroud hid the last bit of my past from me.

  Felix could sense my reluctance. “Are you sure you want to see this, man?”

  “Yeah. Could you?” I gestured to the body.

  He nodded and pulled the sheet down. I swallowed thickly. The stark light brought all the details of the corpse front and center. A glossy sheen covered the charred skin. Fat tissue had burned, stretching the skin like the top of a drum across a brittle frame. The smell of charred flesh and cleaning agents assaulted the air. The head was missing, cut clean from the neck by what looked like a blade. I could guess whose blade it was.

  Sadly I had seen worse, but never someone I knew. I turned away as Felix covered it up again. My stomach threatened to rebel, but I slowed my breathing and pushed the sickness down.

  “Female, mid-twenties, that’s all I know,” he told me. “No fingerprints left and no dental records, obviously.” He stepped back and fumbled a bit when he saw my face. “She’s a ghost.”

  “Ghosts,” I whispered. “And the silver in the chest?”

  “A necklace, probably melted down by the heat. It fused with the bone.”

  “A cross,” I said. I closed my eyes and asked the question that had been rattling in my head for the last twenty-four hours. “Felix, could you tell if this skeleton was a vamp?”

  He frowned. “If it was newly turned I wouldn’t be able to find anything. An older vamp would’ve decayed to dust as soon as he was killed again.”

  “How about five years turned?”

  He shook his head. “Not without the head. Five years ain’t enough time for the rot to set in. Without looking at the teeth, there’s no way to tell.”

  I nodded. “Female, mid-twenties, huh?” I smiled bitterly. “She always said she was looking forward to being twenty-five forever.” I struggled to block the tears.

  Felix might be the walking undead, but he was a good enough guy to know when to make an exit. He mumbled something apologetic and shuffled away. Sauntering over to the table, he bent his knees and jumped straight up, catching the two straws in the ceiling and landing without a sound.

  After he left, I stared at the door for a good while before turning back to the shroud. Looking at the shape under the plastic, I could imagine Cate lying on the table, whole and sleeping. I envisioned her before Boston. Before it all went wrong.

  “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” I said with a soft smile. “Just like old times, huh? Except this time there’s no sudden getaway. No narrow escapes.

  “This thing is big. Corrupt senators, upper demons parading around town. This isn’t some guy sneaking around town with a hooker. All my big cases, all the nasty ones, had you right there with me. Or Ann.”

  The tears came, and this time I let them fall. “I don’t think I can do this alone, Cate. Without you and Ann, I have no foundation. It’s why I left. Afraid the beast would break its cage.

  “When Ann died, I should’ve shared in your grief, but I couldn’t. All I could see was my own loss. Pretty damn selfish, huh?” I stopped. “But I can hear you now. ‘Stop whining,’ you’d say. ‘Stop whining and do something.’ Well, I’m doing the best I can. I just hope it’s enough.”

  With that I went to the end of the table, reached inside the gift bag, and pulled out her present. I laid the silk rose on top of the body and slowly pushed her back into the locker.

  “Good night, Irish Rose,” I whispered as the tears carved their way down my cheeks. It was what Ann used to call her. I laid my forehead against the closed door and let the metal cool my skin.

  Felix was conspicuously absent when I walked out of the morgue. I knew he didn’t like sentiment; it reminded him too much of being human. Me? I was stuck with the condition.

  So I ditched the scrubs in the bathroom and headed toward the front. On the way I stopped by a stand and bought a cup of coffee. No sugar, no milk, just as dark as it came.

  “One of those days, huh?” the young man asked as he handed me the beverage. With his dark skin and black hair he remind
ed me of Coyote.

  “I wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t.”

  “True,” he said as he hid my cash away, “but you’re up and walking. Most people here can’t say otherwise. That’s something at least.”

  “Yeah, that’s something,” I said as I dropped the change in his tip bucket.

  With the witching hour on its way, the entire lobby was relatively empty. An elderly nurse stood chatting with a young woman holding a snoring baby in her arms. The only other visitor was a Hispanic man watching television in the radiology waiting room.

  When I turned toward the main door, I happened to glance down a side hallway. A policeman with dark hair stood about a hundred feet down, and he was staring at me. I remembered him from outside the penthouse. When he caught me looking at him he raised a hand in salute and disappeared into a doorway.

  Now call me paranoid, but I usually don’t follow strangers into dark rooms. Call it a survival instinct. But I also know that information can come from the most unlikely of sources, including a mysterious policeman in a hospital.

  “Most people move to Florida when they retire,” I mumbled, “but not me. Oh no.” The elderly nurse frowned at me. It was the same one from when I came in. I asked her, “Excuse me, but what’s that room down there?” I pointed to the doorway the cop had disappeared into.

  “It’s the chapel. Do you need any help, sir?” the woman asked.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.” Unless I’d consider psychiatric help, especially as I walked toward the chapel. Still, the thought of holy ground eased my mind. Most nasty things can’t step inside sacred areas, no matter what the religion. Get enough people to believe a place is holy, and it usually ends up that way. Hell, there are some motels in Vegas that demons can’t enter.

  The one aspect common to churches, no matter what the size, is the silence. You could be having a party outside, but once you walk inside all noise lowers to a reverent hush. The hospital chapel was like that, but that’s like saying the sun is a giant light bulb. The layer of silence was so thick that any sound might shatter the air into a million tiny bits.