The Beloved

by Gonzalez, J. F.

  “Uh, huh,” Mary said, glancing at Brenda. “I know ... everything’s okay ... uh huh ... no, I haven’t seen her ... uh huh .... yeah .... well .... um .... yeah ...”

  Brenda heard the TV click off in the family room and she cast a glance as her husband, Joe, walked in the kitchen. He looked tired, his thinning gray hair was tousled and uncombed. He was wearing his plaid flannel robe and the bunny slippers she had bought him ten years ago. He mouthed, “Everything okay?”

  Brenda nodded, and Joe knew from her expression that it was Gregg on the phone. He motioned toward the living room and Brenda knew he and their kids were going upstairs to bed. That was fine. She would sit down here with Mary until she was finished talking with Gregg and then she would talk to him a little herself, after which she’d usher Mary upstairs. For the past four days Mary had been sleeping in her daughter Amy’s room, which was right next the master bedroom. It was a good arrangement. Brenda had been able to hear Mary every night when had woke up from a sound sleep, the sound of a nightmare-induced scream ready to burst from her lungs. Brenda had been able to rush in and head off that scream at the pass every time.

  “...yeah...I know...” Mary said, her eyes glancing at Brenda. “You want to talk to Brenda? Okay.” She handed the phone to Brenda.

  “Everything okay?” Brenda asked Gregg.

  Gregg didn’t answer right away. She heard him take a sip of something, and this confirmed the suspicion he was drinking. “No, everything isn’t okay,” he said.

  “What’s the matter?” Brenda asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Mary was still in the kitchen, still watching her with those large, luminous eyes.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, what?”

  “I know you don’t lock your doors out there much but...can you lock them tonight? The windows too?”

  “We’ve been doing that since the day after Thanksgiving,” Brenda said, knowing what this was leading up to.

  “Just want to make sure,” Gregg said.

  “I know.”

  “Is Mary still standing there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Has she said anything about Diana to you?”

  “Just that...you know.”

  “That she doesn’t want to go back.”

  “Yep.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Tomorrow’s going to be tough for me,” Gregg said, and Brenda could hear him take another sip. She heard the faint sound of ice cubes clicking. “I may...I may not have my full...you know...I may not be totally aware of what’s going on around me tomorrow and...well, I need you to really keep an eye on Mary.”

  “You don’t have to worry,” Brenda said. “Joe and I are—”

  “I’m afraid Diana may try to abduct her,” Gregg said and the stark accusation was so sudden, so brutal in its clarity, that Brenda started. “I’m not shitting you, Brenda. I have every reason to believe Diana is going to try to get her. That’s why I’m being such a paranoid bastard with you about locking your doors and windows. You probably think I’m completely fucking nuts—”

  “No,” Brenda said quickly, over-riding him, not wanting Mary to learn too much of what they were talking about from this end of the conversation. She gestured at Mary. Go in the living room! But Mary remained in the kitchen at the table, looking at Brenda as if she were trying to listen in to both ends of the conversation. “I don’t think that at all.”

  “You’re about the only person I can trust right now with Mary,” Gregg said, taking another sip of his drink. “Don’t let her out of your sight tomorrow. Don’t let Diana or her kids near her, even if there are other people around.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Brenda. I don’t want any of them around her.”

  “And I said everything will be fine! Trust me, I understand completely.”

  Gregg paused. “I wish we could talk more but I don’t want to freak Mary out. She’s still standing there, isn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Brenda said, not looking at Mary.

  “You don’t want to scare her either?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She heard Gregg sigh. He took another drink. “I don’t think Diana would know where to find you anyway. She and Ronnie never came out to your house, did they?”

  “No, they never did.”

  “Did Ronnie have your phone number or address?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Another sigh. She could tell he was chilling out. “And you’re locking the doors and windows. I’m...I’m sorry for being like this, Brenda, but...I’m going to feel a lot better when Diana and her kids are out of this state and away from here.”

  “I know. I feel the same way.”

  Another sigh, another sip of the drink. “Shit, it’s late and I can’t get to sleep,” Gregg mumbled. “Listen...I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “You aren’t bothering me,” Brenda said, turning to Mary and gesturing for her to go upstairs. Mary retreated to the doorway to the living room and the kitchen and stood there, waiting. “Everything will be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure things go as we talked about.”

  “Okay,” Gregg said. “Thanks.”

  “Get some sleep, Gregg,” Brenda said. “You want us to pick you up tomorrow morning?”

  “That would be nice. Yeah, come by and get us.”

  “We’ll be over at about nine.”

  “Nine it is. We’ll be ready.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, Gregg.”

  “Night.”

  She hung up the phone.

  “Is Uncle Gregg okay?” Mary asked.

  Brenda nodded. “He’s okay. He’s just very troubled now and very sad.”

  Mary still had that look on her face, as if she were afraid. “Am I safe here?”

  Brenda tried not to let the unease she felt show on her face. She smiled and ruffled the child’s hair. “You’re fine here, kiddo.”

  They headed upstairs. “Is Diana going to be at Aunt Elizabeth’s service tomorrow?”

  “She might,” Brenda said.

  “I don’t have to sit with them, do I?”

  “No. You don’t have to. I take it you don’t want to.”

  They paused halfway up the stairs, Mary turned around to face Brenda. She shook her head emphatically. Brenda gave her an encouraging smile and leaned forward. “Well, you don’t have to. You stay with Joe and me and don’t even look at them. If they try to talk to you, just ignore them.”

  “That won’t be rude, will it?”

  Brenda shook her head; not replying when you are spoken to was a lesson probably courtesy of Laura, who had mostly raised Mary. “No, it won’t be rude. In fact, it may give Diana and her kids the message that you don’t want to be with them and they’ll go away.”

  Mary appeared to accept this; she nodded, her shoulders seemed to relax from the tension. “Okay,” she said. She turned and headed the rest of the way upstairs.

  Brenda tucked Mary in bed with Amy, who was already fast asleep. She kissed Mary’s forehead. “You get some sleep. I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”

  “Okay. Night, Brenda.”

  “Goodnight, sweetie.”

  Brenda left the room, leaving the door open, and entered the bedroom she shared with Joe and, after brushing her teeth in the master bathroom, she climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes before sleep claimed her.

  OUTSIDE THE WANDREI home, Diana Marshfield ran her fingers over the glass panes of the French doors that led off to the back deck from the living room, trying to find a way in. She had been outside in the darkness, listening to what was going on inside, for hours.

  Her clothing obscured the shifting mass of flesh of the Lily and Rick appendages as she worked at feeding them, preparing them for their appearance tomorrow.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE FOL
LOWING EVENING Don Grant came over to the Weaver house. He arrived well after the rest of the household—Eric, Gregg’s parents and his sister, Tina, and her husband, Jack—had gone to bed. It had been a long day.

  Gregg had been sitting up in the kitchen waiting for Don for fifteen minutes when he saw the car pull up outside. He stood up and went to the side door that led to the driveway of the house and let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. “We can talk in the basement.”

  Don nodded and Gregg led him through the kitchen and the living room to the rear of the staircase that led to the second floor. He opened a door and switched on a light, revealing a set of stairs that descended to the basement. He trumped downstairs and Don closed the door behind him.

  The Weavers had a finished basement. It ran almost the entire length of the house, except for the garage, and consisted of a family room, a bar set into the northwest corner near the fireplace, and a rec room where a pool table sat. The rest of the basement was unfinished, yet dry, and served as storage. Gregg approached the bar and brought down a bottle of Jim Beam. “Drink?”

  Don shook his head. “None for me, thanks. A Coke will do if you have any.”

  Gregg produced a can of Coca-Cola from the refrigerator and handed it to Don.

  When Gregg was finished preparing his drink he took a sip. Don had sat himself down on one of the four barstools that lined the mahogany bar. “It was a nice memorial service.”

  Gregg nodded. “Yes, it was.” The memorial service had breezed by amazingly fast, although it lasted approximately three hours. Jointly arranged by Tracy and her husband Keith, with a few of Elizabeth’s writer friends who lived in the area, the service had been held in the basement of a Quaker church in Ephrata. The room had been bursting with people, some of whom traveled great distances to pay respects to Elizabeth, many of them writers and former and present students. Gregg had sat in the front row with Eric, feeling a sense of pride and love as people went to the front of the podium and spoke eloquently of Elizabeth; of her kindness, her wit, her affection and love for her family and friends. Her acquaintances at school recalled a dedicated teacher; her students regarded her as more than an instructor, somebody they could confide in. Her acquaintances in the writing community showered her with praise, giving nods to her work, but reflecting that the woman behind those words was the one they had come to value most of all. Gregg had sat through the service, feeling that he should be crying but not doing so. Instead what he felt was an overwhelming sense of gratitude that he had been fortunate enough to have met and loved such an amazing woman.

  He hadn’t been aware that Diana Marshfield and her kids were at the service until Brenda approached him during the wake that followed. “She’s here and she’s like a fish out of water,” she whispered. “Joe’s with Mary now, but Diana hasn’t been near her. I think she knows we’re keeping an eye on her.”

  Gregg had nodded. “Good.”

  “I’ve let two of Elizabeth’s friends know to keep an eye on her,” Brenda continued. “Geoff and Brad. They’re keeping watch.”

  “Thank you,” Gregg said.

  Gregg had been vaguely aware that Don Grant was at the service. He’d caught a glimpse of Don out of the corner of his eye during the service. Don had been seated toward the back, and during the wake Gregg brushed by him at the refreshment table. “Come by the house this evening after eleven,” he’d said. “I need to talk.”

  Don had nodded, refilled his punch glass, and drifted back into the crowd.

  And now he was here.

  And he had a haunted look in his face...as if he had seen a ghost.

  “I noticed that Diana left shortly after the wake started,” Don said.

  “Yeah. Geoff told me he watched her get in her car with her kids and drive off.”

  “You did well today,” Don said, sipping his Coke.

  “Yeah, I did,” Gregg said. He seated himself two stools down from Don, both men facing each other, elbows leaning against the bar top. “I kept thinking I was going to break down but I didn’t. I guess part of me still can’t believe all that’s happened.”

  Don nodded. “That’s natural. I went for almost three months before everything hit me.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah.” Don took a sip of Coke and set the can down on the bar. “You did a great job in keeping Mary away from Diana.”

  “Was it enough?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Yeah.” Something in his face flickered. He looked bothered by something.

  “Did she see you?”

  “I don’t think so. With all those people, I probably didn’t register.”

  “She indicated before that she was married to a man in Ohio before Ronnie? Did you know this?”

  “I found out a few days before I learned of her new identity.”

  “Was she...did she look the same?”

  “I don’t know,” Don said. He sighed, brushed his long hair back from his forehead. “I lost track of it for awhile. I learned about the Ohio case just recently.”

  “But it was similar?”

  “Very,” Don said, nodding. “The guy she was with was a mechanic named James. They met over the Internet, same as Ronnie. She moved in with him, same as Ronnie, and—”

  “Her kids,” Gregg interrupted. He took a sip of Jim Beam. “What about her kids? Were they with her?”

  Don shook his head, his blue eyes boring into Gregg’s. “When she moved in with James Whitman she was childless. Rick and Lily and the dog came with her when she moved out here to be with Ronnie.”

  Gregg’s mind tried to process this. “So where’d she get them?”

  “I think you need to hear the rest,” Don said, settling forward, his voice lowering a little. Gregg hunkered forward and for the next forty minutes he was lost as Don spun a tale that was so unreal, so terrifying, that he could barely remember to breathe.

  DON STARTED RESEARCHING demons and the occult when he moved to Carlsbad, New Mexico.

  “My faith demanded it,” Don explained. “I was still looking at this from a Christian perspective. The thing I saw that had taken my wife, what I experienced...the only way I could rationalize to myself was that it was something demonic, something evil. So when I got my head on straight I started reading books. I’d drive to El Paso or Roswell for the weekend and go to every used book dealer I could find and purchase everything I could lay my hands on that had something to do with the occult and demonic possession, the spirit world. I was looking for answers and I had to try to find something that explained to me what I had experienced.”

  And while he researched he went high tech. Through his job at the caverns, he bought a computer and got on the Internet. “I started going to message boards devoted to the occult just to see what was out there. It took awhile but I finally got acquainted with people online. The more I read, the more confident I felt in my research, and pretty soon I was able to ask the kind of questions that were formulating in my mind. It was around this time I discovered hundreds of cases that were similar—no, thousands! You’d be amazed, Gregg, really amazed. I found stuff going back over a hundred years, things that—”

  “A hundred years?” Gregg asked, incredulously. “You mentioned this the other day. About stuff that went back to the eighteen hundreds and that Diana was—”

  “Sorry, I’m getting a little ahead of myself,” Don said. He took a sip of his Coke. “Basically here’s the gist of it. I mentioned a few days ago that Diana was a succubus...remember that?”

  Gregg nodded.

  “And I told you the basic run-down of succubi and incubi, right?”

  “Yeah, they’re, like, sex demons.”

  “Very much so,” Don answered. “Like I said before, the general belief is that succubi are female demons that visit men in their sleep and incubi are male demons that visit women. They’re said to come to them in their sleep and invade their dreams, and the person who they vis
it imagines they’re consorting with a beautiful woman or a handsome man, but it’s really the demon they’re having intercourse with.”

  “Kind of like that movie The Entity,” Gregg said.

  “Yeah,” Don said, nodding. “I saw that. One of the many fictional pieces I viewed during my research. Supposedly the book and the film were based on a true story.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. Happened back in the seventies. Woman was repeatedly raped by the incubus. There was also the presence of other activity, mostly poltergeist, but—”

  “So the incubi in that case was invisible?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Why isn’t Diana invisible?”

  “You got me, buddy.”

  “So you’re saying Diana is a succubi.”

  “Succubus.” Don corrected him, and then leaned forward. “She’s—it’s—definitely a succubus. Only here’s where most of the general myth and folklore written about them have it wrong ...” Don’s voice was a whisper. “They’re actually both ... like hermaphrodites ... like those frogs that can change from male to female at will to suit their reproductive needs. In fact, there are some myths that claim the incubus and the succubus are one and the same and that they can change their form at will while preying on us.”

  Gregg’s eyes widened. “Diana...she was that guy Bruce...the one that...”

  “Yes,” Don said, his voice level. “You got that right, buddy. The same thing that’s fucked up your family killed my wife. You better believe it.”

  Gregg was barely aware he was holding his breath. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Don’s blue eyes, which were now blazing with an intensity that was a little frightening. Gregg looked away, feeling a shiver race through him. “Jesus, this is fucking unreal. Are you sure?”

  “As sure as you’re positive Diana is responsible for the downfall of your wife’s family,” Don said, his eyes locked with Gregg’s face. “You are confident she’s responsible, right?”