Until the Devil Weeps

by W E DeVore

  Multer’s glare shifted from Sanger to Q, but he walked back to his table without saying a word while every eye in the restaurant followed him in a horrified silence. When the waitress came back with their bill, Sanger pocketed his credit card and signed the receipt before handing her nearly double in cash, apologizing for the disturbance. Taking Q’s hand, Sanger pulled her near, keeping his body close to protect her from any external threat as they made their way down the block to his truck. Q was still trembling as he helped her into the passenger side. She held herself together with her arms, rocking back and forth.

  “I’m calling his probation officer.” He reached over and put his hand on her knee. “And then I’m calling the fucker in for questioning.”

  Sanger drove in silence while Q rested her head against the glass of the passenger door, watching the city pass by, carefully measuring her breathing and using every strategy she knew to push away the sound of her own screams that were filling her head, begging her rapist to stop.

  Five things I can see… The trees, the sky, a girl walking her dog, the street light, a garbage truck.

  Four things I can touch… Aaron’s fingers, the seat, my leg, the window.

  Three things I can hear… The truck, an airplane, traffic.

  Two things I can smell… Aaron… Aaron.

  One thing I can taste…

  She unfastened her seatbelt and moved across the bench seat to kiss Sanger’s neck. He let go of her hand and pulled her closer, holding her to him until he parked in front of his house. Her panic dissipated and her breathing deepened as her body let go of the adrenaline that had been surging through her bloodstream.

  “You ok?” he asked after he killed the engine. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing really,” she said, clutching him tightly. “It just caught me off guard, I guess. That video is something I can unsee and it just swallowed me up for a minute. I had a flashback… about that night in Arabi. Haven’t had one of those for years.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really. I only ever told Ben all of it. What that man did. Seeing Pete’s face when he realized what he’d done.”

  “Pete didn’t mean to kill him?” Sanger asked.

  “No,” she said, grimacing against the memory of her childhood friend’s eyes pleading with her to make it not true when they realized the man that had dragged Q to the back of an Arabi bar’s parking lot to rape her had fatally hit his head when Pete pulled him away and knocked him to the ground. “Pete wasn’t the same. It ruined him.”

  Sanger was quiet, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he said, “I want to thank you.”

  Q looked at him quizzically. “For what?”

  “For doing the right thing last night with the Soniat boy. For making me do the right thing.”

  “You wouldn’t have hurt him.”

  He turned his face away in shame. “I’m not sure about that, Clementine. I have a blind spot where it comes to you.”

  Sanger opened the door and got out of the truck. Q slid across the seat to follow him up the steps to his house. As he unlocked the door, he said, “I’ll need to call Multer’s parole officer. Get him parish-bound for a couple weeks. Then I’m going into work. Talk to Juban and Myers. Get them to haul Multer in for questioning.”

  “No,” Q said. “No more darkness, Aaron. Not today. Let’s just forget about it. Please. Call his parole officer, get him a good tongue lashing. Then let him be for a few days while you look into Chris McMillan.”

  “You really don’t think it was Multer, do you?”

  “I really don’t know. I just know that right now I want to be here with you. Safe with you. I don’t want to think about this right now, and I don’t want to be alone.”

  She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine from the bottle on the counter, immediately draining half of it, dampening the remainder of her panic attack. Sanger leaned against the sink, watching her, worry spreading from his eyes to his frown. As her anxiety subsided, she set down her glass and went to him.

  “So, I’m your woman, huh?” she asked, remembering his words at the restaurant, trying to recapture their day. He smiled at her and winked. “Ben always called me his girl.”

  She traced her lips with her thumb, remembering the first time Ben had called her that. It had been at a crowded restaurant as well.

  Sanger took her hand. “Well, I hate to disagree with Ben, but you, sweet Clementine, are not a girl. You are a woman.” He pulled her to him and threaded his fingers through her hair. “I’m going to keep you safe. I promise you that.”

  Resistance

  A distant, incessant pounding wormed its way through Q’s late-afternoon dream until her eyelids flew open. She reached for Sanger and he pulled her closer, inhaling deeply. “God, you smell good.”

  “What’s that noise?” she asked. “Is that your door?”

  He turned his head in the direction of the sound and raised his eyebrows. “So, it would seem. Stay here.”

  He pushed his legs over the side of the bed and pulled up his slacks from where Q had torn them off. She lay on her side with her head propped up in her hand, watching him. When Sanger grinned at her and leaned down to kiss her, the pounding increased in volume and slowed to a steady beat. He left the room, yelling, “I’m coming. Jesus.”

  Q heard the door open and Derek’s panicked voice asked, “Where’s Q? She’s not home and she’s not answering her phone. Where is she?”

  Sanger said, “In my bed, we were asleep.”

  Q smirked to herself at the obvious subtext of his response. “Subtle, cowboy, real subtle,” she murmured to herself, getting out of bed and pulling on her underwear and her discarded In Flames t-shirt from the floor.

  Twisting her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, she joined Sanger and Derek in the living room. Derek was pacing the room as Sanger sat on the couch reading the piece of paper he held in his hand. Derek glanced at Q and said, “Why aren’t you answering your phone? I thought you were dead.”

  “I forgot to put it on the charger last night. It must have died. What is it?”

  He gestured to the paper in Sanger’s hand. “Love note. Burn Bitch Burn was at the show.”

  “So?” she asked.

  “’Dynamite and Fire.’” Derek folded his arms, the fitted long-sleeved shirt and tight black jeans made his slight frame seem frail.

  “I repeat my question.”

  Derek pointed to the page Sanger held and she took it. She turned it over and saw a close-up of her kissing Sanger. It was the first time she’d seen them together as they were now. She fondled the image and sat next to Sanger. “It’s a good picture of us, Aaron.”

  She turned to Derek. “When did this come?”

  “This morning,” he replied. “I was leaving for the studio. They pushed it under my garage door. Turn it over.”

  Sighing heavily, she flipped the photograph.

  Do not allow a sorceress to live. Now to the widows, I say this: It is good for them to remain unmarried, as I am. To burn with passion, as I do. A wife must not separate from her husband. I shall come into Your house and deliver a burnt offering; I shall pay You my vows, I shall make an altar of earth, and sacrifice on it burnt offerings. I will come to you and bless you with fire. From within the funeral pyre, you will rise from the ashes. Burn. Bitch. Burn.

  Q shrugged. “Pretty standard. I’m a witch. I’m going to burn. Yadda, yadda, yadda. At least it’s not a rape fantasy. It’s been worse.”

  Sanger tightened his fingers around her thigh. “They were at the show. They were close enough to take that picture.”

  “It’s not the first time, Aaron.”

  Sanger abruptly stood and began pacing the floor. He pointed to Derek. “You have a spare room?”

  Derek looked at him in confusion. “What? Sure.”

  Sanger knelt in front of Q. “I want you to move in with Derek until I find this fucker and figure out who hired
those boys. I can’t protect you from both. We take care of this stalker situation just like last fall. Make them think they got what they want. We have to be done. You and me. Until this is over. No contact.”

  “No,” she said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t argue with me,” Sanger pleaded. “I’ll go talk to Remi in Psyche. See what he knows. Maybe it is what we thought before and BBB hired those kids to kill you. I’m going to find him. You’re going to stay with Derek.”

  Derek leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Do I get a say?”

  “No,” Sanger said firmly. “She’s staying with you and that’s final. Both of you keep a low profile. Work on your record. No interviews. No social media. Radio silence.”

  “How will they know they got what they want if we go dark?” Q asked.

  “Because they’re following you, Clementine,” he shouted. “Didn’t you see the fucking picture?”

  “Yes, I did. They came to the same concert that seven hundred other people came to. We walked back to your truck alone. They didn’t want to risk following us because they know you’re a cop. I’m safer with you and besides that, you’re wrong, Aaron. Ben’s murder has nothing to do with this asshole and you know it. Haul in Multer. Go see McMillan. Remi said his cousin met the guy in prison. It can’t be Burn Bitch Burn. They’ve been walking around for years doing this shit.”

  Sanger picked up the photograph from the table and shoved it towards her face. “What about this? What if whoever hire that hit comes after you and I’m looking for your fucking mystery matchmaker? Or vice fucking versa?”

  Derek raised his hand. “Can I say something?”

  “No!” They both shouted at him.

  “I’m not leaving you, cowboy,” Q said. “It’s not happening. I’ll move in here with you, if you’re that worried.”

  Sanger rolled his eyes. “My house is even less secure than yours. We are giving them what they want. You move in with Derek. Done. Then I only have to protect you from one thing.”

  She pointed to Derek. “Some nutjob figured out how to get into his condo a few years ago and beat the hell out of his piano. It isn’t any safer than here.”

  “She’s right,” Derek said.

  “Shut up,” Sanger exclaimed and cursed under his breath. He sat at the table, rubbing his forehead, studying a fixed point on the floor.

  Q went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes found Derek’s and implored him to help.

  Derek gave her a sad smile and cleared his throat. “I ever tell you about the time Fi quit Dark Harm?”

  She gave him an exasperated eye roll, her mouth falling open as her mind failed to come up with an annoyed enough response.

  “Hear me out,” he said. “This crazy kid was obsessed with me. Wanted to replace me. Mark David Chapman style. Magnus was four, I think? Fi and Deb had just moved in together. I was worried. Worried he’d come after her. Worried he’d try to take Magnus. I couldn’t risk it. So, I started picking at Fi. Small stuff. Big stuff. All kinds of stuff in between. Until there we were on Letterman and she’s had enough. We finish our song. I say something insulting into the microphone. She stands up, flips me off and quits. Right there on national television.” He scratched his head with both hands and continued, “The thing is, it didn’t work. They found him – the crazy kid - watching my little boy outside his preschool. That’s where they arrested him. He had a room all set up, for my son.”

  “But Fi said that no one ever came after them….” Q started.

  “She never knew. Deb would have made her cut all ties with me. And she would have been right to do it.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, discarding all vestiges of his rock god persona. “I fucked up. You see? I should have put the band aside. Stepped out of the spotlight. Taken my family someplace safe and warm. But I didn’t. I made Fi hate me for almost a year. And some crazy motherfucker almost kidnapped my little boy.” Derek scratched at his head, making his black hair wild. “I’m going to L.A. for a few months. I have a place out there. I’m out. You get out, too, angel. With your puppy dog. You go live your life away from here, l take up with some actress slash model and Burn Bitch Burn will go away. Sometimes running is the best option on the table.”

  Sanger said under his breath, “That could work. What about the other?”

  “What other?” Derek asked.

  “Ben’s killer,” Q replied. She sat on Sanger’s knee and held his face in her hand. “We leave. You give Rex everything you have on the case. He’s ambitious. Doesn’t mind being an asshole. I trust him. Please, Aaron. Leave it for someone else this time.”

  “Ok. We’ll close up your house first,” Sanger said. “You’ll have to park your car someplace else. It needs to look like you’re already gone as soon as possible.”

  “Ben’s cousin got her car wrecked. I’ll give it to her.”

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked.

  “Tel Aviv.”

  “Tel Aviv, it is.”

  ◆◆◆

  Q scanned her house, mentally checking off every item on her ‘to do’ list. The few contents of her refrigerator were in the trash outside. The drains were closed. The lights were off. She opened her suitcase and double checked her cash and her passport before zipping it back up and pulling out her phone to confirm the time. Sanger had gone to the precinct to take a leave of absence. He’d be back to pick her up by four then they’d close up his house and stay in a hotel until their flight left in a few days. She was to keep the doors locked until he arrived. She heard a car door slam and she peered through the front window to see Ben’s cousin, Audrey, blowing a kiss to her husband as he pulled away.

  As usual, Audrey looked like she had stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. The only thing more impressive than Audrey’s natural beauty was when she was standing next to her identical twin sister Annabelle and their combined loveliness merged into a jaw-dropping unstoppable force.

  Q opened the door and Audrey skipped up the steps, pulling her into a fragrant embrace.

  “QT-pie,” Audrey said.

  “Playboy twin one,” Q replied.

  Audrey squinted around the living room. “New furniture?”

  Q hedged, “I didn’t like the old stuff.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I heard. Heard you beat the shit out of it with a butcher knife.”

  “You heard correctly, my friend.” Q reached into her pocket and pulled out Ben’s car keys, tossing it to his cousin. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

  Audrey easily caught the keys midair and said, “Thank you. This will help. You park your car on the street and some asshole catches air at the intersection and plows into it.”

  It had been all Audrey could talk about at last week’s Sunday dinner: her poor wrecked BMW.

  “How bad is it?” Q asked.

  “Totaled,” Audrey replied. She pointed to the suitcases. “Where you going?”

  “You can’t tell anybody. But Aaron and I are going away. To Tel Aviv. His grandparents’ house.”

  Audrey let out a low whistle. “And how long are you expecting me to keep this secret?”

  “Just a few days,” Q said. “Until we’re out of town. Nobody can know, Audrey. I’m serious. This is serious.”

  Audrey folded her arms and tapped her vibrant blue-lacquered nails on her skin. “You’re eloping with Aaron Sanger and I’m supposed to keep quiet about that?”

  “We’re not eloping…”

  “Says you,” Audrey interrupted. “Auntie Lila will murder you if you marry that man without the family there. She just about murdered her only son when he ran off with you…” Her voice suddenly caught and she cursed under her breath. “Damnit, that used to be such a good joke. Why did he have to go and ruin it?”

  Q put gave Audrey’s forearm a comforting squeeze. “It’s still a good joke and I’m not eloping. I promise. Just do this for me. Please.”

  “Fine. You have until Sunday. I can avoid t
hem until Sunday.”

  They walked out of the house together and down to the driveway. As Audrey sat down in the car, she took a deep inhale. “It still smells like him.”