Demonologist

by Laimo, Michael

  She put him on hold. He listened to canned Neil Diamond. She came back on: “The doctor can see you tomorrow at noon.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “Yes, the doctor keeps Sunday hours, 12-5. He’s closed on Mondays.”

  Bev thanked her. Crazily, in this short time, he felt better. No more scratching; no anxiety; no anger; no voice. No other odd sensations. What was that crumbling? Felt like pieces of my brain were coming away.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  The sweat on his face dried. He looked through the windshield. A station attendant eyed him curiously. Bev nodded, then put the car into drive and slowly made his way to meet Kristin, feeling as good as he did yesterday before all this insanity started.

  SIX

  The drive off the San Diego Freeway took him along Redondo Beach Boulevard and Alondra Park. Intersecting Lawndale, Torrance, and Gardena, Alondra Park offered 315 acres of native plant gardens, landscaped forest glens, a fishing lake, and a massive sprawl of woodlands made up of trees and meadows. After Julianne died, when Kristin was just shy of her first birthday, Bev would come here to lament, wheeling his baby around and watching the more than 350 species of birds that made Alondra Park their home. At times he used to imagine that out there amongst the millions of birds flew a solitary envoy with a message from Julianne—one that would transcendentally guide his directionless life toward an acceptable level of happiness. He walked the park nearly every day for a year, soul-searching, hoping to find some kind of psychic connection with a winged spiritual shepherd.

  At a time when he was willing to write off his prayers as frivolous and impossible—when he wondered how in God’s name he could’ve faithed such a preposterous expectation—his message was delivered. He’d been walking stiffly along the lakeside, pushing the stroller, probing the calm waters and the families of fowl diving for fish while chanting ohm-nama-shivaya, a tantric drone that, according to Buddhist teachings, brought good fortune to those who sought its ”inner serenity.” A single white swan swam gracefully to the shoreline, climbed out, and stared at Bev. In his mind he’d heard Julianne’s voice telling him that she rested comfortably in a beautiful place blessed with goodness, and that she would continually watch over him and Kristin until the very moments they came to be with her. The swan continued its hypnotic stare, head lobbing, wings fluttering. It then paced gingerly to Bev and rubbed its feathers against his weakening legs. Julianne’s voice returned to his mind and told him to take his talent to the skies. The swan, now out of trance and seemingly frightened of its sudden location, quickly waddled back into the safe haven of the lake. The voice left him. Darkness consumed him and he fainted to the ground. Some nearby parkgoers assisted him until he regained consciousness a few moments later.

  Within a month’s time, Bev had discovered a newfound interest in music. He’d never sung a note before in his life, but now had the ability to carry a tune across three octaves in a voice comparable to the seventies rock gods that he and Julianne enjoyed listening to so much. Soon thereafter he began music lessons, and in a year had mastered the guitar and piano. Not once did he ever consider himself a prodigy; his talent had been sought out and extremely hard-earned. He’d struggled daily for months with his instruments and his voice, determined to learn the art of rock and roll so he too could entertain like Robert Plant or Jimi Hendrix had during the sixties and seventies. The message from Julianne had not been a gift of talent, but instead a catalyst leading him in a rightful direction, giving him drive, just as he invoked while meditating.

  Later, Bev would convince himself that he had not made contact with Julianne, that he’d made contact with his inner soul, and thereby discovered his true purpose in life.

  Still, there was the swan...and her voice.

  Driving by the park, he couldn’t help but think of the hundreds of walks he’d taken there, and of the day his life changed forever. He remembered the flush of joy he felt after leaving the park that day with Kristin in tow, how he’d told the then two-year-old that things were going to change for them now that daddy had ”found himself.” These memories had some mystical purpose behind them. He’d lost Julianne, but gained a goal and the drive to reach his newly found ambitions, that of a devoted father and an aspiring musician.

  Ten minutes after passing Alondra Park, Bev pulled into the parking lot at Danford’s restaurant. The sand-strewn blacktop abutted Manhattan Beach, which ran a hundred yards to the crashing ocean. The shore glowed whitely beneath the high sun, scatterings of sunbathers and surfers and picnickers enjoying the afternoon’s pleasantries. Bev got out of his car and paced across the lot, hidden behind the nondescript privacy of Ray-Bans and a Dodgers cap. Celebrities in L.A. kept this tandem disguise handy. When wearing these, you didn’t necessarily hide the fact that you were a celebrity, it was which one you were that had those around you guessing.

  A few children burst through the door of the restaurant as Bev walked in. Their playful shouts hit a shudder within him. He thought for a moment that the brain-fingers were returning. Thankfully they weren’t. But the piercing voices of the three kids and their pursuing mothers aggravated the looming headache he’d been trying to stave off.

  Kristin was here, waiting inside. She greeted him in white nylon running shorts, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. She wore no makeup and her hair was tied up in a scrunchie. The thrown-together outfit reflected her frame of mind: tired and not in the mood for anything too important.

  “Hi,” she said with a thin smile.

  Bev beamed. Seeing his daughter dissolved his preoccupation; now there were no concerns about beetles or anxiety or ghostly headaches. They shared a hug; she retained an odor of last night’s party too. A chip off the old block.

  “Guess I really did drag you out of bed.”

  “It’s okay, it’s worth it...I’m so thrilled to have you home now.”

  “Good to be home.” Sort of.

  A young hostess escorted them to one of a dozen booths on the outside pier. They ordered a bucket of mini-Coronas and faced the healing vista of the ocean. Cool salty wind escaped the ceaseless motion of the surf and kissed their silent faces—nature’s rhythm, offering its comforting welcome, which they embraced. A waitress came and took their orders. While they waited, they drank and spoke of each other’s careers, Bev asking Kristin questions of her writing, and then, of her personal life. She revealed as much as she’d been willing, so it appeared, until he brought up the night before, and Rebecca Haviland.

  “Dad, please...”

  The waitress returned with their meals. Bev stayed silent until she finished serving them. Then he said, “Look, you’re my daughter. I raised you all by myself since you were a year old...I’m only looking out for your best interests, as much as I can.”

  “You’ve mentioned that. A few times before.” She raised one eyebrow.

  “Just want the best for my girl.”

  “Understood. And I want the best for my dad. So...any women in your life?”

  “How’d this get turned around?”

  “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

  “Wise ass!”

  “I can be. Sometimes. So...you hooked up with anyone, or what?”

  “Jesus, Kristin. No, no one special.”

  “Just your road hoes, huh?” She giggled.

  “Kristin...”

  “Woo-hoo dad!”

  “All right, enough. I don’t do those things. Anymore. Frankly, I can’t handle it.”

  “You oughta take out Rebecca Haviland.”

  Bev eyed her suspiciously. “Rebecca?”

  “Yeah...she’s available, you know.”

  “Well, I don’t know that, nor do I really care. Actually, I thought that you—”

  “Why not? She’s pretty. And she kinda looks like Mom, you know, from the pictures.”

  Bev thought about it. The publicist did resemble Julianne a bit. Maybe just in the eyes. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed this u
ntil Kristin brought it up. “No one could ever replace your mother.”

  The somber note segued into a few moments of silence where they enjoyed their meals. Bev ate a seafood salad while Kristin attacked a cod sandwich and fries. Where does it all go? Bev thought fondly. In her brain? The food, the cool wind, and the fresh air seemed to have revived Kristin a bit. She ate and smiled and chatted pleasantly between bites. When they were finished they lit cigarettes and stared back out into the ocean blue.

  “That was good,” she said, and the way the sun hit her at that moment made her look more like Julianne than ever. The ache it brought struck him hard, and he looked down into his empty plate.

  Suddenly, she revealed, “Last night, at the party, there was a man looking for you. Said he had something important to give you.”

  Bev looked up at her, the night’s strange memories triggered like sudden explosives. With all the day’s distractions, the bugs and the odd physical discomforts, he’d forgotten all about it. How could I? He slid his hand into his back pocket. The envelope. Still there. “Son...of...a...bitch.” He pulled it out. Crisp. Beige. He unfolded it.

  His scrawled name met his hesitant gaze. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably.

  “What’d he look like, this man you spoke to?” His gaze was still on the envelope.

  “I don’t know, didn’t really look at him too closely. Tall, serious. Kinda disheveled. Didn’t look like he was there to have a good time like everyone else.” She gazed inquisitively at the envelope in his hand.

  “It’s the same guy.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head. “He...this man you’re talking about...he followed me to the Ocean Crest Diner last night.” He held up the envelope. “He gave me this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A note, I suppose. Has my name on it.” He held it out for her to see.

  “What’s it say?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t open it. Honestly, I’m not sure I really want to.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, it’s kinda creepy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Well, I suppose. But then again, it’s probably just a piece fan mail, you know? Guy figures that if he sends something to the fan club address, it’s gonna sit in a pile with a million other letters until some poor temp is hired to wade through the mountain and mail back Bev Mathers carbon-copy photos. That’s pretty much the drill, isn’t it?”

  “I resent that. I read all my fan letters and respond to each one personally.” He grinned.

  “Yeah, and I’m the President’s daughter.”

  He frowned and tucked a finger into the tear he started last night, then ran it along the side edge. The folded edge of a letter peeked out. Simultaneously, last night’s scenario filtered back in flashes, the stranger and his low-profile delivery of the envelope. Too strange.

  Bev shivered.

  Did he really want to expose the contents?

  Kristin waited, eyes roaming back and forth between Bev and the envelope. He reached in, pinched the beige parchment. Pulled it out. It was folded in thirds. He opened it. On it, typewritten text:

  BEVANT MATHERS

  YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED FOR AN EXCLUSIVE GATHERING

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 10

  A LIMO WILL ARRIVE AT YOUR RESIDENCE AT 6:00 PM

  BE AVAILABLE

  Kristin leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “So...what’s it say?”

  “Looks like an invitation,” he replied, staring at his name. Bevant Mathers. Nobody ever called him by his full name. Nobody.

  Except that voice in his head.

  He stared at the paper. Frowned. He didn’t like that last line. Be available. The invitation had requested his presence, but seemingly demanded he be available. It almost read as a...threat.

  “C’mon...what’s it say?” she persisted, looking a bit nervous—apparently she didn’t appreciate Bev’s quiet reaction.

  He handed her the parchment. She read it in silence. Hesitated. “Strange.”

  “I agree, considering how it was delivered to me.” He explained how the man, after following him to the diner, discreetly slid the envelope across the counter to him before leaving.

  “That is weird.”

  “Think he’s a stalker?”

  “If so, a very creative one.” She exhaled a plume of gray smoke into the wind.

  “The man who asked for me last night, did you speak with him at all?”

  She shook her head. “No, not really. I was walking around the room looking for you, and he just came up to me and asked if I’d seen you yet, and I said “no,” and then he told me that he had something important to give you, and when I asked him what it was, he just walked away. That was really it. Honestly, after that I got distracted and forgot about him.”

  “You think he knew you were my daughter?”

  “Hmm, not sure about that. Probably not. If he had, I suppose he could’ve just asked me to give you the envelope.”

  Bev was unconvinced. “I don’t like this. Maybe I should call the police.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. There’s been no threat. And besides, if you do, the tabloids’ll catch wind of it and show up on your porch snapping pictures for their next issue, and then all your fans will come out from under their rocks and start stalking you for real.”

  “C’mon, I’m not that famous.”

  “I’d still steer clear of bringing it out into the open until...” She hesitated, then added, “You know, it’s probably only what it appears to be: an invitation. It says that they’re gonna send out a limo to pick you up at your place.”

  “Which means they know where I live. Kristin, listen to me, this guy followed me last night, tailed me from the Forum to the diner. And let’s not forget that he managed to make his way backstage. That right there tells me he’s not working alone. Clearly he’s got some pretty resourceful connections, ones that gave him access to the Forum’s restricted areas. I mean, as far I know, there could very well be someone here right now, keeping tabs on me.” He gazed around the pier at the people dining in the booths. And then, toward the bar, where casually dressed men and women were socially clutched around every occupied stool.

  She shook her head, grinned, then looked around. “I don’t think you have to worry about anyone here...except for maybe that guy.” She pointed and Bev turned around. Standing at the pier entrance was Cal Stolt, the singer for Pathway, another local band making their mark with a recent top-40 hit. He recognized Bev and waved. Bev returned the gesture and turned back to Kristin; each respected the other’s privacy.

  “Ha-ha. Funny.”

  She handed the invitation back to him. “Well...it’s not like you’ve never gotten invited to a party before. Hey Dad, maybe you’ll get lucky and it’ll turn out to be one of those ultra-secretive high-class sex romps. You know, orgy of the stars!” Bev rolled his eyes. She added, “This is L.A., pops. They go on all the time.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I work for a music tabloid? Remember? I know everything that goes on in the business, maybe even more than you.” She grinned slyly.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it is just an invite.”

  She took a sip of beer. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You haven’t been threatened. Nobody’s held a gun to your head.”

  After a silence, Bev said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just...well, I haven’t been feeling all too well since I got back, and I guess it’s got me a bit worked up.” He rubbed his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Bev explained. He told her about the odd lightheaded sensation that had come and gone, the disassociation with the music on stage last night, and the episode that occurred while driving on his way here, how he’d felt unexplainably angry and hostile. Plus the sudden anxiety. The out-of-body feeling. He even told her about the bugs in his apartment, and she responded with a look of horror.

 
He told her everything...except one thing.

  The voice.

  Too serious to discuss, he’d decided. Institutional stuff. Better left unsaid.

  “I made an appointment with the doctor.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Noon.”

  “Good. Please let me know how you make out, okay?”

  “I will.” He stretched his legs out beneath the booth, then chanced another look around at those minding their own business. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “A little ‘R and R’. Nothing important. And then Jake’s party tonight.”

  “Jake’s Party?”

  She smiled, her eyes narrowed with disbelief. Or, expectation. “He forgot to invite you?”

  “I guess...then again, maybe he did mention something to me earlier. Can’t remember.” He’d said something about having dinner...

  “Well, today’s his birthday and he’s having a party at his house at eight. He mentioned it to me last night. Said you were coming.”

  “I don’t remember him saying anything to me about his birthday.” Is it possible I forgot?

  “Well, you better be there. I was hoping we could spend some more time together. And, Rebecca Haviland will be there.”

  “What is it about Rebecca?”

  “She likes you, dad. And, she’s a wonderful woman.”

  Bev laughed uncomfortably. “Drop it, okay.”

  Kristen shrugged, sullen. “Okay, okay.”

  Bev heard a close shuffling of feet behind him, a slight stir of something brushing by. He darted around, looked.

  No one was there.

  He turned back, audibly breathing out. “What do you say we take a quick walk on the beach?” Suddenly, he wanted to flee the restaurant.

  “Sure.”

  He stood from the booth, stretched his limbs, feeling as though someone was standing right next to him.

  Brushing up against him.

  He shuddered.

  Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. In his head. And then, in a flash, it was gone.