“Jason?” Liz asked.
I looked at her, surprised by the terseness of her tone.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I was thinking about—”
“Casey,” she finished. Her eyes lowered and her features went slack with amazement. “Your fingers…”
I’m sure color rushed to my cheeks. “They were able to reattach them. I… forgot to tell you.”
She reached toward me, but I placed my mug on the island and leaned forward. “Have you thought of safeguarding your home?”
She withdrew a little. “Against what?”
When I hesitated, she asked, “You don’t think it will come back, do you? Please say it won’t.”
“I was thinking more about Ron,” I lied. “You said he was persistent.”
“What else can I do? The papers were served this morning, but he still tries to call. Texts, emails. He might’ve come by, but we weren’t here until after suppertime.” She sighed. “But we have to sleep somewhere.”
“Have you considered protection?”
“I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”
I shook my head. “Not of that sort. I was thinking—”
“You could move in.”
My mouth fell open. With something like amazement I realized she’d been building to this, working up the courage. I didn’t know what was more astonishing—that she trusted me enough to make the offer or that she actually believed I might be of some help in keeping her and her children safe.
If she only knew.
She fixed me with an earnest gaze. “You helped my son.”
“That was Father Sutherland,” I said, staring down at my coffee. “I’m afraid you think more of me than you should.”
“Father Sutherland died, Jason. He was overwhelmed by that… thing. It sent him to his death.”
“Liz, I couldn’t—”
“I’ll tell your superiors that I requested you. That I begged you.”
I shook my head, but she was stepping around the island. “I am begging you. I haven’t slept at all since that awful night. And when I do it’s fitful, full of nightmares. I wake up sobbing.”
“Liz—”
She got between me and the island, her body deliriously close to mine. But her voice was frantic, her eyes watery and red. “You have to help us, Jason. I want you to think I’m strong, but I’m not. At least not that strong. I need help.” She grasped my biceps. “From you. I need you to make sure that…that fucking monster…doesn’t come back. Doesn’t—” Her voice broke, tears spilled down her cheeks; she wiped them away angrily, “—doesn’t haunt this house again. I can’t let it get Casey.”
I looked down at her, undone by her candor. It was surreal to hear her give voice to many of the same emotions I was experiencing. How much of our time, I mused, we spend attempting to appear strong. How much better our world would be if we would admit to feeling weak now and then.
“Will you?” she asked, her body very close to mine.
I felt a momentary echo of the power I’d experienced the night of the exorcism. I knew it was a fleeting sensation, but it was edifying enough to decide me.
“Okay, Liz. I’ll go get my stuff—”
“In the morning,” she said.
I hesitated.
“Please, Jason,” she said, squeezing my arms. “I won’t sleep if you’re not here.”
Maybe it was the heat of her body within the robe, the press of her febrile flesh communicating her need…but for the first time, I wondered what it was she was asking. Her face betrayed nothing, but I knew I’d never forgive myself for taking advantage of her when she was most vulnerable.
I cleared my throat. “Does your couch fold out?”
I detected a flicker of wry humor in her eyes. “There’s a guest bedroom upstairs.”
I’m afraid I blushed.
If Liz noticed it, she made no sign. “The bed’s already made, and you’ll have your own bathroom. There’s even a TV in case you want to watch the news.”
It was a throwaway comment, totally innocuous, but it splashed over me like a noxious tide. I remembered the Sweet Sixteen Killer. Remembered Danny Hartman. The reason I had rushed over here tonight.
Unbidden, the images I’d glimpsed when Malephar had gripped Danny swooped through my mind: Danny’s eyes lingering on Liz’s breasts. Danny staring at Casey and Carolyn in a way far less wholesome than any uncle should. Staring at them like slabs of meat. Like animals about to be slaughtered.
“Liz, you mentioned guns. Does Ron have any?”
A ripple of distaste crimped her pretty features. “Several. He keeps them in a safe in our—” She colored. “—in my bedroom. In the closet.”
“Do you have the combination?”
She nodded. “It’s on a post-it note in his nightstand. Do you think we’ll need them? Ron’s not the violent type.”
It’s not Ron I’m worried about, I thought. But I couldn’t say that. And I certainly couldn’t tell her about Danny. Not only would the divulgence of this revelation shatter the tenuous pact I’d made with the demon, but judging from Liz’s fragile state, it might just drive her insane to learn that the godfather of her son was the most fearsome serial killer in the city’s history.
I took care to keep my tone neutral. “I don’t believe Ron means you or the children harm. But stressful situations bring out the worst in people.”
She uttered a mirthless laugh, and though my words had probably dredged up more memories of that dreadful night, I could tell I’d hit my mark. “That son of a bitch,” she muttered. “I still can’t believe he’d let that animal get at Casey…”
There was no need for her to explain. When the demon Malephar laid hands on someone, he could read the person’s innermost thoughts—or memories—in an instant. After revealing to everyone that Ron had been leading a double life with another woman, that he was heavily into aberrant sex and illicit drugs, Ron had been so frightened of having his secrets revealed to the world that he had released Jack Bittner, Danny’s partner, from the squad car in which he’d been imprisoned. We had locked Bittner in earlier that night because he’d believed Casey to be the Sweet Sixteen Killer. And when Ron had unleashed the raging cop on his son, Bittner had come a hair’s breadth from murdering Casey.
If that wasn’t grounds for divorce, I didn’t know what was.
“As I said,” I went on, “I don’t think we have anything to fear from Ron. But I’d feel better having access to the gun safe.” In case Danny breaks in and tries to kill us, I thought but didn’t say.
Liz clutched the edges of her robe. “What about the demon?”
“He’s no longer a danger to you,” I said, doing my best to sound convincing. “He… he died when Father Sutherland died.”
She searched my face, hope and doubt warring in her eyes. “Can a demonic spirit die, Father Crowder?”
I noted the change in her manner of addressing me. She was questioning me not as a man in whom she might be interested, but as a spiritual advisor.
I knew I had to tread gingerly. Liz was an astute woman. She would research the matter on her own. Had perhaps already done so. A lie might very well cost me her trust and any relationship—platonic or otherwise—we might enjoy in the future.
“The demonic presence likely did not die, no—although such an event has been deemed possible by some experts. But when the host dies, most believe the offending spirit enters a dormant state, in which it might languish for many years. Even centuries.”
Skepticism darkened her face. “So it just, what, leaves the corpse and floats around? Until it drifts into someone else?”
I smiled, grateful to find myself on solid intellectual ground. “You’re thinking about the presence too literally. It isn’t that tangible.”
“But the demon worked by touch. Father Sutherland said it was physically clairvoyant. Wouldn’t it make sense that it would transfer to the next body it came into contact with?”
I shifted uneasily, an
gry at myself for underestimating her. She was coming disquietingly close to unraveling my secret.
“Reading one’s thoughts is a far cry from transferring bodies, is it not?” I argued. “The demon had many opportunities to inhabit a different host. A more physically developed host than Casey. It could have chosen Bittner, Father Sutherland…”
“Or you,” she finished.
My throat went dry. “Or me.”
“Why is he here?” a voice asked from the doorway.
We turned and discovered Casey watching us from the shadows of the hall. I had a terrible memory of the possessed adolescent’s face twisted into a vulpine mask, but shoved it aside.
Liz stepped away from me. “How long have you been standing there?”
Casey shrugged with one shoulder, a gesture that seemed far more world-weary than any fourteen-year-old had a right to make. “Just now.” His eyes shifted from his mother to me. “Why? Don’t you want me disturbing you?”
Liz smiled guiltily. “Of course I want you here. So does Jas—so does Father Crowder. Don’t you, Father?”
“Of course,” I said. And despite our mutual discomfiture, it was true. I had been worried about Casey since our harrowing ordeal of two nights earlier. Seeing him now allayed all sorts of fears, even if he did seem more cynical than I had hoped.
But I wasn’t, after all, his father. And despite the fact that he knew what a wretched person his dad was, the blood link still existed, as did their shared history. It was unreasonable to expect Casey to disavow the affection he possessed for his father, nor was it fair for me to hope for such a thing.
Liz moved briskly over to Casey and put an arm around him. He didn’t resist her, but he didn’t reciprocate, and he didn’t take his eyes off me. I had a sudden recollection of a man to whom my mother was once engaged, an alcoholic named George who nearly became my stepfather. Had I regarded George with the same hooded, baleful look that Casey was giving me now? Had I viewed him as an interloper whose sole purpose was stealing my mom from me?
“Can I get you anything?” Liz asked him.
“Uh-uh,” he said, still staring. “Unlike some people, I don’t expect anything from you.”
Liz glanced uneasily at me, then at her son. “We probably woke you up talking, didn’t we?”
“It wasn’t you,” he answered. “It was Uncle Danny.”
My legs nearly buckled.
Liz peered at her son, who was perhaps an inch shorter than her, whose features were almost as delicate, though his hair was dark like his father’s. “Casey, what do you—”
“Uncle Danny called my cell,” Casey explained. “Said he was sorry to disturb me, but he was worried and wanted to make sure I was okay.”
Liz’s cheeks dimpled in a smile.
My God, I thought, she’s moved by Danny’s concern. If she only knew!
“I’m so thankful for Danny,” she said.
Casey ignored that. “He didn’t believe me when I told him I was fine.”
“He loves you,” Liz said.
Not as much as he loves carving up teenage girls, I thought.
“Did he say anything else?” Liz asked.
Casey shook his head. “Just that he’s on his way over here.”
Chapter Five
I’d stood there in thunderstruck silence for perhaps three seconds before the doorbell sounded.
Though I’d always viewed myself as a weakling, hypersensitive and comically nervous, I had never until then suffered from hyperventilation. Yet my breathing had begun to heave in such shallow, unsatisfying waves that I feared I might faint. Liz noticed it and rushed over to where I leaned against the island, feeling vaguely foolish but far too overwhelmed with terror to don a manly posture.
“What is it, Jason?” she asked, an arm flung around me. I was scarcely aware of her physical proximity, though the warm pressure of her breasts against my shoulder still managed to send a spark of pleasure through me.
“I’m sorry…” I said, gasping. “I’m… it’s just…”
“Flashback?” she asked.
I glanced sharply at her, my breath wheezing like an asthmatic.
“From the other night,” she explained. “When you heard Danny’s name, it brought back the memories of—”
“That’s right,” I managed. I looked up, wondering what Casey thought of my histrionics.
But the doorway was vacant.
“Where’s your son?” I asked between breaths.
She smiled. “Answering the door.”
“No. He can’t—”
“Hey, Case!” I heard a voice call.
Danny.
It was too late to keep him out.
“Come on,” Liz said, ushering me forward. “Danny will be delighted to see you.”
The thought was so absurd that I almost brayed laughter.
I made my way out of the kitchen with Liz, ambled toward the foyer, saw that the entryway was empty but that the living room to the left was spilling out a warm buttery glow. As we neared the doorway, I heard Casey and Danny speaking in easy tones, with the comfort and familiarity that only years of trust can engender.
Six feet from the doorway I paused, my whole body shivering as if from an ague. The man on the other side of the wall had gutted me only three hours prior, had taunted me and sneered at me while my lifeblood splurted over my fingers. He had raped and butchered seven teenaged girls, had threatened Liz and her children. Yet I wasn’t allowed to say a thing about it.
How woefully unprepared I was! Upon my miraculous—or infernal—healing, I had thought only of reaching Liz, of ensuring her safety. I hadn’t considered how everything had changed because of my bargain with Malephar, nor had I any idea I’d be facing Danny again so soon. Would he let fall the kindhearted mask he’d so thoroughly cultivated and consummate the injury he’d done me earlier? Would he slaughter me in front of Casey and Liz before turning his blade on them?
“Jason,” Liz said and placed a hand on my cheek, “you’re so pale. Do you need to lie down?”
Though I was healed—or at least believed myself to be—the wound in my belly began to throb. The center of my face became a pulsing ache, as though a cudgel were steadily pounding my nasal cavity. Oh God, I thought. I can’t face him.
Blanching, I turned away, and had taken a step toward the kitchen when the world went gray. I reeled against the wall, thrust out a hand, and only with Liz’s help was I able to keep from crashing into a painting. As it was, my sweaty palm still bumped gracelessly against its gilded frame. Liz wrapped her arms around my waist for support, and with a glance I saw the painting was a Van Gogh print—“Starry Night.” I nearly laughed aloud at the coincidence. One of us missing an ear, the other a nose. Of course, mine had grown back.
But Danny would hack up the rest of me if he discovered me in Liz’s house.
As if hearing my thoughts, Danny called, “You alright in there, Liz?”
“We’re fine,” Liz answered over her shoulder.
My body went rigid. We’re fine, she’d said.
We’re.
Danny knew Liz wasn’t alone.
She’s not alone, an indignant voice broke through the wooziness, because she’s in danger. That’s why you came, idiot! Remember?
The bluntness of the voice snapped me back to my senses and reminded me of what a coward I was being. Of course I couldn’t run. I’d raced over here to protect Liz and her kids from Danny. Now, for God’s sakes, I needed to protect them. Here was the only place I belonged, however ineffectual a guardian I might prove.
Rustling from the other room, someone getting to his feet.
“Who’s that?” Danny asked from behind me.
My breath congealing in my chest, I stood erect.
I turned to face him.
Danny stood in the doorway between the living room and the foyer. Half of his body was in darkness, half of it a golden yellow. When he realized who it was standing beside Liz, his affable expression slowly
bled away, to be replaced by one of total disbelief.
I couldn’t blame him. The last time he’d seen me, my intestines were oozing out of my belly, the hardwood floor under me a sticky crimson pond. My skin had probably been winter white then, though Danny’s hue wasn’t far from that color now. His mouth worked mutely, his face pinching for the briefest moment like a child working up to a good hard cry. Then he caught himself, his eyes flitting to Liz. “How long has he been here?”
Liz’s voice was bemused. “I don’t know… how long would you say, Jason? Fifteen minutes?”
“Give or take,” I agreed, my eyes never leaving Danny’s.
My resolve was growing. I didn’t feel as imposing as I had when vanquishing the demon during the exorcism, but I no longer felt as gutless as I had only moments earlier.
It was something.
“Why so late, Father Crowder?” Danny asked. His eyes lowered to my stomach, as if he expected my innards to be drooling over my belt. “It’s almost three-thirty in the morning.”
“The same reason you’re here, I expect. I was worried about Liz’s wellbeing.”
Danny didn’t like that; he knew I was talking about him. But Liz didn’t know that, not yet at least. And according to the bargain, I couldn’t mention it to her.
What would happen if I did? Would Malephar destroy me from the inside out, make me explode in a detonation of blood and entrails? Or would he set upon Liz and Casey, ripping and tearing like the savage beast he was?
Liz’s hand pressed my lower back. “Should we sit down?”
I nodded, walked abreast of her toward Danny, who stepped aside to let us pass. When we drew even with him, I fancied I could smell his fear sweat, like fried electrical wires and undercooked pork.
In the living room Liz offered me a seat beside her on a stiff red brocade sofa. Casey eased down on the glossy black bench of an antique Steinway grand piano. Danny selected a velvet green chair and sank into it, the arms of the chair high enough to give him a diabolical look. I half-expected him to offer to purchase my soul.
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