Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  She told Lisa she needed to use the ladies room. Making an effort not to appear nosy, Cari walked around, glancing in other offices, absorbing everything.

  This strange energy was not consistent. She’d barely noticed it in Jake’s private office, felt it a little at his secretary’s desk, rather like the lingering odor of perfume minutes after the wearer has passed. Yet it was pervasive: to a varying degree it was everywhere. Strong now, torrid pockets in a swift current. Intensifying by the moment, she felt the excitement, felt the power.

  Cari took another footstep, then paused. The energy dissipated, suddenly and completely. She stood there, bemused, when she was hit from behind, hard enough to send her sprawling, arms shooting out to break her fall.

  “Pardon me, so sorry, didn’t see you.”

  She turned over, looking up at the outstretched hand, into the handsome face of Gil Vandercamp.

  A chill shuddered through her, as sure as winter-ice freezing the marrow of her bones. She ignored his offer of help and stood alone, careful to cloak her emotions.

  He was incredibly tall and he stood, too closely, staring down at her. Cari shifted her feet, refusing to feel intimidated. She focused on his smile: pleasant but without warmth. Gil Vandercamp was an attractive man by any standards – yet Cari had an impression of a creature of reptilian nature. Too cold, too cruel. Too damn quick.

  “Jake’s friend, I presume? I saw you earlier, at my son’s school. We weren’t introduced.”

  She nodded warily.

  “Looking for Jake?”

  Best defence is offence. “Nope, I’m looking around the office, trying to get the feel of the place.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “And what did you say that was?”

  “I didn’t, actually. You’re Jake’s boss, the head honcho.”

  “Yes, that’s me, the big cheese.”

  “The creator and president of Marvelworks?”

  “The very same.”

  “Hmmm, interesting. It must have taken a great deal of work to build a company like this.”

  “Not really,” Gil said, growing impatient. He flicked a speck of lint off his suit jacket. “You never told me your name.”

  “No, you’re right. I didn’t.”

  “It is...”

  “Cari.”

  “Cari. Do you have a last name, Cari?”

  “Yes, I do. This office is very impressive. I’m especially intrigued by the video arcade on the street, brilliant concept. Yours, right?”

  “Yes. Jake never mentioned he had a new lady friend. Have you known each other long?”

  Cari cocked her head to one side. “Not really. I’d like to spend some time at the arcade. Would you mind?”

  “Yes,” he said bluntly. “It makes the kids nervous to have people milling about. Part of the reason for its success is the kids feel completely comfortable, away from life’s pressures. An adult will destroy that illusion.”

  “I see.”

  “What are you really doing here?” he asked abruptly.

  “I told you, looking around.”

  Gil grabbed her wrist suddenly, applying enough pressure to make her uncomfortable. “Then, let me give you something to look at.” He led her to Jake’s office. “Sit, use Jake’s chair. He won’t need it.” He turned briefly. “Lisa, dear, page Jake. I want him immediately.” Then he turned back to Cari, smiling thinly. “Alright, Ms. Cari with-no-last-name, Ms. Cari who likes to play games... what do you do for a living?”

  “I own a bookstore.”

  “Really?” He sounded surprised. “I thought surely you’re a politician with those slippery answers.”

  “One learns to be... cautious when one owns a business. Don’t you agree?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “Although I don’t expect the demands of running a small store are quite the same as leading an enterprise such as Marvelworks.”

  “All businesses are hard work, no matter what the size. And the name of your bookstore is...?”

  It was like playing chess. Small talk, bantered back and forth, each opponent warily giving away nothing. He does realize I’m an opponent, Cari thought, and that automatically made her curious. He was a fascinating man: intelligent, enigmatic, smooth, wily, used to being in control, used to giving orders. In a past era, he might have been a general, a leader among men. The power was there. What was he hiding? “Amy Montclaire,” she said suddenly. “Where is she?”

  “Haven’t a clue, didn’t know she was missing.”

  “Your son didn’t tell you?”

  “My son’s too sick to say much of anything. He was a naughty boy last night, drinking.” He clicked his tongue with disapproval.

  “Your son is underage.”

  “Yes. He’s been dealt with, although a hangover is punishment in itself, don’t you agree?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Oh? Too pure for that kind of nonsense? How noble.”

  “Maybe your son should take notes.”

  “Jason isn’t the issue here, Amy is. She’s a problem child, that girl. Very troubled. I am curious, though, why you’re questioning me about her whereabouts?”

  She chose her words carefully. “You strike me as being a man who knows everything.”

  Gil laughed. “Were that only true. I’d be lounging around Florida playing the ponies instead of toiling here, trying to make my little company sing. Still, I do enjoy being the master of my own little world. Ah, Jake... good. Wait just one second...” Gil crooked his finger and a uniformed security guard entered. “Jake, you’re fired. I have indisputable proof you sold the preliminary plans for Pluto’s Playground. Lisa has incriminating documents that bear your signature, and following your advice, I checked your bank and found a dummy account registered under your housekeeper’s name with you listed as power of attorney, giving you full access. Very sneaky. Nice nest egg, too bad you won’t get to spend any of it, because I plan to tie up your assets in court for years to come. All your assets. I’m pressing charges, by the way. You have exactly three minutes to clear out your desk. I’ll watch, to make sure you don’t steal anything else.”

  Cari watched as Jake’s face registered disbelief. He began to shake his head.

  “Cat got your tongue, Jakey-boy? Not like you to be so... accepting.”

  “I get the feeling it would be pointless to defend myself –”

  “That’s what I always admire about you, Jake. Your ability to analyze a situation accurately.”

  “– even though we both know I’ve been set up.”

  “Ah, you disappoint me. Once again.”

  Jake turned away, his back rigid, his face unreadable. He walked to a closet, took a file box and dumped the contents on the floor. Starting with his children’s pictures and crafts, he began to fill the box with the contents from his desk.

  “Glad you brought a friend to view your humiliation?”

  Jake remained silent.

  “Perhaps she’s more than a friend, hmmm? Perhaps she’s your co-conspirator? Your partner in crime?” Gil said, waiting for a response and when none was forthcoming, continued to bait. “Or maybe not. With her looks and tight little body, I’ll bet she’s your partner between the sheets.”

  Jake stopped suddenly and Cari jumped up, speaking quickly. “Don’t, Jake. He wants you to get mad so he can add assault charges to the list.”

  “Is her pussy hair as shiny as her head, Jake? I’ll bet her twat is nice and tight, tiny little thing like that.” Gil laughed at Jake’s murderous expression. “Don’t fuck with me, Jake. Those who do live to regret it.”

  Jake finished boxing the last few items and shoved past Gil to get out. He glanced at Lisa – her head was downcast. Gil flung one last barb: “If you’re looking for Amy, Jake, try asking your new friend. I’ll bet she knows where your tramp-daughter is.”

  Jake dropped the box and landed his fist squarely in Gil�
�s face, catching Gil off guard, sending him staggering backwards. “Go ahead, file the assault charge, you prick. Wiping your slimy grin off was worth it.”

  Gil rubbed his jaw, watching Jake leave. Damn, but that hurt. Didn’t think the bastard had it in him. No matter, this was only round-one. Round-two was waiting for Jake, and by the end of the day, Jake Montclaire would be reduced to a whimpering, heaving mass of dog crap. Gil Vandercamp would finally have his revenge.

  **

  Jake’s house was afire. The house that was supposedly burn-proof had brilliant flames shooting from every window. Jake knew, without being told, that it was completely unsalvageable. He stood on the street, wedged between Skeeter and Cari and a dozen other voyeurs, watching the firemen’s futile attempt to extinguish the blaze.

  How did this happen? Two hours ago everything was safe, left in the capable hands of Carmen Del Fuego. Carmen’s whereabouts was as much a mystery as the origin of the fire. Jake’s stomach convulsed. Could she be trapped inside?

  The Fire Chief came over to stand by Jake. “Strangest thing,” he said, removing his helmet to scratch his head. “We’re not sure how it started. Possibly arson, although no clues yet. More probable your electrical system went haywire. We see that sometimes in these fancy houses. Too much wiring for all the doodads and the system overloads.”

  “This house was supposed to be fireproof,” Jake mumbled.

  “No such thing,” the Chief replied. “If it gets hot enough, anything will burn.”

  Jake nodded numbly, wishing the man would go away. It was all gone, everything. He had insurance, of course, but some things were irreplaceable. The photo albums. Mementos from his children’s past: first finger paintings, kindergarten crafts, sport ribbons and fifteen year’s worth of Father’s Day cards.

  Cari touched his elbow. “Jake,” she whispered. “Something’s happening. Prepare yourself.”

  He looked at her blankly. What did she mean, something’s happening? That much was obvious. Then he looked up and saw two firemen exiting the house, carrying out a charred mass. Dear God. No. It couldn’t be.

  Not a body.

  Cari led Skeeter away, wrapping her arms around the boy’s shoulders, murmuring comforting words. “I’m taking him to the car, Jake. He doesn’t need to see this.”

  Jake steeled himself. This couldn’t be happening, that singed lump couldn’t be a body. It couldn’t be Carmen.

  Then, another thought: Amy? Could Amy have returned, only to be trapped inside that blazing inferno? Could she be in there right now?

  He had to go inside, had to search for Amy. Had to find his baby and protect her. Jake started to move forward, mindless that his house was collapsing. It was a horrific sight, flames licked everywhere like a thousand greedy tongues. The fire was spreading rapidly despite the heavy rain, consuming the surrounding trees, leaping from one to the next, endangering the neighboring homes. His peripheral brain cells acknowledged the danger involved, but he paid them no mind, intent on action. He moved forward, his gaze darting repeatedly to the charred body laid out on the stretcher, steam billowing obscenely from it like a barbequed entree.

  An officer appeared beside him, restraining his elbow. Jake realized dimly it was the same officer from this morning, the one he’d talked to about Amy’s disappearance.

  Oh, please God, no, don’t let it be Amy.

  “Sir,” the cop was saying, “I believe we found your housekeeper.”

  Jake’s voice was a dry, parched whisper. “How do you know it’s Carmen?”

  “Can’t be sure,” he said, indicating the body, “but the bit of hair remaining is consistent with a Hispanic. Your daughter is blond, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jake whispered, thinking, There’s still hair on that corpse? Then, hating himself for asking, hating himself for his lack of concern for Carmen in the face of his desperation to find his daughter, he asked raggedly, “Are there... did you find... others?”

  The cop swallowed. He hated this part of his job; it never got easier, no matter how much practise he had. “No, not yet. That doesn’t mean, of course.... Well, it is possible your daughter returned, we aren’t ruling it out.”

  “No,” Jake repeated.

  “I’m sorry, there’s no easy way to tell you this. We’ll keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.” The cop looked away uncomfortably as Jake stared at him with eyes so anguished it was painful to look at him. “Look, is there somewhere else you can go while we sort this mess out? Somewhere safe? A friend’s place, perhaps?”

  Jake stood immobile, shaking his head. His eyes were red and haggard, his skin ashen. He had, the cop realized, symptoms of shock. Who could blame the poor bugger?

  “But if I leave... how will Amy find me when she comes home? She won’t know where to look.”

  “The fire department will be here for quite some time, extinguishing the blaze and cleaning up the mess. Funny how it keeps burning in this rain, you’d think a downpour like this would quench the blaze, but it seems to be feeding it, like adding water to a grease fire.” The cop shook his head. “If your daughter shows up, there’ll be someone here.”

  “I won’t leave.”

  “Sir, please, you’re cold, you’re in shock, and you’ve got to take care of yourself. Your son needs you, and when your daughter shows up, she’ll need you too. You’ve got to hold it together for your kids.”

  Jake turned away, his tears flowing freely. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I failed you.” He walked away, hunched over, the young cop supporting him. He never noticed the newspaper cameras flashing in his face like vultures feeding on carrion, nor the crowd of people parting slowly to let him through. Lost in his own tormented world, he noticed nothing at all. Certainly not the single figure, high on the hill, watching the carnage below through a pair of high-powered binoculars. Binoculars trained on Jake, watching his every movement.

  Cari took them to her house. She made tea, wrapped them in blankets, then left them alone on her couch, respectful of their privacy. Jake clutched the protection amulet, thinking: Lot of good this thing did. He said as much to Cari when she came in to check on them.

  “It is working,” she remarked, suppressing the urge to close the curtains. Something sinister lurked out there. Something that wanted in. “After all, you’re still safe.”

  “Jobless, homeless and missing a child. You call that safe?”

  “I call it alive.”

  “Gee, that’s a comfort.”

  She bit her lip. “Jake, Amy is alive, I sense it. She’s in desperate trouble, though, and she needs your help, and so does Skeeter. You’re going to have to pull yourself together.”

  He was silent for a few moments. He looked almost like an invalid, swaddled under blankets, holding his son close. When he spoke, he formulated the words slowly. “When I was a young man, maybe twenty or so, a friend had cancer. He was younger than me, only eighteen, and the cancer metastasized rapidly. It started out low, then moved up behind his stomach and travelled up his back. Massive doses of radiation halted the cancer and ultimately saved his life. He’ll never be able to father children, and he’ll always walk with a pronounced limp, but that doesn’t faze him. He sees himself as a survivor, not a victim. That’s the amazing thing about this guy, he never gave up, refusing to be humbled by this horrible, debilitating disease. I remember him saying how much luckier he was than the other patients because he was able to walk around instead of lying passively in bed. The ability to move helped him feel he could fight the battle, and ultimately, he won.” Jake sighed and stroked Skeeter’s head. The boy was listening intently. “I guess what I’m saying is, regardless of all that’s happened, I’m still able to walk and I’m still able to fight. I’ve got my son, my health, my wits, and if I’m not mistaken, I’ve got an ally in you, Cari. You feel that Amy is alive and I believe you.”

  He took a deep breath. “Somebody or something, maybe fate, has conspired against me. I’ve got a few ideas, although nothing’s ma
king sense right now. I’m going to figure it all out and I’m going to fight back. Are you guys with me?”

  Skeeter nodded and Cari smiled.

  “Good. We’re going to find Amy. We’re going to win this battle. We may have lost our home, we may have lost our possessions, and I may have lost my job, but we still have brainpower and pride. We still have each other. And, like my old friend, we’re still able to walk. We’re still able to fight.” He continued to stroke his son’s head. “Watch out world, because Jake Montclaire is tired of being dumped on. Jake Montclaire has had enough. Jake Montclaire is ready to kick some serious butt.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Amy lay perfectly still. Something was crawling on her, something spindly and soft, with dozens of spiky legs and a cool, squishy body. Creeping along her bare skin, moving slowly through the erect hairs of her forearms.

  No, it was her imagination. She squeezed her eyes tightly, willing the sensation to go away. Her prison was pitch black, she couldn’t have seen had she tried.

  The crawling resumed, not her imagination, horribly real. Just like the rat that nibbled at her toes, which ran along her bare legs and across her back before she grabbed the tail and sent it hurling across the room, hearing the squeak as it smashed against the cement wall. When was that? Yesterday, maybe. Maybe the day before. She couldn’t tell.

  Time was lost here, in this dungeon. It meant nothing. Without the rise and fall of the sun to guide her body rhythms, her internal clock ceased to function. She slept often; this strange inertia gripping her made her sleepy. It was just as well, to stay awake in the pure blackness would surely lead to madness.

  At first, Amy tried not to think at all. Then, in snatches, she tried to make sense of this. It must be Jason’s group. They were punishing her for not wanting to belong. For being a traitor. Any minute now, they would open the door and she could go home to Daddy and Skeeter and Carmen, and climb into her clean, soft bed. Any minute now, she would leave this cold, empty cell with the skinny mattress and the total darkness and the thin blanket and the runny liquid someone brought her three times a day.