Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  “Please, Lisa, I’m begging you. The next meeting?”

  “Stay away from the meetings, Jake.”

  “I have to find Amy.”

  “You won’t find her there.”

  “Where, then?”

  She shrugged. “I truly don’t know. But the meetings... they’re expecting you to show up. It’s a trap. Don’t you understand? Gil’s been waiting for you.”

  “But –”

  “Look,” she said, knocking her coffee cup in agitation, gasping as the hot liquid spilled over her hand. “I’ve said enough. Stay away from the meetings, stay away from me. Forget Amy, she’s already gone. I think you still have a chance with Skeeter.” Before he could say anything else, she turned and ran. Grim faced, he flung a five-dollar-bill on the table and left the coffee shop, aware everyone was watching him.

  **

  Cari sat at Lisa’s desk, carefully keeping her head down. Her red wig was similar to Lisa’s hair and if she was lucky a passerby might mistake her for the other woman. If she was really lucky, no one would notice her at all.

  She began rummaging through computer files, looking for anything that might give clues to Gil’s whereabouts. It was a long shot, but time was running out and she agreed with Jake’s assessment the situation called for desperate measures. If she stumbled upon something that might exonerate Jake, so much the better. It was a bold move, and her heart pumped erratically. To be caught snooping in Lisa’s computer would be most unpleasant.

  Ah, what have we here? Notations in Lisa’s day timer: Choir practise, seven-thirty, 966 Glenhaven Drive. Significant? Cari jotted down the address.

  She scrolled through the files until one caught her interest. Pluto’s Playground. Wasn’t that the game Jake had designed, the one that caused all the fuss? No time to search it, she’d just copy the entire thing. In and out, that’s what Jake had said.

  “Lisa? Oh good, you’re back. I need you in my office, immediately.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. With her head still bent, she mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

  “Lisa? Are you alright?”

  “Humph.”

  “Could you look at me while I’m speaking?” The voice was commanding, unpleasant.

  Cari squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated, willing the image of Lisa into her consciousness. She projected the image onto herself and looked up slowly, swallowing heavily.

  “Lisa? What are you doing?”

  “Dropped a contact lens,” she fabricated.

  “Oh.” He squinted, studying her. “You look....” He broke off, frowning. Something was different but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  This charade wouldn’t last. In a moment he’d view the real Cari. She felt her strength fading and willed one last burst of energy. Making her voice firm, she instructed, “Return to your office, I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “I think I’ll go back to my office now,” he said, frowning.

  “Forget that you saw me here.”

  “I’ll forget you were here.”

  “And give Lisa a nice, fat raise in salary.”

  “And I’ll give you a raise.”

  “A big, fat one.”

  “Yes, really big.”

  “Very good. Goodbye, now.”

  “Goodbye.” He obediently returned to his office, his fleshy face set in a scowl, one vein throbbing madly on his forehead, the only signs of his inner struggle.

  Cari searched Lisa’s desk until she found a memory stick and popped it into the computer, hit the copy command and waited agitatedly until the computer finished transferring information. It took less than a minute but felt like an hour, and by the time she left the office, perspiration was running down her forehead. She walked quickly to the end of the hall and waited for the elevator, and blinked as Lisa got off.

  Lisa frowned as she saw Cari. She recognizes me, Cari thought. From when I was in Jake’s office the day Amy disappeared. She unconsciously patted the memory stick tucked deep in her pocket.

  Lisa opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it. Cari nodded briefly as they passed each other. As the elevator doors shut, Cari thought she heard Lisa say, “Good luck.”

  **

  “Where’s Jason?” Suzanne demanded.

  “Forget Jason.”

  “Gil, I want you to tell me what you’ve done with our son.”

  “The boy is vermin, Suzanne. He made his choice and it wasn’t us.”

  Suzanne sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I need to see him. He’s late for his tutoring session.”

  “You aren’t listening, you dumb cunt. The kid is history. Jason is no longer our son. I won’t have his name spoken again in this house.”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me, Gil, you know how I hate being hollered at. Now, calmly, tell me what’s happened so I can help fix it.”

  “Some things can never be fixed.” He was shouting now, raging. Suzanne raised her eyebrows and wisely remained quiet. When Gil got like this there was no reasoning with him. She’d try again in a couple of hours, when he’d had a chance to cool down.

  **

  Gil watched Suzanne leave, his eyes bulging maniacally. Everything was crashing down around him, his kingdom collapsing. Everyone was turning against him. Nowhere to turn, no one to trust. Even his family. Damn it, especially his family.

  Suzanne, his faithful wife, telling the cops about the hidden key. Jason, his beloved son, turning against him. Lying about the baby, choosing the Montclaire whore over his own father.

  Elders in the church, questioning his wisdom. Challenging him, vying to topple him like greedy gargoyles bent upon destroying their very maker. Perhaps it had been a mistake to sacrifice Bethany Wilkes last night. The elders were upset about Gil choosing one of their own. But what was he supposed to do? With the baby missing, he needed a sacrifice and he needed it right away. Bethany had been the most logical choice. It probably would have been fine had Bethany not made such a spectacle of herself struggling and screaming.

  Then, moments ago, listening to the police band radio, hearing about this newest plot against him. That, in itself, posed no real threat, but combined with the other problems, was extremely poor timing. He was being charged with the murder of Jason’s friends, that Alex boy and the Keeler girl. Ridiculous. He never killed the Keeler girl. And now his face was being splashed all over the place, completely ruining his anonymity, making escape exceedingly difficult.

  Nothing was going right. Even the Marvelworks lads, his special force, cultivated from boyhood to do his bidding, failed. They lost the Montclaire brat. Lost him, for Seth’s sake. How the hell do you lose a kid?

  Jake Montclaire. The man should be crushed now, weeping. Reduced to rubble. So why did he keep rising like a phoenix? Why did he keep landing on his feet, joining forces with some misbegotten she-witch, becoming more powerful? Gil knew about the job offer Jake culled from an old crony, and it infuriated him. Jake Montclaire was supposed to be ruined, not feted like a bad-boy savant. He was supposed to be homeless and broken.

  Gil smiled grimly. At least Jake was coming after him. Good, he’d counted on that. Gil would crush him, torture him, and make him pay for stealing Elizabeth those many years ago.

  Elizabeth. She was dead. Suzanne had seen to that, the malicious bitch. Suzanne couldn’t stand that Gil loved anyone more than her, and she finally had her revenge.

  For a moment, Gil allowed himself to go back in time, remembering the early days, remembering Elizabeth as she’d been on campus, pure and virginal. She was Jake’s girl, but Gil fell in love with her completely. For a while, she dated Gil secretly, behind Jake’s back, and they shared a never-consummated passion which grew in tempo with Gil’s consuming desire.

  They had so much in common, intelligence and humor, and a desire to live life to the ultimate fullest. Elizabeth tortured Gil with her compliance, her lips willing and wet, her breasts his own playground, her fondness for oral gratification, her ready acceptance to
explore sexual risks. She gave him everything he desired, except vaginal intercourse (which she was saving for her wedding night) and a promise to break up with Jake.

  When Gil pushed her on the first account, she told him to be happy with anal and oral sex, and then proceeded to demonstrate with an even more enticing combination of the two. When he pressured her on the second, she’d clam up and tell him to lay off the topic of Jake or she’d stop seeing Gil altogether.

  “But why?” he’d beg. “Why do you keep seeing that milksop?”

  “Because,” she’d answer, “because I wish to. You’re fun to play with, Gil, but your darkness is disturbing. Yes, it makes you damn hot, but not exactly marriage material. With Jake, I have a future. Now shut up while I suck your big, juicy cock or I’ll leave and then you’ll have nothing.” Gil shut up every time.

  He remembered their breakup. They’d been engaged in a particularly pleasing round of anal sex, with Elizabeth bent over in a darkened janitor’s closet buried in the campus basement, when Gil attempted to quickly slip his penis from one orifice into the other.

  “You bastard,” she screamed. “I told you my pussy is off limits.” In the dimness, Gil could see her pretty face contorted unattractively into a shrewish visage. “It’s never enough for you, is it, Gil?” She began rummaging around, looking for her panties.

  “What are you doing, Elizabeth?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing, you creep? I’m leaving.”

  “But... but you can’t.” His penis throbbed painfully. “We aren’t finished.”

  “Oh, yes we are. Forever. I’m finished with you for good and I’m going to marry Jake Montclaire to prove it.”

  Gil felt his veins turn to ice. “*I don’t understand, Liz. Why Jake?”

  “Because he’s a decent human being and you’re not. You’re damaged, Gil. Evil to the core.”

  He slapped her, hard. It was the first time he’d hit a woman and it felt delightfully good, an appropriate venue to direct his attention from his aching cock.

  “Yeah, well I guess I deserved that,” she said acidly, and in the darkness he could see the blood running down her face.

  He felt powerful then, and he knew he wouldn’t let her go without a fight. He pinned her arms to the wall and spat in her face. “Why, Elizabeth? If I’m so evil, why spend time with me at all?”

  “Because you’re fun, you nasty prick. Like the apple in the Garden of Eden. My mother told me to have fun before I married, to get it out of my system, and that’s what I’ve been doing. Having fun.”

  He transferred her arms to one hand and began to fondle her breasts roughly with the other. “Fun, eh? Let me show you some fun.”

  She brought her knee up sharply, hitting him squarely in his damaged testicles, the pain unleashing a flood of unwanted memories from another time, another place. “You bitch,” he cursed, but before he had a chance to recover, she brought the palm of her hand squarely to his nose, smashing it upwards until the fragile bones felt like they’d splintered into his skull. Then she stepped over him, surveying his prone, writhing body and stated calmly, “It’s over, asshole, and if you ever contact me again or talk to Jake, I’ll tell everyone you’re a closet faggot with a penchant for little boys.”

  How dare she! That had been told to her in strict confidence, in the throes of orgasmic fantasy.

  By the time his broken nose had healed, Elizabeth had become Mrs. Montclaire, and college had been left behind to play the role of Jake’s devoted wife.

  Would he have left it alone had he not run into her last year, a bored housewife looking for diversion, desperately searching to find the pretty college girl she’d once been? Eager to reinstate the tumultuous sexual relationship she’d left behind so many years ago? Or, would he have acted regardless on the fumes of revenge that bubbled like caustic acid.

  The second go-around with Elizabeth was quite different. This time she’d given him her entire body, but without the forbidden carrot of her off-limits vagina, the thrill just wasn’t the same. A pleasant fuck, to be sure, but really no different from the thousand other cunts he’d plundered. In truth, not even as good as some of those.

  The flame had all but extinguished when Suzanne burst in on them, in mid-fuck, in the penthouse suite of the Toronto Hilton. Normally, that wouldn’t have bothered Suzanne; she was used to seeing her husband engage in sexual activities with other women, and often joined in. But Suzanne, struggling with the first spasms of menopause, recognized Elizabeth as the woman in the dog-eared photograph that Gil kept hidden in his nightstand, buried between some Hustler magazines and a bottle of Tums, and she went ballistic.

  Suzanne saw Elizabeth as a threat, and decided to put an end to her, once and for all. First she befriended the hapless Elizabeth, who, already spiralling downwards in self-defeat and depression, was an easy mark.

  Suzanne introduced Elizabeth to the joys of lesbian sex, then convinced her new lover that a successful career beckoned in Hollywood... far from Gil. It was simple enough to arrange: a screen test, a few bit parts – the Vandercamps had powerful connections in the jaded, fast-paced world of the stars. In fact, several of the major players dabbled in Gil’s special brand of the occult.

  By this time, Elizabeth was so pathetic, Suzanne was at a loss to see how Gil found her attractive. But, to be thorough, Suzanne took a leaf from Gil’s own book and eliminated the competition entirely.

  Gil was annoyed when he found out about Elizabeth’s death, but not overly so, which reassured Suzanne. In truth, Elizabeth had grown tiresome, a middle-aged nobody who was boring, moody, and had cellulite-riddled thighs that, frankly, were repellant.

  But, while his lust had abated, his anger still seethed, and he decided to use this opportunity to exact revenge on the man who’d stolen Elizabeth from him in the first place.

  How? By ruining him, of course. By taking away everything from Jake that mattered, just like Jake had done to him two decades before. By crushing Jake Montclaire like the pathetic vermin he was.

  **

  Skeeter circled around the back of the turret spire, looking down the long sides of the castle to the hard ground below. No escape, just a killer drop. Either he could wait here, on this slippery, steep abyss, or he could retrace his footsteps back into the castle and find a new place to hide.

  Whistling in the parking lot diverted his attention. Rat had returned to the car, which had been left parked at a funny angle. Skeeter watched Rat rummage around the backseat, then emerge with a pellet gun. With little fanfare, Rat aimed it in Skeeter’s general direction and took a shot. The pellet bounced harmlessly off the castle roof. Rat spat on the pavement, then reloaded.

  Next shot was closer, but not by much. Third shot took out a window. Fourth shot was precariously close. Fifth shot was hopelessly wild, causing Rat to grunt in disgust, and take his time with the next shot. It was time well spent: sixth shot caught the corner of Skeeter’s shoe.

  “How does it feel being a sitting duck, Montclaire? Or should I say a sitting chicken. Bawk-bawk, Chicken-Boy, next shot goes right between the eyes.”

  Skeeter scampered around the other side of the spire, his rubber soled shoes slippery on the wet roof. He’d have to go back inside, take his chances. He waited until Rat took another shot, then used the reloading time to beeline to the window.

  Damn, the window was stuck shut. He jimmied it mercilessly, shaking it until he feared the frame would break.

  “Hey, chicken-boy, now you’re a nice open target. See how it feels to have pellet shot up your ass.”

  Skeeter cringed as the pellet whizzed by.

  “Heh-heh,” Rat laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Say your prayers chicken-boy, next one won’t miss. Good thing you’re in a church.”

  “It’s a castle, you stupid jerk, not a church.” Skeeter yelled back, throwing himself at the window. The old frame gave way and he crashed through, glass cascading all around him. He squeezed his eyes together tightly and covered his f
ace, landing hard on his shoulder. Pain exploded as the bones dislocated and darkness loomed.

  He thought he was passing out, but the darkness was external, and he opened his eyes to see Rat’s hulking accomplice standing above him, blocking the daylight from the shattered window. The goon leered nastily. “Who you calling a stupid jerk?”

  “You, butt-face,” Skeeter hollered, arching his back and bucking his feet forward, directly into the goon’s groin.

  The goon dropped, groaning and clutching his testicles, falling squarely onto the broken glass. He screamed as jagged particles became embedded in his flesh, and Skeeter could already see blood oozing from a dozen areas through his shirt.

  “I’m going to kill you, you little mother-fucker.”

  “Yeah? You’ll have to catch me first.”

  The goon let out an unearthly howl, and Skeeter, torn between the desire to kick him again and to get the hell out of there, chose the latter. He ran.

  **

  966 Glenhaven Drive. The address, scrawled in Cari’s bold print, lay on the car seat between them like a smoking gun. They both remained silent while contemplating the significance.

  “Could be a red herring,” Cari pointed out.

  “Or the break we need.”

  “It’s on the west side of the island. It’ll take us over an hour to get there. Could be a complete waste of time.”

  “Could be,” Jake agreed.

  She fretted, eyes darting between the address and the map. “Remote area.”

  “Very. No one to help us if we get into trouble.”

  “We could let the police in on this.”

  “Think they’d be interested in ‘choir’ practise? For all we know, it could be just that.”

  “Does Lisa strike you as the kind of girl who goes to choir?”

  Jake thought of Lisa’s disclosure that she belonged into the cult. “No.”

  “We should let them know, we might need backup.”

  Jake turned to her. “You heard the voice mail – Carmichael wants to question me about Carmen’s death. Who knows what kind of trouble Vandercamp has me twisted up in now? It could take hours to unsort and I don’t have that kind of time to spend.”