The Devil's Demeanor

by Hart, Jerry

  Unfortunately, once that boost wore off four hours later, he was left extremely tired. Therefore, he took advantage of it while it lasted.

  A week after getting the job, Don started to walk circuits around the entire mall after his first set of perimeter checks. There were three sets of checks in all, and they consisted of making sure all doors were secured and all fire extinguishers were up to code. It was tedious work, but it was easy.

  Around one a.m. he grabbed a flashlight, a set of keys and the work cell phone and left the office. He first checked the dock door he had entered. Rosie had left it ajar moments before he’d arrived, just as Don would do for his relief in the morning. That door was completely closed now, as it should be.

  He then checked another door located down the same hall as the security office, though that door led to a path that ran past some gated generators. The door was not closed. Don stared at it for a moment with nothing but long, empty hallway behind him. Rosie had told him all the doors were closed before she left, hadn’t she? Had she missed one? Suddenly, the empty hall didn’t feel so empty. Was someone—something—breathing on the back of his neck?

  He spun around and found...nothing.

  “Jesus Christ!” he yelled, his heart racing. He could have sworn someone had been right behind him. His mind playing tricks, perhaps?

  He pulled on the push bar until the door caught, and then he ventured into the main area of the mall. It was long, but not very big—only one floor. Don could hear the working fountain that resided at one end of the building. Sound carried very well when the mall was this empty.

  It took him only forty-five minutes to complete his checks, and he usually saved the outside doors for last. For some reason, he dreaded going outside tonight. Perhaps it was the open door he’d found. Had Rosie simply missed it, even though it was the closest one to the office? Had someone snuck in? Don hoped he was alone in this building.

  He liked not having to deal with people, a luxury the day guard didn’t have. Don didn’t know how much longer the building would last; it was scheduled for demolition in the foreseeable future, but no one knew when exactly. He hoped to have finished school by then.

  Surprisingly, he felt better when thinking about his uncertain future. It took his mind off that open door.

  Once he finished with the inside checks, he prepared himself for the outside. He stood at a door, getting ready. He couldn’t explain why he was so nervous tonight, of all nights. During the two months he’d worked there, nothing had happened. And nothing would happen tonight, he told himself.

  He pushed on the bar and stepped out into the humid May night. He made sure to push the door completely closed, the key ready in his hand for quick re-entry. He was standing on a path hidden by huge bushes. There were several doors along one wall and one door at the end of the path. Much to Don’s dismay, that path angled drastically to the right, and he couldn’t see around it until he got to the curve. Even worse, the lights around that corner had burned out long ago. If not for his flashlight, he would be blind.

  His heart began to race once again when he started down that long dark path around the corner. He shined the flashlight’s beam down. Three of the doors on his left seemed fine, and he contemplated leaving them alone.

  Then he saw the one door at the end, the storage closet. It was open.

  “Son of a bitch,” Don whispered as he slowly made his way to it. He kept a close eye on the bushes to his right, hoping nothing would jump out at him. He also hoped he wouldn’t get bitten by a spider or any deadly insects. Rosie had told him a story about being bitten by a spider on this very path one day. That story had a disgusting ending Don wished he could forget.

  After an eternity, he reached the open door. It was painted cyan, like all the outside doors, and it faced him directly. If not for the angle of shadow on the door from the overhead moon, Don wouldn’t have known it was open at all. He wanted to push it closed but he knew he had to actually check inside. He just didn’t want to. He placed a hand on the doorknob, did a quick check to make sure no one was behind him, and then yanked the door open.

  There was nothing inside but junk. The storage closet was fairly small, most of the space taken up by boxes. Once he was satisfied, he closed the door and locked it.

  * * *

  After completing his checks, he did an hour of cardio (which consisted of walking really fast down the length of the mall) and then returned to the office. Once he sat at the desk, he pulled out a notebook from his backpack. He didn’t have to worry about homework tonight. Now he focused on other work.

  Don graduated from high school in 2000 and foolishly decided to take a break before starting college. He’d started up during the 2001 spring semester at a community college to get his basics out of the way before transferring to a university.

  Cut to six years later, and he was still at that community college. He blamed it all on his lack of focus. He never could decide on what he wanted to major in, and was constantly skipping classes and taking semesters off. Back then, his decisions seemed harmless. Now they were catching up to him.

  As for the notebook, he needed it for something that had nothing to do with school.

  He connected to the Internet on the computer in front of him and began a search for strange and unexplained deaths in Georgia. He’d started doing this a year ago, hoping it would somehow help him find Ethan.

  Whenever he chose to look Ethan up directly, he always got the newspaper articles reporting his disappearance. There was never anything in the articles Don didn’t already know. In fact, he knew much more.

  He looked at a list of articles and clues he’d compiled in the notebook over the past year. There was a series of unsolved murders in the state: strangulations, decapitations, disembowelments. All gruesome, but nothing completely out of the ordinary.

  That was, until Don discovered another series of murders in which words had been written on the victims’ foreheads.

  Don had written down all of the words he’d found so far: Dog, Cave, Destin, Mom, and Texas. He found each of them significant.

  He knew in his heart Ethan was committing these terrible murders, and he wanted Don to know it. The words would mean nothing to an outsider....

  Don suddenly realized he was crying, and not with silent tears. He was absolutely bawling.

  * * *

  Don slowly woke up, not sure where he was at first. He was sitting on one chair with his feet propped up on another. He was still at work, in the office. He had fallen asleep with his head back and his arms across his chest. His neck hurt from sleeping in that awkward position.

  He looked at a wall-mounted clock and saw it was 7:30 in the morning. His relief would be there any minute. Don slowly rose from the chair, feeling decades older, and made his way to the dock door to prop it open.

  The moment he pressed the push-bar, he saw a face on the other side of the door. Don nearly jumped out of his skin before realizing it was only his relief, Wally.

  “I was just about to call you,” said Wally, grinning.

  “Sorry,” Don said. “I was doing one last round and forgot.”

  Wally chuckled as he stepped into the hall. He was in his late forties, a little on the stocky side, and very friendly. He was also the supervisor. Don liked him; Wally was pleasant to be around. The two men walked to the office, Wally carrying a small lunch box and a newspaper. Don retrieved his own belongings as the supervisor settled in.

  “Anything go on last night?” he asked Don.

  “Nope. Rosie told me about how a false alarm went off on the control panel, but I didn’t have any problems with it.”

  Wally studied the panel on the wall carefully, cycling through the past codes. “These aren’t false alarms. They’re alerts to pressure changes in the Pump Rooms. Did you check the gauges?”

  “Yes,” said Don, though he really just glanced at those gauges in the three Pump Rooms. He’d been very distracted last night.

  “Well,” Wal
ly went on, “these all happened during Rosie’s shift, so they must’ve leveled out before you got here.”

  “What would cause the pressure to change?”

  “A person. If someone went into the rooms and turned the knobs....”

  “But you can only get into those rooms with a key, right?”

  Wally nodded. “Rosie has a reputation of leaving doors open, though.”

  Don remembered the doors he’d found open last night. He felt better thinking she had been behind them. But what about the water pressure? Had somebody tampered with those during the day? If so, why?

  And then Don saw something that made his blood run cold. There was a story on the front page of Wally’s newspaper about a man, found dead in a lake not far from the mall.

  * * *

  Don couldn’t sleep when he finally got home shortly after eight that morning. It had nothing to do with the hustle and bustle of the house (Liz was up and running around outside his room, and Yvonne was blasting her stereo downstairs while she did housework); it was the article he’d read at work.

  Had Ethan migrated to Texas.

  Don was certain the Georgia killer was his brother, and either a copycat just so happened to begin his killing spree near Don’s workplace, or...Ethan was here and taunting him. If the latter was the case, had that been Ethan inside the mall last night? Had he been breathing on Don’s neck when he was closing that first open door?

  All these questions raced through Don’s mind as he lay on his Queen-sized bed (a hand-down from Dad and Yvonne). The sun was up and the room was warm. He had curtains and blinds to filter the light, but it still distracted him. He wasn’t used to sleeping during the day.

  As he lay there, he entertained the thought that perhaps Ethan wasn’t in Texas. What if there was indeed a copycat?

  What if Don himself was that copycat?

  He hated to think that, and the possibility of him committing murder was frightening. He was cursed, just like Ethan, but nothing had manifested over the years. Or so Don thought. What if he had started killing and just couldn’t remember? The news of the murders in Georgia could have ignited something in his subconscious. If only he knew who his birth father was, and if he too was cursed.

  He jumped out of bed and booted up his computer. He found the story about the recent body and read it again and again.

  The victim had been a homeless man, supposedly killed three days ago. Don had worked that night and had fallen asleep at the desk. He’d had nightmares of the dog-monster that had taken Ethan. Don didn’t often dream of the creature, and when he did, he considered it a bad sign.

  There was no picture of the victim, thankfully, but it was believed he’d been killed somewhere else before being thrown in the lake where he was found. The word soon was carved in his forehead postmortem.

  The other words had been significant—though harmless—to Don, but this one could only mean one thing: Something bad was coming.

  * * *

  The Scott family had gone out to eat that night and were just arriving home at nine when Yvonne shouted from the living room, “Don, make sure you take off those shoes before stepping on my carpet!”

  Don, who’d already been in the process of removing them, froze and stared at her over the banister in the foyer. “I was already doing that!” he shouted back in a tone equal to hers.

  “Yvonne,” said Dad, “don’t talk to him like that.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes. “He’s been getting my carpets dirty!”

  “He was already taking his shoes off before you said anything. You would have known that if you’d looked before you spoke.”

  Yvonne threw up her hands in exasperation and went into her room.

  “Thanks for standing up for me,” Don murmured.

  “I wasn’t standing up for you,” Dad said as he took Liz with him into the living room.

  Don sighed, removed his shoes, and trudged upstairs to his room. Once there, he pulled out his cell phone and texted Craig. How are your roommates doing?

  A minute later, he got a reply: Volatile. Her dad showed up and cussed Corey out this morning because of something. It was scary as hell.

  Don read it, and then rested the phone on his chest as he started to doze. He was dreading working tonight, especially after the murder. Perhaps he should take his supplements later in his shift, that way he wouldn’t crash so soon.

  His cell lit up, indicating another text: Did you hear about the murder near your job?

  Yeah. Scary. Supposedly there are homeless people in the mall but I’ve never seen any.

  It would be trippy if the victim was killed in the mall.

  Don stared at that message for a long time before replying, That would be terrifying. I doubt that happened, though. I’ve never seen anyone.

  Just because Don had never found anyone during his rounds didn’t mean they weren’t there. He decided he would check more thoroughly tonight. If he did find people there, he would ask them questions.

  * * *

  When he rolled into work a few hours later, he immediately checked the door by the office. It was closed, as it should be. Rosie didn’t report any strange occurrences during her shift but did go on for half an hour about the body found in the lake.

  The mall was just off the freeway, surrounded by fast-food restaurants. There was a wooded area just past the parking lot, with a winding road he also checked when he did outside rounds in the security truck. Barely half a mile past the woods was the lake where the body was found. That was too close for Don’s comfort.

  After Rosie finally left, he did inside rounds. He hadn’t taken the supplements yet and planned to forgo his usual workout regime in exchange for the search for any homeless inside the mall. He had brought some CDs he usually listened to either in the office or during his workouts, but he couldn’t imagine listening to them now; he didn’t want to be distracted.

  He shined the flashlight’s beam into every single store, but could see nothing except shelves and mannequins. The gates were permanently closed on some of them and he couldn’t imagine how anyone could get in or out of them. If there were homeless about, they were in the easily accessible lots.

  As he made his way past a large collection of junk that was to be collected the next day, he came upon the movie theater around the corner. There were two grille gates, separated by a box office. One of the gates was partially open. Don didn’t panic; that gate had been open since he’d started working there, and the theater had been closed for at least a year. It was one of the largest lots in the mall.

  If Don were a betting man, he’d say someone would want to get cozy in there. He had never stepped foot inside the theater, though he’d always wanted to. The thought of doing it now wasn’t pleasant. If there were people inside, he hoped they were friendly.

  He had to crawl in order to get through the gap between the floor and gate. Once he was inside, he quickly got to his feet. The lobby was pitch black and he could only see what was caught in the path of his flashlight. Directly in front of him was a large, round concession stand with pictures of refreshments with arms, legs and eyeballs. The menu selections were still in place on the wall within the stand, and Don scoffed at the outrageous prices.

  This theater had belonged to the same chain as the one he’d always gone to as a kid. The structural layout was even the same, though on a slightly smaller scale. Don felt as if he were in Augusta once more. He loved and hated when nostalgia struck unexpectedly.

  He cleared his throat and made his way to a hallway on his right. The hall ran behind concession where three auditoriums were set side by side. He went into the nearest one and was startled by its size. It wasn’t stadium seating like he was accustomed to, but with all the seats taken out, it looked bigger than he was expecting. The “silver” screen loomed far ahead. Don went to it and lifted up the skirt underneath, where the subwoofers used to be, and found nothing there now. It looked like a fairly cozy hiding place and he made a mental no
te to check the other two auditoriums.

  After he finished that, he checked the bathrooms. All of the sinks’ drains were taped over, but one sink’s faucet hadn’t been turned off all the way. Water had dripped into that sink for no one knows how long and was close to overflowing. Don stood there, staring at the faucet for longer than he should have before finally turning the knob and stopping the flow.

  Last was the projection booth upstairs. He found a stairway directly behind concession that led up there. Unfortunately, all the projectors had been removed so there was nothing but a lot of empty space. The main office was up there as well, and he glanced, seeing a lot of folding chairs and a desk. He also noticed a putrid smell that nearly made him vomit.

  It was not death he smelled but unwashed bodies. It was fresh, not something that just lingered. Someone was in this office.

  “Hello?” he called gently. He got no response, but he thought he heard something. Like the ruffling of fabric. The desk was directly by the entrance and to his right. The edge wasn’t pressed up against the far wall, so someone could have been hiding in the gap between.

  Don’s heart pounded as he stepped into the office and made his way to the front of the desk. He put in as much distance as he could in case someone tried to attack him.

  Something lunged at him before he could see what it was.

  He fell backward, smacking his head against a wall. The flashlight fell out of his hand and rolled away. The figure leaped out of the office. Don quickly got to his feet and followed. Luckily, he had retrieved the flashlight or he would’ve had to stumble around in the dark. Whoever he was chasing appeared perfectly able to make his or her way through without light; they were already headed downstairs.

  Don ran down the stairs and rounded the corner into the lobby, where more light filtered in from the rest of the mall. He saw someone trying to crawl under the grille. It was a woman on the heavy side, which explained why she was still trying to get out—she was stuck. Don walked up to her.