The Devil's Demeanor

by Hart, Jerry

  Jordan looked at Conner with wary eyes. Surprisingly, the boys never really got along. They were like polar opposites.

  “Conner’s going to be living with us,” Monica said as brightly as she could.

  The house had three bedrooms, and Don figured Conner could stay in the guest room.

  All Don knew was that he did not feel comfortable with the idea of Conner sleeping in the same room as Jordan. Though Don didn’t know for a fact what happened in Ivy’s house tonight, he did not trust his nephew. Not yet.

  “It’s been a rough night,” Monica announced, taking Conner’s hand. “Let’s get you set up in your own room, little man.”

  “I want to sleep in Jordan’s room,” Conner said in a tiny voice.

  Don suddenly looked at the boy, and he could swear Conner had the ghost of a smile on his lips.

  Monica looked at her son. “Jordan, does that sound good to you?” She was completely oblivious to Don’s discomfort.

  Jordan walked up and hugged his father’s legs, hiding behind them. He shook his head at his mother.

  “Why not?” she asked, a bewildered smile on her face. “He’s your cousin.”

  Jordan didn’t answer.

  “Honey,” Don broke in, “let’s just put Conner in the guest room for now and we’ll figure everything out later.”

  He’d said it as kindly as he could, and Monica merely shrugged and escorted Conner to the room at the end of the hall. As Conner passed, he never took his eyes off of Don.

  While Monica took care of Conner, Don tucked his son in. Jordan didn’t look the least bit comfortable as he lay in his bed. Don didn’t blame him. “Are you okay, buddy?” he asked his son.

  “I don’t want him living here,” the boy replied quietly.

  Don sighed. “Something really bad happened at his house and we’re the only family he has.” Both of Ivy’s parents were dead.

  “I don’t care,” said Jordan.

  Don ruffled the boy’s hair. “I know. But it’s not his fault, what’s happened to him.” Don meant that in more ways than one, but he couldn’t explain that to his son. Not now, anyway. Maybe when he was older, but probably not even then.

  Monica appeared at Jordan’s door. “Conner’s asking for you,” she said to Don.

  “Okay.” He kissed Jordan on the forehead and left the room. He passed the master bedroom to get to the guest room. Conner was lying in the twin-sized bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. He looked so innocent.

  Don sat at the foot of the bed and said, “What’s up, little man?”

  “Why can’t I sleep in Jordan’s room?”

  Don quickly came up with a convincing lie. “Because his bed isn’t big enough for the two of you.”

  “Then why can’t he sleep in here?”

  Was Conner testing him?

  “Because he doesn’t really like sharing things,” Don finally said after a brief hesitation. “That’s how boys usually are.”

  “I like sharing things.”

  “And that’s good. That’s how boys should be. For now, though, let’s give him what he wants. He’ll get over it soon, okay?”

  Conner nodded.

  Don sat there, studying his nephew. He wanted to ask him what really happened tonight, to tell him that he would understand if it was, in fact, Conner himself who’d committed the murder.

  But what if Conner didn’t do it? There was no doubt in Don’s mind that he was responsible, but in case he hadn’t, Don didn’t want to scare his nephew unnecessarily.

  “Are you gonna be okay tonight?” Don asked. “Do you need a nightlight or anything?”

  Conner shook his head.

  “Want me to leave the door open?

  He nodded.

  “Okay. Your aunt Monica and I are right next door, so if you need anything, come and get me. Okay?”

  Conned nodded again.

  Don walked to the door, turned off the light, and went to his own room. He and Monica usually closed the door before going to sleep. Tonight, Don left it open.

  * * *

  A little after midnight, Don thought he heard footsteps on the wooden floor of the hallway. He listened wearily for a moment, looking in the general direction of his open door, but when he heard nothing further, he went back to sleep.

  Jordan, however, did hear more footsteps from his room, and he did not go back to sleep. He stared at his closed door, which was streaked with moonlight coming through his opened blinds.

  He watched as the doorknob turned.

  He watched as the door opened.

  Jordan covered his head with his blanket before he could see who or what was standing outside his room.

  * * *

  The next morning, Don went to the guest room to check on Conner. The boy wasn’t there. The bed was empty, the covers disturbed. Don quickly checked the rest of the room to make sure his nephew wasn’t hiding. He then checked the bathroom across the hall. Nothing.

  He looked to the end of the hall and saw Jordan’s door cracked open. His heart lurched as he quickly made his way there, his bare feet slapping the floor. He was faintly aware of the sound he made and how similar it was to what he’d heard last night.

  Conner had gone to Jordan’s room.

  Don stood just inside his son’s room. There was something bundled under the covers, but Don couldn’t tell what it was. He ran over to the bed. He pulled back the covers.

  Relief flooded him as he saw his son lying there, resting peacefully. But where was Conner?

  Something grabbed hold of Don’s ankle. He let out an involuntary yell of surprise, scaring Jordan awake. Don looked down at the hand clamped to him. It was a small hand, a child’s hand. A face appeared from under the bed, smiling up at him.

  “Good morning, Uncle Don,” said Conner.

  * * *

  “You scream like a woman,” Monica said to Don at the dining table moments later as she placed two bowls of cereal in front of Jordan and Conner.

  “It wasn’t a scream; it was a yell. A manly yell.”

  She laughed as she grabbed herself a cup of coffee. Don looked at Conner, who was looking back as he slowly ate his breakfast.

  Did Monica see what Conner had done? Did she understand what happened? Did Ethan ever tell her about the curse before he died? Don wanted to see her, to talk to her, but he doubted he would get the chance to do so anytime soon. He didn’t know the procedure when it came to visiting murderers in jail.

  He didn’t know what he could do for Ivy. If she confessed to the murder, then that left him with no options. He couldn’t very well tell the police that his five-year-old nephew was the culprit. He’d probably get thrown in jail too just for sounding crazy.

  But Don couldn’t let her take the blame for something she didn’t do. Especially if that something was murder. If Don could somehow convince the authorities that Conner was the one responsible, what would happen to the boy? He wouldn’t go to prison, Don knew. Perhaps he would be thrown into some kind of special hospital, where doctors would study him in order to figure out how he had done that to Ivy’s boyfriend. Would that be better than Ivy spending the rest of her life in prison? Would Ivy even accept her son’s treatment over her own? Don doubted it. If she was willing to take the blame in the first place....

  Don tried to watch his nephew without making it obvious. After breakfast, Conner and Jordan played in the backyard with Monica’s Chihuahua. The dog had never really liked Jordan, which bothered Don for one major reason, but she appeared to completely loathe Conner. Every time he went near her, she tried to bite him.

  Despite her obvious dislike of Jordan, he still chased Pepper around the yard or let her chase him. He seemed oblivious to the dog’s animosity. Conner saw it, though, and seemed to relish in it. He baited Pepper constantly that morning and Don simply sat there and watched. He knew he should be in his room, working on his manuscript, but he couldn’t help but watch.

  Shortly after the birth of his son, Don took to writing.
He wrote a thriller based loosely on his own life, found an agent, and sold it to a publisher. The money he’d received had been pretty good, but definitely not enough for his family to survive on for long. Finding full-time work was difficult, and Monica worked as a nurse. Don tried to devote as much time to his writing as he could.

  But he couldn’t pull himself away at the moment.

  As he sat there, he asked himself if he was prepared to raise Conner. If Jordan had indeed inherited the curse, then he would be a handful all on his own. Throw another boy into the mix, and you had a recipe for disaster.

  The boys came back inside a few minutes later; Pepper willingly stayed outside, staring at them through the screen door that separated them. Don had an appointment to speak with the detective in charge of Ivy’s case soon, but he wanted to talk to Conner first. He wanted to know for sure that he was right about what had happened last night.

  Don stood up from the couch and headed to his room. The boys seemed capable of taking care of themselves for a bit. Jordan even appeared to be warming up to his cousin. When Don booted up his computer, he stared at the screen for a long time and wondered what to write next. He was two chapters into the manuscript, which continued the story of the cursed brothers from the first book. Don took many liberties with the story, and the results led to a much happier ending for everyone involved.

  Unfortunately, that also led to very little story. Don couldn’t think of any conflict for the characters—he’d spent the two chapters catching up with those characters. The Stillman brothers, Peter and Tracy, had found a cure for the curse that involved a magic serum. If only it were that easy....

  He didn’t know how long Conner had been standing at the door before finally noticing him. “Hey, little man,” he said to his nephew as he turned off the monitor. “Can we talk for a second?”

  Conner stepped into the room and stood just before Don. Now that Don had his nephew’s attention, he didn’t know what to do with it. Finally, he said, “I know last night must have been really scary. Did you see what happened?”

  Conner hesitated before nodding. “Lewis was hurting Mommy.”

  Don raised his eyebrows. “How was he hurting her?” He had met the man a few times and never would have thought of him as violent.

  “He grabbed her arm and shaked her,” Conner replied. He seemed so innocent. He even held his hands in front of himself and shook them, as if shaking invisible shoulders. It was very forceful.

  “Is that why you...attacked Lewis?” Don didn’t know any other way to approach the topic, and he no longer had time to beat around the bush.

  Conner tilted his head to the side like a dog and studied his uncle. “I didn’t,” he said carefully.

  “Your mom did?”

  Conner nodded.

  Don knew he was going about this the wrong way. He had to try a different angle. “Conner, I know what’s happening to you. The same thing happened to your dad when he was your age.”

  “What happened?”

  Don sighed. “He...hurt people because he couldn’t control himself.”

  “But Lewis isn’t hurted; he’s dead.” Conner tilted his head in the opposite direction. “Did Daddy kill people?”

  “Did you kill Lewis?” Don asked flat-out.

  The boy didn’t grin. He just stared. And then he said, “No. Mommy did.”

  Don abandoned the manuscript for now; he couldn’t concentrate anymore. In any case, he had to speak with the police and child welfare about adopting Conner. Adding the boy to the family seemed wrong somehow, but Don knew there was no one better qualified to handle the child’s situation than him.

  Don considered himself lucky that Jordan hadn’t exhibited any signs of the curse. Don knew it was because he himself was different—the curse hadn’t affected him the same way it had his brother. Therefore, it only made sense that Jordan would be different as well.

  Though Don was different, he wasn’t immune. He still had nightmares about his own killing spree five years ago. Without the creature to guide him (in its own demented way), Don had committed himself to killing the five people on a hit list he’d been talked into making when he was younger. He’d only managed to kill two of the five—Monica had been on that list, as well.

  Everyone on that list had wronged him in some way, and he’d merely planned to pay them back in some fairly harmless manner. The curse managed to corrupt those intentions completely.

  Don didn’t think he would’ve hurt Monica that night when he’d walked into her yard, looking like an animal, but just the thought of what could have happened constantly sent shivers down his spine and kept him up at night.

  He had been able to control himself, however. Before going to Monica, he had visited his best friend Nick Platt. Nick had been on the list because he had gone behind Don’s back and dated Monica in high school. That event had garnered Monica an honorary spot on the list, though Don knew she hadn’t dated Nick to be spiteful. She’d simply gotten caught in the middle of a stupid quarrel between friends.

  If it weren’t for that list, Harvey Littleman and Robbie Patterson would still be alive. Harvey had been Don’s elementary-school bus driver who’d just happened to yell at Don and upset him as a kid; Robbie had merely stolen one of Don’s favorite pencils. Don cursed the day he ever made that stupid list. His stepmom Yvonne made it on there as well, but she lived halfway across the country and Don had decided to save her for last.

  Luckily, he returned to himself before he could hurt anyone else. Somehow, he managed to leave Nick unharmed that night. He still wasn’t sure how; the curse had completely taken over by that point. He’d killed Harvey and Robbie without batting an eyelash...because he hadn’t cared about them. Nick was his best friend and Monica was the love of his life. And neither knew, to this day, what was wrong with him. Don didn’t think he’d ever be able to tell them.

  * * *

  The doorbell rang an hour later and Don greeted Detective Bushnell and the welfare worker, Candice Moore. Ms. Moore was dressed in warm colors and gave off a pleasant aura, which Don figured was ideal for this kind of work. He seated them at the dining table and offered them coffee. The kids stood silently in the living room and watched.

  Ms. Moore asked Don a few simple questions, including whether or not he was willing and able to care for Conner. He answered yes. Conner would need guidance during his difficult transition to horrific monster, and Don was confident he and Monica could provide a nurturing environment.

  Don didn’t tell Ms. Moore any of that, of course.

  She then talked to Conner, asking him if he liked it here and would he want to stay full-time. The boy should have won an award for his portrayal of a cute, innocent five-year-old.

  After the interview, Ms. Moore said she saw no reason why little Conner couldn’t stay with his uncle Don. Don then spoke with Detective Bushnell about seeing Ivy.

  “I don’t see why not,” he said, much to Don’s relief. “I wouldn’t recommend taking the kid, though.”

  They looked at Conner, and though he wasn’t looking back, Don knew he was listening.

  * * *

  When Monica returned home from work later that day, she agreed to watch the kids while Don went to the police station. He found Ivy sitting in a holding cell, her feet folded in front of her. She looked absolutely calm.

  “Hey, Ivy,” he said gently through the bars.

  “Hello.” She sounded dazed, vacant. She kept her eyes straight ahead of her.

  Don looked around to make sure none of the officers were in hearing range. There was another woman in the cell, but she was asleep. “Ivy, I know you didn’t kill Lewis.”

  She finally looked at him, her face contorted with confusion. “Of course I did. Who else could have?”

  Don took a deep breath and said, “Conner.”

  She gave a startled laugh and then covered her mouth with a shaky hand. “That’s crazy; he’s just a child.”

  “On the outside, sure. But we both
know he’s different. He killed Lewis, and you covered it up. To protect your child. I understand.”

  Ivy shook her head, as if trying to invalidate everything he said. “No one could do what was done to Lewis,” she finally said.

  “Not even you,” Don replied. “Conner inherited his father’s worst trait, something passed down from our mother. It’s not his fault, or yours.”

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “With Monica and me. That’s why I’m here: to help both of you. Ivy, you need to tell the police what really happened so we can get Conner the care he needs.”

  “What kind of help could he possibly get?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that you can’t take the blame for a murder you didn’t commit. I fear for my family’s safety.”

  Ivy pondered his words for a moment. “When I met Ethan, he was strange, yet oddly beautiful. I couldn’t put my finger on it.” She looked Don in his eyes. “Are you like your brother?”

  “I used to be.”

  She smiled. “Then there’s no one better qualified in the world than you to take care of my son.”

  She said no more.

  * * *

  On the way home, Don’s cell phone rang. He grinned when he saw the caller ID. “Hello, Aunt Cynthia.”

  “I saw the news,” she said. “The murder. Isn’t Fairington your old neighborhood?”

  “Yes, Aunt Cynthia.” His grin faded.

  “Anyone you know hurt?”

  How to answer that? “Sort of.” Aunt Cynthia, Mom’s sister, used to watch him and Ethan when they were toddlers. He had fond memories of going to her house during his childhood. She watched Jordan every now and then as well.

  She did not know about Conner.

  “Sort of? Oh dear.” She paused. “Who is it?”

  Don sighed. “Aunt Cynthia, you’re probably going to be mad when you hear this, but...Ethan had a son—”

  Her ear-piercing scream made Don pull the phone away. At first, he thought her reaction was too much. And then he realized his mistake.

  “Oh, no, Ethan’s son is fine. His mom’s boyfriend was killed.” He waited.

  “Oh, praise Jesus,” she finally replied. “Poor Ethan....” She fell into a long silence as she remembered all the times she spent with him. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”