The Devil's Demeanor
Page 28
Don cast a wary glance at the young boys in the other bed. They appeared fast asleep and no longer whispering to each other. Don didn’t recall him and Ethan ever doing that when they were younger. Was this some new trait?
“Go to sleep,” Monica mumbled next to him.
“Easier said than done,” he whispered back.
“What happened earlier? With Jordan.”
“Nightmare.”
“I saw your face; it was more than a nightmare to you.”
“What do you mean?” Don’s heart quickened.
“The dog? It means something to you.”
“No it doesn’t.” Why was Don resisting? He’d wanted to talk about this before. Why not now?
“I was there that night on Halloween when your brother wandered off, remember? I helped you look for him. He said he was talking to a dog.”
“And he probably was, but that doesn’t mean the dog was talking back. Ethan was just a silly kid.”
Monica raised an eyebrow. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Drop it, please.”
Instead of responding, Monica rolled onto her other side, facing the window and the kids. Don sighed and eventually fell asleep to the soothing sound of the air conditioner.
* * *
After having breakfast at Uncle Nate’s the following morning, everyone headed to the beach. Luckily, only half the family from last night made the excursion that day. The Scotts were a notoriously loud bunch, and fifty of them on the beach would have been chaos.
Watching his aunts, uncles and cousins having fun took Don’s mind off of Monica’s cold attitude toward him. She was still upset with his refusal to talk about his problems last night. He had missed his chance to tell his wife everything and didn’t know when the opportunity would come about again.
Monica lounged on a folding chair, soaking in the sun and reading a book. Don was in the water, playing with the boys. Every now and then, he looked at his wife, and she looked back. She was definitely mad. Don contemplated telling her his secrets over a few beers. The coward’s way.
Suddenly, someone else caught his eye. A middle-aged man stood a few feet behind Monica, and Don couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The man seemed just as interested in Don. He was wearing a tropical shirt and tan khakis with big black shades over his eyes. Don couldn’t tell for certain if he was staring at him with those sunglasses....
But he felt like he was being watched.
The white-haired man turned and walked toward the boardwalk and away from the beach.
* * *
Don sat at the table of the hotel’s cafeteria while Monica and the kids filled their plates at the buffet. Don himself was too distracted to eat; he was still thinking about that old man at the beach. He had been staring directly at Don, despite all the other people in the water. Don hadn’t recognized him, though.
Suddenly, a terrible thought came to him. What if he was being followed, investigated? Why would he be investigated? There was the chance, however, that the man on the beach had nothing to do with Don. It could simply be his guilty conscience at work. He looked up as his wife returned to the table with the kids. She smiled as she sat down, and Don was reminded of how much he adored her.
He had to tell her the truth, and soon.
On the way back to the room, he ran into his cousins Nina and Candice, who were staying a few rooms down the hall. Nina said her parents offered to watch Jordan and Conner that night if Don and Monica wanted to join them for a night in downtown Destin. Don quickly jumped at the chance to get Monica drunk so he could talk to her.
He did not, however, relish the thought of leaving Conner with Lydia and James.
The image of Lewis’s mangled face briefly flashed in his mind. Don wouldn’t be able to live with himself if any harm came to his family. But he had to start trusting his nephew around other people. School would start up again soon. That thought made him break into a cold sweat.
* * *
Candice drove the others to a bar downtown called The Hut, which was designed to look just like, well, a hut. There were Tiki torches and a grassy roof, with coconuts draped across the walls. Don instantly loved the place as the four sat at a table and ordered drinks. Monica seemed to have warmed toward Don, but he didn’t let that deter his plan to tell her his deepest secrets later on that night.
He stared at her, taking in her beauty in the warm lighting of the bar. Even the neon lights in the windows made her look like an angel. His angel.
Monica noticed him staring and rolled her eyes playfully. Don took a chance and leaned forward. He planted a kiss right on her lips. Thankfully, she kissed back.
“You two are so cute together,” Candice said from across the small table. “I want that.”
“I’m your cousin,” Don joked.
Candice laughed. “You know what I mean. I want a man.”
“Girl,” Nina piped in, “I had it and tossed it back. Wasn’t worth it.”
The three women were dressed attractively, leaving Don to feel like a fool in his jeans and yellow T-shirt. He wasn’t used to going out. The drinks arrived a moment later, and he made quick work of his beer. Only one of them needed to be drunk for him to spill his secrets.
Monica drank only one alcoholic beverage while Don had four. He noticed the way she stared at him every now and then. She was onto him, somehow. Don wasn’t sure what he’d done to tip his hand, but he was committed. He wanted to tell his wife everything at that very moment, in the bar, but had the presence of mind to realize where he was. Four beers on an empty stomach was usually all it took to get him drunk.
“When’s your next book coming out?” Nina asked him.
“As soon as I get my lazy ass in gear. Writer’s block.” He grinned.
“I really enjoyed your first one,” she said. “The characters were very, um, relatable.”
Don looked at Nina as she smiled knowingly. He laughed and said, “None of the characters are based on my family.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he replied.
“Are you sure?”
Don laughed again. “Okay, maybe they were loosely based on people I know.”
“Is that so?” Monica asked in a significant tone.
“Yes, dear.”
After a while, the discussion switched to Conner. Nina and Candice, being twins, gushed over how adorable he was and how much of a handful raising two boys of the same age would be. Don noticed Monica’s mood changing the more they talked about it. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was ready to raise a child who wasn’t hers.
A heated argument began directly behind him and Monica between two young men. A minute later, the two started throwing punches and one of the men backed into Monica’s chair. Don leapt to his feet, grabbed the offending man and threw him away from the table.
Rage boiled inside of Don as he stood there, staring at the men who had been fighting each other. They were now watching him with wary eyes.
A hand fell on Don’s shoulder. He turned and saw his wife standing there, looking worried. Nina and Candice got to their feet as well, and paid for the drinks. As they left, Don heard the two guys ask each other why they had started fighting in the first place.
Don knew why. It was because of him.
* * *
After returning to the hotel, Don retrieved the sleeping boys and put them on their bed. Monica had changed into her nightgown and sat on her bed, watching. Don changed into his pajama bottoms and sat next to her. His head was spinning from the drinks, but he felt good. Confident. He was ready to talk.
“What was that?” Monica suddenly asked, disarming him. “At the bar, I mean.”
“That guy backed into you,” he said, as if it was obvious. “I was defending your honor.”
She shook her head. “I saw your face; there’s more to it.”
There was indeed more to it. Somehow, Don had the ability to arouse the anger of those around him, and he still d
idn’t know how he did it. The effects always came at random times.
“Honey,” he said quietly, “there’s something I need to tell you. It’s about my brother.”
“I’m listening.”
Don checked on the children, who were both fast asleep. “Christ, this is so hard.” He had been about to tell her, but his chest suddenly hurt. “You love me, right?”
She chuckled. “Of course I do. No matter what.”
“Even if I did something evil?”
Monica’s mirth quickly vanished. “Donovan Scott, tell me what happened.”
“I would die if I lost you,” he said through gritted teeth. This was not going as well as he’d hoped. At that moment, he suddenly felt like he would lose his wife if he said any more.
“Do you really think you can back out now?” Monica asked. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Don. I’ve loved you nearly as long. Nothing you’ve done will change the way I feel about you.”
Don shook his head and took a breath. And then he said, “I killed my brother.”
A long silence followed. At first, he didn’t know if she had heard, but when he looked at her, he saw the expression on her face: confusion, horror. Not only did she hear him, she believed him.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you kill him?”
“Self defense,” he said. “I found him that night, with the help of the P.I. When I went to Ethan’s house, he tried to attack me.” Don was lying but didn’t know why at first.
And then it came to him.
He needed to justify his actions. He had killed Ethan because he was afraid of him. There was no other reason.
“Where did the gun come from?” Monica asked. She knew Ethan had been shot, same as everyone else knew.
“It was his,” he answered without thinking. He’d forgotten about that little plot hole. The gun had actually been his father’s, and he had taken it with him to confront Ethan.
“Why did he attack you?” Monica asked next. She seemed genuinely curious, not suspicious. She clearly wanted to believe her husband had a good reason for his actions.
“There was something wrong with him.” Now for some truth.
“What?”
“Remember that night you found me in your front yard?” he asked. “I was on all fours and acting...weird.” Monica nodded. “Well, there was something wrong with me that night, too. Ethan and I had a complicated past that involved our parents.”
Don noticed his wife holding her breath, waiting for him to continue. So he did.
“I don’t know how else to explain it except to say we had some mental-health issues.”
Monica resumed breathing. “How serious are these issues?”
Don could see on her face that she was remembering the night they reunited. He had looked like a crazed animal but had not acted dangerous toward her. At most, she had been merely confused rather than afraid. Don had explained it away easily enough before by saying he’d been in a car accident and was disoriented.
“There was no car accident, was there?” she asked, as if reading his mind. “I should have known since you wouldn’t let me drive you to the hospital.”
He shrugged. “How do you feel about what I just told you?”
“Not great,” she replied quickly. Then she looked to the other bed. “Will this affect Jordan?”
Don looked as well. “I hope not. I haven’t seen any signs of the illness like I did with Ethan.”
“And what about Conner?”
Don sighed and said, “I’ve definitely seen signs in him.”
“I don’t know what to say to all of this,” Monica murmured. “I still love you, and I’m not afraid. You’ve never hurt me, and I know you never will.
“But I’m afraid of Conner now. Are we ready to take care of someone with his...problems?”
“I’ve thought that myself a few times,” Don replied. “If there’s anyone who can help him, it’s me.”
Monica nodded and relaxed next to Don. She then cuddled closer to him, as if showing she was not afraid. He hoped she didn’t see him differently. He couldn’t lose her. For the sake of his own sanity.
Chapter 3
Don felt bad getting Aunt Cynthia to watch the boys. It was difficult working on the manuscript with Conner and Jordan running around the house, making so much noise. And Don really needed to finish his novel.
There were times when he felt guilty about profiting off his tragic life story, though fictionalizing it helped a little. Giving the first book a happy ending seemed like therapy for him; the way things should have been. Don liked writing, no matter how difficult it proved to be at times.
He was fifty thousand words in, having tapped into a creative well that allowed him to write without much interruption. Having the boys around had proven a hindrance, but Cynthia had taken care of that. Don hoped Conner didn’t do anything unusual while under her watch.
More than that, though, he hoped Conner didn’t hurt the other children. The boy had killed a grown man—there was no telling what he could do to someone his size.
Don suddenly stopped typing when he realized he’d written down the very thoughts he’d just had.
The boy had killed a grown man, the page read. There was no telling what he could do to someone his size.
The story wasn’t even about the boys; it was about the brothers from the first book, and they didn’t have children. Don scrolled through the manuscript to see if he’d mentioned any kids before now.
He had.
Two boys, Casey and Trevor, were featured in at least fifty pages. Don found their rough introduction, laughing at himself for his lack of subtlety. The boys had just appeared out of nowhere. Don briefly read those fifty pages and found that the story had taken on an intriguing life of its own. He went to work, polishing the rough edges. This had become an entirely different story.
An hour later, he got a call from a hysterical Cynthia about an incident that had just occurred at her house. Don rushed right over. When he got there, he found her in her living room with four kids, one of them Jordan. Conner was not among them.
“What happened?” Don asked, slightly out of breath from the stairs he had to climb.
Cynthia took him to the kitchen and said quietly, “Conner got into my liquor stash downstairs.”
“Is he all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “He tried to give some vodka to the other kids, including your son.”
Don looked out at Jordan, who seemed unharmed.
“It’s a good thing I caught them in time,” Cynthia continued. “Conner had poured them all shots.”
“I’m so sorry about this,” said Don, mortified. “Where is Conner?”
Don found his nephew in the room across from the master bedroom. Conner was sitting on the bed, facing the window.
Don closed the door behind him and simply stood there. He was angry with Conner, even though he knew it wasn’t the boy’s fault. “Why did you do it?” he asked his nephew.
“Because I wanted to,” came the simple reply.
“That’s not good enough.”
“That’s too bad.”
Curse or not, Don was pissed. He quickly stepped in front of Conner. “You listen to me! What you did was wrong, and if you do anything like it again, I’m going to send you off to a place where they’ll study you like a fucking lab rat. Do you understand me?”
Conner didn’t reply right away, and Don actually saw a flicker of fear on his face. But then Conner said, “Jordan is just like me, you know. Would you send him away too?”
Those words from that tiny, innocent voice, chilled Don to the core. This was not something a child would say. “He’s nothing like you.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Uncle Don.”
* * *
Monica was furious when she got the news later that day. She made Conner go to his room and stay there until she said otherwise. Then she and Don proceeded to have an extremely heated argument in the kitchen.
“He’s not a special-needs kid,” Don replied half-heartedly. He was still thinking about what Conner had said about Jordan.
“Whatever you want to call him, we still aren’t qualified. He could have killed those kids.”
“Conner’s a five-year-old boy,” Don found himself saying. “Kids get into things they’re not supposed to all the time. He just made a mistake.”
“Cynthia told me that liquor cabinet was locked. This was deliberate, Don. Something’s wrong with that boy.”
Don sighed, defeated. “You’re right, honey. But I don’t know what to do.” He sat at the dining table.
Monica sat across from him and took his hand. “How did you handle it when you were his age?”
“The...mental stuff didn’t affect me as much as it did Ethan. When it finally caught up to me later in life, I found love. I found you.” He gently squeezed her hand. “And it all went away.”
“So,” said Monica, “all we have to do is find a five-year-old boy a girlfriend.”
They laughed, and the tension slowly melted away.
* * *
Don kept the boys at home with him the next day, though he continued work on the manuscript. He even included the liquor incident in the story.
A curious thing happened midway into the manuscript: Don introduced an important character without meaning to. The character turned out to be the protagonist’s birth father. Don supposed he’d been thinking of his own birth father, whom he’d never met. But why write him into the story?
He reread the introduction and found the character on a beach in Florida. Don thought back to the man he’d seen that one day weeks ago, watching from the shore while Don swam with the kids. Though he had never seen his true father before, he had dreamt about a man without a face. The man had said he was Don’s father.
But that man on the beach couldn’t be his birth father. Mom had found out that he’d killed himself long ago to escape the curse. Don had believed her—mainly because she had believed it—but something inside him said that his real father was alive and well.