The Devil's Demeanor

by Hart, Jerry

  Don had no response. He should have expected the little bastard to ask such a bold question, but he simply hadn’t seen it coming. He chose not to reply. That seemed to suit Conner just fine; he turned on his heel and walked away, smiling.

  * * *

  Don was starting to realize how Monica felt when he had been distant during his writing. Even when they were in the same house, it felt like they were in different states. Whenever he spoke to her, she gave the bare minimum of a reply.

  One day, while the kids were asleep in their rooms, Don and Monica sat at opposite ends of the couch, looking at the TV. Neither were watching it. Don reached for the remote and turned it off. Monica looked at him a moment before he started kissing her.

  She let him for a while, but then she pushed him away. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said quietly, wiping her lips dry.

  “Can’t do what?”

  “I can’t keep pretending everything is normal between us when it isn’t. I can’t, Donovan.” She sounded on the verge of tears.

  “What isn’t okay?” he asked. “I’m done writing. You have me all to yourself.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not about the writing. It’s about what you did to your brother.”

  Don felt like he’d been slapped in the face. “Did you tell Conner what happened?”

  Now it was her turn to look scandalized. “Of course not. I would never tell him.”

  “Well, he came to me asking about it recently. He knows.”

  “He probably overheard you telling me at the hotel,” she said.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “You want me to turn myself in to the police?”

  “No. I...want out.”

  “What?”

  “I want a divorce.” The words came out strained, as if she couldn’t bare to say them.

  “Why?” Don asked, just as strained.

  She looked at him, her eyes red and watery. “I still love you, but I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of my own child.”

  “Jordan? Why are you afraid of him?” Don could barely hear his own words; they came out in a whisper now.

  “I’m afraid he’ll turn into a...monster.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I read your manuscript, remember? I read the horrible things those kids did. Will Conner and Jordan turn into them?”

  How much of it had she read? Did she read the original ending? Let the answer be no. If there was a God, the answer would be no.

  “I still have nightmares about the night you came to me,” Monica went on. “Those nightmares have been getting worse.”

  “They’re just nightmares, honey. You can’t let them ruin your life, our marriage.”

  “I’ve been having them every night for a month.”

  That caught Don off-guard. “What happens in the nightmares?”

  Monica took a deep breath. “I find you crouched at the end of the driveway. I go to you.” So far, she hadn’t described anything that hadn’t happened. “And then you kill me and the baby.”

  Well, that was different.

  “Honey,” said Don, “I would never hurt you or Jordan.”

  “I know you would never willingly hurt us,” she replied. Don understood the implication.

  “You’re afraid I’ll turn into that thing again, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid of our future together,” she said.

  “I remember when you didn’t scare so easily. I remember you venturing into those dark woods when we were kids to look for my brother. And that was on Halloween night.”

  “I was young and stupid.”

  “And brave.”

  Monica suddenly looked very angry. “Don’t even sit there and try to judge me! I don’t know how to handle this situation. I didn’t know what I was getting into before I married you!”

  The wind had been taken out of Don’s sails. He hadn’t told her anything of the curse before they married. She had been thrown in, unprepared. It wasn’t fair to her.

  “So,” he said, “what do you want to do?”

  She sighed. “We just need some time apart. Just give me some time.”

  “You got it.”

  Chapter 4

  Cynthia welcomed Don into her home for as long as he needed. She lived alone in that big house and had plenty of room to spare. Don had brought Conner with him, since it wasn’t Monica’s burden to take care of him. Plus, she was afraid of the boy.

  She was also afraid of her own son, but decided to keep Jordan with her. He was her flesh and blood, no matter what. Don thought it brave of her to care for a boy who may turn into a monster one day.

  Conner had been set up in the room across from the master bedroom and Don took the one downstairs, next to the parlor. The first few days had been horribly depressing. All Don could think about was his family and how much he hated being away from them. He missed lying next to Monica at night, feeling her body close to his.

  Now he had nothing.

  He felt an unreasonable amount of hostility toward his birth father Stephen. There was no reason for the man to hide from the creature anymore—it was dead. Whether Stephen knew that or not, it was cowardly to stay hidden, leaving his son to fend for himself. Don wasn’t sure if he even wanted to meet the man anymore. If not for the cure he possessed, Don would forget about him entirely.

  As he lay in bed in the dim bedroom, he heard the mailman approach outside. He looked through one of the windows, feeling like he was in a basement, and saw the little white postal truck just behind the mailbox. The sky was completely overcast, dampening Don’s mood further. He wanted to go outside and get some air. He decided to get the mail while he was at it.

  Though he personally did not expect any mail, he found himself going through the envelopes addressed to Aunt Cynthia and found one from a man named Stephen White. Don’s heart sped up. This couldn’t be his father; the letter came from a P.O. box in Texas. His Stephen, whose last name Don didn’t know, lived in Florida.

  Don raced to his truck and tore into the letter.

  “My dearest Cynthia, I sincerely apologize for not calling you sooner. I have been through a lot lately and have been forced to move. I saw him. I saw Donovan, and I think he saw me as well. I don’t think he recognized me, but I’d rather play it safe than sorry.

  “He believes me to be dead and I would like to keep it that way for now. He’s better off without me in his life. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me over the years. To be honest, hearing that Don is okay and seeing it for myself are two completely different things.

  “I will call you once I have things set up here in Texas. Until then, please destroy this letter and don’t tell Don about me. I may tell him in the future, but today is not the day. Love, Stephen.”

  Don reread the letter several times. So Stephen moved to Texas, did he? Don used to live in Texas himself. He checked the address and saw it was located in Haltom City. He knew exactly where that was.

  He decided not to give the letter to Cynthia; he didn’t want her tipping Stephen off. Don put the letter in his glove box and went back into the house. He then used his aunt’s computer to check flights to Dallas/Fort Worth.

  The only question remained whether to take Conner with him or not. After what had happened with the boy and the other kids in the parlor, Don didn’t think it wise to leave him there with Cynthia. But he couldn’t very well take him, either. There was only one person he could think of to watch Conner while he was away.

  He quickly told his aunt that he had to take a quick business trip and was leaving Conner with a friend. She didn’t seem sad to see Conner go.

  * * *

  Don tried calling Monica but only got her voicemail. He left a brief message telling her where he was going and that he wouldn’t be gone long. He then called a taxi the next morning since he didn’t know how long he’d be gone and didn’t want to pay for airport parking.

  As the cab took him to the airport, he thoug
ht about Nick’s reaction when Don and Conner showed up at his house. Nick, his childhood friend, had been reluctant about taking care of the boy while Don was gone, but changed his mind once Don said Conner wanted to hang out with his “fun uncle.” Nick always took to flattery.

  Once Don landed at DFW, he rented a car. He hoped this trip wouldn’t take too long; he was already eating through his book advance pretty quickly. The first place he went to was a hotel. He was tired and couldn’t think straight about what his next move should be.

  Though he was in a city in which he’d spent a significant amount of his young life, he felt like he was in a foreign land. He had to make good use of the time he had here. He had to find Stephen. But how to go about that, he had no clue. He supposed he could wait by the P.O. box to see if Stephen would return, but there was no telling when that would happen.

  Nevertheless, he found himself parked in a plaza in Haltom City. The box Stephen had used was located in the parking lot. Don had been there for three hours, waiting with surprising patience. If Stephen had used that box in particular, then perhaps he lived in the area. The problem, though, was that there were so many houses and apartments it would be impossible to pinpoint exactly where his father lived.

  His father.

  Don’s father was alive. He still had trouble accepting the man as his flesh and blood. If he could only talk to him, get to know him. Patrick Scott, the man who had raised Don as his own, was dead. Don didn’t want to replace him with Stephen. If anything, he just wanted the cure. After that, he would probably never speak to his birth father again.

  Don definitely wanted to keep Jordan and Conner away from him; he wanted the boys to grow up thinking of Patrick as their grandfather. Why include Stephen in their lives when the man was such a coward that he would abandon his family to the creature? And if he found a cure, why didn’t he share it with Don and his mother?

  Don knew why. Stephen had feared making contact with Hilda and Don because the creature might have found him that way. Coward.

  But now the monster was dead. There was nothing left to fear. Don would tell Stephen that. He would know the man long enough to get the cure. Not one second longer.

  * * *

  Just when he decided to give up and return to the hotel, he saw a silver SUV pull up to the P.O. box. A familiar-looking man stepped out and placed an envelope inside. The vehicle had a Florida license plate. The man looked around warily and for a moment, Don could swear he was looking straight at him.

  Then the man got back in the SUV and sped off. Don started his car and followed. He was fairly certain that had been the same man from the beach.

  After a few minutes of driving, Don was certain that Stephen knew he was being followed. They were alone on a country road, and Stephen’s SUV was gradually speeding up. Don did the same, trying not to make it obvious. He wasn’t very good at tailing people, so he wasn’t surprised that Stephen had discovered him. Don wondered if he was being led somewhere.

  Stephen sped up even more on the highway. There were hardly any other cars on the road. Don couldn’t let the man escape; if Stephen did recognize him in the parking lot, he might flee the state. Don dreaded trying to find him again if that happened.

  With that, he floored the gas pedal and began to close the gap. He wasn’t going to let Stephen get away this time. Surprisingly, Stephen managed to get his own vehicle moving even faster. A small town was coming up, one that looked dead, like the kind one would see in a scary movie—a ghost town.

  Don was only one car-length away and gaining. He couldn’t imagine losing the vehicle now that he was so close, but Stephen floored the gas and turned left at a red light. Without stopping. Don was so surprised by this that he stopped on instinct before following quickly. He saw the SUV take a right far ahead. Don pushed the pedal and turned, but he no longer saw the vehicle. And there were a lot of turns up ahead.

  He stopped dead in the road and leaned his head on the steering wheel. He’d lost Stephen.

  * * *

  Don found himself in a bar in downtown Fort Worth an hour later with a beer in front of him. Most of the bars in the area didn’t get busy until the evening, so this one was practically empty. He was grateful for that, though he did miss hitting bars with his friends at night when he used to live in the area. Right now, however, he wanted to be alone.

  Stephen may have escaped in that town, taking the cure with him. Don wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Aside from the fact that the cure vanished, the man was his father. And now Don would never get to talk to him, to ask him flat out why he abandoned his family to the monster.

  Don took another sip of beer only to find the bottle empty. He flagged down the bartender and found a surprise. “Craig?” he called when he saw who was now working the bar.

  The bartender looked at him and after only a moment’s hesitation said, “Don?”

  Don was delighted to see his former roommate. They had lived together for a short time, not far from the bar, with another boy named Corey, and that situation had ended with the three of them being evicted—Don had paid his portion of the rent and they had not. Since the eviction, Don and Craig lost touch. Until now, of course.

  “Man,” said Craig, running his fingers through his short brown hair. “It’s been, what, five or six years?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What are you drinking?” Craig looked at the bottle and produced a full one out of nowhere. “On the house.”

  “Thanks.” Don accepted it gratefully.

  “So,” said Craig, “how’s life?”

  “Shitty.”

  “I hear ya.” Craig produced another beer before Don even realized he’d finished his previous one. “Marriage problems?”

  Don, who had been staring at his beer, looked up. “How did you know?”

  Craig looked surprised. “That’s what it usually is with the guys in this place. I didn’t know you were actually married. Belated congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Don pulled out his wallet and showed Craig pictures of Monica and Jordan.

  “Husband and father. That’s awesome, man.”

  “Thanks, bud,” Don said, feeling a little better. “I love them very much.”

  “You live here in Texas?”

  “Georgia.”

  “What brings you here?”

  I was looking for my birth father. I found him but he wanted nothing to do with me, so he ditched me in a ghost town. “Just visiting,” he said out loud.

  “Thinking of moving back out here?” Craig guessed in a joking way, but it caught Don’s attention.

  “It would be nice to live here again. I miss it.” And he really did. He hadn’t realized it at first. He had made a lot of friends in Texas, and the schools were nice. So were the houses. Monica had never been to Texas before; she might like it.

  Don slammed the brakes on that line of thought. Monica wouldn’t just quit her job and move to Texas, would she? It would be nice to move and have a fresh start, good for the family, good for the marriage.

  * * *

  Don flew back to Georgia the next morning with mixed emotions. If Stephen decided to flee the state, he would take the cure with him, and Don was looking at a future raising one—possibly two—monsters. All he could hope was that Stephen contacted Aunt Cynthia again.

  Other than that, there was nothing he could do. He simply accepted that which he could not change. He was excited, however, about the idea of moving back to Texas. The family needed a change. Don wouldn’t make any final decisions until he talked to Monica. He could tell they were on the verge of a divorce, that she wouldn’t change her mind on that. She’d married a monster without knowing it. She had every right to leave him.

  Don was going to do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen.

  * * *

  “Don, are you crazy?” Monica asked, a shocked look on her face. “I’m not moving to Texas.”

  Don stood in the kitchen with her lat
er that day while she cooked. The boys were playing in the backyard. Nick had nothing but good things to say when Don picked Conner up hours earlier. “Honey, it’s wonderful over there,” he said. “I think what our family needs is a fresh start.”

  “I already told you what we need: some time apart.”

  Don’s good mood vanished. “Why don’t you just say it. You want a divorce.”

  She turned to him. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You said it before. Because I’m a monster who killed his own brother.” And others, he almost said aloud.

  Monica didn’t respond, but he could tell she was angry. Not scared, just angry. “Have you killed other people, Don?”

  That caught him off-guard. Was she a mind reader? “What?”

  “In your first book, the main character killed a few people. I know you based that character on yourself.” She looked at him directly. “Have you killed others?”

  Don was close to tears when he said, “Yes.”

  Monica turned back to the stove. “Please leave.”

  * * *

  After returning to Cynthia’s house, Don went to his room and cried. He and Monica were getting a divorce. She was afraid of her own son and husband. She told him she wasn’t going to fight him for custody of Jordan. That if he wanted to move to Texas, he could take their son too. She still wanted to be a part of Jordan’s life, only she wasn’t prepared to take care of him when he eventually changed.

  And he was going to change. He was already experiencing the unexplainable illness that gripped Don and Ethan when they had turned five. The cramps, the fevers, the headaches.

  Don called Stan and told him he wanted to write a trilogy of books. Not about the cursed brothers, but about something else entirely. Something for thriller hounds—that chase through the ghost town, the tracking of Stephen, gave him inspiration. He provided the outlines to his agent a week later, and before Don knew it, he was using the advance to buy a house in Fort Worth. He got the surprisingly nice house for a very reasonable price on account that the previous owner had died in the master bedroom. That didn’t bother Don at all, considering what he’d been through in his life.