Be careful, Marshall, thought Leon, be careful how you go. Keep it at the front of your mind, friend, that solid little nugget. I am an honest man. A simple man. I am honest and simple and you will not undo me. But no. Marshall was getting too animated, Leon could see him, pointing here and there, cutting the palm of one hand with the edge of the other, shaking his head too vigorously when he said no. He couldn’t keep that solid nugget at the front of his mind, or—and Leon didn’t want to think this—there was no nugget to keep. He kept pointing and waving and chopping and shrugging, feeding that hungry beast with every good piece of himself he had left. He was disintegrating. Even a false truth can hold up the sky, thought Leon, so long as it is solid and still. Still, Marshall, still.
The others were watching from the edge of the carport: Megan, Evan, Lauren, Adam, Hannah. They shouldn’t be out there, thought Leon, they were only making things worse. He tried to get their attention, wave them back. Marshall’s floundering, he wanted to say, can’t you see?
He saw Megan hold her face in her hands and turn to go inside. He saw Hannah follow. He saw Evan look up. He saw Lauren take Adam’s hand. Then, strangeness upon strangeness, another noise, above the talking, coming from somewhere way out over on the other side of the hill. Marshall glanced up. The reporter and crew looked up too.
It was the TV chopper. The sound got louder. Megan came back outside and threw her arms out as if to say: What the hell? Now Marshall was throwing his arms out too. He pointed, threw a finger at the reporter, then pointed up again. The reporter clamped his hand to his ear like he was talking to his colleagues up there and maybe even asking them to back off. But the chopper kept thumping above the house. Marshall went berserk. He lunged at the reporter and tried to throw a punch; the reporter fell backwards, the boom operator stepped over him and held a straight arm out. Marshall, he was fighting. The cameraman kept shooting. Marshall hit the boom operator’s hand away and lunged towards the car, screaming at Tilly inside. The cameraman was getting it all. Megan came running down the driveway and grabbed Marshall, pleading with him to stop. The others looked on. Marshall backed away. The reporter was getting to his feet, Megan was calming Marshall down but Marshall was flicking his arms left and right like the drunk in the streetfight who’s been dragged.
Then everything changed again.
From below the hill, behind the trees, came a blue light, languidly flashing. A cop car stopped below the drive. Two plain-clothes cops got out, one from each side. The first cop waved the TV reporter away and started talking to Marshall. The other cop opened the Mercedes door and asked Tilly to step outside. The reporter said something to the chopper and went back to his crew. The second cop put a hand on Tilly’s back. Marshall flapped his arms. Megan moved back and forth between them. Tilly’s cop led her to the car. The TV crew followed. Marshall’s cop gestured to Marshall’s car, indicating he should get in and follow. Marshall brushed down his suit, had some last words, flicked his hand a couple more times here and there.
Megan yelled at the reporter and pointed up at the chopper. The reporter lifted his thumb and called his crew back. Marshall got into his car. The cop car did a three-point turn and headed off down the hill. Marshall followed. The TV van followed him. Megan joined the others watching from the drive. The blue light flashed as it rounded the bend and kept flashing all the way past the muddy scar of the landslip and on down the hill.
The chopper wheeled and rose. The sea was flat and blue. They were all just specks now, way down there in the distance, winding along the Great Ocean Road. The cameraman was checking his footage, the reporter writing his lead. The boom operator, tired from driving (he’d been up since five), was watching Marshall’s brake lights brighten and dull. There was a swoop and swoosh as they rounded the bends. Marshall was watching the back of Tilly’s head, her black hair hanging down. Tilly, for her part, was thumbing her phone. The cop checked the mirror. Turn it off now, please, he said.
Demons Page 20