The Devil's Grip: The Curse of Stone Falls

by Steven Swaks

  The Leader came closer to her, his face only a few inches away from hers. His foul breath invaded her nostrils. “I’m going to get you, girl. You watch it. When you don’t expect it, I’ll be there. You watch your back, ‘cause you never know when I’ll show up.” The Leader looked over his shoulder and glanced toward the gasoline pumps. His shoulders slumped down, “I can always take care of your sister. I don’t think she’s as feisty as you are, is she?” He tapped Tracy on the arm.

  “You… don’t even think about it. You touch her and I’ll rip your eyeballs out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m wetting my pants,” he said smiling, “see you, my friend.” He stopped an instant and looked at her car next to the pumps, “Man your sister is cute. I’ve never seen that before. She’s starting to look like a woman… yum…”

  Tracy clenched a fist.

  The Leader tapped her on the shoulder one last time and walked out. They climbed into an older black Chevy Camaro, and sped out of the gas station.

  “Do you need something else?” the young cashier asked.

  Tracy glared at him and walked to the bathroom. She washed her hands. She didn’t even know why. She looked at herself in the mirror and started shaking. She was in a rut, in a hole she had dug herself in. She didn’t know what to do. Talk to her great boyfriend? She was in this situation because of him in the first place. Talk to Dad? What would he do? Have one more chat with his cop of a friend? Big Chief would laugh at her. It was all on her shoulders. She had to stay strong and take care of Jessica. Should she warn her? Maybe not, poor sister was already on the edge with that Simons.

  She looked at herself in the cracked mirror. Her black eyeliner looked awful. Who was she staring at?

  She left the Mini-Mart, gassed up without talking to Jessica, and got back into her car.

  “You took a long time to ask to turn the pump on,” Jessica said, “was it crowded?”

  Tracy smiled without conviction. “It was packed, and I bought a Twix.” She waved the candy bar. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll give you a bite.”

  “Just a bite?”

  “Maybe more…” she tapped her on the thigh.

  The sisters drove to the church in silence. Jessica was dreading another encounter with Jeff Simons. She looked at the stores going by out the window, a 24-hour pharmacy, a pregnancy clinic, a Ford car dealer, a divorce lawyer, a mortuary, then the beginning of a residential neighborhood. She knew she would be safe, but she was still very much afraid of him.

  She had to forgive him. That was the right Christian thing to do. Forgive him, forget the episode at the school, and the one at church. She could do that. She was a strong Christian. This was a test of her faith. It was easy to be good and loving, but it was much more difficult when things became tougher. This whole situation was a test. She had prayed about it, and she now knew it. That was it. The past was the past. It was forgiven. Good.

  Tracy was fuming. She wanted to play tic-tac-toe on the Leader’s chest with a carving knife. Those jerks… if they touched one hair on her sister’s head, just one, she would kill them. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel without talking about it. She could see their faces on the windshield. Jerks.

  They drove into the back-alley parking closest to the church back entrance. Tracy was not worried about the darkness. There was a security guard roaming around… ok, perhaps old Joe wasn’t helping her to feel safer, but at least there were other people coming from the main parking to the back entrance. She knew nothing major could reasonably happen there. She looked at Jessica.

  “What is it?” her sister asked.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You know…”

  “Simons?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I forgave him. He made a mistake, it’s over,” Jessica said with a calm voice. “Anybody can make a faux pas.”

  “A faux pas? Look at you, smarty-pants!”

  They both giggled like little girls.

  Jessica lost her mirth at the sight of the door.

  “I’ll stay outside. I’m going to steal a ball and shoot a few hoops before the kids come.”

  “That’s going to be a sight, a Goth playing ball on a church playground.”

  “I might even scare off a few brats!”

  Jessica gave her a meaningless dirty glare.

  “I’m kidding… but don’t tempt me.”

  Jessica smiled for an instant before it faded into a gloomy mood.

  “You’ll be alright. I’m right here if you need me. And don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on our little friend. Speaking of, he’s walking through the gate.”

  Jessica swiveled around.

  Jeff Simons was a few feet away heading straight for her.

  The sisters didn’t speak.

  “Hi, Jessica.”

  “Hi…” she hardly said, the churning in her stomach rising to her throat.

  Simons looked at Tracy. “Hi… would you give us a minute?”

  She consulted her younger sister with a quick look.

  “That’s ok,” Jessica said with a comforting voice.

  Tracy walked away to the basketball court next to the church.

  “Look, Jessica,” Simons spoke rubbing his hands together, “I was out of line… the first time I met you, and even for talking to you at school.”

  She was standing in front of him, her eyes fixated on his face.

  “I apologize if I have frightened you in any manner.”

  “That’s ok,” she said with a forced calm. She could not say anything else. She was a Christian, a lover of people, a forgiver. Forgive your enemy was part of her soul. She was a good girl, forgive, maybe not forget, but forgive.”

  “Can we be friends?” He asked extending his hand.

  She looked at him in the eyes. She couldn’t read him. He seemed genuine, but the high school episode and the first time she had met him were still haunting her like a recurring nightmare.

  In a vulnerable move she extended her hand, and shook his. His touch was soft from the skin of a man who had never worked outside. His dark brown eyes were neutral, not deviant nor sweet. Who was he?

  His right hand rose for a soft tap on her shoulder. It stopped before touching her, and pointed toward the large fellowship hall. “I'm going to see if Mathieu is doing alright inside.”

  She nodded without adding another word.

  The man disappeared in the growing crowd of children and parents coming to drop them off.

  “How was he?” Tracy asked.

  “I didn’t even see you,” Jessica said, startled.

  “I was close by.”

  “I don’t think he would do anything inappropriate here.”

  “Like last time?” Tracy asked with a sarcastic smile.

  Jessica didn’t answer. Her sister was right and she knew it.

  The next two hours went well. Jessica played with the young children in the small classroom. Perhaps next year she would become a game leader with the first graders, but for now she was happy with the three and four year olds. She did some singing and drawing in a colorful classroom with toddler-sized tables and chairs.

  Between songs and games, Jessica glanced at the white clock hanging on the wall. Before Simons, she’d only used it to manage her time in a fun evening. Today, the clock had become a countdown to another encounter with him. Even if he had been polite tonight, she still feared him, and she definitely didn’t trust him.

  Nothing happened that night. Simons was one among fifty parents. The man came, little Mathieu ran to him, and they both walked out without a word.

  Jessica was relieved that Simons hadn’t talked to her. She drove home with her bodyguard of a sister. They chatted about anything, the cubbies, movies coming out, but they purposely avoided the Simons topic. Jessica didn’t know what would happen in the future because Tracy couldn’t always be there to protect her. Hopefully, it would be the end of it.

  Psych Ward
<
br />   The bedroom wasn’t nearly as miserable as she thought it would be. There were no bars on the windows, no padded walls, no straightjacket, nor restraints of any kind. The laminate wood floor was almost pleasant. For what she knew, the only difference between a normal hospital room and this one rested on a peep hole in her bedroom door and a locked access to the entire wing.

  Gina Hawkins would be locked up in the psychiatric ward for three days. After that, if she behaved like a reasonable human being, they would let her go back to her miserable condition. The society would feel better, and, as far as they were concerned, she would be better. If she was truly a psycho, they would bury her deeper in the ward for an undetermined amount of time, like it would help her.

  She knew she would have to talk to somebody. She might even pretend to smile to get it over with. This place could even be worse than her home.

  Gina was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling. She drew the white sheets over her. She was in a new low in her pitiful life. How much further could she go? She had no more job, no boyfriend, and an abusive mother in a slum of a house. Now, she was locked up in a loony bin. It was official, she was crazy.

  She closed her eyes. She couldn’t even stand those white walls. Somebody was sobbing on the other side.

  Gina? A distant and echoing voice called.

  She opened her eyes. She saw no one.

  Gina… it was the same warm voice she had heard in her bedroom. Gina… I am here.

  “Who’s there? Who’s talking?” She asked out loud, sitting on her bed.

  I am your friend, Gina.

  “Who are you?” She glanced around the empty room.

  I am here for you my sweet friend…

  She stayed strangely calm, hardly looking around her. The voice was reassuring and fatherly. Gina… my angel, my beautiful angel. I am here for you. I am here to help you. Trust me, my angel. You do not belong here… trust me… I can set you free… follow me and you will be with me… forever. Release those bonds, and fly, my sweetheart.

  “Who are you? Tell me, if you’re my friend.”

  I am your admirer. I am the Alpha, the Omega. I am your Savior. Trust me, and you will be with me, free, at last.

  “What’s your name?”

  Oh, my dear, I am Valaxahr, your servant.”

  “You were with me in the hospital, weren’t you?”

  I was…

  “I felt you. I felt free… strong,” she said with a narrow smile.

  You were… and you will be… if you come with me…

  “How? I have to stay here…” her breathing increased. She was in a psych ward talking to herself. She was hearing voices. She was losing it.

  My sweet angel. You do not have to stay here. It’s a choice. Life, is your choice. Trust me.

  “What can I do?”

  Call the nurse, my angel, be calm and sad. When he comes to you, take his pen and jam it into his throat. It will be easy and soft. When he falls, take his keys and walk out. You see, it is simple, my angel. There is only one door between you and freedom. You can be like a bird again. Free.

  She frowned. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  There is a time for everything. There is a time to live. There is a time to die. Today is his time. You will help him reach his destiny.

  “How do you know this?”

  I see everything. I know everything, my child. I know the past and the present. I know what will happen. I know your thoughts and fears. These people hate you, Gina. Trust me.

  “They don’t, they don’t even know me.”

  What have they done for you? WHAT? The voice paused and settled down. Think about what I am telling you, my child.

  She remained pensive. Nobody had ever helped her.

  They have only made fun of you, Gina. They have mocked you, ridiculed you. The voice took a female tone, one of so many in the emergency room. Welcome back, Gina, it’s nice to see you again! It morphed back to its original voice. They don’t care about you. They want you to go away. Don’t you see it? Don’t you want to be free? It will be fast and easy, a quick jab in the throat, like a pinprick.

  “I can’t hurt anyone. I am a good person. I can’t.”

  YOU’RE A COWARD, THAT’S WHAT YOUR ARE, A WEAK COWARD! YOU CAN’T EVEN STAND ON YOUR OWN! The voice stopped for an instant. Sweet Gina, you are not ready. But I will help you. I am your friend. You rest now, my angel…

  She closed her eyes and drifted into a slow sob.

  Somebody gently knocked on the door. “Dinner time.” A young food worker with very fair skin entered the room holding a small plastic tray.

  Gina looked at her without a word. She glanced at the name tag, Jenny Callaway, was printed next to an expressionless picture. Beside the tag was a pocket with a small note pad and a black pen.

  The young nurse put the tray on a small table.

  “Where is the man? The nurse who came earlier?” Gina asked.

  “He was on the day shift. He left half an hour ago. Did you need to talk to him? I can help you if you need something.”

  “I’m ok.” She looked at the set of keys dangling from a narrow silver ring on her belt. It would be so easy, the voice had said.

  She couldn’t. She was a good person.

  Jim’s Repair & Body Work

  Jim was where he felt the most comfortable. Not behind a desk answering a damn phone, not in his empty home, and definitely not doing paper-scratching accounting ‘til the end of the day. No, he kept that one for his blood-sucking vulture of an accountant in downtown.

  Jim was in a mechanic’s pit under a car. That was where he belonged. He couldn’t get enough of the oil smell, of the grease on his fingers, and the revving engines. He loved it. In his small hole of a world, there was the sick car, his tools, and his magic fingers. He could fix anything on a car, and he was proud of it. He was a surgeon, except that docs worked with a bunch of people and nurses, and he was alone. He didn’t need anybody to tell him what to do, where to go, and all of that garbage. He was a man in his kingdom. A man without a woman–thank the good Lord for that one–not even a secretary. He could always pick up the phone if some dumb bastard was too lazy to drive to his station and ask him a question. Jim had had enough of one woman in his life. The old lady was the only one he had ever managed to stand. That’s ‘til she had decided to die of breast cancer. Damn shame. Now, he had no more interest to hook up for a long time, nah, thank you. The shorter he dealt with females, the better, except when they were his customers. That one was another story. Then, he became more–what was the word?–he became just nice enough to rob them as much as he could. Funny, he didn’t know why, but their bills were always much higher than the men’s. Maybe because they didn’t know squat about cars, and he could tell them anything he wanted. Poor angels, they believed anything he said.

  A pair of white sneakers and bare legs beneath a long dress ambled toward him. Jim couldn’t see anything else from his dark hole hardly lit with a single work light. Black army boots and camouflage pants followed the more feminine legs.

  “What do you need?” the mechanic asked from his pit.

  “Oil change,” Tracy bent down to see the man.

  His greasy hands were buried beneath a black Hyundai’s engine. “It’ll be a while before I can do it.”

  “How long?”

  “Gimme half an hour, somewhere around there. You can go to the lounge and wait for a few.”

  “The lounge? You mean the chairs by the register?” Tracy asked.

  “Yep, lady, that’s the customer lounge,” and if you don’t like it you can go somewhere else more expensive! Jim thought, but didn’t voice it for fear of losing another customer. Besides, he knew he could find something else to fix. The gal, even if she was dressed like a wannabe paramilitary, wouldn’t know the difference. Jim knew the military. He knew about hiding in the jungle and slashing a few throats. They were like rats to him in Nam. He’d helped society, the free world. That’s all he’d done.
Now, those two girls, the weird one and the doll. He knew the older gal, but not the kiddo. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to the face, or even remember where he had seen her. It didn’t matter. He would try to squeeze as much as possible from the older one. Chicks, they were only good to be taken advantage of, financially, and why not more.

  The two sisters sat on creaking wooden chairs in the lounge. A cash register sat on a blue homemade countertop. Piles of dated magazines formed a literary landscape over a rectangular coffee table. An empty drinking fountain near a plastic plant proved that, at some point, Jim had made the effort to be more welcoming.

  Tracy was hunched over, elbows on her thighs, thumbs avidly scrolling through her phone. Jessica was reading her Bible, 2 Corinthians 1:3, Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort. She loved this particular verse. It reassured her. Without even noticing, her finger had taken a life of its own and was gently rubbing the Bible leather cover. She loved the warm feel on her skin.

  The glass door into the garage bay swung open. Jim entered, wiping his dirty hands with a greasy rag. “Ladies, I changed the oil, but your radiator has had it. On top of that, your hoses are cracked and they’re leaking like there’s no tomorrow. You’ll need to replace that asap.”

  “I’ve never seen anything, no leak, nothing,” Tracy said standing up.

  “Course you never saw anything, young lady. If you did, your engine would be overheating, a total goner.”

  “I can replace your radiator and hoses if you want.”

  Jessica’s eyes opened wide. She glanced at Tracy with concern. Her sister stayed calm, almost analytic. “How long would it be?”

  “Hum,” Jim rubbed his stubby chin, “to replace the whole system? Three hours.”

  “And how much?”

  Jim stayed calm, time to play cool and professional, bogus repair plus twenty percent increase for female customers, add an extra fifty bucks for being young and stupid, “Hum, we’re looking at $780.”

  Tracy stayed stoic.