The Devil You Know

by Richard Levesque

  “Oh my God,” she said again, choking back tears. Then she leaped from the bed and ran for the bathroom where she vomited violently into the toilet.

  * * * * * * * *

  Elise washed her face and ate a piece of dry toast, then ran to the front door when she heard Marie’s car pull up. She opened the door and watched as her friend came up the little walkway to the front door. She had hoped that her earlier feelings had all passed and that she wouldn’t need to worry Marie, but when she saw Marie’s expression change from cheerful to alarmed as she neared the house, Elise knew that her own face had betrayed her. When she stepped into the little living room, Marie grabbed her by the shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, panic in her voice.

  Holding back tears, Elise hugged her for a moment and then said, “It’s nothing. Stupid dreams is all.” She shook her head. “I’ve just been letting it get to me.”

  “I shouldn’t have left you alone last night.”

  Elise forced a smile, not wanting to admit she had been thinking the same thing. “I’m a big girl,” she said. “I had to be alone at some point.”

  “But maybe not so soon.”

  Elise led Marie inside, and they sat down on her couch. The day before, Marie had spent much of her time cleaning and straightening up Elise’s house, putting away all the clothes Elise had strewn about on Friday. Though the simply appointed room was now free of clutter, Elise felt uneasy sitting there. The room felt small and tight; she struggled to keep from trembling.

  “Was the dream about... him?” Marie asked.

  Elise shook her head. “I don’t think so. I can’t remember faces or people—just feelings. Terrible feelings. And sounds. Colors.” She shuddered and forced her hands firmly into her lap.

  “You haven’t been able to remember anything else about Friday night?”

  Again, Elise shook her head, but said nothing.

  “And you still don’t want to see a doctor?” Marie asked. “Or talk to the police?”

  “No,” Elise said. She looked at Marie and saw the deep concern on her face. Forcing a smile, she reached for Marie’s hand and said, “Don’t look so scared. I’ll make you a deal. If it gets worse or if anything weird starts happening, I’ll go.” She saw that her friend looked dubious, so Elise added, “I promise.”

  “To the doctor and the police?”

  Elise repeated, “Promise.”

  Marie’s expression relaxed just a little, and she squeezed Elise’s hand. “We’ll skip Mass this morning. I’ll leave a message for Father Joe so he doesn’t worry about me.”

  “No,” Elise said quickly. Indifferent to the idea earlier, now the thought of going to Mass comforted her. It would be good to be around other people, to pray, and maybe to forget. “You at least should go. And... it’ll be good for me to go, too. I don’t go enough. I need to get back on the good foot.”

  Marie smiled. “You’re sure? We could just take a drive or something—head out to the beach?”

  Elise shook her head. “Later, maybe. Let’s just do what we said.”

  Marie nodded. “Okay, sweetie. And you’re right; it’ll be good. For both of us.”

  * * * * * * * *

  As they drove north from Melrose and toward the Hollywood Hills, Elise recalled the time a date had taken her on a cruise to Catalina Island. She had liked him so much and had wanted the date to go well, so she tried to hide it when she began to feel more and more queasy during the boat trip. She tried to imagine being on dry land and walking barefoot in the sand with him as each little wave that lifted the boat also made her feel as though her stomach was rising into her throat. Finally, she had thrown up over the side, wishing for a moment that embarrassment could be lethal.

  Now she hoped again that her true feelings did not show as Marie drove them toward St. Lucy’s. She fought not nausea, but panic this time. Relieved that Marie had switched on the car radio, Elise hoped her friend would not notice how tightly she gripped the armrest or how her left hand was bunched into a tight fist beneath the folds of her dress.

  The feeling of panic had started the moment Marie had started the car, the rumble of its engine and the steady vibration under her feet giving rise to a completely irrational fear—of what, she could not guess. She simply had the undeniable feeling that something terrible was about to happen. At the same time, she wanted desperately for this not to be happening, wanted only to be normal and to go back to being the person she’d been on Friday afternoon. Everything will be fine, she thought, but at the same time did not believe it.

  When Marie pulled into the church parking lot, Elise reached into her handbag with trembling fingers and took out her compact. She looked into the little round mirror and dabbed powder over the sweat on her nose and brow before opening the door, as relieved to be out the car as she had been to feel solid ground after the disastrous Catalina trip. She took a deep breath and closed the door, waiting for Marie to join her at the front of the car. They walked together up the oak-lined path to the elegant little church.

  When she walked through the doors, Elise felt a sudden chill, and the sense of foreboding she had had in the car seemed to double. She had to force herself to dip her fingers in the holy water and was unnerved at the sensation that her hand seemed repelled by it. It was as though she actually had to push her fingers in. When she touched her fingers to her forehead, the tiny bit of water made her skin burn.

  I’m going crazy, she thought as she looked around at other people dipping their fingers in and making the sign of the cross without any show of distress. They were all normal, she told herself; there was nothing wrong with the water. The only thing wrong was her. All the others were safe in a place of worship, loved by God and embraced by the church. She could not say the same for herself; she was not loved, not wanted, not saved. She could not even pray, and she knew that if she could, her prayers would not be heard.

  Falling into step beside Marie, she walked down the center aisle until they found a spot in one of the middle pews. Giving Marie a nervous smile, she stood aside so Marie could scoot in first. Then Elise took the aisle seat. It wouldn’t make the whirlwind of thoughts, memories and fears dissipate, but being on the aisle made her feel slightly less claustrophobic. As they knelt side by side on the riser, supposedly in a moment of silent prayer, Marie leaned over and whispered, “Are you okay?”

  Elise nodded quickly and turned her head slightly toward Marie. She hoped there was nothing odd about her demeanor, nothing that would remind Marie of the promise to seek help if her condition worsened. It had worsened, she knew, but telling a doctor or anyone else about what had happened or about her bizarre thoughts only made her feel more terrified.

  She forced herself to go through the motions once the service started—kneeling, sitting and standing when everyone else knelt, sat and stood; singing when they sang; repeating the refrains along with the congregation when she could remember them. But she found it hard to concentrate as hazy memories began to plague her. Now she could vaguely remember dancing with the man Marie had described to her, kissing him on the staircase and feeling him on top of her in the unfamiliar bedroom. The memory brought with it a sudden feeling of arousal, and she felt her skin flush even as goose bumps broke out on her forearms.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was not the time or place for such indecent thoughts, she told herself. She clenched her jaw as she opened her eyes and forced herself to stare at the crucifix behind the altar and Father Joe, but the thin and tortured figure of Christ only made her feel worse.

  A few minutes later, Father Joe began leading the congregation in singing “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Elise stood up beside Marie and tried to remember the words, but she could recall only a little of the song and simply moved her mouth, hoping to appear as though she was singing with everyone else. Halfway through the song, though, she saw a large brown rat scurry across the altar right behind Father Joe. Shocked, she gripped the pew in front of her to ste
ady herself. Without thinking, she half raised her other hand to point, but saw that no one else in the chapel seemed to have noticed.

  They didn’t see it, she thought. Trying not to look nervous, she glanced at Marie, who smiled back, but a bit questioningly. Elise shook her head and returned the smile before she looked away again. Marie had not seen it; no one had. It had been real, though. She was certain. Then where did it go? she asked herself. A rat in church could no more disappear than it could magically appear in the first place, she knew. And in realizing this, she also knew that she had imagined the creature.

  Just tired, she thought, trying to reassure herself. Just tired.

  “Not tired.” The words came to her as a harsh whisper from somewhere behind her, strangely part of the song and yet distinct from it—words meant for her ears alone. Again, goose bumps raised themselves up and down her arms, and a chill ran up her neck. It made her shudder. She would have raised a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, but she held so tightly to the pew before her that she feared she might fall over if she let go.

  Something was behind her. She knew it. It was something inhuman and unholy. A fleeting image from her nightmares came to her—a ghastly red skinned creature, a living gargoyle with leathery wings folded up behind its back, a hideous gaping mouth full of yellow fangs, and bony hands with sharp claws instead of fingernails. She was certain it had watched her throughout the service and could hear her thoughts. After a few more seconds, she began to smell the thing; it smelled of decay, as though a rat had died in the walls. Knowing the thing was close enough to touch her, she fought the urge to bolt from the pew. The wings, though, she thought. It’s fast. It’ll catch me if I run.

  But in the instant the song ended and everyone began sitting down, Elise felt as though a spell had been broken. She suddenly had clarity again. The smell of death was gone, as was the certainty that a monster sat behind her or that a rat had run across the altar. She sat down beside Marie, feeling as though she had just woken from a dream. Again, she wanted to cry, but now it was from relief. I’m not crazy, she thought. She had never experienced a waking dream before, but told herself there could be no other explanation. Though the knowledge filled her with joy, she could not stop herself from furtively pinching the back of her hand throughout the rest of the service. The little bit of pain was insurance that she would remain alert enough to keep her dreams at bay.

  * * * * * * * *

  When she got home, she hugged Marie and trudged to bed, pulled an afghan spread across her and tried not to let the morning replay in her mind. As her eyes closed, she listened to the sound of the front door closing and, a minute later, the rumble of Marie’s engine. When she heard the car pull away, she smiled with relief and exhaled deeply, convinced that she was sinking more deeply into her pillow, sleep only moments away.

  When she heard a faint tapping from her front room, though, she furrowed her brow and felt her blissful peace slip away. She opened her eyes and listened for the tapping to repeat, wanting to believe she had only just imagined it. A quick little dream maybe, she told herself. But then the tapping repeated a moment later, and she knew it was someone at her front door.

  Probably a nosy neighbor, she thought, or maybe Marie had left something behind. “Damn it,” she whispered as she got up. She already missed the pillow’s warm embrace.

  When she got to the front door and opened it, she found a familiar face on the other side of the screen. It was no one from the neighborhood. Instead, she looked into the deep, wide eyes of the handsome, wavy-haired man from Julian Piedmont’s party. At one look she knew it was him, and all her memories of their time together flooded back into her mind. She felt no fear, but only excitement. Her heart began beating rapidly, and she felt warmth between her legs.

  Without a word, the man reached for the handle of the screen door, and Elise stood aside to let him in, a smile on her face. She did not think, did not worry about anything. There was nothing to worry about, and all the fears she had had throughout the morning were now as hazy as the memories from Friday night had been until now. No sooner was the front door closed than she was in his arms, his mouth on hers and his hands gliding down her back. She did not know his name, but hoped he would never let her go.

  Chapter Five

  “Are you feeling all right, Marie?” Father Joe asked on Monday morning. He stood at his office door, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  Marie had not heard him open the door. Startled, she jumped in her seat. “I’m fine,” she said after a moment, forcing a smile.

  “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “It’s all right.” She gestured toward the window. “I guess the rain was taking me away.”

  Father Joe nodded and returned her smile. “That’s fine. I was just a bit worried about you. If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look quite yourself this morning. Thought you might be coming down with something.”

  “Oh no,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s nothing. I was just…it was a bit of a hard weekend. I spent time with a friend who’s sick.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “No. Just done in by the flu, I guess. She’ll be back on her feet in no time.”

  Father Joe sipped his coffee then tilted the cup toward her. “Head over to the rectory and pour yourself a cup if you like. Worrying about the people we love can take a lot out of us.”

  Marie thanked him, but declined the coffee. She felt awful lying to him about what was wrong with Elise, but she knew it would only have made her feel worse to explain what had really happened. She added the lie to the list of things she would ask forgiveness for at her next Confession—at another parish, of course. As the priest went back into his office, she thought about what he had said and wondered whom Father Joe loved. He never talked about family or anything personal. As far as Marie could tell, the little congregation at St. Lucy’s was his only family.

  She tried to turn her attention back to the correspondence he had asked her to read, but had a hard time putting out of her mind the strange events of the last two days.

  The drive out of the hills on Friday night had been mostly silent. Marie had tried questioning Elise about what had happened at the party, but all she got were vague, hazy comments. Before long, Marie accepted the idea that Elise was somehow intoxicated and nothing more. “I’m tired,” Elise had repeated as the car took curve after curve down the hill, and once they were on level ground again, Marie decided it would be all right to take Elise home and let her sleep off whatever the man at Piedmont’s had given her. If something seemed wrong in the morning, Elise could go to the hospital then.

  After spending the night in an overstuffed chair dragged to the side of Elise’s bed, she had been relieved to find her friend appearing almost completely normal on Saturday morning. At Elise’s insistence, Marie had gone home that afternoon, having made Elise promise to call if she felt the least bit strange. It was only a five minute drive from Elise’s house to her own, and as Marie had pulled into her narrow driveway, she felt for the first time just how exhausted she was from her poor night’s sleep and the almost constant worry she had undergone since finding her friend the night before.

  As soon as she got the front door open, her cat Murphy greeted her reproachfully. She fed and petted him a moment, then headed into the bathroom to draw a bath. As she began to undress, she realized that she had never changed out of the dress she had borrowed from Elise, and still had her wedding ring on the chain around her neck. She had promised herself to put it back on as soon as they’d left the party, but here it was almost evening of the next day; she had forgotten. With a sigh, she lifted the chain over her head and set it down beside the bathroom sink. She stared at the ring for a few seconds and thought about putting it back on, but then she scooped it up and took it to her bedroom, where she dropped it into her jewelry box without giving herself the chance to change her mind.

  She had gone back to the bath, finished undressing, and slid into
the tub. The tears came without warning and did not stop for a long time, falling for Elise and for Ryan and for herself. Since the night before, she had made herself hold all of her fear and anxiety inside, and now the feelings came out, amplified by utter exhaustion. By the time she’d drained the water and dried herself, she was completely spent, and though the sun had only just set, she had gone to bed and slept until morning.

  Now she sat in the outer office at St. Lucy’s working her way through the stack of mail that Father Joe needed her to attend to. It seemed an endless task, and pointless as well. The afternoon dragged on. The rain let up and left the office windows covered in a film from the droplets that had fallen all morning. Marie eventually pulled her Weird Tales from her purse and the larger Woman’s Home Companion from her desk drawer, but she could not concentrate on the stories. Father Joe had come back from the rectory around two o’clock, dictated a letter to her, and then disappeared into his office again. When he came out at 3:30, he gave Marie a sad smile and told her to go home early. She protested and apologized for being so lackadaisical, but the priest waved it away. “Don’t think twice about it, Marie,” he said. “We all have days when we’re not quite ourselves. Go and rest. See how your friend is. We’ll make a better go of it tomorrow.”

  Feeling embarrassed but grateful, she packed her things and left the church office quickly. She cut through the chapel and wondered if she should swing by Elise’s on the way home. No, she thought; it would be better to go home, feed her cat, and let herself relax for a while. She had tried Elise’s number a few times already without getting an answer, and assumed her friend must have felt well enough to go to work. Besides, continuing to hover around Elise would only keep Marie from finding her own rhythm again. If Elise should call her, she would give her whatever help she could, but until then she would try to put the weekend behind her.

  When she got to the main doors, she stopped for a moment, unable to remember if she had genuflected and made the sign of the cross before the altar. It was such an ingrained habit that she always did it automatically, but today she had been distracted; she thought for a moment about turning back, but then pushed her way through the two oak doors. She would do it twice in the morning, she told herself.