by Jeff Altabef
“What do you think, Stevie?”
“I wouldn’t have come back if I knew. Come on, I could use a little help here. For once, just a plain answer.”
“You already know.” Her eyes burn brighter. “You have demons inside you, boy. I’ll cut them out of you, just like your demon father.” She raises her bloody shears and laughs.
“Don’t expect a Mother’s Day card this year,” I say, and the image vanishes.
I walk through the apartment and look for signs of my mother, anything that’ll provide a clue as to her fate. Although unlikely, it’s possible she’s still alive, which is why I’m here, searching through the wreckage for one last chance to find out what happened to her. By knowing her fate, I hope to make sense of my own.
I sweep my bedroom door with light. Gouges remain in the wood where my mother clawed at the door, begging me to let her in. Each night, I pushed my dresser against the door, but sometimes, that wasn’t enough. Some nights, I had to brace my arms against the dresser and push with my legs, so she couldn’t get in.
The apartment looks different, and it takes me second before I figure out what’s off. Someone hung wallpaper on the walls and even the ceiling: a pine green background with small golden stars. It’s charred now, peeling away from the plaster. Why would someone go to the expense of wallpapering such a crappy apartment? I rip down a long strip from the wall.
Rows of blood-red crosses, uneven in size and shape, cover the wall. I rip another strip. My mother painted crosses on every inch of every wall and the ceiling.
My legs turn to jelly, and I fall to the floor. Memories whipsaw through me. Most are terrifying, but a few good ones mingle with the bad: a picnic by the river, a baseball game with my dad.
The crosses and the wallpaper reveal two important clues. One, my mother’s behavior grew more extreme after I left. Not good. And two, she moved out of the Devil’s Armpit before the fire. The landlord must have hung the wallpaper to get a new tenant. That’s even worse. There’s really nowhere shoddier to go, and I can’t picture my mother moving to a better place. Not in her condition, which means I should start checking the city mortuary records.
Whatever secrets I hoped she might tell me are buried with her. I should feel something—sadness, happiness, angry—something. Instead, I feel numb.
I leave the Devil’s Armpit with no answers, only nagging questions that shake me. When I return to Kate’s neighborhood, I spot two unsavory types following me. They wear long trench coats, have broad shoulders and beards, and stink like demons. I use all the reflective surfaces I pass to check out their eyes. I catch a glimpse in a car’s side mirror, another in a window, and a particularly clear one on a street sign. That reflection bothers me. Red sparks flicker in both sets of eyes.
All of my... let’s call them interactions... with demons so far were one on one. I started to doubt whether they work together, but these two are following me. They don’t seem to be in a rush to intercept me, but plans like that can change, and I don’t love my chances against two demons at once.
I’m looking for a way to ditch them when I spot an old stone church. It looks familiar. Probably a place my mother took me sporadically, so I duck inside and hope the hallowed ground will keep the demons at bay. The place enjoys a simple beauty—tall cathedral ceilings, stained glass windows, a large organ, rows of empty pews, and a mahogany altar.
I find a priest, or really, he finds me. A youngish man with a slight build and short black hair steps from behind the altar and asks if he can help me. He’s wearing black and a priest’s white collar. He has welcoming black eyes and a soft voice.
I turn my head toward the door and wonder if the two demons will barge in and tear this place apart. Since they haven’t yet, they probably won’t.
The priest touches my arm and says, “Sit with me.”
“I’m not sure I’m the type to spend time in church.”
He grins. “You’re the perfect type. If not you, who? This place was built for people just like you. Consider it your house.”
Can he see through me and recognize the changes raging inside? Can he tell that I’m turning into a demon, that the voices inside are winning, or is this just his way of being nice to a troubled person? Either way, I’m in no rush to go back outside with the demons or to go to Kate’s apartment for another installment of Tina World, so I take him up on his invitation.
He sits beside me and doesn’t say anything. He waits for me to talk about whatever is on my mind. There’s a lot of stuff crammed in there, most of it bad, but thoughts of my mother are festering at the top. Maybe he knew her before she died? I show him the artist rendering on my phone. “Have you ever seen this woman?”
He shakes his head. “I’m new at this church. Maybe Father Detomaso might know her, but he won’t be back until later this week.”
When I turn to get up, he touches my arm and asks if I’d like to say a confession. I almost laugh. What would he think if I confessed my sins? Would he race from the church screeching? I don’t want to add to his nightmares. “Maybe next time.”
He takes my refusal in stride, as if he knew I’d decline. “Well, then how about a chat? You’d be doing me a favor. It gets lonely in here during the day.”
I doubt he’d think I’m doing him much of a favor if those two demons burst inside, but they would’ve come in by now if they could. At least I’ve learned that churches are safe places. I guess I owe him something.
“My name is Paul, but my friends call me Paulie,” he says.
I never thought about priests having friends before. Why shouldn’t they? “Nice to meet you, Father Paul.”
“What shall we talk about? You must have stepped inside for a reason.”
I can’t tell him that I’m running from demons and thought the church would be a good place to hide, and I do have questions. Lots of questions. And he seems as good as anyone to ask.
“Are there sins that can’t be redeemed, or is the whole thing some type of cosmic scale? If I do enough good deeds, can I tip the scale in my favor? Can I still be saved?”
He thinks about that for a while. He probably didn’t expect me to ask such a serious question off the bat. Finally, he says, “Neither.”
“Neither? I don’t understand.”
“Sins are not redeemed. People are redeemed. God doesn’t keep score in a ledger. It’s what’s in our souls that count.”
My voice raises a touch. “But how can those who commit bad acts be redeemed?”
He smiles, which disarms me. “Those who believe in God, who have goodness in their souls, act that way. The two line up over time.”
“Which comes first?” I ask. “Good deeds or belief in God?’
“The old chicken or the egg question. They didn’t cover that in seminary.” He laughs, and that pulls one out of me.
He rests a hand on my arm. “You must see this as good news. God’s not worried about your past. He’s worried about your present and your future. He’s worried about your soul and your heart. We can all be redeemed. It doesn’t matter what we’ve done in the past.”
After that we chat about lighter topics, just two guys talking. He likes football, but he’s not an Eagles fan. He grew up in New York, so he favors the Giants, but he can’t tell people around here that. They’d run him from town in an instant if his secret got out.
I ask him why he trusts me with such a sensitive secret, and he says I look like a trustworthy person. His phone buzzes, and he has to leave. He has an appointment with a sick person in his congregation who needs his company.
We stand, and he puts his hand out to shake. “I hope to see you again.”
“You will, Father Paul.” I say and I mean it. I have more questions, important ones about demons that maybe he can help me solve.
He grins again, a natural expression that comes easily for him. “Next time call me Paulie.” His eyes sparkle with a light in them. “There’s a door behind the altar that leads to an alley behind the church, if you’d
rather not go out the front door.”
Does he know I’m running from demons, or was it just a lucky guess? I want to ask him, but he’s already gone.
I stay in the pew. I’ve never met anyone like Father Paul before, a true believer. So now I have new thoughts to mull over. Perhaps if I do good deeds, belief in God will follow. Perhaps I can stave off the demons inside and keep my blood from turning black. It might not be too late for me.
I’d like to believe in God, but I don’t know how, and I suspect it won’t be easy to start now. The demons have their claws in me.
I stay in that church for hours. My life has been filled with so many bad things, but there’s been some good. If I focus on the good, if I’m called to do that, maybe there’s hope for me. Hope is more than I started the day with, probably more than I deserve. I’ll come back and talk to Father Paul again after these thoughts settle in my mind.
I find the door in the back and crack it open. The alley is empty. I leave, make sure no one follows me, and return to Kate’s apartment.
Tina opens the door and lets me in without a word. She has that look on her face—part pit bull and part wiseass. She insists she’s joining our mission. Apparently, she’s worn down Kate because Kate just nods along.
I try to talk them out of it, but they present a wall of opposition so sturdy I can’t break it with an ice pick. When women stick together, there’s nothing men can do to change their minds. I’d have a better chance climbing Mount Everest naked.
We leave at eight, so we’ll have plenty of time. I steal a beaten up Japanese sedan parked three blocks away. Getting into the car isn’t a problem. My wireless key scrambler blitzes the car’s CPU with enough code variations that the doors click open in two minutes. Not bad. More expensive cars take a lot longer, but this one is about eight years old and didn’t cost much new.
Once inside, I re-wire the circuit panel, and the car starts. Luckily, it has half a tank of gas, more than enough. I drive with Kate sitting next to me and Tina in the backseat.
Tina doesn’t have access to District 10, so she volunteered to ride in the trunk. I was tempted to take her up on the offer. The roads can be bumpy, and she’s already rubbed my nerves raw, but I have a fake ID with access all the way to District 8 she can use. The picture isn’t a perfect match, but the hair color and face look basically the same. We add a mole on her cheek that matches the ID with some makeup. Besides, Homeland doesn’t check IDs all that closely until someone wants into District 7.
Homeland really only cares about Districts 1 through 5. They use Districts 7 and 6 as buffer zones. To gain access into District 7 or lower, the process involves DNA scans and more highly trained officers. She wouldn’t pass that level of inspection.
When we approach the checkpoint into District 10, the guards look bored and barely check our IDs before they scan them. And just like that, we’re waved in. I cruise to Brad’s street and find a spot a half-block away facing the apartment building.
Kate’s wearing the short black dress she used for the photos. It’s hard for me to concentrate with her in that dress and so close, but we need to go over the plan one more time.
“Kate, you’ll approach security and ask for Sam Steele. Obviously, they’ll know Brad is using a false name and they should be expecting you. You won’t have a problem getting buzzed inside. Not in that dress.”
“Right,” says Kate. “And then when the bastard opens the door I blast him with this taser thing you gave me.” She shows me a tiny taser that fits in the palm of her hand.
“Wait for him to close the door before you zap him. You don’t need to rush.”
“Except that I’ll want to puke at the sight of him,” Kate says. “That might cause complications.”
“Try not to throw up. Afterward you...” I wait for her to continue because this is her part of the plan. She needs to know it cold.
“I get him to read the note we wrote,” Kate says. “That way, security will let you up.”
“Right. Make sure he reads it word for word. The apartment building probably has a safe word for security in case of trouble. Remember to keep the taser at his throat. If he needs persuading—”
“I’ll happily blast him in the throat.”
“Roast the fucker,” adds Tina.
“He has to think we’re going to rob him,” I say. “That’s important. Don’t let on that you’re Megan’s mom or he’ll be more desperate and less likely to go along with the note. If he thinks we’re going to rob him, he’ll hope he’ll get through this okay.”
Kate grinds her jaw and Tina reaches over the seat, rubs her neck, and encourages her. “You’ve got this. The dumbass will know something important and then we’ll get Megan back.”
I check my phone. It’s 8:55. “You ready?”
She nods. “Just don’t take too long to come up. I might kill him before you get there.”
“I’ll be there in a flash. In the meantime, we can communicate through the coms. I’ll hear everything that’s going on, and I’ll be that voice in your head.”
“Great, that’s what I always wanted.” She squeezes my hand, grabs her purse, a bottle of wine, and leaves the car.
Tina jumps from the backseat and settles next to me. “We’ve got to talk, Jarhead.”
“One, I was never a Marine. And two, now’s not a good time. With any luck, there will never be a good time.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know. Good talk.”
A security guard, armed with an AK-47, meets Kate at the entrance to the building.
Kate smiles at him and says, “I’m here to meet Sam Steele.”
The guard acts professionally. “State your name and look into the camera.”
Kate says, “Emma Sykes.”
The guard says something into a microphone, presses a buzzer, and lets Kate in. At least this part of our plan works.
“Steele’s in Apartment 408,” the guard says. “Take the elevator.”
Kate disappears from view. She must have entered the elevator because she whispers. “Going up.”
A bell rings. A few seconds later, Kate knocks, and a door opens.
“Sam?” her voice forms a question mark.
“In the flesh. Come in, Emma, my literary friend.” The door shuts. “You look exactly like the photo on your profile. You hear so many stories these days about people photo-morphing their profile, but not you. Gorgeous.”
I don’t know about Kate, but I want to vomit.
“What’s going on?” asks Tina, and I shake her off with turn of my head.
“You look even...better in person,” says Kate. “I really like the mustache.”
She should have zapped him already. My heart’s beating fast. I wish I had a camera on her so I could see what’s going on.
“Thanks for the wine,” Brad says. “I’ve taken the liberty of opening a red to give it a chance to breathe. It’s from France. I find that book clubs always go better with a little vino. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, certainly. Sometimes, the more wine, the better.”
Wine splashes into the glasses. I imagine the snake lifting one to hand it to her.
What’s she waiting for? Blast him already.
“Thank you,” says Kate.
A second later a glass crashes to the floor followed by a hum. Brad’s toppled to the floor, 60,000 volts racing through him. It sounds like he’s thrashing his legs and making gurgling sounds.
“I’ve tased him,” says Kate.
“Excellent,” I say.
“He’s foaming at the mouth.”
“Try the wine.”
I hear spitting sounds and stifle a laugh.
“That’s not from France. It tastes like vinegar. I’m very disappointed in you, Sam.”
Brad grumbles a couple of incoherent sounds.
“Time to get to work, Kate,” I say. “Remember, he has to think we’re just going to rob him. That way he’ll cooperate.”
; “Got it,” says Kate. “Okay, Sam. I’m sorry that hurt so much. I needed to get your attention. I have a change in plans for us this evening. Book club is canceled.”
“Y-y-you’re not Emma?”
“That’s really special, Sam. I’m as much Emma as you are Sam. I need you to let my friend up.”
“Wh-wh-why.”
“We’re going to rob you, of course. Once we’re done, you’ll be able to entertain lots of other women with book clubs or whatever. Although, I recommend you shave the mustache. It looks like a snake died on your lip.”
“I don’t have anything to steal.” Brad’s voice sounds almost normal now, the effects of the electrical charge having worn off a bit.
“Oh, come now, Sam. An important talent scout like you? I’m sure we’ll find something.”
“Show him the note and the taser,” I suggest.
“In a second, the security guard is going to call. You’re about to have another guest. Read this note exactly as it’s written. Don’t be a bad boy and deviate by one word, or I’ll tase you again. And Sam, I’m a little worried about your heart. I can imagine it bursting. If I might be frank, you’re not in the best shape. All the pumping it must do to keep the blood flowing in that big body of yours. You never know.”
“I-I have a few hundred dollars. You can take that and go.”
“That’s not nice. Do you think I look cheap? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No. Keep that thing away from me.”
“I’m on my way,” I tell Kate. “Just get him to read the note when the security guard calls up.”
I grab my backpack and open the door.
Tina calls out, “Don’t fuck up.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I head to the apartment building. When I reach the door, I smile my friendliest grin.
The security guard approaches warily and talks into a microphone that broadcasts outside the door. “What do you want?”
He’s a lot less friendly to me then he was to Kate. I can’t blame him. “I’m here to visit Brad Drudge. He’s waiting for me.”
The guard shoots me a quizzical look. “You’re not on the list.”