The Demon Rolmar

by A. Griffin

  “After a performance, isn’t it customary for a performer to receive applause?” Rolmar answered.

  Adam was furious. “This isn’t a joke,” he said. “You’re playing with people’s lives here like it’s a game!”

  “Exactly. You can keep your applause. It’s a shame that I can’t say the same thing about your lives.”

  Adam was stunned. How am I going to get my friends out of here?

  Rolmar’s gaze fell upon Adam again, and Adam froze. The demon smiled slightly, showing just a hint of teeth. Adam felt a pain inside deeper than anything he had ever felt before, as if his soul had been singed. With some amusement the demon said, “Have you forgotten already that I can read your thoughts?”

  Adam shut his eyes tightly and tried not to think.

  “How noble of you to think of the safety of your friends before yourself. Perhaps they should be the first to go,” he said, and turned his attention to Zelia and John, who were both shaking.

  Adam moved in front of them. “No, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

  The demon was growing impatient. “Such a valiant act, but I grow weary of your bravado.”

  Rolmar turned to another part of the crowd. They all looked at a wide-eyed Adam, expecting him to know what to do. The people were then propelled into the air by some unseen force. Adam couldn’t believe how fast they moved; he could only follow their aerial path for a few moments before they vanished into the distance.

  A great guilt washed over him, and he couldn’t shake it off. This is my fault. The horror and shock that consumed Adam made him stagger and fall to his knees. They’re gone. Adam was almost oblivious to what was going on around him. More people were rising slowly. What’s going on? He longed to reach out and pull them down, but something inside him warned him not to. They too suffered the same fate, and disappeared into the air.

  The silence in the air was palpable. A deep-seeded need was boiling over inside of Adam. John and Zelia had to live—not only because they were his friends but because of that stillness in the air. It unnerved him. Would that same stillness be present when humanity had been annihilated? Adam turned to his friends in desperation; he breathed the word run and simultaneously thought, I will throw stones at the demon’s eyes. Praying that the distraction would work, he stood and walked toward the demon with one hand behind his back.

  “Come to slay Goliath?” Rolmar uttered. Adam continued to walk toward the demon. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friends escape through the crowd and to a nearby building. “You show great courage in the face of imminent doom, and for that fact alone I will spare you once more.” Adam’s relief lasted for a few short seconds before the rest of the crowd took to the air like bullets and vanished.

  “Where have they gone?”

  “Not very far.” The demon chuckled, and his body began to fade.

  Before his body had completely disappeared, Rolmar tossed a small, silver cube at the youth. “Have a look.” Adam caught it out of reflex, and his whole world spun out of control. The cube magically triggered a vision. He could immediately see the human flock in great detail in his mind’s eye. A few people lost their shoes, and another man lost a brass cuff link that seemed to fall forever, turning over and over as it glinted. Then their path turned downward, and Adam cast the cube to the ground before he could see any more. Adam looked stunned once again and crumpled to the ground.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ding dong.

  “Who could that be?” Linda said. She made her way down the beige carpeting that lined the stairs. “Grant, are you expecting anyone?”

  “Nope,” came a distant reply from the den.

  “Hmm. Oh well.” She tucked a few strands of wayward, dirty-blonde hairs behind her ears, went to the front door, and opened it promptly. Before her stood a small boy dressed in a red T-shirt and tan corduroys. His eyes were cast downward, which made him seem slightly timorous. “Hi, can I help you?” she asked.

  “I…I’m lost,” the small child said as he looked up at her.

  “Where do you live?”

  The boy turned his head away for a moment as if he were studying something in the distance. After a few moments he looked back at the gentle-eyed woman and said, “On Monteller Drive.”

  That’s funny, she thought to herself, I’ve never seen him playing in the neighborhood before.

  “Well, you should come in for a minute.”

  “OK,” he said.

  She held the door for the small boy and then followed him inside the house. Linda led him into a bright, airy kitchen with blond-wood cabinetry.

  “Are you hungry, dear?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you like?”

  “Oh, anything,” he answered.

  “Bologna and cheese on wheat sound good?”

  “Yeah.”

  He regarded the sunbathed kitchen nook for a moment before walking over to it. The space was inviting, with its recessed bookshelf decorated with small bric-a-brac and a single snake plant that hung by a spacious window seat. The boy sat down on the button-tufted, velvet cushion that covered the seat. He allowed his hand to meander over the dark-green surface for a moment before turning his attention to the bookshelf.

  One item caught his interest: a photo of Linda with a vista of a lake in the background. He studied the face in the photo. She was smiling, but the whole impression was one of artifice. Her eyes are sad, but she’s smiling brightly. It was as if someone had taken a picture of a person with a sad expression and then digitally superimposed a smile onto the face. There was a happier photo of the woman and her husband that had evidently been taken when they were younger. He studied it for a minute and noticed that verdigris had begun to develop at the corners of the brass frame.

  The boy turned his attention back to Linda and watched as she went to the refrigerator to retrieve the necessary ingredients for the midday snack: mayonnaise, bologna, cheese, and bread. There was a certain fascination—no, concentration—that was evident in his hazel eyes, which was broken the moment Linda came over to him with a small plate.

  “Anything to drink, dear?”

  “Do you have lemonade?”

  “I made a fresh batch this morning. Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked what your name is.”

  He hesitated for a moment and then replied, “It’s Ian.”

  “I’m Linda.”

  He smiled at her and then looked away shyly.

  That familiar pang of pain arose in her again. It happened whenever she was around children. Grant had never wanted kids, and she had gone along with it to appease him. It was something she regretted deeply. It wasn’t that she was incapable of having them, but now that Linda was older she doubted that she had the strength for a child—or for parenthood.

  She turned away from Ian and went to the fridge to find the glass pitcher of lemonade. The pink liquid swished about as she brought it over to the kitchen island. Linda removed a glass from a nearby cupboard and began filling it, but all the while she wondered what it would be like if Ian was her son.

  “Wow, I see you finished that sandwich already. You must have been really hungry,” she said before handing him the glass.

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “He took a long gulp and then said, “I think I should tell you something.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not really lost. I…umm…ran away.”

  “Why?”

  “My parents are getting a divorce. They’re fighting over who will get custody of me,” he answered.

  Linda was pensive for a minute. The kid is really having a rough time. What would be the big deal if he stayed here for a little while? “You can stay here for a while, but eventually you’ll have to go back home.”

  “You mean it? I can stay?”

  She rubbed his head and said, “You sure can, Sport.” She hoped that her excitement wasn’t too evident in the reply she had given. Linda was overjoyed at the prospect of having a kid arou
nd the house, even if it was only for a few hours. “We have an extra room upstairs. You can stay there until I get in contact with your parents and settle everything.”

  “Thank you!”

  His face was beaming, and the expression gave her heart a workout.

  “Well, let me show you the room so you can make yourself comfortable.” Linda led the way up the stairs to the second floor, with Ian just a few steps behind. They turned to the left and walked several yards until they came to two doors on opposite sides of the hallway. Linda opened the door on the right and let Ian enter first.

  “Wow, this is a great room.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said.

  The room was very commodious and looked more like a master suite than a child’s room. Rich, dark, wood furniture was found throughout the space, and French doors led to a terrace. The boy noticed the four-poster bed right away and climbed onto it.

  “I’ve never been on a bed this big. It makes me feel grown-up.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “This is really cool,” he said, touching the headboard. It featured a scene of maple trees intricately done in a relief style. The boy ran his fingers over some of the leaves.

  Linda could only smile at the boy. “I’ll be back in a little while. I have to do some laundry and a few other things. Can you keep busy for a while?”

  He removed a handheld, electronic game from his pocket and said, “Sure.”

  “Great.”

  With that she left the room and went downstairs. Linda thought about how she would tell Grant about this situation. She knew that he would probably be against it since he had an aversion to children. His reactions were always difficult to predict. Sometimes when she came to him with news he would explode in anger, and other times he would simply shrug things off. She started to bite her upper lip slightly as she made her way into the kitchen. I wonder what he’ll say. Before she could mull over the situation for another minute, Grant came into the room.

  “Hey. I’m starving. Do we have anything good to eat in the fridge?” he said while peering into the stainless-steel behemoth.

  “There’s some leftover pizza from last night in the back.”

  “Sounds good to me. Oh…who was at the door earlier?”

  “Just a boy.” A boy who is upstairs at this very minute.

  “What did he want? Was he selling something?” “Umm, about Ian…”

  “Ian? You know his name?” he said incredulously.

  “Yeah. He’s having trouble at home and I sortasaidhecouldstay-here.” She smiled brightly.

  His light-brown eyes narrowed slightly. “What was that last part?”

  “I told him that he could stay here for a while.” He’s starting to pace. That can only spell trouble.

  “You didn’t even consult me,” Grant said as he gesticulated wildly with his arms. The speed of his pacing had increased, and her husband started scratching his brown hair—the telltale sign that nuclear fallout might be close at hand. “This is my home too. Since when did you get the nerve to start making unilateral decisions?”

  She faced him. “Look.”

  He took a step back from her. “This is a new tone for you.”

  “I felt bad. He obviously had nowhere else to go.”

  “You should just call the police and be done with it. So now we’re taking in strays.”

  Now she was angry. “He’s a child. Don’t insinuate that he’s some kind of animal.”

  He made a loud guttural sound to indicate he was disgusted with her behavior. “I guess this house is going to turn into a repository for derelicts.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Did you ever consider the possibility that the kid might be dangerous?”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t even know where he’s been.”

  “He can’t be more than five or six. He’s harmless.”

  “Kids of today are quite different from when we were growing up,” he said.

  “This is just like you, blowing things out of proportion. No one is going to get hurt. He’s just a troubled child. Couldn’t you give me the benefit of the doubt for once?” she asked.

  The expression on his face conveyed an eternal lack of faith.

  “It’s only for a few hours, maybe overnight. Why do you always have to be so selfish? Didn’t you think that I would enjoy the extra company since we haven’t had any chil—”

  Revelation flashed in his eyes. “Ohhhh…so that’s what this is all about, your fascination with having kids. You knew that I didn’t want any children before we were even married.”

  “I thought that things might…”

  “Change?” he replied, half amused and half smug. “You should know better than to expect something like that.”

  A quark-sized amount of hope struggled to surface in her voice as she whispered, “Children are a blessing.”

  “More like a financial burden.”

  “You’re so shortsighted.”

  “All I know is that I don’t want some strange kid staying in our home. Besides, his parents are probably worried sick by now.”

  Just then, light footfalls called their attention to the steps.

  “Am I interrupting?” Ian asked.

  “No, not at all,” Linda said.

  “I heard loud voices.”

  “Everything’s all right,” she reassured. “This is my husband, Grant.”

  “Hi,” the youth said tentatively.

  “Hello,” Grant replied. The word reeked of unwelcome.

  The two regarded each other for a moment. Just as Grant’s greeting was unforgiving, so too were the boy’s eyes, which were unmoving glaciers—steadfast and hegemonic.

  “Are you OK, Grant? You look pale,” she said. Grant started to lose his balance a little, but Linda caught him before he fell.

  “I’m fine,” he choked. He obviously was not.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” She brought him over to a chair.

  The whole time his eyes were unseeing, in a world all their own.

  “Grant? Are you OK? Snap out of it dear.”

  “I…I…”

  “Why don’t I take you to lie down? Hmm? That might help.”

  “OK,” he said.

  She took him out of the kitchen while the boy stood on the steps, waiting for her return. She came back five minutes later to get some water for this new creature who was a hybrid of invalid and child— and who still bore the face of her husband.

  “Will he be all right?” Ian asked.

  Her eyes shot over to him. Linda had almost forgotten he was there. “I’m sorry dear. I think that he’ll be OK. You can go back upstairs if you want. I’ll call you down for dinner in a little bit, OK?”

  “OK.” He started up the stairs, but turned his head back to give her a small smile.

  Linda went into the kitchen to get her husband a bottle of water from the fridge. I wonder what happened to him. I’ve never seen that look in his eyes before. It was like he was somewhere else entirely. Linda wondered if her husband would be all right as she went through the family room and down a hallway that led to her bedroom. When she opened the door, Grant was already asleep on their bed. Good. Maybe he’ll sleep it off. She sat the bottle on his nightstand and made a silent exit.

  Linda made her way to the living room and threw herself back into the soft cushions of the sofa. This was one of the comfiest places in the house, and she let all thoughts leave her mind as she reveled in its soft embrace. She drifted off to sleep very easily.

  After a few hours, Grant awoke and began piecing together the events from earlier. He didn’t understand why it happened. What was the cause? The most foreign feeling washed over me. I felt cold, my mind had become a cement mixer, and there was something fathomless that was trying to reveal itself to me. And there was fear, infinite fear. Maybe I’m just too tired. Work has been really stressful lately. I feel better now, though. He rose and stretched his arms. Gr
ant went to the dining room and found Linda putting out three place settings.

  “Hey,” Grant said.

  “Hey, how do you feel?”

  “OK, I guess.”

  “You gave me quite a scare earlier.”

  “Yeah, I was scared too. Don’t worry. It was probably just fatigue.”

  “If you say so. Do you want to see a doctor?” Linda asked.

  “No, I think I’m fine.”

  “Anyway, I made your favorite for dinner—chicken marsala.”

  “Mmm, sounds great,” he said before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m glad. Now go wash your hands before dinner,” she said, shooing him away.

  Linda went to the foot of the staircase and called for Ian. After a few moments the youth calmly descended, allowing one arm to drape over the banister.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure am. What are we having?”

  “Chicken marsala.”

  “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds good.”

  “Come and have a seat,” she said while pulling out a chair for him.

  “Thank you.” The boy looked at the meal in front of him for a few moments before plucking his fork from its resting place on a doily. He took one large mouthful, swallowed, and then winked at the woman. She sat down at her place and began eating in a way that denoted exhaustion. She smiled at Ian. It was so nice to have an extra mouth at the dinner table.

  “Oh hey, there you are,” she said when Grant entered the room.

  Grant took his seat and began eating his meal quietly. He didn’t like the idea of some brat in the house but resigned himself to the idea of letting Linda have her way this time.

  “So, what school did you say you went to?” Grant asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Is it Donspire Elementary?”

  “Yes,” Ian said.

  “What are your teachers’ names?”

  “Hon, there’s no need to probe,” Linda said.

  “Who’s probing? It’s a simple question.”

  “He’s under a lot of stress at home, OK? Just give him a little bit of breathing room,” she said.

  Then Grant asked, “Do you know your telephone number?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t,” Ian said.