Demon Hunters (44 page)

“Not to me. The world is still turning and
it will continue turning for centuries to come. That’s my
prediction. From the book of Larissa!”

Me Against The World

I wake up the next day with renewed fervor.
I get out of bed and after a nice hot shower; I sit down at my
computer ready to find my next job. I don’t care what poison people
believe about me, in a rational world, reason always wins.

I look across the room and out the window.
The sky looks darker and the rain is coming down strong. I ignore
it and set my mind back to the task at hand. As my homepage opens
up, I’m blasted with all the headlines of the day. All of them
pertain to me. I’m being called the Anti-Christ in South America
and right here in the good old U.S., several right wing religious
groups are organizing Larissa Corba effigies across the country. I
click over to the job boards and concentrate on finding a job. I
put my information into the search engines and submit it. Moments
later, my screen fills with a list of jobs. I begin at the top and
consider each one carefully. I would prefer a job that I can
perform over the phone, now more than ever. I select the few that
appeal to me and send them my resumes. I then go on to the next
site and repeat the process. By ten o’clock, I am satisfied with
the resumes I have sent out and decide it’s time to give my eyes a
rest. I turn away from the computer and get up. My legs pinch and I
realize just how long I’ve been sitting down. I trudge to the
kitchen in hopes of finding some food. Just as I grab the handle to
the fridge, my phone rings. I run to it. It’s too soon to hear back
about one of my resumes, but you never know.

“Hello?”

“Is this Larissa Corba?”

“Speaking. Who is this?”

“One of the millions out here you’re sending
to an early grave!

Thanks for nothing you selfish bitch!” The
caller screams and then hangs up. I slam the phone down and go back
to my task. The phone rings again. I debate whether I should answer
it or not, but I decide to tempt fate. I grab the phone
cautiously.

“Hello?”

“You’re damning us all to Hell! You should
be ashamed of yourself! I hope you rot, you worthless whore!” The
line goes dead. I set the phone down and turn away with the
mounting worry that this is going to continue. The phone rings
again, but I decide to let my voice mail take the abuse. I’m not
going to get any peace here, so I get dressed and plan to head over
to Mike’s place. I pull the door open and notice that someone has
been kind enough to leave a rotting fish right in front of my door.
I quickly run back in for a towel and scoop the fish up. I walk
over to Mike’s door and knock. Moments later, it opens and he
appears before me wearing some red and white striped boxers and a
silk robe that hangs open giving me a good look at the whole
show.

“Good morning.” I say. He notices the fish
in my hand.

“Good morning. You didn’t have to bring me
Breakfast.”

“A gift, I guess.” I say as I walk in. I
find his garbage can and drop the fish in.

“Not such a great start today?”

“Let’s see, the whole world thinks I’m evil
incarnate. My phone is ringing off the hook with calls from people
who want me dead and I find old Charlie there in front of my door
making everyone’s lives better. What do you think?”

“Sorry. It’ll blow over.”

“I’m sure it will, but I just hope I survive
until it does.”

“You want some eggs?”

“Love some. Thanks.” I sit down at his
little kitchen table as he serves up a plate of scrambled eggs
quickly. “I just didn’t think people would go hostile on me so
quickly. I mean, it’s like I was just a normal person yesterday,
now I’m the enemy of all humanity. Hating me is bringing other
people together. I saw one story where the Ku Klux Klan and the
Rainbow Coalition are planning to team up for a Kill Larissa
Rally.”

“Well, can you really blame them? We’re not
talking about you standing in the way of a tax initiative or
something like that. They think the world is going to end.”

“They including you.”

“I didn’t say that, but my point is this is
pretty serious shit in anyone’s book. You had to have some idea
people were going to react aggressively.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I still can barely
believe this is happening. He just threw me to the wolves.”

“Your dad?”

“Yes. When we talked, I at least got the
impression he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I would never guess
he would stoop to what he did. He just painted a damn bullseye
right on my chest.”

“Just keep a low profile.”

“Until when? I was thinking about it and
even if the end doesn’t come this Friday, people are still going to
think it’s going to come soon. This is something I’m going to be
branded with for the rest of my life.”

“How about the job thing? How was that?”

“Nice segue. Sent out some resumes, but good
luck fishing any response I get from them out of all the hate
messages that are undoubtedly filling up my voice mail as we
speak.”

“I know it seems hard now, but...” Mike
begins. I throw my hand up quickly.

“Let me spare you the time. I know it’s just
going to get worse. There’s really only one way to stop this.”

“You’d really go to your father now?”

“I’m just saying that would be the only way
to stop this. I didn’t say I was going to do it. Crawling back to
him is definitely not an option.”

After breakfast, Mike and I relax on his
couch and channel surf. It turns into quite a struggle to find a
station that isn’t talking about me and what I’ve done. We finally
settle on the Nostalgia Channel and enjoy a daylong marathon of The
Simpsons. It seems like the day is bleeding seamlessly into one
block of time. Each hour blending into the next. I almost forget
about the world outside as I feel Mike’s arms surround me. I feel
my eyes growing heavy and I close my eyes.

When I open my eyes again, the television is
switched off and I’m alone on the couch. I sit up and hear a noise
from the kitchen. I look over and see that Mike’s dressed and seems
busily engaged with the stove.

“Mike?”

“Oh. You’re up.” He says with some
surprise.

“Was I asleep?”

“For five hours straight.”

“You’re kidding!”

“’
Fraid not. Stress can do
that to some people.” He says. I get up and feel disoriented. I
swear I only closed my eyes for a second. “I’m making some tuna
casserole, if you’re interested.”

“Tuna casserole?”

“It’s my best thing. I swear.”

“I guess it sounds better than a big fat
nothing back at my place. I feel a little grungy though. I’m going
to pop over and change, okay?”

“Sure. It won’t be ready for a few more
minutes.”

I walk out of Mike’s apartment and hurry
down the hall to my door. I open it up and it’s dark. It all seems
quiet. I don’t bother with the lights as I make my way to the
bedroom. I notice a light flashing on the base of my phone. I check
it and discover it’s indicating that my voice mail is now full. I
consider it for a moment and decide to check the messages. Out of
morbid curiosity if nothing else. I press down on the flashing
light and the speaker comes to life with a voice. It goes through
the usual preamble and finally we get down to business. The first
message plays and just as I thought, it’s a death threat. I press
another button to delete it and move on to the next message.
Another angry message. I continue this pattern for about six more
messages, in some faint hope that there just may be a legitimate
call in there somewhere. I decide quickly that this is a losing
battle, so I just press a button to clear the whole memory cache. I
go on into my bedroom, my blood just a bit warmer now, and go
through my closet for something to wear. I grab a white blouse and
plan on pairing it with some blue jeans. I suddenly hear a creak
behind me. I spin around but see nothing. I hurry over to my
nightstand and flip on the lamp. Light floods the room quickly, but
I see nothing. I quickly pull off my shirt and replace it with the
blouse. I button up, and just as I slip the last button through the
hole, another creak, but louder. I turn again, but see nothing. For
as long as I’ve lived in this building, the floor has only creaked
when I actually stepped on a loose floorboard.

“Is there someone there?” I call out.
Everything seems calm. I quickly decide the pants I’m already
wearing are good enough. I switch the lamp off and dash out and for
the door. I hear a chorus of noises, but I don’t bother to
acknowledge them. As I grab for the door, I feel two hands take my
shoulders. A force pulls me back and I fall to the floor. I feel a
weight land on my back.

“God damn bitch! I’m not going to let you
kill everyone!” A raspy voice growls.

“Who are you?” I feel panic rising in me.
Whoever it is, he’s got my arms. I struggle against his grip, but
it’s useless.

“Just shut the Hell up! I’m gonna be a
hero.” He says. It feels like he’s trying to tie my arms together
with something. I begin to buck and struggle under his weight. I
feel a sharp pain suddenly.

“Stay still!” Another voice barks. A woman’s
voice. “If you’re not going to do the right thing, we’re just going
to have to make you!” I turn my head slightly and I’m able to see
her. I know her.

“Mrs. Bradley?” I ask in horror. I recognize
her from all the times we passed in the laundry room downstairs. I
realize that the weight pushing down on my spine is her husband,
Mr. Bradley. I’m in shock. They’re both quite old. Both with gray
hair and kindly smiles at the ready whenever we pass in the halls.
They were always so sweet and nice in our brief exchanges, and here
they are, ambushing me and attempting to deliver me to my father, I
assume. Mr. Bradley is still struggling with my arms. No way I’m
going to make it easy for him. All those Christmases when they
brought me a plate of their homemade cookies be damned.

“Why are you doing this?”

“We don’t want to die! Why do you have to be
so selfish?” She asks.

I finally pull one of my arms free and I
quickly snag Mrs. Bradley’s ankle. The one she said they had
operated on a year ago. With one good pull, I bring her down. Mr.
Bradley is clearly distracted as his wife howls in pain as she hits
the floor. I feel the pressure of his body ease and I take
advantage. I push up with my hips and manage to toss him off of me.
He tumbles over and I leap to my feet. I run to the wall and flip
on the switch. I see them. Two frail senior citizens crumpled
together on the floor. I watch as they clumsily gather themselves
together and stand before me. They look at me with a mix of disdain
and remorse. The anger I’m feeling is beyond words. My neck feels
hot and the urge to run them both through with my boning knife is
nearly irresistible.

“Get out.” Is all I can manage. They look at
me for a long moment without moving. “Get out!” I scream and as
quickly as that, they both shamble over to the door and leave,
closing the door behind them. No explanations. No apologies. I feel
my legs weaken and I fall into the chair right behind me.

I go back to Mike’s after making triple sure
my door is locked and secure. I tell him all about my encounter
with Mr. and Mrs. Bradley over dinner. He insists upon calling the
police, but I refuse. For one, they’re an old couple and as angry
as I am, I can’t in good faith have them locked up, and second, I
don’t think the police will even come when they hear who’s calling.
It’s becoming very clear to me that with one press conference, my
father has turned the entire world against me on every conceivable
level. There is no more justice for me.

“Well, then I insist you stay here for the
next few days. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I think now that they know
I’m not above beating the tar out of a couple of old people, they
won’t be nosing around anymore.”

“They won’t, but what if some other nutball
breaks in? Someone younger? Stronger? Someone with a gun?”

“Thanks for not scaring me, by the way.”

“I’m sorry, but this is getting
serious.”

“I admit I did not foresee people trying to
attack me in my own home.”

“I would just feel better.”

“I’m right down the hall. If there’s any
trouble tonight, I’ll call you. I think I’m going to get on to bed
now.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I just want to sleep and forget this
day ever happened.” I say and give Mike a soft kiss on his
lips.

As I step out of his apartment, I feel a
sense of vulnerability come over me. I feel naked and exposed. I
begin to think the attack earlier has affected me more than I care
to admit. I start towards my door and it’s like I’m walking a
tightrope. A door clicks somewhere nearby and I spin around in a
panic. I pull out my keys and run for my door. My hands are shaking
as I try to shove the key into the lock. Finally it slides in and I
twist it around. I hear the lock release and I push the door open
and slam it shut behind me. I lock it quickly. I turn on the light
and examine the room. It looks just as I had left it. I hurry to
the kitchen and pull out the largest knife I can find and a
flashlight. I carefully investigate the rest of the apartment. I
look in every closet and behind every door. No shadow goes
unchecked. I make sure that all the windows are locked and when I’m
done and satisfied, I begin to relax. I make sure the front door is
secured again and then go on to the bedroom. I don’t bother with my
nightgown. I just sleep in my clothes with the knife clutched in my
hands. I lay down upon my bed with the lights on and for three
hours, I try to sleep, finally succumbing to my fatigue.

A loud banging at my door wakes me up. I
look around and it seems that I haven’t moved an inch since I fell
asleep. I’m still in my clothes, flat on my back with my knife
resting on my chest. I turn to my clock and see that it’s a quarter
past eight in the morning. I jump up and run to the door. I
carefully unlock it and pull it open to see the building’s
superintendent standing before me. He was a mousy little guy in an
old suit with a meek nature about him.