The Devil's Demeanor (34 page)

But Ethan had escaped eventually, though not
completely. Don had seen a flicker of the curse in his brother’s eyes the night
he killed him. For a little while, however, Ethan had lived a normal life with
a wonderful woman. And Ivy was wonderful; she’d sacrificed herself to the law
to save her son. Love had been the key to disrupting the curse. If Conner loved
Travis, then Don should not interfere with that love.

But had the boys been in love the night Mr.
Leper was killed?

Don looked to the woods again. Was there
really a Texas Devil in there?

He stepped off the deck and climbed onto the
trampoline. Instead of bouncing, however, he lay down and stared up at the
starry sky.

*
 
*
 
*

Jordan stepped into the house, overcome with
fear. He felt it in his chest, and his vision became cloudy. He’d had
nightmares in which he’d confronted unspeakable evil. He felt that same
overwhelming fear then, and it always started him awake with his pulse racing.
Why did he feel that way now? What was happening?

*
 
*
 
*

The nausea returned to Don. He thought it
may have to do with staring at that sky for too long. Either way, he felt like
going back inside and trying to get some sleep; he had to figure out what to do
with Conner. If only he could find the cure.

The knife slid into Don’s back before he
could even take a breath.

He lay frozen on the trampoline, certain
that it was a knife that had penetrated his back. It felt like cold fire inside
him. A moment later, it was pulled out. Don gasped and rolled onto his stomach.
His breaths were coming out wet and ragged. He tried crawling off the
trampoline when the knife stabbed him in his right arm. He screamed but
continued crawling.

He reached the lip of the trampoline and
immediately felt his guts catch on fire. He could hear his blood spilling onto
the grass beneath him as the knife was pulled from him. He was dying.

He closed his eyes, never knowing who killed
him.

*
 
*
 
*

When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was
not dead. He was in a hospital room. He couldn’t remember where he had been
before, but he knew it hadn’t been here.

He slowly turned his head to the right and
saw a woman sitting in a chair in front of the window. Her head was tilted to
the side in a rather uncomfortable-looking position. Her eyes were closed. Don
tried to call to her, but his voice wouldn’t work.

“Monica?” he finally managed, though the
effort hurt his dry throat.

She stirred in the chair and opened her
eyes. Not surprisingly, she didn’t smile when she saw that he had awakened.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to see how you and the boys were
doing.”

Don looked around, suddenly nervous. “How
long have I been here?”

“Three days. I...was the one who found you,
in your backyard. That night.”

He looked at her. “How is that possible?”

She laughed. “I left Augusta that day; I
wanted to surprise Jordan. I should have called, but I was afraid you’d try to
prepare for me, and I wanted to see how things really are at the house, not
some act.”

“And you found me nearly stabbed to death on
the trampoline.” Don managed a weak laugh.

“It must’ve happened just before I got
there. Your front door was unlocked and I found Jordan passed out by the
stairs.”

“Is he okay?”

She nodded.

“Where was Conner?” he suddenly asked.

“Upstairs.”

Don relaxed a bit. And then he realized what
Monica just said. “Jordan was passed out?”

She nodded again. “He looked like he was
headed down into the den and just fell facedown on the steps. I ran to check on
him and that’s when I saw you on the trampoline. I called 911.”

Don tried to process what he had just been
told. Conner had been upstairs, Jordan by the stairs, between the living room
and den, moments before Don himself was attacked. Neither of them had blood on
them, or Monica would have said something. Someone else had to be the culprit.

“Jordan probably fainted when he saw me,”
Don said uncertainly. “It’s not the first spell he’s had.”

“I almost fainted too,” Monica joked. “I had
the doctors check on him. They say he’s fine.”

“Good,” Don said, relieved. Neither of his
boys attacked him. There was a murderer out there. Don couldn’t decide if that
was good or bad.

*
 
*
 
*

He had emergency surgery the night of his
attack and had been in a coma for a few days after. Doctors were amazed at the
speed of his recovery, though, and he was able to go home shortly after his
awakening. The only thing he could think of after his recovery was finding out
who tried to kill him.

One of the first things he did was call
Travis’s parents and ask when he got home that night. Mrs. Hooper said her son
had gotten in about ten minutes after Don knew he’d left the house, and that he
looked a little melancholy. One couldn’t blame Don for suspecting the teen; he
had gone camping with the others the night Mr. Leper was murdered. That could’ve
easily been him filming the incident with Conner’s camera.

From the moment Don returned home a week
after the attack, he got several phone calls from the dreadful Diedre Marshall.
She of course wanted the details of the attack, but he ignored her queries.

One day, however, he got an unexpected phone
call from Aunt Cynthia. “Monica told me what happened,” she said in reply to
Don’s unspoken question.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“You don’t sound fine. Someone tried to kill
you.”

“Would you believe I tripped and fell on a
knife?” he joked.

“Several times? Probably.”

They both laughed.

“I’m still worried,” she continued. “Do you
think Conner did it?”

“That was my first guess, as much as it
hurts to admit. But Monica said he was upstairs when she got there, and she
didn’t find any blood in the house or on him.”

Don was in his study, looking through the
fireplace into the rest of the empty house. Monica had taken the boys to a
movie. “I think we’re looking at a plain, old-fashioned murderer living in the
woods behind my house.”

Cynthia was silent for a moment. Finally,
she said, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the thing is, your father called and
told me to check on you too. He said he felt like something bad had happened to
you.”

That knocked the breath from Don’s lungs. “I
thought you said Monica told you.”

“She did. After.”

“Stephen—Dad—knew I was in trouble?”

“Yes. And I think it’s time you met him.”

*
 
*
 
*

Don sat at the dinner table with Conner and
Jordan as Monica laid down a plate of pork chops. The boys had helped her cook,
not wanting to strain Don while he continued to heal. He couldn’t complain;
with Monica here, it felt like old times. The family had been reunited, however
temporary.

Jordan, especially, seemed delighted to have
his mother here with him. He told her about school and the movies he’d seen. He
spoke briefly of Erin, though he made it sound like they were just friends. Who
was Don to argue with his son?

Don and Monica locked eyes a few times
during dinner, and he was surprised to see a smile on her face. He smiled back.

After dinner, the two stepped out onto the
front porch and watched the sun set on the neighborhood. He stepped close to
her, wrapped an arm around her waist. She didn’t pull away.

“Does this mean we can be a normal family
again?” he asked quietly.

“This is going to sound cliché, but we were
never normal.”

Don chuckled. “That’s true.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” she
continued, “but this doesn’t change what you did. You’re still a man who
murdered his brother.”

Hearing that made Don’s insides ache, and he
doubted it was the knife wounds acting up. In his love’s eyes, he would always
be a heartless, cowardly murderer.

“Nothing I’ll ever do will change that,” he
murmured. “All I can do is live the rest of my life knowing what I am and
hoping I never hurt anyone else.”

“Have you been holding up that last end?”
she asked.

“I haven’t killed anyone else.”

“Are you sure?”

Don looked from her to the sunset. “No.”

Monica’s cell phone rang. She reached into
her pocket, looked at the caller ID, and answered it reluctantly. “Hey, Terry.
I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.”

Terry? Don wondered if this was a male or
female friend. Monica retreated back into the house, an apology in her eyes.

Male.

Don sighed and headed around to the back of
the house, past the carport. The police had already investigated the crime
scene. Don had the trampoline removed, leaving a large open space beyond the
patio. He stared into the darkening woods for a while. Who was hiding in there?
Why was he or she doing this to him and his family?

Don turned to head back into the house. It
was by chance that he happened to look up.

There, on the cream-colored panel siding
just under Jordan’s bedroom window, was a bloody smudge.

*
 
*
 
*

Monica decided to make a special dinner for
the family on her last day in Texas. She had only meant to visit for a few
days, but stayed longer while Don recovered. She needed to get back to work,
back to Terry.

She still couldn’t believe someone had tried
to kill Don. She was terrified of staying in his house, even temporarily. She
felt like she was being dragged back into that old life. She didn’t want that.

But it had been good spending some time with
her son. Summer was too far away. As she walked toward the deli at the
supermarket, she considered asking Jordan if he’d want to live with her for a
while. Things were so crazy at Don’s house; that place just wasn’t safe. If
neither boys were responsible for the fatal happenings, then she needed to get
them away from there.

Them? Was she considering taking Conner with
her? She had warmed up to the boy slightly, though he still seemed a little
creepy.

Monica shook the thoughts out of her head.
She would focus on them after dinner.

She told the butcher what she wanted and
then waited patiently while he sliced the meat. A woman walked up to the
counter next to Monica and smiled. A moment later, Monica noticed a paperback
novel in the woman’s basket. It was one of Don’s.

“Are you a fan of his?’ she asked the woman,
pointing to the book.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ve read all of his
books. I especially like the one about the cursed brothers.”

Monica nodded. That was her
least
favorite. “Yeah, that’s an interesting one,” she lied.

“Have you read many of his books?” the woman
asked.

“Some, though I usually get free copies
every time.”

The woman looked quizzical.

“I used to be married to him,” Monica
confessed before introducing herself.

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman replied as
she shook Monica’s hand. “I’m Diedre Marshall.”

“That name sounds familiar,” said Monica. In
fact, the woman herself looked familiar.

“You must not be from around here,” Diedre
said playfully. “I’m a local reporter. Fairly famous...at least, in my head.”

The women laughed again. Monica recognized
her now; she’d watched the morning news in Don’s hospital room the day after
his surgery.

As if reading Monica’s mind, Diedre asked,
“How is Mr. Scott doing? I reported on his...
accident
, but I haven’t
heard anything sense.”

“He’s fine. Thank you.” Monica knew this
woman was fishing for inside information, so she tried to stay on her toes. Don
had told her to ignore all calls made to the house, and there was no doubt that
Diedre had been one of the people who had made the most calls.

As the reporter paid for her order, she said
casually, “Being in the business I’m in, I can’t help being curious about our
real local celebrity. A lot has been happening around his home for the past few
years: the deaths in the woods behind his house, and now his near-fatal attack.
How do you feel about this, especially with your son in that house?”

“Are you looking for an exclusive interview,
Ms. Marshall?” Monica dropped all forms of pleasantry.

“Can you blame me for being concerned? With
the children and all?”