The Devil's Demeanor (38 page)

She laughed as Conner and Travis eventually
joined the table. “That’s good to hear. Has your dad found a new house yet?”

“He said he found one this morning and that
he just has to hammer out the details first. He’s gonna take Conner and me to
see it after school.”

“Fun. Are you going to have a party at the
new house after you move in?”

Jordan laughed. “We’ll see.” He looked at
his cousin and Travis, who were talking and laughing together across the table.
“When did they become friends again?” he asked Erin discreetly.

“Again?”

Jordan suddenly remembered that, as far as
Erin was concerned, the two always hated each other. Nor was she aware that the
two guys had secretly been hooking up. Jordan wasn’t going to be the one to
tell her.

When the boys got home later that day, Dad
asked them if they still wanted to see the new house. Of course, they said, so
the whole family took a relatively long trip to a rich-looking neighborhood. It
was the kind of suburban area one would see in a movie that made fun of
suburbia.

The house Dad bought was a two-story
all-brick monster. It almost looked like a mansion. The neighborhood was gated,
with security posted at the entrance. Jordan didn’t really relish the thought
of dealing with that every day once he got his own car and would be able to go
wherever he wanted.

On second thought, however, he probably
wouldn’t have to worry about any more murders in his backyard. His attitude
suddenly brightened as everyone got out of the car and stepped into their new
home.

Jordan took in the new-house smell—wood and
paint and plaster. He loved the smell of new.

“This place is the shit,” said Conner.

“Thank you,” Dad replied. “And watch your
mouth.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mom stood in the large kitchen, leaning on
an island in the middle. She had a far-off look, like her mind was somewhere
else entirely. Conner ran to the backyard, and Jordan decided to join him.

The yard was more like a hill. The boys
could see tiny buildings far away on the horizon, but what really caught
Jordan’s attention was the in-ground swimming pool directly in front of him.
Though it was November and cold, he delighted in the thought of swimming in
that beautiful blue water once the weather grew warmer.

Next, the boys ran upstairs to pick out
their rooms. All of the bedrooms seemed the same size, so neither Jordan nor
Conner benefited from their choices. And that was just fine. Too bad they
couldn’t move in today; Dad said it would take at least a month to finalize
everything.

Life really seemed to be returning to
normal. No,
better
than normal.

That was, until Dad dropped the bombshell.

“You guys will have to start a new high
school. This place isn’t zoned for the one you’re going to now.”

“What!” Jordan and Conner said together.

“I know how you feel. I had to go to a new
school when my brother and I moved as kids.”

“I don’t want to go to a new school,” Jordan
whined.

“Do you guys still want to live here?”

“Yes,” the boys replied together.

“You can’t have it both ways, guys.”

Jordan and Conner looked at each other and
then sighed at the same time.
 
Their
choice was clear.

*
 
*
 
*

Thanksgiving was only a week away, and the
boys had bugged Don about inviting Grandpa Stephen—the kids wanted him there
and Don did not. In the end, the boys won out. Unfortunately, Don didn’t have
his father’s number, so he had to drive over and invite the old man in person.

Don found him in his backyard, watering one
of the peach trees. Stephen was wearing a loose silk shirt and shorts with
sandals—summer wear.

“Stephen?”

The old man turned his head and grinned.
“Hello, son.”

Don didn’t like being called that, but he
let it pass. “I don’t suppose you have any plans for the holidays?”

Stephen ceased spraying the tree and thought
for a moment. “I suppose I don’t. Are you inviting me over?”

“The boys are.”

“And you’re not?” That annoying twinkle in
his eyes.

Don sighed. “You’ll have to forgive me for
being upset with you, but I guess I can set my feelings aside for one day.”

“I’d love to come over.” His smile seemed
warm and genuine now. He plucked a peach from the tree and offered it to Don.

He bit into it reluctantly and found it
sweet and juicy. A flood of memories washed over him, memories of summers as a
child in Florida. Of course, Stephen wasn’t a part of those memories.

“Nothing can make up for all the years we’ve
lost,” Stephen said quietly. “I’m hoping to do right with the time we have
left.”

Don stopped chewing. “Are you dying?”

“Slowly but surely. I’m an old man, you
know.”

Don laughed and took another bite.

“Your boys will be okay, Donovan. I
promise.”

Don truly wanted to believe that. But he
couldn’t.

*
 
*
 
*

Stephen arrived around noon on Thanksgiving
Day. Jordan and Conner entertained him with videogames and stories while Don and
Monica worked on the food. Don was amazed by how well the boys had taken to
their mysterious grandfather and wished he could follow suit. Don was starting
to like the man but still didn’t trust him completely.

Everyone had to make their own plate in the kitchen,
and Jordan—as always—stocked up on extra stuffing and gravy. There was also
collard greens, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, sweet potato pie, and, of
course, the turkey. Monica always bought cranberry sauce in a can, and it would
come pouring out in its cylinder shape. Don loved to cut off a few cold slices
to compliment his meal.

Once everyone was seated at the dining
table, each said what they were thankful for. Don called it a “new tradition”
since they had never done it before.

Don and Monica were thankful for a healthy
family.

Jordan was thankful for the turkey.

Conner was thankful for Grandpa.

And Grandpa was thankful for the chance to
reunite with his son and finally meet his beautiful grandchildren.

After dinner, Don and Stephen stood on the
front porch and stared at the sky. It was only midday and very blue. Jordan and
Conner were inside, watching the Game (between who and who, Don didn’t know; he
never cared for sports). Stephen had been watching it with them but had come
looking for his son. Don didn’t know how to feel about that as they stood
together now.

“Is it sports in general you don’t like?” he
asked Don.

Without looking at him, Don replied, “I like
playing
sports but not
watching
them.”

“You played a little baseball and did a little
karate. I remember now.”

Don looked at him then.

“I told you,”
said Stephen, “just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.”

“My guardian angel,” Don said sarcastically.

“I tried to be.” Stephen sounded annoyed
now, and that gulled Don. “I can see from that look on your face that my
positive energy isn’t working on you the way it does with others.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” Don said. “You
do have a sparkling personality.”

Stephen laughed. “I don’t mean that. I’m
talking about literal energy radiating off of me right now.”

That caught Don’s attention. “You radiate
energy too?”

“It comes from your personality, sorry to
say. You were always an angry person, deep down. The ‘curse’ just manifests
what’s inside us. I don’t make the rules.”

Don shook his head. “Whoever made the rules
is stupid. And you’re, what, a naturally positive person?”

“To the core,” Stephen admitted proudly.

Don laughed. He was starting to loosen up,
though whether that was because of his father’s “positive energy” he wasn’t
sure.

*
 
*
 
*

Stephen said his goodbyes later that night
and headed home. The kids did the dishes while Monica laid down; she complained
of a migraine, one that she’d suffered on and off for a few months.

Don went to his office and tidied up for a
bit. As he straightened his desk, he saw a bundle of papers he didn’t
recognize. He picked it up and realized they were manuscript pages. He sat down
and started reading. He stopped halfway through the fifty-plus pages.

He’d written the truth of what had happened
to him and Ethan.

Horrified, he dropped the pages. He didn’t
remember writing any of it. It read like an autobiography, very detailed and
mercilessly accurate. If anyone read this....

He stood and threw the manuscript into his
file cabinet. He should destroy it, but he didn’t. Something told him to keep
it. He had written an account of his tragic life for a reason. The fact that he
had written it subconsciously added extra meaning to the document.

He
had to
keep it.

Jordan loved art class. It was easier than
any of his other classes, and way more fun. He hadn’t realized how creative he
could be until he sketched his first drawing: a collection of random objects on
a stool. Even the teacher was impressed.

Erin, who was sitting next to him, glanced
at his work and sighed. “Mine looks like a bunch of raccoons fighting over a
monkey.”

Jordan laughed. “That doesn’t make any
sense.”

She showed him her sketch.

“Wow, you weren’t exaggerating. How did you
manage that?”

Erin laughed, but then grew serious a moment
later. “Everything okay with you and your family?”

Jordan looked across the room to where
Conner and Travis sat, talking. “Better, yeah,” he replied. “I don’t know what
Grandpa did to Conner, but it seems to have worked.”

“And he didn’t do anything to you?”

“No. I guess I didn’t need it. Conner was
the only one with the problem. I’m fly.”

Erin laughed. “You’re what?”

“Fly. Cool, okay, super.”

“Oh my god, Jordan. You’re stuck in the
nineties, and I don’t even think people said that in the nineties.”

“I’m bringin’ it back, yo.”

They laughed together for a while, receiving
annoyed glances from Mr. Wong as he circled the room, surveying everyone’s
work. Once the two teens settled down, Jordan asked Erin, “Would you still like
me, if I was weird? You know, the way Conner was?”

“If you were weird, sure. If you were
evil.... I don’t know.”

“Conner wasn’t evil.”

“He did something to Jack and Leo that made
them kill themselves.
 
What do you call
that?”

Jordan sighed and said, “Evil.”

“Even if he isn’t like that anymore, I don’t
know if I can ever look at him the same way again.”

“Am I guilty by association?”

She grinned at him. “You don’t talk like a
fifteen-year-old is supposed to.”

“Neither do the kids on all those teen
shows. I learned from them.”

“I like the way you talk. It’s sexy.”

They stared at each other in silence after
that. Jordan’s heart pounded. Was Erin coming on to him? Was she already
completely over Travis? Jordan looked at her ex-boyfriend again, saw him
laughing at something Conner said to him. Those two looked happy together,
peaceful. One wouldn’t have believed peace could surround this group of kids
after all that had happened.

“I like when you do that?” Erin said from
far away.

Jordan came back to himself and said, “When
I do what?”

“Scrunch up your eyebrows in the middle.”
She touched him there. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m...just happy that you wouldn’t think
differently of me. That’s what makes you a great person.”

She gave him a curious grin. “Thanks.”

*
 
*
 
*

Don stood in front of Mr. Leper’s house
later that night, unable to turn away. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking
about the man since he died, and he knew to trust his instincts. There was
something about this man, and Don had to find out what that was.

He walked around to the back door and broke
out his lock pick. He’d used this very pick to break into Ivy’s house the night
he killed Ethan. He didn’t need that running through his head, though, so he
kept his mind on the task at hand.

A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood,
startling Don, but he kept picking the lock. Finally, it gave way, and he
entered the house. He was standing in the dining room, the house completely
dark. There were a few spots of moonlight that managed to make it through the
windows, but it wasn’t enough to really see by. He pulled a flashlight from his
jacket pocket and turned it on.

He then found himself standing in front of
the back door with nowhere to go. He had no idea what he was even looking for,
but he knew there was something. He figured the best place to start was Leper’s
bedroom.

The house smelled musty and old. Leper had
no family, so there was no one to mess with his belongings. Don couldn’t
imagine living alone in a big house like this. It was one story, though very
spacious. He headed down a hall to the left and found three bedrooms, all the
doors wide open.

Each room was filled with crap.

Leper must have been a hoarder. There were
records, toys, books, and many boxes filled with items Don couldn’t determine.
He felt even more daunted; he didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever
it was would be harder to find.

He stepped into what he figured was the
master bedroom. The king-size bed was covered in even more junk than the
previous room. Where did the old man sleep if his bed was inaccessible? Don
made his way to the closet, navigating the junk maze that cluttered the room.

Everyone always hid stuff in the closet.

Don managed to pull the door open and shine
his light inside.
 
There were clothes on
hangers and on the floor. He shuffled through the junk, looking through the
boxes that were piled in the closet’s corner. Something smelled awful, dead,
and Don didn’t doubt there was some kind of rotting creature inside. A rat or
cat, perhaps.

As he moved boxes around, he realized the
floor gave a little under his weight. It was all hardwood. Don had seen enough
movies to know people liked to hide things under their floors. He stepped on
every inch of floor he could reach and found a loose board in the corner.

He lifted the board away and shined the beam
down. There was another box. He lifted it out, thankful for the gloves he was
wearing.

The rotting smell was definitely coming from
this box.

Don steeled himself for a moment, and then
he opened the box.

He screamed and dropped it. He tried backing
out of the closet but managed only to hit the door frame and fall forward. Onto
the box. Onto the items inside the box. He screamed again and crawled out of
the closet. He rested his back against the bed, breathing heavily.

Don couldn’t believe what he had just found.
He hadn’t been prepared for it. His instincts had done him a service, however,
for now he knew that Mr. Leper had, in fact, been the Texas Devil.

On his way back home, he noticed the dark
sky becoming light with frost. It was going to start snowing soon. The
temperature had also dropped a few degrees, so much so his breath frosted in
front of him.

When Don got to his house, he sat in his
study and...did nothing. He didn’t call the police or tell anyone what he had
found. The last thing he wanted was another reason for the cops and that nosy
reporter coming around again. Don had left the box out; if someone found it,
then so be it.

He had found what he needed to be at peace.

He now knew neither he nor his kids had
killed those people in the woods over the past decade. It had been Leper. Don
remembered the bodies being found with their genitalia missing. Well, Don found
those missing pieces.

Leper killed those people, and Conner killed
Leper. Justice.

Don slept fairly easily that night, though
he woke a few times to find Monica gone. At one point, he thought he was being
watched by someone at the door but when he looked, there was no one there. When
he woke that morning, Monica was sound asleep by his side. He kissed her and
she awoke as well.

“How did you sleep?” he asked her.

“Not well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

After Don showered, he called Stephen’s
house and didn’t get an answer. He was warming up to the old man, despite his
flaws, and wanted to invite him to one last dinner in the old house before the
big move.

Throughout the day, he continued trying to
call his father but still got nothing. Finally, he drove over to the house.
Three inches of snow had fallen overnight. When he got to the house, he knocked
on the door and rang the bell. No one responded. Don tried the doorknob,
finding it unlocked. He stepped inside.

He found pieces of Stephen all over the
living room, lying in their own pools of blood.

*
 
*
 
*

Don didn’t know what to think as he stood
there, staring at his father’s dismembered body. There was an arm here, a leg
there. The torso was in the middle of the living room. And the head...was
elsewhere. Don felt revulsion and fear. But he did not feel sorrow.

His father was dead, and he felt no sorrow.
Only disgust at the sight, as if he was looking at the dead body of a stranger.

The paralysis vanished and Don finally took
a step forward. Was this his father in front of him? It was hard to tell
without the head. A part of Don realized he wasn’t responding to this situation
the way a normal person would. A normal person would go running from the house,
screaming. A
relative
would probably pass out or start
crying.
 
Don did neither.

The curse must have damaged something inside
of him. He was no longer human.

He walked up to the torso, noting the beer
belly covered by a white T-shirt smeared with blood. That looked like Stephen’s
torso. Don was closer to the kitchen on the right. There, he was able to see
the kitchen island where his father had made him a peach smoothie not long ago.

The head was now sitting on the island.

It was Stephen’s head.

The mouth was slightly open, the eyes
glazed. The white hair on his head was sticking straight up, as if it had been
grabbed. The attacker must have picked up the head by that hair.

Don’s stomach started to turn and bile rose
to his throat. He was starting to feel something, some emotion that had burst
free and was now flooding his body violently. His father had been murdered, and
Don was seeing it, feeling it.

He screamed.

*
 
*
 
*

An hour went by as Don stood there in the
living room, trying to decide what to do. He knew he should call the police,
but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was already linked to more murders
than he liked, and there was no way he would be able to talk his way out of
this one.

His mind was rushing with ideas now that the
shock had worn off. Stephen was dead, and there was nothing he could do about
it. By whom, there was no telling yet. Stephen had said himself that no one
knew he was alive except for Aunt Cynthia and Don, as well as Don’s family.
Stephen may have had enemies Don knew nothing about, but he doubted this was
some kind of hit.

This reeked of the curse.

Someone close to Don had killed Stephen. He
knew that in his gut.

But why kill him?

Don grabbed a few trash bags from under the
sink as well as some yellow rubber cleaning gloves and began to gather the body
parts. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but there was no helping it now.
He couldn’t call the police, and no one save a select few had even known the
old man was alive. If Don got rid of the body, no one would find out he’d been
murdered.

He had been technically dead to begin with.

Don put all the parts into one bag, and then
double- and triple-bagged it. He still couldn’t believe his father was dead,
and that he barely felt any emotion at the man’s passing. But Stephen had
abandoned his family, and Don barely knew him. It was hard to cry over a
stranger’s death. Stephen had been a familiar stranger.

The kids would be devastated if they found
out, so Don decided not to tell them.

Unless one or both already knew.

What if they had killed their grandfather?

Don could count all the cursed people he
knew on one hand. The demon had said it was possessing someone Don knew (he
assumed it meant Conner), and it must have used Conner to find out that Stephen
had still lived. It hadn’t taken kindly to losing track of the man decades ago
when Stephen passed his curse on to his own father. Perhaps it wanted revenge
and used Conner to get it.

Don grabbed a shovel from the garage and
began digging a hole in the backyard, by one of the peach trees. The ground was
cold and hard due to the snow, but after a while the digging got easier. He
then dragged the bag out of the house and buried it.

He was burying his
father
.

Don still couldn’t bring himself to mourn
the way he should have. He felt little attachment to the remains in the hole.
His initial scream earlier had been more a release of horror and revulsion than
anything else, and once he’d done that, he felt hollow. It was a curious
feeling.

As he filled the hole with snow-covered
dirt, he wondered if it had been he who’d killed the old man. After finding the
evidence of Mr. Leper’s murderous pastime, a weight had been lifted from Don’s
shoulders. He’d found out that he hadn’t killed all those people in the woods
and just forgotten about it. But what if he’d killed Stephen while under some
strange trance? Did the demon still have some kind of hold on him?