The Devil's Demeanor (39 page)

After finishing this grisly task, Don
cleaned up the blood in the house, thankful for the linoleum floors, and then
drove home to his family.

When he returned home, he went straight to
his study, locked the door, and closed the fireplace partition so no one could
see him from the living room. He felt completely lost at the moment, scared for
himself and his family. He had no idea what was going on, but at the same time,
he did know. Conner had to be behind everything. The demon was using him to do
its bidding, but for what reason? It clearly wasn’t dead, but it was trapped in
whatever hell it spawned from.

And it was using its one link to this world.

Don had to destroy that link. He knew only
one way to do that, but he
couldn’t
.

Later that night, he stood outside Conner’s
bedroom, his head against the closed door. He had a knife in his hand.

*
 
*
 
*

The next morning, the family had breakfast
together. Conner was there, unharmed and completely oblivious to what his uncle
had planned to do the night before. Don hated himself for even thinking about
it, and he hated himself even more for not going through with it.

*
 
*
 
*

Something was wrong with Dad, but Jordan
couldn’t figure out what it was. Dad always had his little funks, but this one
seemed worse than the others. When he wasn’t shut up in his study, he was in his
room. This went on for two days and even Mom didn’t know what was going on.

The family had done most of the packing and
the house was littered with large boxes filled with crap. Moving day was a week
away, and instead of feeling excited, Jordan felt nervous. He’d lived in this
house for so long he didn’t want to leave. He loved the old architecture, the
study behind the fireplace, the den being on a lower elevation than the living
room. It was just a weird, wonderful house.

He wouldn’t miss those woods behind the
house, though. He’d experienced enough of them to last a lifetime. He hoped to
leave that nightmare behind.

He was heading to his room when he passed
Conner’s. The door was cracked open, and he could see Conner sitting at his
window, looking out into the front yard. It was midday but overcast. The snow
reflected nothing but white from below.

Jordan knocked on the door.

Conner turned. “Come in.”

Jordan pushed the door open and sat on the
edge of the bed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just excited about the move.”

“Really? You look melancholy.”

“Jesus, lay off the big words.”

Jordan laughed. “I will if you tell me
what’s wrong.”

Conner sighed. “I just feel like something
bad has happened.”

“To who?”

“I don’t know. Someone I know.”

Jordan had started feeling the same way two
days ago but figured it was Dad. He told Conner so.

“I think it’s Grandpa,” Conner said.

“Have you tried calling him?”

Conner nodded. “He doesn’t answer.”

“Maybe you should tell Dad. He can take us
over there or something.”

“I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s always
locked up somewhere.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”

“Maybe your mom can take us,” Conner
suggested.

“We can ask.”

Conner turned back to the window.

“Can I ask you something?” Jordan suddenly
found himself saying.

“Sure.”

“What did you do to Jack and Leo? Really?”

Conner didn’t turn back when he said, “I
don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“But it was you, right?”

“I think so.”

“Could you have undone it if you wanted?”

“If so, I don’t know how.”

“Grandpa helped you, with whatever was going
on, didn’t he?”

Conner nodded. “He helped me control my
anger, my ‘demon,’ he called it. He told me it couldn’t control me if I didn’t
want it to.”

“How did he know you had problems?”

“He said he’s been watching over us for a
long time. He said he knew everything that was going on with us, and that he
could make it all go away. And he did.”

“Do you think he could do the same for me?”
Jordan asked.

“You have a demon, too?” Conner asked,
skeptical. “You’ve always seemed pretty tame to me.”

“I think we all have one. Mine just lies
low, waiting.”

“It would be pretty cool if you let loose,
to be honest.” Conner chuckled. “You’re so...vanilla. I can’t see Erin falling
for a vanilla.”

“I like to think I’m a swirl. She seems to
like me well enough.”

Conner grinned. “Yeah, she does, doesn’t
she.”

“What about you and Travis? You seem to be
getting along well again. You two going out now?”

Conner’s grin vanished. “I don’t want to
talk about that.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Thanks for taking an
interest, though. It means a lot to me.”

“You’re my brother; of course I care.”

Conner was a brother. The “cousin” title was
just a technicality. Jordan loved him and didn’t want to see anything bad
happen to him. But he felt something bad was coming. For both of them. If
something had indeed happened to Grandpa, then Jordan’s and Conner’s powers of
perception were accurate.
 
Jordan had to
trust them now.

*
 
*
 
*

Mom drove them over to Grandpa’s house an
hour later. They knocked on the door and rang the bell, but no one answered.
Grandpa’s SUV was in the yard, so he had to be home.

Jordan went around to the backyard, the snow
crunching under his feet. He looked through the back-porch door but saw a dim,
empty house. Conner and Mom joined him a moment later, looking around the yard.
Jordan noticed a dark patch by a peach tree, but the recent snowfall had
covered most of it up.

“Maybe he went out of town,” Mom offered
helpfully.

“I hope so,” said Conner.

“We’ll call him again in a couple of days,”
said Mom as she headed back to her car. Jordan and Conner followed. Jordan
didn’t take his eyes off the dark patch of yard until they drove away.

*
 
*
 
*

Diedre watched the Scotts drive away from
the big house. She had followed them from their own home, a voice in the back
of her mind telling her she was a crazy woman for doing so. But she had to
follow her instincts, and they told her something big was happening.

She had parked down the street, facing the
way the Scotts were going now so that they wouldn’t pass her when they left. Now
she drove up to the house and parked across the street. She walked up to the
red front door and knocked. She figured no one was home, but at least she could
say she’d tried to announce her presence if she was caught.

She went around to the back and looked
through the porch door. No one moved inside. She looked behind her, to the rest
of the yard. There was a patch of disturbed earth near a peach tree. She walked
over to it. She touched it with the tip of her right boot. Somebody had dug
here recently, perhaps to bury something?

Diedre faced a moment of indecision. She
wanted to dig up whatever was buried, but she feared what she might find. What
if there was a dead body down there? How would she explain her involvement to
the cops?

She turned to go.
 
She had to think about this some more. Maybe it wasn’t a body at
all. It could be anything. As she walked back to her car, she noticed a small
spot of red in the snow. It was between the house and the hole. It looked like
blood. Oh, boy!

*
 
*
 
*

Don tried to get his life back in order
following the death of his father. Sure, it had only been four days ago, but he
was slowly starting to feel like himself again. He was currently attending an
author’s convention in Arlington—at the request of his agent—and gauged the
attitudes of his fellow authors toward him and his recent troubles in life. No
one appeared to think he’d done anything wrong and that he was merely a victim
of terrible coincidences.

As he sat at a table, signing autographs, he
came face to face with a woman he’d hoped to never see again in his lifetime.
“Ms Marshall, what can I do for you now?” he asked.

Diedre smiled and handed him a copy of his
latest book. “Your John Hancock will suffice.”

He opened the book, ready to sign the first
page, when he noticed a photo of something. It looked like a snow-covered
ground with peach trees—

Don gasped and looked back at the reporter.
“What is this?”

“I found your little secret, Mr. Scott,” she
replied icily. “That little hole in the backyard. I’m guessing you don’t want
anyone to know what you buried there.”

She was bluffing. She didn’t know anything.
“I didn’t bury anything there.”

She continued to stare him down. “Yes, you
did. Blood really stands out in pure white snow, Mr. Scott.”

Oh, God! His heart hammered and he grew
sweaty, and he knew the damn reporter saw this reaction as well. “What do you
want?”

“I want to know everything there is to know
about you and your little family drama. Who’s buried in that hole? Who killed
that person, and why?”

“Why do you want to know anything about me?”

She laughed. “Why? Because this is the most
fascinating story I’ve ever encountered.”

“You want me to hang myself? For you?”

“No, Mr. Scott. For yourself. You’ve done
bad things in your life, and you’re currently getting away with them. Doesn’t
that eat at you at night?”

“Yes. It does. You have no idea.”

“Then let me help you tell the world. Let me
help you clear your conscience.”

“Nothing and no one can do that for me, Ms.
Marshall.”

She stood up straight at the reply. “It’s
not entirely your fault, is it? I met Ivy Peterson. I saw...what she is. You’re
the same way, aren’t you?”

That caught Don short. “What do you mean by
‘what she is’?”

“The multiple personalities.”

Don’s eyebrows drew together. “Ivy doesn’t
have multiple personalities.”

“I saw the other one, Mr. Scott. That woman
is not well, and I’m guessing that’s why she killed her boyfriend all those
years ago.”

Don couldn’t process any of this. “What
exactly did she tell you?”

“She said that you’re all guilty, and that
she was going to come back. Or something.”

Come back? That sounded similar to what the
demon had told Don in the woods. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he
answered, half truthfully.

She didn’t appear to like that response. “I
could go to the police with my information.”

“Knock yourself out. I buried a dog in that
hole. Feel free to dig it up if you’re morbid enough.”

She didn’t know for a fact that a human was
in that hole. She couldn’t risk digging it up if there had been. Don knew that.
He’d had enough of this horrible woman, and he wasn’t going to jump through
hoops for her. He would bluff the shit out of her until she backed off.

She snatched the book from the table, turned
on her heel, and left.

*
 
*
 
*

When he got home, he went straight for his
study. But he never reached it. Monica cut him off just at the bottom of the
steps that led into the den. “We need to talk,” she said firmly.

“About what?”

“Stephen. The kids are worried about him,
and we can’t get a hold of him. Do you know where he is?”

He couldn’t tell her that his father had
been ripped apart and buried in his own backyard like an animal. He just
couldn’t. “No,” he said.

“Don, don’t lie to me. I thought we moved
past this.”

“We did. I can’t tell you where he is, and
that’s the truth.”

“Is he all right, at least?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Is there anything we can do to help him?”

“No.”

That was all he was willing to tell her. If
she pressed, he would seal his lips. Luckily, she dropped the subject.

“Listen, I want to take you out,” said Don. “Just
you and me.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels like we haven’t spent
enough time together, and I want to show you how much I love you.”

She liked the sound of that. “What do you
have in mind?”

“Dinner downtown, and maybe sex in a
beautiful, expensive hotel.”

“You really think I’m the kind of woman who
falls for expensive gifts?” She laughed. “Well, all right. We can do that. But
it’ll have to be this weekend. I work the next few days.”