Split

New story! A murderous demon split between two bodies leads Tom Jurgen and Rachel on a race to stop its killing spree.

Split, Part One

The house was small, one story, with stucco walls and a narrow lawn. Not close to any neighbors. Lights glowed behind drawn curtains. A half moon hung over its roof. 

            I was watching the house because my client, Leonard Rupp, a real estate developer, had called me at 3:30 today. His brother had disappeared.

            “Zack isn’t—well, stable,” Rupp told me, sounding panicky. “He just disappeared last night. He’s been living here—I’ve been taking care of him—and we had a fight, and—he’s gone. I’ve called all our friends and nobody’s seen him. The only place I can think he’d be would be our uncle’s house, out in Naperville.”

            Naperville, southwest from Chicago. “Have you called him?” I asked.

            “We’ve—we had a falling out a few years ago. I don’t think he’d take my calls. Look, I just need you to go and watch his house. See if my brother’s there. Just don’t knock on the door or talk to Oscar, anything like that, okay? Just watch. Can you do that?”

            I had other cases going. And Rachel and I had, uh, plans. But he offered a substantial bump in my usual fee, and he did sound worried. I agreed, and he gave me the information I needed. 

I told Rachel I had to go to Naperville. She rolled her eyes. “Nice way of getting out of dinner.” 

            “Hey, it’s a job. We’ve still got some of that frozen lasagna.”

            “Because you make it so we’ll always have leftovers.” She smirked. “Fine. Don’t come home too late, or we won’t be able to play Naughty Job Interview. Tonight I’m playing the hiring manager.”

            Rachel’s my girlfriend. She’s got red hair, hazelnut eyes, psychic powers, and nice legs. We live together, sharing an office for my P.I. work and her graphic design jobs. “I’ll work on something inappropriate to explain the gap in my résumé,” I promised.

            So now I was sitting outside the home of Oscar Parks. I’d double-checked Rupp’s information briefly before leaving, to confirm what he’d told me about his brother and his uncle. I don’t usually do background checks on clients, but Rupp’s insistence that I get on the job right away raised a bit of a red flag. 

According to social media, Leonard Rupp did have a brother named Zack, and I found a thriving account for himl—not something that looked like an afternoon’s catfishing work. And Oscar Parks did own a house in Naperville at the address Rupp had given me, though I couldn’t quickly determine the family connection. I’d take that as given for the moment.

            So I sat in my car, down the street from the house, waiting for Zack to show his face. Rupp had sent me some photos. I had the radio on to help me stay awake, as well as a large coffee (and a wide-mouthed bottle in case I needed it). 

I called Rachel once. “I’m studying,” she snapped. She’s working on a psychology degree. “Unless you’re calling to play Inappropriate Job Interview by phone?”

            “Not on a stakeout.” I had my eyes on the house. “I need all my keen powers of observation for this.’

She snorted. “Just don’t start singing along to the classic rock you’re listening to. You’ll scare any dogs in the neighborhood.”

“I’ll have you know most dogs—wait.” Movement at the front door. “I’ll call you back.”

For a moment I thought it was just a shadow—a bird or a bat flying across the doorway. Then the door burst open, and a man dashed out onto the front lawn.

He was blond, stocky, and barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt. Halfway across the lawn he stopped, catching his breath. Then another man emerged from the house.

This guy was older, in his 70s or so, with a gray beard and thick glasses, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up and slippers on his feet. He ran forward and grabbed the man, trying to pull him around.

The man—Zack Rupp, my client’s brother—spun and shoved the old man in the chest, sending him sprawling to the grass. The man rolled and lunged for Zack, wrapping his arms around one leg, trying to drag him down, but Zack twisted free and kicked his shoulder.

The old man sank down on the ground. Zack looked around, gasping, then ran down the street. 

I started the car, but the night was dark, streetlights were distant, and the other houses weren’t nearby. Zack vanished into the darkness before I could shift gears.

Damn it. But the old man—Uncle Oscar, presumably—was still on the grass. I got out.

“Hey, you okay?” I walked up to him slowly, hands out, not a threat. “Need a hand?”

He coughed, looked up at me, then held a hand out. “Just—a little help.”

I pulled him to his feet. His legs were unsteady, and he kept coughing. “Let me help you back inside,” I said, and he allowed me to turn him around and lead him back to his door and then inside.

The living room was large and clean, with magazines neatly stacked on a coffee table next to a Bible, and plants dangling from ceiling hooks. A large cross hung on one wall. I got Parks to a sofa where he sat down, still coughing. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

He didn’t argue. I found the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and filled a glass from the sink. Back in the living room he drank it down, set it next to a Bible on the coffee table, and said, “Thank you.”

“Who was that guy?” As long as I’d lost Zack, I figured I could try to use the situation to find out more about him.

“My nephew, Zachary.” He looked at me. “I’m Oscar Parks.”

“Tom Jurgen. I’m from Chicago.”

His eyes flickered. “What were you doing out here?”

“I just saw that guy push you down. I wanted to see if you needed any help.” It was an evasive answer, so I followed up quickly before he could cut in. “He sure runs fast. What was the matter?”

“He has—some problems.” 

“Drugs? Booze?”

Parks looked at me, suspicious. “Nothing like that. Why are you here again?”

“I was just driving by. Where do you think Zack would have gone? Does he have any other family here? Friends? Does he live nearby?”

He blinked. “Zack? The only people who call him that—” Parks shifted away from me on the sofa, his eyes suddenly narrow and searching. 

Oops. “Yeah, well, that’s a common nickname, right—”

“No.” He stared at me. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I suck at undercover work. “Okay, my name’s Tom Jurgen.” I took out a business card. “Zack’s brother Leonard hired me. Zack disappeared on him, and he was—”

“Leonard?” Parks blinked. Then he lurched to his feet and pointed at the front door. “Get out. Before I call the police.”

I hesitated. “Is there anything I can tell Leonard? Is Zack all right?”

He jabbed his finger. “Out. Now.”

“Okay, okay.” I headed to the door. “If Zack comes back, maybe you could—all right, I’ll go.” For an old guy, Parks had a menacing glare.

Out in my car, I pounded the wheel once, angry with myself, but all that did was make me wince and rub my hand. It’s not like I never screw up—just ask Rachel—but nobody likes admitting it. Especially to a paying client.

I put off calling Rupp for a few minutes by driving around the neighborhood looking for Zack. Without a jacket or shoes, he couldn’t get far, could he? But I didn’t catch sight of him anywhere. I stopped at a gas station a few blocks away to ask the attendant inside, but she hadn’t seen a barefoot man on the road tonight. 

I had to concede defeat—and make the call. He listened calmly. “Well, I told you not to talk to Oscar, but—I can see what happened.”

“I thought it might be a chance to find out where Zack went. He was gone too fast for me to follow.” I was trying not to sound defensive. Clients hate that.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, I guess that’s it. You can go home. Send me your bill.” He hung up.

He’d offered double my hourly rate. Should I hold him to it? I’d think about that later.

Can’t win them all, I told myself as I started the car. I called Rachel. “On my way.”

“Good. I’ll get my interviewer clothes on.”      

I wasn’t in the mood. “I don’t know. I sort of blew it.”

“Oh.” She was annoyed. “Well, okay. I’ve got lots of studying. Hey, how about if we play Naughty Psychiatrist? That way I can use the textbook.”

I laughed. “I’ll try.”

 

The next morning I wrote up a report for Leonard Rupp and emailed it along with an invoice at the rate he’d agreed to. If he complained, I’d change it. Maybe.

            After that I checked my email and the news. I used to be a reporter, so keeping up with what’s in the Tribune and the Times and the Post and the other newspapers online is a compulsion. Democrats and Republicans were arguing in Washington and Springfield, as usual; a man had been shot on the south side in a drive-by, as usual, a woman had been stabbed on the north side, which was slightly less usual; and the Cubs lost and the White Sox won, more or less as usual.

            Rachel came into the office at 9:30. “You are a sick, sick puppy.” She kissed me. 

            “I just got lost in the role play. Sleep okay?”

            “Fine.” She carried her Superwoman coffee mug to her computer on her side of the office. “I’ve got class at 11. I’m pretty sure I can finish this landing page in 20 minutes. If not . . .” She shrugged. “Something will have to bend.”

            We both went to work. She left at 10:15 for class. I kept making phone calls and internet searches for an embezzlement case I’d been working on when Rupp called me yesterday. I checked my email a few times to see if he’d responded, but nothing. I hoped I wouldn’t have to bug him about the invoice.

            At 1:30 I was just thinking about lunch when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Mr. Jurgen?” The voice was raspy. And familiar. “This is Oscar Parks. From last night. You were at my house.”

            “Yes, Mr. Parks.” Was he calling to yell at me some more? “What can I do for you?”

            “It’s Zachary. He needs someone to get him. I can’t drive anywhere. My eyes.”

            I remembered his thick glasses. “What about his brother?”

            “No.” The word was quick and sharp. “He doesn’t—not right now. But since you’re already involved—”

            I wasn’t, now that I’d sent off the invoice. But I still felt bad about messing up. “Where is he?”

            “He’s in Woodridge. At a church.”

            “And does he want to go home?”

            “You need to bring him here. As fast as possible.”

            I stifled a groan. “Look, Mr. Parks, I’m not working for Leonard Rupp anymore, which is actually good in one way, because if I was, my primary responsibility would be to him. So I could do this for you—for Zack—but I’d need to know what’s going on. Woodridge is a bit of a drive—”

            “I can pay you, if that’s what you want,” he snapped.

            “That’s not the issue. Not the main one, anyway.” I do have bills to pay. “This is just sounding a little sketchy to me. I don’t want to get involved in anything illegal, or—”

            “I’ll explain everything when you get him here.” Parks coughed. “After that, if you want to call Leonard, or the police, go ahead.”

            I was still uncomfortable, but now I was curious. And Rachel knows how I get when I’m curious. “All right. Give me the address.”

Split, Part Two

An hour later I was searching Woodridge for the St. Martin of the Flowers church. My GPS had it just up the street on the left, so I turned, found it, and parked in a small lot surrounded appropriately by a garden of tall colorful flowers. 

            The church was small, with long shadows falling across the porch in front. I opened the door to a foyer leading to the sanctuary and let my eyes adjust to the dim light seeping through the stained-glass windows. 

            A man sat in a pew halfway back, hunched over. Blond hair, thick shoulders. I walked down the aisle and edged into the pews quietly. “Zack?”

            His head jerked up. He twisted around, like a kid caught watching porn on the internet. “Huh?”

            “Your uncle Oscar sent me. Oscar Parks? I’m Tom Jurgen.” I kept my voice low and as soothing as I could manage, suitable to a conversation in a quiet church. “I met him last night after you, uh, ran off.”

            He was wearing shoes now, and a hoodie halfway zipped up his chest. “Oh. Yeah. Uncle Oscar said he’d get someone. He can’t drive anymore.” Zack seemed calm, if a little nervous. “Who are you?”

            “I’m a private detective. Tom Jurgen. Your uncle asked me to come get you.” All true statements, with a lot of details left out. “Shall we go?”

            “Excuse me?”

            That came from a priest walking swiftly down the aisle from the pulpit. He was in his 30s, slender, wearing a dark suit with a crisp white clerical collar around his throat. “Can I help you with something?”

            “I’m just here to take Zack back to his uncle’s house.” I looked around. “Should I leave something in the collection box, or—”

            “Zack, you don’t have to go away with this man.” The priest crossed his arms. “You’re safe here with me.”

            Oh great. “Look, I’m not here to kidnap him or anything. I’m just doing a favor for his uncle.”

            “It’s all right, Father Ross.” Zack lifted a hand. “Thanks for your help.”

            “But I’m almost prepared for the—”

            “NO!” Zack’s voice was suddenly a thunderous roar. “I have to get out of here! Now!”

            He pushed his way past me, shoving me against the back of the pew, and then he was running up the aisle, shouting gibberish.

            “Zack!” The priest glared at me. “Do you see what you—”

            “Hang on.” I wasn’t letting this happen again. I took off up the aisle after Zack. 

He dashed through the foyer, but fumbled with the doorknob in front. I was right behind him as he threw the door back, and I clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Zack, just talk to me a minute—”

He pushed my hand away and stumbled through the doorway, but then he stopped, breathing hard, staring at the sky. A few clouds floated in the sky, and a light breeze blew the fragrance of the flowers across our faces.

Zack sank onto a bench next to the door, his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” He murmured. “I’m sorry. I just—”

The priest was out on the porch with us. “Zack? Do you want to come back inside?”

“No!” he shouted again. Then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Father Ross. I just—I just can’t.”            

I looked at him, shuddering and shivering as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. I wished Rachel was here, but even without her I thought I knew what was going on.”

“Zack.” I sat down on the bench, keeping a few feet between us. “Zack—are you possessed? Is there a demon?”

His face went white as he stared at me. The priest froze.

Zack nodded, biting his lip. “Y-yeah. Uncle Oscar was trying to—to help me, but it made me run away.”

“How did you get here?”

“I slept in the park. Then I called Jessica. She’s my ex. I didn’t know where to go, so she was driving me back to her place, and then I—” He looked down at the ground. “I don’t know how I ended up here. But Father Ross, he’s going to help me, but then I—it—got scared. I had to get out of there. I’m sorry,” he said to the priest.

Father Ross nodded. “That’s all right, Zack. Do you want to go back inside?”

“Or do you want to go back to your uncle’s house?” I asked. 

Zack twitched. “No. Yes. I don’t know.” He sat forward, arms around his head, rocking back and forth.

Father Ross put a hand on Zack’s shoulder and looked at me. “Yes, he’s possessed. I have everything ready inside. I can do it here.”

“An exorcism?” I looked up at him. “Have you done one before?”

“Well, no. I’ve read a lot about the ritual, I know the procedure—”

“I’ve assisted at some,” I told him. I even pulled one off myself once, mostly through luck, but that didn’t make me qualified to perform one. “They’re tricky. He needs someone who’s been through it before.”

Father Ross looked offended. “I know what to do. I can—”

“Stop!” Zack’s hand shot up and pushed Father Ross away. He looked at me. “I’ll go with you. Take me back to Oscar. Sorry.” That was to Father Ross. “Thanks for helping me.”

The priest sighed. “If that’s what you want. Are you sure you’ll be okay with this man?” He gave me a suspicious glance.

I could understand his skepticism. I pulled up my phone. “Let me call Mr. Parks. You can talk to him. Make sure I’m who I say.” I found his number and handed Zack the phone.

Father Ross gestured to me. I stood up, and we went to the side of the porch,where we could watch Zack as he talked to his uncle.

“Thank you.” He seemed relieved. “I don’t know if I could have performed the exorcism by myself. But it was my duty to try.”

“I understand. I seem to run into these supernatural things more often than most detectives, so I have a little experience.” I gave him my card. 

He handed me a card with the church’s phone number and email address. “Could you let me know when he’s recovered? I only just met him, but he seems in need of help.”

“Sure.” We shook hands. I turned. “Zack?”

“Yeah.” He stood up and handed my phone over. “Let’s go. Thanks, Father Ross.”

“I hope everything works out for the best, Zack. I’ll pray for you.”

In my car I set the GPS for Parks’ house. Zack was silent, and after a few minutes he slumped over, asleep. A night in the park probably didn’t make for a restful snooze. 

Then my phone buzzed. I looked at the caller ID, and quickly pulled over to the curb.

Zack jerked up, confused. “What?”

“Sorry. I’ve got to take this.” And I didn’t want to be driving when I answered. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”

“Mr. Jurgen? This is Detective Cruz of the Chicago PD. Have you recently been in contact with a Leonard Rupp?”

I glanced at Zack. “Yes. He’s a former client. He hired me for a job yesterday. I’m a private—”

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Lots of Chicago cops know me. Very few of them like me, mostly because I insist on telling the truth about the vampires and other monsters I run into. “What was the job?”

“What’s this about?”

“Don’t make me come and take you down to the station. Jurgen. Just tell me what he hired you to do.”

I could argue, but that never works out well, and Cruz sounded impatient. “He hired me to locate his brother. I did, temporarily, but then I lost him. That was it.”

I could see Zack tense next to me at the word “brother.” I held up a hand and shook my head.

“Where was this brother when you found him?”

“At his uncle’s house. In Naperville. But he ran away.” I was purposely leaving out the part that I’d just found him again. Technically, that wasn’t what Cruz was asking me. 

“Where are you now?”

“In my car. In Woodridge. On another case.”

“Did you talk to Rupp last night? After you lost the brother?”

“I called him, It was about 9:30. I reported, and he told me to send an invoice. That was it.”

“Nothing after that?”

“No. I sent him an email this morning. He didn’t respond. Detective, what’s going on, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

“I do mind. For your information, though, Leonard Rupp is a person of interest in a stabbing last night. A woman in Wicker Park, Carol Beck. She’s dead. Happened after midnight. Know anything about that?”

I looked over at Zack, who was staring at me like a cornered puppy. “No. Nothing like that.”

Cruz paused. Finally he said, “All right. Call me when you get home. I’ll have some more questions for you.”

“Right.” We hung up.

They must have found Rupp’s phone to find my name, or looked at his emails. This didn’t have anything to do with Zack. Did it?
            “W-what’s going on?” Zack’s arm twitched.

“It’s your brother Leonard.” I started the car. “He hired me to find you, to watch your uncle’s house last night. When you ran away I thought everything was over, but I talked to your uncle for a bit, and then I went home. Your uncle called me today after you called him. But now the police apparently think your brother—” 

I hesitated, watching Zack from the corner of my eye. “They think your brother may have something to do with a woman who was murdered last night.”

“Oh God.” Zack closed his eyes for a moment. “I thought—I hoped it was just a dream or something.”

I braked for a red light. “What?”

“I saw—there was a woman. And a knife. And I—she screamed and fell down, and I was running away, and—” He shook his head. “I was in the park. Trying to sleep. But I couldn’t. I kept hearing his voice. And seeing things. It was—that was Leonard?”

“I don’t know.” I have some experience with demons, like I said, but every demon and every possession is different. “Let’s see what your uncle says.” I needed to concentrate on not getting into an accident.

“Can we get something to eat?” Again he sounded like a little boy, afraid of getting yelled at for asking a question. “I mean, I haven’t had anything all day.”

“Sure.” I spotted a Burger King up ahead. “Give me a minute.”

 

Back at Parks’ house Zack and his uncle talked in the living room, beneath the cross hanging on the wall, while I called Rachel from the bathroom. “Geez, I can’t let you go anywhere by yourself, can I?” she asked. 

            “I seem to be a demon magnet,” I agreed. “Maybe that’s what attracted you to me in the first place.”

            She snorted. “Who said I’m attracted to you?”

            “Well, last night—”

            “I was in character last night.” She giggled. “Well, maybe not all the time.” 

            “Good to know. I’ll keep you posted.”

            “Do that. Be careful. Don’t get possessed yourself. And all that stuff.”

            “I love you too.” We hung up.

            Back in the living Zack was asleep again, snoring softly on the sofa, and Parks was flipping through his Bible. ”Thank you for bringing him here.” He closed the book and stood up. “Beer?”

            “Sure.”

            In the kitchen he opened us both beers. We sat at the table. “Last night I thought you were—I don’t know. But Zachary tells me you’ve been kind to him, and I appreciate that.”

            “All I did was stop for a burger and Coke. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

            “You did more than that.” He sipped his beer. “Although I still don’t know who you are.”

            I gave him the short version of my autobiography, complete with vampires and other creatures of the dark I run into, showed him a picture of Rachel, and explained how I’d ended up outside his house last night. Then I told him about my call from the Chicago police, and Zack’s dream.

            He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “This is a lot more complicated than a typical demonic possession. If there is such a thing as typical. You could tell he was possessed, right?”

            “The church and the priest seemed to agitate him,” I said. “At least some of the time. And I saw him run from you last night, and with the cross and the Bible in your living room—well, I’ve dealt with enough possessions that I could put it together. My girlfriend would have known from 10 feet away. She’s psychic.”

            “That’s interesting. At least you keep an open mind.”

“Demonic possession is maybe the least unbelievable thing I’ve run into.” I sipped my beer. “Can you help Zack?”

Parks sighed. “It’s complicated. Like I said.”

“Because of his brother? They’re linked somehow?”

“They’re both possessed.” He looked through the doorway, out toward the living room where Zack slept. “They’re both possessed, and they’re possessed by the same demon.”

“Okay.” I’d never heard of that. “How does that, uh, work?”

“I don’t know.” Parks shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it before. Not that I was ever involved in too many exorcisms. But I do know that for it to work, we need both of them. Here. Together.”

Uh-oh. “You can’t just take care of Zack and do Leonard later? Maybe when he’s out on bail or something?”

Parks looked as if I didn’t understand. “I don’t know if doing just one brother would even work, or if it would leave it with the other one. We need to send it back to Hell.” He shuddered. “If the police are right, we know what it’s capable of.”

I bit my lower lip. “That could be a problem. What with Leonard on the run from the cops for murder.”

Parks nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll have to call the police when I get home. They know I was here last night, looking for Zack. I didn’t tell them I found him today, but they’ll probably want to talk to you. And Zack.”

He frowned. “They won’t believe me. About the demon.”

“Probably not. I mean, I know some cops who’ve seen strange things.” A few of them even didn’t think I was entirely crazy. “But trying to lie or hide things from them usually ends badly.”

He sighed. “I suppose.”

I stood up. “I should talk to Zack.”

Back in the living room Zack was snoring restlessly on the sofa. Parks sat down next to him and nudged his shoulder. “Zachary? Zachary?”

His eyes popped open, frightened and disoriented. Parks handed him a bottle of water, and he took a long drink before setting it down to look at me. 

“Hi,” he said, nervous.

“Hi.” I took a chair across from the sofa. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“It’s all right, Zachary.” Parks patted his arm. “He’s a detective. He can help us.”

I hoped he was right. “You live with your brother Leonard, right?”

“Yeah. I, uh—well, I had a job at a real estate office, admin stuff, but I got fired. I was, uh—” He looked away from me. “I have a problem with drugs.” He sighed. “Prescription stuff, mostly, and, well, other stuff. I’ve been clean for six months,” he said hurriedly. “But I lost my apartment, and Leonard let me move in.”

“How long ago?”

“Six weeks or so. He doesn’t—we don’t get along real well, but he’s my brother. He did help me get straight, took me to doctors and meetings and stuff, and I got a job at another office, part-time. That was good. I’m doing good.” He looked at Parks, who smiled.

“That’s great,” I said. “So when did the demon come?”

Zack closed his eyes. “I’m not sure. Maybe four weeks ago? I remember Leonard came home one night, and he was—different. I thought he was drunk. He was saying stuff that didn’t make any sense, words I didn’t even recognize. He just passed out in the living room.”

He hesitated, as if his memory was murky. “The next morning I felt like I had a hangover. But I wasn’t doing any drugs or anything like that. I just felt—funny. Leonard seemed okay, but there was something different about him. He didn’t talk much. Then . . .” He took a breath. “I started hearing voices.”

“What did they say?”

“I couldn’t understand them all the time. Different languages. Sometimes I don’t think it was even words. But they wouldn’t let me sleep. I couldn’t think, or focus on anything.” He shifted on the sofa. “Leonard started acting—strange. He hit me once. He tried to lock me in my bedroom. One night he sat in the middle of the living room floor in his underwear, not saying anything, just looking at—nothing.” 

He rubbed his head. “I didn’t eat. I didn’t change clothes. Leonard stopped going to work, but he went out—I don’t know what he did. Then, yesterday, he tried to—tried to—” 

Zack closed his eyes, tears running down his face. “He tried to strangle me. I left. I ran around for hours, not knowing what to do. I don’t know how I got here, but Oscar let me in. He was trying to help me, all day, but then last night I got scared, and—I ran away.”

Parks patted his arm again. “I was trying to do the exorcism rite, but I don’t really know how. That spooked the demon, and Zack got upset, and then—well, you saw it.”

“Yeah.” Zack running away, barefoot and half-crazed, into the night. “Have you talked to Leonard since yesterday?”

“No.” He stopped to think. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember a lot about last night. I remember waking up and finding a store with a phone, and the only number I could remember was Jessica. She’s my ex. She picked me up, and—I don’t know how I ended up in that church.”

I got Jessica’s number in case I needed to confirm Zack’s story later. Then I asked, “So, where would your brother go if he didn’t want to talk to anyone?”

Zack blinked. “You mean—hide?”

“The police are looking for him. If they haven’t already arrested him, that means they can’t find him. And we need him to get the demon out of you. Both of you.” I glanced at Parks. “And to stop him before he kills anyone else.”

Parks looked stern. “The demon killed that woman.”

“The police won’t see it that way. Whether a jury will—well, I don’t know.” Wasn’t there a movie about that? I looked from Zack to his uncle, trying to think of what to say.

“Look,” I said finally, “I only got hired to find Zack. And I’m probably not even going to get paid for that.” Parks started to speak, but I held my hand up. “That’s all right, I’m not after money from you. I want to help you, but I’d just as soon not go to jail and I definitely don’t want to get killed. My girlfriend would get really upset.” I could imagine Rachel cursing my embalmed body at my funeral.

Parks nodded. “I can understand that.”

“So the thing is, I really have to talk to the police.”

Zack looked alarmed. “But what will happen to Leonard? He can’t—I can’t let him—”

“He’s right, Zachary.” Parks sighed. “I hate it too, but if the demon is making him kill people, then, well . . .” He looked at me. “Do what you have to do. Will the police believe you?”

“Maybe.” Some cops had seen the same things I have. They didn’t always want to admit it, though. “Either way, they need to know Leonard believes he’s being possessed by a demon.”

“I suppose.” Parks wasn’t happy, but he seemed resigned. 

I looked at Zack. “Do you have any idea where your brother might go? If he wanted to hide?”

Zack thought for a moment. “Leonard has another place,” he said, as if just remembering. “It’s an apartment close to his condo. I think it’s for, uh, women. When he doesn’t want to bring someone home. He rents it under the name uh, Lawrence Pullman. No, Puller. Lawrence Puller. He might be there.” He gave me the address.

“Do you have any pictures of Leonard?” I looked from Zack to his uncle. “I’ve never actually met him, we just talked on the phone.”

Parks stood up and walked to a bookcase, coming back with a framed photo.

Two men stood outside, under a tree, arms around each other’s shoulders. Zack, and a man slightly taller than him, heavier, with the same stocky build and blond hair. Zack was smiling; Leonard frowned as if he wanted the picture finished.

I took a picture on my phone and handed it back. After a few more questions, I told them I’d be in touch.

At the door Parks put a hand on my shoulder. “I know all this isn’t your problem. But thank you. I’ll pray for you.”

“Uh, thanks.” Despite everything I’ve seen, I’m still pretty agnostic about religion. And I was in Hell once. But I don’t turn down any offers of assistance. “Everything helps.”

He smiled.

Out in my car I called Cruz’s number. Another cop answered. His name was Meyerson, and he listened while I told him everything I knew, including the address Zack had given me.

When I finished he was quiet for a moment. Then: “A demon? That’s the story they’re going with?”

“That’s what they told me. I know you won’t believe it, but I’ve seen this before. I mean, I’m not saying it’s a legal defense that’s going to get Rupp off, but—”

“Whatever. Where are you now?”

“In my car. Parked.”

“Okay. Go home and stay there. We’ll be in touch.”

I glanced at Parks’ house as I started up. Lights came on in the living room, behind the curtains, but I couldn’t see any movement inside. After another minute I buckled up and started home.

Split, Part Three

Rachel was chopping vegetables when I got home. “How was work, dear?” She smirked.

            “It’s a jungle out there.” I kissed her. “What’s for dinner?”

            “I’m not sure yet.” She had onions, green peppers, celery, and a few veggies I didn’t recognize, and something was simmering in a pot on the stove. “Let’s call it Rachel’s Triumph. Unless it sucks, and then I’m going to call it Tom’s Fault.”

            “Can’t wait.” I got myself a beer from the fridge and went into the office to check my messages.

            A few clients had questions, and some requests for information on different cases had come in. I sorted through them, answered most of the questions, and made notes of items to check on later.

            Then my phone buzzed. Leonard Rupp. With a sigh, I answered. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Jurgen! Where’s Zack? Where is he?”

            He sounded drunk. And frantic. “He’s with your uncle. Where are you?”

            “I’m at—they found my apartment. I’m not there. Listen, I don’t have much time until it comes back. I’ve got to find Zack.”

            Maybe the demon wasn’t active for the moment. Asleep or something. I bit my lip. Anything I did to help him could make me an accessory to whatever murders the demon had committed. At the very least, the cops could take me for aiding and abetting a fugitive. 

            “Look, Leonard, the police are looking for you,” I told him. It was the only thing to do. “The safest thing for you to do is—”

            “I’ve got to find Zack!” He was shouting. I wondered if anyone nearby could hear him. “It’s the only way to get this thing out! For both of us!”

“Where are you?” I wasn’t sure he was really listening to anything I said, but I had to try. “Leonard, where are you now?”

“I don’t—I don’t think I know.” His voice was quiet now. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

“Are you inside? Outside? What do you see?” If he could spot a street sign, or a building—

“Ahh!” He shrieked, and I had to pull the phone away from my ear. Then: “No! This is Hell! I won’t go! Never, never—”

The call dropped.

Damn it. I called the police number. This time I got Cruz again. I told him about the call, and he groaned. “That’s great. No idea where he was?”

“That’s what I said. I told him Zack was with their uncle, so—”

“And they’re gone too. Naperville police just checked the house. No one home.”

“That’s weird. Oscar said he doesn’t drive.” Did he have a car? I hadn’t seen one.

“Whatever. Let me know right away if Rupp calls you again. This time, try to find out where the hell he is.” Cruz hung up.

I glared at the phone. Rachel stuck her head through the doorway. “Dinner.” She saw my expression. “What’s up?”

I told her. “I get that he’s busy with a murder case, but P.I.s have feelings too.” 

“Poor baby.” She patted my head. “Will some of Rachel’s Triumph make you feel better?”

I stood up. Then I sat down again. “Give me five minutes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that look. I’m starting without you.”

Zack had mentioned an ex-girlfriend. Jessica. I checked his social media pages and found her quickly: Jessica Stavic, 20something, blond, paralegal. A few minutes later I had a phone number for her.

I got voice mail, so I left a quick message asking if she’d had any contact with Zack today. After waiting a few minutes in case she was just screening her calls, I went to the kitchen for dinner.

Rachel’s Triumph had vegetables, lentils, curry and other spices. “So?” she demanded, glaring at me.

“A triumph.” I took another spoonful. “And I’d say that even though the wrong answer would turn it into Tom,’s Fault.”

She snorted. “Good. I’m freezing it so you can’t use it tomorrow when it’s your turn to cook.”

“Tom’s Triumph? Let’s see, I’ll start with some ketchup, add a pinch of turmeric, pour it all over some zucchini and the last of the elbow macaroni—” My phone buzzed. “Sorry. I should—Hello, Tom Jurgen speaking.”

“Tom Jurgen? This is Jessica Stavic. You called me?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Zack Rupp. He mentioned that you drove him last night. I’m wondering if you’ve heard from him today.”

She hesitated. “Is he in trouble? Because he seems like it. I’m not sure I should be talking to you, but—it feels like something’s wrong.”

I scooted my chair back, trying to decide how much to tell her. “Was his uncle with him?”

“Oscar. Yeah. He kept trying to keep Zack calm. He’d be shouting, and Oscar would calm him down.”

“Did they mention Zack’s brother? Leonard?”

Another pause. “They—they were afraid of Leonard, I guess. I heard his name a couple of times.”

“Where did you take them, Jessica?”

I heard her swallow. “Could we meet up? I don’t want to talk on the phone.”

“Are they close by? At your house?” 

“No. But I can’t talk here, I’ve got roommates. Look, if you come out here I’ll tell you everything. Please? Can you hurry?”

I didn’t like it. Aside from the fact that I was eating dinner, this sounded like a trap from a bad detective movie. Zack wasn’t really my problem anymore. I wasn’t getting paid—

“Where are you?” I asked.

“There’s a coffee shop.” She gave me an address. In Woodridge. I stifled a groan. “Okay, give me an hour.” We hung up.

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t even need my psychic powers for this. You have to go.”

“Yeah, damn it.” My problem is that I’m too curious and stubborn for my own good sometimes. I shoveled down one more spoonful of Rachel’s Triumph and stood up. “I’ll be back as soon as—”

But she stood up at the same time. “I’m coming too.”

“You don’t have to. Don’t you have studying or—”

“I’m tired of sitting at home missing all the fun while you go out and fight crime, or whatever.” She punched my shoulder. “Give me three minutes to clean up.”

I knew better than to argue with her. Plus, I missed taking her with me when I was working. “I’ll help.”

 

So an hour and 10 minutes later Rachel and I were sitting in a small coffee shop on a busy street in downtown Woodridge, only a few blocks from the church where I’d found Zack this afternoon. 

Jessica Stavic was short, wearing glasses and a zip-up sweater and jeans. She looked nervous as we sat down. “Thanks. I know it’s a long drive.”

            I’d bought coffee for Rachel and me. Jessica had a latté in front of her. 

“Can you tell us where Zack is?” I asked. 

            She bit her lip, as if deciding whether to trust us. “He called me this morning to pick him up from some convenience store in Naperville. I was taking him back to my place, but then he saw this church and said he had to go there. I let him out, and he just ran inside.” 

            “Then what happened?” Rachel asked, more patient than me.

            “Then he called me a few hours ago. He said he needed me to take him and his uncle back to that church.” She sighed. “But when we got there, the church was closed and locked. They were standing around, I was in my car waiting for them to come back, but then this guy came around the side of the church. They started talking, and then they were arguing, but then they just walked back to where the guy came from. Zack waved to me that he was okay.” She rubbed her eyes. “I came home, and I got your message, and I thought I should call you.”

            “What did he look like? The other man?”

            She frowned. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but he kind of looked like Zack. Same kind of body, broad shoulders, short, blond hair . . .”

            Leonard. At least it sounded like him. “You didn’t hear anything they said?”

            Jessica shook her head. “But before he got out of the car, he gave me this.” She dug into her pocket. 

            It was a yellow Post-it with the word “Malik” on the front. On the Post-it side it said, “Help me.”

            “I didn’t look at it until I got home. I didn’t know what to do, and then I heard your message. What is ‘Malik’?”

            “It could be the name of the demon.” I looked at Rachel. “Can you check it out?”

            She had her laptop in a shoulder bag. “Give me a minute.”

“Demon?” Jessica gaped at me. “You mean—a demon?”

I nodded. “Zack and his brother have been possessed by a demon. If this is its name, that can help an exorcist force it out.” 

I waited for Jessica to tell me I was crazy, but she looked away, processing it. “Okay, well—” She stood up. “You need anything more? I’ve got, uh, stuff to do—”

“That’s fine, thanks.” I watched her go, leaving her latté behind on the table. Then I turned to Rachel. “Anything?”  

“Right here on Wikipedia.” She turned the screen for me. “Malik—Persian devil, born in Hell and exiled to wander Earth corrupting and collecting souls. Also killing random people so their souls will go down to the underworld. Sounds like a nice guy.” She sighed. “I’ve missed this kind of stuff.”

“Glad you’re here.” I pressed the Post-it into her hand. “Does this tell you anything?”

Rachel closed her eyes. “Fear. Mixed with anger. Mixed with—hunger. Not like he missed lunch.”

I noticed the café manager looking at us. We hadn’t touched our coffee. “Let’s get out of here.” I stood up.

“Home?” Rachel picked up our cups to throw away.

“Yeah. No.” I shook my head. “As long as we’re here, I want to swing by that church again. Maybe we’ll spot something.”

“Shouldn’t you call the cops about Rupp being there?”

I hesitated. Rachel was right, but I knew the police would just tell me to go home. I didn’t want to. Not yet. “I can call them later. Chances are he’s long gone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hope you’re right. We didn’t bring Donald.”

“Donald Duck” was our nickname for the handgun I’d bought. I only carry it when I’m dealing with a potential murderer; otherwise it’s locked in our bedroom closet. I hadn’t been expecting to run into Leonard Rupp when I drove out to Woodridge. Maybe I should have, but I don’t really want to get into the habit of carrying it too often. I might use it.

In the car I checked my GPS, and we headed for the church. At night it looked smaller, with a weak spotlight illuminating its name above the front door. The parking lot was empty. The flowers swayed in the evening breeze.

Rachel carried the car’s flashlight as we got out. Nothing seemed to be moving inside the stained-glass windows. I checked the door, but it was locked, like Jessica said.

I tried peering through a front window. I could see the foyer, and a light inside the sanctuary, but nothing more.

“What are we looking for?” Rachel asked, flicking the light back and forth.

“I don’t know.” Another Post-it? A message scrawled in the dirt? Zack and Leonard inside the church? Whatever I wanted, I wasn’t finding it here. “Let’s take a look in back.”

We walked around the building. One light from the corner of the roof cast shadows across the cracked pavement of the alley and two locked dumpsters. A van with the church’s name on the side was parked in front of the back door.

Rachel froze. “Uh, Tom . . .?” She aimed the light between the two dumpsters.

A foot.

Oh hell. I took the flashlight from her and stepped forward. One step, then another, and then I pointed the light toward the ground.

It was Oscar Parks, with a huge bloody gash across his chest, dried blood staining his shirt and jacket, his glasses lying next to his face, broken. Dead.