Demon Inside, Part One

My client sauntered down the street, a black raincoat flopping around him. He paused at a corner, then took the crosswalk to a bus stop.

A young woman sat in a short, bulky coat. She looked for a brief moment, then dug for her cell phone as the man sat next to her.

I crossed the street against the light, narrowly avoiding a racing taxi. The driver honked at me. I ignored it.

Tapping her keypad, the woman shifted to the far side of the bench.

My client slid closer.

“Hey!” I jumped the curb. “Walker! Mr. Walker?”

Walker lunged at the young woman. He opened his jaws wide. He wasn’t a vampire—I’d seen him in the daylight—but he looked ready to rip her throat open with his teeth.

The woman twisted, punching at his face, but he jumped on top of her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

Then she jammed her phone against his shoulder.

 “Ahh!” Walker screamed. Not a cell phone—a stun gun that looked like a cell phone. His body twitched from the electric shock. “Damn it. Damn it . . .”

The woman jabbed him again. Walker fell off the bench, moaning.

“Stop!” I held up a hand. “I’ll take care of him.”

She glared at me. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend. Run.” I crouched down. “Just run.”

She took my advice. But she pulled a real phone from her pocket as she raced away.

“Walker.” I rolled him over. “Walker? Come on. We have to get out of here.”

FIVE HOURS EARLIER

“My name is Jeremy Walker.” He was a white male, late thirties, with thin brown hair and a short beard. “I’m a financial advisor. I heard you handle—strange cases.”

My name is Tom Jurgen. I’m a private detective, ex-reporter. And my cases do tend to veer into strange territory, for better or worse.

I sipped my coffee. We were in a Starbucks on the north side. “What can I do for you, Mr. Walker?”

“I want you to follow me.” He glanced out the window. “Tonight. Maybe for the next few nights.”

“Okay.” I checked my schedule on the phone. I had tickets for an REM concert at the United Center this Thursday, but that was three days away. “Why?”

He hugged his arms around his chest. “I’ve been having—blackouts. I don’t know what I’m doing. I need to know that I’m not—doing anything bad.”

            “Like what?”

            Walker hung his head down. “I have these dreams, where I’m . . . hurting people. I don’t know. But I have to find out.”

            “Okay.” I tapped my phone. “I’ll need some information. Where do you live? How do I contact you? And what time should I start?”

BACK IN THE PRESENT

I dragged Walker to my Honda. Fortunately I was only parked a few blocks away.

            Police sirens rang in the sky. I pushed Walker into the Honda and buckled him into the seat, then ran around to climb into the driver’s side. He moaned as I hit the accelerator.

            Goddamn it. I swerved around a corner. “Walker? Walker! Wake up!”

            “I don’t . . .” He sat up. “Where are we?”

            “We’re escaping the cops.” Sweat ran down my neck. I’d never done this before. As a private eye, I try to stay friendly with the police. And I had friends in the Chicago Police Department. They wouldn’t be happy if they found out I was shielding a streetside attacker.

            “What—what happened?”

            I stopped for a red light. “You attacked a woman at a bus stop.” I only hoped there hadn’t been any surveillance cameras.

            “Oh god.” Walker leaned forward. “It was him. Not me. Him.”

            What the—The light turned green. “Just sit there. Don’t say anything.”

            “Right.” Walker closed his eyes.

Up in my apartment I sat Walker down on my sofa. He was thirsty, so I got some water and a Coke for me. Then I called Rachel.

            “What?” She squawked in my ear. “I’m busy here! I’ve got two sailors, and I’m trying to thank them for their service . . . okay, I can’t even do that anymore. But I’ve got two web pages to design by tomorrow, and I haven’t slept in two days. And some of that’s your fault.” She sighed.

            “I’m sorry.” Rachel’s my upstairs neighbor, and my girlfriend. She’s at least partly psychic, and that’s why I needed her right now. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

            “Fine.”

            I gulped my Coke. I wanted a beer, but I can’t drink because of the medication I take for anxiety. Unfortunately, the medication doesn’t actually prevent anxiety-causing situations.

Rachel opened the door. “Okay, what’s up?”

She’s got red hair and hazelnut eyes. Walker checked out her jeans. I couldn’t exactly blame him. Rachel’s cute.

“This is Jeremy Walker. He’s my client. He might be possessed.”

            Walker flinched at the word “possessed.” “What? I don’t know—”

            “Just stay there.” I motioned to Rachel. “This will only take a moment. Rach? Please?”

Rachel stepped forward with a sigh. “Okay. I’m going to put my hands on your head.”

            Walker nodded, his shoulders tense.

            Rachel closed her eyes. Her fingers brushed his forehead, and then she planted her hands around his temples.

            I waited.

            Rachel moaned. “Ohh . . . ohh . . .” Her legs shuddered. Walker’s eyes flickered.

            “Wait—wait.” Walker’s head shook. “Ohh . . . it hurts . . . hurts . . .” He bit his lip. “Janeanne . . . help me . . . ohh . . .”

            “It’s him . . . it’s him.” Rachel’s hands shook. “Oh god, oh god . . .”

I reached forward to pull Rachel’s hand away—

            —and then she spun around, grabbing for a chair. She rocked back and forth on her heels, gasping, and then she leaned over and threw up on the hardwood floor.

            I held her shoulders, trying to keep out of the way. “Rachel? Rach! What’s going on?”

            Walker stood up. “What the hell?”

            “It’s him!” Rachel jabbed a finger at Walker, coughing. “That demon! From the box! It’s—inside him!”

            Oh god. Two years ago I’d investigated a case of suicide—caused by a demon kept trapped inside a box. The demon had momentarily taken Rachel. Until I’d set it free.

            Free to go . . . anywhere.

            “Uh . . .” Walker clutched the edge of the table .“What’s she talking about?”

            “It’s a demon.” I held up a hand. “We’ve dealt it with before. I can get it out of you. I know a guy.”

            “I don’t know.” He walked widely around Rachel as she tried not to throw up again. He looked at the door. “This is freaking me out.”

            “Just wait.” I held up a hand. “I can take care of it. You’ve got to give me a chance.”

            “It’s killed people!” Rachel jabbed a finger at him. “It’s right there inside him. It’s—it wants to kill people. More people. It—” She grabbed his chair and sank down before her legs gave out. “You’ve got to—kill it.”

            That was too much for Walker. He ran for the door.

            I didn’t blame him. Rachel was freaking me out too.

            I ran after him, but he slammed the door in my face. His feet clattered on the steps next to the elevator. I followed, gasping hard by the time I made the ground floor.

The front door was closed. I went out into the night, the cool air chilling the sweat on my body, looking both ways up and down the sidewalk.

But Walker was nowhere in sight.

            Damn it.

            I took the elevator back up to the third floor. Rachel was wiping up her vomit with a roll of paper towels. “Do you have a mop somewhere?”

            “I’ll take care of it. Are you okay?”

            She ran a hand over her lips. “Let me rinse my mouth out.”

            I mopped up as she spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom. I was trying to call Walker on my phone when she came out, her face pale.

            Walker didn’t pick up.

            Rachel sagged into a chair. “Sorry about . . . that.”

            “My fault.” All the way.

            “Is he gone?”

            I held up my phone. “He’s not answering.”

            Rachel sighed. “So now what?”

            “Now . . .” I wanted a beer now  more than anything ever. I sipped my Coke. “I’ve got to deal with this.”

            “How?” Her eyes zeroed in on mine. “You got a plan?”

            I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

            Rachel groaned. “Okay. It’s not your fault. I was just—when I felt it again—it was so strong. So angry. And I was so scared of letting it into me again. You don’t know—you can’t know how it felt. It was like—like—”

            She wiped her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

            “Yeah.” I didn’t know whether to hold her or back away. “I’ll deal with it. One way or another.”

            “What’s this ‘me’ shit?” She punched me. Hard. “I’m part of this. More than you. We’ve got to stop this thing. Get it out of him and send it back wherever it came from. Right now.”

            “Yeah.” I looked at my clock.  10:32 p.m. “I’ll make some coffee.”

Rachel looked into Walker while I tried to track the demon’s murders.

            Three attacks in the last two weeks fit the profile: A lone man lunging at women sitting in bus stops or at waiting to cross the street. Same vague description—white male, brown hair, sparse beard. An image from a video camera looked like Walker, or any one of a thousand guys in a black raincoat.

            I went back. Chicago has hundreds or murders a year, most of them gang-related—drive-bys, revenge killings, innocent kids caught by stray bullets. And vampire killings. Separating out the random attacks and attempted abductions was depressing, but it wasn’t too hard.

            In the end I had 18 open murders over the last two years that matched what I was looking for—and hoped I wouldn’t find.

            Different assailants and different descriptions. A wide variety of victims—male, female, black, white, Asian. No obvious connection. A few reporters speculated on a serial killer, but the police would neither confirm nor deny a link between any of the killings.

             So a bunch of murders I might be at least partially responsible for—because I’d let the demon go.

            I looked at Rachel. I’d had to do it. I’d had to save her . . .

            Rachel looked up from her laptop. “What?”

            I gulped my coffee. “You find anything?”

            She rubbed her eyes. “His address, place of employment—he works at a bank downtown. College—Northwestern, of course. Ex-wife, maybe a girlfriend, and lots of cute cat pictures.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, I might have gotten distracted.”

            “Yeah.” I shut my laptop. “Let’s get some sleep.”

            “He might be out there.” She tapped some keys. “Give me a few more minutes.”

            “Okay.” The demon had been inside Rachel’s head. I couldn’t tell her what to do. I leaned back and folded my arms. My head drooped.

            I dreamed. The box the demon had come out of sat in front of me. It glowed like fire.

            I pressed my hands on it. Trying to keep it shut. It trembled against my fingers, fighting me. I leaned forward, grunting. Trying to keep it inside.

            “Stay in there.” My arms trembled. “Stay . . . inside . . . the box . . .”

            “You let me out.” The voice growled like a wolf in the darkness. “You set me free.”

            “Stop this.” My throat felt raw. “Go back—wherever you came from. Get out of here!”

            “You think you can order me?” The demon’s voice roared inside my head. “You’re nothing. Your girlfriend was tasty, for as long as I had her. But now—”

            I lunged forward. “No! You stay away from her! Get out!”

            The demon laughed. I lunged forward—

            And Rachel hit me in the neck. “Tom! Wake up! I’m going to call an ambulance!”

            “No!” I sat forward, gasping. “I’m fine. Just—a dream.”

            “You looked like you were having a seizure.” Rachel slapped my face. “Are you all right?”

            “I think—I think—”

            My phone buzzed on the table. Walker.

            I grabbed it. “Tom Jurgen speaking. What’s going on?”

            “Jurgen?” Walker’s voice was a whisper. “I don’t know . . . can you come and get me?”