The house lay at the end of a long, woodsy street, with evergreens and ash trees on either side as I looked for the address. A small blue Subaru was parked in the driveway. Stacey’s car.
I didn’t see any other cars parked along the street. I tried to peer between the trees, looking for Kurt, but saw only birds and squirrels hopping between the branches. Finally I parked my Prius in front of the house and got out.
I hesitated, but eventually I went to open the trunk. The metal box was there, locked, with my shoulder holster lying across it. I took off my jacket, struggled into the holster, and then unlocked the box for the Glock.
I zipped up my jacket, hoping the handgun wouldn’t show. I didn’t want Aunt Patricia to think I was a hitman. Then I made my way up the walk to the door.
It opened about 20 seconds after I rang. The woman who looked out was short and heavyset, her hair streaked with gray. She wore round glasses, and her blue eyes were sharp. “Hello?”
“Patricia Coles?” I showed her my card. “My name is Tom Jurgen, and I'm a private detective trying to locate your niece, Stacey Benedict. I was hired by her mother.”
A man came up behind her. Taller than Patricia, and taller than me, balding, with bushy gray eyebrows and deep brown eyes. “What’s going on?”
Patricia held up the card. “He’s here after Stacey.”
“Just to talk to her,” I said quickly. “Her mother hasn’t heard from her in days. She just wants to know her daughter’s safe.”
The man frowned. “A private detective?”
Patricia looked over my shoulder, around the yard. “I think it’s okay.”
They moved back, and I entered the house. Patricia locked the door. The man stayed close to her, protectively. “I’m Samuel Holtz. Reverend Holtz. I’m a friend.” He wore a vest under his shirt, and gray pants that looked freshly pressed.
“Close friend. For 15 years.” She pointed into another room. “Right here. Stacey?”
The living room had dark wood paneling and a high ceiling, very rustic. Stacey Benedict lay at the end of a long blue sofa, looking up at me as we entered. Twenty-three, her mother had said. She was barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt that looked as if she’d slept in it for a few days, and her blond hair was tied back in a tight ponytail.
She looked up at me, suspicion mixing with hope. “You’re—you said something about my mom?”
Patricia came around me and showed her my card. Stacey read it slowly. “How did you find me?”
“Your aunt visited when you were living with Jess Kinder. She remembered your name. And she offered you a place to stay if you needed it.”
“Did you get my address from Jane?” Patricia put her hands on her hips.
“Yes. Look, she’s just worried. A phone call would probably be enough if you don’t want to go home—”
“I can’t.” Stacey dropped my card on the floor. “Not until he’s locked up again. I can’t.”
“I don’t blame you. I ran into Kurt yesterday.”
Her eyes went wide. “W-what? Where?”
“He was hiding out in an apartment down the hall from you. Apparently waiting for you to come home.” I decided not to mention right now that he’d murdered her neighbor. And almost murdered me. I wasn’t sure either of us could handle it.
“That’s why I can’t go back!” Stacey was sitting up now, shivering as if a blast of cold air was rushing through. “Not until he’s back in jail! Or—or dead! I don’t want him dead, but I can’t let him get to me like—like he did. To them.” She sank back and rubbed her eyes, trying not to cry.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. No one spoke for a long minute.
“Would you like some coffee?” Patricia asked.
“Wait a minute, Patty.” Holtz looked at me as if sizing up whether I was a saint or a sinner. “Now that you’re here, do you have to stay? Can’t you just tell Jane that Stacey is safe?”
“I could. It would be better if Stacey calls her mother herself. You don’t have to say where you are—”
“No.” Stacey shook her head. “She’ll know I'm here now. If Kurt goes after her—God, what if he goes after her? That’s what I'm afraid of. God, this is a nightmare.”
“She’s safe here,” Patricia said. “She was.” She glared at me.
“We’re trying to help her.” Holtz put a hand on Patricia’s arm, trying to keep her calm. “There’s something—more to it. You wouldn’t understand.”
I remembered the itch in the back of my head when Kurt was with me. Then something clicked inside my brain.
“Stacey—” I wished Rachel was here, but I had to do this by myself. “Is Kurt—are the demons coming from inside him?”
She stared at me, her eyes wide. Scared. “Y-Yeah. I think so.”
“Wait—” Holtz looked shocked. “How did you—do you know?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things you wouldn’t believe.” I perched on a chair next to the sofa. “Stacey, what happened?”
Stacey brought her legs up, hugging her knees. “He said we had to go to his mom’s house for dinner. That was kind of weird, we hardly ever did that. And when we got there, nothing was ready. They weren’t really expecting us, but his mother started something in the oven, and his sister was making a salad. But then he told them to stop and sit down, so we were all there in the kitchen, and he was staring at us, and his face was all red, and he started—talking.”
She looked at Holtz. “I told you—it was like, uh, speaking in tongues? I don’t know. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he kept talking, and getting all worked up. They were staring at him, and then they were doing it too, his sister and his mother, and his sister was waving the knife around she was using to chop stuff for the salad—”
Stacey stopped. “And I sort of started doing it too. I don’t know why. I just started kind of moaning, and everything around me was sort of spinning. I got up, and Kurt’s mom was standing up and shouting, and I ran out of there. I was in the living room, on the floor, I don’t know how long, but I got up and went into the kitchen again—”
Stacey closed her eyes. “He had the knife, and there was all this blood, and his mother and sister were still doing their weird talk, but he was stabbing them, first one of them and then the other, over and over and not stopping while he was talking like that too. Then he looked at me and—” She opened her eyes to catch her breath. “I ran outside and called 911. But I could still hear them. I could hear it in my head. I can still hear it now, the words, the nonsense words, going on and on.” She looked at Holtz again. “That’s why I came here.”
“You’re trying to do an exorcism?” I asked. Holtz was a minister, not a Catholic priest. Still, it wasn’t impossible, despite what the church said. I actually pulled it off once, but I was lucky that time, and I paid a price. I wasn’t eager to try it again.
Holtz grimaced. “I don’t know about that. I’m just trying to provide some spiritual comfort. I'm not sure I believe any of this, but I’ll do what I can.”
“I know it sounds crazy,” Stacey said, tired. “But it’s what I saw. And I can still feel it. Inside me. Around me.”
“I still don’t understand—” Patricia sat down next to her. “I don’t mean this as being critical, honey, I really don’t, I just don’t understand how you got involved with this—this guy in the first place.”
Stacey gave her a sad smile. “Same way as usual, you know? You match with a guy, go out a few times, he’s not so bad, no fireworks but no red flags at first. I kind of just drifted into it. At first things were fine. Then he started watching these videos, on YouTube? Weird stuff. I watched one or two, and they were about Satan and the end times, and we argued about it. I should have left then.”
She rubbed her eyes. “He started that—that talking, but I thought he was just drunk. We weren’t—we never lived together, so I didn’t see him every single day, and when he told me to come to dinner with his mother I was surprised, but it wasn’t completely strange. I’d met them once or twice. They seemed—okay. His mother liked to quote the Bible. His sister looked like she was on drugs, but she was quiet most of the time. But when we got there, they looked—scared. And then, then . . .” She shook her head. “I think I'm going crazy.”
“You’re not.” Patricia put her arms around her. “You’re safe.”
I wished Rachel was here. She could have read Stacey’s aura, or something, and seen whether a demon was trying to get inside her. Or me, for that matter. Plus, I always wish Rachel was nearby. Except when there’s danger.
“I think the only thing to do,” said Holtz, “is to stay here until they catch him again. They have to find him eventually, right? Soon?” He looked at me.
I nodded. “He didn’t strike me as very smart. Or rational. I don’t think he could hide—”
Suddenly Stacey jerked back, shaking. Her mouth dropped open, and she started grunting, like an animal. Her aunt stared at her in shock, and then her eyes rolled back and she started pounding her fists on her legs, babbling incoherently.
I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but nothing came out. My throat seemed to freeze up. I tried to stand, then dropped back into my chair.
Holtz was the only one who didn’t seem affected by whatever was going on. He wasn’t looking at me, though. His eyes were on Patricia, and he looked stunned, confused, as she started to rock back and forth, wailing and moaning. Stacey was writhing next to her, sweat streaming down her face, her lips twisting in words that didn’t look like any language I’d ever heard.
Something crashed in the hallway beyond the living room. Holtz swung around, alarmed. He shouted something, and then a boom ripped the air.
Holtz staggered back, doubled over. Blood streamed down his vest as he stumbled on the edge of a coffee table, and then he went down, gasping and groaning. He bit his lip as his eyes flickered, and then his eyes closed tight.
Kurt was standing there, his handgun clutched in his fist. His eyes twitched and darted around the room, sparkling like fireflies until he found Stacey. If he noticed me or even recognized me, he didn’t focus on me. He just smiled at Stacey, ignoring Patricia, and he started to laugh as he looked at her and licked his lips.
Stacey was staring back at Kurt, trying to fight the shuddering in her body as she twisted and squirmed. Her lips were chanting in a meaningless rhythm, spit dribbling down her chin as she gazed up at him, her eyes trembling in terror.
I was trying to move, but something seemed to be pressing down on my body. My arms and legs were paralyzed, and my throat was closing up. I choked, fighting for air as cloudy darkness descended around me.
My head was pounding, as if something was battering on my skull. Through the roaring in my ears as I struggled to breathe I could hear singing from far away, in ancient words I could almost recognize, words for hell and damnation and torment.
I bit my lip, and tasted blood. I’ve been possessed before, and I knew what it was like, but this was different. Maybe every possession was different, like every demon. But I knew I had to resist. Somehow.
The singing was louder now, closer, pounding at my eardrums, and my body felt as if it were being crushed under a wine press. I bit my lip harder and tried to focus on the pain, just for an instant, just for one moment. I needed something to zero in on, something to hold onto, because if I got lost the demon would take me, and Kurt would kill me after he killed Stacey and her aunt, the way he’d killed Holtz and the man in the apartment and his family, and I’d be dead, and maybe I wouldn’t care by then, but—but—but—
Rachel would be so mad at me—
Rachel.
I clenched my eyes and tried to picture her. She was angry. Furious. Screaming at me. Rachel never screams in real life, she hardly ever raises her voice. When she’s mad, she gets quiet. It’s worse.
But picturing her angry gave me something to focus on. I felt myself leaning into it, letting her anger sting me out of my stupor. The black clouds drifted. I could see light glowing behind them. Then I saw Kurt, laughing, his pistol shaking in his hand. Stacey, her head jerking back and forth as gibberish and saliva poured out of her mouth. Patricia, paralyzed, her eyes frozen in shock.
I gasped suddenly, and for a moment I could breathe and think and move again. Kurt wasn’t watching me. His eyes were on Stacey. His lips were curled in a demonic smile. His arm was shaking as he tried to steady the handgun in his fist, watching Stacey, waiting for something. A message from Hell? An order from the demon inside his own head? Whatever it was, I had to act while I could.
I slide my hand toward the zipper of my jacket, keeping my eyes fixed on Kurt. He was breathing hard, licking his lips, rocking on his legs as he leaned toward Stacey, the handgun pointed at her—
I reached inside my jacket and slipped the Glock from my holster.
Kurt saw me move. He saw my weapon, and his eyes flashed with surprise, but I had my hands together and the safety off, and I remembered to squeeze the trigger when I fired.
The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, and he looked more surprised by the roar of the gunshot than any pain. I fired again, hitting his leg, and he staggered backward. His face was twisted with rage, and he spat toward me as he tried to bring his gun up.
My third shot went straight to the chest, and Kurt toppled to the floor. He let out a long shriek of anger that faded after two or three seconds until he was just whimpering with pain. His arms and legs shuddered, but his gun slipped out of his fingers, and I forced myself to stand up and kick it into a corner.
Patricia had collapsed on the sofa, breathing shallowly. Next to her, Stacey’s voice faded to a whisper before she stopped.
As I watched her, a shadow seemed to rise from the top of her head. It rose up, swirling around like a cloud of dust, and after a moment it burst into a thousand shards that vanished in the air.
“Oh my God.” Stacey leaned forward, holding her head. “What was that? What—” She sat up and saw her aunt lying next to her. “Aunt Patty? Aunt—” Then she saw Kurt on the floor.
“Shit.” She looked at me. “Is he—did you—”
“Yeah.” I took out my phone, wobbling on my feet. “Are you okay?”
“I—I think so.” She shook her head to clear it, and rubbed her throat as if it hurt from all her chanting.
Patricia sat up suddenly, as if startled from deep nap. She looked at Stacey, then me, and then she saw Kurt. She looked back at me again, confused and frightened. “What—what happened? Where’s Sam?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I sat down again. I kept the Glock in my lap, keeping one eye on Kurt. He looked like he was still breathing, but he wasn’t moving. But I’ve seen—and lived—too many horror movies to trust that the monster was going to stay dead. “I have to call—” The police, I thought. Then Stacey’s mother. Then Rachel.
Screw it. I called Rachel first.
Rachel hugged me for a long time, then punched my arm. “Jerk. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I'm fine.” We made our way to the couch, and I sank into it, exhausted.
“You hungry? Want a beer? Whiskey?” She looked me over. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. Beer.” I closed my eyes until she sat down next to me with beer for both of us.
Rachel put a hand on my leg while I drank. “So tell me about it,” she said gently.
I’d already spent five hours telling the cops everything. They discounted all the stuff about demons, of course, but they didn’t need any convincing that Kurt Reedling was a murderer and I’d shot him in self-defense. They kept my gun, of course, but told me I’d get it back in a few days.
Jane Benedict had driven up to the local police station for her daughter, and thanked me over and over again, in between apologies for almost getting me killed. Again.
I didn’t see Aunt Patricia. She’d collapsed in shock before the police and paramedics showed up. Stacey’s mom promised to call me with an update.
When I finished Rachel brought me another beer. “Now tell me how you’re really doing.”
I sighed. “I didn’t have a choice. He killed Sam Holtz. He was right in front of me. He killed that guy in the apartment. He was going to kill all of us. So I had to do it. Right now? I just feel—numb.”
“That will probably change,” Rachel told me quietly.
“I know. Flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks.” I sighed and sipped my beer. “Right now, I'm just glad to be home.”
“I'm glad he’s—” She squeezed my arm. “I probably shouldn’t say dead, but I'm glad you shot him. And that you’re home.”
“Yeah.” We sat back and held each other for a long time.
“How did you fight it?” she asked after a while. “The demon?”
I closed my eyes. “You,” I told her. “I pictured you. Yelling at me.”
Rachel laughed and punched my arm gently. “Good. For that I’ll make you dinner.”
I smiled. “Good to be home.”
# # #
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