Evil in Me, page 14
The ring had returned to its demon form, a spider with an eye. Josh shuddered, trying to push away the awful memories of the thing scuttling through the snow, racing away from his brother’s brutally murdered body.
He caught a spark, a slight glow like a hot ember in the eye, and quickly twisted open the chalice lid.
The spark flared and the eye fixed on him. A song, Josh heard a song then his vision blurred. He found himself wanting, needing sleep, suddenly it was all he desired.
“Wizard!” Ruby cried in that other voice. “The blood, now!” Someone was shaking him. It was Ruby, or was it?
Mr. Rosenfeld blinked, shook his head, then quickly grabbed a pinch of the powder, dashed it on the ring. There came a distant wail, then silence—beautiful, blissful silence.
The spider slowly turned back into a ring.
“God save us,” Josh whispered, and rubbed more of the powder onto the ring, watching as it simmered, then turned to a hard waxy film.
“Is that really blood?” Ruby asked.
Mr. Rosenfeld nodded. “Ancient, dried angel blood. At least that’s what Reuben, my brother, told me.” Josh took a pinch of the powder and dabbed it on his tongue. Felt it flow through him, awakening his mind. He’d used it several times in the past to keep his thoughts clear. Only, the effects would lapse and he’d forget to use it. But when Ruby found the ring, that had certainly jolted his sorry old brain into gear. He remembered the blood then, dousing the ring and making sure to take a dab himself, several dabs, perhaps more than he should, but he needed to stay sharp.
Ruby collapsed back in the seat, taking long, slow, deep breaths.
“Did it work?” Josh asked, looking into her terrified eyes, the fear he saw breaking his heart. “Oh, Ruby, dear. Does it still have you? The demon?”
“I am still here,” the other voice said. “If that is what you mean. But I am no—”
“God, stop doing that!” Ruby cried. “Josh, get him out of my head. Please! He’s driving me nuts.” Ruby began to mumble, like she had a mouthful of bumble bees. Mr. Rosenfeld could see she was wrestling with the demon, that they were both trying to speak at the same time.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Go ahead. Talk, talk all you want. I’ll just sit here in my own head and pretend I’m not here. Should be a fucking good time.”
Ruby’s voice changed. “Wizard, I am Beel. I am a sheid.”
“Sheid?” Mr. Rosenfeld shrugged. “Don’t know what that means.” And again, he wished he’d listened to his brother more, because the word was familiar.
“It means I am no demon. It means I am a slave. A pawn.”
Just the thing a demon would say, Josh thought.
“It means I want to escape from Ruby. I want to be free, just as she does.”
“Okay, what’s stopping you?”
Beel held up Ruby’s hand. “The ring. It is my shackle. We have to remove the ring.”
“Josh,” It was Ruby this time. “Can you please tell me what’s going on here? Why’s he calling you a wizard?”
“He’s referring to a Baal Shem, and no, I’m not, not really. My brother, he was. Was part of the Guard, a secret sect of Baalei Shem. Think of the mystic side of Judaism, predates even Kabbalah. Geesh, how do I make this simple? They were essentially this group, this cabal, formed up hundreds of years ago to keep demons at bay. To keep relics like that ring out of the wrong hands.”
“Well, they sure did a bang-up job with that. Didn’t they?”
No, not at all, Josh thought. He’d been trying to track down members of the Guard for decades. No trace anywhere. No replies to the dozens of letters he’d sent out to synagogues all around the world. He wondered if his brother had been the last of them. His brother had thought so. For a while Josh tried to find a custodian, someone to take this burden off his hands before it was too late. He’d even tried to get Pam involved, but she never seemed to believe any of it.
“No,” Josh said. “They failed. I failed. Failed you, Ruby. God, there is nothing I can say here to make up for that. All I can tell you is I’m going to do whatever it takes to get that ring off of you. Swear to God I am.”
“But you can do magic. Right? Some kind of spell or trick to get this thing off?”
“I … I’m not sure.”
“Not sure? But, Josh, you said you could. The book. That magic book of yours? You said it was full of spells.”
“It is. Hundreds of them. Just … well, I can’t read them. I mean, I can read some of it. But casting spells isn’t something you want to be guessing at. Be like building a bomb with only half the directions. Could end up exploding in your face.”
“Look, I got a goddamn demon living inside me. You gotta do something!”
“I am not a demon.”
“Hell, you say.”
“Give me the book,” the demon voice said. “Perhaps I can decipher the spells.”
“Don’t you dare give him that book! No telling what he’ll do to us!”
“Hold up,” Mr. Rosenfeld said. “Both of you. You’re getting ahead of me. I didn’t say I wouldn’t try. Just I need help. That’s all. Help is in Atlanta. Ruby, dear, are you okay? I mean, okay enough to drive us there? If I try, I’ll just get us all killed. You think you’re up for it?”
“Yeah … I think so. I mean, I can if this fucker in my head will back off.”
“I will do whatever is needed of me.”
“Mighty fucking generous of you,” Ruby snapped.
Josh and Ruby traded places and Ruby drove them out of town.
* * *
It’s me, Richard.
I was dreaming, and in the dream I stood in a forest of tall pines, the air smelling of sap and pine straw. The air changed and the birdcalls and insect chirps began to fade, slowly replaced by a soft song. It drifted lightly along the summer breeze like smoke. It moved closer, vibrating through the soles of my bare feet. A girl, no, a young woman, emerged from the shadows. She walked purposely toward me. Her long red hair and white summer dress flowing, floating about her as though she were underwater. The song came from her, but her lips weren’t moving. Closer, closer, she walked until she was upon me.
I wanted her, wanted her more than anything in my life.
I opened my arms to embrace her, to capture her, but she walked through me, dissipating into tendrils of crimson smoke, leaving behind only her song.
“No,” I cried. “Come back!”
I sat up, blinked, trying to understand where I was. I squinted into a slit of sunlight pushing through heavy curtains and realized I was in the small bunk, in the back of my van. It was an older model, as generic as I could find those days, at least on the outside, being a light blueish-gray, the color of the road. And just old enough that the paint was starting to lose its luster, the kind of vehicle that blended in. From the outside it appeared to be a commercial van, but the inside, that was different. I’d customized it to be as livable as possible, putting in a rollaway bed, a single burner stove, sink, toilet, pretty much everything but a shower. When it came time to shower, I’d just pull into any nearby RV campsite and use theirs. But there were a couple of bits different from most custom camper vans; for one, no carpet—too hard to get blood out of. I’d opted for linoleum instead, the kind you could scrub with bleach over and over again. Also, clamp ties, four of them built into the walls; they were for securing things, specifically young women.
But I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I was thinking about the dream, how real it had felt, how I thought I could still hear the song, her song, echoing about in my mind. I sat there a full minute, turning my head this way and that, waiting for it to dissipate, but it didn’t; instead it grew louder.
I slid out of bed and pulled on my pants, stooping so as not to hit my head on the roof as I peered out from behind the curtains. I was parked on the backside of a highway rest stop just outside of Atlanta. I’d pulled in for a quick nap, but must’ve been asleep for a while—murder will certainly tucker you out. There were only a handful of other vehicles in the lot.
I tugged open the sliding side door and got out, the song growing slightly louder. A few folks were coming and going from the bathrooms and it dawned on me someone must be carrying a boom box or radio. Only … only, not sure how any device could make such a sound. I mean I could feel it in the air, a slight vibration, beckoning me. It was coming from the restrooms, so I pushed my fingers through my thinning hair in a half effort to look tidy and headed up the walkway. The sound grew in intensity as I went, filling me with, what? Longing, desire? More of a hunger. Yes, but for what?
I stopped. A young woman stood in front of a row of vending machines, her back to me.
It’s her! I thought. Oh, dear God, it’s her! She wasn’t wearing a white sundress, but her hair was the same, and the song, I swear it was shimmering around her like an aura.
There were three young boys and their mother in front the woman. The boys in a highly animated discussion over which treats to buy. The woman waited behind them for her turn. I slid up, just to her side so that I could catch a glimpse of her profile, and gasped. I tell you it was indeed her, the woman from my dream. But how?
My fingers twitched as I fought the compulsion to grab her and steal her away. I took a step closer, closer than I should’ve. I couldn’t help it. But she didn’t notice, hardly seemed to even notice the boys, her eyes staring off at nothing, her face slack, lips moving ever so slightly, as though talking to someone only she could see. It was weird, but then everything in that moment was weird. And the song, that beautiful, terrible song. Jesus, it was in my head, making my whole body throb. My eyes locked on her slim, graceful neck, her soft pale flesh. My hands ached to clutch her throat, to feel her racing pulse as I strangled the life from her.
No, I wanted more, I wanted to … to what? My mouth filled with saliva and I realized I wanted, needed, to taste her, to bite and chew her flesh, to literally eat her alive. How crazy is that? My jaw clenched so tight my teeth began to hurt, and I think I would’ve attacked her then and there had the mother not turned around.
“Sorry about them,” she said, nodding to her kids. “You ever see anyone get this excited over a damn vending machine? Lord, what I’d do to get that excited about anything these days.”
I turned away, acting as though I was looking for someone, not wanting them to see my face, not in the state I was in.
“Why don’t you go on ahead,” the mom said to the woman. “Looks like we’re gonna be here a bit.”
The young woman stepped up, put a few coins in the machine, bought a MoonPie and two bottles of pop, then headed off. I just stood there like a half-wit, watching her go. The song, the intensity of it, was overwhelming, and she made it to the parking lot before I realized she was getting away.
I started after her.
Plan? I had no plan. My mind screamed at me to just grab her and toss her in the back of my van. I walked faster, quickly closing the distance. There was middle-aged woman walking her poodle and some guy sleeping in a Corolla, but at that point, in that moment, I didn’t care who saw me. I had to have her. I would have her.
“Ruby, dear” someone called. There, an elderly man, sitting in the passenger seat of a black Cadillac. I hadn’t even noticed him. He opened the door and got out, holding a map.
She walked up to him and handed him one of the bottles of pop. He traced a finger along the map, seemed to be discussing the route.
I stopped. What was I doing? Can’t just snatch someone in broad daylight. But the song, it told me otherwise. I knew I could flatten the old man with one punch. And the woman? Ruby, was it? She wasn’t much of anything. I felt sure I could wrestle her in the back of the van before anyone knew what was happening.
And then what?
Then I’d drive her down the nearest dirt road and bite and chew and eat her flesh until my stomach was so bloated, I couldn’t eat any more. I’d suck and lick, and drink her blood, until her heart ceased to beat. And then … and then … then I wouldn’t care, because I’d be satiated, full up, done, finished, happy … happy as a clam in butter sauce.
There came a horn blast. A large passenger van was behind me; a grim-faced woman waving at me to get out of the way. I realized I was standing in the middle of the road. I stepped aside and she pulled into the nearest parking spot. The side of the van read RIVERSIDE BIBLE RANCH and was loaded with kids. The side door slid open and they began jumping out, hollering and cutting up.
I glanced back toward Ruby and the old man; they were getting into the Cadillac. I started forward when all the sudden a woman, the one who had been driving the church van, was in front of me—a middle-aged lady about as big around as she was tall.
“Sorry for tootin’ at you, mister,” she said, then squinted at me. “Hey, you alright?”
I pushed past her, rushing for the Cadillac, then stopped. “No, no this won’t work. Have I lost my mind?” And the answer was, yes.
The Cadillac started up.
“Aww heck, they’re gonna get away!”
I dashed to my van, jumping into the driver’s seat, but my keys—they weren’t in my pockets. No, they were in the back, near the bed. I scrambled for them, got tangled in the seat belt, stumbled into the side of the mini fridge. I let out a cry, snatched up the keys, and jumped back into the driver’s seat, cranked it up, and pulled out.
“Where are you?” I cried, scanning the parking lot. “Where did you go?” There was of course only one place they could’ve gone—back on the highway. I punched the gas, almost clipping the Corolla as I sped out of the rest area.
I shot onto the highway and they were nowhere to be seen. I floored it, then eased up, because it was at that moment I realized that even though I couldn’t see Ruby, I could still hear her song and it was telling me that they were just ahead. And sure enough, a moment later I caught sight of the black Cadillac about a half mile up.
I fell in a few vehicles behind them and followed. It appeared they were heading to Atlanta too, but it didn’t matter where they were going, even to the ends of the earth, because the song, the song promised me her sweet flesh and blood.
“I’ll follow you anywhere,” I said, and clacked my teeth together.
* * *
Ruby drove the Cadillac up a long driveway, stopping in front of a beautiful old Victorian home, modest compared to some on the street, but still elegant with its delicate gingerbread trim and tall stately windows. Unlike most of the others, this one was in full plumage, painted lavender and haint blue. According to the map, they were in the Grant Park area, just outside of downtown Atlanta.
Ruby cut the engine and they got out. Mr. Rosenfeld hefted his bag off the floorboard and almost fell.
Ruby jumped over. “Here, let me help you with that.”
He yanked it back. “No,” he snapped, then his face softened. “Sorry Ruby, dear. It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s the demon.”
“Of course,” Ruby said, but felt Beel’s anger within her.
They started up the walkway and even though it was dusk, Ruby could still see that the home needed some care—the paint peeling in spots, one of the gutters broken and the ivy running amok, climbing all the way up the redbrick chimney. She also noticed someone peering down at them from the attic window. She blinked and there were two of them, their forms shadowy and dim. “Do you see them, Josh?”
“Huh?” He looked up. “See who?”
“There, in that window. I think they’re children.”
He squinted, adjusting his glasses. “Oh … something’s there. Not sure what.”
You know what they are, Beel said.
She could feel them now, their sadness. Ghosts? Ruby asked from within.
You’re seeing them because I see them. The ring makes the walls between worlds thin. This place has a long history … hardships, betrayals, murder. There are always lost souls in places such as this.
Are they gonna come after me? Like that dead woman?
That woman … she was wicked, most spirits are not. Too often they are just lost or trapped. But the taint attracts them all … makes them curious.
Ruby felt a wave of dread emanating from Beel. Why are you scared then?
The taint, it speaks to evil. It will call so much more than mere spirits. We do not have much time.
Ruby shuddered.
They walked up onto a large porch, could hear music coming from inside. Ruby thought it was Pink Floyd. “You sure we got the right place?”
“It’s the address on the card.” Josh showed her: DR. DAVID GOLD. COLLECTOR AND LANGUAGE EXPERT. SPECIALIZING IN THE FIELD OF ANCIENT HEBREW MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY.
Mr. Rosenfeld started to knock, hesitated, looked at Ruby. “Let me do the talking. Okay? That goes for both of you. We need to ease him into this.”
Ruby nodded and Josh pushed the doorbell.
There came a deep bong and the music turned down, followed by approaching footsteps.
The door opened a crack and someone peeked out.
“Dr. Gold?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Josh Rosenfeld … we’ve talked a few times on—”
The door flew open and a middle-aged man with a short beard stepped out. He grabbed the old man by the hand and shook it. “Mr. Rosenfeld! Wow … what a wonderful surprise!”
Dr. Gold had thick, long gray hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a faded polo shirt and cutoffs, a worn-out pair of loafers on his feet, and an expression of absolute delight on his tan face. “What … whatever are you doing here?”
“Well, we’re … well … it’s complicated. Can we come in?”
“Lord, where are my manners. Yes, yes. Please come on in.”
They followed him into the foyer, then down a short hall into what appeared to be the main living area. The entire house was trimmed in dark woodwork, accented with faded flowery wallpaper, stained and nicked, this patina of age somehow warm and reassuring. The walls were covered in framed photos, paintings, maps, and ancient documents.
