Demonic, page 9
“I said, all right.”
“We should get back to the bedroom. We don’t know what he’s doing in there.”
Quinn frowned. “Aw, shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed behind me. I turned around. Through the window at the top of the front door, I could see red and blue flashing lights.
I hurried over to the door, hoping that the flashing lights had nothing to do with us. Perhaps the cops were merely driving by, or maybe a neighbor had just turned on their Christmas lights, even though it was the middle of March.
As I peeked through the window, I saw a pair of police officers walking toward Quinn’s front door.
Chapter Eleven
I backed away from the door.
“What do you think they want?” Quinn asked.
“Well, Vic screamed a lot while I was chopping him up. They could also be responding to the gunshots from before.”
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Let’s just ignore them,” Quinn whispered. “Pretend we’re not home.”
“There are two cars in the driveway.”
“Do you think they’ll break down the door?”
“They might.”
“This is the police,” said a man on the other side of the door. “Open up immediately.”
“One of us needs to do it,” I said.
“It’s my house. I’ll do it. You watch Herschell.”
I nodded and hurried back into the bedroom. Herschell, appropriately for a guy who hadn’t bothered to mention to his wife that he knew she was having an affair, was still sitting on the bed and did not appear to have made any effort to improve his situation.
“Show me your hands,” I whispered.
He held up his open hands, palms out.
“Thanks.”
I heard the front door open and then close again.
“Is that the police?” Herschell asked, keeping his voice low.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think she’ll be able to send them away?”
“I hope so.”
“What if she can’t?”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“Is her husband already dead?”
“No.”
“You were right. She wanted to kill me pretty quick.”
“Well, we weren’t happy when you showed up,” I said. “Things were bad enough already.”
“I get that. But she’s insane. You can see it in her eyes.”
“She’s not insane. She’s desperate. We both are.”
“That’s not how I see it,” said Herschell. “When I look at you, I see a reasonable person trying to figure out an impossible situation. When I look at her, I see a crazy lady. By the way, who exactly are you?”
“What?”
“Who are you? Why are you here? Are you her boyfriend?”
“No. I’m just a friend.”
“Friend with benefits?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m just trying to put the pieces together. Trying to help. Do you think she’s going to be able to make the cops go away?”
“I already said that I don’t know.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“It’s not telling me anything,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of experience with cops showing up at my place.”
“Neither do I. But they’re going to want to come inside and take a look.”
“Then they’ll need a search warrant.”
“Will they?” Herschell asked, raising an eyebrow.
Would they? If a neighbor had reported somebody screaming bloody murder, wouldn’t the cops have probable cause to come inside to investigate? Shit.
Herschell seemed to notice the doubt on my face. “What happens if the cops walk through that door?”
“Nothing good.”
“What are they going to see?”
“A mess.”
“A mess that she can explain to their satisfaction?”
“Stop talking,” I said.
“I asked you a question. Will the cops see a mess that she can explain to their satisfaction?”
I pointed the gun at his face. “I told you to stop talking.”
“Are you going to shoot me with the police right outside?”
Of course I wasn’t. But I wouldn’t have expected this cuckold to call me out on it.
“Here’s my concern,” said Herschell. “My concern is that she’s going to have no choice but to let the cops inside, and they’re going to see something really bad. And then she’s going to want you to kill the cops.”
“I’m not going to kill anybody.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“She can’t make me do anything.”
“Of course not. I’m sure you haven’t done anything today that you didn’t intend to do.”
“What the hell are you?” I asked. “Some kind of mind reader?”
Herschell shook his head. “I’m observant. She says she’s the one who smashed a lamp over her husband’s head, but when those cops come through the front door, it’s going to be very much your problem.”
“Well, thank you for that observation. That’s very helpful.”
“At my job, I tell my employees that they can’t complain about something unless they also propose a solution. Here’s my solution: This place has a back door, right? Let’s leave. Let’s go now. Sneak out the back so that we’re not here when things go sideways, which is going to happen any second.”
Just to be clear, my masculinity wasn’t threatened by this little speech. Quinn couldn’t make me shoot a couple of cops. But Herschell made a very good point. If she wasn’t able to stop the police from taking a look inside the house, it would be much better for me to be someplace else.
It would be a total dick move.
Still, at some point self-preservation had to kick in.
“Let’s go,” I told him.
Herschell and I emerged from the bedroom. He glanced over in the exact wrong direction—I’d stupidly failed to order him to look only to the right—and slapped his hand over his mouth.
I could hear raised voices on the other side of the front door.
“Go,” I told Herschell, prodding him with the barrel of the gun. “Into the kitchen.”
We quickly but quietly went through the kitchen. Herschell opened the door to the garage. I felt like a piece of absolute crap abandoning Quinn like this, but she was the one who let her husband commit all of those murders. I had nothing to feel guilty about, right? Right?
We walked into the garage and hurried over to the back door.
“Damn it,” said Herschell, looking at the door to the kitchen.
“What?”
“I think the front door just opened.”
I looked back. Suddenly something bashed into my head. My legs buckled beneath me, and I fell. Herschell dropped the toolbox he’d struck me with. He made a quick grab for my gun, but I managed to keep it away from him despite my blurred vision and inability to quite process what had just happened. Then, presumably guessing (correctly) that I wasn’t actually going to shoot him, he ran out the back door, closing it behind him.
“Help!” he shouted. “Somebody help me! Police!”
I reached up for the edge of the wooden table and pulled myself up. My legs buckled again. So I couldn’t run, and the cops now knew somebody was fleeing through the backyard.
I shoved the gun back into my inside jacket pocket, then I staggered back into the kitchen.
My best bet now was to go with full honesty. Yes, I’d chopped a man’s arms and legs off, but he was the Toledo Trasher. And he was still alive, despite losing so much blood. As long as he didn’t pull a Michigan J. Frog routine and pretend to be dead, maybe Quinn and I could distract the authorities with the miracle of the psychopath who couldn’t be killed.
I walked into the hallway, bracing myself against the wall.
The front door burst open.
The two cops both had their guns drawn. Both of their faces registered immediate horror at the gruesome sight that greeted them, but unfortunately they didn’t scream, drop their guns, and run away.
They didn’t take the opportunity to politely introduce themselves. However, instead of calling them Cop #1 and Cop #2, I’m going to pretend I already knew their names, and call them Officer Penter and Officer Tichy.
“Show me your hands!” Penter shouted at me. He was a big guy—not as big as Vic, but close—with a lustrous mane of red hair that you didn’t often see in law enforcement.
I held up my hands to show that I wasn’t carrying a weapon.
“Put your hands on your head! Now!”
I did exactly what I was told as Tichy entered the hallway. He had the look of somebody who hated his job even when it didn’t involve entering a house of horrors.
“On your knees!” Penter told me.
I got down on my knees.
“Is that him?” Tichy asked Quinn, gesturing to me.
She nodded.
“Hands behind you!” Penter shouted at me.
I removed my hands from my head and held them behind me. Penter wrapped one of those plastic zip-ties around them, pulling them so tight that I winced.
Tichy entered the hallway. He kept his gun raised as he walked past Vic’s torso. Credit where it was due—he did a remarkable job of focusing on the task to be done instead of the dismembered body and the neatly stacked pile of arms and legs.
“If anybody else is in the house, come out now!” he called out, as he continued walking down the hallway.
“I wasn’t—” I started to say.
“You shut up!” Penter told me. “Don’t say a word!”
He kept the gun pointed at me. Quinn, still standing on the front porch, looked like she wanted to make a run for it, but she also looked like she knew that would be a really stupid idea.
Penter touched a button on an earpiece he was wearing. “Suspect has been restrained. Where’s that backup?” he demanded.
I stayed as motionless as possible for about a minute. Tichy walked past me again. “It’s clear,” he told his partner.
“On your feet,” Penter told me. “Now!”
I stood up. Penter, not being gentle, slammed his hand against the back of my neck and led me toward the front door.
He walked me past Quinn, who avoided eye contact.
Another police car, lights flashing, turned onto the street, followed immediately by a second one. They both pulled up in front of Quinn’s house.
“Help me...”
Penter frowned. “Who said that?”
“Help me, please...”
Penter and I both turned around. Vic’s good eye was wide open.
“Don’t let me die...”
“Oh my God, he’s alive!” Penter shoved me back down to the floor, then hurried over to Vic. “How is this even possible?”
The doors opened on the newly arrived police cars, and four new cops got out. Again, I didn’t know their names at the time, but they were Green, Highley, Dalton, and Rudd.
I could make a run for it, but I’d be lucky to make it off the front porch.
“What the fuck?” Penter shouted.
I looked back again. Vic’s eyes were glowing. The eye that Quinn had punctured with her fingernail wasn’t glowing as brightly, but both of them were glowing red.
“Get out of here,” Vic snarled, his voice taking on that demonic quality again. “Leave my home or I’ll take you with me straight to Hell.”
Penter frantically pointed his gun at Vic. He turned to Tichy. “Did you see that?”
Tichy nodded. “Is this a joke? Is this a publicity stunt for a haunted house or something?”
“I told you to leave my home!”
I glanced back at the other four cops, who had their guns drawn and were rapidly approaching the house. Dalton and Rudd split off and went around each side, while Green and Highley ran up onto the porch.
“They’re in there!” Quinn called out to them, motioning to the front door.
I decided that the best thing I could do for myself right now was to simply let everything play out.
Penter knelt down in front of Vic, looking at him very carefully.
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t just let things play out.
“Don’t get too close,” I told Penter. “He’s a demon.”
“You shut up!” Penter said.
“Take a look at this burn on my arm.” My arms were bound behind my back, and Penter couldn’t see them, but I’d turn around upon request. “He did that. I don’t know exactly what he’s capable of, but I know you don’t want to get too close.”
Penter looked at me, looked at Vic, and then scooted away from the torso.
Vic grinned. “I guess none of you care about your souls. Satan is going to have a delicious feast when you greet him.”
“Seriously, what the hell is that thing?” asked Highley. He had a scar on his chin that was exactly where Harrison Ford had one, making me wonder if it was coincidence or self-inflicted.
“Everybody calm down!” Penter shouted. He pointed to me. “Somebody get him out of here. Put him in the back of a car. The woman, too.”
I was happy with that idea. I’d much rather be in the back of a police car, on my way to the station for questioning, than in this house right now.
“They stay,” said Vic. “Both of them.”
“Throw a blanket or something over that thing,” said Penter. “We’ll get this sorted out.”
“He said it was a demon,” said Highley.
“It’s not a demon. This is somebody pulling a prank. And it’s not going to be so funny when they go to prison for it. Did I or did I not ask for a blanket?”
Green gave me a shove toward the door. I obligingly walked out of the house.
“You too,” Green told Quinn. “Don’t make me restrain you. Walk in front of us.”
Quinn walked off the front porch. Green and I followed.
“The one on the right,” he said. We walked over to the police car, which still had its lights flashing.
Behind the house, a man screamed.
Everybody turned to look. Highley, who was still on the porch, asked, “Was that Dalton?”
The man screamed again. It was a scream that conveyed an incredible amount of pain—until it was abruptly cut off.
Rudd, the other cop who’d run around the side of the house, reappeared. He staggered across the lawn, no longer wearing his jacket, his uniform drenched with blood. Both of his ears were missing, like they’d been torn off, not neatly severed. He pitched forward, landing face-first on the grass. Most of the back of his shirt had been torn away. Much of his spinal column was visible.
I desperately wanted to be in the back seat of a nice safe police car right about now.
Chapter Twelve
Officer Highley ran off the porch and hurried over to his fallen partner. He shouted into his mic: “Officer down! I repeat, officer down! At least one, possibly two!” Penter emerged from the house a moment later.
Instead of opening the back door to the police car and shoving Quinn and I inside, which was our desired course of action right now, Green pointed his gun at Highley. No, wait, not at Highley—past him.
A man was walking through Quinn’s side yard. Strolling, actually, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He wore a dark blue jumpsuit with bloodstains on the front. He also wore a plastic devil mask with a bright red face, mustache and goatee, horns, and a menacing grin.
He carried a sickle with a wooden handle. The blade was red, with scraps of flesh dangling from it.
“Put down your weapon!” Green shouted.
The man stopped walking but did not drop his sickle.
Green moved away from us, toward the man. “Drop it now!”
“It’s okay,” said the man. “It’s all good. I’m not here to hurt anybody.”
“I told you to drop your weapon!” Green shouted.
The man resumed walking forward. “No need for the guns. We’re all friends here.”
Highley stood up and also pointed his gun at the man. “This is not a joke! We will take you down!”
“Why act like that?” asked the man. “We’re all trying to have a good time here. Just take a deep breath and chill out. Think of your blood pressure.”
“You’ve been warned!” Green shouted. “This is your last chance!”
“You can’t shoot me,” said the man. “I’m a taxpayer.”
He kept walking. Highley shot him in the chest.
Despite what Quinn and I had experienced today, we both flinched, and Quinn let out a sharp scream.
The man cried out in pain. “Dammit! Do you know how bad that hurts? Would you like to get shot sometime and see how it feels? Son of a bitch!” He touched the wound. “The bullet’s lodged in there. I’m gonna have to dig it out with a frickin’ pair of salad tongs.”
“Down on your knees!” Highley shouted.
“Screw that. No judgment if that’s what you’re into, but you won’t be getting any of that from me.”
He stumbled a bit, then resumed walking toward Highley.
“Hey!” a woman called out. She was fashionably dressed in a black leather jacket. She also wore a devil mask, although this was an over-the-head rubber mask instead of a cheap plastic one. She held a pitchfork. Surprisingly, it did not have a severed head skewered on it.
Highley was distracted for a moment. Only a moment, but the man raised his sickle and ran at him.
Highley shot him in the leg. The man cried out and fell to the ground.
The woman looked over at her fallen comrade. Though her face was completely covered, I got the sense from the way she moved her head that she was rolling her eyes.
She walked over to him and nudged him with her foot.
“You!” Highley shouted at her. “On the ground!”
The woman kicked the fallen guy gently and said something to him that I couldn’t hear. She reached down. The man nodded, took her hand, and let her help him up.
“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you have been warned!” Highley adjusted his aim a bit, so I assume he was pointing his gun at the woman now. “We will use lethal force! I am not—”
