Demon at My Door (22 page)

The staff must not notice us because no one stops us as we walk past the patient rooms. They have no clue we are here to murder one of their patients. 

Rick leads me down the long corridor containing the patient rooms and finally stops at 214.

He turns to me, and says, “Just follow my lead, do exactly what I tell you, and this will go very smooth. You’ve seen enough of these to know how this works, right?”

I nod stiffly while my heart thumps hard against my ribs. Just because I’ve seen a ton of soul collections doesn’t mean that I’m ready to actually participate in one. 

Rick gives his hands one solitary clap. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a nurse frozen in mid step as she pushes her big green medicine cart. Turning my head to get a full view of the hallway, I see all the people on this floor appear to be standing statues, stuck in the moment Rick clapped his hands. Time’s frozen. Just like when my mom was dying. Just like the first time I met Rick and all the other times he’s collected a soul near me. A ragged breath fills my lungs and I freeze, too. Not because of Rick, but because I can’t will my body forward. 

“Come on.” Rick takes my hand and opens the door. “This will be over before you know it.”

The evening sun shines through the large double pained window and illuminates room 214. The strong stench of urine fills the room and I pinch my nose shut and breathe through my mouth. 

I gaze upon a sleeping old man in the hospital bed before me. His silver hair is thinning on the top and only a few strands still remain, covering his scalp. Age spots cover his forearms and hands. The long plastic hoses hooked to the opening in his neck fog up with each rhythmic breath the ventilator pumps into his lungs. The multitude of tubes attached to his right arm flow with an array of clear liquids. 

“Who is he?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the man we are here to kill. 

“His name is Floyd Jackson,” Rick answers.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, but that doesn’t make this any easier. My eyes search around for a chart or something. “How do you know that?”

Rick looks at me. “Part of the job perks. It’s like developing a sixth sense. We can tell a lot about a dying human just by being close to them.”

I watch the man’s chest rise and fall. “You mean, you can tell who people are just by looking at them?”

He nods. “Along with what sins they’ve committed.”

Running my fingers through my hair, I stare at the old man I’ve been sent here to condemn. I knew this would be hard, but looking at him now, in the flesh, I’m not sure I can go through with it. 

What if this man has a wife, and kids, or could be the grandpa of someone I know? 

My arms snake in front of me, creating a cross like barrier. “I don’t know about this, Rick. It feels wrong. I can’t just kill him.”

“The first one is always the hardest. Besides, this is an easy one. This man has murdered eleven children and doesn’t feel a drop of remorse for his actions. The world will be a better place once he’s taken out of circulation. He won’t be able to be reborn and commit more heinous acts against innocent kids ever again.”

I gnaw on my chapped lips hard and soon taste a slight hint of metallic. 

“Kids?” I whisper.

Rick nods and holds out his hand. “Let me show you.”

My arms stays crossed in front of me. “Show me? I don’t want to see him kill people,” I say. 

“You have to know what he’s done so you can make the deal with him. You have to learn his weakness to get him to agree.”

Tears well-up in my eyes. How could this feeble man kill so many kids? He doesn’t look like a killer or a pedophile. He reminds me of the rich old guys that hang around the country club. My whole body trembles, and I feel the sudden urge to bolt from the room. Run away and never look back.  

Rick pulls my hand down and threads his warm fingers through mine. “It’s going to be alright. Trust me.” He gives my hand a little squeeze. “Close your eyes.”

Reluctantly, I shut my eyelids. My palm starts to burn as my bones begin to hum. Electricity passes from Rick’s skin into mine. My insides quiver as an image of a little girl flash in my brain. She’s wearing a pink sundress with matching shoes and her hair in two perfect brown pigtails. Her jump rope swings in perfect time while she sings. The girl can’t be older than seven. My breath catches as I see a man I recognize as a younger version of the old man from the hospital stalking the child. Panic fills me as I watch him creep up behind her.

The jump rope smacks the sidewalk once more before he grabs her from behind. His massive hand covers her face and muffles her screams. Her green eyes are wide and terrified. 

The homicidal maniac drags the little kicking body into his white van that’s parked along the street corner. He jumps inside the van with the girl in his arms and then slams the door shut. Inside, the windows are covered over with cardboard boxes and the tools he uses to help him with this crime are strung around the floor. 

The girl bites his hand, and the man grunts in pain. 

“You little bitch,” he says before he punches her in the face. 

Her body goes limp, and he lays her on the van’s floor. He grabs the roll of duct tape and rips off several strips. His large hand smacks one piece over the girl’s tiny mouth and then bounds her arms together. He reaches under her sundress, and my stomach lurches.

“No more!” I shout. “I can’t watch this.”

Rick grips my shoulder and the vision morphs into a series of flashing pictures. I see the faces of several different little girls. They are all screaming and crying. 

My nerves scramble under my skin. 

Rick’s right. If anybody deserves a lifetime of hellish punishment, it’d be this guy. This man, Floyd Jackson, has never been caught. The girls’ faces sting my vision and I think about all of the innocent lives he’s taken. All of the families he’s ruined and my blood runs cold. 

Hate courses through my veins. No longer do I feel any remorse for taking this man’s life. I want to hurt him—punish him. I want him to feel scared and weak, just like he made those kids feel. 

My fists ball at my sides. I can do this and I will. 

"What do I have to do?” I whisper as I open my eyes and glare at my victim.

Rick nods--his eyes hard. I can tell he feels like I do, that this dirty old man deserves to go to hell. “This one’s easy. He’s in a coma, but he’ll be able to hear and respond. The dying can always communicate with us when we’ve come to make the deal.” He extends his hand, like an open invitation to move close. “All you have to do is whisper in his ear. Tell him what he needs to hear if you must. We are not above lying to get what we want. Convince him what he’s done deserves punishment. Make him say yes, so we can make him pay.”

A chill runs down my spine. I focus on his large hand. The same hand I saw cover that little girl’s mouth, and I begin to tremble.

“It’s okay. I’ll walk you through it,” Rick coaches while he stands right behind me. I feel his hand on my shoulder, and I nod.

Kneeling beside the old man’s bed, I grasp the bedrails for support as my frame wobbles. I strain my neck and look at Rick for direction. He smiles and stoops down beside me.  

I frown. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Lie to him. Tell him that you know about the kids, and you’re here to make all the pain go away—to help him. The secret is too big to handle alone and all he has to do is give you his soul, and it will all go away.”

Make this sicko’s pain go away? What about the pain he’s caused all the kids and their families? No. He needs to feel pain. He needs to suffer for what he did. 

Crouching there in silence, I debate on what to do. I can’t let him get away with murdering the innocent—I just can’t. 

Anger flows through ever cell in my body. Leaning in close to the old man’s hair covered ear, I whisper, “Floyd Jackson, I know about the children, you sadistic fuck. I can help you with your secret. Just promise to give me your soul, and I will make it all go away. You won’t have to carry the pain alone anymore. But first, you need to pay for what you’ve done. Don’t you agree?”

The old man nods his head. 

My hands shake, and I grab the bed’s railing so tight my knuckles turn white.  That was easier than I thought. I never thought the old man would agree so easily. I never thought I would be that excited about taking someone’s life, especially killing someone so that I can live. 

The entire ride over here I didn’t think I could do it. I’m not a killer, but condemning this man to death came so easy to me. It was almost fun in a sick twisted way that I was able to avenge all of those little girl’s deaths. I’m riding the world of evil, kind of like a superhero. No doubts enter my mind that I’m doing the wrong thing.

Rick wears a crooked grin as he gives me an encouraging nod. “Perfect. I told you the soul will call to you. Your soul kicked in and guided you through the bargain process like a pro.”

I swallow hard. My soul guided me to be cruel? Does that make me evil too, like Rick and Stew? I look upon Floyd Jackson’s face and I wonder if I need to shake his hand to seal the deal. “Do I have to collect him, too?”

“No. You’re not ready for that yet.” Thank God. My shoulders sag slightly as a little of the tension dissolves. “Back up.”

Gladly resigning my post, I stand, leaving Rick plenty of room to finish up the soul reaping.  

He leans in, and the corners of his lips turn up while he whispers, like he’s enjoying a private joke. The old man nods, and mouths the word yes with crusty, cracked lips while Rick stands and shakes his hand.

My hand burns the moment they connect, but this time I welcome the pain.  

“What did you tell him?” 

"What he needed to hear.” Rick narrows his eyes at the mechanically breathing ventilator. “Natalie, you need to pull the plug.”

My eyes widen and I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”

Rick’s voice softens. “You have too. You have to be part of his death in order for it to count.” 

Cold overtakes my hands, and they start to sweat. I look at the frail man in the bed in front me. In order for me to live, he has to die. 

Rick’s hand gives my right shoulder a little squeeze. “You can do this. Don’t think about it too much. Just detach one of the hoses.”

There’s a pounding in my head from the constant beat of my heart. I take a deep breath and fixate my gaze on my target. The old man closes his eyes and waits on the inevitable as I make my way toward him. 

The numbers on the vent flicker with the rhythmic beat of his mechanical breaths. My hand shakes as I reach for the hose attached to the old man’s neck. The hoses tugs free with ease, exposing the open trachea hole in his neck. The air whooshes from the exposed tubing as the machine continues to breathe. The man’s eyes pop open after about a minute without air. Quick gasps of air spew from the little plastic spout as he struggles to breathe. His skin goes from pale to blue, and his hands clutch the blanket on the bed but he doesn’t attempt to reconnect the hose I lay at his side. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he stops breathing, and everything goes still.  

My mouth hangs open. I basically murdered his man so that I could collect his soul. I stare at the dead man in front of me, and I feel numb. 

What have I done?

Rick reaches in his pocket and pulls out the black, glass vial. The cap twists off with ease under his fingers. My heart thumps against my ribs and I close my eyes. I’ve seen this enough to know what comes next. The familiar demonic chant streams from Rick’s mouth. 

I look at Rick. White light pours from his eyes as he stays transfixed on the old man in the bed. The soul whooshes through the opening in the man’s neck and then hovers above the lifeless body. 

Rick chants some more, and the soul morphs into a ball. It floats in the air until it grows still over the opening of the vial and then slams down into it. Rick caps the soul, and his eyes immediately stop glowing.  

Guilt gnaws at the pit of my stomach. That could’ve been me. My soul sealed up in Rick’s pocket. I don’t know whether this new deal is a blessing or a curse.    

“We have to go,” Rick says, giving my arm a little tug. “I can’t stop time forever.” 

I don’t budge. I can’t believe I actually went through with it. I helped Rick kill another human being, and I have to repeat this two more times to save my own skin. 

Bile rises in my throat. I’m becoming a monster just like him, something I swore I’d never do.

Rick tugs my arm again. This time I follow him while I fight back the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Once in the hallway, Rick claps his hands one time and everything restarts. The chaos of the daily hospital routines continue around us. No one has any idea I just helped kill the man in room 214. 

The alarms from the room behind me start going off and the nurses look in our direction. 

“Come on,” Rick urges. “Let’s go.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and leads me down the hall. I begin to shudder as we step into the elevator—the emotion of the situation hitting me hard. A tall brunette woman enters with us and stands about one foot from me in the tiny enclosed space. Her face softens as she peers at me over her wire framed glasses, and she gives me a half smile. The kind you get when people feel sorry for you. She kind of reminds me of a younger version of Mom—very professional in her beige suit with her hair tied back. 

“Are you cold?” Rick rubs the goose bumps on the bare skin of my arm. He looks at the lady in the elevator with us. “Why do they always keep these places freezing?”

The woman chuckles at Rick’s attempt to play off my unshakable shivers. “I’ve always wondered that, too—probably something to do with germs.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open on the second floor. The lady steps out the door and then waves her arm. “Hey, Derek.”

Dad? I shove my arms in the path of the elevator door to keep it open.

“What are you doing?” Rick asks. “We need to get out of here.”

I don’t answer him. Instead I step into the white hallway. I haven’t seen Dad for more than an hour in the past few weeks. He’s practically been living here at the hospital. My eyes spot him immediately. He leans against the wall of the reception area, his elbow resting on the flat surface of the chest high wall. Dad chats with the brunette woman from the elevator, wearing an easy smile, completely unaware I am merely ten feet away from him. He laughs as she touches his arm, and he pushes a lock of hair away from her face.