The Devil's Demeanor (13 page)

“Thanks,” Don
said sarcastically.

A minute later,
the boys were sitting at one of the tables, a pen and paper in front of them.

“Who do you
hate the most?” Clark asked.

“Nick,” Don
replied immediately as he wrote down the name.

“Who else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Monica?” Clark
offered.

Don began
writing when he suddenly realized what he was doing. “I don’t hate Monica; she
didn’t do anything to me.”

“She strung you
along like a dog, making you think she liked you when she really liked Nick.”

“That’s not
even close to what happened.” Don felt sickened by the list he was making and
wanted to destroy it.

“Fine,” Clark
relented. “Who else, then?”

Don added
Robbie Patterson, mainly because he could think of no one else.

“That blond kid
from Windsor?” Clark asked. “Awesome. Who else?”

Don thought for
only a second before saying, “That fucking bus driver from elementary school.
The one that yelled at me because I didn’t get off the bus fast enough. I
haven’t thought of that asshole in years. What’s his name?”

“Harvey
Littleman.”

Don looked at
Clark with newfound respect as he added the name.

“You need two
more,” said Clark.

“Why?”

He looked at
Don. “It’s bad luck if you don’t have a five-name minimum.”

“Says who?”

“Everybody
knows that.”

Don shook his
head as he tried to think of additional names. “I’m not too fond of my
stepmom,” he said.

“Add the
bitch,” Clark encouraged.

Don did, and
that left one slot. “I can’t think of anyone else.”

“You will
eventually,” Clark said darkly. “You will.”

Don sighed as
he struggled to come up with another name. He briefly thought of little-bastard
Zeke up in Connecticut, but that boy got a rock to the head. Plus, he was up
north—too far.

“Perfect,”
Clark said. “You have your list.”

Confused, Don
looked down and saw a fifth name he didn’t remember writing: Monica Harris.

*
 
*
 
*

The Scott house
took on a negative atmosphere, and Don attributed it to the souring of Mom and
Adrian’s relationship. Don didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like
what it was doing to his mother. Her house-cleaning skills took a sudden
nosedive as the trash began to pile up not only in the kitchen but in the
living room.

He oftentimes
had difficulty finding a clean place on the couch in which to sit, so he spent
most of his time in his room with his Sega and his crappy TV whose screen
turned green randomly for no reason. Beating on its side seemed to be the only
thing that would return the picture to normal.

It was during
this time in his life Don wondered if this was what the curse wanted: to ruin
his life. If only Grandpa was still alive. He knew more about the curse than he
ever told Don. It couldn’t be just Grandpa who knew, though. What about his
numerous children—Don’s aunts and uncles?

What about Dad?

As Don sat on
his bed in the early morning hours, waiting for the bus, he looked at his
see-through phone and thought about calling his father. But what would he tell
him? There wasn’t much to tell at the moment, and Dad knew about the “dog” that
attacked Mom years ago.

Don gasped as
he thought about how long it had been. Eleven years. To him it seemed like only
yesterday he was cowering in his grandparents’ bathroom, listening to the
screams coming from the dark outside.

He put his hand
on the phone, but left it on the cradle. He told himself it was too early to
call. He had the strong urge to talk to his father, though. Don could feel it,
like an oncoming storm—something bad was going to happen soon. He didn’t know
what, but he felt its approach.

Having
feelings
didn’t seem like enough, so he removed his hand from the phone and went outside
to meet his bus. Never mind the first stop a mile away; he simply stood at the
end of his driveway and waited. Sym would be at the first stop, and he and Don
still weren’t getting along.

Once Don got on
the bus, he was surprised to see Sym sitting in the second row; usually he
grabbed one of the rear seats. He was alone. He looked at Don and smiled. Don
slowly sat down next to him, treating Sym like a bomb ready to explode.

As soon as the
bus left the neighborhood to travel the main road to the school, Sym said, “I’m
sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

Don didn’t know
what to say, so he simply nodded.

“After Nick
told me what you did, I thought you sounded like a real jerk.”

“You don’t
anymore?” Don asked.

“Well, kinda,
but not as much. Especially now, since Nick and Monica are dating.”

“They’re
what
?”
This was news to Don.

“You didn’t
know?” Sym asked. “Don’t you have classes with them?”

“Yeah, but I
switched seats in health; I sit on the other side of the room so I don’t have
to see them. And I never talk to Nick in Government.”

“Well, he told
me they were going out.” Sym looked out the window at the passing landscape.
“Sorry.”

Don didn’t know
how to feel about the news. He still liked Monica, and he had hoped one day
they would become friends again. But with her and Nick...
dating
...the
chances of reconciliation seemed far away.

Maybe even
impossible.

*
 
*
 
*

Don’s uneasy
feeling seemed like a physical weight the week after they first manifested.
They seemed worse whenever Adrian was around, so Don tried to figure out if
there was a link. He couldn’t see why there would be. Adrian seemed like a nice
guy, and Don and Ethan were getting along with him.

But something
was wrong.

The house was
still a mess, and the nightmares had returned. Don would have preferred
dreaming about Chucky or Michael Myers, but those monsters had been replaced by
the boathouse from the wallpaper in his childhood home. He kept dreaming he was
trapped inside, with a monster circling outside. He could never see the
monster, only hear its rumbling breathing.

He never
dreamed about the voice that had spoken to him outside of Dad’s house that
summer. He did, however, dream more than once he was running through a forest,
at night, on all fours. Like a dog.

Or a beast of
some kind.

That dream had
never been frightening; it had been exhilarating. The trees had passed by in a
blur, and the wind had blown pleasantly in his face. He knew it was he running
because he could see his arms reach out in front of him as he took each step.

A knock on his
door brought him from his reverie. “Come in.”

The door opened
and Adrian poked his head in. “Your mom asked me to take you boys to get your
haircuts,” he said with a smile.

Don, who was
sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, absently touched his head.
His brown hair was incredibly shaggy, and he couldn’t remember the last time
he’d gotten it cut. “Okay.”

The barbershop
Adrian took them to was next door to a gym, located in a little plaza
surrounded by large trees. Don had fond memories of sitting at the front of the
gym with Ethan and some coloring books while Adrian and Mom worked out, early
’90s rock blaring from the speakers on the walls. Don remembered a song in
particular about a man walking down the only road he’d ever known, or
something. But that was when Don was a child, when he could find amusement in
just about anything.

Those days were
slowly slipping away.

Adrian, Don and
Ethan stepped into the barbershop. Don instantly smelled the strong odor of
aftershave. Though he had never been to this shop before, he heard the familiar
hum of clippers. There was even a TV attached to the wall near the ceiling.

Something was
different about this place, though.

There was only
one barber, and one customer. Both were black.

“I know your
mom takes you boys to the barbershop on the base,” said Adrian, “but my friend
works here, and he’ll give me a better deal.”

“How much
better?” Ethan asked as they took theirs seats across from the barber stools.

“Free.” Adrian
smiled greedily.

The barber, an
elderly man with white flecks in his curly black hair, looked at the boys and
smiled. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I hope I remember how to cut white hair.”

Don gulped. The
last thing he wanted was a bad haircut.

The barber,
noticing Don’s stricken expression, said, “I’m just teasin’; I can cut all
kinds of hair.”

Adrian laughed.
“Don’t scare the boy, Willy. Else I won’t be able to bring him back for repeat
business.”

Willy snorted.
“What business?” Clearly the barber knew about the amazing “deal” he would
bestow upon his friend.

A few minutes
later, Willy finished with his customer and prompted Ethan into the stool.
While he cut the little boy’s hair, Willy chatted with Adrian about many things:
jobs, family, friends. Willy seemed like a pretty nice guy, though he cut hair
very slowly. He took nearly an hour just to do Ethan’s, and Don dozed off a few
times while he waited.

When it was his
turn, he was afraid he’d fall asleep and get an ear cut off with the clippers.
After twenty minutes, though, his worry faded. Willy was much gentler than
Don’s usual barbers.

As the hypnotic
buzz of the clippers eased Don’s eyes closed, Willy asked Adrian a peculiar
question. “So, are these Kate’s kids?”

Adrian didn’t
respond out loud. Don slowly opened his eyes to find him shaking his head
furiously. Then he noticed Don looking at him and stopped. Ethan was next to
Adrian, eyes closed and arms crossed.

“These are
Hilda’s kids,” Adrian said a little harshly.

“Oh, uh, that’s
what I meant,” Willy stammered. “Hilda’s.”

Don wondered
what was going on. How could Willy get the names confused?

And then it
clicked home. Don couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. Willy didn’t get the
names mixed up. He got the
women
confused.

As in
two
women.
 

Adrian was
seeing someone other than Mom. And her name was Kate.

Don looked away
from Adrian’s guilty eyes and focused on Ethan instead. His little brother’s
eyes were still closed, arms still crossed. But Don didn’t believe he was
really asleep. Don was used to this trick by now. He also knew Ethan liked to
cause trouble. If he was indeed awake, he had heard the conversation between
Adrian and Willy and had come to the same conclusion.

What would Mom
do to Adrian if she ever found out?

“Hey, Dad,” Don
said into his phone.

“Hey, son.
What’s up?”

“I
just...wanted to talk.” He didn’t know what to say to his father, how to tell
him about his growing fear. It had been two days since the haircut, and the
tension involving Adrian had only intensified.

“What’s wrong,
Don?”

Don realized
he’d paused for too long. “I’m worried about Mom.”

“Why? Did
something happen?”

“Nothing. She’s
just changed a lot.”

“How so?”

“She never
cleans the house anymore.”

There was a
silent moment, and then Dad laughed. “Is that all, son? That’s nothing to worry
about.”

Don laughed
too. “You haven’t seen the house lately. But it’s not just that. It’s.... Do
you remember the thing that bit Mom a long time ago?”

A longer, more
significant pause from Dad. “Yeah,” he finally said.

“What was it
that bit her?”

Dad laughed
without humor. “It was a dog, of course.”

“Are you sure?”

Dad sighed.
“What’s this about, son? Is your mom there? Let me talk to her.”

“She and Ethan
went to the grocery store.”

“Why are you
asking about the dog?” Dad sounded angry.

“Because, I
think something’s happening to Mom, and I think it has something to do with
what happened that night.”

“Why would you
think that?”

“Because of
what Grandpa told me.”

Another pause.
And then Dad said, “If you’re talking about the curse, that’s just an old story
your grandpa used to tell all the time. He even told me about it when I was a
kid. It’s like a fairy tale.”

“I don’t
believe that,” said Don. “And I know you don’t, either.”

Dad sighed
again. “It’s just a story.”

Absolutely no
conviction in those words—Dad wasn’t even trying anymore.

“What wrong
with her, Dad?”

“It depends,”
he replied. “How are things going between her and Adam?”

“You mean
Adrian.” Don laughed. “And things aren’t going good. I think he’s cheating on
her.”

“Does she
know?”

“Not yet;
Adrian’s still alive.”

Dad laughed
nervously. It made Don nervous as well.

“I think it’s
time you boys came and lived with me for a while,” said Dad.

Don blinked. He
didn’t expect that response. The first thing that came to mind after the words
sank in was,
Would I be able to put up with Yvonne’s bullshit?

“What wrong
with Mom?” Don repeated. His father knew something and Don refused to get
sidetracked again.

“Nothing’s
wrong
with her. Things are just better if she’s
happy
. When she gets really
upset, she...changes.”

“Changes how?”
Don asked quietly.

“Her demeanor
changes; she gets...violent.”

“Did you ever
make her unhappy?”

“Many times.
That’s why I left.”

“If you knew
she got like this, why didn’t you take Ethan and me with you?”

“I tried, son.
Your mom wouldn’t allow it.”

Don vaguely
remembered a time back at the old house when Mom and Dad argued about
something. The word
custody
came up, but Don hadn’t known what that
meant back then. That felt like a million years ago. “I know,” he finally
murmured to his father.

“Things will be
all right, son. Next month, you’ll get to stay with us, and I’ll talk to your
mother. Guess what?”

“What?”

“Yvonne,
Elizabeth and I are moving to Texas.”

Don gasped.
“Why?”

“My job is
relocating to Arlington. We’ve already moved most of the stuff to storage, and
my company is paying for a really nice hotel until I can find an apartment.”

Don had never
been to Texas before; it sounded nice. But then he suddenly realized Dad had changed
the subject again. “Dad, what about the curse?”

Dad sighed one
last time before saying, “There is no curse, son.”

*
 
*
 
*

Dad picked the
kids up in May, and Don knew somehow this summer would be the last in which he
and Ethan would merely “visit” their father. Whether that was just wishful
thinking or actual foresight was unclear. What was clear, however, was Don’s
growing sense of dread involving Mom and Adrian. Would Adrian still be around
when the kids returned from summer vacation?

The drive to Texas
took nearly as long as the drive Connecticut, and wasn’t nearly as scenic. Don
and Ethan were excited nonetheless to be visiting a new state. Dad had informed
his sons they would not have to dress up like cowboys during their stay.

When they
arrived in Arlington, the first thing Don noticed was Six Flags Amusement Park.
He had fond memories of the one up north.

And then there
was the Ballpark. Dad promised he’d take his sons to every game during their
vacation. Don found himself happier than he’d been in a long time, but Dad
topped everything when he drove the kids to the luxury suite his company had
set him up with until he could find an apartment.

The hotel room
looked like a small apartment, with a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom.
Don and Ethan had to share the foldout couch once again, like they had in
Connecticut, but they didn’t mind. Not with an amusement park
and
a
ballpark down the street.

The kids called
Mom to let her know they’d arrived safely. Don was tempted to ask how Adrian
was doing, but managed to keep the question to himself. He’d only been away
from Augusta for a day, and as far as he knew, Mom wasn’t aware of Adrian’s
unfaithfulness. Yet.

*
 
*
 
*

The first thing
Don and Ethan did after settling in was roam the hotel grounds. They discovered
a basketball and tennis court, as well as a gym. It was only seven in the
evening, so the boys played hoops for an hour before going back to the room.

The baby cried
for most of the night, and Don could hear her through the walls as if they were
in the same room. When he finally did fall asleep, he had an odd dream. It
involved a man with him, Ethan and Mom. Every time Don tried to look at the
man’s face, his gaze would wander to something else instead. Don just couldn’t
look directly at the stranger, for some reason. He only managed to get a
glimpse of the man’s hair and saw it was short and white. Don was fairly
certain the man wasn’t Adrian or Dad.

Everyone at the
table was dressed in their Sunday best, and Mom had her long brown hair done in
an elaborate style. The four of them sat on each side of the table, and
directly at the center sat a large covered platter. There were also a few
candles on the tabletop, and the flames pointed in different directions.

Don suddenly
realized he didn’t know where he was. He and his family—and the stranger—were
surrounded by darkness. Don didn’t like sitting there, as if they were all one
big happy family having dinner together, with the stranger acting as Father.

Speaking of
dinner, the platter quivered and rattled. Don stared at it, afraid of what was
beneath the lid. He was sitting directly across from Ethan; Mom and the
stranger at the ends of the table. Everyone was staring at Don.

“What’s for
dinner, son?” Mom asked him.

“How should I
know?” Don replied, irritated and confused.

“Well,” said
the strange man, “lift the lid and take a peek.”

“I don’t want
to.”

“You’ll have to
eventually.”

Don tried to
look at him, but his eyes automatically locked onto one of the candles instead.
“Who are you?”

The man laughed.
“I’m your father, of course.”

So it was Dad.
But it didn’t sound like him....

Don gave up
trying to look at the man and looked upon the platter once again. It had
stopped quivering at some point and now simply sat there, reflecting the
candlelight. It seemed even more frightening.

Don stood up
and leaned against the table.

He grabbed the
handle on the platter’s lid.

He removed the
lid.

*
 
*
 
*

He started
awake, completely drenched in sweat. His heart was beating so fast he feared it
would burst. The thing on the platter.... He hadn’t gotten a good look at it
before it leapt onto him and ripped his throat out. It had looked like some
kind of small, black bat with red wings. He tried to wish the dream from his
memory.

The creature
didn’t bother him as much as the man at the table. He’d said he was Don’s dad,
but that wasn’t Dad. Don was certain of that. Elizabeth started crying again,
but Don didn’t mind this time. It made him feel less alone.

An hour later,
he heard sounds from the kitchen and hoped it was Dad. He had grown tired of
watching the sun rise through the blinds. Don slowly and quietly climbed out of
bed so as not to wake Ethan, then rounded the corner and saw his father in the
kitchen, cooking breakfast: sausage, grits, eggs, bacon and biscuits. It was a
ritual he had adopted last summer but he only did it on Sunday mornings. Don
loved Dad’s Sunday breakfasts.

Dad was just
cracking an egg into a pan when he noticed Don standing next to him. “Mornin’,
son.”

“Morning.”

“You’re up
early.”

“I had a nightmare.”

Dad took his
eyes off the eggs long enough to say, “Those again?”

“This one was
different.”

Dad went to the
refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice for his son. “Different
how?”

“I dreamt about
a guy I didn’t know and he said he was my dad.”

Dad immediately
dropped the glass meant for Don, splattering orange juice all over the floor.
He stared at Don for a moment, and then grabbed a dish towel to wipe up.
“That’s a weird thing to dream about,” he said nervously. “What did I do wrong?”
He grinned.

“Are you all
right, Dad?”

“Yeah. The
glass just slipped through my fingers.”

Don watched his
father pick up the broken glass and throw it in the trash under the sink. Then
he returned to the frying pan.

“What did your
dream dad look like?” he asked Don.

Don studied his
father’s movements; they were hesitant, distracted. Something was wrong. “Dad?”
he called.

“It was just a
dream, son.” The response was immediate.

Oh, yes,
something was definitely wrong.

*
 
*
 
*

At least Dad
was true to his word about Six Flags and the baseball games. The walks to and
from the stadium were enjoyable and managed to take Don’s mind off Dad’s
strange behavior. All this fun could only work for so long though. Eventually,
Don would start asking questions again.

Deep down he
knew what the dream meant; Dad’s reaction only confirmed it. Don didn’t know
how to feel about it, though. He wasn’t completely sure he was correct about
his theory, but he knew he should be traumatized.

Dad possibly
wasn’t his real dad.

Don wouldn’t
have even come to that conclusion if not for Dad’s reaction, though. What else
could that mean?

Don thought of
the man from the dream, with his distinctive white hair. There had been a man
in Connecticut, near the playground, with that same hair. He’d been staring in
Don’s direction just before Zeke showed up and bullied Don and Ethan on the
swings. Maybe Don’s subconscious simply supplied that image for the dream….

Over the course
of a week, Don studied Dad’s facial features more closely than he ever had
before. There were similarities (hair style, nose shape) and differences (eye
color, lip and ear shape), but there was nothing incontrovertible.

Whatever the
answer may be, Don loved his father. If Dad wasn’t his true father, however,
that would go toward explaining a lot. Was it possible his real dad had also
been cursed?

As Don tried to
come up with a way to discuss this with Dad, he enjoyed Texas as much as he
could while his summer vacation lasted. Pretty much every state had its own
atmosphere, depending on what he did while visiting those states. In
Connecticut, there was the boxy apartment complex, Yvonne’s lonely
department-store job, and the trees and fireflies. Don missed it up there.

Florida had the
beautiful beaches, devastating hurricanes, and scenic highways with
boiled-peanut stands.

Don didn’t
favor one state over another, and he hoped Texas would garner wonderful
memories. He knew he would never forget being able to see Rangers Stadium from
Dad’s apartment. He hoped Dad would make this his permanent state.

*
 
*
 
*

With only a few
days left before they were to head back to Augusta, Don decided it was time to
ask Dad the big question. Yvonne and Beth were at the grocery store, and Ethan
was in the living room, speaking with Mom on the phone. Dad was in his room,
working on his computer, when Don tapped lightly on the door.

Dad spun around
in his chair. “Hey, son.”

“Can I ask you
something?” Don stepped into the room, which was lit only by a single lamp.

“Sure you can.”

Don steeled
himself, taking a few deep breaths. Then, finally, he asked, “Am I adopted?”

The silence
that followed went on for so long Don thought he’d gone deaf. Only when Dad
cleared his throat roughly did he realize he hadn’t.

“What makes you
think you’re adopted?” Dad asked.

“Just a
feeling.”

“You mean a
dream
,”
Dad guessed.

Don nodded.

“Son, you’re
not adopted.”

Don wanted to
feel better but found he could not. Dad was leaving something out. Don could
tell by the sound of his father’s voice and the way he wiped his hands on his
lap. Don decided to rephrase the question: “Are you my real dad?”