The Devil's Demeanor (35 page)

Something struck Monica at that moment. This
woman’s voice was even more familiar than she realized. She’d heard it even
before that newscast at the hospital. “You’re the one who called me at my
house, aren’t you?” she asked.

Diedre smiled. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb. Just after Don’s neighbor
died, you called me. You were hoping I’d come out here, so you could talk to
me.”

Diedre’s smile remained, but it looked
venomous. “Sister to sister, I know there’s something going on with that man
that he doesn’t want anyone to know about. And I know you’ve been having to
deal with it yourself for a long time. I don’t think it’s fair to you or the
children.”

“Well,” said Monica, “sister to sister, I
think you should mind your own business. If you’re looking for a story, you’re
not going to find it here, honey. Don is a good man and a good father. You
think that just because we’re both black women, I’m going to dish on my white
husband like you and I are girlfriends?”

Diedre looked positively ecstatic now. “You
mean
ex
-husband.”

Monica didn’t respond. She recognized her
Freudian slip, but didn’t want to dwell on it.

“He claims he was out of town the night his
neighbor was killed, but I know that’s a fabrication.” Diedre looked
triumphant.

With that, the woman left the store and a
bewildered Monica behind.

*
 
*
 
*

“That woman is really determined,” Don
declared as he helped Monica prepare dinner that night.

“She won’t rest until she gets a story,”
said Monica.

“Then she won’t rest.”

Monica sighed. “Don, she seems to be getting
closer to something. She said that she knows you weren’t where you said you
were the night Leper was killed.”

Don started at that. He looked her in the
eyes, his heart racing.

“It could be a scare tactic,” she added.

“It might not be. I
did
lie about where I was.”

Monica stopped cutting the carrots and
stared at him, waiting.

“I was with.... How can I put this
delicately? A lady of the evening.”

Monica suddenly laughed. “Oh, Don. How could
you?”

He laughed as well. “You don’t really care,
do you?”

“Not at all. But Diedre might.” She started
cutting again, and then stopped. “Why were you with a whore, anyway?”

“I tried to make myself ‘happy,’ just in
case the curse was affecting me again.”

“What made you think it was coming back?”
she asked.

“All those deaths in the woods over the
years. It could’ve been me.”

“And it could’ve been whoever attacked you
that night.”

Don grew silent once again. He knew who’d
attacked him. What remained unclear was whether or not the kid knew it himself.

That night, after dinner, Don checked in on
a sleeping Conner. He was in his bed, his window slightly open. Don walked over
to the sill and looked around. He didn’t notice any dark smudges like he’d seen
in Jordan’s room. Did Conner use his cousin’s room to get in and out of the
house that night?

As he quietly left the room and returned to
his own, he considered the possibility that his nephew was responsible not only
for Leper’s death but all of the others as well. On the way to his own room, he
passed the guest room, where Monica was staying. Since she’d returned her
rental car the other day, Don was to drive her to the airport so that she could
return to her normal, happy life.

But he didn’t want her to go. Having her
back for this short time had been wonderful, just like old times. It reminded
him of the way things
should
be.

He lightly knocked on her door. She opened
it. The room was lit by a warm-colored lamp by the bed. Monica was wearing a
red silk nightgown, one that Don had bought her for an anniversary present
forever ago.

“I just wanted to see if you needed
anything,” he said nervously. Monica looked so beautiful that his mind suddenly
turned to mush.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” She smiled.

“Can I...come in?”

“My goodness, if my parents knew a boy was
in my room after curfew, they’d kill me,” she joked as she backed away and let
him in.

They lay on the guest bed, talking for what
seemed like hours, catching up with each other’s lives over the past ten years.

“So,” said Don, “who’s Terry?”

“A guy I’m seeing.”

“Is he good to you?”

“The best.”

“In other words, he hasn’t killed anyone?”

They were lying side-by-side, staring at the
ceiling. Monica looked at him now. “You understand why I can’t be with you
anymore,” she said.

“Because you’re afraid of me.”

“And because you lied to me about something
very important.”

“It’s a very painful subject, Monica. I
killed my brother because I was afraid of him. I was a coward, and now he’s
dead.”

“I know.”

They grew quiet for a moment.

“What if Diedre finds out?” Monica asked.

“That keeps me up at night sometimes,” he
admitted. “I’m going to have to talk to her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, but I didn’t say I would tell her the
truth. I’m going to give her a false trail to follow.”

Monica laughed. “I wish I could be there when
you do.”

“Will you come back some day?”

She kissed him on the forehead and said,
“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a while,
saying nothing.

And then Don leaned in to kiss her on the
lips.

Monica, however, pulled away. “Goodnight,
Don.”

He got up, sighed, and said, “Goodnight,
Monica.”

And then he left her alone.

Diedre arrived bright and early the
following week. Don had arranged for an interview at his house while the boys
were at school. The reporter was wearing a black top and skirt with a bright
red jacket. She looked awful.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked her
pleasantly as they sat in the living room, just in front of the fireplace.

“No thank you,” she replied, scanning the
room. “You have a wonderful home.”

Don looked up. “The ceiling is so high, it
sometimes makes me feel very small.” He looked back at her. “Does it have the
same affect on you?”

She cleared her throat nervously and looked
to her left. “Oh, I can see right through the fireplace. What’s that room back
there?”

“My office.”

“Looks cozy.” She took out an audio recorder
and a notebook. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said after
pressing the record button. “What changed your mind?”

“I got tired of you harassing my family.”

Diedre immediately stopped the recording and
chuckled. “I was expecting a cleverer response from a writer.”

“Any other response would have been
fiction.”

She kept her finger poised on the record
button. “Are we going to have a serious interview, or am I being had?”

“I’m very serious,” Don said simply.

The reporter looked at him. Don didn’t know
what his face looked like at that moment, but it must have looked strange. He
was glad it gave the woman pause, but he didn’t want to overdue it; he didn’t
want her knowing about the curse.

Diedre hesitated a moment longer, and then
pressed the button to begin recording again. “So, Mr. Scott, it’s great seeing
you looking well soon after your vicious attack,” she said in a clear, jovial
voice. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m well, Diedre, thank you.” He decided to
play along for now.

“You’re notorious for shunning interviews
and keeping your private life, well, private. Why decide to speak now?”

“Because, after all that’s happened lately,
I figured my fans were worried about my safety, possibly even wondering if
someone was out to get me. I hear that’s a popular theory floating around. I
just wanted to set the record straight.”

“And what is the truth?” she asked.

“That no one is out to get me or my family.”

“But all these attacks—”

“I’ll admit this all does seem strange, but
I can assure you and everyone that I am not being targeted specifically.
There’s just some crazy person in the woods behind my house who keeps attacking
anyone he comes across.”

Don laughed. Diedre did not.

“Mr. Scott, as most of us are aware, your
brother, Ethan, was murdered over fifteen years ago.”

It came so unexpectedly that Don could not
catch a breath. He coughed. “Yes?”

“Well, according to police reports, the
killer was never found. No leads, no evidence pointing to his or her identity.”

Don’s heart hammered. “Yes?”

“Do you think, perhaps, the person who
killed your brother is after you too?”

He laughed again. “You know, I never once
thought of that.”

“Do you ever wonder what you would do if you
met your brother’s killer?”

He is me,
Don thought. He said, “I try not to go down that path.”

“You must still be angry about what
happened....”

Damn, this bitch was relentless.

“Very angry,” he replied. “Every time I
think about it, I get sick to my stomach. But I can’t change the past.”

Diedre narrowed her eyes for a moment. “What
made you want to become an author?”

She’s changing tactics,
Don realized.
She’ll come back to Ethan when I least expect it.

“Well, I was fond of books as a kid, and I
had a story I wanted to tell.”

“About brothers?” Diedre cocked an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. “It seemed easier
than writing about sisters,” he joked.

“Were the characters based on you and your
brother Ethan?”

Don’s palms grew sweaty. “Loosely.”

“Some have theorized that the book, about
two brothers—one cursed by a demon—is autobiographical. Also, that the cursed
brother was modeled after Ethan.”

Don said nothing.

“In the book,” the reporter continued, “the
brothers find a cure for the curse....”

She left the sentence hanging. Don’s heart
was racing uncomfortably.

“A happy ending if I ever heard one,” he
finally said.

“And you started the book after your
brother’s death?”

“That’s right.”

Diedre tapped her pen on her notebook
quickly. Don’s heart matched the beat.

“Where did you get the idea for the curse?”
she asked after a moment.

“I wanted to give the characters something
to fight against. Together.”

“But why a curse? Why not a disease or an
abusive parent?”

“The curse was a disease, in a way. And I’ve
never encountered an abusive parent. My parents were wonderful.”

“So, you’ve ‘encountered’ a curse?”

This was exactly why Don had not wanted to
talk to this woman. He couldn’t end the interview now, though; it would look
suspicious.

“My grandfather once told me about a curse
when I was five,” he told her truthfully. “The story stuck with me through the
years.”

Diedre looked interested. “What did the
curse entail?”

“It made its victims want to do bad things.”

“Like murder?”

“Among other things.”

“And where did you grandfather hear this
terrifying story?”

“I have no idea.”

And that was the truth. Grandpa had told Don
the story the night Mom became cursed. He’d told Don to keep an eye on his
mother and to report any strange happenings. Grandpa died before Don could tell
him anything.

Diedre stopped the recorder and said, “I
would like to talk to you, off the record.”

“Fine.”

“Why did you lie about your whereabouts the
night your neighbor was killed?”

“You know why.”

“Because you were with a prostitute at a
motel in Arlington.”

“Seems like a good reason to keep quiet,
don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“Was this interview all you hoped it would
be?” Don smiled a wolf’s smile.

“And then some,” Diedre said as she
collected her belongings. “You know, there’s another popular theory floating
around, about your brother’s death.”

“Is that so?”

“Some people think
you
are the one who killed him.”

Don’s heart nearly stopped. “That’s
preposterous,” he said, trying to sound offended.

“Just passing along the theory,” she said
casually as she headed for the front door.

Don followed. “And just who are these people
coming up with these ridiculous, hurtful theories?” he asked heatedly.

Diedre turned to him and said, “Me.”

When she turned to leave, Don said, “You
haven’t changed at all since high school, Diedre.”

She spun around. “Pardon me?”

“You know we went to Augusta High together?”

“I made the connection recently, yes.”

“I bumped into you one time, knocked your
books out of your hand. You cussed me out in the hall in front of everyone.”

“Is that a fact?” She smiled.

“Yes. Now get out of my house.”

*
 
*
 
*

Conner sat on the deck, staring at the cell
phone in his hands. He had just sent a text to Travis and was awaiting a reply.
While he waited, he stared into the woods in front of him. The sun was slowly
setting and the dark-green trees appeared black.

It was weird having the trampoline gone. He
still couldn’t believe someone had tried to kill his uncle. Conner had been so
mad at him that night, but not enough to kill. Who could have done it?

It had to have been the madman who’d
murdered Leper. Did the psycho live in those woods? Was he watching Conner at
this very moment? Conner looked but saw no one.

He looked down at his phone and saw a red
light blinking. He checked the reply text:
Leave me alone or I’m calling the cops. I’m warning you.

Conner’s heart felt like it had been
stabbed. Why was Travis so mad? No one had ever threatened to call the cops on
Conner before and that scared him. He grew nauseated as he typed a reply with
clumsy fingers:
Are you worried
because my uncle saw us?

Travis replied:
I’m worried because u tried 2 kill him.

Conner’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“What?” he screamed, and then realized Travis couldn’t hear. He typed
What?
In all caps.

I know u did it and I think u killed ur
neighbor 2.

Where the hell was this coming from?
Conner’s hand shook and tears blurred his eyes. He never killed anyone. He
jumped to his feet and ran inside. He saw Uncle Don peeking out of his office
on the left.
 

“Were you outside the whole time?” he asked
his nephew.

“Yes.”

“Don’t go out there at night.”

“Why not? There’s nothing out there.”

Uncle Don looked at him as if the teen had
gone insane. “How could you think that after all that’s happened?”

“I’m surprised you don’t also think I’m the
one doing all this. It’s a popular theory.”

That seemed to strike a chord. “What are you
talking about?”

Conner shook his head. “I’ve seen the way
you’ve been looking at me lately. It’s the same way you looked at me after Mom
killed her boyfriend.”

Uncle Don narrowed his eyes. “And what way
is that?”

“Like you think I’m a fucking monster!”
Conner shouted. “All my life, you’ve thought of me as the one who killed him,
and now you think I killed Mr. Leper and attacked you, don’t you? And I
didn’t!”

They both stood in stunned silence. Conner
was breathing heavily, and more tears streamed down his cheeks. He had been
holding that in for a long time. He was shaking from the release.

“I guess there’s no point in denying it
now,” Uncle Don said.
 
“But it’s not
your fault.”

He took a step forward; Conner took one
back.

“I should’ve told you this a long time ago,”
Uncle went on. “There’s something inside you, something you were born with,
that makes you want to hurt people.”

“What are
you
talking about?” Conner
truly was scared now.

“It’s a curse. Your father and I dealt with
it when we were your age. We were both cursed, and Ethan passed it on to you.”

“A curse?” Conner backed into the back-porch
door, crinkling the blinds. “Does that mean Jordan is cursed too?”

“Possibly.” Uncle Don sighed.

“Then he could be the one doing this.”

Uncle shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Because he’s your son, and I’m
just a bastard?”

“You’re not a bastard.” Uncle Don had his
hands up, trying to calm Conner, but it made the teen even more anxious.

Uncle Don was coming at him from the left,
and the stairs out of the den were straight ahead. Conner went for them but his
uncle cut him off. Conner turned around and went out the back door.

*
 
*
 
*

Just as Don got to the open door, he saw his
nephew disappear into the woods. Don darted down the patio steps and charged
into the trees without thinking.

“Conner!”

Don couldn’t see the boy but heard him up
ahead, pushing away branches and stepping on twigs. Don followed the sounds,
even as his stomach started to twist. Conner was giving off that nauseating
energy again.

The sounds suddenly stopped, and so did Don.
He was standing near a small rise, and could hear a stream just on the other
side. The nausea vanished. Either Conner was gone, or he wasn’t very close.

A twig snapped behind Don. He spun around,
looking about, but he saw nothing. He knew he was being watched, though.

“Conner!”

His voice echoed off the trees.

A sound—an exhalation of breath—from behind
him. He spun but again saw nothing. He heard leaves crunching in the darkness
as something fled. Don wasn’t as scared as he should have been. At least, not
for his own safety. He was worried about his nephew.

“Conner!”