The Devil's Demeanor (36 page)

He heard a grunt on the other side of the
rise. He ran up and over, and saw a stream. It reflected tiny bits of moonlight
that managed to penetrate the canopy above. It was so dark that Don could
barely see. He could only hear.

He knew where he was, though. He was
standing directly where Leper had died. The hole had been filled, but there
appeared to be another one on the other side of the water. Don crossed the
stream and studied it. It was very deep, so much so that he couldn’t see the
bottom. Why did Conner keep digging holes?

Was this a trap?

Before he could dwell on the question for
long, he was knocked down. Into the hole.

*
 
*
 
*

He hit the bottom headfirst and saw stars.
Moments later, he started to panic. He didn’t want to die upside down in a
hole, though he did feel he deserved it. At least, at the back of his mind, he
did. He started to struggle and didn’t notice right away that he had more room
than he should have.

Dirt started raining into the hole, but by
then Don was right-side up. He’d twisted his neck and shoulders, feeling his
muscles spasm. It was painful as hell, but slowly suffocating in a hole would
be worse. He had to get out. He started climbing out of the hole as fast as he
could. His fingers dug into the dirt wall effortlessly, perhaps due to his body
being fueled by fear, and he reached the top of the hole. When he looked
around, he saw tree branches swaying, as if someone had just run past them.

Don climbed out and swept the dirt off of
his clothes. His head was spinning but he slowly regained his senses. He
started in the direction of the swaying branches, crossing the stream. He
already knew which direction he was going.

Toward the house.

A moment after starting, he stopped. He
heard laughter.

“Who’s there?” Don asked.

He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew someone
was up ahead.

“Conner?” he called.

The voice laughed again. “I’m not Conner.”

The words were a whisper, but Don recognized
the voice. It was that of the demon. He remembered that voice from his waking
and sleeping nightmares.

“I killed you,” Don said to the dark woods
ahead.

“Yes, you did. And I’m still gone, back to
hell.” The voice chuckled.

Don suddenly remembered that fateful night
when he confronted the monster that ruined his life. “How are you here, then?”
he finally asked the voice.

“Through a vessel,” it replied from farther
away.

“Who’s the vessel?”

“Someone you know.”

Don kept following the voice. He was no
longer afraid; he was angry. He was almost reckless in his pursuit of the
vessel as he followed it back to the house.

“Why are you using a vessel? How?”

There was no reply.

He kept going, huffing and puffing and
sweating despite the cool air. He quickened his pace. He could see the house
now. The back door was open.

Don ran into the den. The TV was on. Had it
been on when he chased after Conner? He looked up into the living room without
actually going into it. The house was quiet, save the TV noise.

He raced up the stairs to the second floor.
He checked Conner’s room but found it empty. He opened Jordan’s door across the
hall.

Jordan was passed out, his head hanging over
the foot of the bed. His homework was scattered on the floor and across his
chest. He snored peacefully. Don sighed in relief, but all was not well. Either
Conner was still in the house, or he had taken off. Don had to find him,
because if the voice had spoken true, the boy was being possessed by the
creature Don had killed decades ago.

*
 
*
 
*

Conner kept moving, never looking back. He
had to get away from Uncle Don’s house. He rode along the freeway on his bike
with a backpack full of clothes that he quickly grabbed from his room while his
uncle was still out in the woods looking for him. Conner barely remembered
coming back to the house until he reached his room. He must have been in a
trance or something.

He was scared now, though. He had nowhere to
go, no job, nothing. He was afraid of what his uncle had said about him. Conner
had never murdered anyone in his life.

Mom killed her boyfriend when he was five.

Some crazy person killed Mr. Leper.

Conner couldn’t remember harming anyone.

Couldn’t remember....

There were a lot of things he couldn’t
remember, including going back to the house to get his stuff a while ago. Most
of what happened at the laser-tag arena was a blur, as well. He did remember
running into those bullies Leo and Jack. Jack was dead, and Leo was insane, but
both of those had nothing to do with Conner. Right?

Conner grew more frustrated as cars zoomed
past him. He didn’t even realize where he was riding to until he saw the exit
in front of him. He knew who lived nearby.

*
 
*
 
*

When he got to the house, he lightly tapped
on the bedroom window. A light was on, and Conner had seen a silhouette pass by
a moment ago. After what felt like an eternity, the silhouette returned and
peeked through the blinds. And then the window opened.

“What are you doing here?” Travis asked in a
harsh whisper.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Please?” Conner had put as much desperation
as he could into the plea.

It worked.

Travis backed away from the window and let
Conner inside. Conner hit his head on the sill.

Travis quickly stepped forward, grabbed the
sides of Conner’s face, and kissed the top of his head. Conner grinned, causing
Travis to back away once again, frowning.

The room was nice and warm. It had gotten so
cold outside that Conner could barely feel his fingers.

“Why are you here?” Travis asked.

“I had a fight with my uncle.”

“Did you kill him?”

It was meant to be sarcastic, but Conner was
still stung.

“About what?” Travis asked next, seeing the
expression on the other’s face.

About my murderous habits,
Conner replied in his head. “Stupid shit. I
don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then why are you here if you don’t want to
talk?”

“Why are you snapping at me?”

“Because I told you to leave me alone.”

“Do you hate me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you let me in?”

Travis found himself at a loss for words.

“It’s because you like me,” Conner
suggested.

“Shut the fuck up.” Travis was suddenly
angry. “I feel sorry for you. You’re pathetic.”

Conner said nothing. He could barely breathe
now, let alone speak. “You don’t mean that. You just kissed the bump on my
head.”

“Yes, I do. You just don’t want to hear it.”
He avoided the part about the kiss.

That truly hurt Conner, though he said
nothing in response. Instead, he approached Travis, closed his eyes, leaned
in...

Travis punched him on his left cheek. Conner
opened his eyes just as he started falling to the floor, stunned. Travis was
shaking, his face red, his fists clenched.

Without being told to, Conner left through
the window.

He rode his bike down an empty highway, his
eyes clouded with tears. He could barely see, but he didn’t care. His face was
numb from the cold, but he didn’t care about that either.

He was too angry to care.

He kept pedaling, his legs burning with
exertion. He was vaguely aware of where he was—far from his own house, and that
was all that mattered. Though, he fiercely missed his cousin and wondered when
he would see him again.

Conner noticed headlights behind him but
didn’t bother looking. He hoped it wasn’t his uncle.

A black SUV passed him and then pulled onto
the shoulder that Conner was riding. An old man got out and stared back at him.
Conner wanted to pass him but found himself stopping instead. The man had
completely white hair and a beer gut. He was dressed in a maroon sweater with
tan slacks.

“What’s a boy your age doing out on these
roads alone?” the man asked.

Conner was surrounded by miles of empty road
in both directions. He was miles from help. “I’m twenty-five,” he replied.

“Now, now, you can’t be any more than
sixteen. Am I right?”

“I have a gun,” Conner lied.

“No you don’t,” said the old man. “Though, I
believe your uncle had one when he was around your age. I have the distinct
impression you think I want to harm you. Rest assured, I don’t.”

“My uncle? You know him?”

The man nodded.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“To help.” The man sighed before saying,
“Conner, I’m your grandfather.”

*
 
*
 
*

Conner sat nervously in the passenger seat
of the SUV as “Grandpa” drove down the highway. They were headed in the
direction Conner had already been going.

“You’re not taking me back to my house?” he
asked the old man.

“Do you want to go back there?”

“Not really.”

“Well, then, there you go.” Grandpa smiled.

“Where are we going?”

“My house. I don’t live too far from you.”

A moment later, the old man turned onto
another road. Conner’s pulse quickened as he suddenly regretted getting into
the car.

“Uncle Don never talked about you.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know much about
me. I’m his father, but I’m not your father’s father.”

“So, you’re not
really
my grandpa?”

“Not biologically.”

“But you are Jordan’s?”

“That’s right.”

They continued down the country lane,
passing a few two-story houses. Conner had stuffed his bike in the back
compartment and wondered if he could get it out and ride away if he had to.

“Does my uncle know where you live?”

“I don’t believe he does. I’ve been keeping
it a secret.”

“Why would you do that?” Conner asked.

“Because I was hiding from something,” the
man said sadly. “But now I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“What are you hiding from?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Grandpa pulled up to a
house and said, “We’re here.”

The house was large and white, with a lot of
windows, a red front door and two large columns on the front porch. Though it
was dark, Conner could see peach trees on the side and in the backyard. Grandpa
opened the front door and let him inside. The place wasn’t a mansion, but it
was bigger than most houses Conner had ever seen. The living room was directly
in front with a staircase to the right.

They stepped farther in and Conner saw a
kitchen on the right, past the stairs. He looked up and could see the second
floor, split into two areas. An overpass connected them, though the pass itself
wasn’t connected to any wall. It was like an actual bridge.

“I like your house,” Conner commented.

“Thank you,” said Grandpa from the kitchen.
Conner joined him.

Grandpa was pouring a pink beverage into a
glass. He handed the glass to Conner.

“What is this?”

“Peach smoothie. Try it.”

Conner did, and his eyes grew wide. “Wow,
that is
good
.”

“I thought you might like it. I make them
myself from the peaches in my yard. They’re supposed to make you feel...good.”

The moment the man said it, Conner started
to feel euphoric. He was no longer sad or afraid of the future like he’d been
after leaving Travis’s house. He suddenly wanted to stay here forever.

Grandpa smiled at the expression on Conner’s
face and said, “We need to talk about you, my boy. I know what you’re going
through and I think I can help.”

Conner took another sip before asking, “How
could you know?”

The old man sighed. “Because, believe it or
not, I went through the same thing.”

*
 
*
 
*

Don held the phone in his hand, unsure of
who to call. He’d tried Conner’s cell many times, but the calls went straight
to voicemail. The phone must have been off.

Jordan stood in the living room, looking
through the fireplace into Don’s office. Don was drumming his fingers on his
file cabinet behind his desk, making a hollow thumping sound.

“Dad?”

Don turned to his son. They were separated
by the chain curtain of the fireplace. “Yes, son?”