A Friend of the Devil

by David Beers

  That’s where Emi was wheeling her chair to now, heading to see him.

  She hadn’t had time to really process what Brett told her, and only parroted what would keep the two of them out of hot water.

  Abel Ease came down because he thought he could help. Agent Lichen allowed him to look at crime scene photos, and then Ease said he thought he might know of a place. Lichen cuffed him and drove to the building, as the hour was late and it wasn’t a far drive. From there, they encountered the suspect, who had Agent Laurens as a hostage.

  Lies, a lot of it, but the part about Abel wasn’t a lie.

  “He knew where I was?” Emi asked Brett.

  Brett hadn’t looked at her as he answered, only nodded his head and stared out the hospital room window.

  “Did he say how he knew?”

  “He said the dead told him.”

  The dead.

  She and Brett had been quiet for a bit after that. Emi believed Brett was struggling with that idea: the dead telling Abel where she was, then Abel leading him right to her. Emi was struggling with her memories, with things she had long ago tried to turn away from. Tried to wall off.

  “What actually happened?” she finally asked.

  A single chuckle raised in Brett’s chest, though his face showed no humor. He kept staring—almost despondently—out the window.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know at all, Emi.”

  He hadn’t looked at her when he said it. Hadn’t looked at her again until they got back to discussing their story. Their story. Because neither knew how they’d escaped.

  She took a right at the next hallway and saw an FBI agent sitting outside the doorway. He had a paperback book in his hand, and appeared pretty engrossed in it. Emi slowed down as she approached.

  “You mind if I talk to him?” she asked.

  The agent looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow, but only for a second. There really wasn’t any need to keep the two apart. The man who was on record for kidnapping Emi and killing multiple people was handcuffed to a bed in some other part of the hospital.

  “I wasn’t told he couldn’t have visitors,” the agent said, “and he’s refused a lawyer. So it’s fine with me.”

  “Thanks,” Emi said and meant it.

  She wheeled the chair by the agent and into the room. She closed the door, then looked at Abel. He had a private room; all three of them did, apparently. He was standing at the window, his hands at his sides, and staring out at the parking lot. He wore street clothes and wasn’t cuffed, both of which were good indicators of his being able to leave soon.

  She hadn’t seen this man in over a decade.

  Yet, she’d heard his voice in her head for weeks, and …

  And what, Emi?

  And, he must have felt something about her too, because he’d come.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “Hey,” he said back, though he didn’t turn around.

  “How did today go?” she asked, wheeling her chair deeper into the room. She stopped about a foot from him.

  “The same as these things always go whenever I explain to people what happens with me.”

  Emi was aware of the agent outside, and that he might be listening. She and Brett had given one view of what happened, but she had no idea what Abel told them. Then again, she figured it probably didn’t matter. If Abel had gone with his stories about dead people, what were they going to do? It’s not like she would try to change his story.

  She wheeled all the way to him, the window directly in front of her. She looked up and saw his face for the first time in 10 years.

  He was older, but so was she.

  Yet, the boy she knew was still there too. More lines across his face, maybe a few pounds added on, but it was still Abel. Sane as a psycho.

  He didn’t look at her, but she didn’t think it would be the first time he’d seen her over the past 48 hours. She thought he saw her plenty when he went into that warehouse.

  “What did you tell them?” she asked, unable to pull her eyes from his face.

  “Just what happened. I told them the truth.”

  He didn’t blink as he said it, showed no emotion whatsoever.

  “And what do you think happened?” she asked, desperately wanting to know what he thought. Not because she gave a damn what he’d told Hartwell, but because she wanted to know for herself.

  “It’s not important. They don’t believe me. I may be involuntarily committed this time. I suppose it doesn’t matter … It’s probably for the best.”

  “Abel,” she whispered, her voice harsh, trying to get his attention. “Tell me.”

  He looked at her then, and Emi saw this wasn’t the person she’d known. He looked like the boy, the same color eyes and the same color hair and his lips the same shape—but this wasn’t her Abel Ease.

  Not the boy who let her sleep in his bed.

  Not the boy who went to her mother’s funeral.

  This was a man that Emi didn’t know, and as she stared into his hard eyes, she wondered if anyone could ever know him. If he’d ever let anyone in.

  “There’s a van picking me up in a few minutes, Emi. I’m going back to South Carolina.” He didn’t break eye contact as he spoke. “You have to be careful going forward. You’re not safe now. That Demsworth guy, I don’t mean you’re not safe from him. You’re fine right now, but in the future, there could be danger. I don’t think you’ll ever be free from it, so be careful.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, forgetting about her earlier question, nearly hypnotized by his gaze.

  “Things can see you now,” he said. “Things like the creature that got inside Demsworth. I don’t think this will be the last, Emi. You have to be careful.”

  Emi’s lips were still, her mind frozen, thinking back to Demsworth, to how she had felt when looking at him. That horror in the pit of her stomach, the fear that something awful was going to happen.

  Abel looked away, back to the window.

  “It was good seeing you, Emi. I … I missed you.” His voice was softer, more like the kid she’d known.

  “What happened, Abel?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just be careful, Emi. Please. Just be careful.”

  “Abel?”

  The voice came from behind Emi, and she looked over her shoulder, the wheelchair still very awkward to move.

  Abel turned around easily, and she looked at his face as he gazed upon the man at the door.

  “Right here, Geoffrey. Right where you left me,” Abel said, the gravity running through him discarded, traded for something resembling happiness.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  Abel looked down at Emi for a second, then back up to Geoffrey. “Tell me the truth. Do I have a choice, or is this involuntary?”

  “It’s just me, Abel,” the man said. “I was told you were ready to come home and to come down and get you personally. If you don’t want to go, no one’s told me to force you.”

  Abel nodded, and looked at Emi once more. “It was good seeing you. Take care, Emi.”

  He reached down and put his hand on her shoulder, holding her eyes with his own.

  Emi reached up without thinking, wanting to touch his hand for some reason, wanting to put her skin on his, but just as her fingers reached him, he pulled away and looked toward the man at the door.

  “I had a bag, but I think someone stole it. Apparently the good people of Atlanta are not as good as those in South Carolina.”

  He walked forward, leaving Emi behind. He didn’t so much as pause as he passed the person who had come for him. He went through the doorway without looking back.

  The man at the door—Geoffrey—looked at her for a second as if he wanted to say something.

  He took a step forward, then glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if his charge was there. Abel was gone and the man turned back.

  “He cares about you, I think more than he cares about anyone or anything
.”

  The two stared at each other for a second, Emi at a loss for words, unable to process anything.

  “Have a good day, ma’am,” Geoffrey said, nodded, then left the room.

  A week passed.

  There had been phone calls for Abel. He’d been told about them regularly, but he ignored them. Both the FBI and Emi had called, but Abel didn’t care to talk to either of them. He figured if the FBI really wanted to speak with him, they’d make a trip to Sunny Acres and do whatever they wanted then. He didn’t care to answer the phone. He’d told them everything, the whole truth and nothing but it.

  They sent no one, though.

  Follow up questions was how Dr. Thoran put it.

  Abel had no follow up answers.

  Emi had called too, and Abel treated her calls the same as he did the FBI’s. He had nothing to follow up with her on either.

  “Why don’t you want to speak with her, Abel?” Dr. Thoran asked.

  “What’s there to say?”

  “Anything you want … Or maybe she’s got something to say, and you just need to listen?”

  Abel shook his head. “I’ve heard enough, from everyone, forever.”

  The calls stopped during the second week, and Abel was glad for it.

  He settled into the familiar routine of his life. It was one he knew well, where the grooves were worn deep and nothing new came to surprise him. He went to his therapy sessions, both group and individual. He went to bed at the same time and woke up at the same time. He ate the same food and sat on the same porch.

  The dead remained at bay, at least for the most part.

  The suited man did show up once.

  Abel was on the porch, the weather warm outside. He heard the man’s footsteps falling over the wooden floor, knowing immediately they weren’t the softer soles of an orderly or nurse.

  Abel glanced over but then returned to looking out from the porch.

  The man stood facing the yard, not watching Abel either.

  Moments passed in silence. Abel knew what he was here for. He knew what he’d promised, hadn’t forgotten about it once.

  “You owe us your mother,” the dead man said, his heavy accent filling Abel’s ears.

  “I know,” Abel said. He rocked back and forth slowly on the chair.

  “When?”

  “It’s not exactly a good time for me to try and leave.”

  The dead man was quiet for a bit, but Abel still didn’t look over. He knew they would come for him again—they would keep coming until he drew his last breath. But … Abel didn’t know, really. It was just different now. This dead man standing next to him, talking. They would eventually drive him as insane as they had his father, but …

  Fuck ‘em, Emi said from inside his head.

  “You owe us your mother, and I mean to make sure it happens, boy,” the dead man said. “Do not dawdle.”

  He looked over at Abel, then, but Abel only remained staring forward and said nothing. Let the dead do as they wanted.

  Finally, he heard the man’s heels clicking over the porch, leaving Abel alone.

  And that’s all he wanted. Just to be left alone, for the rest of his life.

  Abel went to bed that night and he didn’t see the dead. He didn’t fall asleep, though, but simply lay on his side looking at the wall. He heard the whisper again, a small, insignificant thing—but it was there. If he listened very, very closely, he could make out the words.

  Abel, Abel, Abel, we can make this all okay. We can be together and you can have peace with Emi and me and you and the three of us …

  He quit focusing on it, the insane babble strangely seductive even now. Abel knew that if he listened to it, let the voice seep into even his subconscious, he might lose control. The creature was inside of him now, but locked away, pushed down deep just like it had wanted to do with Emi. Abel didn’t know what it might mean long term, carrying around an entity like that for the rest of his life—the unrelenting whisper constantly begging to be let out.

  Maybe it would pollute him regardless, or maybe he could hold off for a time. Maybe he could keep it at bay just like he did the dead.

  Abel closed his eyes, and when he did, it wasn’t Holocaust victims that haunted his mind.

  It was Emi.

  Her face.

  She had to be careful.

  On Purpose and Other Things

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