by Rick Hautala
What’s taking her so damned long?
Claire had the disquieting feeling that, for whatever reason, Sally had ditched her. She started walking, pacing back and forth under the awning as icy tension wound up inside her. She thought maybe she should go back inside and use the restroom, too.
No…I can wait.
Instead of going back inside, she increased her pacing, fighting the feeling that somewhere…out there…in the darkness…someone was watching every step she took. The rhythm to the oldies song by The Police began to play in her head.
“Every move you make…”
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself, her breath coming out a mist.
But no matter where she looked or what she thought about, the unsettling feelings only got worse.
Finally, the restaurant door opened. Claire jumped and turned to look, expecting to see Sally, but she stepped to one side, disappointed, when a couple exited instead. Her back was to the wall, but she didn’t realize she was standing at the corner of the building, almost in the darkness—when a rough hand clapped over her mouth, and a strong arm wrapped around her stomach, tightening so hard it forced the wind from her lungs.
“Make a sound, and you’re dead,” a man’s voice whispered.
~ * ~
One of her shoes flipped off her foot as the man dragged her backwards, into the darkness beside the building. She had a brief sensation of vertigo, like she was falling backwards, spinning down into darkness. The most vivid detail she remembered later was the stench of the man’s breath, which smelled like rotten onions and was as hot as a furnace on the side of her face. Because his hand was covering her mouth, any sounds she was making were smothered. Snot blew from her nose. Later, she thought she remembered hearing the sharp, pained whimpering of a dog that might have been hit by a car or something. She never could believe that such a sound had come from her.
She clawed at his hand, trying to pull it off so she could scream. She kicked his shins as hard as she could but couldn’t get enough oomph behind it. She wiggled and thrashed from side to side, but he seemed to be supernaturally strong. It was like struggling to lift a gigantic rock.
Claire wasn’t a weakling. She worked out…irregularly, but she had never felt so overwhelmed and helpless in her life. Fury and fear rose up inside her as she squirmed and fought and gasped for air…all to no avail.
The man’s other hand was all over her. Touching, rubbing, squeezing painfully. By the time he took his meaty paw off her mouth, she was too exhausted to cry out. He zipped the front of her coat down and reached inside, squeezing her breasts again, so hard the pain brought tears to her eyes. He grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it down with a quick, savage movement. Buttons flew in all directions. She heard them clatter on the pavement like tumbling dice.
This is it…He’s gonna kill me, was her only clear thought as tears of frustration burned her eyes.
But then something extraordinary happened.
Her assailant went suddenly limp. The bear hug he had on her relaxed, and he slumped forward. His chin dug painfully into her neck, and the stench of his breath was suddenly whisked away by cold, fresh air. Claire lurched to one side, shaking herself free of the man’s arms. Even in the darkness, she could see that his eyes were rolled back in his head. They glistened like soft-boiled eggs, bulging from their sockets. His mouth dropped to one side, and he looked for all the world like he was having a stroke.
“Where am…What?…I didn’t…”
He stared at his hands as though amazed that they were part of him.
“I…I never…”
Then he sank slowly to his knees like a collapsing accordion. When his knees hit the pavement, he rolled his head to the side and stared up at Claire.
“I’m…so…sorry,” was all he said before pitching forward. “I…didn’t do it… It wasn’t me…”
His face and chest hit the pavement at the same instant, making a loud thwacking sound that, Claire later found out when she testified against him in court, broke two of his front teeth.
While Claire was still trying to process what was happening, another figure—in the darkness, she had no idea who—rushed around the side of the building and grabbed her by both arms.
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
Claire shook her head, still having trouble focusing, but how could she forget that voice?
“Samael?” she said. “Where did you—”
And that was all.
She collapsed into his arms, and he held her, trembling as adrenalin washed through her system. He made soft cooing noises into her ear as he stroked her back and shoulders. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, only distantly aware of the faint smoky smell that clung to him.
He must be a smoker, she remembered thinking crazily, and she imagined he was a fire blazing in a fireplace—warm…comforting...
After a while—she had no idea how long—she got a grip and began to calm down…enough, at least, so she could pull back and look up at him. Even in the dimly lit alley beside the restaurant, she was entranced by the sculpted perfection of his face.
And his eyes!
Good Lord, they glowed in the darkness with a golden light that she found more intoxicating than the three mojitos she’d consumed. His arms tightened around her, and he smiled.
“Oh my God!…Oh my God!”
Sally’s voice pierced the night at the same time as a police siren started wailing in the distance.
“What happened?…Are you all right?”
As painful as it was to break off the embrace, she turned to see her roommate running toward her with something other than her purse in her hand. Only much later did she realize it was the shoe that had flipped off her foot when the man first grabbed her. She had cut her left foot on something—probably broken glass—behind the restaurant.
Speaking of the man who had assailed her, he was still down for the count, lying with his head cocked to one side and looking like he was deep asleep. A pool of dark liquid spread from his nose onto the pavement, looking like spilled India ink.
Samael still had his hand on Claire’s shoulder as she turned to Sally and nodded. The most she could do was grunt and nod. When Sally moved closer, though, something peculiar happened. Claire felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, as if she had to keep her away from Samael.
“Did he…? Oh, my God, Claire!”
Sally appeared to be more upset than Claire, but then again, that was Sally’s MO, and Claire was no doubt still in shock. The full impact of what had just happened—and what could have happened—wouldn’t hit her until much later that night, when she was trying to fall asleep.
“I—I’m fine…” Claire said, panting and shaking her head up and down. “I just… He…He came out of nowhere, and—No, Samael didn’t try to hurt me.”
She was amazed to hear how distant and fragile her voice sounded. It was like listening to someone else talking. Even the sound of her breathing and the rapid expansion and contraction of her chest seemed oddly foreign. No doubt, she was just beginning to realize how close she had come to experiencing some genuine horrors she didn’t even want to try to comprehend.
As she was speaking, and as Sally fussed about what had just happened, Claire clutched her blouse, pulling it closed to cover herself. The night air was cold on her face, and her teeth chattered as she shivered. The skin on her shoulders and back burned from her assailant trying to yank off her bra. Her stomach dropped when the police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, its siren wailing and its emergency lights flashing bright blue.
The man on the ground made a watery moaning sound and then stirred, sliding his hands under himself as if preparing to get up. Samael casually placed the toe of his shoe on the man’s back and pressed him down hard enough so the man’s face slammed against the pavement with a thud that sounded like a watermelon hitting the ground.
“You’re not going anywhere—except to jail,” Samael said. His voi
ce was low and casual. Claire couldn’t help but be impressed by his command of the situation. Even after the patrolmen got out of the cruiser and hurried over, Samael seemed to be the one in control. Claire watched in stunned silence, all too aware of Samael’s arm resting lightly around her waist as the cops cuffed the assailant and loaded him into the back of the cruiser.
One thing that struck Claire as odd was her assailant’s total compliance. Once he was on his feet, he gawked around as if looking for a clue as to what the hubbub was all about. What was happening? His nose was spewing blood, and his broken teeth and lips were covered with blood, but he made no move to wipe it away. He looked completely dazed, and who would blame him, after getting his face smacked so hard against the pavement?
Claire was left wondering why the man had let her go so suddenly.
Had he had a sudden jolt of guilt or remorse about what he was doing?
Is that why he’d said, “It wasn’t me?”
Or had Samael come around the corner at that point, and the man, realizing he’d been caught in the act, had given up?
But why hadn’t he tried to get away?
And how had Samael known what was going on behind the restaurant?
How had he appeared so fast? Hadn’t he already left to go home…unless he had been waiting out in the parking lot for her to leave?
The exact sequence of events was a blur, and her stomach sank when one of the patrolmen—his badge read “Officer Tompkins”—came up to her and asked, “You all right?”
He shined a flashlight into her face. It was so bright Claire had to squint and shield her eyes. She nodded and made a funny little gasping sound, but anything she might have wanted to say was stuck somewhere deep down in her throat.
Samael was still standing beside her, holding her close to him. His body heat was amazing. When he shifted from one foot to the other as if to break contact with her, she was suddenly fearful that she would fall down without his support. Her left foot had a hot, dull pain. Glancing at Samael, Claire once again was struck by the intense brightness of his eyes in the darkened alleyway. She felt a wave of shame when she wondered what his eyes would look like in her bedroom…with a single candle burning…after they had made love.
Stop it!…Jesus, don’t think such crazy thoughts…Keep focused here.
But there was no way she could sort it out and make sense of what had just happened. Her last clear memory was of Sally, telling her she had to use the restroom and then waiting in the parking lot, feeling creeped out. After that, everything got jumbled up. It was like she was drunk and spinning around wildly on a merry-go-round. Fragments and images flashed across her mind with the speed of lightning that blended together and dissolved before she could register any of them.
Then…Samael.
“An ambulance is on the way,” Officer Tompkins said, angling his light away from her eyes. Claire let out a moan and started shaking her head.
“No, I—I’m all right…I don’t need to go to—”
She didn’t finish her sentence because, when she took a step back, she finally felt the full pain of the gash on her left foot. She would have fallen down if Samael hadn’t been there to hold her up.
“And you’re the boyfriend?” Officer Tompkins asked as he directed his beam of light into Samael’s face.
Samael didn’t even blink as he shot a quick glance at Claire that made her wish he would say yes. But he turned back to the cop and said, “No, I was just leaving—going to my car after having a few drinks with a friend, when I saw what was happening.”
Claire felt deflated.
The cop looked over his shoulder toward the parking lot. She didn’t need to look to see what he was checking out. It was an obvious question: How could Samael have seen what was going on when there was no direct view from the parking lot to here?
Before the cop could frame the question, though, Samael volunteered an answer.
“The guy grabbed her out in front of the restaurant and dragged her back here.” He made a gesture toward the ground. “You can see where her feet—one shoe was already off—scuffed the ground.”
The cop shined his flashlight beam down onto the pavement. Even Claire could see the trail her feet had made through the debris on the ground. At a certain point, blood from her cut foot stained the ground. She winced as the cut began to throb.
“Is that what happened?” the cop asked Claire.
She gritted her teeth and shook her head.
“Yes. I think so. I don’t know for sure…It all happened so…fast.”
The wailing sound of the ambulance’s siren drew closer, and then its flashing red emergency lights split the night.
“Let’s get you to the hospital and have you checked out first,” Officer Tompkins said. “Then you can make a statement.”
She caught the shifty glance he shot at Samael as if to say: I know you were involved in this, too…Maybe I should haul your ass in. For whatever reason, the cop certainly looked as though he’d taken an instant dislike to Samael.
“I’ll go with you,” Samael said just as Claire started to turn to him to ask if he’d come along. She couldn’t miss the look Sally gave at Samael as she stepped forward and said rather loudly, “No, I’ll go with her. She’s my roomie.”
“You don’t have to come, Sal,” she said. “I’m fine, and besides…”
She twitched her head toward Samael to indicate that she’d much prefer having him come with her, but Sally’s expression hardened, and she shook her head decisively.
“I’m coming, and that’s final,” Sally said, sounding a lot like Claire’s mother.
“But you’ll miss the concert. You’ve been waiting—”
“Fuck the concert!”
Claire noticed that Samael had the good sense to step back and stay out of this. That made her feel all the more confident in her opinion.
“Seriously. I’ll be fine,” she said, all but glaring at Sally wishing she’d back off. “Give Alice a call. She can use my ticket. I know she wanted to go, too.”
Sally started to protest again, but Claire cut her off with a sharp glance.
By now, the ambulance had come to a wailing stop in the restaurant parking lot. The entrance to the restaurant and the sidewalk were filled with rubberneckers. Claire felt like a bug under a magnifying glass as she limped over to the back of the ambulance. The EMTs were getting out a stretcher, but she waved them off, saying, “I’m all right…I’m all right.”
Before she climbed into the back of the ambulance, she glanced at Samael, who was standing at the edge of the crowd, looking like he was trying to fade away. The eye contact between them was intense, but it was impossible to read his thoughts. He looked intrigued, angry, detached, and passionately in love, all at the same time. Claire’s heart was racing as she stared back at him, wondering if he was going to turn and walk away now that she had all the assistance she could need.
But that’s not what he did, and that may have been the first step along the path to his own destruction. Because, instead of walking away and figuring out another way to get to Claire and possess her soul—if she was the person he was determined to corrupt—he shouted to her loud enough to be heard above the noise of the crowd: “I’ll follow in my car.”
Through her pain and turmoil, Claire was nearly bursting with happiness when she called back to him: “See you there.”
Chapter
2
Double Ditch
The rest of the night—the ambulance ride to the hospital, the waiting in the ER, the statement to the police, the hospital checkout at three A.M., including a brief talk with a rape crisis counselor—all went by in a blur. The only stable thing, it seemed, was Samael’s smiling face, glimpsed several times in passing as she was wheeled from one examination room to another, to be prodded and poked and have blood samples drawn and blood pressure and temperature taken and have the cut on her foot swabbed with disinfectant, stitched up, and bandaged.
The a
bsolute worst time—the only time emotions welled up so much she actually broke down and cried—was when she spoke with Louise Allen, the rape crisis counselor. Only then did the stark reality hit her of what had happened—and what might have…what would have happened—if Samael hadn’t shown up when he did.
Through her stay at the hospital, her cell phone rang repeatedly. Each call was from Sally, and every time she was able, Claire answered the phone and assured her roomie that she was fine. Because the cut was on the outside edge of her left foot, she would probably limp for a week or so. Other than that, after around three in the morning, she was anxious to get the hell out of there and go home.
Nearer to four o’clock—after how many final checkups, questions, and forms to sign—she was dressed and ready to go back to the apartment. Still, the hospital personnel kept her in a private room, sitting on another examination table and waiting. After a while, a knock sounded on the door. The door opened only after Claire called out, “Come in.”
Another doctor—one she was certain she hadn’t already spoken with yet—entered with her file in hand. He took a few seconds to scan the charts, flipping pages and nodding as he read. Claire was amazed that they could have generated so much information about her in such a short time, and she was anxious, now, to be on her way.
“Looks like you’re all set to be released, then, Ms. McMullen.” He took a small pad from his jacket pocket and started scribbling on it. “I want to give you a couple of prescriptions.” He kept talking as he wrote. “One’s so your foot won’t get infected. The other’s a pain killer.”
Claire nodded, determined not to use the meds if she didn’t have to.
When the doctor was done, he tore off the prescription sheets and handed them to her. She clutched them tightly in her hand and, at that instant, recalled the name and phone number Samael had scribbled on a napkin for her…
Had it really been earlier this evening…or last night, by now…?
God, it seems like days ago!
