The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  James waited for the sound of the front door closing before he let out the breath he had been holding.

  “I doubt it,” he said. There was no way he’d regret turning away the devil.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  FOUR DAYS PASSED AND James hadn’t seen anything of Simon and under other circumstances that might have let him relax. The problem was that the flu bug that hit town just over a week ago was spreading fast. He’d even heard of some people who were afflicted seriously enough to be hospitalized. The school closed its doors this morning to give the kids a four-day weekend. The idea was to give everyone time to get over their illness before they brought it to school and spread it to others.

  By the end of each day, James was exhausted. He would go to ten homes a day and minister to the people there, with good deeds and kind words. This was a very nasty flu that was going around and it wasn’t even flu season. No telling what the wintertime would be like, if this were any indication.

  That town in Florida, that was no longer there, crossed his mind more than once. A sickness had wiped them out.

  “Please God,” he prayed, “don’t let that happen here.”

  The only high point of the last few days had been the extra time he got to spend with Amy. She had taken a few days of vacation time to help him minister to the sick. Her presence was a little bit of God’s light shining in dark times. His nightly prayers to God were not without a thank-you for that. Today she had to return to work.

  A wave of satisfaction caressed James’ heart as he pulled into the driveway of his little one-bedroom house, situated next door to his church. It was no longer just a house. It was no longer strange or temporary. It was really his home now.

  The square house had a small porch in front, just big enough for a pair of rocking chairs and a small table. On the table were two bottles of grape soda. In one of the chairs, rocking patiently was Amy.

  He shut the car door and took the four steps up to the porch two at a time. “Hi,” he said with a smile, leaning against the porch railing.

  “Hi, James,” Amy answered with a smile of her own, leaning back in the chair. She had gotten over any shyness in using his first name. Since the bomb scare, everything seemed easy between them. “Is it okay that I came over?” she asked.

  “My day’s a little bit better now that you did, especially since you brought grape soda.”

  “Mm-hm. I know it’s your favorite.”

  “Ah, you know me so well.” He picked up one of the bottles and took a long sip. He had loved sharing a bottle with his father when he was a kid. When he had mentioned it to Amy in passing, she had surprised him the next day with a few bottles from the local store.

  “Hard day?” she asked him.

  “No more so than most,” he said, which wasn’t really an answer to her question.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you today, but I needed to get back to work. We’ve got so many people off now with this crazy flu.”

  “You’ve helped a lot this week, already,” James said. “I’m glad that you were able to help as much as you did.”

  “They are saying they might have to shut the plant down next week if more people get sick.”

  James didn’t know what to say. His mind kept going back to the old newspaper reports about Florida.

  Amy continued. “I made a few calls. We’ve got all of the COPs out helping,” she said. “Georgette Newman, Mary Feeney, Bob Morris, Simon Paradis . . .”

  “Simon?” James said questioningly.

  “He’s been very helpful. Never seems to get tired . . .” her voice trailed off.

  “Are you feeling okay?” James asked.

  Amy didn’t respond. She looked tired and a bit pale. “Amy?”

  She fanned herself. “It’s kind of warm out here . . .”

  James had just been thinking that it was a bit cooler than usual. Worried, he leaned over and put his hand on her forehead. “You have a fever, Amy.”

  She nodded. “Guess I’m coming down with that bug, too.”

  “You need to get some rest.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said and reached for her purse to get her car keys. Leaning over made her woozy and she sat back in the chair. “Wow . . .” she said.

  “I’ll drive you home,” he offered

  “But my car is here . . .” she protested weakly.

  “We’ll find someone to drive it to your place.” He took her arm to help her stand. “I really think you need to get some rest, Amy.”

  She let him help her up and made it two steps before she fainted in his arms.

  James carried Amy into his house and placed her on his couch with her head propped up on some pillows. He then got a cool cloth for her forehead. She was burning up and he couldn’t rouse her. He had no other option than to call 9-1-1.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  AMY CAME OUT OF it just as the ambulance arrived, embarrassed and protesting that she would be fine, if they’d just take her home.

  The lead paramedic took James aside to discuss the situation. “She has a fever and she’s a bit dehydrated, but her lungs are clear. I think she’ll be okay as long as she gets some fluids and some bed rest. Over the counter meds will help with the fever. She lives here with you?”

  “No,” James said. “She just came over for a visit, but she lives in town. I can take her home and make sure she gets what she needs.”

  The paramedic looked at him. “She should have someone stay with her. If her fever gets any worse, she needs to go to the hospital . . .”

  “I’ll find someone to stay with her,” he promised.

  “Fluids, bed rest, analgesic . . . Call us if her fever gets higher,” said the paramedic.

  James repeated the instructions and the paramedic seemed satisfied.

  * * *

  An hour later, Amy was safe in her own bed with Georgette from the COPs at her side. She had brought a pitcher of her special iced green tea with ginger and was preparing a pot of chicken soup in the kitchen. Knowing Amy was in capable hands, James headed to the pharmacy for the medication he promised the paramedics he’d provide.

  The town had two pharmacies. James drove to the closest, a little family-run business with Falcone’s written in neon above the front door. The owners, Philip and Melissa, weren’t members of either his church or Branson’s, but they were good, decent people. Philip was behind the front counter today. They exchanged greetings and James picked up a basket and went into the aisles to find the cold and flu section.

  Mindy Ellison was there.

  “Hi Mindy, I hope Jordon hasn’t come down with the flu.”

  Mindy turned her head and James noticed that the woman’s eyes were reddish. “No,” she replied in a hoarse voice. “This is for me. Jordon and Richard are fine.”

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling ill,” said James.

  “Me too,” she said, although it sounded more like ‘be too’ with her stuffy nose. She held up several bottles of medication. “I’m trying to not let this slow me down.”

  “Well, I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Thanks,” she said and shuffled off toward the checkout counter.

  James picked up a couple of different medications, not really sure which would be best. There were several brands and they each made the same claims on their labels. He was on his way back up to the counter, coming around the end of the aisle, when he bumped into someone. He was about to apologize when he looked up and saw who was standing there, with his smiling face and long dark coat with its frayed cuffs and collar.

  The words died on his lips.

  You don’t apologize to the devil for standing in his way.

  “Careful there, Reverend. Never know who you might run into.” Simon gently pushed James back and made sure he had his balance before dusting off the front of his own coat and resettling his fedora.

  “Simon,” James said, taking two steps back. “Why are you still here?”

  Simon lift
ed his arms and put a confused look on his face. “I live here. This is my home. You know how important home is, don’t you, Reverend?”

  What Simon said sounded familiar.

  Harmony was his home now. He felt comfortable here, comfortable and welcome, welcome—

  His thoughts were wandering again and it was Simon’s influence. He shook his head to clear it. Why would the devil feel it necessary to take human form and walk the streets of Harmony plotting and scheming?

  “Sure you won’t reconsider that favor, Reverend?”

  A rush of anger rose inside of James. “What are you doing here, really?”

  The devil in the guise of a man smiled at James. “Nasty flu going around, you know. I came down here to get some medicine for a few friends. Just like you did.” He pointed at the bottles in James’ basket. “For Amy?”

  His words would have sounded sincere if not for that smile.

  And then he turned and walked toward the front of the store, saying good-bye to Philip on his way past.

  James stared after him and then walked to the front counter and put his selected medicine bottles down for Philip.

  “Nice guy, that Simon,” Philip said.

  James wasn’t sure he’d heard Philip right. “You know him?”

  “Oh, sure, he came over to the house just last week. Seems he moved into a house a few places down from us and he wanted to introduce himself. Nice man. We had supper together a couple of times. Haven’t been able to get together since, though. My wife’s taken sick with this flu that everyone’s got. She has asthma, you know, so it hit her pretty hard. Took her to emergency last night.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Philip. Anything I can do?”

  “Nothing you can do, Reverend. Except pray for her, I guess. I’ll be shutting the store down early to head over there . . .”

  James promised to pray for Melissa and then stepped out of the store into the early evening sunset. It would be dark soon enough.

  Getting into his car, he started the engine and headed back home.

  Simon had claimed he was concerned for the sick people of Harmony—James doubted that seriously.

  What if . . .

  The traffic light ahead turned red and he had to brake hard for it.

  The idea was crazy.

  There was no way a mere man had that kind of power.

  The green light came and it wasn’t until the car behind him honked that James realized he was supposed to drive through.

  He needed to talk to his friend and confidant, Branson.

  But first, he needed to get this medicine to Amy.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  GEORGETTE ANSWERED AMY’S DOOR. The tiny apartment was filled with the aroma of garlicky chicken soup. James’ stomach growled in hunger and Georgette smiled.

  “There’s plenty,” she said, taking the bag of medications from his hands. “Help yourself to a bowl.”

  “Thanks, but I want to see Amy first. How is she doing?”

  “I feel terrible,” a voice called from the bedroom.

  James peeked in the door and saw Amy sitting up in bed with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her face a little green around the edges and her eyes red.

  “You look terrible,” he confirmed.

  “Oh, thanks.” She coughed. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

  He laughed and entered the room, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Poor Amy. You going to be all right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s just the flu, James. I’ll be—” another cough, “—fine.”

  “Mm-hmm,” said Georgette, approaching the bed with a bottle and a spoon. “What you’ll be is on bed rest.”

  Amy shook her head, which amounted to her rolling it from side to side while she rested against the pillows. “Gotta work tomorrow.”

  “I think they’ll understand if you call in sick,” James said. “I’ll write you a note if you like.”

  “I don’t know if a note from a pastor is as good as a note from a doctor . . .”

  James feigned offense. “It should be!”

  Amy gave a short laugh, which turned into a cough. She swallowed and her eyes closed—in general she just looked miserable.

  “Here,” Georgette said, leaning over with a spoonful of bright orange-tinted medicine. “This will make you feel better.”

  “Are you sure? It smells terrible!” Amy said.

  James agreed. It was a strong smell full of menthol and camphor—different from any cold or flu medicine he’d smelled before.

  “Medicine is supposed to smell terrible,” Georgette said. “Now open . . .”

  A thought occurred to James. A memory of Simon being in the pharmacy with him today, and of something he had said. ‘I came down here to get some medicine for a few friends.’ But when Simon had left, he hadn’t bought any medicine.

  “Wait,” said James. “Where did you get that?” he asked Georgette.

  “From the bag you brought.”

  “Don’t give her that . . .”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “I . . . I don’t think it covers all of her symptoms,” he said, scrambling for an answer. “I bought more than one type . . .” James took the bottle and the spoon away from a bewildered Georgette and walked quickly into the kitchen where the bag of medicine lay on the table. He screwed the lid back onto the bottle he had taken from Georgette. A greenish slime swirled inside the orange liquid like worms. James took the other two bottles out of the bag and held them up to the light. Nothing offensive swirled in either one and both were well-known brands.

  “What are you looking at?” Georgette said from behind him.

  “The labels,” James said quickly. He offered her one of the new bottles. “I think this one is more suitable, don’t you?”

  She took it from his hand and said, “If you say so . . .” She returned to Amy’s bedside with the new bottle and a new spoon.

  Alone, James examined the bottle with the swirls inside. S’Wellness . . . it wasn’t a brand he was familiar with but other than that it looked like any other medicine bottle. It promised relief from various cold and flu symptoms, had dosing information on the side and had the same kind of white twist-top that the other bottle had.

  It was just a bottle. Nothing else.

  He reached a finger out to it. Slowly, he got closer and closer to the side.

  The bottle turned as he did, the e’s in the brand name suddenly resembling an animal’s eyes, watching his hand.

  Okay, that wasn’t normal.

  “God,” he prayed, on impulse. “I don’t know what this is. But I’m sure it has something to do with Simon. It has something to do with my friends and neighbors, Your children, getting sick. I know what happened to that town in Florida. Is he here to do it again? Please, Lord, help me to know what to do here.”

  James put the foul medicine bottle back in the paper bag and walked into Amy’s bedroom just as her phone rang. Instinctively, she retrieved it from the nightstand and looked at the number. She grimaced, looked up at James and said, “Rick.”

  “Go ahead,” he told her.

  Amy pressed the answer key and said, “Hello.” Then she shook her head. “No. I can’t. No, Rick, listen to me. I’m sick. I’m not coming over there. You’ve got to calm down.” Her eyes closed and she shouted into the phone, “Rick, please. Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid!” There was an alarm in her voice.

  “Amy. Give me the phone.”

  She hesitated for a few heartbeats, looking at him with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she handed him the phone.

  “Rick?” he said. “Rick, this is Pastor Buchman.”

  At first all James could hear was muffled sobbing on the other end of the line. “You? I don’t want to talk to you,” Rick finally said. “I want to speak to Amy. Put Amy back on the phone.”

  “She doesn’t want to speak to you right now. She’s not feeling well. Maybe, once you have your head in the right plac
e, the three of us can sit down and discuss things. But not now.”

  The look of gratitude Amy gave him warmed his heart and broke it, both at once.

  The tone of Rick’s voice changed from grief to anger. “You think you’re so much better than me?” He snarled. “Do you? Do you? Don’t go all high and mighty on me, priest.”

  James stopped breathing. Those were Simon’s words.

  “Rick, is someone there with you?” he asked when he could breathe again.

  There were muffled sounds and whispered voices, as though the phone were being handed off to someone else. Then a familiar voice spoke to him.

  “Hello, Reverend,” Simon said. “Having a nice visit with poor Amy?”

  James’ mouth was suddenly dry and he had to swallow several times before he trusted his tongue to work. “What are you doing there?”

  Simon chuckled, in a low and vile sound. “I told you that you should have done me that favor.”

  “Let me talk to Rick.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, not for you, or anyone else shortly.”

  The phone went silent.

  James set it down on the nightstand, his mind racing.

  “James, what’s wrong? Who was there with Rick?” Amy asked him. He could hear the worry in her voice.

  “Where would Rick be, right now?”

  “At work or his house. You know the place? Over on Third Avenue?”

  He did.

  “Georgette, will you be staying with Amy?”

  “Yes, I’m spending the night.”

  “Good, I feel better knowing that she is in good hands.”

  “James, what’s going on?” Amy asked. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  But as he got into his car and drove off, well over the posted speed limit, he wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  RICK’S HOUSE WAS A duplex really, but the other side had been vacant for a few years, and Rick was the only tenant. It was on a street full of similar-looking houses, some of which had also been turned into apartments, and some were still houses unto themselves. The one Rick lived in was painted a horrible shade of yellow with red trim. James went up to the front door and knocked. It swung open slowly when he did.