The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  Crying and mumbling came from inside. Cautiously he entered, walking softly, trying to see all around him at once.

  The kitchen door was open. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. Empty frozen food wrappers were scattered across the counter tops. A half-eaten bowl of cereal was on the small round table.

  The next room was the living room. The two windows had blue striped sheets instead of curtains nailed to the wall on either side. The carpet was dirty and littered with crumpled soda cans. A broken-down green couch and a pink recliner with yellow flowers on it were the only pieces of furniture other than an entertainment center with a large-screen plasma television and tall speakers that took up most of one wall. It was still on some police drama, flashing lights and racing cars making chaotic visual images with the sound muted.

  And Rick had wanted Amy to move into here with him? James sent that thought back into the corner of his mind from where it had come. It was kind of irrelevant at the moment.

  The crying was coming from down the hallway that led off the living room, from a room that had its door closed. James went up to it and pushed. This door, too, swung open.

  It opened onto a bedroom with a dark blue rug and walls painted black and a bed with black sheets on it. Black sheets were also tacked up over the window but had come loose on one side. Dust floated in the beam of light from the street lamp outside. On the bed sat Rick wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. His muscular arms were shaking as he held a razor blade in his right hand and stroked it gently against his left wrist.

  “Rick,” James spoke softly.

  Rick’s pale skin stood out in stark contrast to the dark sheets he sat on. He looked up at James with tears blurring his eyes. “Go away! Just leave me alone! I want Amy back. I want her back . . .”

  The razor blade hovered over Rick’s wrist.

  “I know, Rick, I understand—” James tried.

  “No you don’t!” Rick screamed at him. “How can you know? Huh? She wasn’t your girl, she was mine! She was.”

  “She still is,” a low voice spoke from the corner behind James.

  James turned and saw Simon. In his black clothing, it was hard to see him at first, against the dark walls of the dark room.

  “She is still your girl,” Simon said. “You need to show her how much you love her. How badly you need her. It’s the only way to get her back.”

  James saw Rick’s face go slack even as his mouth reformed the same words. “She still is my girl. This will get her back.”

  “Rick! Snap out of it!” James yelled as loudly as he could. Rick’s head whipped up and just for a moment his eyes focused on James. “That’s right, that’s right Rick. Look at what you’re doing. Look.” He pointed to Rick’s hands.

  Rick looked down and saw the razor blade between his thumb and first finger. He turned it over to stare at it as if he didn’t know how it had gotten in his hand.

  “Don’t listen to him, Rick,” Simon whispered through his teeth, his smile broad and knowing. “This is what a man does. He takes control of the situation. If she can’t see how much you love her, then you show her.”

  “I . . . I’m going to show her,” Rick mumbled and moved the blade back.

  James stepped over to the bed and sat down next to Rick. He covered the hand with the razor blade. “Give that to me, Rick.”

  Rick looked at him, his eye like a child’s. “But I love her.”

  “I know. I know you do. But doing this isn’t the way to show her. You’re only going to scare her.”

  He blinked at James. “I don’t want to scare her. I wouldn’t want that. I . . . I love her, you know?”

  “I know, Rick.” James carefully took the blade from Rick’s fingers and carefully slipped it into his own pocket.

  Simon took two long steps across the room and yelled in Rick’s face, “He doesn’t want to help you! He wants Amy for himself, you stupid, ignorant human!”

  Rick’s face changed in an instant, going from stupefied calm to irrational rage as he stood up. “Is that it? Well, you can’t have her!” He lunged at James, fists at the ready.

  James ducked the first of Rick’s swings and backed out of the bedroom doorway as Rick stumbled after him, walking like a drunken man under water. Despite his obvious fury, he was slow, as if his own body was struggling for control.

  “Rick, listen to me!” James held his hands up with the palms out, trying to calm Rick down again. “You don’t want to do this!”

  Simon followed Rick, magically staying just far enough out of swinging range. “Yes you do,” he hissed.

  “Yes I do!” Rick screeched, spittle flying.

  “You see, Reverend,” Simon spoke to James over the sound of Rick huffing and groaning like a heavyweight boxer in a title match, “here’s the thing . . . simple minds like Rick’s here are easy to influence. Whisper the right words, and he will do anything I say.” Simon directed his words to Rick. “He is taking Amy from you. You have to break his neck.”

  “Break his neck,” Rick grated from between clenched teeth.

  “See?” Simon grinned. “Rick is an unstable, violent individual. It doesn’t take much to push him over the edge. He might very well have got to this point on his own, without my influence. But I couldn’t rely on it, and this way is more fun.” Again, Simon spoke directly to Rick. “Amy is cheating on you with this pitiful little man . . .”

  “Arrrggh!” Rick growled furiously.

  “No, that’s not true,” James said.

  “You know it’s true, Rick. You have to kill him and Amy too!”

  “No!” shouted James. “You don’t want to hurt Amy!”

  “Hurt . . . Amy!” Rick groaned.

  James could see that. Rick was steadier on his feet now, stepping faster, less at war with himself and more certain of his hateful intent.

  Simon chuckled. “I don’t think he wants to listen to you anymore, Reverend.”

  James tripped over the leg of one of the three chairs around the small kitchen table and fell backward onto the floor. He landed badly, the wind knocked out of him.

  Rick took the opportunity to pick up one of the knives on the kitchen counter.

  James raised an arm up for protection and started scrambling backward toward the front door.

  Rick followed, swinging the knife wildly.

  The blade grazed James’ forearm and he cried out in pain.

  Rick swung the knife back around faster than James could anticipate. The blade sliced deep into his shoulder.

  James tried desperately to get to his feet, but Rick lunged and knocked him back to the floor.

  This time the blade penetrated his stomach.

  He fought back, grabbing Rick’s arm, and tried to prevent the knife from plunging any deeper.

  The air grew thick with the smells of Rick’s musk cologne, sweat, and a strange metal odor, he couldn’t quite identify.

  “Gonna kill you!” Rick screamed.

  Weakened by blood loss, James’ arms threatened to fold as he held the madman back. His vision blurred and began to grow dim.

  Suddenly, Rick’s weight was lifted off of him. James shook his head to bring back his focus and saw two men in uniform forcing Rick to the floor. “Police! Stop resisting!” one of them yelled out loudly as Rick continued to thrash and try to get up.

  One of them kicked the knife from Rick’s hand and together they restrained him with handcuffs.

  “Gonna kill you! Gonna kill Amy!” Rick said, over and over.

  When he looked back into the living room, Simon was gone.

  Chapter Thirty

  JAMES LAY ON A gurney outside of Rick’s house while Officer Anthony Rodriguez finished taking down his statement.

  “We’ve got to get him to the hospital,” the paramedic interrupted.

  The officer nodded. “You’re lucky your friend Amy made the call, you know.”

  “I do,” James said.

  “I don’t know what kind of drugs this guy was
on, but he was certainly gaining the upper hand.”

  They probably wouldn’t find any drugs when Rick was tested.

  “I’ll thank her as soon as I see her again,” James said and watched as officers Colmenero and Rodriguez placed Rick in the back of their patrol car and then drove off. Hopefully, they’d be taking him to the hospital where he could get the mental health services that he needed. Needed even more so now that the devil had messed with his mind.

  “I only pushed him a little, you know,” Simon said, suddenly at James’ elbow. “Everything he did, he had already been thinking about doing before I came along.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “Because you think everything I say is a lie. It’s not, you know. I wasn’t lying when I told you I needed a favor.”

  “And what favor exactly, did you think I would do for you?”

  “Why, I was going to ask you to talk to Amy and have her stay with Rick. You know he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself if she’d only just stayed with him. But no, you had to go and make a play of your own for her. This is really all your fault, isn’t it?” Simon smiled.

  James tried to push himself up on the gurney with his elbows, but the pain in his stomach was too intense. “I would never force Amy into a life of mental abuse with that man.”

  “Because you love her.”

  He was blindsided by Simon’s words, which took the momentum out of his argument. He blinked. Why had those simple words stopped him so completely?

  “Sir,” one of the paramedics interrupted. “We need to take our patient now.”

  “By all means,” Simon smiled and backed away. “My work here is almost done.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  AS THE AMBULANCE RACED through the streets of Harmony, sirens blaring, the paramedics fought to keep James calm. He thrashed around on the gurney, desperate to break free. As they tried to keep him still, James looked from one to the other and struggled more furiously than before. They both looked eerily like Simon, their lips curved into his unmistakable evil grin.

  “No, I won’t let you hurt any more of my people, Satan. I will fight you until my last dying breath.”

  The taller of the two paramedics leaned in closer and looked him in the eye. He took his hand and everything came into focus. His name tag read V. Darrell and he didn’t look like Simon at all.

  “Don’t worry, nothing is going to get you in here. You’re perfectly safe.”

  After glancing at the other paramedic to be sure Simon wasn’t still with them somehow, James relaxed into the gurney. He was drenched in sweat and started to shiver. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  “Sir? I need to keep your eyes open for me, please.”

  James had been injured before, but this was nothing like the times he’d broken bones or torn muscles playing baseball. This was much worse. The pain that radiated from his stomach was unlike anything he’d ever felt. Something was terribly wrong with him. His hands and arms ached and stung where he had been cut.

  The ambulance stopped abruptly in front of the tall glass-fronted emergency room at Harmony Memorial. The back doors flew open, and red, blue, and white lights flashed all around. James grew nervous when he heard other voices, worried that Simon could be near. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.

  “Sir, you’re hurt pretty bad. Don’t move, okay?”

  They rolled him through the automatic doors and into chaos.

  Now there were a few more faces staring down at him, and he scanned their faces in turn. They were chattering and shouting to each other, and none of them were smiling, evilly or otherwise.

  James tried to glance around and saw other patients lined up in the hall. Spots appeared as his eyes adjusted to the blinding glow of the florescent lights. Nurses were buzzing around administering IVs. The paramedics were talking to the doctors as he was rolled into a tiny stall made of curtains.

  The curtains did little to dim the sound of the commotion of the bustling ER. Phones were ringing and people were yelling and crying. One woman was screaming terribly loud about the pain she was in. All the sounds combined into a shrill buzz that hurt his ears. It was like the time when he was eight and he and a friend set off a cherry bomb. Their ears had rung for hours. He pulled himself together and focused on the voice nearest to him.

  “What’ve we got?” asked the attending physician, looking out from under a pair of bushy brown eyebrows. He wore a blue head covering, but James could see the end of a ponytail jutting from the back.

  “Stab wound to the abdomen, defensive wounds to the hands and forearms. Patient’s name is James Buchman. He’s the new reverend over at New Hope Church. Patient was hallucinating.”

  James wanted to protest, but he had seen things that weren’t really there.

  “Hallucinating?” the doctor asked.

  “Says the devil is coming to get him.”

  “That’s the second one this week.”

  Second one this week? James’ heart skipped a beat. Had Simon revealed himself to others? Could others see his true nature?

  “Let’s get a sonogram to check his wounds. Nurse, run a tox-screen. Reverend, my name is Doctor Berteli and this is Nurse Kramer. We’re going to take good care of you. I’m going to push on your stomach now, okay?”

  James blinked and nodded. The doctor pressed up into his rib cage and then worked his way inward. James winced when he probed with his fingers near the wound. It almost felt like being stabbed again. He fought back a wave of nausea.

  “Reverend,” Dr. Berteli continued, “We need to find out if the knife penetrated the abdominal wall and if you have any internal bleeding before we patch you up. Any allergies we should be aware of?”

  He shook his head. His mouth was dry and he didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “I’m going to start an IV,” said Nurse Kramer, as she inserted a needle into his arm.

  He managed a weak smile and a nod.

  A new voice was shouting. James lifted his head slightly to investigate and saw a doctor at the nurse’s desk yelling into the phone.

  “We need someone here now! Not tomorrow, now! This is no ordinary flu!”

  “The . . . devil is to blame . . .” James blurted out. “He brings pestilence and death with him. The devil is to blame!”

  “Nurse, get Mr. Buchman a sedative. And put a rush on that tox-screen. I need to see what we’re dealing with here.”

  James tried to brush Nurse Kramer’s hand away from the IV port. He needed his wits about him, not a sedative.

  “Please, listen to me. This is what he wants, he wants me to be too weak to fight.”

  “Sir, you need to rest now. This medicine will help you do that.” She deftly inserted the needle and pressed the plunger.

  “No,” James whispered.

  The medicine.

  Even while the sedative took effect, James made the connection.

  The S’Wellness medicine. He was certain of it.

  Before he could tell anyone his theory, the sedative took full effect. They probably wouldn’t believe him anyway.

  Darkness swirled around him and swallowed him as he lost consciousness.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “JAMES, YOU’RE A GOOD man, and I’m proud of you, but this battle that you’re fighting is far from over.” The voice was one James never expected to hear again. “He has to be stopped. He fears you, James. Only you can stop him.”

  The voice was that of his father, but his father was dead. He must be dreaming, and the voice a product of his imagination or the medication, but those words still struck a chord.

  God was using the voice of his father to send him a message.

  “What can I do?” James asked. “Please, give me a sign. I am Your instrument. I will do Your work in Your name.”

  He saw bright flashes of people dying from the illness spreading through his community . . .

  Flashes of his church . . .

  Flashes of the g
arden behind the church . . .

  Flashes of Simon . . .

  Flashes of St. Joseph burning to the ground . . .

  Flashes of his own church on fire . . .

  The flames grew taller and burned brighter. From the glowing embers came a hand that reached out and touched his shoulder, giving him a newfound confidence that he thought he had lost.

  “I understand.”

  “You understand what?” a voice asked.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  JAMES OPENED HIS EYES and saw Branson at his bedside, his large hand on his shoulder.

  “How long was I out?”

  Branson smiled at him. “It’s Saturday afternoon. About thirty-six hours since they admitted you. You remember anything?”

  James closed his eyes. It had been almost two days since he had been admitted to the hospital, but he couldn’t remember how he got there in the first place. He couldn’t even recall what injury or illness he was suffering from. He remembered Simon, and the threat he posed, but not much else. He tried to sit up and a sharp pain radiated from his stomach.

  “Whoa there, James. You were stabbed. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

  “No. What happened to me?”

  “Amy’s ex stabbed you in the gut. Lucky though, nothing important got hit.”

  James looked down and saw bandages around his abdomen. There was a thick, syrupy smell of disinfectant. His hands and arms were also bandaged and sore.

  “They stitched you up, but they had to put you out.” Branson looked around to make sure no one overheard him. “They said you were spouting off about the devil being among us. Delusional, they said.” Branson didn’t look as though he thought James was delusional. He looked scared.