The Demon Pool

by Richard B. Dwyer

  But he could not shake the sensation that something else had happened. Something crazy. Something weird. He could think about it later. Bruce looked down at his wrist. The Tag Heuer said a quarter till nine. Kat would be expecting him soon. He needed to shake off his woozy fatigue and get going.

  He entered the hacienda and made his way to the living room sofa. He sat, heavy and weak, and opened a jewelry box that rested on the coffee table. It had belonged to his mother. He rummaged through the tangle of earrings, rings, and miscellaneous gold and silver chains. A silver crucifix attached to a rosary lay curled at the bottom of the box. Bruce had never cared much for religion, but at that moment, some kind of prayer or chant or meditation seemed to be what he needed. His mother had often prayed using the rosary when their life spun out of control. A seemingly frequent occurrence. Sometimes, though, things worked out. Just not often.

  Bruce’s pulse continued to race. If he did not get it under control, a heart attack would be his next problem. He spoke softly. “Take a shower, get dressed, go see Kat.” He pulled a bead away from its neighbor. “Take a shower, get dressed, go see Kat.” Another bead moved.

  The words he chanted were not religious. Nevertheless, the repeated prayer, or chant, or whatever someone wanted to call it, was soothing. Bruce’s pulse slowed and soon he was back to a place where he could function again.

  “Take a shower, get dressed, go see Kat.”

  His mother would say it was sacrilegious, using the rosary to chant about getting ready to see Kat. Bruce did not care that someone might think it was sacrilegious or that it was a stupid sounding chant. He would see Kat again tonight and everything would be fine. Kat’s charms would restore his soul. He would make love to her again. Everything would be right in the universe. He was sure of it.

  ***

  Kat put the candle back in its holder. As soon as she had entered her apartment, she went to her bedroom and began the ritual. She had lit a black candle and allowed its smoke to caress a small photo of Bruce. She glanced at the spell in the book she had laid next to the candle. The black candle represented a special power to control others, the book said, but the book also said the results could be unpredictable. She brought the flame closer. The tiny tongue of fire from the candle licked the surface of the picture causing Bruce’s face and head to blacken. The paper began to burn all the way through and Kat dropped it into the ashtray on her dresser. She had not meant to burn the photo. Maybe she had gone too far. Shit, I hope I didn’t just kill him. Okay, Kat, relax. If he shows up at the club tonight, it’s all good.

  The day’s events had moved her past hope to belief. She chose to believe she had tapped the power locked within the black candle. Useful power. Real power. Power to control Bruce. To get what she wanted. Even power over Bruce’s very existence. Well, Bruce, if you are still alive, it is a power I will use to the fullest.

  Kat paused for a second. Someone laughed. A self-satisfied chuckle, deep and masculine. Unsure where it had come from, she went to her bedroom window and pulled the curtain aside. It was dusk and no one was in the parking lot. Kat shrugged. The thoughts that shot through her mind seemed exceptionally clear.

  She looked around the empty parking lot once more. Still no one in view. She was sure she had heard someone laugh. I’ve opened the third eye, the all-seeing, all-hearing, all-knowing window into the unseen world.

  Kat let the curtain fall closed. The magick must be working.

  ***

  Deep in the dark recesses of Kat’s mind, Baalzaric smiled to himself. What Kat perceived as magick was his own supernatural power, channeled through his new host and other demons at his beck and call.

  He had already achieved a deeper connection much faster than he had expected. He had been the one to laugh, not with a mouth and lips of flesh, but deep within his own dark soul. Nevertheless, somehow, the woman had heard it and her reaction had not been fear. It had been curiosity and rational thought.

  Even though what she had been doing, performing the rituals of occult magick, would seem irrational to most humans, the woman had opened a wider path and facilitated the deeper connection to Baalzaric and his demon world. A world where freedom and pleasure were gods.

  Baalzaric loved her for it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A frown squatted in the middle of Bruce’s face. He was not a happy bureaucrat. He had reservations at the best beach resort in South Florida. The Colony House in Naples. An elegant and stately resort with a worldwide reputation. Three days in paradise with a great mid-week rate. Bruce had reserved a suite with a king-size bed. He would show Kat he had class and save some money at the same time.

  He stared at the email. Although it had been years since the New Orleans debacle, it seemed as if FEMA would never get over Katrina. Bruce reread the line of the message that had pissed him off.

  “Your participation in this conference is mandatory. Therefore, your upcoming leave represents a scheduling conflict and is hereby cancelled until further notice...” Blah, blah, f-ing blah.

  With another heavy hurricane season predicted, FEMA management scheduled a last minute conference in Atlanta. A new set of bureaucrats in Washington were afraid of being caught unprepared for another disaster and did not want to take any chances. The current administration did not want the problems and criticism caused by the weak Federal response to previous catastrophes.

  Bruce had purposely made plans for the week after Labor Day weekend, when Naples would be less crowded and less expensive. He reached for his phone and punched in Kat’s new cell number. The new cell phone she wanted and he paid for.

  “It will let us stay in touch,” she had said. “Anytime you need me, just call me.” That pleased him. The government, however, did not please him. It had pissed on his parade.

  Bruce listened to the phone ring until Kat answered. Bruce’s frustration grew when he realized it was a recording. His mood soured as he waited for the beep. What the hell good is it to buy her a cell phone if she doesn’t answer?

  “Kat, this is Bruce.”

  He made no effort to hide his irritation.

  “Look, something’s come up and I have to go to Atlanta. I have to leave tonight. It’s too late to cancel the reservations. Damn it. Call me, OK?”

  The phone beeped again, cutting off his message. He had wanted to say, “I love you, babe.” It would have been the first time. Now that had to wait too. Shit, all this technology and I can’t leave a freaking decent message.

  As soon as Bruce replaced the handset, his private line rang displaying Kat’s number on the caller ID. Bruce picked up the phone again and answered.

  “That was quick.”

  “Sorry, Babe.” Kat replied.

  Bruce liked the sound of her voice.

  Kat continued, “I went shopping. My hands were full. I bought some nice things for Naples. I got a killer new bikini. Wait till you see it.”

  Bruce closed his eyes. What are you supposed to do when life kicks you in the balls?

  “I can’t go. Something has come up with my job. I have to be in Atlanta tonight.”

  Bruce waited for Kat’s reply. She simply said, “Oh.”

  “Look, I know you’re disappointed,” Bruce said. “Let’s do this. Take me to the airport tonight and you take the Viper to Naples. I’ll extend the reservations through the weekend. Maybe I can get out of Atlanta by Wednesday night and meet you down there.”

  At least he hoped he would.

  ***

  Baalzaric listened to the conversation, decidedly pleased. Straight away, a plan formed in his mind. Kat’s candle magick had created a fast track into her deepest thoughts and memories. He knew and understood the research that Advanced Genetic Technologies conducted. Eternity-changing research.

  Baalzaric replayed the conversation Kat overheard between her boss, Robert Teal, and Jefferson Briggs.

  “I’ll be in Naples midweek, Robert,” Briggs said. “I’ll have my assistant email my schedule and where I’ll be
staying.”

  Perfect timing.

  Baalzaric also knew that Robert Teal wanted Kat. He played that memory back. Teal’s hot breath on Kat’s neck as he leaned against her, checking her work. His hand slipping down her side, resting on her hip. Kat slapping his hand away.

  It had not taken Baalzaric long to assess the situation and develop a plan. The prospect of an immortal human host was more than Baalzaric might have ever hoped. Getting rid of Jefferson Briggs would be the first step in completing that plan. Unlike most of human history, where the majority of people found their gods in the trees, in animals, or within themselves, science had become the new god of this age. Its practitioners, the scientists, were its priests. Advanced Genetic Technologies needed a new chief priest, one who Baalzaric could control and manipulate. The most likely candidate? Robert Teal, Kat’s immediate supervisor.

  Teal would be useful. Under Baalzaric’s control, Kat would see to that. She would create opportunities; Baalzaric would exploit them. After all, advancing human longevity would benefit everyone. Eternal life and eternal pleasure without submission to any god. Even Lucifer dared not dream such grand dreams.

  ***

  “Maybe we can stay through the weekend?” Bruce suggested.

  “If I call off sick from the club...” Kat let the words hang in the air. She began again, “Taking two weekend days off. I don’t know. The club doesn’t like it when we are not there on weekends. On top of what we lose not dancing, they fine us. I don’t think I can afford that.”

  “I have a little extra money put away. I can handle the extra expense.” So much for the cheap trip.

  “I’ll call the hotel,” Bruce continued, “Let them know we’re staying longer. My flight leaves at 8:23 tonight. I can pick you up around six?”

  “Six is fine, Lover.” Kat’s voice held promise. “After you’re done in Atlanta, we’ll make this a special weekend. See you at six.”

  ***

  Baalzaric was almost giddy with anticipation. Kat would take the Viper to Naples tonight. He did not know exactly how it would happen, but tonight, he would take the first step toward freedom from the accursed pool.

  ***

  The line disconnected and Bruce hung up the phone. He closed his eyes. Kat had called him “lover” again. He liked the way she said the word. He let it dwell in his mind. Lover. Kat’s lover.

  His spirit embraced the concept, tasted its sweetness, held it, caressed it. Kat’s lover.

  It seemed to Bruce to be a perfect fit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The stretch of I-75 south of Tampa and north of Naples provided the perfect piece of South Florida highway for “flying close to the ground.” The Corvette ate up the miles, while the premium sound system cranked out what Jefferson Briggs called his “driving music.” A custom CD of hard-driving, classic, southern rock and roll. The Ozark Mountain Daredevils jammed out their classic rock hit, “If You Wanna Get to Heaven.” He had been working almost too hard, and tonight he and Kimberly would raise a little hell.

  The radar detector’s sensors swept the road ahead. The 638 horsepower, hand-assembled, LS9 motor that powered his Corvette purred like a contented kitten. A supercharged, high performance monster, the LS9 went from zero to sixty in a hair over three seconds.

  Briggs was feeling good. His presentation to the governor and his staff last week on the value of a new stem cell research initiative had gone well, and the technology entrepreneur of the year award had iced the cake.

  Briggs had spent months putting together the best genetic research team in the nation. He had positioned Advanced Genetic Technologies to put Florida years ahead of the other major genetic and stem cell research centers. With its aging population, Briggs believed that Florida was ripe to support research that would extend the geriatric generation’s golden years. He believed that he had the ultimate political and social winner.

  Briggs convinced the governor’s staff to back the new stem cell research initiative, and its hefty billion-dollar cost, by emphasizing the benefit of a healthy population of long-living taxpayers. He had shown them statistics validating a return on investment, of more than fifteen to one.

  It would not matter what party was in power once the initiative passed. That kind of return appealed to both parties equally and the first one hundred million dollars would go to Advanced Genetic Technologies. Once that funding was in place, Briggs would take the company public and give Bill Gates a run for his money. AGT would be the Microsoft of the genetics research universe. Everybody wins in this game. Especially me.

  He had worked long, hard hours, month after month, with few breaks. This trip was his first real getaway in close to a year. Work had put a strain on his relationship with Kimberly, but he would make it up to her over the next couple of days.

  He looked over at her as she dozed fitfully in the passenger seat. He anticipated a little piece of heaven in Naples. Briggs felt at the top of his game. King of the world.

  Until a Dodge Viper blew past him like he was standing still.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  A surge of testosterone-driven adrenalin coursed through his veins and he pulled himself taller, as much as one could in a Corvette. The digital speedometer said he was doing an even one hundred miles per hour, though it felt no more than forty-five. It reminded him of a story in an old, hippie comic book from the ‘70s. Briggs’ older, dope-addled brother had collected the comics, which were about three equally dope-addled, cartoon “brothers.”

  Briggs remembered the story. Two of the hippies — he could never remember which two — were bicycling down the freeway, one pedaling and the other riding on the handlebar. The hippie on the handlebar, apparently tired of the slow lane, popped an amyl nitrate capsule under his “brother’s” nose. In the following frame, two totally beat-to-crap cops were explaining to their desk sergeant what had happened to them. One of the officers told the sergeant how they were driving on the freeway when these two long-haired freaks on a bicycle passed them so fast, they thought their car had stalled. So they got out.

  The smile the story brought to his face faded as the Viper streaked off into the night. He shifted down a gear and pressed on the gas pedal. The radar detector remained quiet as the numbers on the digital speedometer shot up. Most of the Florida Highway Patrol would be off tonight. So would most of the local and county cops. It was Tuesday night, the week after Labor Day weekend. The cops were fried. The business people who catered to the tourists were fried. It was a good time for a fast drive down I-75 to his favorite resort in Naples.

  In a second, the Corvette’s speedometer read one hundred and twenty. Briggs could make out the Viper’s distinctive taillights in the distance. One twenty-five. One thirty. One thirty-five. The Corvette closed on the Viper. Briggs smiled again as the Corvette slid up next to the red and black Dodge. One hundred forty miles per hour. Briggs looked over, trying to see into the Viper’s cockpit.

  ***

  Unaware of Briggs’ latest bad boy drama, Kimberly drifted into a deeper sleep and started dreaming. She dreamed that she was walking on a beach somewhere when someone swept her off her feet from behind and began carrying her. When she looked at his face, she had expected to see Jeff. Instead, she saw Jim Demore. Somewhere in the distance, Jeff shouted “Son of a bitch!” Must be jealous. Serves him right.

  The dream collided with the audible reality of Jeff’s voice and she woke up to the sudden acceleration of the Corvette. She glanced first at the speedometer, then over at Briggs. To his left, a Dodge Viper cruised nose-to-nose with the Corvette. She hated when this happened. How could someone make so much money, have so much success, and still have so little control over his testosterone?

  Under normal circumstances, a fast car and a rich boyfriend not afraid to take a few chances got her motor running, but not tonight. Something felt wrong. Any other time, she would’ve submitted to his testosteronic urge and told him to kick the Viper’s ass. Not this time. She reached over and put her h
and on his leg. Her eyes reflected the promise in her voice

  “Slow down, macho man. I want to get to Naples in one piece.”

  “Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Briggs said. His eyes stayed glued to the highway.

  Kimberly bristled at the condescension. Well, at least he didn’t say “Enjoy the ride, bitch.”

  “Come on, Jeff. Slow down. Get me to Naples in one piece and I promise you, it will be the best piece you will ever have.”

  For the moment, it was all she had to offer. Despite feeling an uncomfortable, nagging fear, her eyes and body promised only pleasure. Kimberly had learned a long time ago not to let her body betray her feelings.

  To calm herself, Kimberly tried to remember her dream. The cop she had met at the awards ceremony had shown up in it. What did it mean?

  ***

  After Kimberly’s offer, most men would have slowed down, and in this respect, Briggs was not different from most men. The speedometer of the Corvette began a slow retreat, but the Viper did not seem to move. The Corvette slowed more. The Viper matched its speed.

  A light went on inside the cockpit of the Viper. A woman looked over at the Corvette. She looked familiar. Maybe someone he had seen on the South Florida cocktail circuit. She looked right into Briggs’ eyes, pursed her lips together in a mock kiss, and then gave him the finger.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  The Viper accelerated and so did the Corvette. Kimberly’s eyes went wide and she grabbed Briggs’ leg. She squeezed hard, dug her nails in, and one of her fills snapped off. The two high-performance vehicles screamed down the freeway.

  The more Briggs thought about it, the more convinced he was that he knew the woman driving the Viper. But from where? And why is she screwing with me?

  Kimberly’s eyes remained wide and a façade of fear replaced her feigned calm. She looked as if she were about to lose control.

  “Slow down, damn it. This is stupid.”

  Briggs glared back at his girlfriend.