The Demon Pool

by Richard B. Dwyer

  The music on the CD was Spanish Gospel. He put the compact disk in the truck’s CD player and turned the volume low. Just loud enough to push back against the black shadows that seemed to swirl around the truck.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Saffi had herself barely presentable when her doorbell rang. Jim had told her twenty minutes, but almost half an hour had passed since he had hung up. She was thankful for the extra time. She looked in the bathroom mirror. Presentable, maybe even pretty, and that is as good as it gets tonight.

  She made her way into the apartment’s small living room. The furniture sprinkled around the room was minimalist, but tasteful. The decor was mostly white with a splash of pink and aqua here and there. It was neat, clean and cute.

  The doorbell rang and she checked the front door peephole. Jim stood at the entryway, in uniform, looking serious. She opened the door and watched him try to smile.

  “Hi Jim,” she said. “Come in.”

  “Thanks.”

  He appeared distracted as he looked around at the small living room. She closed the door and moved past him, toward the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied, sounding as distracted as he appeared. “That sounds good.”

  He stood in the kitchen doorway and watched as Saffi moved between the different cupboards and drawers. She pulled together the trappings for a cup of instant coffee.

  “You don’t have a coffee pot?”

  “Nope,” she replied. “Takes too long. Besides, I think you will like the way I make this.”

  He had a “yeah, right” look on his face.

  “You mean there is more than one way to make instant coffee?” he asked.

  The sarcasm was not lost on Saffi.

  “I guarantee you will like it,” she told him, “or I’ll refund the cover charge.”

  Jim’s face went from smirky grimace to mildly amused smile.

  “Okay,” she continued, “That was weak, but I still guarantee you will like my coffee. Go ahead, sit down. I’ll be done in a second.”

  Jim parked himself in a chair. Saffi put a cup of coffee, complete with spoon and saucer, on the coffee table in front of him. He picked up the cup and let it float below his nose while he tested the aroma. The coffee was Saffi’s special blend, rich with just a hint of spice. She watched as he allowed the world to slide away, if only for a moment. She took a seat across from Jim as he tasted the coffee.

  “Do you like it?” Saffi asked.

  Jim nodded as he put the cup down. Their eyes met.

  “It’s good. Really good,” he said.

  He picked up the spoon and stirred the coffee. He looked down at the black liquid swirling about the spoon for a moment and then looked back up at Saffi. The spoon continued around and around in the cup.

  “I have a friend, another trooper, in serious trouble. Deadly serious trouble,” he told her. “I think because of me.”

  She could see that he was struggling with the situation. She leaned forward and gave him her full attention.

  “Someone besides me has to know, but I can’t go to my command or my friend is dead.”

  He stopped stirring the coffee.

  “I trust you,” he said.

  It was the first time since they had met in class that Saffi had seen him look anything even close to vulnerable. Even after the Trooper Gone Wild story, he had maintained an image of tough, even angry, defiance. If the situation did not seem so serious, she would have described the shadow of vulnerability on his face as cute, but there was nothing cute about a State Trooper with his life in danger.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  The voices in Kevin’s head screamed at him in a relentless cacophony of insults, threats, and accusations. What had he done wrong?

  “You screwed up.”

  “She’s mad at you.”

  “She will destroy us.”

  “You are as worthless as your father said you were.”

  “Moron.”

  “Idiot.”

  “Dumbshit.”

  All that and worse. It was as if they were pounding and kicking the already twisted, damaged, gray matter inside of his skull. Kevin grabbed his head in both hands.

  “Why are you doing this to me? What did I do?” he shouted.

  He stomped around, holding his head, screaming aloud at his accusing tormentors.

  “Shut up. Leave me alone.”

  ***

  Kevin’s cries reminded Bruce of a wounded animal, caught in a hunter’s trap. Unsettling. Bruce sat in an eighteenth century, Louis XV antique chair, near the big bay windows in the front room of the house. He found it hard to believe what he had — correction, what Kat had — gotten him into. He watched Kevin do his spastic, agonizing dance, bopping around the room to his own screaming, grunting, and groaning. Watching Kevin’s tormented gyrations unnerved Bruce. He wanted to get up and do something about Kevin, although he was not sure what, when his phone rang. Kat’s number showed on the caller ID.

  “Kat, what kind of nutcase did you send out here? Listen to this guy.”

  Bruce pointed his phone toward Kevin. Kevin was moaning and begging someone to shut up, to leave him alone. Bruce put the phone back to his ear.

  “What is that about?” Bruce asked.

  “Kevin has problems,” Kat said, “but he’s useful.”

  The tone of Kat’s voice left no room for argument.

  “You need to be useful too, Bruce. Give Kevin the phone.”

  Bruce blinked, again and again.

  “I don’t think he can take a call right now,” Bruce said flatly.

  Kevin put on quite a show, although Bruce was not enjoying it. Kevin muttered, yelled, and, sometimes, blubbered. The guy is bat-shit crazy.

  “Bruce, listen to me,” Kat told him.

  “Listen to her, Bruce.”

  A single voice spoke to him. He looked around. Kevin continued his dance, now making unintelligible noises. Bruce realized that the voice he’d heard had not come from somewhere in the room, but, again, from inside his own head. The voice prodded him.

  “Do what she tells you.”

  Bruce sat still and wondered how someone else’s voice or voices had taken up residence inside his head. Great. The crazy shit is now in my brain.

  “You invited us, Bruce. Remember?”

  Bruce did not remember. At least not clearly. And who is us?

  Something had happened to him the last time he had been with Kat. Something more than just the violation of his ass. But, hearing voices? That was nuts. Bruce contemplated the insanity of his situation. A dead girl, kidnapped cop, and hearing voices in his head. A situation as crazy as Kevin himself, who danced in and out of Bruce’s field of vision around the trussed-up cop. Crazy, crazy, shit.

  “Bruce. Bruce.”

  Kat’s voice was a razor cutting through the thin, Kafkaesque veneer of his current reality.

  “Listen to her.”

  The voice again.

  Listening to the voice, listening to Kat, watching Kevin, Bruce found it difficult to exert his own will. He realized he was in some deep, deep shit. A soothing, almost cooing voice spoke to him.

  “We will help you. Just do what she tells you.”

  Bruce sensed that everything he had worked for, the life he had carefully constructed, now flopped around in a pit of deep, dangerous crapola and he was in it up to his neck. The voice whispered a promise.

  “Listen to her. You can keep it all. You want to keep all, don’t you?”

  “Yes, damn it, I want to keep it all,” Bruce whispered. His voice sounded foreign, distant. “I need to keep it all. Help me keep it all,” Bruce begged.

  “Talk to her. Do what she wants. We are all with you.”

  “Bruce. Talk to me. Right now,” Kat ordered.

  Bruce put the phone back to his ear. He watched Kevin drop to his knees and roll onto his side. Kevin whimpered as he curled into the fetal position and rocked.

  �
��I’m here, Kat,” Bruce finally answered. “What do you want me to do?”

  Resignation coated Bruce’s words. The voice in his head cooed approvingly.

  “Good, Bruce. Very good.”

  “Like I told you, Kevin has problems, but he is useful,” Kat repeated. “He has a phone call to make.”

  “I don’t think he can do that right now,” Bruce said honestly. “He looks a little preoccupied. Actually, I think it’s more like he’s gone completely freaking nuts.”

  “Kevin is like an overactive child. We need to restore him back to his normal condition,” Kat said.

  “I’m not sure his normal condition is much better,” Bruce said.

  “Just go over to him Bruce.”

  “Cooperate with her, Bruce.” Another voice spoke. “Unless you want to join him.”

  The threat, combined with the general insanity of the situation, melted away the last bit of Bruce’s resistance. A deep sigh signaled his final answer.

  “Okay.”

  He left the chair and walked heavily toward Kevin. He glanced at the Highway Patrolman, bound to a similar chair, strategically placed in the center of the great room. The trooper looked like he had recovered from the Taser. He stared at Bruce with an intense hatred. Bruce knew that they had no choice but to kill him. He stopped next to Kevin.

  “Now what?” Bruce asked.

  “You’re going to conduct a ceremony, Bruce,” Kat replied. “Like a high priest.”

  In spite of the day’s madness, Kat’s words gave Bruce a lift. High priest. Kat’s high priest.

  “Sounds interesting,” he replied.

  “It’s more than interesting, Bruce,” Kat said, her voice both affirming and empowering. “There is a source of perfect power, Bruce, if you are willing to give yourself to it. I’ve only given you a taste so far. However, you must give yourself completely. Without reservation.”

  The voice whispered the question to him before Kat could ask it herself. “Do you want the power, Bruce? Do you want to keep everything?”

  “Yes,” Bruce told the voice.

  “Do you give yourself?”

  “Yes,” Bruce said again.

  “Completely? Without reservation?”

  “Yes. I want it. Give me the power. Give it to me.” Bruce replied, like a lover begging for penetration.

  “Reach out and touch him, Bruce. Place your hand on Kevin.”

  Bruce knelt down and obeyed.

  “Now, call his name.”

  Before Bruce could mouth the word “Kevin,” Kat spoke again.

  “Not his given name, Bruce. As a high priest, you must use his spiritual name.”

  “His spiritual name,” Bruce said, quietly echoing her words. “Yes, tell me his spiritual name.”

  Kat’s answer was almost a hiss.

  “Legion, Bruce. Call him Legion.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Kevin sat on the floor. He looked at Bruce with a mixture of mild confusion and guarded alertness.

  “She wants to talk to you,” Bruce said, holding out the cell phone.

  “She who?” Kevin asked.

  The voices in Kevin’s head began a low, snickering laugh, like the laugh track from a bad sitcom, only with the volume turned down. Bruce shook his head and gave Kevin a look that again reminded Kevin of his asshole father. When this is over, you’re a dead man, Clark.

  “Give me that,” Kevin demanded.

  He snatched the phone from Bruce’s hand and put it to his ear.

  “What?” Kevin asked.

  “Kevin, you made a mistake today.”

  A moment passed as he recognized Kat’s voice.

  “I was trying to help you,” Kevin pleaded. “Give you something to bargain with. They knew that. They should have told you.”

  “I’m not talking about your plan. The problem is the old man who showed up in the truck. He saw you wearing the trooper’s belt,” Kat said. “Then you sent the video to Demore and in the video your prisoner is without his belt.”

  Kat paused to let the facts sink in.

  “I sent the video to Demore,” Kevin replied. “No one else. The old man knows nothing. How do you know about the video?”

  “The old man was part of Demore’s investigation. He called Demore. They talked,” Kat said. “I know, Kevin, because I have helpers. You can’t see them, but they see everything and they tell me everything.”

  “But, the old man doesn’t know why we’re here. We can make them all disappear. No one will know. I know how to make people disappear.”

  Smugness returned to Kevin’s voice. Kevin had made many women disappear and they all stayed disappeared. No one would find them. The voices in his head quieted. It was as if they appreciated Kevin’s special talent. A talent they had helped him develop.

  Kevin smirked at Bruce and turned away. He did not want Bruce to see his face as Kat continued correcting and instructing him.

  “No one will know what?” Kat asked. “We know that the old man saw you with the trooper’s gun and belt. We know that you sent Demore a video. We know that Demore talked to the old man after he left the estate. We know that Demore asked the old man questions about the gun, and that the old man told him that you were wearing a belt like the one the other trooper wore.”

  Kat paused and the voices snickered at him again. Just a little. Just enough to make Kevin feel uncomfortable.

  “We are going to presume that Demore knows where you are located and what you have done,” Kat continued. “We are going to presume that Demore will not follow your instructions and that others will know. Do you understand?”

  Kevin wanted to argue. Demore was a goody-goody. Surely, he would follow Kevin’s instructions and not put his friend’s life at risk. Surely, Kevin had covered all of the bases. The voices snickered again.

  Kevin had always believed he could control the voices. They had always responded positively to his adventures. Now they appeared to have gained some level of independence. Before, they always helped him. Now they mocked him, ordered him around, demanded things from him, ganged up on him. First, they were friends. Now, they were little more than demonic drill sergeants.

  “Tell her you understand. Obey her.”

  The word “obey” echoed inside his skull. Kevin hated orders. He wanted to tell them to shut up again, but he was afraid they would punish him. Maybe it was better to go along. For now. When this was over he would find a girl and he would please them, please himself. They would be on his side again. The voices became a climaxing chorus, a crescendo.

  “Tell her you understand.”

  “Obedience is better than sacrifice.”

  “Obey her.”

  “Obey. Obey. Obey.”

  Kevin’s will collapsed under the weight of the demonic diatribe.

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Now we solve this problem. We will assume that Demore knows where you are, so we might as well bring him to you. Call him tonight. Tell him to come alone if he wants to see his friend alive. Send him a video of the dead girl. He will know you are serious.”

  Kevin felt naked, betrayed. He had been careful, so careful. Kat knew about the dead girl. Did Clark tell her? Or was it the voices? If the voices, why were they doing this to him? The chorus rose again, indirectly answering Kevin’s question.

  “Because she commands us.”

  Kevin will had collapsed, but not his hatred. He got up off the floor and walked across the room, farther away from Bruce. His voice went soft and conspiratorial.

  “What about your four-eyed friend here?” Kevin asked Kat. I don’t think he likes my plan.”

  “That’s not your concern. I’ll handle Bruce. Same way I handled the little problem you were having.”

  It was almost too much. Kevin heard his voice rise.

  “Little problem? I was going out of my freaking mind.”

  He glanced back at Bruce. Bruce stared back, blinking.

  “I control the voices, Kevin. They o
bey me,” Kat told him. “I think you understand that now. I know their secrets and I know your secrets. Your darkest, vilest, dirtiest secrets. I know where you took the girls, Kevin, and I know what you did with them. From now on, your secrets are my secrets, your will is my will.”

  Kat’s voice took on a more soothing tone.

  “You have to trust me Kevin. You do trust me, don’t you?

  The voices started again.

  “Trust her.”

  “Trust her.”

  “Trust and obey.”

  Kevin wanted to scream back at them. Anger and anguish intertwined and propelled his mind toward another breakdown. A chorus of softly forceful voices sang a calming, but persuasive, chant.

  “Trust her.”

  “Trust her.”

  “Trust and obey.”

  Kevin’s will fled away, finally, chased off by an irresistible, relentless, damning force that flooded his psyche. The chant repeated. All of the voices chanting together. Over and over.

  “Trust her.”

  “Trust her.”

  “Trust and obey.”

  “No other way, trust and obey.”

  Repeatedly they sang the perverted lyrics, turning the words from the old Christian hymn, Trust and Obey, into a twisted hell song. Kevin wanted to scream at them, but all he managed was a pitiful sob.

  “You told her,” he cried. “The girls were our secret and you told her.”

  Kevin felt part of himself, the me-part, tear loose. In his mind, he tried to hold on to the feelings, the thoughts, the memories, the will that made him the special creature that he had come to believe that he was. The chants grew in intensity and power, until Kevin could no longer resist. His sense of self, his internal identity, fled. In the psychic vacuum that remained Legion took control, and Legion rejoiced.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Pedro was not sure what was happening, but he was sure that, at least temporarily, God had returned to his life. As he drove through the black velvet night, the oppressive darkness, fed by the shadow that had been his frequent companion over the last quarter of a century, had done its best to invade the truck and consume him.