by Alice Bell
Her hand dropped to her side. “Oh, dear,” she said, which wasn’t reassuring. My flesh burned where she had touched me. “What were you hoping to find here?”
No clue, lady.
“I was just passing by,” I crossed my arms.
“The paranormal section is over here,” she waved her hand, vaguely, at the next aisle. “But I might have something more to the point. Come with me.”
More to the point?
I followed her past the check-out counter and through a doorway into a small room crowded with cardboard boxes and a messy desk. A couple of boxes had been opened and I saw books inside. An electric red typewriter perched on the desk.
When a jingle announced the front door opening, she stood on tip-toe to peer through the high rectangular window.
I had to step aside when she hurried past. I thought she was going to attend to her customers but she closed the door and went back to her desk, shuffling papers. Pens rolled and dropped to the floor, along with some pages that fluttered out of a stack. I picked them up. “Thank you,” she murmured, not looking at me.
She unearthed a pair of reading glasses. When she put them on, they were crooked. She took them off, polished the lenses with her sleeve and adjusted the frame. She put the glasses on again and now they were lopsided in the opposite direction. “I hate these damn things,” she said, but she seemed to locate what she was looking for in a sheaf of papers.
She read through the first couple of pages. “Okay,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Alright,” she nodded and turned a page, read some more. “Yes, this is it.” She glanced up, squinting through her glasses, then yanked them off and tossed them on the desk. “What’s your name, love?”
“Uh, Devon.”
“Of course. How wonderful. It suits you exactly.”
I put my hands in my pockets. I felt strangely at her mercy. Mercy in the truest sense of the word.
“I’m Sarah,” she said. “Writer, psychic, medium and channel. Not necessarily in that order. You’re looking for someone?”
I snapped to attention. “Yeah…yeah.” In the next breath, my shoulders relaxed, as if she’d massaged a knot in my muscles.
“How long has she been gone?” she asked.
She.
“Nine years,” I said. “A friend—well, someone I know, thought they saw her in the psych ward.”
“Here in town? At Coffeen Sanitarium?” there was an excited edge to her voice.
“Right.” I thought of the pictures on the internet of a three story neo-Colonial complete with columns. There were short trees in the yard, artificially green grass and a fountain. The place could have passed for a grand hotel. Almost.
Sarah sighed. “How recently was your friend seen?”
My fingers curled in my pockets. “Not recently.”
“Too bad.” Her eyes moved away. “If she was spotted recently, your chances of connecting are better. Though, truth be told, time is an elusive thing. You may have noticed.” She put her hands together, as if in prayer, touching her fingertips to her lips. She suddenly glanced down at the desk. “Oh yes,” she picked up the papers and thrust them at me. “Go ahead. You should find this interesting, at the very least.”
I took the pages held by a fat black clip.
“An excerpt from my latest book,” she said. “Which I’m still in the process of writing. I haven’t got to the best part yet. Don’t worry, I have plenty of copies. Somewhere…” she looked down at the mess. “I’m sure.” She didn’t sound sure.
* * *
I sat on the dumpy sofa. Leave Her to Heaven spun Technicolor images on the screen hanging down my brick wall. The movie cast the only light in the room. On the street below, a car honked, someone cursed. The creatures of the night were hitting their stride. Zadie reared up in my mind, as one of them; white throat, white hair and blood red fangs.
I turned my thoughts back to the manuscript on my lap.
“Many of you already know me. For those of you who don’t, my name is Sarah Rose. I am a psychic, sometimes called a medium or channel. These terms are often used to mean the same thing but actually describe different abilities, all of which I possess.
“In this book, my third, I am focusing on my ability to channel and communicate with the Spirit World. I must quantify everything you are about to read with the following statement: I am merely a student and servant of the universe. The point is—yes, sometimes I am wrong!
“I write only with the purpose of sharing experiences that have resulted in some small bit of wisdom or knowledge that I believe can be helpful to others. Often, people come to me who have no idea why. Their underlying reason is always the same, unbearable sadness. The sadness is a result of having been severed from their connection to the Spirit World.
“And now I come to the title and topic of this book—Demons and Angels.”
I scanned for several pages. I found the language boring, though I was bored easily. Many of the passages were repetitive and reminded me of textbooks I’d been forced to read in school. Though occasionally Sarah’s voice came out, accented with an exclamation mark.
“In art, angels are depicted with bird-like wings and a halo and/or various other forms of glowing light. Personally, I have never met an angel who had such attributes. That is not to say glowing angels with wings do not exist. Certainly, angels can manifest in any form. I have little doubt an angel would sprout wings if the need arose. I can imagine wings would go a long way toward inspiring belief in the power of angels!
“Angels are paranormal beings from higher planes that come to the earthly realm to assist struggling spirits. (We mere mortals are spirits too, spirits who have inhabited a human body.) Sometimes, angels lead newly released spirits from the earthly realm to the Spirit World.
I scanned some more, until a sentence leaped out at me.
“Demons and angels are very closely related.”
Now, I read with avid interest.
“Demons are not diabolical. In fact, they are the opposite and act as guardian angels in the human world where they possess godlike powers that help them on their quests to aid suffering humans.”
Shit. She’s cracked.
Some pathetic part of me had counted on Sarah Rose being the real deal with life-altering tricks up her psychic sleeve. I thought of her handing me the manuscript and saying, “You’ll find it interesting, at the very least.” The very least.
But she hadn’t got to the best part yet, had she?
Another thing echoed in my mind. “Are you lost, angel?” she had said.
(Angel, angel…)
“Demons can, however, be dangerous if they are in the human world illegally, rather than carrying out a mission. Demons who manage to find their way from the demon realm into the human world on their own volition revel in their godlike powers, using them for their own pleasure and debauchery.”
Debauchery?
“In this capacity, demons soon lose their powers and can become deathly ill, unless they feed off the psychic energy of humans.”
There was a roaring in my ears. I saw myself slumped on Ruby’s bathroom floor. I remembered dragging her into bed, clutching her, as if I would die without her.
The night I met her, her pain had attracted me, like a moth to the fire. It was in her eyes, the tilt of her head and the shadows in her face. Her pain was more beautiful to me than a blooming rose or a gold filled sunset. After being with her, I felt powerful.
“Humans who have been attacked by a wayward demon will find themselves in a weakened state after the attack.
“Continued attacks can be fatal…”
33. Ruby
I PULLED to the side of the road and checked the map I kept in the glove compartment, holding it under the dome light.
Stargazer Lane was on the way out of town toward the desert. I would have to pass by the sanitarium. I’d vowed never to return, once I left. I had not so much as driven by, though it wasn’t a bad place. It was just s
terile with occasional bad smells and moans and screams. The doctors claimed to be progressive. I met Dr. Ess there.
I crossed the bridge and the lights of the city glowed on the water below me. The car vibrated over metal grates.
Coffeen Sanitarium was smaller than I remembered. I drove past slowly, not meaning to stare but unable to help myself. It was lit up. Lights glowed in the upper windows and flooded the yard. The fountain sparkled blue and red, lit from within. Vertigo gripped me.
I hit the gas pedal.
At the intersection, a stoplight twisted in the wind.
I licked my lips and stretched my fingers. Visions of Scarlet and Devon came unbidden. They were kissing and writhing. He would admire her bravado and see through it and fall in love with her youth and naiveté. She was an ingénue in a world where they were rare. Rock stars wrote songs for ingénues. Artists gave up their lives.
When the light turned, I sped away toward the desert, driving faster and faster, fueled by jealousy that burned like lust.
My headlights shined on a green wooden sign, splintered, the white lettering bleached off except for ST and Z. I drove on, just to be sure there were no other roads. The desert stretched out on either side of me, like a dark sea.
After a while, I turned the car around; pulling close to the edge of the road, cranking the wheel, backing up, turning the wheel again and working up a sweat. I wiped a strand of damp hair off my forehead.
When I got back to Stargazer Lane, I peered through my windshield. There was a cluster of lights and I could make out trailers. Something told me Devon was here. Though my intuition failed me on a regular basis, I still believed in it.
Doom hovered. Heartbreak pulsed in my veins.
I headed back toward the city, looking for a place to pull over. It was hard to be discreet in a pink Cadillac. Only movie stars and pimps and my grandmother would drive such a car. Driving it made me feel more like the person I wanted to be—carefree and confident.
I turned into the gravel pits and parked behind a small pile of gravel. I was being dumb but what was the alternative? Staying home to climb the walls?
I had no problem acting crazy, as long as no one saw me. And I didn’t intend to get caught. It was something I had to do, like keying Georgie’s car. Guilt would plague me later but I didn’t care about later.
I walked through the sagebrush. The Louis Vuitton bag I carried added just the right surreal touch. My life was a movie.
The storm had scrubbed the sky. Stars twinkled brighter than I’d ever seen them. The scent of damp sage was pungent and clean. Moisture beaded on my skin. Mud clung to my boots. High above me the Milky Way arched across the sky, like a ‘Welcome To Our Galaxy’ sign.
Someday, in about four billion years, I’d heard the Andromeda galaxy was going to collide with ours and knock our sun into galactic space. Thinking of this gave me a shivery kind of excitement.
I was miniscule and unimportant and for that reason, I felt more a part of mankind. We were all living on borrowed time.
I came up on the ridge above what looked to be an old trailer park. There were five trailers set in a circle illuminated by a halogen bulb beaming down from a wooden pole. Orange party lights were strung between the trailers that were old, from the last century, probably the sixties. They were square and aluminum, flat and dirty white, each with a band of turquoise around the middle.
I hooked my mother’s bag over my shoulder and descended, walking in a diagonal direction because the hill was steep. I was out in the wide open but the stars cast a shimmery light, exposing me. At least I could count on most people being in bed.
My stomach did a flip when I thought of why I’d come. I needed to confirm my suspicions; Devon was here, in Scarlet’s bed, instead of mine. If I was confronted with his treachery, I might be cured of him.
And I might tell Scarlet’s mother.
Maybe she already knew if she was psychic. Maybe she didn’t care. Scarlet seemed to be left to her own devices. I was always surprised, as a high school teacher, how many parents treated their teens like adults. Of course, Scarlet’s mother might be the one person to see through Devon, unshackled by the blinders of his beauty.
I felt a twinge of remorse.
Did I have it in me to betray him? What had happened between us was so intimate. Not sex but the way he had cut himself for me. But just as I couldn’t forgive Henry, I would never forgive Devon if I caught him with a teenaged girl.
In this moment, under the sprawling night sky, I longed to be rid of him.
I stopped to listen.
All was quiet. I moved in closer.
Four motorcycles gleamed. Oh, God. I hadn’t considered the possibility of dogs. Suddenly, I envisioned a snarling pack with spiked collars and big teeth. My fingers gripped the handle of my bag.
A streak of white shot past me. I froze. It was just a cat. A familiar looking cat.
Alceste? As if I’d spoken, he stopped and looked back. Alceste. I’d been so worried about him, sure he’d met a tragic fate but there was no mistaking the downturn of his whiskers, one blue eye, and the other green.
“You’re alive,” I whispered. I squatted and put out my hand. “Come here, baby. I missed you.” I cooed to him.
He flicked his tail before he darted under the stoop of the last trailer, the one I thought Scarlet lived in.
According to her diary, the stranger in her bed had been attempting to steal her cat. And I remembered Devon asking about Alceste; he’d seen a poster I put up at the 7-Eleven. Had he found Alceste and tried to bring him home? I got fluttery and weak, until I realized Scarlet ended up with Devon and my cat.
“Screw you, Alceste,” I muttered.
Why don’t you like me?
I crept toward the trailers, staying on the periphery of the light. The last trailer was perched on a foundation of cinder blocks. The curtains were filmy and I could see shadowy figures moving inside. The tallest shadow looked a lot like Devon.
I tried to make out the other person but I was too far away. I scuttled around the side of the trailer, clutching the Louis Vuitton against my chest. My panting breath sounded inhuman.
I had to stand on tiptoe. There was a crack in the curtains. I put my eye to the window. I recognized the way Scarlet’s long black hair fell down her back. Devon’s arms were around her.
My knees buckled.
I fell backward and clawed the air. When I landed, my mother’s bag hit me in the face. I fought it off, as if it were a rabid animal.
I lay on my back, gasping for breath. I stared up at the sky.
And then I was on my feet and running.
34. Devon
AT THE door, Sarah opened her arms. I thought: When was the last time I hugged anyone? Over the top of her head, I caught movement in the window. A blue eye appeared, searching through a gap in the curtains.
Ruby? What the hell?
I disengaged from Sarah.
“Remember,” she said. “Friday. And you have to take care of—”
“Right,” I cut her off. “Don’t worry.”
I leaped off the stoop and loped around back. I saw Ruby under the starlight, running crookedly, up the hill. A leather bag flapped at her side.
I watched her and remembered the night we met, how questions about her came one after another. I thought she was clueless but she’d found me lurking in the shadows. She’d stirred the last embers of my dying humanity.
She glanced over her shoulder and stumbled and dropped to her knees. She scrambled up, to run again. All the way out here, across the expanse of sagebrush, I felt her despair and it charged me.
How I wished she was safe in bed.
I went after her.
Her ragged breath urged me on, faster. When I took her down, she screamed. Her shoulders heaved.
She struck at my face. The bag was between us. I ripped it from her. A silver knife fell out.
I grabbed her hand as she came in for another blow. “Stop it.”
> “Get off me. Get off me…” she shook her head back and forth. “I hate you…”
My gaze slid to the knife. I suppressed a moan. She was going mad. And it was my fault.
35. Ruby
“HER MOTHER, Ruby,” he said. “Come on. It was just a hug.”
“Why would you be there? Hugging her mother?”
“I’ll tell you…”
He had taken my hand as we walked back to the car and I let him. It was an uncharacteristic thing for him to do, and I was touched. I didn’t care about Scarlet anymore. I believed him, even if I shouldn’t.
When we drove over the bridge, I leaned out the window to look up at the sky that was purple and bruised. I watched the stars fade one by one.
Now, we were in my bedroom. “Do you believe me?” he said.
I didn’t answer. I pulled my sweater off over my head and unzipped my skirt. It made a swishing sound when it fell on the floor. I peeled off my stockings and crawled into bed wearing just my black bra and white slip.
He got behind me, still dressed. “It’s the truth, Ruby. I haven’t lied to you.” His breath was warm on the back of my neck.
“Why should I believe you?”
“I have no reason to lie.”
I closed my eyes. I longed to sleep. “People don’t need a reason to lie,” I said.
“People lie to get what they want. I take whatever I want. People lie to avoid pain. I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel anything. I’m not a person…”
“Are you a hungry ghost?”
His laugh tickled my ear. “You mean those pathetic creatures with huge stomachs and tiny mouths?”
I turned over. He rested his hand on the curve of my waist. I touched his lips. “Your mouth isn’t tiny,” I put my hand under his shirt to feel his muscles. “You don’t have a big belly either.”
He caressed my cheek. “Tell me something. What’s with the knife in your bag?”
My face burned. “Nothing. It was dumb.” I averted my gaze. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone…”
