Shedding the Demon

by Bill Denise

  “You’re going to leave her here?” Damon asked incredulously.

  “We’re going to leave her here, yes. How do you think Michael would react to us bringing in a stranger, especially now? We have to leave her.”

  “What?” The girl spoke for the first time. Her small, frail voice fit her appearance perfectly, and caused Damon and Andrea to look down at her.

  After a moment’s pause, Andrea looked up to Damon and said “Give her the money. And a MedPac. We’re leaving. Now.”

  “But,” Damon began, but Andrea had turned on her heel and was jogging down the alley. He growled to himself, “Kyndra’s tears!” and then addressed the girl with barely a glance, “Sorry—here.”

  Damon tossed her the bills and a MedPac before taking off after Andrea.

  Damon rounded the building quickly, determined to catch up with Andrea, only to find that she had stopped and he skidded to a halt trying not to bowl her over. She put a hand on his chest to help him keep his balance.

  “You don’t want a girl like that, trust me.”

  Neither one spoke into the awkward silence.

  After a moment she exhaled heavily, and spoke quickly, “Get back up on the roof and finish your patrol. Move fast, but safe, do a proper job of it and get back home on time. We can’t let Michael know about what happened tonight, he’d never let you go solo again.”

  Damon realized the risk she was taking to cover for him. He felt gratitude welling up, but didn’t know what to say. “Will do,” was all he could come up with.

  “When you get back home, don’t let him see you, try not to see many folks before you get yourself healed up. Use your MedPacs first, then go to the Infirmary for the rest. Tell them I beat you up,” she smiled before adding, “again.”

  Damon smiled as well, thinking that she was truly beautiful when she smiled. “Will do, boss,” he stupidly repeated again.

  He was keenly aware that her hand was still on his chest; warm through his shirt. He flexed his chest muscles and she removed her hand, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, although the smile did not fade.

  She turned and started off in the other direction along the deserted and debris-filled roadway. Damon called to her:

  “Andrea!” She stopped and turned back. “I’m sorry,” he paused, “and . . . thanks.” He looked into her eyes and tried to make her feel his honest remorse.

  She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and replied, “It’s fine, but get back out there and redeem yourself.” Then she turned away again and was gone down a side street. He couldn’t even hear her footfalls over the din of the City.

  Damon backtracked to the base of the building where he had saved the girl. He thought about her predicament but remembered Andrea’s admonishment.

  Don’t look, she’s fine, he thought. Don’t look and you won’t be drawn in. Don’t look—move on and finish the patrol, you have a lot of ground to cover quickly! He started climbing the corner of the building where a drain pipe gave him an easy way to the top. He paused, don’t look. Well, maybe just a quick look. He dropped to the ground and ran around the corner.

  The girl was gone, and Damon’s relief actually made him feel a little guilty. It’s done! Let’s move on.

  He scrambled back up to the roof, despite the pain in his shoulder and hip. He stopped at the top just long enough to apply his last MedPac to the shoulder wound since it was a deep puncture. The 'Pac would help with the pain and fight infection, although it would not do any deep healing. He paused to take in his surroundings and then moved off as quickly as possible to get back to his assigned patrol route. Andrea’s voice echoed through his head as he completed his patrol, strictly by the book.

  We patrol to ensure the safety and integrity of the perimeter. Without a secure perimeter the Family home will be in danger. Report anomalies, do not engage. Observe, return and report. Keep hidden, keep moving; stay quiet, stay alert.

  As he traveled from rooftop to rooftop, he took in the familiar sights and sounds of his surroundings. Much of the area was filled with debris from collapsed buildings and all of the associated equipment and appurtenances. Here and there could be found wrecked vehicles, both cars and aircraft, making him wonder how cars made it to the roof. In the distance, beyond the still-standing shells of buildings, Damon could see the glow of the City. He spent most of his time here in the Ruins, but he did enjoy the occasional trip to the City even though the press of people and traffic made him nervous.

  In here, he felt things were much easier. With diligence, one could carve out a fairly secure and rewarding life. The Family was one of many successful small groups of people living together on the edge of the Ruins within walking distance of the City. Further away, things got more difficult and more dangerous.

  Damon returned his attention to the patrol route, making sure that everything was in order. He checked trip wires, booby-traps and other defensive systems along the route, making sure they were all working properly. He took his training seriously, since the perimeter was the wall that kept the Family safe. Andrea’s voice returned repeatedly to his mind, which he welcomed due to its soothing effect.

  4C is our home. We must protect it at all costs. Any breach of the perimeter needs to be met swiftly and decisively.

  They had a good home, a rare location with running water, electricity, and enough solid building structure left intact to provide comfortable living quarters. Many of the nearby gangs would kill them all in order to take their home, affectionately called 4C for the fading sign on the door to the main entrance.

  The patrols ensure that 4C remains undetected and the Family protected. The guards on patrol must make sure everything remains in working order while at the same time not drawing attention to themselves. If outsiders noticed a patrolling guard the obvious conclusion would lead them to search for 4C.

  Damon stopped and checked the time. He nodded in approval of himself since he had nearly made up for the time he lost in his ill-planned rescue. The importance of the patrol as a defense of all he held dear weighed heavily upon him since he had allowed himself to become distracted. He could easily have jeopardized everything with his foolish stunt. Realization of the potential consequences of his actions filled him with further remorse and anger at himself.

  Maybe Michael is right, and I'm not ready for this. Maybe I should tell him what happened. He realized that coming clean would also cause trouble for Andrea, so he decided to do whatever was necessary to protect her. Some ‘Demon’ I turned out to be, could have killed everyone on my first patrol! He resolved to do better in the future.

  Damon stopped at the next checkpoint and paused for the prescribed amount of time. The sounds of the City had faded and he neither heard nor saw anything unusual. Looking up at the unusually high building in front of him, just outside their perimeter, he gazed at “the beacon.” A single window near the top of the huge building was lit with electric light. It was always lit, and had been as long as anyone could remember. Damon wondered for the umpteenth time whether it was a home, a trap or just a strange anomaly. He and his friends (and many generations of friends before them) were dying to find out, but no one had found a safe way up. Stories were told about aircraft being seen coming and going from the rooftop, but none were from reliable sources. Of course there were also countless stories of ghosts, magic, and any other fantastic explanation one could imagine.

  Even Andrea joined in the conjecture; the lure of “the beacon” was too hard to resist. Damon secretly daydreamed of he and Andrea living way up there in a life of leisure. Of course, he could barely even admit the dream to himself, much less confide in anyone else.

  Sighing, he moved on. His body ached from the beating, and the anesthetic in the 'Pac on his shoulder was wearing off. The sharp pain growing there made him worry about the extent of the wound, although their Infirmary could handle almost anything. He was not happy about using the rest of his secret stash of MedPacs, but he would do whatever Andrea said after this evening’s
debacle. Sighing again, he moved on silently, heading toward the only home and the only family he had ever known.

  As Damon approached the last checkpoint he heard a sound behind him. Ducking to the side and dropping to a crouch, he spun quickly, tensing for a quick attack.

  With a loud crash, pile of junk toppled over into the path as someone tripped and fell. Charging forward and drawing his fist back for a deadly blow, Damon looked down on the face of the girl he had saved earlier.

  “Kyndra's tears! What are you doing here? How did you get . . . I don't . . . oh man, Andrea's gonna kill me!” His mind reeling, he asked, “How did you get here?”

  “I—I followed you,” she replied simply in her small tinny voice.

  “How did you follow me?” Damon was incredulous.

  “I had a hard time climbing up the fire escape and getting to the roof, but after that it wasn't too bad.” The girl looked at him without lifting her face, peering up through her eyelashes with wide, beseeching eyes.

  “Um . . . Ah . . . ,” Damon stammered inarticulately. “You have to go back.”

  “Go back,” she whined, “I can't go back. Please, you have to take me with you,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm.

  Damon shook her off and stepped back, “I'm sorry,” he said, “I can't take you with me. They won't accept you. At best they'll turn you out; at worst, kill you!” He put his forehead in his palm, completely lost about what to do. Andrea's instructions came to him from a session long ago:

  You will meet a lot of different people in the Ruins, it's not nearly as abandoned as it appears. Many of them will attack on sight if they don't recognize you as one of their own. They will assume you are either a threat or an opportunity to steal. If they act friendly, don't believe them, it's a lie. If you believe nothing else I teach you, believe this.

  “It's a lie,” Damon murmured, trying to figure out how this waif could be a danger.

  “What?” she asked, stepping toward him.

  “No. You're trying to fool me, confuse me.” He paused, and then continued, “Now get out of here.”

  “Where am I going to go-o?” She dragged the last word into two syllables and flopped down to her knees, looking into the gravel that covered the rooftop in this area.

  Damon turned to leave when he realized he had another problem. She followed me this far, how can I stop her from following me all the way to 4C? The answer was there, on the edges of the dark part of his thoughts, but he tried to ignore it. Kill her. It's that simple.

  What if I just knock her out? Even if I do, she's bound to set off a tripwire or a mine after she wakes up. If I knock her out and carry her back to where we started, she'll still probably find her way back into trouble.

  Damon could see only two reasonable solutions to the problem, bring her along and take my chances with Michael and Andrea, or kill her. Andrea’s voice came to him again, but now it was accusatory rather than soothing:

  Mercy. This may be the most difficult lesson of ALL. We cannot afford to have mercy. It is too dangerous to leave a potential enemy alive in a situation or with knowledge that could come back and hurt the Family. I know this seems cruel and heartless, and believe me when I say I struggle with it to this day, but it's the plain and simple truth: we cannot afford to show mercy, it will come back to haunt us. Every time.

  Damon looked down on the tiny girl and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He reached out to a nearby pile of debris and grabbed a piece of bent steel. He tensed his arm and raised it up to deliver the blow as his vision began to blur with moisture.

  The girl turned her face up to him, her eyes wide with fear but she did not try to escape. “Melanie. My name's Melanie.”

  Damon paused, frozen in place, with the heavy steel poised over his head. He stared down at her pale face, streaked with blood, dirt, and tears. For a moment he wondered at her age, right now she looked older than he first thought. He slammed the steel back into the pile and turned away, cursing at himself. “Demon, HA! That's a joke!”

  He started walking and she jumped up to follow quickly. He set a fast pace and she had to take a few running steps every so often to keep up.

  “Demon? That's your name? That’s what you said, Demon?” She spoke quickly, trying to build on the personal connection that had saved her life at the critical moment.

  He didn't answer but kept walking. His mind was racing, but he couldn't make coherent thoughts.

  “I like that name, Demon, it's different to be sure, but I like it anyway.” She was becoming breathless due to the combination of the fast pace and her talking.

  “Look!” Damon stopped and turned to face her, pointing his finger in her face. “I'm trying to figure out how to keep you alive, and I can't concentrate with you babbling on!” He still had no idea what to do, but one thing he did know was that he couldn't kill her; not like that.

  Her eyes were wide again. “I just want to know your name.”

  He sighed, “My friends do call me Demon. My name's actually Damon.” But only Andrea ever calls me Damon.

  “What would you like me to call you?”

  Her pale blue eyes were pretty, he realized, and they were absolutely huge on her small face and body. With her pale white skin they gave the impression that the color had been washed out of her. She was definitely older than the fourteen or fifteen that he first guessed. Her size gave that impression, but now that he looked closely, she could be mid-twenties. She used her eyes to try and influence him, which was getting annoying.

  “You can call me Demon,” he said sharply. He tore his gaze from her eyes and spun on his heel to resume a fast pace away from her. Now his head hurt to match the rest of his body.

  Damon’s stomach knotted as they approached the entrance to 4C.

  “Stay right behind me, close. Don't make eye contact and don't speak!”

  “Ok, Demon,” she complied, using her wide eyes again.

  Damon was still annoyed with her, and he was afraid of the ramifications of what he'd done. Through the last ten minutes of their trip he convinced himself that he could explain it to Andrea. She wouldn't really expect me to kill her, he told himself, would she?

  They approached the entrance in the clear so the guard could see them easily.

  “Hey, Demon! You made it back, eh?” a voice called from the shadows to the left.

  Damon immediately relaxed as he recognized one his friends. “Yaz—if I'd known you were here I would have gone around!”

  Sarcastic laughter drifted out of the darkness and a figure slowly appeared as Yaz stepped forward. He pulled up short as he caught sight of Melanie.

  “Whoa, that's risky, sneaking her in. Should've taken her to a nice room in the City,” and then to Melanie, “Hey, cutie, if you're lookin' for a real man—”

  “You'll let me know if you see one, sweetie?” Melanie interrupted as she blew Yaz a kiss. She fell into character without hesitation. Damon could only look at her with his mouth open, his own response preempted. She saw the look on his face and laughed. The sound lifted Damon's spirits even as he fought against the urge to like her.

  “Hey,” Yaz continued unflustered, “what's Andrea gonna say?”

  Damon stopped involuntarily, the humor of the previous moment drained from the air. Without looking back, he said “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Nothin' –just kidding,” he took a couple of small steps back away from Damon as he replied.

  “Huh. Well make sure she hears it from me, and only me, do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Sorry.”

  Damon started walking again and Melanie came up beside him and hooked her arm around his. He wanted to pull away but decided this charade was probably best.

  They made it to his room without further incident and Damon sat down heavily on the bed. Since he was promoted to Patrol he no longer had roommates. Melanie stopped in the doorway and looked around the room wide-eyed.

  “Really? You live here?”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, this is it,” he said as he began to carefully strip off his shirt.

  “You’ve got lights, and—and water!” she exclaimed as she peered into the bathroom.

  “Most of our rooms do,” he winced as he tried to draw the shirt over his head.

  She reached out to help him, “It looks like you live here alone. No roommate? Or girlfriend?”

  “Stop it!” Damon said loudly. “I saved you from a bad situation, but I never asked you to follow me home like some homeless puppy! And I want nothing from you. NOTHING!”

  Melanie drew her hands back quickly, and did not reply.

  Damon continued more softly, “Take a shower—a hot shower—it'll make you feel better.”

  Her eyes widened again, but this time it appeared genuine, not part of an act. “Are you serious? You have hot water?”

  “Yes, we do. This is why 4C is so special to us,” Damon caught himself, and decided not to say any more. “There are towels hanging in there,” he said as he gestured toward the shower.

  Melanie hurried into the bathroom, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then closed the door. Damon was not watching her anyway, as he was already pulling out MedPacs per Andrea's instructions.

  Applying the MedPacs and setting them properly took more than half an hour, but Melanie was still in the shower when he finished. He already felt better and the rudimentary tests run by the 'Pacs didn't find any major injuries. The shoulder wound showed a high risk of infection, but he would be going to the Infirmary soon.

  He laid back on the bed carefully so as not to disturb the 'Pacs, and finally faced the thought he had been avoiding. What am I going to tell Andrea? I can give up on ever patrolling again, and I'll probably have to move back into the barracks -ugh! His thoughts raced but he couldn't come up with a good answer. He wasn't worried about any of the possible punishments, he was worried about disappointing Andrea.