Jack-in-the-Box

by William W. Johnstone

  “And he is involved, somehow, with . . .” Phillip waved his hand. “The devil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay away!” the heavy, hollow voice rolled down the stairs. “Stay away!”

  Jeanne stepped into the room. She looked upward. “Who is that?”

  “Nora,” Else said.

  “That isn’t Nora’s voice.”

  “No, you’re right. It isn’t. It belongs to the demon inside the child.” Else signed herself.

  Instinctively, Phillip did the same. He was not conscious of his action.

  A howling came from upstairs.

  “Won’t that bring the police?” Jeanne asked.

  Else shook her head. “Unless Satan desires it, no one outside of this house can hear it.”

  The howling intensified. There was nothing human sounding about it.

  The noise brought chill bumps on the arms of Jeanne and raised the short hairs on the back of Phillip’s neck.

  Phillip looked outside. It was snowing, and this time the snow was sticking. He recalled his terrible visual thrusts into the future. He shook them away.

  Phil had not questioned his father’s request that he spend the night with Alec. He had looked curiously at Father Debeau, but kept silent.

  “Sister Else?” Phillip asked. “Will you be needing our assistance?” He looked at Jeanne.

  “No,” the Sister replied. “Not at first. If at all. Please, neither of you really want to see this.”

  “I certainly do want to see what you’ll be doing to my child!” Jeanne said.

  “No, Mrs. Baxter.” Else stood firm. “You really don’t. If we need either of you, we’ll let you know.”

  “Are you ready?” Debeau asked from the doorway.

  “Yes, Father.”

  Debeau and Else began walking up the stairs. They stopped when Nora appeared at the top of the stairs, holding the closed jack-in-the-box in her hands.

  The girl was dressed in black. All in black. Right down to her gleaming, polished boots, the trousers fitted into the top of the boots. She wore a storm trooper’s cap, the death’s-head insignia on the peaked Prussian cap. Her blond hair stood out against the black uniform.

  “The perfect Aryan child,” Phillip muttered. “Hitler would be so proud.”

  Jeanne’s eyes flashed sudden hate at her husband. She started toward the stairs. Phillip pulled her back and held her.

  “You are both far too late,” Nora told the priest and nun. Her voice was deep and hollow-sounding, a man’s voice springing out of a child’s mouth. “There is nothing either of you can do to stop me.”

  “We’ll see,” Debeau said.

  Nora laughed, the sound filled with thousands of years of evil. “Oh, but I have already seen. I warn you both. Don’t come any closer to me.”

  Debeau and Else started the climb up the stairs. Nora moved one hand nearer to the brass clasp on the front of the wooden box.

  “Foolish, foolish people,” Nora said. She looked at her mother and father. “Don’t worry, mother. Nothing will happen to you. I promise you.”

  Jeanne stood and stared in silence at her daughter. Her eyes simply would not accept what she was witnessing. She started to speak. Phillip’s quick hand over her mouth blocked any words.

  “By everything that I believe in,” Nora said to her father, “I despise you!”

  The priest and nun moved closer. Debeau held a large cross in his hand. He lifted it and began praying softly.

  Nora laughed at him. “Eat shit, man,” she said.

  Neither man nor woman of God changed expression at her profanity. They knew it would become much worse than that. They began praying. The snow was coming down harder, in large, wet flakes. Debeau and Else reached the top of the stairs. Nora suddenly lunged at the Sister, knocking her backward, sending her tumbling down the steps. She banged her head several times on the way down. Her head smacked wetly against the floor, blood leaking from her indented forehead. Her neck was twisted at an impossible angle. She did not move.

  Debeau stepped back a few steps, looking at Else. He brought his gaze back to Nora. She stood smiling at him. “You filthy little spawn of Hell. I was wrong. Wrong about you.”

  Phillip and Jeanne stood very still, listening to the priest and the girl.

  “Oh?” Nora said, in that hollow man’s voice.

  “You’re not possessed. You are the essence of evil. The epitome of evil.”

  Nora howled, her breath stinking and profaning the air. She spat in the priest’s face.

  “Back off, Joe!” Phillip shouted. “Back off. We’ve got to get Else to the hospital. Leave Nora.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Debeau said, never taking his eyes off the girl. “It has to be right now, Phillip. Now. Look at Else, man. She’s dead.”

  Phillip knew with a sinking feeling that Joe was right.

  Else’s neck was broken.

  “The bitch stank of death anyway,” Nora said. “I just relieved her of more suffering. Now she can go happily to sit and simper at the feet of your so-called God.”

  “Nora!” Jeanne said. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  The child gave her mother a look of pity.

  “What does she mean?” Phillip called.

  “Cancer,” the priest said. “Else had less than six months to live. But she deserved a better death than this one.”

  “Hadn’t you better go to her and work your after-death mumbo-jumbo, witch doctor?” Nora said with a nasty laugh.

  “You filthy little demon!” Debeau said, considerable heat in his voice.

  Nora laughed. “Aww!” she said sarcastically. “What’s the matter, dads? Did I take your steady sex away from you? Come on now. You weren’t really humping that old bat, were you?”

  Jeanne listened in disbelief. It could not be her child saying those horrid things.

  Nora placed the wooden case to one side. “Let’s make it more interesting, Debeau. You see, I don’t need my friend here. He needs me. Shall we play a game, tall, dark, and pukey-looking?”

  Debeau reached into his pocket, taking out a small vial of clear liquid. He slowly unscrewed the cap.

  Nora chuckled, that odd evil sound rolling from her young mouth. “Holy water, Zorro? Really now! Don’t you think we’ve progressed past that stage? You don’t think I can be harmed by that, do you?”

  Debeau doused the girl with holy water. She stood smiling arrogantly at him. “Is that your best shot?”

  Debeau’s shoulders slumped slightly. He looked back at Phillip. “Parlez-vous français?”

  “Oui,” Phillip said. “Lentement, s’il vous plaît.”

  “What are you saying?” Nora screamed. “What are you plotting?”

  The men switched to French, Debeau saying, “We’ve got to restrain her physically. Tie her to a bed. Then we might, and I stress might, have a chance at saving her.”

  “Oui, en effet,” Phillip said.

  “You scummy bags of shit!” Nora screamed. “What are you saying? If you touch me, you’ll die. Give it up. You’re whipped. Lassen Sie mich allein! Schweinekobens. ”

  Phillip began walking slowly up the stairs, his eyes fixed on Nora.

  “I told you you would soon be dead, daddy,” Nora said. “You must be anxious to die.”

  Phillip walked past Debeau and faced his daughter. He whipped his hand across Nora’s face and knocked her backward, the blow bruising her face, bloodying her lips.

  “No!” Jeanne screamed. “Damn you, Phillip, she’s just a child!”

  As Nora was sliding down a wall and before she could recover from the stunning backhand, Phillip hit her a short, vicious chop to her jaw. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Blood leaked from one side of her mouth. She was out.

  Jeanne ran screaming up the stairs. Debeau grabbed her and manhandled her to the landing. “Quick!” the priest said. “Bind the girl securely to a bed. Not her room. Hurry!”

  “You son of a bitc
h!” Jeanne screamed, neither man knowing whom she was cursing. She cleared that up promptly. “Goddamn both of you! I won’t have you hurting Nora!”

  Phillip considered punching her out.

  The wooden box jerked and rocked back and forth on the floor. Muffled guttural cries came from the box. The men ignored it.

  Phillip jerked up Nora and carried her into a guest bedroom, tossing her on the bed. The black polish from her boots smeared dark on the sheets. He jerked the boots off her and hurled them to the floor. He found linens and tore a sheet into strips, securing Nora’s hands to the head posts, her feet to the footposts.

  Phillip screamed in pain as sharp teeth clamped down hard on his forearm. Nora was awake and hanging onto his flesh.

  Every parental instinct in him rebelled against striking the child. But he knew he had no choice in the matter. He popped her hard on the jaw with a big fist, returning the girl to unconsciousness. A chunk of meat was ripped from his arm as she fell back. Jeanne was screaming and kicking and fighting Debeau in the hallway. Phillip checked Nora’s bonds and ran out to help the priest contain his wife.

  Phillip wrestled Jeanne to the floor and held her. “In her medicine cabinet,” he told the priest. “A bottle of Valium. Get it. That door there.”

  Debeau was back in a moment. Phillip took three of the Valiums and forced them into Jeannes’ mouth, holding her mouth shut until she swallowed them.

  Nora was awake now, howling her fury, screaming and cursing. The lights in the big house dimmed, flickering off and on. A foul, slightly sulfuric odor wafted through the house. The lights dimmed to a low output and remained at low wattage, casting shadows and creating dull concavities in the hallway.

  Phillip, not liking it but knowing it had to be, tied Jeanne’s hands behind her and carried her into their bedroom, placing her gently on the bed.

  “You’re going to kill her, Phillip,” she sobbed.

  “Maybe so,” he said. “But better that than what she is.”

  “She’s just a child. Please. Phillip, she can be helped.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to do, Jeanne. Dammit, you saw her kill Sister Else.”

  “That was just an accident. She didn’t mean to. She was scared, that’s all.”

  Phillip left his wife with her naiveté—if that was what it was, he reminded himself—and rejoined Father Debeau in the hall. “Nora’s too strong for us, isn’t she, Joe?”

  Joe poured iodine on Phillip’s arm and said, “Probably.” The men walked out into the hall. Debeau said, “Call the detective, Weaver, and tell him what has happened. I met him a few years ago, through Sheela. When I started to say something about it to you, Paul indicated I shouldn’t. I don’t know why. I suppose he has his reasons. I can tell you he is a Nazi hunter. Anyway,” he said with a sigh, “tell him about Else. I’m sure he knows how to arrange to remove her body without involving the police.”

  Phillip wondered about that request, but did as Debeau asked. Weaver had listened without comment. He said, “Yeah. It’ll take me about two hours, Mr. Baxter. But I’ll take care of it. Do you want me to notify the Center to make preparations for Nora?”

  Phillip was brought up short by that. “The Center? You mean up near Canaan?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  The P.I. chuckled grimly. “For a very successful attorney, Mr. Baxter, you are not very well informed about certain matters. But perhaps you and your firm haven’t handled many quiet nut cases.”

  “None that I can remember.” Except this one, Phillip thought. “About Nora, no. We’ll talk about that when you get here.”

  “Rolling.” He hung up.

  Phillip rejoined the priest. Debeau said, “I just looked in on your wife. I doubt the pills have had time to work, but she’s resting comfortably.”

  “They won’t take long with her. Any kind of sedative has a powerful psychological effect on Jeanne. Nora?”

  “That’s quite another matter,” the priest said, in a classic understatement.

  That muddy, bloody slime was leaking from the child’s mouth. She had fouled herself, and the room stank. Her eyes had rolled back into her head—or to one side. Phillip wasn’t sure.

  “Double her bonds,” Debeau said. “I’ve seen much smaller persons pop leather restraints effortlessly. Remember, their strength is aided by Satan. And be very careful of her teeth.”

  As he worked, Phillip said, “You said she was the essence of evil. What did you mean by that?”

  “Pure evil, to use a contradiction. I don’t believe there is any hope for her. But I have to try.”

  Phillip took leather belts and secured Nora’s wrists and ankles. She hissed and spat and cursed him. When he had finished, Phillip thought: Arnold Schwarzenegger would have trouble getting out of this.

  “No!” Nora spat the word in that hollow man’s voice. “No! Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me.”

  “Why?” Phillip asked her.

  “You are guaranteeing your death,” Nora said.

  Phillip stepped back, away from the stinking bed. Debeau said, “This is going to be very unpleasant for you. But I have to have your help. Are you a Christian?”

  “What? Yes. Yes, of course.”

  Debeau signed himself, Phillip, and then Nora with the sign of the cross. Nora cursed him passionately and profanely. He sprinkled holy water on Nora, Phillip, and himself.

  “You will be my witness,” he told Phillip.

  Phillip nodded his head. He had absolutely no knowledge of the workings of an exorcism.

  He was about to find out.

  As if reading his thoughts, Debeau said, “This is the Rituale Romanum. Some of this will be spoken in Latin, some in English. Do what I tell you, when I tell you. Do not hesitate. Our lives are in very grave danger. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  Nora howled.

  “Are you ready, Phillip?”

  “I . . . guess so, Father.”

  “Be sure!” the priest said sharply.

  “I am ready.”

  “Let us begin.”

  15

  Phillip had lost all track of time. He was not even sure what day it was. He had never heard such profanity in all his life, nothing like the verbal filth that rolled from Nora’s mouth, none of it in her voice. The child was bathed in sweat. The bedsheets were wet from it. Nora had slung her head from side to side, that slime from her mouth and nose fouling the room, sticking to the walls and the carpet and on the men’s clothing. She switched languages half a dozen times, some of them totally unfamiliar to Phillip.

  Neither man heard Weaver enter the house. They knew he was there only when Phillip happened to look up and saw him leaning against the door frame, watching the proceedings through expressionless eyes, a lighted cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling upward. He did not appear to be in the least shocked by what he was witnessing.

  When Nora lapsed into one of her rare quiet periods, Debeau waved Phillip out of the room and into the hall. Both were very tired.

  “Having any luck, Father?” Weaver asked.

  “I don’t know,” the priest admitted. “No,” he said. “I’m not. Else?”

  “All taken care of. She’ll turn up in a car accident in New York State.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No sweat. I’ll just bill Baxter’s firm.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of witnessing this?” Phillip asked the P.I.

  “I’ve seen it before,” Weaver said, lighting another cigarette. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Where’s your wife?”

  “I knocked her out with sedatives and put her in our bedroom.”

  “Your son?”

  “I didn’t tell him what we were planning, if that’s what you’re driving at. He’s up the street at a friend’s house. Why?”

  “Just curious.” He glanced at Debeau. “You’re running out of time, Padre.”

 
“I know,” Debeau said.

  “What do you mean, running out of time?” Phillip asked.

  “Your daughter is getting stronger while we are getting weaker.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Put a bullet in her head before it’s too late,” the P.I. said flatly.

  Phillip looked at the man. “Are you serious?” “I don’t have much of a sense of humor, Mr. Baxter.” He shifted his cold eyes to Debeau. “What do you say, Padre?”

  “It’s too late for that. The . . .” He hesitated. “It would not be permitted. You’d die before you could pull the trigger. You’d better get out of here, Paul.”

  Some strange light Phillip could not pinpoint flickered through the P.I.’s eyes, vanishing as quickly as it came. His eyes slid to Phillip, back to the priest, then back to Phillip. “You’re willing to die for that little she-devil in there?”

  “If I have to,” Phillip told him.

  “Your ass,” Weaver said. He looked at Debeau. “You’re sure about this, Padre?”

  “I’m sure. Paul, whatever happens here this night, don’t drop this case. See it through. There is more here than we see on the surface.”

  Phillip didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on between the two men.

  Debeau looked at Phillip. “Call your friend Sam. Tell him what is happening here, and to keep Mr. Weaver paid for as long as it takes. Would you do that, please?”

  “Joe, I fully intend to keep the bills paid.”

  Debeau glanced at Weaver. “You’d better leave now, Paul.”

  The P.I. nodded. “You guys take ’er easy.” Then he was gone, walking down the stairs. The front door opened and closed.

  “What’s going on, Joe?”

  “Phillip, Satan’s presence is growing much stronger. Anything could happen. Anything!” he stressed. “Now call your friend. Do it now, please.”

  “Joe, you act like . . . well, like I’m not going to be around to take care of matters.”

  “You might not be, Phillip. Let me put it this way—no! First let me say this: Your daughter hates you much more than she hates me and what I stand for. With me, as far as she is concerned, this is a game. I don’t think she can or will kill me. But she will kill you. Now then, we could both leave this house and remain safe and well. If we stay here, in this house, surrounded by the growing evil, we’re going to lose the battle. Not the war, just the battle. Do you understand what I’m saying Phillip? The choice is yours to make.”