Jack-in-the-Box

by William W. Johnstone

  “Many of them. Even if Mrs. Vincinci is what she claims to be—and I have no reason to doubt it—she is still an old woman. Her powers are probably not as strong as she thinks.”

  “And Nora could kill her?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. It would like an accident, I’m sure,” the priest replied. “And there is this: Nora knows she must be careful. She can’t have many more sudden unexplained deaths in her presence. She can’t draw much more attention to herself. So anything now will have to look natural.” He shrugged. “Well, all we can hope for is the best.”

  “Let’s talk about the unthinkable,” Sheela said. “What happens if Nora cannot be stopped?”

  “A coven,” Debeau said softly. “A devil’s coven would then be formed.”

  Paul stirred in his seat. He didn’t know if he really believed in all this stuff or not.

  “And what does a coven do?” Sam asked.

  “Worship Satan. Work black magic. Spawn more evil.”

  Paul folded his arms across his chest. The expression on his face could have filled volumes.

  “How about Phil?” Sheela asked.

  “I think he’s clear of any serious charges. The DA wasn’t thinking when he sent his people out there. I’ll probably be able to get him referred to Dr. Harte for counseling. Anyway, Phil is a juvenile. Even if he’s convicted of manslaughter, he would only serve a couple of years.”

  “That law stinks!” Paul said, considerable heat in his voice. “Not in Phil’s case, but generally.”

  “I agree with you,” Sam said. “I believe if a person commits an adult crime, he or she should be tried as an adult.”

  “Gentlemen!” Sheela said. “Time, please. We’re getting away from the issue.”

  “No,” Sam said, drawling out the word. “I don’t think so. Something just occurred to me. Nora cannot be permitted to live. Even if she does slip up and the law catches her, she’ll be sent to the Center—and she knows that too. Once there, she’ll be safe.”

  “Yes,” Debeau agreed.

  “Well, what can we do?” Sheela asked.

  “We must wait,” Debeau said. “Even if Mrs. Vincinci is successful, there is still the matter of Phillip’s sister.”

  “And his mother,” Sam reminded them.

  “Now wait just a minute,” Paul said. “I gotta say something. Get something straight in my mind.” He looked at Debeau. “Are you telling me that if I stood, say, oh, a hundred and fifty meters back with a seven-millimeter magnum and put a slug through that kid’s head, nothing would happen to her? Do any of you know what a seven-millimeter mag can do? Father, I just don’t believe that. I think you’re wrong.”

  “Paul, her master would never permit that to happen. Satan would never allow you to harm her. He would stop you. Probably kill you. No, Paul. You just don’t understand what we’re dealing with here.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” the P.I. said.

  “Meeting violence with violence,” Sheela mused aloud, “is not the answer, is it, Joe?”

  “We never know with Satan,” the priest admitted. “We’re not dealing with a human person. We’re dealing with a force. But as of this minute, I would say, no, violence is not the answer. That doesn’t mean we won’t have to resort to it. You see—all of you—Satan is cunning, devious, cruel, violent. He finds a person’s weaknesses and plays upon them. Satan likes hatred and violence. It is gentleness and love that he cannot tolerate or understand. He is not gentle, and he cannot love. Those emotions are alien to him. You see, he has his weaknesses too.”

  Sam looked out his apartment window. It was snowing again, a white blanket gently covering the dirty city streets, hiding the crud beneath a clean shroud. He turned to face the others, waving a hand toward the outside. “There is a monster out there. Something—someone that I can’t really comprehend. But she has a name, and Nora is evil. We can no longer afford the luxury of viewing her as a child. She has to be thought of and treated as a monster, a rabid dog, a poisonous serpent, a despicable, dangerous, vile creature. And she must be destroyed—at all costs. No, Joe, I don’t feel very lovable toward her. Now, I haven’t practiced my faith for a good many years. Just stating a fact.”

  He chuckled softly. “I got this mental picture of going back to my old neighborhood and telling Rabbi Birnbaum. ‘Look, Bernie, I got this little problem. A good friend of mine—he’s dead—has this kid who is possessed by the devil. She killed her father? Eh? How? Well, she took control of her brother, and the brother killed the father. I have not been drinking, Bernie. Come on! Anyway, the kid has strange powers. She can fix broken doors just by looking at them. She can look at people and knock them down. And she’s got this Nazi jack-in-the-box, see? And if we don’t kill her, she’s going to start up a coven. A coven, Bernie! Don’t you ever go to the movies? How old is this monster? Ah . . . ten, I think.’

  “I don’t even like to think what his reaction would be. He’d ask me was I getting enough rest? Eating properly? Had I seen a doctor lately? Maybe I should go see his son-in-law who is a shrink over in Yonkers?” Sam shook his head. “The point is, people—we’re alone. Just the four of us. We can’t fail. And we can’t bring anybody else into this thing. Who would believe us? Love, Joe? No. I don’t go with that at all. Love won’t defeat Nora. But strength will.”

  “Love is strength,” Debeau said. “It takes great strength to love. Love almost never dies, Sam, not if people work at it. Usually love is murdered. But you’re wrong if you think love doesn’t require great strength to endure.”

  “Then why is an exorcism so violent?” Sam asked.

  “Because Satan is testing the exorcist’s love of God, is one way of putting it. I said, Sam, we may have to resort to violence. Don’t rule it out. But for now, strength is our best weapon.”

  “Give me a three fifty-seven any time,” Paul said, then smiled grimly.

  Sheela looked at the men. “I think you’re all right, in varying degrees. But for now, Joe—what do we do?”

  “The only thing we can do. Wait.”

  20

  Nora sat silently brooding on the trip up to Morgan’s home in Bridgeport. She could feel the power rolling from the old woman in invisible waves, and she did not like what she was experiencing.

  Nora knew that soon, very soon, there would be a test of wills. She was not afraid. She knew her powers were much stronger than the old woman’s. But she also knew they should not be fighting each other. They should instead be joining forces.

  She knew too that would never come to pass. Morgan was going to try to destroy her.

  “You’re awfully quiet, darling,” Jeanne said, glancing into the back seat.

  Nora almost told her mother to shut her stupid mouth, catching the words at the last moment and swallowing them. “Oh, I’m just enjoying the trip, mother,” she replied. “It’s nice to be away from the house.”

  Morgan looked back at the child. Evil, she thought. Evil secretly personified. And strong too. Very strong. She knew the Old Evil One was near the child; that, or one of the Dark One’s minions. Morgan hoped it was the latter. She had dealt with them before, and had always bested them.

  But the Old One . . . that was quite another matter.

  The young child of Hell and the elderly woman touched eyes across the short distance between them in the car.

  They understood each other very well. And both knew that one or the other would not live through the upcoming weekend.

  “I don’t want to leave Phil alone for any length of time,” Jeanne had explained. The boy was spending the day with Judy Gipson, just long enough for Jeanne to drive Morgan and Nora to Bridgeport, turn right around, and return home.

  Nora and Morgan stood on the huge front porch of the old home and watched as Jeanne headed back south.

  The day had turned cold, and was getting colder as the afternoon waned. The sky was a dirty, sullen gray, spitting snow. From off in the distance the faint sounds of “Come All Ye Faithful” d
rifted from loudspeakers at a shopping mall.

  Nora looked up at the old woman. “Now what?” she asked.

  “You shouldn’t have done it, Nora.”

  “I only did what I was put here to do, Aunt Morgan. And you know it.”

  “And you think what you did was right?”

  “It wasn’t wrong.”

  “Don’t answer me with riddles, child!”

  “And don’t raise your voice to me!” Nora popped back, standing her ground. “You’re just like me. I’m a part of you and you’re a part of me. Try to deny that.”

  “I can’t. And won’t. Where is Jane?”

  A sly look crept into the girl’s dark eyes. “Jane? Why, I don’t know. The only Jane I know is Jane Berman. She’s in my class. She . . .”

  Morgan slapped the girl, open-handed, almost knocking her off the porch. Nora recovered and lunged at the woman. Morgan held up her hand. Nora stopped as if running into an invisible wall. She stood stunned, shaking her head. Clearing her head, she stood glaring hate at the woman.

  “Jane.” Morgan repeated. “Your Aunt Jane. Where is she?”

  “You’ll pay dearly for striking me, you stinking old bitch!” Nora said.

  Morgan popped her again, the force of the blow spinning Nora halfway around on the porch. “Watch your mouth, child,” Morgan warned. “Answer my question.”

  Nora stood trembling with hate and rage. She glared at Morgan. But no matter how hard she glared, nothing happened. Nora summoned all her strength. She willed fire. No fire came. She willed disaster. Nothing. She willed pain. The only pain appeared on her own head. Her shoulders slumped. She dropped her eyes.

  “I don’t know where she is,” Nora mumbled. “I think she’s living in that old house a couple of blocks behind us.”

  “You haven’t seen her since your father discovered her in the attic?”

  “That puke was not my father! And you know it.”

  “How long had she been living there?”

  Nora mumbled her reply. “Das macht nichts.”

  “Yes, it does matter. Where is Otto Gunsche?”

  Nora smiled. “Meinst du es ernst?”

  “Yes, I’m serious. Where is that evil creature?”

  Nora shook her head.

  “You’re an evil little girl, Nora. Your mother and I made a very bad mistake in thinking we could change what you were born to be. We should have destroyed you years ago. Now it’s up to me. Get in the house, girl.”

  “Old woman,” Nora warned. “I was put here for a purpose—and you know what that purpose is. Don’t push me. I mean it. Don’t push me.”

  Morgan raised her hand to slap the girl. Nora’s eyes glowed. Morgan’s hand was stopped in mid-air. The woman fought to free her hand from the invisible chains. She hissed at Nora as the girl smiled sweetly at her. Although the air was cold, sweat beaded Morgan’s face. Very slowly Morgan brought her hand down, breaking Nora’s will. Nora was panting from her exertions.

  Nora growled like an animal as the old woman bested her. Now it was the girl who could not raise her hands.

  “Where are the servants?” Nora gasped.

  “Gone. I dismissed them for the weekend.”

  Nora’s eyes spun around in her head. When she spoke, it was in that hollow man’s voice. “You’re a goddamned fool, old woman.”

  Morgan opened the storm door and the door leading into the home. “Get in the house, Nora.”

  Nora spat in the woman’s face, that stinking, muddy, bloody brown glob. “One of us won’t leave here alive, you hag!” Nora hissed at her, venomous hate spewing from her mouth. Spittle oozed down her chin.

  “I know that far better than you, girl,” Morgan said. “Get in the house.

  * * *

  “I wonder what’s happening in Bridgeport?” Sam asked.

  “One witch confronting another,” Debeau replied. “Good and evil at war.”

  The three men sat in Sam’s office. A few floors away, Sheela was seeing patients. The law offices were silent and deserted. No quick buzz of computer printouts, no telephones jangling.

  “There has to be a motive for everything,” Sam said. “So what is Nora’s?”

  “Money,” Paul said.

  “What need does someone like that have for money?” Sam asked.

  “To aid Otto Gunsche, perhaps,” Debeau said.

  “If he’s alive,” Sam said.

  “He’s alive,” Paul said. “That is one Nazi who sold his soul to the devil—literally.”

  “Didn’t they all?” Sam’s question was laced with bitterness.

  “Not like Gunsche. No, it’s all tied in,” Paul said. “It has to be. I did some quiet snooping. Morgan Vincinci’s money—all of it, and it’s considerable—goes to Jeanne. If Nora has control of her mother’s mind, she could dictate where the monies are to be spent.”

  “And the money could be used to assist Gunsche in setting up more Nazi cells around the city,” Sam stated.

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Wonderful,” Sam said. “That’s just what this city needs.”

  Father Debeau glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, gentlemen. Are you sure it’s all right for us to stay at your place, Sam?”

  “Certainly. I have lots of room. And I think it best we stay together. When do you think we’ll hear something from Bridgeport?”

  “I should say Nora and Morgan are testing wills about this time,” the priest said. “Late tomorrow, I would think. Nothing is going to happen on Sunday.”

  “What if Nora wins?” Paul asked.

  “We’re in trouble.”

  * * *

  The elderly woman and the girl sat in the drawing room, staring at each other. The house was silent except for the unusually loud ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall.

  Morgan tried to stare the child down. She could not. Nora had the ability to see into Morgan’s thoughts. And the child knew the old woman would not kill her.

  “You can’t do it, can you?” Nora said with a smile.

  “I haven’t tried,” Morgan admitted. “I want to help you, Nora. Save you. Not kill you.”

  Nora laughed, an ugly bark. “You’re an idiot.” Her voice had once more changed from that of a young girl to a man. “I have absolutely no desire to change.”

  “You might not have a choice, girl.”

  Nora spat on the floor at Morgan’s feet, some of the spittle landing on the woman’s shoe.

  “Wipe it off,” Morgan commanded.

  “No!”

  Morgan looked at a box of tissues on a table. Several tissues pulled out of the box and drifted to Nora’s lap, settling gently.

  Nora balled them up and tossed them to the floor.

  Morgan rose gracefully from her chair and poured a cup of tea from a service. The tea had steeped aromatically while Morgan and Nora sat and glared at each other. “Care for a cup?” she asked Nora.

  “Stick it up your ass, you old bat!” the girl told her.

  Morgan’s sudden move belied her age. She spun, hurling the cup of hot tea at the girl. Nora ducked and squalled as most of the hot liquid missed her face. She hissed at Morgan, her breath fouling the heated air in the house.

  Nora leaped from her chair and rushed toward the woman. Morgan stuck out one foot and tripped the girl, sending her sprawling on the carpet. Nora screamed her outrage.

  Nora jumped to her feet, balling her small hands into fists. She started toward the elderly woman, intending to hit her. She paused, a faint smile on her lips.

  “No, not this way,” Nora said. “Oh yes, auntie dear. I see. You thought you could trick me, didn’t you, you silly old fool?”

  Morgan knew it was futile, but she plunged ahead. She looked at a vase across the room. The child followed her eyes. The vase lifted from its stand and floated through the air, to dangle before Nora’s face.

  Nora laughed in that odd hollow man’s voice. She stared at the vase. The expensive antique vase exploded
in mid-air, pieces of it falling about the room.

  “Tricks, old woman?” Nora said. “Tricks are supposed to impress me?” Her smile broadened. “Oh yes,” she said in her own girl’s voice. “Now I see. Now I know. You can’t do so-called bad things, can you?”

  Morgan did not reply. But she could not continue meeting the child’s eyes.

  “You’re dead, old woman,” Nora said grimly. “Dead, dead, dead.”

  “You haven’t won yet, child.”

  “I think I have.”

  Nora’s feet flew out from under her, depositing her butt first on the floor. She tried to rise and found she could not.

  Nora’s eyes spoke her silent hate and rage. She felt she could easily kill the old woman, but she knew it must not appear to be in any way connected with herself. There must not be any evidence that she had any part in the death.

  Morgan bowed her gray head. Nora felt the force leave her. She crawled to her feet to stand smiling at Morgan.

  Morgan looked at her. “You find this amusing, child?”

  “I find you pathetic, old woman.” Her voice was once again not her own. “And I find you confusing.

  “Confusing?” Morgan knew she must not let the child know she was stalling, regaining her strength. She had guessed, and guessed accurately, that she was not strong enough to best the little devil-child. She could only hope to hurt her, numb the girl’s powers. “I don’t know what you mean by that, Nora.”

  “You gave up eternal life and all the power you could ever hope for,” the girl said, in that hollow, evil-sounding man’s voice. “Turned your ass to the Master. In return for what?”

  “The love of God,” Morgan stated quietly.

  Nora cringed at the mention of God’s name. Spittle leaked from one corner of the girl’s mouth, falling on her shirt. “That prissy, pukey faith!” she hissed the words. “How stupid of you!”

  “God will not forget that remark,” Morgan warned her.

  Nora shrugged her shoulders. “So who gives a big rat’s ass? What can He do to me? I won’t suffer. Even if I should die, I would just go home to live forever.”

  “In exchange for ten thousand innocent lives,” Morgan reminded her. “I believe that is the current rate of exchange.”