Second Demon

by Mary Abshire

  The male voices outside the door became louder. She shot up and moved between the two chairs. “If they come in I’ll scream and act like he’s just now had a heart attack. Lower him to the floor and act like you’re trying to help him.”

  Attention focused on the body, he nodded. He carefully tugged the chair away from the desk.

  Men on the other side of the door continued to talk. An inch or two of wood was the only thing separating Emily and Andrew from the cops. She took quick glimpses at the door, but she kept her focus on the lawyer’s body in the chair.

  In a blink of an eye, a large dark mass in human form leaped from the lawyer. The sudden move surprised Andrew and he took a step back. The dark smoke had a head, shoulders, arms, and torso. It stood near the table, across from her. Emily gasped and jumped back until she hit the wall. Her head thudded on the concrete. Andrew put his hands on the smoldering shadow’s arm and shoulder. As quickly as it had arrived, it also disintegrated. Black snowflakes and dust floated in the air. Slowly, they evaporated. Some of the particles landed on the table. In little time the remnants of the demon disappeared.

  Emily remained frozen with her back against the wall. She took slow breaths and her racing heart began to calm. It was gone. Andrew had destroyed his second demon.

  Andrew looked at his hands before he met her gaze. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  Similar to the last time she’d seen a demon, she shook a little. Her faith in religion had been lacking for many years. She still found it difficult to believe heaven, hell, and purgatory existed. She knew evil existed. She saw it every day in the news and she didn’t let it scare her. She became more alert and tried to protect herself. That’s what most people did. But seeing evil in front of her eyes in the shape of a dark figure from a dead body brought everything back into perspective. Hell, it freaked her out.

  He held his palms up to her. Black soot covered his hands.

  “Wipe them on his suit,” she said.

  He rubbed his palms on the dead man’s blazer. The body slanted and began to fall. Andrew caught it and lowered him to the ground.

  Emily stepped around the far end of the table, keeping a distance from the dead man. Andrew had destroyed the demon, but she still didn’t want to go near the area where it had been.

  “We need to report his heart attack before too much time passes,” she said.

  Andrew straightened. “Are you up to another performance?”

  “Anything to get the fuck out of here. Are you?”

  “Anything to get you out.”

  She pointed to the cup. “What about that?”

  Andrew remembered Troy had said not to touch the poison. Thinking fast, he slid his hand inside the lawyer’s pockets. Didn’t most men in suits carry cloth tissues with them? He hoped so as he searched the lawyer’s blazer.

  “What are you doing?” Emily asked.

  Andrew found nothing in his pockets. He felt around the inside of the blazer. Finding another pocket, he dug into it. His fingers touched something soft. He grabbed hold and withdrew the cloth form the jacket. “I need this.”

  He took the cloth, placed it over the cup and then flattened it. A few drops spilled onto the linen. He placed the cup and the lid in his back pocket. His jeans would give him another layer of protection so the poison wouldn’t reach him.

  “Just hope I don’t get patted down,” he said.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She turned to face the door. Her lawyer had just had a stroke in front of her. What would a normal person? She took two breaths before she rushed toward the door.

  “Somebody help!” she yelled as she twisted the knob. She swung the door open and hurried out. “Help!”

  Two men were chatting near the room next to hers. They looked her way as she darted toward them.

  “Help him! Help him!” She pointed toward her room. “There’s something wrong.”

  Officers came running down the hall. One stopped in front of her and grabbed her arm. Others darted into the room.

  “You need to call an ambulance now!” she said.

  The cop brought her to the open door. Two officers were on the ground, one on each side of the dead body. The guy on the left held Michael’s wrist. The other studied Michael’s face. A third officer stood nearby talking into the device on his shoulder.

  Andrew stood near the head. “He started choking and having difficulty breathing. I asked him if he needed help. He said no. He just fell over.”

  Police blocked one end of the hall. After a few minutes, they stepped aside as an overweight man wearing black pants and a maroon button-down shirt strode forward. He had dark hair, a mustache, and a beard. A shiny badge clung to his belt on the side of his protruding belly. He peered inside the room. When he’d finished surveying it, he looked at her and then at the other officers standing in the hall. He began walking toward her.

  “Get her into another room,” the large man said.

  The cop holding onto her arm escorted her to an empty room that mirrored the one she’d been in. He let go of her as the dark-haired overweight man entered the room.

  “Have a seat,” he gestured.

  The cop who had accompanied her stood near the door with his arms crossed. She wasn’t dumb enough to even try to escape. Following the instructions of the man with the badge, she sat in one of the chairs.

  “My name is Sergeant O’Henry.” He stood a few feet away from her. “Can you tell me what happened in there?” he asked with a thick New York accent.

  “My lawyer was asking me questions and then he started coughing. We asked him if he was okay and he said he thought he had some bad dinner the night before, but he was fine. He asked me more questions and I noticed he was wheezing. He wrote some notes, stopped, and…” She paused to swallow. “It looked like he was having a stroke. I ran to get help.” She tried to sound shocked and upset by the ordeal.

  “When did he start coughing?” He crossed one arm above his large stomach. With his free hand he rubbed his beard.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. He was asking me questions. I didn’t think anything of it really.” And how the hell would she had known what time he had started showing signs? There weren’t any clocks in the room and she didn’t have a watch. What a stupid question.

  “Did he act fine up to the point he began having trouble breathing?”

  The question seemed odd. “He’d acted normal the entire time he was questioning me.”

  “And he told you he had a bad lunch?” He continued to comb his hairy chin with his finger and thumb.

  The man’s way of interrogating Emily bothered her. She sensed he was trying to catch her in a lie.

  “No. He mentioned he thought he had a bad dinner the night before,” she said.

  “When did you offer to get him help?”

  “I didn’t. I asked if he was okay after he coughed several times.” Her level of annoyance grew with each question.

  “The person who was in the room with you, did he hurt your lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him fall out of the chair?”

  “No.”

  “Did your friend push him out of the chair?”

  “No,” she said louder and with a bit of frustration.

  The sergeant lowered his arm onto the one resting above his belly and studied her.

  “Look. That’s my lawyer. He told me he was fine. I believed him. Then something happened like he had a stroke. Clearly, he wasn’t fine so I ran for help,” Emily said.

  “All right.” He approached the cop by the door. “Take her back to her cell and have her friend brought in.”

  Emily rose and walked toward the cop. “Follow me,” he said.

  The officer led the way out of the room. Andrew stood in the hall a few feet away with his back against the wall. A cop stood on each side of him.

  “O’Henry wants to have a chat with him,�
� the cop escorting her told the officer next to Andrew.

  “I’ll take him in,” the officer said.

  She gave Andrew a smile before she continued down the hall behind her escort. She wished she could’ve warned him about the sergeant. The man was a pain. She hoped Andrew wouldn’t say the wrong thing to screw things up.

  The cop leading her back to her cell stopped as paramedics exited the room she’d been in with Andrew. They carted out the dead body on a gurney.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Andrew disappeared into the room she’d recently come from.

  After the paramedics left, the officer took her back to her cell. He removed the cuffs from her wrists before she entered her cage. While she was happy Andrew had destroyed the demon, worry persisted in her thoughts. If the sergeant caught Andrew in a lie, she could easily spend more time in prison and Andrew could end up behind bars too. Andrew was smart. But could he handle being interrogated?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Andrew entered a small room similar to the last one he’d been in. A large man wearing black pants and a maroon shirt sat at the table. He looked like a fat porn star from the 1970s with his dark hair, beard, and mustache.

  “Have a seat,” the man said with his arm extended to the chair across from him.

  Concern for Emily plagued him. She had a few hours before her hearing. Troy’s lawyer could now step in to represent her and plea for her freedom. All Andrew needed to do was say the right words that wouldn’t incriminate him or her. The problem was he didn’t know the right words. He’d never been questioned by police before. From the shows he’d seen on television over twenty-seven years ago, he’d learned they could be tricky. He’d have to be careful.

  Andrew sat across from the big man and kept his hands in his lap.

  “I’m Sergeant O’Henry. I want to ask you a few questions about what happened.”

  “Sure.”

  “Was that your girlfriend you were with?”

  Andrew hesitated to answer. What would Emily say? “No. We’re friends.”

  “Just friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to your eye?” the sergeant asked.

  “A friend hit me.”

  “You have quite the variety of friends.”

  Andrew swallowed to keep himself from responding. He sensed the sergeant wanted him to elaborate. The less words Andrew spoke, the better off he would be. Besides, Andrew’s life and business was none of his concern. After enough silence, the sergeant must have realized Andrew wasn’t going to reply.

  “How well did you know her lawyer?” the sergeant asked.

  “No more than she did. I contacted him to help her at her court hearing.”

  “What happened in the room?”

  “Her lawyer was asking her questions. He started acting like something was wrong. We asked if he was okay. He said yes. Then it looked like he was having a stroke. Carrie ran for help.”

  “How was he acting like something was wrong?”

  “He was coughing.”

  “Did you offer to help him?”

  “Again, I asked him if he was okay. He told us yes.”

  “Did he mention eating any bad food?”

  Andrew recalled Michael’s words. The demon had said he’d thought it was a bug or something he’d ate. The fact the sergeant had brought up the matter led Andrew to believe Emily had mentioned it. But since he couldn’t be certain, he had to choose his words carefully.

  “I think he did,” Andrew said.

  “Did he say when?”

  If Andrew replied with a no response, then any statement Emily had given could be challenged. And he couldn’t respond with breakfast, lunch, or dinner because he didn’t know if Emily had said one.

  “He didn’t say,” Andrew said.

  “He didn’t say when he ate bad food or he didn’t say he ate bad food?”

  So the sergeant thought he could trip Andrew up. Andrew refused to play his game.

  “I just saw my friend’s lawyer have a stroke. She has a hearing coming up soon and now I have to find someone else to represent her. I’d like to go now if you don’t have any important questions to ask,” Andrew said.

  The sergeant crossed his arms above his large gut. “Did you hurt the lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “Did the lawyer ask for help?”

  “No. He said he was fine.”

  “Did the lawyer seem fine?”

  “Yes, other than he was coughing.”

  “Did your girlfriend hurt him?”

  Andrew clenched his jaw. “She’s not my girlfriend and no, Carrie didn’t hurt him.”

  “Did you see him fall over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it before or after your girlfriend ran for help?”

  Now he knew the sergeant was trying to make him angry. His plan was working, but Andrew refused to show it.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, and I don’t remember,” Andrew said calmly.

  “Did you try to help him?”

  “No. I got up and rolled him onto his back, but that was it. I don’t know CPR.” He lied. He didn’t often do it, but the situation called for the false statement. He’d been a nurse when he’d been alive the first time, so of course he knew how to administer CPR.

  “Was that after your girlfriend, I mean, friend, ran for help?”

  Andrew stared at him. The prick wouldn’t get an answer from Andrew this time. “I need to go and find a lawyer. Are we done?”

  The sergeant lowered his hands and leaned over the table. “Be sure to leave your contact information with this officer on your way out.” He tilted his head toward the cop standing by the open door.

  “Not a problem,” Andrew said before he rose. He headed for the officer.

  “This way,” the cop said.

  Andrew followed him down the hall and around the corner. They passed doors with blinds covering the windows. Several offices had uniformed officers working behind desks. Andrew’s escort took him into an office with a metal desk that reminded Andrew of the ones in the eighties. The cop took a pen from the cup and a notepad from his drawer. He handed the two items to Andrew.

  “Name, address, and telephone number, please,” the cop said.

  Andrew took pen and pad. He debated if he should leave his real information or not. He’d destroyed the demon so he planned to leave town after Emily was released. The cops couldn’t charge him with anything since they had no evidence to prove he or Emily had done anything wrong. Leaving his contact details seemed pointless, so he jotted down Spencer McFarland with an address in the Bronx. He gave a bogus phone number too. After he’d finished, he handed the items back to the officer.

  The policeman escorted him back to the elevator where he waited a few minutes to catch a ride up. Three other people had joined him. Relief trickled within Andrew as he inhaled a long breath. He’d completed his task and soon Emily would be able to leave with him. Life was looking better.

  While the others faced the front, Andrew slowly pushed his sleeve up his arm. The tattoo with Michael’s name and address had vanished. Two down. Four to go. He grinned with pride.

  The elevator reached the third floor. Andrew stepped out and onto the marble floor. The openness of the walkway and balconies in the center reminded him of museums he’d visited in his youth. The claps of shoes echoed. Large wooden doorframes led to courtrooms. He passed an empty one, but a sign posted on the door indicated a judge’s name and type of court. He came up to another room and found a few people sitting in the audience.

  The clacking of shoes drawing near captured his attention. Troy strode toward him in the same blonde wig and dark boots he’d worn when Andrew had met him at the airport. His black skirt went an inch or so past his kneecaps. He wore a shiny red blouse and matching red makeup above his eyes. In one hand, he carried a black purse. Andrew had to give him credit. The man knew how to match colors and dress elegantly.

  A tall man with a blui
sh aura and dressed in a gray suit followed several steps behind Troy. He had short brown hair and a clean-shaven face. Hands in the pockets of his pants, he walked with a confident stride. Andrew wondered if he was the lawyer Troy had acquired to represent Emily. Why else would he follow Troy?

  “Did you finish your job?” Troy asked as he approached Andrew.

  He twisted his arm to reveal his bare forearm.

  Troy came to a stop a few feet from Andrew. “Praise the Lord.”

  “Funny, I didn’t picture you as a believer.”

  “Don’t get me fucking started.” He turned as the man in the gray suit came to a halt beside him. “This is Spencer Reynolds, a friend of Carrie’s.”

  The man extended his arm. A large expensive watch clung to his wrist. “Bryce Thompson.”

  Andrew shook his hand. “Are you representing Carrie?” He assumed Troy hadn’t shared Emily’s real name and information since he’d introduced Andrew as Spencer.

  “Yes.” He gripped Andrew’s hand firmly before he let it go. “I’ve been practicing law in the State of New York since I was twenty-six. Over the last fifteen years I have represented a variety of clients here in the city. I assure you, Carrie is in good hands.”

  His words boosted Andrew’s confidence about her release. Andrew suspected he was in his mid- to late-forties since he had a few faint creases near his brown eyes. He appeared and spoke like a man with plenty of experience. If he’d been practicing as long as he’d said, then he probably knew the system well.

  “How did my girl look when you saw her?” Troy asked.

  Andrew swallowed his irritation as he glared at Troy. The man would always be protective of Emily. Andrew reminded himself of that fact. “She looked tired.”

  “I imagine she would be,” Troy said. “Did she have any cuts or bruises?”

  “No, but she had swollen knuckles on one hand. We didn’t get to talk much.”

  One of Troy’s brows lifted. “Sounds like my girl has had to defend herself.”

  Andrew ignored his comment and shifted his attention to the lawyer. “Will you be able to get her out of jail today?”