The Devil's Cat

by William W. Johnstone

  Screaming in pain, Will staggered from under the canopy and ran out into the rain-swept night.

  "We'll be back, Livaudais!" Will called. "We'll get you. You just wait and see."

  Tony looked around for Andrea. The teenager was backed up against the outside wall of the clinic.

  "You all right, Andrea?"

  She nodded her head, not trusting her voice.

  "Let's get out of here." He held out his hand and the girl took it. "Come on, we'll run for the car."

  A few minutes later, both of them drenched during the short run to the car, they pulled into the garage of Tony's house. "Safe," Tony said with a grin. "You know my wife, Lena, don't you, Andrea?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The garage light came on and the door opened. Lena Livaudais stood framed in the light from the kitchen. Tony thought she was smiling rather strangely.

  Tony got out to face his wife, standing two steps above him. "Unusual outfit, hon," he said.

  Lena was dressed in black pants, some sort of pointed and curved-toed slippers, and a black shirt with strange characters sewn into the material. Tony took a closer look at the characters. He had never seen anything quite like it.

  "Don't you like it, Tony?" she asked.

  "Uh … yeah! Sure. Is it new?"

  "Actually, it's quite old." She opened the screen door wider and smiled. Was it Tony's imagination, or was there something hidden in that smile? He brushed that aside and motioned for Andrea to step into the house.

  "You have anything that will fit Andrea, Lena?"

  That damned odd smile again. "Oh, yes, Tony. I assure you, Andrea will be well cared for here." She put her arm around the girl's waist and led her through the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, "Oh, Tony, I fixed you a drink. It's there on the counter. I made it kind of strong."

  "Good. I need it. Thanks."

  But he was speaking to an empty hall.

  He pulled off his wet shirt and hung it over the back of a chair. Picking up the drink, he lifted it to his mouth. The whiskey smell was there, but something else cut through the bourbon odor to reach his nostrils. He took a very small sip. It tasted all right, but that very light and strange odor didn't seem right to him. He spat out the sip and dumped the drink into the sink. He rinsed out the glass and built a fresh whiskey and water. Not really knowing why he felt he should, Tony turned on the hot water and melted the ice cubes in the sink. Carrying his drink, he walked down the hall to his bedroom. He could hear the shower running in the hall bathroom. Glancing into the bedroom Andrea would use, he could see clothing laid out on the bed.

  Tony was home. Here, he was safe. Here, he could relax, unwind. So why was he feeling the unsettling sensation that he was not safe?

  He stepped into his bedroom. Lena was standing by the bed, smiling at him. "How's your drink?"

  "Fine. Just right."

  "I didn't know what time you were coming home; so much has been happening around town. I'll start dinner now. It'll be rather late when we eat."

  "Fine with me. I'll shower now."

  "I'll get right on dinner."

  Tony nodded his head, his eyes once more taking in the strange shirt his wife wore. Where in the world did she get it? And more importantly, why did she buy it? It was not attractive at all. It was … it was …

  … hideous-looking.

  Lena strolled out of the bedroom, leaving the hall door open. Tony sat his drink down on a coaster and peeled out of his still-wet clothing. He started for the shower, paused, and picked up his drink, taking it into the bathroom with him. For some reason he didn't want to leave it out where …

  … Lena could get to it.

  "Now why would I think something like that?" he muttered.

  He walked naked back into the bedroom and closed the door. Suddenly, for no real reason that he could think of, Tony was suspicious, and wary. Suspicious? Of whom? he pondered. He didn't know. Lena? Maybe—but why?

  Glancing at the closed door, checking to see if it was still closed, he walked to his wife's dresser. He quickly searched the drawers, finding nothing that would cause him to be suspicious of Lena. Then, in the very bottom of the last drawer, he found an envelope. He picked it up and opened it. Full of pictures.

  Tony's stomach churned in revulsion.

  The pictures were a mixed bag of hideousness. Naked people being whipped. Of dark, candle-lit, black-draped rooms. He felt he should know those rooms, but the people in the pictures drew most of his attention.

  There was Lena, naked, with an also naked Will Jolevare, their faces contorted in sexual frenzy. There was Will's wife, Betty, with Louis Black. He knew every man, every woman, every teenager in the telltale pictures. There was Dave Porter … entertaining—if it could be called that—Lena. Very interesting sexual position, Tony thought. Looked damned uncomfortable to him.

  But what was that thing that each person wore around his neck? Some sort of medal or medallion. Tony couldn't make it out. Didn't think he'd ever seen his wife wear it before.

  He looked at another picture. There was Max Encalarde with Lena and Judy Mahon. Disgusting. Perverted. And as he looked through the pictures, each became more perverted than the last.

  He almost vomited looking at the next picture.

  It was a naked man, tied spreadeagled to a black-draped altar of some sort. He was covered with cats … and they were eating his living flesh.

  In the next picture, Tony could make out the faces of many of those gathered around the now-bloody altar. There was Ted Wilson standing beside Mrs. Carmon. Bob Gannon was there, with Alma Clayton. Fred Johnson standing beside Dave Porter's secretary, Bette. There was that pompous ass from the bank, Nate Slater, one arm around the naked shoulders of Judy Mahon, his hand cupping a young breast. The teenager was grinning foolishly.

  Oh, yeah, Tony knew them all. All the good folks of Becancour. And he knew who the man was lying dead on the altar. It was that poor man they'd found out by the Balon rent place.

  Tony put the pictures in the pocket of a pair of slacks and closed the drawer. He quickly showered and dressed. Stepping out into the hall, he bumped into Andrea.

  "Mrs. Livaudais stepped out for a few minutes," the girl told him. "Said she had to see somebody. Said if she wasn't back in time for dinner, not to worry. The casserole is in the oven, and for us to help ourselves."

  "She took her car?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Tony walked into the kitchen and turned off the oven. Damned if he'd eat anything fixed by Lena. Not until he figured out what the hell was going on around here.

  He looked at Andrea looking at him. "You hungry, Andrea?"

  "No, sir. Not a bit."

  "Me, either." He found a bottle of unopened Crown Royal and broke the seal, fixing a fresh drink. "You want a coke, Andrea?"

  "I'll fix it, Dr. Livaudais."

  "Make sure the cap hasn't been opened."

  She glanced at him. "What's going on, Dr. Livaudais?"

  "That's what I want you to tell me, Andrea. But before you do, I'm going to make a couple of calls."

  "Yes, sir."

  Tony called the rectory and asked if Father Javotte could come over. He would leave immediately. And pick up Sam Balon, please? Fine. Tony called Sonny Passon and Don Lenoir and asked them to come over.

  "Aw, shit!" Tony said, startling Andrea.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I completely forgot about Dr. Whitson. Christ, he's …"

  "No, sir. He left a long time before we did. I saw him leave."

  "What? How … I mean, well, how?"

  "He walked out. Well, he kind of staggered out. I don't know where he went."

  Tony jerked up the phone, cursing under his breath at his carelessness. There was no doubt in his mind that David was still drunk, and unpredictable. "Jean? Is David there?"

  "He staggered in here about an hour ago and packed some clothes. I don't know where he's gone, and I don't care. Hey, Tony—you wanna come over and join our par
ty?"

  "I think I'll pass, Jean." He had seen Jean's face among the sweaty and naked participants in the photos.

  "Your loss, baby," Jean said. She broke the connection.

  "It's all these secret meetings that's been going on around town, isn't it, Dr. Livaudais?" Andrea said.

  "I don't know anything about them, Andrea. But if you do, then that's what we'll talk about. I know that the young people of today, just as we did when I was a kid, have their own grapevine, and miss damn little."

  "I don't know much about them, 'cause I never went to one."

  Tony held up one hand. "Wait until the others get here and you can tell it just the one time."

  "Fine with me, Doctor."

  Tony took a deep breath and looked at Andrea. Such a pretty girl; the kind who would grow up into a beautiful woman. Tony began to experience a light-headed sensation. Not at all unpleasant; a euphoric, sort of erotic sensation. He rather enjoyed it. He looked at Andrea.

  Wonder if she liked it? Tony thought. Wonder how many times she got her cookies off?

  Andrea turned her head and smiled at Tony.

  Wild, erotic, perverted images flew through Tony's mind … all concerning Tony and Andrea. She was naked, they were in bed, with Andrea straddling him, riding up and down on him, her young breasts bouncing, the nipples erect.…

  "No!" Tony shouted.

  Andrea jumped to her feet. "Dr. Livaudais?"

  "Stay away from me, Andrea," Tony said, trying his best to keep his voice level and the erotic images from taking control. "Find a Bible. Right over there!" He pointed.

  Andrea ran to the shelf and grabbed up the Bible. "What do you want me to do with it, Doctor?"

  Tony was struggling to speak; his head was filled with eroticism … all concerning the young Andrea. "Ope … open … it!" he gasped. "Re … read to … me."

  Frightened, with trembling hands, she opened the Bible and began to read. " '… Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor; thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies. Thy two breasts …' "

  "Andrea!"

  She looked up.

  "Read … something … else."

  "I know!" she said, and quickly flipped the pages. She began to read the Lord's Prayer, slowly and calmly.

  Tony's head began to clear of the eroticism. His breathing evened out, and he could speak.

  "I'm all right now, Andrea. Thank you very much, girl."

  "What happened to you, Doctor?"

  "I don't know, Andrea. But I'm beginning to believe Flip Wilson was right."

  She grinned at him. "What do you mean?"

  "The devil made me do it."

  3

  Lula lay on the pool table, naked, her legs spread wide. She was truly amazed; she didn't think the old goat would have had it in him.

  She giggled.

  Well, actually, he didn't have it in him; she had it in her.

  "Hey, babe!" Jules called.

  She turned her head. Old bastard had a blue boner. Sticking out like a small flagpole.

  "Want to go again, babe?" Jules asked.

  "Does a cat have a tail?"

  With those words still echoing about the barroom, a strange sound drifted to Lula. She wasn't sure what it was, with all the rain out, but it wasn't bad-sounding. Kind of soothing. Kind of familiar-sounding, too.

  But she couldn't place it.

  "Get your ass up here, Jules," she said. "And get to pumpin'."

  Jules hopped up on the pool table and started working, both he and Lula hollering like kids. The green felt soon became soaked with sweat.

  And then Jules cried out once and laid his head on Lula's damp shoulder. Dead. On top of her. In her.

  Lula started squalling when she found she did not have the strength to lift him off her.

  That strange sound became louder. And Lula knew then what it was.

  Purring.

  There's where we're going," Jackson said, stopping Mary with his hand.

  "Who lives there?"

  "My darling brother, Romy."

  "I don't remember much about him."

  "Well, baby, you're about to see a lot of him. Scattered all over that house."

  Mary squealed in delight and anticipation. "Do I get to help?"

  "That's why you're here."

  "Do we do it now?"

  "No … first we have some fun. Come on."

  Matt's wife had ordered him from the house. She screamed and yelled and began hissing like a cat when he showed up with Tess in the car.

  "Will you please tell me what is the matter with you?" Matt asked her. "I do not understand this change that's come over you."

  "Oh, you will," she said, smiling at him. "Sooner than you and your friend might like; but you'll understand."

  "What was that … that thing in the bathroom mirror, Martha?"

  "Oh, good!" she cried, clapping her hands. "You saw it!"

  "What is it?"

  "My friend. My confidant. My Mas—" She stopped.

  "Why did you stop, Martha? What were you about to say?"

  "You'll find out," she said sullenly.

  "Why not tell me now?"

  She hissed at him and slammed the door in his face.

  Walking back to the car in the driving rain, Matt thought about her hesitation. "Mas?" he said. "Mas? What does that mean?"

  "Not a very friendly welcome home," Tess said as Matt got in the car.

  "It appears I don't have a home, Tess."

  "Oh, yes, you do, Matt—mine."

  With the cats leading the way through the rain-drenched streets, Walt Davis walked naked among them. He did not know where they were going, nor did he particularly care. He knew only that he must obey them.

  The violent storm had knocked out the streetlights in the downtown section of Becancour, and there was no traffic, vehicle or foot.

  No traffic that pure mortals could see, that is.

  The cats stopped Walt in front of Lula's Love-Inn.

  "Here?" Walt spoke, his one-word question more like a purr in the stormy night.

  Walt tried the doorknob. Locked. He followed the cats around to the rear of the bar, to the back door. The doorknob turned in his hand. Walt could hear the sounds of someone crying and moaning and whimpering. Sounded like a woman. He followed the cats into the main room.

  Lula's eyes widened in fright when she spotted the naked Walt. She whimpered as the cats jumped up onto the pool table and began licking at her nakedness, brushing up against her, rubbing their wet fur against her body. She had screamed herself hoarse; she had practically no voice left her.

  Walt walked to the dead Jules and lifted his head by the hair. Bending over, Walt kissed the man's lips, breathing into Jules's mouth. Walt spoke words he neither understood nor knew where they came from.

  Lula watched him through eyes that held just a touch of madness. Her horror-filled eyes watched as Jules moaned and stirred. She could feel him once more growing within her.

  She once more began whimpering and squalling hoarsely.

  Walt pulled Jules away from the woman. Lula closed her eyes and began crying, not believing any of this horror was actually taking place. It was all a dream; had to be.

  But deep down inside her, she knew it was no dream.

  She opened her eyes. Jules was looking at her. But what in God's name was the matter with the old fart's eyes. They looked … dead! Most of the color was gone from them.

  Then he touched her belly. Lula sucked in her breath. Jules's hands were like ice. Jules cut his eyes to Walt. Walt smiled and moved to the head of the pool table, holding Lula's hands firm.

  The cats lined the pool table, sitting on the leather-covered raised edge. They watched through unblinking eyes.

  Lula began screaming as Jules took her sexually.

  "Cold!" she gasped. "Cold!"

  Walt leaned over and kissed the woman's lips. Fire and ice leaped into her brain. A strange odor filled her nostrils. The smell of
smoke nearly overwhelmed her. She fought Walt's strong grip; she could not break free. She tried to twist her head away from the man's slobbering, stinking mouth; she could not. Jules's erection seemed to be made of long slick ice.

  Lula Magee passed out.

  "People have been having meetings," Andrea said to the roomful of people. "I was told they started on Christmas day, last year. I have not attended any of the meetings."

  "What do they do at these meetings, Andrea?" Sonny asked.

  The girl shook her head. "I don't know. But I've heard talk they have sex parties. I've also heard they're practicing black magic. But I don't know anything for sure.

  Tony reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the envelope of pictures. He handed the envelope to Father Javotte. "Brace yourself," he warned the priest.

  The priest looked at the photos, a look of disgust and revulsion on his face. "Hideous," he said, and handed the pictures to Don.

  The men all looked at the pictures, all but Sam recognizing the participants. Sonny walked to a lamp and took a better look, his face paling and his eyes narrowing.

  "That's Jane," he said. "My own wife is getting pronged by that punk Don Hemming." He stood for a moment, trembling with anger. All could see the tears in his eyes.

  Sonny tossed the pictures on an end table and walked out of the room.

  Don picked up the photos. "Well, there's Rita's husband, Burt. He's busy entertaining that little Pat Bennett. Gosh, just look at these people. It's nearly everybody in town."

  Tony said, "Carl Nichols, Nate Slater . . ." He let it drift off and tossed the photos back on the end table.

  Sam picked up the pictures. "Anyone would be hard pressed to prove this … human being tied to the altar was alive when this was taken. I've seen, and so have all of you, more realistic-looking bodies in horror films. So what law has been broken?"

  "Crimes against nature," Don said. "Sodomy is against the law in Louisiana. And that's what is happening between …" He broke it off as Sonny reentered the room.

  "Go ahead and say it, man," the chief said. "That's what Don is doing to my wife. Yeah, it's against the law. But all Jane would say is that she was willing. There is another way we could go, legally—contributing. A lot of those kids are juveniles."