The Devil You Know

by Richard Levesque

  As they made their way through corridors, arcades and tunnels from one part of the hospital to another, Marie wondered when she would begin to encounter the unpleasant side of the hospital she had been imagining since first learning of Elise’s confinement. She had expected filth and stench and an array of patients who were little more than inmates, some harmlessly vacant and others dangerously deranged. While the presence of bars on all the windows they walked past seemed to confirm her expectations, she also noticed that the bars were ornate and decorative with no two looking alike. Buildings and arcades surrounded myriad courtyards, all dominated by expanses of green lawn. Most of these courtyards had benches scattered among them, and on some of these sat quite normal-looking men and women, none of them supervised, none of them appearing disturbed, but all of them wearing tan jumpsuits that identified them as patients rather than orderlies or doctors.

  As they walked along, Marie kept glancing at Tom, trying to gauge his reaction. Like her, he seemed perplexed; she assumed it was because of the beauty of the place, but she worried that being on the grounds was causing him to suffer from unpleasant memories. She linked her arm in his and tipped her head up to say quietly, “You okay?”

  He looked down at her with a smile. Then he shook his head in amazement. “The VA was nothing like this,” he replied, his voice just as hushed as hers.

  They came to a square two-story building, and their guide ushered them through heavy wooden doors. They walked along an arched hallway for several yards and found themselves in a large common room. A wall of windows lit the room, and neatly arranged tables and chairs filled it. Burly hospital orderlies were posted at the door, and more than a dozen groups of patients and visitors sat in clusters at the tables. The little groups around elderly patients made Marie think of family reunions. While many of the patients looked sad or vacant, others looked genuinely pleased to have family and friends around them.

  The hospital worker who had brought Tom and Marie this far indicated a green telephone on the wall beside the door. He told Marie that she should pick it up and inform the operator when she and Tom were ready to leave so someone could escort them to the main building again. Before their guide had begun talking about the phone, though, Marie had spotted Elise sitting alone at a table. Now she merely nodded at their guide, staring at her friend across the room.

  Marie had to suppress a shudder as she and Tom approached Elise, heir footsteps echoing on the tile floor. She looked no better than when Marie had seen her last; worse actually. Her long, red hair was pulled back in a ragged ponytail, and she wore no make-up. She stared at the tabletop before her, her hands in her lap. Marie gave Tom a long look, hoping she could silently convey to him just how bad Elise appeared.

  Nevertheless, she pulled out the chair beside Elise and sat down. She tentatively took one of her friend’s hands from her lap and held it, then said quietly, “Elise, sweetie, it’s Marie.” Elise gave no response. She did not even blink when Marie spoke. Now Marie took both of Elise’s hands and pulled them toward her, thankful after a moment when Elise shifted her shoulders to face her. Still, she knew the movement had been more of an automatic response to having her hands and forearms redirected rather than a sign that Elise recognized Marie was here. Even so, she continued talking and hoped that on some level Elise would know she was there.

  “If you can squeeze my hands for me, Elise, just a little squeeze. Even a finger. Or maybe blink for me? Okay. Not now, but maybe later.” She smiled grimly, her lips tight. “I brought a friend of mine along to visit you. His name’s Tom. See. He’s right here next to me.”

  “Hi, Elise,” Tom said quietly, leaning forward beside Marie’s shoulder.

  Marie was grateful he had come along. Seeing Elise this way would have been much more difficult had she been by herself. She turned her head toward Tom and gave him an appreciative nod. Then she turned back to Elise and said, “I hope they’re treating you all right, sweetie. I need you to get better and come home so we can go to a nice fancy dinner, okay? Gosh, we’ll celebrate. You’ll see.”

  The thought of such a celebration, coupled with the slim chance that it would actually happen, made Marie begin to tear up, and she let go of Elise’s hands and sighed. The other woman’s hands stayed where they had fallen.

  Tom whispered, “Maybe we should go.”

  “Maybe,” Marie said, but she did not move. A few seconds later, she reached for Elise’s hand again and silently sat there holding it. Tom reached for Marie’s free hand, and they stayed that way for several minutes.

  A nurse circulated unobtrusively around the room, answering family members’ questions when they had any, or helping with the patients when it was needed. She wore a crisp, white uniform and had kind, little eyes in a wrinkled face. As she neared Marie, Tom and Elise, she stopped and gave Marie a knowing, sympathetic smile. “Your sister?” she asked quietly.

  A bit startled, Marie said, “No. A friend.” She let go of Tom’s hand and wiped tears from her eyes. “Do you know anything about how she’s doing?”

  “Not really,” the nurse said. “Just that there’s not been any change since she’s been here.”

  “Would it be possible to talk to one of her doctors?”

  “Not unless you’re family. And certainly not on a Sunday. Do you know if she has family?”

  Marie shook her head. “Her mother’s in Nebraska. I spoke to her when Elise was admitted, but she didn’t know when she’d be able to come out to see her. Maybe I should call her again.”

  The nurse nodded. “Perhaps you should. Just between us…” She dropped her voice to a whisper and bent down at the waist so she could lean in close to Tom and Marie. “The doctors are baffled. They haven’t really made a diagnosis.”

  Marie looked surprised. “Really? When I had her at the hospital in Los Angeles, they thought it might be some sort of sudden psychosis.”

  The nurse shook her head. “She’s not psychotic, dear. Close to catatonic, but still mildly responsive. Quite frankly, the question of its being so widespread is what’s troubling the doctors most. They’re afraid it’s some new sort of disease.”

  “What do you mean by ‘widespread’?”

  The nurse gave a nervous smile and moved to step away. “Perhaps I’ve said too much already. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “No, wait! Please,” Marie implored.

  “Please,” Tom echoed.

  “If there’s anything else you can tell us,” Marie said.

  The nurse looked at the floor for a moment and then bent close again. “There’ve been three more come in just like her this week,” she whispered, tipping her head in Elise’s direction and adding, “Such a shame. All so young and pretty.”

  Marie and Tom exchanged glances. Then Marie said, “You’re telling me all the victims are young and attractive?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “And all women?”

  The nurse made no response.

  “All from the Los Angeles area?” Tom asked.

  “I couldn’t say.” The nurse straightened up again, ready to leave.

  Marie could sense she would not be dissuaded this time. “One more thing,” she said. “Do you know if they’re all single?”

  Now the nurse’s kindly expression turned to one of bemusement as she thought about the question. “You know, I can’t say for sure since I don’t work directly in that ward. But, now that you mention it, I can’t say that I’ve seen a single husband or even boyfriend come to visit. The only men who come are fathers and brothers. Now, isn’t that strange?”

  After the nurse left them, Marie leaned over to embrace Elise, squeezing her tightly around the shoulders and then kissing her cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she said. “I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back. Maybe we’ll be able to get you out of here.” The urge to cry had passed; consumed by anger, she stood up and walked toward the exit with Tom at her side. They held hands, their fingers interlocked tightly, as though neither had any int
ention of letting go.

  * * * * * * * *

  On the way back down the Coast Highway, they stopped at a little roadside hamburger stand between Point Magu and Malibu. It was only four o’clock, but Marie—her mind whirling—suggested getting something to eat, and Tom agreed. They had talked for a while after leaving Camarillo, mostly about Elise and the revelation they had found in the nurse’s comments. But by the time they had reached the coast road, Marie had grown quiet, thinking over and over about the things Jasper had told her about the incubi and the ways they could be destroyed. She did not know the best course to take, but was determined that the damage the demons were doing had to come to an end, and if it was possible for her to be the one to bring it about, she was ready.

  Now, holding two Cokes while Tom carried two cheeseburgers in a little cardboard box, Marie felt a sense of relief. It was as though she had been clenching her jaw for the last half hour and had just realized she could relax it. They sat at a picnic table near the parking lot. The sea air and the blue ocean across the highway made her feel at ease, and during the few moments when no cars approached from the north or south, the sound of the breaking waves carried across the road. The breakers’ dull roar added to her growing sense of calm.

  They sat side by side on the bench, the ocean before them. “You doing all right?” Tom asked her before picking up his burger.

  “I am now,” she said. “I needed to stop and just take a deep breath.”

  He nodded. “I know what you mean. Being in there…”

  She turned to him. “It was hard for you?”

  “A little. The place I started out in wasn’t nearly as nice as that. And your friend…There were days when I was as bad as that, I think.”

  “What helped you?”

  He shrugged. “Just time, I think. Enough days without anyone really trying to kill me. And doctors who knew what the problem was. Gramps helped, too. I’ve been almost a year with him now. At first, there wasn’t much he could do with me.”

  “I’m glad he was there for you,” Marie said with a smile. Then she added, “You know, I think I need him, too, now. This thing…that Elise is going through. And those other women. It has to be stopped.”

  Tom sipped his Coke before answering. “Just how are you planning on stopping them?”

  “I don’t know yet. Jasper’ll be able to tell me what’s best. But I won’t be able to do it alone, no matter what the plan is. Do you think he’ll be up for it? He doesn’t strike me as frail at all, but I just don’t know.”

  “Gramps isn’t frail. But maybe things would go better if I help you instead.”

  Marie looked at him now, a bit surprised. “Why you?”

  Tom shrugged. “I owe Gramps,” he said as though it should have been obvious to her. Then he added, “And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  His words warmed her, and she smiled at him. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Tom. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them do to me what they did to Elise. And beyond that little trick of theirs that lets them look any way they want, they really don’t have any power.”

  “That may be. But Piedmont’s boys…they can still do some damage. I’ll bet they’re not above carrying guns, and using them if Piedmont says they should.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well,” Tom said with a smile, “that’s why you’ll want me around.”

  She searched his eyes for a moment. “Would that be…good for you? I mean, what with your…”

  “Condition?” he asked with a self-effacing grin. “Is that a delicate enough way of putting it?”

  She smiled back at him a bit uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. It’s just that so many people have been hurt in this. I’d hate myself if you got pulled down by this after you’ve done so well up to now.”

  He shrugged and then nodded. “I’m doing all right, I suppose. But sometimes…” He raised his eyebrows, as though there was nothing more to say. “I think maybe it might do me some good to have an actual enemy in front of me, not just in my memory, not feeling like there’s an enemy when there’s not.” He paused. “Maybe I need a gun in my hand again.”

  Marie reached out for his hand and squeezed it. “Maybe,” she whispered. “But maybe not, too. You know?”

  He squeezed back. “Yeah.”

  After they were finished eating, they crossed the highway to look at the waves. As the sun began dipping toward the horizon, the ocean breeze grew chilly, and Tom put his arm around her. They found a spot near the high tide mark, and Tom took off his jacket for them to sit on, his arm still around her. It felt good to have him hold her, sitting here, feeling close to him and watching the spread of red and orange and pink across the scattered clouds as the sun started sinking below the horizon.

  When there was only a sliver of the sun still visible, she turned to Tom and said, “If we just had your guitar with us, this would be perfect.”

  He smiled. “Broken string and all?” he asked.

  “Broken string and all,” she said. Then she leaned in and kissed him. With one arm still around her shoulders, he moved his other hand to caress her cheek. The kiss made her tingle, and when he touched her, the feeling only intensified. When they finally pulled away, the sun had disappeared, but the sky remained a brilliant show of colors. Marie hardly noticed, looking into Tom’s eyes instead.

  So happy now that she could barely keep from giggling, she said, “So could you say this is our first date?”

  He smiled broadly. “I guess so. Quite memorable, I think.”

  “You know, I could get used to this,” she said, also with a smile. She kissed him lightly again.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I could get used to this, too.”

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  When he kissed her again, he drew her to him with both arms around her back. She closed her eyes and returned his embrace; one hand moved up into his hair while the other remained around his broad back. As she let herself be laid back on the sand, she felt all but consumed by her desire for him, no longer having to forcibly put out of her mind the unpleasantness of Camarillo and what awaited her in Hollywood. Instead, she thought only of Tom, the strength of his arms, the weight of his chest on hers. In her mind’s eye, she saw how wickedly good it would be to turn him over and straddle him, to open his fly and pull her panties off; no one would ever need to know. And in the instant that she thought it, she remembered the temptation she had felt at Julian’s party and how the very same thought about no one ever knowing had entered her mind, had almost taken hold of her. If it had, she would have been keeping Elise company in the hospital.

  A bit frightened, she pushed Tom’s shoulder away, and he withdrew his lips and half lifted himself off of her. He looked at her with a mix of concern and confusion. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, the sound barely audible above the nearby waves.

  “I’m sorry,” she began. “I just…”

  “I know,” he said with a nod and a tight smile. He sat up and extended a hand to help her off her back. “Too soon.”

  Marie decided it would be easier to agree with him than to try and explain the complex feelings that raced through her. Her fears and doubts were as intense as the desire and temptation she still felt. Trembling a bit, she took his hand and squeezed it, searching his eyes. “You don’t mind if we go back?”

  “No. You’re right—it’s better if we wait.” His voice was tender, and she felt herself melt for him even more than she had before. It was getting dark now, and reflected light from the highway behind them twinkled in his eyes. Knowing she would feel happy spending every day with him, she told herself there would be plenty of time to talk through all of her feelings—and plenty of time to do more than talk. For the last minute, if Tom had kissed her again, perhaps her resolve would have faded, temptation and desire taking over, but now as they stood up and he shook the sand off his jacket, reason began to return to
her, and she was content to hold his hand as they walked back toward her car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Catalina Cortez felt a flood of emotions when the postman drove away from the gate. She had been hiding in her room for two hours, peeking out her window the whole time, worried that Mr. Piedmont or another of her superiors would come looking for her. All the while, she had been tempted to run to the mailbox, pull the letter out, and tear it into a hundred pieces right there in the road. If she had, she still might have gone through with her plans, but she wouldn’t have been locked into them. Now, with the mail truck rumbling off toward the next mansion along the snaky road, she had no choice. Her fate was sealed. Realizing this, she was momentarily overcome with unspeakable sorrow, paralyzing fear, and a strange, sweet relief.

  She stepped away from the window and got down on her knees to pray. Her first impulse was to kneel beside her bed to say her prayers the way her mother had taught her, but so many sinful things had been done on that bed in the last week that praying before it seemed like one more blasphemous act that would cancel out any good her prayers could do. Not that prayer could save her in the first place. She knew she was lost, had been since the morning after the party when she had found him naked in the kitchen. Feeling completely helpless and out of control, she had gone to him then and had let him do things to her that she could barely remember. Since then, his wickedness had inspired her to depravity, and she had done things to him, too, things she had never even thought about before.

  She wasn’t sorry for any of it. That was the problem. She knew it was wrong—knew that every secret smile, every kiss and touch and moan were sins heaped upon each other—but it had all been so delicious that she couldn’t truthfully say she regretted any of it. And as sure as she knew her own name, she was also sure that there was no redemption for unrepentant sinners. God wouldn’t hear her prayers. No matter how much she begged Him for mercy, He would not be able to forgive her until she was truly sorry. And that wasn’t going to happen. Even now, she still got chills thinking about her lover’s touch and the heights of ecstasy he drove her to. She had never known herself to be wicked, but recognized the darkness in her soul now. There was something devilish about her that must have always been there, just below the surface, waiting to be set free by the right wicked man. And now that her inner wanton had been awakened, there was no putting it to sleep. To regret it would be to deny it, and there was no denying it; it was all too intense to be denied.