The Devil You Know

by Richard Levesque

  With a grim smile, she kissed him again and then left in her car, driving to a different church to pray. She had not wanted to go to St. Lucy’s; even if Father Joe was still on his leave of absence, she did not want to run the risk of seeing anyone else who knew her. So she had gone to the Church of the Good Shepherd, where she had gone to Mass years before. It had felt good to be back at Good Shepherd, and she kneeled in the pews for a long time, asking God for strength. She even prayed to Ryan, asking him to watch over her and to forgive her for the feelings she had for Tom now. By the time she left, the sky was clearing, and she drove the short distance to Hollywood Boulevard and the Chinese Theater.

  Now she had a part to play. She had to put Tom and Ryan and even God out of her mind; instead, she had to make everyone who saw her believe that she was a young, naïve woman awestruck by the footprints and handprints in the cement, by the billboards and the big cars that rolled by on the street before her. She had decided this morning that it would help her if she used a different name, so for now she told herself that she was Betty, that she had just arrived in Hollywood, and that she was hoping more than anything for a chance to be in a movie.

  Certain that the story would work if she was lucky enough to encounter one of the demons, she worried more than anything about the possibility of catching sight of the one that looked like Cary Grant. Laura Tremaine’s dingy apartment had been barely lit the night Marie had struggled with the incubus there, and she counted on it failing to recognize her. If it did, though, she would have a problem on her hands and had yet to decide how she would proceed. For now, she told herself that the Grant incubus would just have to be off limits if it turned out to be the first one she ran into. She needed to see if her plan would work at all before taking on the challenge of facing the one monster that might know her intentions.

  Opening her purse, she took out a stick of gum and began to chew it loudly, forcing a smile as she walked around the courtyard and gawked at the names written in the cement. The longer she stayed, the more uncomfortable she began to feel. None of the men who entered the courtyard looked like the ones she was watching for, but many of them stared at her chest or gave her come-hither looks that she rebuffed with cold stares. She was thankful that none of them had the nerve to approach her.

  After an hour, she decided to walk up the street to get some lunch. The crowds on the sidewalk were thick, and she was jostled by the steady blend of tourists, and others who lived and worked in Hollywood. There were so many people here, so many coming and going with more arriving all the time, that she began telling herself what a fool she had been to think that she could find one of the incubi, that she would be in the right place at the right time, that one of them would see her in her black heels and blue skirt and single her out for seduction. She looked at every man’s face as she walked down the street and grew more and more despondent.

  And then she saw him. Having just passed the immense old Hollywood Hotel, she crossed the street, and a man who looked amazingly like Tyrone Power was crossing in the other direction. He was tall and dark-haired, and his soulful blue eyes looked into hers for just a moment as she passed him. She remembered having seen the same man at Julian’s party, and excitement bubbled up in her with the realization that she actually had one of the incubi in her sights.

  Turning quickly, she darted back across the crosswalk. She reached the other side of the street just after the light turned red and a truck began rolling into the intersection, the driver taking no notice of her as she stepped out of his path. Ahead of her, she could see the Tyrone Power look-alike from the back. Even if she had not been sure of which man it was, the reactions of women around him would have told her whom she should follow. Several women turned to watch him go, some of them stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and staring. If she wanted to get his attention, she told herself, she had better move quickly.

  Marie was relieved to see her target leave the sidewalk a few minutes later and walk into the courtyard of the Chinese Theater. At least in this respect Colin Krebs had been truthful with her, she told herself. Glad that she would now be able to catch up with the look-alike without making herself short of breath—and that there wouldn’t be such a stream of attractive young women walking past him—Marie slowed down a moment and then stopped as she came in sight of the first set of footprints in the cement. Taking a deep breath, she made herself picture Elise and Laura, as well as the predatory looks she had seen from the incubi she had already encountered. Then she quickly straightened her clothes and turned the corner to enter the courtyard where she had waited for the last hour.

  The man who looked like Tyrone Power walked around looking at footprints in the cement. But unlike other tourists, the ground did not hold his gaze. Marie saw as she approached him that he looked down only briefly, the people around him getting more of his attention. He looked only at the women, his expression a blend of appreciation, interest and hunger; it was a look that exuded confidence—not only in the fact that he could have any woman he saw, but confidence in every other way as well. Here was a man who would take care of you, Marie thought, a man who could get you that screen test or interview even if he wasn’t really Tyrone Power. He was a man others would listen to.

  Off to her left, a short blonde in a red and white striped sweater started moving toward the man, and Marie stepped quickly to cut her off. Doing so put her in a position of having to speak to him before she was ready, but she could not afford to let him get away.

  “Excuse me,” Marie said when she was a few feet away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other woman stop short and then turn away, disappointed but safe. Marie’s heart was pounding, and she was sure her face was flushed, but she knew that might serve her well. The man looked her in the eye again, and in spite of herself she felt an alarming sense of warmth and desire. She made herself picture Elise as she was now—with her tan coveralls and tangled ponytail—and the feeling abated slightly. “I saw you from across the way, and I couldn’t help but think…You’re not…?”

  The man smiled. “No,” he said. His voice was deep but smooth. “I hear that a lot, though. You look like a movie star yourself, you know.”

  “Really?” she was able to say with a giddy, nervous laugh. “Who?” Before he could answer, she pressed on, saying, “Folks back home used to say I look like Rita Hayworth, only with the hair not quite the same. Do you think I look like her?” She smiled and looked up at him as she said it.

  He made a show of scrutinizing her features for a moment, and said, “As a matter of fact, you do. It’s funny you should say that. It’s just who I was thinking of.” He reached out a hand, as he said, “You can call me Trent.”

  She shook his hand and said, “Betty.”

  “Now tell me, Betty, just where is back home?”

  “Nebraska.”

  “And you’ve been in Los Angeles long?”

  Marie shook her head. “Just a few weeks. Long enough to get settled.”

  “So you live near here?”

  “I do,” she said, not too surprised at how quickly he was working. He had turned so they were side-by-side right after shaking hands with her, and then he had started walking toward the sidewalk, silently expecting her to fall into step with him.

  “And what brings you to Hollywood?” he asked.

  Marie looked up, her eyes and smile both wide. She tried to give him a sense of how speechless the whole place made her. Then she said, “It’s just so…Gosh! I don’t know how to explain it. It’s so much more than I ever thought it would be. You walk around and see all the things you’ve seen in the movies, and the movie stars, and….Well, I was hoping. It’s just not going to happen, I know, but still.”

  “You were hoping the right person would see the Rita Hayworth in you, weren’t you?”

  She smiled sheepishly and looked to the ground, exaggeratedly showing that he had found her out. “Pretty foolish, isn’t it?”

  “Not foolish at all. You know, I do k
now some people in the business who might be able to give you a sense of whether or not you’ve got a chance.”

  “Go on! You do not!”

  “I do.” They had reached the sidewalk now, and he linked his arm in hers.

  His touch made her feel suddenly flushed, a feeling of warmth spreading across her body and giving her a mild feeling of euphoria. But even as the sensation washed over her, she told herself that this was how he did it, the first step in seduction that would make women completely forget themselves and be driven to madness or death to keep that touch—and more—coming. It was not hard to make a show of acting uncomfortable at his quick familiarity with her, but then she relaxed and let him lead her along, the warm feeling abating as she kept her mind on her task. She was not sure how this was supposed to go, if he was used to women simply falling under his spell or resisting a bit at first. It made sense that there was a lot of variety in women’s reactions to his advances, and so she decided as they walked that Betty wasn’t going to play too hard to get.

  “Do you have a car?” he asked.

  She nodded and pointed. “That way.” And for a moment she was overcome with fear at her car’s California plates and the registration card fastened to the steering column that said “Marie Doyle” rather than Betty Somebody. She would just have to keep him talking, she told herself. The incubi were not expecting the women they picked up to be lying, after all. She was paranoid and afraid and told herself to calm down. She knew far more about the creature at her side than he could ever imagine.

  “Is your place far?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Maybe we could get away from the crowds here and talk a little more easily there.”

  “All right,” she said, giving him a bright smile that he returned. And this is the way it goes, she thought as they walked and chatted, day after day, woman after woman. The poor things. Poor, misguided, trusting little things.

  * * * * * * * *

  On the short drive to Melrose, the man who called himself Trent said very little about himself, but instead kept asking questions of Marie. It was not, she realized, a tactic meant to test her or trip her up, but rather a way to keep the focus off him. Julian Piedmont and his followers had likely educated the demons on Hollywood and Los Angeles and the general ways a naïve young woman might be lured into a bedroom, but Marie doubted they had gone beyond the superficial. As it was, Marie kept her answers vague, not having thought through her Betty identity at all thoroughly. To keep any awkward silences between them from seeming too uncomfortable, she turned on the radio shortly after pulling out of the parking lot along Hollywood Boulevard; an energetic Dorsey tune played most of the way down to Melrose and her little house.

  As she pulled the Chevy into the driveway, she thought of Tom waiting inside and of how he would have been listening for the sound of her return. Even now, he should be getting up from wherever he had been sitting to peek through the blinds and then go hide until needed. For just a second, Marie felt panic at the thought that this might be one of the times when Tom responded poorly to stress and excitement, his battle fatigue triggered by fears of what he and Marie were about to do. But then she told herself that if she walked into the house to find Tom in the same incapacitated state she had seen after Jasper’s death, the incubus would likely flee, and she and Tom would at the least get away unscathed.

  Feeling a bit apprehensive regardless, she led the demon up the same steps she had climbed with Tom the night before and opened the front door of her house. She immediately felt wrong having him here; it would have been better to opt for a motel room somewhere, she told herself. But there was nothing for it now. The being was in her house, and with any luck it would not leave alive.

  She cringed inwardly when he pointed to the photograph on top of her bookcase. “Not your boyfriend I hope.”

  “Him? Don’t be silly.” She laughed, hoping it did not sound nervous. “That’s my brother.” She gently touched the frame and added, “He died in the war.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said. He stepped in front of her, took her by both hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. It was a different look now, not the same sincere, confident and hungry look she had seen before. It was a look of possession. The woman on the receiving end of this gaze belonged to him. In his mind, there was no doubt. And Marie felt sure that in most women’s minds the same would be true. She did not feel the same way, but knew she still needed to playact, and so she let him hold her hands, and she stared up into his eyes without blinking. “You poor thing,” he said now.

  “I’m not so poor,” she said coyly.

  “I’ll say.” In a fluid motion, he released her hands and slipped his own around her waist, stepping closer and bending to kiss her.

  It happened so suddenly, and she was not prepared. Afraid of what the incubus could do to her, she turned her cheek just before his lips met hers.

  “What’s this?” he said, holding her firmly.

  She pulled free of his grasp, but took only one step away from him. “I just met you,” she said.

  He smiled slyly. “You didn’t just bring me here to talk. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Wishful thinking, thought Marie.

  “I might know what you mean,” she said, trying not to look up at him, so that he would not have the chance to kiss her. “But I need a drink first.”

  “Well, I need you out of that sweater,” he said.

  “My God!” she said with a nervous giggle. “You are a naughty boy, aren’t you? Just let me get a little drinky first, okay? I have Scotch and wine. Which do you want?”

  “Neither,” he said. “All I need is you.”

  His persistence was making her nervous and frightened, and she thought herself a fool for having thought she could control the situation. Quickly turning toward the kitchen, she said, “But it’s sad to drink alone, you know?”

  “I suppose,” he said, reluctance in his voice. “Scotch then. Maybe you’ll stop playing hard to get then.”

  She struggled to keep here voice from trembling and said, “Just give me a minute, okay? Why don’t you have a seat?” She hoped that she did not walk too quickly from the room, but it was all she could do to keep from running.

  In the kitchen, her hands trembled as she opened the little vial of powder she had prepared this morning—double the dosage of Nembutal that Tom’s doctors had prescribed to help him sleep. It would have been easy to call out to Tom, to have him come rushing into the living room with the Luger and blow the thing to pieces, and she had to force herself to take deep breaths to calm herself as she poured the powder into a glass and followed it with Scotch. She quickly poured another Scotch for herself and gulped it down before pouring one more and stirring the drugged one with a spoon.

  “Okay,” she whispered, touching the St. Lucy cross through the fabric of the sweater. As she told herself that nothing had gone wrong, that everything was as she and Tom had planned it, she picked up the two glasses, keeping the drugged drink in her left hand. I know more about you than you know about me, she thought, and the memory of all the time she’d spent studying with Jasper gave her strength.

  Then she went back into the front room to find the incubus sitting on her sofa. He stood when she entered and met her halfway, taking the glass she extended toward him. They clinked glasses and drank.

  “Mmmm,” she said with a smile. “That’s warm going down.” She watched with satisfaction as the Tyrone Power look-alike emptied his glass and set it down on an end table.

  “Now let’s see what other warm things we can find.”

  “All right, sweetie,” Marie said, taking his hand. “Come back to my bedroom, okay?”

  “You’re trembling,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Do I frighten you?”

  Marie felt herself flush. Though he had taken the Nembutal, his power might still be immeasurable, and she realized that in spite of all her studying, she had no idea what he was capable of or how he would react i
f he sensed a trap before the drug took effect. She smiled at him and squeezed back. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m just…excited is all, I guess. There’s something about you. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever…been with before.”

  He smiled broadly. “You’re right, my dear. Let me show you how different.”

  She nodded. Just above a whisper, she said, “Come on, then.”

  When they reached her bedroom, she pulled down the shades and turned on the light, trying hard not to be too obvious as she looked at the slightly open closet door. Then she turned to face her victim. He still stood in the doorway, not having moved from the spot where she had released his hand.

  “Okay,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m ready.”

  The incubus came a step closer, and Marie saw it wobble on its legs. At the same time, she saw a look of panic in its eyes, so she moved to begin lifting her sweater over her head. She had only to pull it above her belly when the thing at her threshold fell to the floor, turning under its own weight and going down like a corkscrew.

  “Jesus Christ!” she said in sheer relief as she lowered the sweater and stood up. Cautiously, she stepped toward the body on the floor, grateful for the knowledge she had inadvertently gotten from Laura Tremaine’s experiment in drugging her demon lover.

  Before she got two steps closer to the body, her closet door opened, and Tom came out holding the baseball bat. “Careful,” he said, coming up beside her.

  She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. He held her tight, the bat still in his hand. “Oh my God, Tom,” she gasped. “I was so scared.”

  “I know. You did good, though. But now we’ve got to finish him.”

  She nodded. “At least he’s out now.”

  “Maybe not completely. Here.” He let go of her and handed her the bat. “Brain him if he starts coming to.”

  Marie did not know how hard she would need to swing the bat if it came to that or if she would have good enough aim to hit the thing in the head, but she took the bat regardless and watched as Tom squatted down to examine the body. She saw that he had the Luger tucked into the waistband of his pants. Tom touched the body tentatively and then turned it over, putting his ear down against its chest.