by Naomi Clark
“Water sports, Ethan?” she asked coquettishly, pressing her fingers to her lips.
“Lady, you just blew any chance of ever sleeping with me,” I told her, reaching for the showerhead. I turned the faucet on, turned the water to ball-shriveling-cold and let her have it.
Anna shrieked as the water hit her and her hands flew up to protect her face. An icy stream bounced off her onto me, sluicing some of the sweat away, and I sighed in relief.
“Ethan, you bastard! What the hell!” Anna stared at me through the rush of water, eyes wide and furious. Her hair plastered against her face, which had some color back in it now. I couldn’t help smiling.
“You okay in there, Detective Radcliffe?” I asked, turning the faucet off. “A little more calm and collected?”
“What the fuck is this, Banning?” She sat up, gripping the tub for support and peering around, blinking. “How did we get back here?”
I perched on the toilet seat, giving her some space in case she decided to hit me. “You don’t remember?”
“I don’t remember anything after leaving Hush,” she said, climbing out of the tub and grabbing a towel. “What happened?”
She sounded calmer, like herself again. My shoulders slumped. The Voice sighed with a little disappointment that no humiliating crazy monkey sex would happen, but I was massively relieved. Anna would never have forgiven herself or me. “You got sick. Overheated, I guess,” I told her. “You passed out, so I drove you home and figured a quick shower would help.”
She frowned at me. “Well at least you didn’t take my clothes off,” she muttered, toweling off her hair. “Thanks,” she added.
“Don’t mention it.” I stood. “I’ll get out of your hair. Long day tomorrow.” Exorcism was probably best dealt with after a good night’s sleep–or as good as I could get, anyway.
As I passed her to leave the bathroom, she grabbed my arm. “You still didn’t tell me about Tamsin Searle. She’s the owner of the apartment we found Rhian in–do you think she’s involved with Rhian’s death?”
I shrugged. “Baxter’s going to get her number for me. She’s caught up in this somewhere. I just haven’t figured out how yet.”
“Well, call me once you’ve got her details,” she said, releasing me. “Good night.”
Dismissed. I tipped her a salute and left her to scrub herself dry, wondering if she really didn’t remember anything, or was just covering for herself. It wasn’t until I was outside in the humid night that I realized I had no way of getting home except walking.
“Fucking hell.” I kicked the wall of the building, ignoring the Voice as it laughed gleefully at me. I really couldn’t think of anything I wanted less right now than to walk the good hour’s walk from here to my house. I rooted through my pockets and came up with enough money for a bus. If buses ran at this time of night, which knowing my luck they wouldn’t.
I should have just fucked Anna when she offered. At least then I’d have a bed for the night.
* * * *
Mutt greeted me like I’d been gone for years. I knelt down in the hall to return the affection, letting him wash my face with doggy kisses. “It’s been a weird night,” I told him. “Girl trouble, you know?”
We settled down on the sofa and I automatically began flicking through the shopping channels, trying to numb my brain with infomercials. My protein shakes and coleslaw maker had yet to arrive, which I figured meant I hadn’t technically paid for them yet, so I bought myself a steam cleaner that a Stepford Wife-type presenter promised would revolutionize the way I cleaned my carpets.
“So if you do crap on the carpets, it won’t matter,” I told Mutt. “Don’t say I never give you anything.”
It was after eleven pm, and I felt bone-tired. I thought about dragging my ass up to bed, but rejected the idea with a shudder, remembering last night’s dreams. No, I wasn’t ready for bed yet.
I rolled a cigarette and ran through the night’s events, trying to create some kind of order from them. Mostly my mind kept coming back to Anna soaking wet in the bathtub, but I pushed that image aside for later. Walker Moss was an issue too, but again I figured he could wait. It wasn’t my business, after all. None of the girls at Hush suffered as far as I saw. Maybe not everybody was prone to obsession after sex with an incubus? Maybe Rhian, already unhappy and vulnerable, was the exception, not the rule.
Either way, as creepy and wrong as Moss’s set up was, it wasn’t relevant to me right now. Basically, the only thing I’d really learned tonight was that I wanted to speak to Tamsin Searle, and that Anna looked good in a wet blouse.
I checked my phone in case Baxter had called, but there was nothing. I smoked a couple more cigarettes, drank a couple of extra-strong coffees and watched a terrible made-for-TV movie about a sexy young couple who traveled to France and got caught up in some sexy adventures with a sexy farmhand. Or something, I don’t know. I just didn’t want to go to sleep. The Voice was waiting.
Mutt fell asleep with his head in my lap. His paws twitched as he chased dream-rabbits. I stroked his wiry fur and stared out the window, watching the occasional car roll quietly past in a blur of headlights. I was so tired. My head pounded and my eyes ached, but I felt too scared to close them. My dreams weren’t going to be as fun as Mutt’s. The Voice promised me that.
“You think it’s been bad before? I’m going to take you to hell.”
I rubbed my eyes and wondered if a shot of whiskey would help. Probably not, but I had one anyway. Then another for good luck. By now, it was well past midnight, the sky outside turned slate-gray with misty yellow streaks, and I wanted to pass out more than anything in the world. So I had another whiskey.
After the third shot, I couldn’t stay sitting down anymore. My legs twitched and itched, and I paced the living room, rubbing my burning eyes and muttering to myself to block out the Voice’s whisperings.
“Lie down. Close your eyes. Sleep. Dream. Scream.”
“No,” I grated. I could make it for a few more hours. I was due back at the Overture Church early this afternoon. After that–if Crane comes through for me–I might be free of the Voice. Then I can sleep all I want, but now, no, no way. I could make it through the night and make it through the morning. I didn’t need a nap or a snooze or a doze or anything. I would stay awake if it took all the whiskey I had.
* * * *
It took a whole bottle of whiskey, and more cigarettes than I could count, not to mention some genuinely horrible movies, but I stayed awake. All the time I fought off the Voice and exhaustion and watched the sun rise on another humid day as sticky heat poured over the streets. Once the sun rose, the Voice backed down a little. I lurched upstairs to the bathroom and considered my reflection blearily in the mirror.
I looked very drunk, which made sense ‘cause I was. My dark blonde hair was lank and mussed from me running my fingers through it and my eyes were bloodshot and shadowed. I really needed to shave. I was pretty sure I stank too, but I couldn’t tell over the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey clinging to my nostrils.
I wished again I’d slept with Anna when I had the chance. No way would she throw herself at me like that again. I looked like a hobo fallen on hard times.
I thought briefly about showering and shaving, but was too drunk to be sure I wouldn’t cut my throat or slip on the soap or something. So I just changed clothes and treated myself to plenty of deodorant.
Then I wasn’t sure what to do.
Mutt sat at the bottom of the stairs, whining hopefully, and I figured he was right. If I stayed in the house, eventually I’d fall asleep. “Wanna go walk?” I slurred at Mutt, who got the gist of it and began barking excitedly. “Kay. Daddy needs more tobacco anyway.”
I shoved my wallet into my jeans pocket and put Mutt’s leash on. It was too early for anybody to be around except birds and joggers.
Yeah, I got a couple of odd looks from the joggers. Well, fuck ‘em. Walking in a straight line is hard enough without those judgmental bastards staring down their noses at me.
My head was killing me. I couldn’t decide if the alcohol or the lack of sleep caused it. Probably both. Probably more the alcohol, though. The Voice advised me to take a nap in the middle of the road, but Mutt wouldn’t have let me even if I’d tried. He dragged me along the pavement, stopping to sniff every piece of stuck gum or discarded candy wrapper he found with manic excitement. He made me feel even more exhausted.
“Daddy needs a break,” I told him when we reached a bench on the street corner, under a shady elm tree. I sat down, knees like water, and rested my head in my hands. “I’m gonna die on my feet, Mutt.”
Mutt licked my face helpfully. I scratched his ears and closed my eyes, just for a second, just to ease the burning, not to sleep, not to nap or doze, just to block out the sun for a second, just a second…
Chapter Seven
I jerked awake when something cold and hard hit my forehead. Opening my eyes, I saw a couple of laughing kids disappear around the corner as Mutt barked frantically at them. The empty soda can they’d thrown at me dropped into my lap. I scowled at their backs, wishing I had something to throw back at them, like a brick. I rubbed away a sticky smear of soda from my forehead, trying to ignore the Voice laughing uproariously inside my head.
“You’re pathetic! No wonder the pretty police woman won’t sleep with you.”
“Shut up,” I said through gritted teeth. “Mutt, c’mere.”
Mutt strained at the end of his leash, still barking at the kids who were now long gone. I appreciated his efforts, but it was a lost cause. He came back to me when I tugged at the leash, placing his front paws on my knees and washing my face, whining anxiously. I scratched his ears, trying to get a grip on reality again.
Okay. I’d fallen asleep on the bench like a hobo. No shame in that, at least until the neighborhood kids came and clocked me with their empties. On the plus side, I hadn’t had any nightmares. Maybe the Voice was laying low ahead of the exorcism?
“Or maybe you don’t have the brains to know when to be scared anymore,” the Voice sniped. “Poking around in the kind of dirty magic you do, you deserve to die. The incubus could have snapped your neck yesterday.”
“Is that concern I hear?” I mused, checking my watch. I’d really been out for the count–it was mid-morning, edging toward noon, and I only had a couple more hours to kill before my appointment at the Overture Church. I decided to fill it with food. A tacky-looking café sat across the street from my bench, with a nasty, orange sign and faded paint around the door. The greasy scent of bacon and burgers wafted from the doorway, and Mutt licked his chops as we approached.
“I’m not sure you’re allowed in,” I told him, eyeing the café interior doubtfully through the window. They certainly couldn’t ban Mutt on hygiene grounds, from the look of the place. I shoved the door open, keeping him close to my heels, and headed for the counter. The place was empty of customers, nobody to complain about Mutt.
The acne-scarred youth behind the counter stared dully from me to Mutt and back again. “That your girlfriend, man?” he sneered.
“Boyfriend,” I corrected, “and I’ll thank you not to stare. Bacon sandwich to go, lots of ketchup; and a coffee.” I glanced at Mutt, who looked up at me with big soulful eyes. “And a hot dog. Is that cannibalism?”
“I think it’s probably okay,” the youth assured me as he began frying my bacon. “There’s not a whole lot of meat in the hot dogs.”
He turned his back on me to attend to the fryer and I had a split-second image of shoving his face into the bubbling fat, holding him there while he burned, until his eyeballs melted and smoke rolled off his jug-eared head…
“Do it. Do it now, there’s nobody else here, do it…”
I wished I could punch the Voice in the head. Instead, I turned away from the boy and stared at the hideous abstract artwork on the walls. The patterns were all done in oranges, yellows, and reds, and after a few seconds, I felt like I stared into a fire, which just lead me back to shoving the kid’s head in the grill.
Itchy and impatient, I turned back to stare at him. “We done yet?” I needed to get out of here before the Voice started up again and forced me to drive a drinking straw into my eyes or something to shut it up.
“You could do that anyway. Nobody would care. Anna might even laugh.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I told the Voice.
“Hey, you want the damn hot dog or not?” The youth glared at me with one hand extended to offer me my hot dog. Not sure whether to be embarrassed or apologetic, I settled for grouchy and snatched the hot dog from him. “You’re welcome,” he snapped.
“Hit him. Snot-nosed brat. It would be so satisfying.”
Yeah, it really would. I kinda felt I’d earned the right to hit something, anyway. I clutched the hot dog reflexively, crushing the bread bun and sending the sausage shooting out to hit the kid in the chest. “Shit.”
“Asshole!” He retaliated by flinging my bacon burger at me. It slopped down my shirt and onto the floor, where Mutt lapped it up with gusto. “You just come in here to abuse the staff, do you?” the youth growled at me.
“I haven’t started yet.” I reached across the counter, grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him hard against the counter. “Customer is always right, pal, okay? That means if I want to rip your fucking tongue out and feed it to my dog, I’m right. Right?”
At my feet, Mutt snarled. I had no idea who at. The boy quaked in my grip, eyes wide, and I wondered suddenly what I looked like. I released him so abruptly he stumbled back, bumping into the fryer and splashing hot grease over his legs. He cried out in pain and the Voice laughed joyfully.
“You’re a step away from full-on public meltdown, you know that?”
“Me? You’re the crazy guy here, man, not me!” the kid spat at me.
I recoiled from him, realizing the Voice had used my vocal chords. Revulsion filled me, and bile rose in my throat. Shit. I’d been so close... I really wanted to hurt the kid, still did. I could almost smell his skin crisping in the boiling oil and...
I vomited over the counter, spewing nothing but whiskey and stomach lining. The kid hooted with laughter and I reacted without thinking, swinging wildly at him. I connected with his fat nose and sent him sprawling to the floor. The Voice roared with laughter.
“Shit,” I said, staring down at the kid, who stared back at me like he was waiting for the deathblow. I wiped my mouth and my hands trembled. A hasty retreat was in order.
Swallowing hard, I nudged Mutt out the door. “C’mon, boy, time to go to church.”
I left the café with a torrent of abuse from the kid and the Voice howling in my head. Not my finest hour by a long shot.
* * * *
I arrived at the Overture Church sticky, hungry, and in a sour mood. Mutt trudged at my heels, looking forlorn and sulky. The image of shoving the café kid’s head into the fryer replayed endlessly in my mind as the Voice delighted in reminding me just how close I’d come to doing it.
Shuddering, I pushed open the door to the church, empty and silent inside, just like yesterday, with a sort of heavy tranquility in the air. Mutt wagged his tail as the air conditioning breezed over us, and I felt some of my bad mood lift as well. The Voice retreated a little too, maybe cowed by God’s presence or something, I don’t know. I just knew it was a relief to have the image of the café kid’s boiled head out of my mind.
“Mr. Banning?” Father Crane walked down the aisle toward me with a Bible in hand. He peered at Mutt over his glasses. “Would your dog like some water?”
“Yeah, thanks.” I sat down on one of the chairs and Mutt settled at my feet, licking my boots half-heartedly. Crane disappe
ared through a side door and emerged a few seconds later with a bowl of water for Mutt and a glass for me.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked me as he set the water down for Mutt. The dog lapped noisily from the bowl, splashing water up my jeans.
“Pretty shitty,” I admitted and then wondered if swearing in church would count against me in the exorcism. “It’s getting worse. The Voice is...” I made crazy-person hand gestures by my head. “Getting worse. Everything’s getting worse.” I chugged my water. “So if we can hurry up and purge me, I’d be really grateful.”
“Well.” Crane sat down next to me and flicked through the Bible idly. “I consulted with my district superintendent, who was somewhat dubious initially, but agreed that an exorcism might help put your mind at rest, and that we had a responsibility to do that.”
“Okay.” So the district superintendent doesn’t believe me either. Okay, that doesn’t matter. As long as they do the ceremony, it doesn’t matter.
“You don’t think belief matters?” the Voice mocked. “You don’t think it matters if the priest thinks you’re an unhinged lunatic?”
I ignored the Voice and concentrated on Crane instead. “So what do we do?” I asked.
“I did some reading around,” Crane explained, “and decided to go back to my roots.” He beamed at me when I stared blankly at him. “The Pentecostal deliverance ceremony,” he elaborated. “Pentecostalism teaches that a true Christian believer cannot be possessed, and focuses on delivering non-believers, which I think suits us better here.”
“Okay,” I said again, none the wiser. “So, what? Do I need to pray or ask for forgiveness or anything?”
“We’re going to start with simple Bible recitation.” Crane rose, beckoning for me to follow. He led me to the altar and gestured for me to kneel. “You should understand that this is not technically an exorcism,” he warned me. “A deliverance ceremony is part of ongoing counseling, as opposed to the one-off ritual of exorcism.”
