Chapter 4
2007
1
Toby, Scott, and Mike dragged the unconscious creature down into his own basement dungeon. According to Toby’s experience with M99, the demon calling himself Bill Hartman wouldn’t be under for long. They locked him inside a three-by-three cell he’d had built against the cement block walls of the basement, chaining his hands and feet using the cuffs already attached to the wall. To supplement that, they wrapped thick stainless-steel chain around the demon’s arms and chest, then looped them down around his hips and legs.
“His wings will be a problem,” said Mike, running a critical eye over the chains.
“Not much of one,” said Toby. “He can’t even open them in that tiny space.”
Mike wobbled his head from side to side, making a face as he did so. “Still… I’d feel more comfortable if we could secure those wings somehow.”
“If wishes were fishes,” said Scott. “He looks secure enough. How long until he is awake, Toby?”
“I’d say ten or fifteen minutes.”
Scott whistled. “Even with ten darts full of M99?”
“Yeah, the effectiveness seems to be dropping fast. That dose would kill a couple of elephants.” Toby chuckled, shaking his head. “This guy stinks like an elephant, so there’s that.”
Mike turned toward the stairs that ascended to the kitchen. “Let’s go see what we can find out by pawing through his underwear drawer,” he said.
Toby shook his head. “There’s not much up there. One television, a chair the same as this one, and a lot of dust bunnies.”
“There’s got to be something. Even if it’s only part of his disguise.”
“You’re welcome to go look, Mike, but I checked most of the rooms, and it’s as I said—empty.”
With a shrug, Mike climbed the stairs but paused halfway up. “Scott? Want to look around?”
The trooper shook his head. “No, you go ahead. I want to be here when this guy wakes up.”
“Fair enough.” Mike turned and resumed his climb.
“Sing out if you need us.”
At the top of the steps, Mike rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “Don’t start without me.”
Scott glanced up the stairs before turning to Toby. “What can I expect?” he said in a restrained voice.
“Expect?”
Scott nodded and jerked his thumb at Hartman.
“Oh.” Toby fidgeted a moment and took a deep breath. “I’ve never interrogated one of the demons before. But they have an incredible tolerance for pain.”
Scott frowned and shook his head. “So, what are we talking about?”
“No matter what we do, it’s unlikely to kill him. I learned that fact the hard way. It may cause him pain, but nothing we can do to him has more consequence than that.”
Scott’s frown grew into a deep scowl, and he scratched his head. “I didn’t take Torture 101, so I’d appreciate a few specifics.”
“Look, Scott, I’m making this up as I go along, same as you. But we have firearms, and they won’t kill him. Alternately, there’s fire.”
Scott closed his eyes and let his breath whistle through his teeth. “I don’t think I'll get off on this afternoon’s activities.”
“No,” said Toby. “I don’t think any of us will.”
They stood in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts while Mike tromped around upstairs. The television in the front room came on, an excited sportscaster screaming “Goal!” over and over. Mike let it run for a few seconds before turning it off again.
“Why do you think we haven’t seen LaBouche?”
Toby shivered at the bleakness in Scott’s voice. “To be honest, I’m surprised we haven’t seen him. After the fight in the parking lot, I’d think he wants revenge.”
Scott nodded, a flinty, forbidding expression settling on his features. “I partnered with LaBouche for a long time, and if there’s one thing about him I can say with certainty, he will want revenge.” His eyes opened wide. “Do you think…”
“I doubt he considers the things he’s done to you as revenge for anything you could have done as his partner. He did it…” Toby dropped his gaze to his own feet. “He fed on your pain, Scott.”
Scott nodded and slid down the wall opposite the cells. He rested his forearms on his knees, letting his hands droop toward the floor. “How could he pretend to be my friend and still do that?”
“Scott, don’t take this the wrong way, but from what I’ve witnessed, what LaBouche did to you wasn’t—”
“All that bad?”
Toby shook his head. “No, I wasn’t going to say that. What I was going to say was: what LaBouche did to you wasn’t that far out of the norm for them. Keep in mind that they get off on torturing children, for the most part.”
Scott dropped his gaze to the floor between his feet and heaved a sigh. “I suppose. It seems…”
“Personal? Yeah, I’m willing to bet that for LaBouche, a personal touch makes it better. The taste, or whatever they get out of it. It heightens it.”
“Not far from serial killers, are they?”
Toby sank into the recliner and yawned. “You’d know more about serial killers than I would. I’ve never met one that wasn’t a demon.”
“You’re not saying that all of them—”
“No, no. Not at all. I imagine the ones that get caught are all human. The ones I’ve met…” Toby shook his head as if trying to rid himself of distasteful memories.
“Ah.” Scott fell silent and stretched his legs out in front of him. “At least the guy could have more than one chair.”
“I do,” Hartman grated. “I have one here and one upstairs. I am the only one who sits in this house.”
“Not after today,” said Toby. “Going forward, you’re the only one who will stand in one of your little cages.”
Hartman thrashed back and forth in the tight confines of the cell. The chain rattled and clanked but held.
“Mike!” Scott yelled.
They heard Mike’s pounding feet on the floorboards above them, and Hartman glanced up. “Who else is in my house?”
Toby turned lazy eyes on the demon. “I’m not quite sure you’ve grasped the situation here.”
The demon threw back his head and laughed. “Is that so, mister? Let me see if I can recap today’s events. First, you assaulted me in the yard of my own house, shooting me with tranquilizer darts. I’m not sure those are illegal, but I’m willing to bet shooting a person with one is. Second, having tranquilized me, you broke into my house and dragged me into my basement, where you chained me to a wall.” He laughed again, and its sound grated at the air like grinding gears in a tractor-trailer. “How did I do? Does that sound as if I grasp the situation?”
Toby leaned forward in the chair, putting his hands on his knees. “What you’ve failed to grasp, Hartman, is that we know about you.”
Hartman narrowed his eyelids and cocked his head to the side. “And what is it you think you know?” He glanced down the line of cells. “What do you imagine I do with these? I’m not a serial killer. I built these for research purposes. You see, I’m—”
A slow smile spread across Toby’s face. He lifted a hand and pointed at different parts of Hartman’s anatomy. “Wings. Red scales. Hooves. Fangs.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Hartman put on a good front, but there was a quaver in his voice.
“It means I can see you, demon. I can see past your illusion. I can see you.”
Hartman’s gaze flicked over Toby’s shoulder, seeking Scott. “Your friend here is nuts, isn’t he?” His gaze returned to Toby’s face. “More than a little, too.”
The door to the kitchen rattled open, and Mike came down the stairs, boots drumming a staccato rhythm on the treads of the stairs. He came to stand next to the recliner Toby sat in. “He’s awake.”
Hartman’s gaze snapped to Mike’s face. “Do you understand what your friends have don
e? Assault, battery—”
“Kidnapping,” added Mike. “Maybe it’s not obvious to you, Hartman, but we don’t give a shit. Besides, Scott and I are cops. Who do you think people will believe? A guy with a dungeon in his basement or two fine, upstanding cops?”
That revelation seemed to knock Hartman off kilter. He stood still, all except his eyes. His gaze bounced from Mike to Scott to Toby and back again as if a complex logic problem related to them captivated his attention.
“Why are you here?” asked Toby in a deceptively mild voice.
The demon stared at him. “That should be obvious. I’m here because you knocked me out with tranquilizers and locked me in this cage. Why not let me out? We can have a civilized conversation.”
Mike chuckled and nudged Toby’s shoulder. “He wants us to let him out…”
“Did you let the humans you imprisoned down here out of their cages just because they asked, Hartman? I doubt you did.”
“You need to seek medical attention. You seem to have gone off the deep end, friend.” Hartman’s voice sounded confident, but something flickered in his eyes. Fear, perhaps.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Scott, springing to his feet. He drew his service weapon and eased the hammer back. “Have you heard from your friends in Oneka Falls? Have you assimilated the fact that the big tree is no more?”
Despite being chained to a wall, Hartman tried to take a step back. “Oneka Falls? I’m not familiar with anybody in Oneka Falls. And what tree are you talking about?”
Toby shot to his feet in a heartbeat and lunged across the small space between the recliner and the front of the cage. “Herlequin!”
Hartman’s gaze returned to Toby’s face, and his expression shifted from one of pretended confidence to one of abject terror. “I don’t recognize that name!” His gaze left Toby’s face as Scott strolled across the room toward him, rapping the pistol against his thigh with each step. “I don’t!” he whined.
“Yes, you do,” said Toby in a mild voice. “And if you haven’t already heard, we killed him three days ago.”
“No, you didn’t!” sneered Hartman. “We can’t die—any of us, let alone one as old as Herlequin.”
Toby shrugged and laughed easily. “Well, perhaps our definition of killed differs from yours, but we ended his existence—at least in this plane.” Toby turned as if to walk away but pivoted back and slammed his hands into the cage door. “We burned him!”
Hartman lurched back, his gaze dancing from Scott and his pistol to Toby.
Scott tapped Toby on the shoulder, and after looking back, Toby stepped aside. Scott stepped up to the front of the cage and tapped the metal bars with the barrel of his Glock 37. “You no doubt recognize what this is. You don’t understand, yet, that we already realize it won’t kill you.” The trooper shrugged. “That means I can shoot you as much as I want, and I know you’ll be all right.” Without waiting for Hartman to reply, Scott pulled the trigger.
The .45’s report rang like cannon fire in the enclosed space of the basement. Purplish-black blood splattered the back wall of the cage, and Hartman shrieked in both pain and fury. The demon glanced down at the small smoking hole that had appeared in the left side of his chest, and his expression darkened.
“So, you see, friend, it’s going to be a very unpleasant afternoon for you unless you come to face facts.”
Hartman glowered at Scott through slit eyelids but kept his lips together.
As if he’d expected that, Scott nodded and pulled the trigger a second time. This time the hole was lower and closer to the demon’s centerline. More purplish-black blood splattered the block wall behind him, and Hartman squalled. “Stop it!” he shrieked.
“Are you done playing games?” Scott asked in a hard voice. “Because if you’re not, I’ve got plenty of ammunition.”
“We should’ve brought Benny,” muttered Mike. “I bet he could read this guy.”
The demon’s gaze flickered toward Mike and away again.
Scott banged on the bars of the cage with his pistol. “Pay attention, hellspawn! I asked you if you’ve finished playing games.”
“Come on, Scott,” said Mike. “There’s no need—”
“Mike,” murmured Toby as he shook his head.
Hartman didn’t say a word, he just stood there staring at them each in turn and took it all in. “What is it you expect to gain here?”
Scott smiled, and it was a sight that could have curdled milk. “All we want is a little information.”
“Information? And if I give it to you? What happens if I do?”
Scott shrugged and placed his hand on the lock of the cage. “In that case, there’d be no need for these theatrics. I imagine this door will open.”
The demon leaned forward, staring intently into Scott’s face. “And that means I can go free?”
Again, Scott shrugged. “The door will be open.”
The demon leaned back, gazing at each of them, one after another. He ran his tongue around his fangs inside his lips and sniffed the air as a bloodhound would. “What information do you need?”
“Why are you here?” asked Toby.
“Because you—”
“Why are all of you here?”
Hartman’s gaze flicked to Scott’s face and then down at his gun. “Uh, do you mean here in New York?”
“Why Oneka Falls?” asked Mike.
“It’s a nice town. Why not Oneka Falls?”
“Stop playing games!” snapped Scott.
“We…” Hartman’s gaze skittered around the room in the manner of a nervous schoolgirl. He swallowed convulsively. “Where we are from, it’s different. It’s…”
“Where are you from? Hell?” Scott’s voice was devoid of emotion, tone.
The demon tried to shrug inside his chains. “As good a name as any other.”
“So, it’s different where you’re from, and this is the reason you came here and started eating children?”
Hartman recoiled at the venom in Mike’s voice. “Not all of us do that—only the coarser, the baser among us. Most of us have more refined tastes.”
Mike’s face blazed with anger, and he took a single, threatening step forward. “Like that bastard Herlequin? Did Herlequin have refined tastes?” He laid a hand on Toby’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Hartman tried to shrug again, setting his chains a-clanking. “He didn’t hurt any of them.”
“Yes, he did.” Toby’s voice was filled with such finality, such authority, that Hartman didn’t even try to argue.
“What’s so bad about where you’re from?”
Hartman’s gaze met Scott’s. “Not much to eat. Once, food was plentiful, but now…less so. Plus, there are…others. Older ones.”
“And?”
“And they fed on us. They enslaved us.”
Scott darted a glance at Toby over his shoulder and arched his eyebrows.
With a minute shake of his head, Toby walked a few steps away, then turned and faced Hartman again. “And that… To escape them, you found a way to come here.”
Hartman nodded.
“And once here, you fed on us, enslaved us.”
“Nothing could be more natural,” Hartman said. “We are stronger than you. We deserve our place in this world.”
“Now, there is a bit of fucked-up logic,” said Mike.
“Not at all. Your kind are weak, comparable to an extinct herd animal from home.”
“In hell, right?” Toby peered at the demon through slit eyelids.
“I’ve already answered that, haven’t I?”
“Have you?” asked Toby in a caustic tone. “You evaded the question.”
Hartman’s chains clanked as he made an abortive shrugging motion. “That’s not our name for it.”
“What is your name for it?” asked Scott.
Hartman tilted his head to the side and fixed Scott with a glare. “Your primitive vocal apparatus couldn’t pronounce it.”
<
br /> “I don’t have to pronounce it; I only have to hear it.” Scott raised his pistol, not exactly pointing it at Hartman, but not pointing it in a safe direction, either.
In a fit of bravado, Hartman took the half step forward that his chains allowed him, lifted his chin, and opened his eyes wide. “You don’t scare me, little man. Neither does your toy.”
Scott’s next round went into the beast’s thigh, and Hartman squealed as an infant would. “It seems to me, that was a lie, Mr. Hartman. The new rule is every lie buys you a bullet.”
For a moment, Hartman stared at Scott with hatred blazing in his eyes. Without warning, Hartman threw his weight against the chains in earnest. “When I get out of here…” he grated.
“I got to tell you, buddy… The way things are going, you getting out of there doesn’t seem all that likely.” Mike’s tone was matter of fact, but he kept stealing strange little glances at Scott.
“Tell us the name,” said Toby in a voice laced with iron. “Stop playing games.”
Hartman turned his head ponderously, one eye focused on Toby, and the other staring daggers at Scott. What he uttered next sounded more akin to a series of hisses, pops, and clicks than a word.
“That’s it? That yaddy-hiss-click-pop-snap-crackle-pop is the name of your world?” asked Mike. “Do you live in a box of cereal?”
Hartman jerked his head back, and both eyes tracked to Mike’s face. “Cereal?”
“That’s the name of your world?” asked Scott.
For a moment, Hartman ignored him. Keeping both eyes focused on Mike, he began to hum. The tune was haunting, creepy. It sounded vaguely Middle Eastern but with a haunted house twist.
“Stop that!” snapped Toby.
Without stopping the dirge-like tune, Hartman turned his gaze toward Toby. His head listed to the side a bit, and the smirk distended his lips.
Toby held his hand out to the side. “Scott.”
The boom of the pistol’s report echoed around the basement, followed by Hartman’s shriek and the sound of more blood splattering on the wall. The demon continued to stare at Toby, but he didn’t hum again.
“Answer my question, partner,” said Scott in a casual drawl. “Unless you want to see if the next round is a dud.”
The Hag Page 13
