Infernal Affairs

by Jane Heller

  I laughed. What else could I do? The situation was worse than I thought. Much worse.

  “I don’t get this at all,” I said. “We hit a bad patch in our lives and all of a sudden we’re devil bait?”

  “I take it that I was right? That you had a similar experience?” said David.

  “Not similar. Identical,” I said. “My husband had just left me, my career was down the toilet, I was drinking too much, the whole enchilada. I went out in a thunder-and-lightning storm, yelled and screamed about wanting to sell a house, meet a man, and be happy, and boom! When I woke up in the morning I had blond hair and big boobs, and later that day you not only bought the tackiest house in town from me but asked me to have dinner with you.”

  “I’m afraid that was Satan playing Cupid,” said David, almost sheepishly. “You see, it’s all part of his plan, part of what he wants in return for granting us our wishes.”

  “Plan? What plan?”

  “He wants us to act on the attraction he created between us. He expects us to make love and have children. His children. That’s how we hold up our end of the bargain.”

  I shot up from the sofa. “You’re out of your mind,” I shouted. “He’s out of his mind.”

  “Sit down, Barbara. Please.”

  “Not until you explain, until you tell me how you know all this.”

  “I’ll explain if you sit.”

  I sat.

  “Now. Explain,” I demanded. “How do you know all this?”

  “I know about the devil’s plan for us because before I left Palm Beach, I met another darksider,” he said. “A very helpful man who’d been through what we’re going through now. He told me everything he knew about the situation.”

  “And now you’re going to tell me everything you know about the situation, starting from the beginning.”

  “All right,” said David, sitting back, getting comfortable. “According to this darksider, the devil came to South Florida about ten years ago.”

  “I suppose it was the weather that appealed to him?”

  “Yes—and the fact that there aren’t any earthquakes here. He’d been living in Southern California—in Brentwood—but couldn’t handle the aftershocks. So he decided to move cross-country. To Miami.”

  “If only he’d stayed in Miami,” I said. “Why did he have to come to Banyan Beach?”

  “He was redundant in Miami,” said David. “Superfluous. Nobody noticed him, what with all the crime there. Bringing evil and malevolence to Miami was like carrying the proverbial coals to Newcastle.”

  He smiled. I did not smile back.

  “Anyhow,” he continued, “according to the darksider I spoke to and to another one I met later, the devil left Miami and spent the next few years moving up the coast: Ft. Lauderdale, Boca, Palm Beach.”

  “Palm Beach. That’s where he pressed you into service.”

  “Yes. Then he went on to Jupiter and kept moving up the line until he finally settled in Banyan Beach. He probably took one look at the place and decided it was as ripe for decadence and debauchery as it was for development.”

  I nodded sadly, remembering how quaintly “Floridian” Banyan Beach had seemed before Boston Chicken and Big Apple Pizza and Morton’s of Chicago had turned the town into Anyplace U.S.A. I remembered, too, how free of pollution Banyan Beach used to be—and how safe. Yes, safe! We never had to worry about crime when I was a kid. The only one I knew who ever got into trouble with the law was Jeremy Cook, and while he wasn’t a model citizen, he wasn’t exactly Death Row material. But all you had to do was read the local paper to see that Banyan had become a haven for murderers, drug dealers, and con men, not to mention gun fanatics. Even children had guns now. When I was in grade school we brought stuffed animals to Show and Tell. Now, they bring Uzis. Oh, why did the devil have to come here and destroy the town’s very soul, I thought, tears filling my eyes. Why did he have to come here and destroy my very soul?

  “As far as you and I are concerned,” said David, returning my focus to Satan’s little plan for us, “it turns out that the devil always fixes it so his male agents pair off with his female agents and have children. His goal is to populate the entire world with darksiders.”

  So that’s what this is all about, I thought, seeing the Big Picture at last. In exchange for making us beautiful, rich, or successful, the devil expects us to make babies! Darksider babies! Babies who will grow up and produce more darksider babies!

  I began to tremble uncontrollably.

  “Barbara? Are you all right?” David asked, his tone concerned, tender.

  “Of course I’m not all right,” I said, wiping away my tears. “But I’ll tell you one thing: Satan can forget about me spreading his seed around. I’m not having his children or anyone else’s. I’m infertile.”

  “Maybe you were before your transformation, but you’re not now,” said David. “The devil wants what he wants and doesn’t stop until he gets it.”

  “Yeah, well, not this time. No baby of mine is gonna have a tail, see?”

  I started to get up again.

  “Wait, Barbara. You haven’t heard all of it.”

  “I’ve heard enough to know I want out. OUT. I don’t want to be a darksider, a docksider, or even an insider. I just want to be my old self again. My graying, flabby, infertile self.”

  “It’s too late to go back,” said David wistfully. “We’re his now. Let’s make the best of the situation and be a comfort to each other. I find you very attractive and I know you’re attracted to me.”

  “Was attracted to you,” I corrected him.

  “Barbara, trust me, there’s no point in resisting. We need each other. It’s lonely out there for darksiders. We’re different from everyone else. We don’t fit in anymore.”

  “Speak for yourself. I don’t have a tail. I can take off my clothes in those public dressing rooms at Loehmann’s and nobody will point at me.”

  “What about your power? Doesn’t it give you away?”

  “My power?”

  “Yes. I was with you the night your husband and his girlfriend were burned by that hot coffee. You made it happen, Barbara. And you’ve made other things happen, haven’t you?”

  So David knew about that.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “A few things. Nothing terrible but nothing I’m proud of either. My therapist said I was only deluding myself, that I imagined I caused people harm so I’d feel more powerful, that I was having a nervous breakdown.”

  “You’re not having a nervous breakdown. Your power is real and it’s only going to get stronger. Believe me, I know. Before long, we’ll be causing more and more ‘accidents’ to happen. It’s the devil in us. We can’t help ourselves. That’s why we need each other. To confide in. To lean on.”

  I was speechless. Only hours before, I had been hoping that David would become my…my lover. Now all I wanted was to get out of his house and out of the deal I appeared to have made with the devil. But how? I couldn’t very well hire a lawyer and sue for breach of contract. Still, there had to be a way to extricate myself from the mess I was in. There just had to.

  “David,” I said, standing up from the sofa yet again, “I hope you won’t take this personally. I’m sure you were a very nice man before your transformation—actually, you’re a very nice man now and I’ll bet there are plenty of women who’d be willing to overlook the business with the tail. But I’m not going to sit back and let the devil destroy me. No way. I’ve spent my entire life letting people walk all over me and I’m all through with that. I’m going to save myself and my town. I’m going to fight this, David. I really am.”

  My impassioned little speech surprised me. I had never been much of an activist, obviously, what with my fear of displeasing anyone. But for the first time in my life, I had something to fight for—or, more accurately, fight against.

  “We’re going to get ourselves out of this situation,” I told David with conviction. “We’re going to get our old lives back, mise
rable as they may be from time to time.”

  He shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “Aside from the loneliness inherent in being a darksider in a population of normal people, things are going pretty well for me now. I don’t think I want my old life back. I don’t miss orthodontia at all.”

  “Then do something else. It’s not an either/or situation. You don’t have to be an orthodontist or an agent of the devil. You could be an agent at Home Sweet Home, for example. Real estate’s a lot of fun when you’re not in a slump.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do. I’m getting myself out of this nightmare even if it kills me.” I sat down again. I was exhausted.

  “Oh, Barbara. Please don’t say that. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. You’re the only woman who knows the truth about me. I care about you. Very much.”

  “If you care about me, then help me.”

  “How?”

  “Tell me where to find the devil.”

  “The devil? You want to speak to him personally?”

  “That’s right. When you quit a job, you should tell the boss to his face.”

  “But I don’t know where he is.”

  “Oh, come on, David. You’ve been a darksider longer than I have. You’ve talked to other darksiders. You’re up on all this stuff. For all I know there’s a twelve-step program for darksiders and you’re a member. You seem very knowledgeable about the…the…‘problem,’ for lack of a better word.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I know where the devil actually keeps himself.”

  “Doesn’t it?” I regarded David for a moment. He hadn’t been truthful with me in the past. Why should he be truthful with me now? He had his own agenda, after all. I couldn’t trust him completely, and yet he was the only one who could give me any information.

  “I don’t know where he is, Barbara.”

  “I don’t believe you, David.”

  He heaved a big, agonized sigh and then got up from the sofa and began to pace, back and forth across the living room. He grimaced and grunted and worked his jaw muscles and seemed to be debating with himself whether or not to help me. He was probably thinking that if he helped me and told me where the devil was, he’d win my undying gratitude and get me into bed. Of course, the flip side of that argument was that once I confronted the devil and got myself out of the bargain, David would lose me forever. Poor guy.

  “So? Are you going to tell me where he is?” I said.

  He sighed again and sat back down next to me. Then he said wearily, “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “So you do know where the devil is?”

  “Yes.”

  I gasped. “You’ve actually seen him? Here in Banyan Beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God. Where is he?”

  “He’s…in the body of…of someone,” he said, almost in a whisper.

  “In the body of someone?”

  “Yes, someone here in town.”

  “You’re joking.” I had pictured the devil as a sort of Darth Vader with horns, a cartoonish character who lived under a rock and only ventured out at night. Something dark and slippery and reptilian.

  “No, this is nothing to joke about, Barbara.” David looked pained.

  “Fine. Just tell me what you mean when you say he’s in the body of someone.”

  “When he comes to a place, he selects a body to…to inhabit, so to speak.”

  “Inhabit?”

  “He enters the person’s body and takes up residence there, for the duration of his stay.”

  I couldn’t get over this. “Does the person know what’s going on?”

  He shook his head. “Essentially, the person ceases to exist while the devil is present. He or she shuts down, remembering nothing of the experience.”

  “God, that sounds even worse than what he’s done to you and me. We may have gone through a transformation, but at least we’re still us.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s not so bad being a darksider, once you get used to it.”

  “Yeah, well I’ll never get used to it. Now tell me more about the devil and his game of hide-and-seek. You say he comes to town, slips into someone’s body and takes on that person’s characteristics?”

  “Yes. That’s what makes it so hard to spot him.”

  “But surely that person takes on some of the devil’s characteristics, too. I mean, doesn’t the lucky man or woman start acting differently all of a sudden? Strangely? More evil? And wouldn’t other people notice?”

  “Possibly, but don’t forget: the devil’s specialty is deception. He can make us believe whatever he wants us to believe.”

  “Then how am I supposed to figure out whose body he’s hiding in?”

  David didn’t answer right away. Again, he seemed to be in conflict, troubled.

  “You’re not,” he said finally. “That’s the point.”

  “David, please. You can keep on being a darksider if you want to. But help me get out of this. Help me save my soul. Help me save Banyan Beach. Once I’m myself again, we can get together for dinner now and then. I’ll stick by you. Honestly I will.”

  He smiled. “I do care for you,” he said.

  I felt sorry for him suddenly. He was just a poor schlemiel in the same mess I was in. If he told me everything, the devil would probably punish him somehow—maybe even kill him, or, at the very least, send him away from Banyan Beach. And if that happened, I’d lose my only source of information, not to mention the only person who would be idiotic enough to pay $675,000 for the Nowak house.

  “Tell me how to find the devil,” I urged. “If you can’t tell me the name of the person whose body he’s hiding in, then give me a couple of hints.”

  “This isn’t a game, Barbara.”

  “I know, but let’s try it. Be a sport. I’ll ask questions and you answer them if you can. Okay?”

  He shrugged.

  “Does the person the devil is hiding in have Brussels sprouts breath, like we do?”

  “No. Only darksiders have The Breath.”

  “Oh. Does the person the devil’s hiding in have a tail, like you do?”

  “No. The devil is in disguise, remember? He doesn’t change the appearance of the person.”

  “Right. Well does the person the devil is hiding in have a good voice? You said he’s got a real ear for music and can’t stand it when someone sings off-key.”

  “That’s true, but there are plenty of people the devil isn’t hiding in who have good voices. I don’t think that’s much of a clue.”

  “Then give me a better clue. Something I can use.” I thought for a minute. “For example, Banyan Beach is a small town. I’ve lived here for most of my life. Do I know the person whose body the devil is hiding in?”

  David did not reply this time. Instead, he abruptly got up from the sofa and walked toward the front door, motioning for me to follow him, which I did. Without speaking, he opened the door and held it open for me. Apparently, I had hit pay dirt and he wanted to call it a night.

  But I wanted an answer to my question. Facing him, I made one final attempt to pull information out of him.

  “Do I know the person whose body the devil is hiding in?” I repeated.

  Our eyes met. David waited several seconds before responding.

  “Yes,” he conceded. “You certainly do.”

  And then, before I could say another word or even register my shock and horror, he ushered me gently out of the house and closed the door behind me.

  Chapter 13

  Pete was especially clingy on Monday morning. As if I didn’t have enough on my mind, what with learning that I was a darksider and trying to figure out who among the people I knew was the devil and rushing to get to Charlotte’s weekly meeting on time, Pete decided to have an attack of separation anxiety. No matter what I did or said, he wouldn’t stop whining and nuzzling and curling himself around my legs, making it impossible for me to walk out the door.<
br />
  “What’s the matter?” I asked as I bent down to scratch the white patch on his chest. Massaging that spot, I had discovered, usually calmed him down—temporarily. But not this time.

  I regarded him with genuine concern. Yes, concern. While I wasn’t wild about him in that nonsensical way some people are about their dogs, I had become…well, let’s just say I had developed a tolerance for Pete. For one thing, having a pet eased the loneliness brought on by Mitchell’s defection. For another, Pete was better company than Mitchell—i.e., he didn’t yammer on about the restaurant business while I was trying to watch “Seinfeld.” For a third thing, he seemed attached to me in a way no one else ever had been. Of course, after my chat with David on Saturday night, I no longer trusted the way anyone felt about me. I had thought David was attracted to me when it turned out that the attraction was merely part of the devil’s “plan.”

  And speaking of the devil, I was now exhibiting yet another manifestation of his evil influence. The previous evening, I’d been sitting at the kitchen counter, reading the newspaper, when I heard myself growl! I mean, really growl, like some kind of savage animal! I thought it was Pete until I remembered that he was outside on the deck, barking at seagulls. Just when I decided the sound couldn’t possibly have come from inside me, I heard it again. There was no getting around it: I had growled!

  I ran to the phone and called David.

  “Do you growl?” I asked, as one darksider to another.

  “No,” he said. “Do you?”

  “I do now,” I said. “I was sitting in my kitchen, minding my own business, when this bestial noise came out of me. It was bizarre.”

  “My guess is that the devil is sending you a message,” David said. “He’s probably warning you not to tangle with him.”

  “Oh, so you think the growling is his idea of a threat?” I asked. “A macho thing to show me who’s boss?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” said David. “If you don’t like the growling, Barbara, you should change your mind and accept your fate. We weren’t so bad together, were we?”