The Devil You Know, Episode 1

by Alan Tucker

  “Shut up,” Abraham said and wiped his mouth.

  The demon cackled. You’re like a broken record, Abe. Oh, wait. Are you old enough to remember those?

  Abraham got to his feet and walked toward the house. A curtain fell closed in one of the upper story windows just before he bent down to climb through the barbed wire fencing surrounding the cow’s pasture. Abraham’s body began to ache. His feet felt like stones, his legs rubber. Slowly, he made his way to the front porch, where the dog growled a menacing greeting.

  The front door opened to reveal a dark-haired, pale-skinned boy, whose eyes bore the look of someone in great pain. Abraham guessed his age at no more than fifteen years. He wore gray sweat pants and a stained T-shirt. His left arm was fully wrapped in a crude sling, spotted with patches of dark blood. In his right arm, he held the familiar shotgun, pointed straight at Abraham’s chest.

  2 • Neri

  Neri White picked up her favorite knife and, with a steady hand, guided it through the soap and stubble covering her ebony scalp. Sitting on a short stool in front of the vanity table across from her bed, her eyes followed the blade’s progress in an oval, brass-framed mirror. Reaching down, Neri rinsed the knife in a pail of warm water at her feet, then repeated the process, creating another hairless swath on her head. Neri couldn’t stand vermin. The mere thought of tiny creatures living and feeding off someone sent shivers down her backside. As a result, she required those living in her house to keep themselves clean shaven, preventing lice and other hygiene issues, since they couldn’t bathe as often as she wished. And anything Neri asked of those under her care, she also did herself. It only seemed fair and that’s how her mama had taught her.

  Pausing a moment in her weekly routine, Neri glanced at the only photograph she had of her mother, which sat in a thin, gilded frame next to the mirror. In it, Mama, who appeared a few years younger than Neri’s twenty-four, looked back at the camera with a broad smile, embracing her sister, Neri’s Aunt Tish. Everyone had always said Tish and Neri’s mother, Rose, had been like peas in a pod during their childhood, growing up in rural Mississippi. Neri knew Mama had always looked up to her elder sister, even after Tish had married and moved far away. When cancer took her mama, less than a year after Neri had graduated high school, Aunt Tish asked Neri to come stay with her. Even though the plains of Wyoming were a world apart from the streets of Jackson, Mississippi, Neri hadn’t hesitated in accepting the offer. Kin was kin after all, as Mama would say, and blood listened to blood.

  Neri knew blood well.

  She reapplied the knife to her head and winced when she hit a troublesome bump and nicked her scalp. Neri set the blade down with a sigh. May as well put it to use, she thought as she reached up and dabbed the wound with her finger, coming away with a drop of blood. She studied the miraculous liquid, poised on her fingertip, and marveled at the possibilities it presented to her.

  Neri had always been talented, perceiving things others did not, and her mama had been the first to notice when Neri was very young. Later, Mama had schooled her in the basics of her gift, though Neri never witnessed her mother perform any magic herself. She had strongly cautioned Neri about the use of blood.

  “Blood can be a powerful tool,” Mama had told her. “But never use any ‘cept your own. People who use the blood of others for power create dark stains on their souls that never wash away.”

  Neri had taken her mother’s words to heart and had never used blood— even her own— to enhance her gift until after Mama had passed. Once the Gray Blight struck, Neri had sought for ways to help as those around her became ill. Her experiments with her own blood never yielded a cure, but her abilities had grown substantially during the Blight. Guilt consumed Neri for weeks after the deadly plague had taken Aunt Tish. Everyone she cared about had died while Neri had become stronger.

  With a shake of her head, Neri took a moment to center herself, as she’d done hundreds of times, and traced her finger on the surface of the mirror, leaving a red smear along an inward spiral.

  The mirror— indeed the whole room— darkened for Neri, then images began to flash and spin within the silvered glass. Black, terrifying creatures, with limbs like swords, sliced indiscriminately through people on a crowded street. Eyes, bulging with fright, raced past her in the vision. Men and women fell by the dozens to the monstrous invaders. Some even succumbed to their neighbors, doing anything to flee the carnage. Neri felt their screams in her chest. Blood painted the pavement.

  Light returned and Neri shivered. Forecasting the future always required interpretation. She was rarely graced with exact dates or times, but rather vague impressions of future events. The most disturbing aspect of this particular vision wasn’t the senseless massacre— Neri had witnessed death many times through her magic— or even the nightmarish beings perpetrating the slaughter. She recognized them as the second group of aliens to descend upon Earth; someone in the media had dubbed them “Bugs” and the name stuck. They had arrived shortly after the first cases of the Blight had been reported and attacked humanity’s new friends, the Grays. Everything thereafter had turned to anarchy and chaos. But no, the thing Neri found most troubling was the overwhelming feeling of inevitability she’d received in the vision. After several months of relative stability and quiet, the Bugs were about to make their presence known again and nothing on Earth could combat the doom she had seen.

  “Neri?”

  Startled, Neri turned to see Maureen Thompson’s head poking through the bedroom doorway. Maureen had been a close friend of Aunt Tish and the first to come live with Neri after the Blight had claimed her family. Maureen looked after the day-to-day needs of the house and the young women who lived there, acting as an adoptive mother or grandmother to all of them. Neri collected herself and forced a smile. “Good morning.”

  “I knocked but I guess you didn’t hear me since you were working your spell.” Maureen uttered the last word in a whisper. She’d never been quite comfortable with Neri’s talents.

  “You are fine. Come in.”

  Maureen blushed and shuffled inside, closing the door behind her. She wore a light shirt underneath denim overalls that hung loosely on her frame, as did her skin. Maureen had been a portly woman before the troubles began. She’d shed much of her extra weight in the intervening months, causing her skin to droop on her thinner body. Gray and white stubble sprouted on her head. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Sheriff Wickham is downstairs.”

  Puzzled, Neri asked, “Did he say what for?”

  Maureen shook her head. “Only that he wanted to ask you some questions. What should I tell him?”

  “I’ll be there in two shakes. Just have to finish this first,” Neri replied, pointing to her half-soaped head and turned back to the mirror.

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “Thank you,” Neri said as the door clicked shut again. She bent to her task and cleared her head of hair with practiced efficiency.

  After finishing, she dried her head and neck with a towel, then wiped her knife clean and slid it back into its leather sheath. She turned to her bed and donned the V-neck shirt and dark jeans she had laid out earlier. Neri kept her feet bare inside the house, a holdover from her childhood when her shoes were always dirty and stored on the porch and she rarely had socks to wear. Walking over to open her narrow closet, she pulled a floor-length, white satin robe off a hanger. The women in the house had come across it somewhere during the winter and presented it to her. They had taken to calling her Madam White whenever they were out in public and decided she should look the part. Neri, who had earned money through her teen years telling fortunes in Mississippi, understood the benefit of a little theater in her presentation to the outside world. She slipped the robe on over her clothes and tied the sash.

  Making her way downstairs, Neri found Sheriff Wickham standing stiffly in the living room, near the front door, with his hat held in both hands at his waist. His sandy brown hair bore the impression of said hat and the b
adge on his chest sparkled as he shifted his weight. She thought the two of them were close in age. At two or three inches above six feet, Wickham dwarfed Neri, who had to cheat up on her toes to reach five foot four.

  Neri adopted a smile as she approached him and offered her hand. “Good morning, Sheriff. You’re out early. Can I fetch you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” he said as his calloused hand engulfed her own. He hesitated, his gaze landing on the multitude of crisscrossed scars along her dark arm as her robe’s sleeve slid away. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  “Not at all. Please, have a seat.” Neri pointed to a well-worn couch.

  Sheriff Wickham’s leather belt and holster creaked as he perched on the edge of the sofa and placed his hat on the cushion beside him. He waited for Neri to seat herself in a straight-backed armchair across from him before speaking. “Have you taken in a girl named Ellie Matson in the last few days?”

  Neri nodded. “She arrived… let me see… day before yesterday.”

  Wickham let loose a pent up breath. “That’s good news. Her father will be happy to hear she’s safe.”

  “Of course. We’ll take good care of her. She seems like a nice girl.”

  “No. I’m afraid you don’t understand. I’m here to take her home. She’s only sixteen.”

  Neri pursed her lips. “I don’t believe that would be a good idea, Sheriff.”

  “Ms. White, with all due respect, it’s not your call to make. Ellie’s a minor. As such, she belongs with her parent, according to the law.”

  “Did the father say why she’d run away from home?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “He thought she might have been kidnapped initially. Then I got word she might be here.”

  “The girl told us she’d been abused,” Neri said. “By her father.”

  Wickham frowned. “That’s a serious accusation, Ms. White. I’ve known Dean Matson for years. He and my father were friends. Was there any evidence of this? Injuries or marks?”

  “No. She wasn’t beaten. The abuse she claimed was sexual in nature.”

  The sheriff’s eyes widened in surprise. “Apologies, but I find that difficult to believe. Mr. Matson has always been a family man. I’d like to see her, please.”

  Neri paused and decided to test her standing with the inexperienced lawman. “Sheriff, have I done well by you this past year or so? You brought several young women here who were suddenly without families and no means to get by on their own without selling themselves… or worse. Maureen and I have taken them all in gladly and without question.”

  “Of course, Ms. White. You and Mrs. Thompson have been a great deal of help.”

  “Then give me a bit of leeway in this instance and let me talk to Ellie. I believe I can ferret out the truth to your satisfaction. If she did lie about her father, I’ll bring her to you myself tomorrow. If she didn’t, well… would you want to be the one to deliver her back to her abuser?”

  Wickham stared at the floor, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll be honest with you, Ms. White—”

  “Please, I think we’ve known each other long enough you can call me Neri.”

  He looked up and blue eyes searched her face. “Neri, some folks in town are… curious about what goes on out here. There’s some pretty wild stories flying around.”

  “Oh?” Neri said with a hint of a smile. “What sorts of stories?”

  “Crazy stuff,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Witchcraft. Voodoo. Other things I’d be embarrassed to repeat.”

  “And what do you think of these stories, Sheriff?”

  He cast his gaze downward again. “A year ago I was a wet-behind-the-ears junior deputy for a town of about five thousand people. Now, I’m sheriff for a town of probably less than five hundred. We’re still clearing bodies from houses in the outlying areas. Hell, we’ve got aliens from other planets doing God knows what just a couple hundred miles away. What do I think? I don’t have time to think. All I know is I see good people helping other good people. Your methods may seem a little odd, what with your shaved heads and all, but that don’t change the fact that you’re caring for folks who didn’t have anyone else to do it. I, for one, appreciate that and thank you for it.”

  Neri smiled. “You’re more than welcome, Sheriff.”

  “Grant,” he said.

  “Beg pardon?”

  Wickham looked up again with a smile of his own. “Grant. That’s my name. No need for all that ‘Sheriff’ business. Least in private like this.”

  Neri admired his strong jawline and the hint of a dimple on his cheek. Her heart fluttered briefly and she worked to control her grin as she held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Grant.”

  He took it after quickly wiping his palm on a pant leg, his fingers warm against hers. “Likewise, Neri.” He let go and stood up, clearing his throat and grabbing his hat in the process. “Let me know what you find out from Miss Matson either way. I’ll use the ride back to town to figure out how to explain the situation to her father.”

  Neri stood as well and showed him to the door. Outside, the sheriff’s horse stamped its foot and pulled its lead taut from the makeshift hitching post they’d erected a few months ago, just beyond the front porch. Gasoline was too precious to use for anything but emergencies and Wyoming had no shortage of horses. “You take care and enjoy your ride. Looks like it’s shaping up to be a fine day,” Neri said, glancing up at the cloudless sky.

  Grant tipped his hat and descended the three steps off the porch. He undid the lead and mounted in one fluid motion, turning his horse toward the gate at the edge of the gravel driveway. Neri stood in the doorway and watched as he encouraged the horse into a trot as they left her property. She had considered revealing her morning’s vision to him, but thought better of it. Sheriff Wickham had plenty of other things to worry about without adding that possible horror to his list.

  Maureen came up behind her. “That’s a mighty fine animal.”

  Neri chuckled. “And the horse ain’t bad neither.” They shared a laugh and Neri turned to embrace Maureen.

  “You could do much worse for yourself than that one,” Maureen said after they parted.

  Neri shook her head, recalling the terrors she’d witnessed in her mirror. “No time for that. Where’s Ellie? Girl and I need to have a talk.”

  “I think she and Kenzie were tending to the chickens this morning. I’ll find her and send her in.”

  “Thanks,” Neri said as Maureen stepped off the porch and strode around the house and out of sight. Neri turned and went back up to her room. She took off the robe and carefully hung it back in her closet. The sheriff’s visit troubled her on a number of levels, not the least of which were some unfamiliar romantic feelings his presence had stirred up. Neri had never thought of him in that light before— hadn’t thought of anyone that way since she’d moved west after her mama had passed. How could she even consider having a relationship after what she had seen in her mirror? As bad as the world had been the past year, it was about to get worse. She had to prepare. Neri had people counting on her for help.

  One of those people was Ellie Matson. The girl had looked a fright as she stumbled through the front gate two days before. Her distress had been clear and real when Neri had briefly interviewed her and accepted her into the home. Sheriff Wickham— Grant, Neri reminded herself— considered Ellie’s father to be a good man, yet Neri had encountered many men in her short life who put on a pleasing face out in public, only to strip away that mask in front of their families and allow their true natures to roam free. She knew a tough path lay ahead convincing Grant to look beyond the civilized exterior Ellie’s father presented the world.

  Neri heard a soft knock at her door, which she’d left slightly ajar. She turned to see Ellie’s bright green eyes peeking through the narrow gap. “Come in,” Neri said with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be scared.”

  Ellie pushed the door open just enough to sl
ip through and stood in front of it. She reached up for a lock of hair that was no longer there and startled herself when her fingers came away empty.

  Neri smiled. “I had mine in tight braids with beads I loved to play with. I miss them sometimes, but I got used to it.” She gestured to the bed. “Please, sit down.”

  Ellie nodded and sat on the corner of the bed. Her gaze skipping around the room like a bird’s caught in a cage. “Did I do something wrong, ma’am?”

  “No. I just want to talk for a minute,” Neri pulled her stool over and sat in front of Ellie, letting the girl have the high ground to put her more at ease. “How are you getting on with the others?”

  “Just fine, ma’am.”

  “Oh, hush with the ‘ma’am’ talk. If my mama were here, God rest her soul, you could call her ‘ma’am’. I’m Neri. Okay?” Ellie replied with a stiff nod. “I imagine the girls have some strange stories to tell about me,” Neri said with a grin.

  Ellie’s delicate, brown eyebrows shot up. “Oh! No, ma’am— uh, Neri.”

  Neri placed a hand on Ellie’s knee. “It’s all right. You got nothing to fear from me. It’s true I can do some unusual things, but I do them for our benefit.”

  Ellie nodded again, but remained silent.

  “Now that you’ve had a couple days to get settled, I wanted to find out more about your pa— your father.”

  She shifted on the bed and looked away. “Like what? Does this have to do with the sheriff comin’ round?”

  “Y’all saw him?”

  “One of the girls did. Me and Kenzie heard them talking about it. Wondering why he was here.”

  Neri nodded. “In a way it does have to do with him. I need to assure the sheriff this is the best place for you. To do that, I need to get the whole story about what happened before you came.” Neri reached back and retrieved her knife from the table. She gave Ellie’s knee a gentle squeeze with her other hand as the girl stiffened. “Just relax. It’s for me.” Neri brandished her arm to highlight her collection of thin scars. “I use my blood to make magic. Right now, what I want to do is find out what your father did, but without you having to go through remembering the pain. I can see it through your eyes, live your memories, and you won’t feel a thing.”