Pandemonium

“I have to start from the beginning,” I said. “When Del was possessed.” She started to say something, and I charged on. “I don’t know how it happened, but after your son was possessed, somehow you got me to stay. And your son, Del—”

“Stop talking like that,” she said angrily. One eye glistened with tears; the other regarded me coldly. “Why are you talking about yourself like that?”

“This is the story you have to hear,” I said. “When your son was five years old, he was possessed by a demon. And the demon decided to stay.”

When the Little Angel bent to kiss Bobby Noon, I braced myself. I don’t know what I expected, exactly: a long roar as the Black Well yawned open and sucked me back to my birthplace, or maybe a simple blackout as my connection to the world was extinguished. Instead, we three demons looked at the old man and then at one another. Then the Little Angel climbed down from the bed and skipped out of the room. The Boy Marvel went to Bobby’s bedside and knelt there, distraught. He’d failed his most important duty. I went to O’Connell. She was conscious now, but not quite coherent. She looked at me questioningly, and all I said was, “We have to go.”

The police didn’t try to stop the Truth from leaving in his car—

they weren’t that stupid. One cop did call out to me as I walked out supporting O’Connell. I told him to step back and he obeyed. I helped O’Connell into the truck and drove back out to the highway. We passed the fire engines a minute later. The smoke from the burning farmhouse stayed in my rearview mirror for miles, a black tornado against blue sky.

O’Connell’s jaw was as purpled as my chest. Later she realized that she’d lost a tooth and loosened two others. Her first words, after a half hour of driving, were slightly fuzzed. She said, “Is the old man dead?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why are you still here?”

“I don’t know.”

She leaned against the window, closed her eyes. She’d succeeded, and failed completely.

“I thought he was the key,” she said in a cracked voice. “I thought if he died, then the demons would die with him. A few of them at least.” She looked out the windshield at the flat Kansas skyline. “Just the cohort, that handful of demons, they ruined hundreds of lives. Thousands. Stopping just them, that would have been worth something, wouldn’t it?”

“Do you want me to take you to a hospital?” I asked. She shook her head. “Jesus, no.”

After that she stayed on the other side of the cab, head leaning against the window, not talking. Maybe she was afraid of me. When we stopped for gas, she went inside while I filled the tank. I used my credit card at the pump, not caring anymore if the police were trying to track my movements. They had Dr. Ram’s killer. Or at least a person who had confessed to it. The pay phone outside the station had a dial tone. I fished through my wallet for the water-rumpled Hyatt card. The ink had run and blurred, but I could make out the number. I got out my calling card and started punching numbers.

A woman answered. “Hi,” I said, trying to sound normal. “Is this Selena?”

“Ye-es,” she said cautiously.

“This is Del Pierce. We met a couple of weeks ago, at ICOP?”

“Of course I remember.” Her tone was cool. Maybe the police had talked to them. Tom and Selena had told them about my rant against Dr. Ram. I was just some drunk guy they’d met at a convention. Who knows what I was capable of? She said, “How are you doing?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Listen, I’d like to talk to Valis—Phil. Mr. Dick. Is he there?”