The Devil Inside

CHAPTER 18

No brilliant inspirations struck me while I slept, and I woke up on Monday morning with no better idea what to do than I’d had when I collapsed into bed Sunday night. A long, hot shower and three cups of terrible coffee with fake cream failed to produce a solution out of thin air.

It wasn’t like I had any investigative skills. By the time I’m pulled into a case, the demon has already been captured and convicted. Even if I’d had skills, Lugh was right about how few my resources were. I mean, my house with all my worldly goods had burned to the ground just a few days ago. I hadn’t even begun to dig myself out of that mess. I suppose I needed to make sure I’d be alive in a week or so before I tried to rebuild my life.

It didn’t leave me with many options.

Not to mention, there was still a murder charge hanging over my head. I checked in with my lawyer’s office, just to let her know I hadn’t skipped town.

After I got off the phone with my lawyer, I called Brian again. I tried him at his office, but he hadn’t gotten in yet. I left another message, giving him Val’s cell number. Yeah, I know it was stupid to give him the phone number of someone who’d been murdered yesterday, but I was too paranoid to give him the hotel number.

Still no brilliant plans.

I flipped on the TV, more because I wanted some background noise than because I actually wanted to watch anything that was on at nine in the morning.

God conspired against me so that as soon as the TV was on, the screen filled with Adam’s handsome face. My throat tightened.

He was standing at a podium, a forest of microphones in front of him. Special Report, said the top left corner of the screen. Across the bottom of the screen, a headline scrolled: Director of Special Forces, Adam White, accused of murder.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, wishing I could make everything go away.

“Do you have any hard feelings toward your men for giving credence to the accusation?” one of the reporters asked.

“Not at all,” Adam said. His deep voice and good looks gave good TV. “They were only doing their job. I’d have been upset with them if they hadn’t been thorough. I’m not above the law. My only hard feelings are for whoever placed that call.”

Those hot caramel eyes stared directly into the camera, seeming to look through it straight at me.

“I promise you, the perpetrator will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

I swallowed hard, instinct telling me it wouldn’t be the law that prosecuted me but Adam himself.

The cell phone rang. I muted the TV but wasn’t able to tear my eyes from the screen as I fumbled the phone open, praying it was Brian.

“Hello?” I said.

“Morgan, Morgan, where is your head, little girl?”

I shot to my feet, wishing I’d checked the number before I’d answered. “What do you want, Andrew?”

“Take a few mental leaps with me, dear sister. You called in a complaint to the police yesterday on Valerie’s cell phone. The police investigated your claim and found it was a hoax. Adam White is now hell-bent on arresting you. And you’re still carrying the cell phone. Should I give you a lesson in modern technology?”

I stifled a groan. Yes, I was a moron. But I wasn’t used to being on the run, hadn’t thought things through that far. Of course the police would be able to trace the cell phone. They could be converging on me any moment.

I started shoving my few belongings back in shopping bags, holding the cell phone to my ear with my shoulder. Yes, I should have hung up immediately and run for the hills, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Why are you calling me, Andrew? Why do you care?”

He chuckled. “Let’s just say it would be inconvenient for everyone involved if you were arrested and they revoked your bail. So get your ass out of wherever you are and dump the phone. And don’t worry, sis-I’ll still be able to find you when I need you.”

He hung up then, which was just as well or I’d probably have wasted more time cussing him out.

I was out of my room within five minutes, but I took the cell phone with me. I didn’t want to lead the police to the room, where they’d find my fingerprints all over the place and know for sure I was the one who’d placed the call. I turned it off and removed its battery, hoping that would be enough to stop the police from homing in on it.

A police car pulled into the hotel parking lot as my cab pulled out. I held my breath, but the police didn’t come screaming after us. I had the driver take me to Front Street — so named because it fronts the Delaware River. I got out, then tried to look inconspicuous as I did my best to wipe every fingerprint off the phone and its battery, then tossed both in the river.

My head started hurting as I wandered aimlessly along the riverfront, trying to figure out what my next step was. I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, “Cut it out, Lugh. You gave me twenty-four hours, remember?” The headache went away, but it had been an effective reminder.

I found a pay phone and called Brian, talking to his voice mail again. I told him to ignore the number I’d given him before. I wished like hell he’d just pick up the phone. I longed for him in ways I’d never imagined I could.

I took a bus back into Center City and bought a prepaid phone. I worried that Adam with his police resources might still be able to trace it to me. But my delusion that I’d be able to take care of myself was fraying around the edges.

I felt so desperate, I actually considered calling my mom and asking for her help. Luckily, I had a few more functioning brain cells than that. My mom claims she loves me despite my copious flaws, but she practically worships golden boy Andrew. She’d turn me over to him in a heartbeat, wouldn’t even consider the possibility that he might not be the Dalai Lama, Jesus Christ, and Mother Teresa all rolled into one.

At around three o’clock, I tried Brian yet again. And got his voice mail, yet again. For some reason, that bothered me, and I called the main office number. The receptionist told me Brian hadn’t been in all day and that he hadn’t called in sick. Everyone was worried about him.

I was worried about him, too. I assured the receptionist that I’d go over to his condo and make sure he wasn’t lying unconscious-or worse-on the floor.

All my keys were buried somewhere in the rubble that had once been my house, but I had a spare set at my office. I didn’t like going there, where people who wanted me dead might expect me to go, but I didn’t think I had a whole lot of choice.

“Hey, Lugh?” I whispered as I walked, hoping people on the street would think I was talking into a cell phone. “Can you let me know if you see anyone or anything that should worry me when I get near the office?”

My answer was a brief stab of pain through my eyeball. Lovely. I took that as a yes and tried not to scare the crap out of myself by thinking about being able to communicate with him while I was conscious.

No headaches battered at me as I approached my office. Didn’t stop me from constantly looking over my shoulder and starting at shadows.

Of course, with my keys lost, I had to find a custodian to open my office for me. The delay made me twitchy, but eventually I tracked someone down to let me in.

I made a beeline for my pencil drawer. I’d yanked it open and grabbed my spare set of keys before I noticed the padded manila envelope that sat on my chair.

It shouldn’t have been there. When I’m not in the office, my deliveries go to the mailroom downstairs. And no one but the custodial staff had keys to my office.

Nervously, I upended the envelope onto my desk. A videocassette and a sheet of paper fell out.

The note was short and to the point: Morgan. When you’ve watched this tape, call me on my cell phone. Andrew.

Words can’t describe how much I didn’t want to see whatever was on this tape. Unfortunately, not watching wasn’t an option.

I didn’t have a VCR in my office, and of course I didn’t have a home to go to. But Brian’s place was only a couple of blocks away. I hoped I’d let myself in and find out he was home sick and just hadn’t bothered to call his office to let them know.

I wasn’t holding my breath.

By the time I let myself into Brian’s condo, my knees were literally knocking, and my stomach was in turmoil. I wondered if I was on the way to a nervous breakdown, then sternly told myself I couldn’t afford a nervous breakdown.

Brian wasn’t home, and there were a gazillion messages on his answering machine. Looked like he hadn’t been home in a while. I looked at the tape in my hand and prayed it wasn’t what I thought it was.

My hands shook when I stuffed it into Brian’s VCR and hit play.

Static for a moment. Then the picture I’d been dreading.

He was chained to a wall, hands above his head, a ball gag stuffed into his mouth. They’d stripped him down to his tightie-whities and shackled his ankles together.

The wall he was chained to was of old-looking, rough stone blocks, no doubt to give the room its dungeon—cum—torture chamber atmosphere. There were plenty of other sets of chains hanging from those walls. The camera panned to show a collection of whips that would put Adam’s to shame, then a brazier holding a set of glowing irons, then something that looked like it might actually be a genuine rack.

When the camera panned back to Brian, he wasn’t alone anymore. A cloaked and hooded figure stood in front of him, weaving a scalpel dextrously through his fingers. Brian watched the show with wide, scared eyes.

I was shaking my head, hand clamped over my mouth to contain my scream of pain and outrage.

The hooded figure smiled into the camera and stopped playing with the scalpel. He stepped toward Brian. I tried to brace myself, knowing what I was about to see, knowing I should just stop the tape now, knowing I couldn’t.

He removed the gag, letting Brian suck in a few frantic gasps of air. But he hadn’t removed it for any humanitarian purpose. He’d removed it so I could hear the man I loved scream when that scalpel sliced through his pectoral muscle.

I screamed, too, hoping my hand over my mouth was deadening the sound so the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops. Blood dripped down Brian’s chest and belly, hitting the waistband of his briefs, then soaking in. His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched, trying not to make any more noise. But he screamed anyway when the torturer sliced again.

I wanted to hurl myself into the TV, magically transport myself across time and space to save Brian. The feeling of helplessness was a crushing weight on my chest and shoulders.

The torturer faced the camera again. All I could see of his face behind the hood were a pair of blue eyes with darkened pupils and his thin lips, raised in a smile. He was enjoying himself. My gorge rose, but I forced it back down. I’d go puke my guts out in a minute. First, I had to see this through to the end.

“This was just a small taste,” the hooded man said, his voice digitally altered. Another hooded man came into view in the background to shove the gag back into Brian’s mouth.

“Cooperate, and that will be his last. As you can see, we are wearing hoods so he can’t see our faces. We have no reason not to release him when you follow our instructions.”

The picture fuzzed to static. It was over.

I sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Puking two days in a row when I wasn’t sick was a new experience for me. Can’t say as I was overly fond of it.

My mind kept trying to rebel, trying to say “No More! Enough! Just STOP it!” For a minute there, I seriously doubted my sanity. Anger made a feeble attempt to come to my rescue, but I was just too fucking terrified to go with it.

They had Brian. They’d hurt Brian! I’d desperately tried to protect him, and this is what happened. I wanted to scream, break things, curl up in a little ball and die.

But none of that would help Brian. I had to get him back. It was too late to keep him safe, but I was going to save him. Or die trying.

I had a sneaking suspicion the latter was more likely.

When I was stable enough to manage it, I grabbed the nearest phone and sat down. I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me if I tried standing up for this call.

I dialed Andrew’s cell phone number, hating him more than I’d ever hated anyone in my life. More than I’d imagined it was possible to hate someone.

He answered on the second ring.

“If I ever get my hands on you,” I said in response to his cheerful greeting, “I’m going to castrate you with a butter knife.”

“That would be a neat trick if you could manage it. I don’t think Andrew would enjoy it very much, though.”

I stifled a sob. “Andrew invited you into this world, you son of a bitch, so he can go straight to hell right with you. Where’s Brian?”

Raphael laughed. “What, you think it’s going to be that easy?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Raphael. I don’t care if I have to come back from the dead to do it, but I’m going to make you pay.”

“Would you like to discuss the terms for Brian’s release, or would you prefer to continue hurling invective? I have plenty of time, so by all means hurl away. You’re quite entertaining.”

Pain stabbed through my head, making me gasp. It went away almost immediately. I had a feeling it had been unintentional, that Raphael was getting Lugh’s goat almost as much as he was getting mine. I didn’t want either one of us to give him that much satisfaction.

“Everything all right over there?” Raphael asked with a good imitation of polite concern.

I wished I had a zippy, smart-ass comment, something to prove that I wasn’t scared of him. Maybe if I wasn’t so scared of him, I could have thought of one.

“Just tell me what I have to do to get you to let him go.”

“It’s very simple, Morgan. A trade. You for him.”

Nothing but what I’d expected. Still my stomach clenched with dread. “You want me to turn myself in so you can burn me to death.”

His voice when he answered was almost gentle. “Not very appealing, I know. But your other choice is to leave him to our mercies. We’ll send you a new video every day. I’ll oversee it myself, make sure he isn’t hurt enough to kill him. If his pain doesn’t move you after a week or two, we can add some sexual molestation to the mix, see if that motivates you to change your mind.”

“You motherfucking son of a-”

The phone clicked off. Hands shaking with fear and rage, I hit redial. He answered on the first ring this time.

“From now on, you’ll speak to me with respect. That outburst will cost Brian another day of fun and games in our dungeon.”

“Raphael-”

“You’ll receive another video tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll find it most entertaining.”

“Please-”

“When twenty-four hours have passed, you may call me again and we will have a civilized discussion of your terms of surrender.”

He hung up again. This time when I hit redial, my call went straight to voice mail.