The Devil Next Door

28

Ray Hansel was just leaving Bob Moreland’s office at the Greenlawn Police Station when he saw the woman coming up the stairs. Under ordinary circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have paid much attention. It was a police station, after all, and people tended to come and go at such places. Particularly today where there was a constant stream of visitors… some were out of their heads and went straight to lock up; most were just normal, or nearly, normal and scared and worried. They came in to report assaults and arson and even a few murders, but mostly it was just to report missing family and friends or neighbors that were just acting a bit off.

But the woman Hansel saw was not one of them.

He shut the door to Moreland’s office—where they had just decided that it might be a good idea to call together an emergency meeting of the city council because what they were looking at was civil unrest—and he saw her step into the corridor. What drew his attention to her was the fact that she was wearing only a bathrobe, a ratty old terricloth thing that was dirty and dusty with strings of cobwebs stuck to the collar and sleeves like maybe she’d been hiding out in an attic. Her face was pale, terribly pale, her hair teased into a great rat’s nest. And her eyes were like black holes burned into her face.

“Ma’am?” Hansel said, his hand instinctively going for the butt of the bluesteel Beretta 9mm in his holster. It did this automatically without any help from him. “Can I help you?”

She took two steps forward, moving with an odd mechanical cadence, not seeming to see or hear Hansel. Her attention was focused on Moreland’s door with such intensity that it was almost scary.

Hansel stepped in her path. “Ma’am?” he said.

She turned and looked at him and snarled like she’d been scalded.

Her hand came out of the deep pocket of her gown and there was a seven-inch carving knife in it. Without hesitation, she slashed at Hansel with it, going right for his throat. He ducked away and grabbed her arm before she had a chance to repeat the maneuver. She screamed and fought, but he got her off balance and tripped her up. She dropped the knife and immediately went after him.

“Need some help out here!” he called out as she scratched and kicked at him.

Two cops came running from an office down the corridor and took hold of her, pulling her off Hansel and throwing her to the floor. She landed with a thud, rolling over, and coming up on all fours like a dog ready to bite. Her bathrobe was wide open, her pasty white breasts on display. Her teeth were clenched, a rope of saliva hanging off her chin, black and leering eyes darting from man to man.

“Okay, lady,” Hansel said. “Just take it easy, we’re not going to hurt you.”

She made a hissing sound, blowing air through her teeth. Her face was contorted, deranged, and there was no getting around the fact that she needed to be put in restraints. There was something blatantly vicious about her and Hansel was certain she would have sunk her teeth in his throat given the chance.

One of the cops took out his Mace and she charged him.

He never even got his finger on the button.

He was a big boy, outweighing her by an easy hundred pounds, yet she struck him with such force that all he had time to do was cry out as she slammed into him, knocking him flat. His partner grabbed her around the throat with an armlock and she came alive in a loose, writhing mass, head whipping from side to side, spit spraying from her mouth. She jumped up in his grip, kicking back with both feet and catching him in the shins, her splintered nails laying his arm open. He released her with a gasp and she seized his arm and sank her teeth right into it. He screamed a high and whining sound and Hansel saw the blood well from where her mouth was attached to his arm.

Then she turned on Hansel himself.

Her teeth snapping, her chin smeared red, she came right at him and he brought down his gun, butt-first, catching her right between the eyes. The impact knocked her back and she spun around in a crazy circle, hissing and shrieking, and then just collapsed, out cold.

“Holy shit,” Hansel said.

The cop with the bitten arm let his partner drag him down to the first aid station, leaving Hansel alone with the unconscious woman. She was breathing hard, her bathrobe hooked up around her waist, legs splayed in opposite directions. Catching his breath, Hansel pulled out his handcuffs and kneeled beside her. One eye was open and staring, a metallic gleam to it; the other was closed. He took hold of her left arm and the flesh was hot and greasy feeling. He snapped a cuff on it and as he was about to put the other on, Moreland appeared.

“Oh, my Christ,” he said.

Hansel lifted her and snapped the other cuff on her, breathing easier when it was done with. He couldn’t stand the feel of her beneath his hands, her flesh feverish and moist, almost reptilian in its slipperiness. He looked down at the one eye and it reminded him of the eye of a jungle snake, flat and predatory.

“She was heading right for your office, Bob,” he said. “She had a knife.”

Moreland just stared dumbly.

“You better get that council together, Bob,” he breathed. “We need people in here. The mayor can give the governor a jingle, I’m thinking. We need bodies in here. National Guard and maybe the CDC out of Atlanta. This goes on, we’ll have a fucking revolution by tonight. You hearing me, Bob? We need martial law here.”

That’s what came pouring out of Ray Hansel’s mouth, even though he knew none of the above was remotely practical. Knee-jerk, that’s what it was. Whole state was going crazy, governor wouldn’t give a high hot shit about goddamn Greenlawn.

But Moreland was oblivious to anything he was saying. He kept staring at the woman sprawled on the floor. Hansel did not like what was in his eyes.

“Bob… Bob, do you know her?” he asked.

Moreland slowly nodded his head. “Yes… yes, I do. It’s my wife…”

Hansel swallowed.

And then downstairs, the screaming started…