Hands of Lucifer

======= THE BOOK =======

It all began with the book—a curious volume of ancient spells and strange incantations.

======= NICOLE =======

She had no money, no love, no prospects. She felt she had reached her darkest hour, so what harm could the dusty book do?

======== THE GIFTS =======

Suddenly, her lover returned, more passionate than ever; her finances improved dramatically; and she was offered a new and challenging job. Her world was bright…until she learned the terrible penalty for dabbling in the dark arts. Unless she could free herself from the hideous demon she had summoned, she would writhe for all eternity clutched in the…

PACT WITH THE DEVIL

“To achieve the best magic possible, the practitioner should perform this and all rites in the nude.”

Nicole stepped out of the circle, careful not to smudge the powder lines. Quickly undressing, she re-entered the circle, holding the book. She strained her eyes to read the small print in the flickering candle light.

She waited. It was now that the book indicated that the summoned one should appear. She continued waiting. Where was he? Had she done something incorrectly in performing the rite?

Glancing at the book, she saw that one more sentence remained.

“I promise Thee, O great and mighty Lucifer, to reward Thee in whatever way Thou see fit, if my request for the love of Myles Lawrence is granted and given unto me this night.”

The clock on the shelf above the TV set struck three times …

Also by John Tigges:

UNTO THE ALTAR

KISS NOT THE CHILD

EVIL DREAMS

THE IMMORTAL GARDEN OF THE INCUBUS

For Reiko and Carey

The two neatest “outlaw” in-laws in the world.

A LEISURE BOOK Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc. 6 East 39th Street New York, NY 10016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

Printed in the United States of America

PART ONE

“I Conjure Thee …”

Thursday, September 4, 1986 to

Friday, September 19, 1986

“The sleep of reason produces monsters.”

Goya

Thursday, September 4, 1986 12:58 A.M.

Nicole Kilton reached out, turning on the lamp next to her bed. Although the light had been out for only a few minutes, she nevertheless blinked, quickly readjusting her eyes to the brightness. Myles Lawrence remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt off. Nothing else had changed since she had undressed, gotten into bed and turned out the lights.

“Myles?” she asked quietly. Something was wrong. She had sensed it ever since he had arrived around midnight. She felt his preoccupation while they watched part of the late movie on television. Now that she thought about it, he also had seemed tense during the late newscast, on which he served as anchorman. His normal, relaxed air had been missing during his portion of the program but she had not thought anything of it at the time.

But now his peculiar way of acting seemed to bring everything into focus. She and Myles had dated long enough to enable her to read his emotions, his feelings, his reactions—without him uttering a word.

There had been times when she wondered if it were because she was so astute at that sort of thing or if Myles were that transparent. She doubted the latter and questioned the former. If she was ever to get her Masters degree in psychology and be of any worth as a psychiatrist’s assistant, she would need the ability to evaluate people’s states of mind and help them to a clearer understanding of their problems. But that wouldn’t happen for a while—not until she had enough money saved to return to graduate school. The money from her parents’ estate had supported her and paid for her college education. With that money gone, she was on her own and was scared to take out a sizable loan for further tuition. Her advanced education would have to wait a while longer, at least until she saved the necessary funds.

Where Myles and she were concerned, she only hoped she wasn’t practicing on him, trying to understand his motivations without allowing him to explain. That would hardly be fair to either of them.

Myles acknowledged her with a grunt but said nothing.

“That’s hardly the response I would expect from a TV news anchorman,” she said lightly, inching her way toward him. When her bare breasts touched his arm, he stood, moving away from the bed as if repelled by her nearness. He walked to the window and peeped through the Venetian blinds at the dark outside.

Something indeed was bothering him. Nicole quickly replayed the evening. They had kissed when he arrived shortly before midnight, then had eaten a sandwich that Nicole usually had prepared for his arrival after the eleven o’clock news. They had begun watching the late movie on KSLL-TV, Myles’ station, but he had fidgeted and she had picked up on his sense of uneasiness. She should have realized then that something was wrong.

“You’d feel better if you talked about it, Myles.” She worked her way to the edge of the bed, reaching for her robe. After she had slipped into it, she turned to the mirrored wall behind her bed, fluffing her hair. She had been ready for sex when they prepared to retire. Once she had gone to bed, she had expected him to join her within seconds. Now the mood had evaporated, destroyed by his refusal to talk.

He turned to face her, a look of relief crossing his face when he saw her tying the sash of her nylon robe. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said softly. When she took a step toward him, he retreated to the window until his back rattled the blind.

Nicole felt as if she had the plague or some horrible disfigurement that suddenly drove him from her. “Talk to me, Myles. Please?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“Hurt me?” She almost swallowed the words. How could he hurt her? “I don’t understand.”

“I … I want to break up. I …” He stopped, unable to continue—or perhaps playing the moment for all it was worth to see how she would react.

“Break … break up? Why? I thought we had something good going. Something that …”

“That’s just it. I don’t want anything ‘good going’ right now, to use your words. I’m only twenty-seven. I want to get out and live—a lot. I didn’t really mean for the two of us to get so deeply involved. But …” His voice faded.

“But we did,” she completed softly. She studied him for a long moment. Myles was handsome in a broad sense of the word. He could easily have been a male model or done major commercials for national television or, had he so desired, become an actor, who in time would have had teenage girls wild about him. His square jaw, at first glance, seemed almost too wide for the rest of his face but it instantly conformed, complimenting the steady blue eyes and black hair that bordered his face. His long, thin nose was virtually unnoticeable despite the tip, which he maintained was too long. There was absolutely nothing about him that didn’t fit.

No matter how he tried to cover his emotions, his feelings were advertised by his eyes. No matter what he felt, his eyes told the truth, and Nicole could see he truly did feel bad.

“You feel rotten, and yet you’re willing to put yourself and me through something like this?” She turned, walking back to the bed, catching her reflection in the mirror again. Scowling, she dropped onto the chest that sat at the foot of the bed and faced him. “Is there someone else?”

The words rung hollowly in her ears. Where had that thought come from? Why would she suspect something like that? A question like that went along with insecurity and jealousy. Was she either? Could she be both?

Myles took several steps toward her but stopped. He shook his head. “It … it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I’ve practically moved in here with you. We see each other every day. Every night. It’s as if we were married, and I don’t want to be a husband—not yet, at least. Not for a long while. I wouldn’t be doing you any favors if we did get married.”

Nicole frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I haven’t done everything that I want to do yet. As a single person.”

Was that it? She quickly regained her composure. Perhaps he was doing her a favor if that were the case. Why run the risk of marriage only to have him get a bad case of marital wanderlust and then—what? Divorce? “I suppose you mean … other women?” She swallowed, waiting for his answer.

He looked up. “That’s part of it, I guess. I want to travel around and see the country. I’ve been working for three years since I got out of school, and I sure hope that the end of the road for me isn’t here in a college town, reporting the news at a small, second-rate UHF station. I’ve got more ambition than that.”

Nicole struggled with a tear tickling the corner of her eye, fighting for a life of its own. She had felt her face flush the instant she had heard the words “break up” but had managed to control her emotions thus far. Wasn’t that part of being a psychologist? She would have to learn that type of control. Control her emotions. Be in control of everything. Be calculating. Make the right decisions—not only for herself but for anyone who came to her for help. Would that much power—power over herself and others—make for happiness? Perhaps it would, in her chosen line of work if she ever attained that goal. But she doubted that it would where her personal life was concerned. She had thought of applying for graduate work last spring but had held off for financial reasons. She knew for the most part that people in the field of psychology and psychiatry were able to keep other people’s problems from bothering them. At least, they weren’t supposed to be affected.

But Damnit! This was her problem. She was the one being handed a platter of crap from the guy she loved. At twenty-four, she had thought well enough of herself and Myles as a couple to believe that their relationship would blossom into full-blown love and eventually culminate in marriage. She snorted a derisive laugh and broke into tears.

Myles looked up, startled. “Are you all right?” He took another step toward her.

“No, damnit! No, I’m not all right,” she cried, standing and grasping for support at the dresser, on top of which her collection of dolls wiggled and danced about, threatening to spill to the floor. But she caught herself and the impromptu dance by the toys stopped as suddenly as it had started. An antique Little Orphan Annie doll’s head bobbed back and forth in diminishing gestures. “Myles, I love you. I thought you loved me. It’s … it’s just … just so damned shocking. So unexpected. I … I never once …” She felt her body trembling and roughly shook her head. Her soft, wavy brown hair flew outward, falling back in place when she stopped.

“I … I think I understand,” he said lamely. “You’re a super person. Sweet. Kind. Intelligent. Lov …”

“Oh, can it, Myles.” She sobbed, fighting desperately to control the tears but nothing worked. “I … I don’t need a letter of recommendation to survive this.”

He dropped his head, moving toward the foot of the bed where his shirt lay draped over the edge, half on the floor. He slipped into it and awkwardly fumbled with the buttons.

Nicole watched him through her tears, his figure slithering in the watery view. When he finished, he stood there, watching her for a full minute in silence.

His nostrils flared before he spoke. “Will you be all right?”

“Of course not. I’ll probably cry the whole night. What do you care?” She wiped her face with both hands. “I love you, Myles Lawrence. I want you … I want you to be with me forever. As my husband. One day, we will be together.”

“You’re making that sound almost like a threat,” he said quietly.

“It’s no threat. It’s a … a statement of fact. You can rest assured that no matter what you do, you’ll always be in my thoughts. I won’t give up.”

“I think you might be saying things you don’t mean.”

“Go on, Myles. Get out of here. But go with the thought you can come back any time you want. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He moved toward her. She didn’t back away when he gently grasped her by the arms. “If we’re meant to be together, we’ll one day be husband and wife. I don’t want you doing anything foolish.”

“Foolish?” She almost screamed the word, wrenching from his hands. “I hope you don’t think that I’d hurt myself in some way over this. That’s the farthest thing from my mind. In fact, the sooner you get out of here, the quicker I … I can get to planning on how to get you back. I … I will get you back, you know?” She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms, doing everything possible to maintain some degree of calmness.

“Look here, Nicole, the last thing I need at this point in my life is someone chasing after me, making life miserable by always being wherever I happen to be. I mean …”

“You’re flattering yourself, Myles. I’ll get you back but I won’t embarrass you … or me. I promise you that.” She looked at him, just as his expression of apprehension was replaced by a look of relief. His eyes softened, a relaxing coolness taking over.

“I believe you. I should go. I … I’ll see you around … sometime.”

He turned, leaving the bedroom. She watched him go down the short hallway past the living room to the front door. Opening it, he hesitated for an instant and then left without looking back.

Rooted to the spot. Nicole felt the wave of nausea come like a splash of hot water. She ran to the bathroom, falling to her knees just in time, the stream of vomit choking her in its intense desire to quit her body. Coughing and spitting, she managed to bring herself under control. Wiping her face on a washcloth, she relished in its relief. Then, she returned to the bedroom.

For a split second she felt tempted to dress and run after him, but quickly decided that that was the wrong tack at this time. She would win Myles back, but not that way. She only hoped her absence in his life would prove to be as devastating to him as his would be to her.

She sat down on the bed, slipping the robe from her shoulders. She caught the reflection of her body’s profile in the mirrors that formed the headboard for her bed. Her large breasts proudly jutted out, denying her own sinking sense of defeat. Turning to face her image, she managed a wry smile. Her tear-reddened eyes matched her flushed complexion. She looked a mess but didn’t care. Lying back across the bed, she wiped her face with both hands. There had to be something she could do—but what? How did one go about winning back a reluctant love?

But was Myles actually reluctant? Or was he giving her a routine to simply be rid of her? She doubted that very much. Myles and she had had a good relationship—at least she had thought it had been good. No matter what it had been before, she would make certain that the relationship—a quality relationship-would come about again. She and Myles Lawrence would be together again—soon!

Sitting up, she saw herself in the mirrors again, and an ironic smile crossed her round face. She stood, moving to the dressing table. When she had seated herself, she peered into its mirror, staring deeply into her own eyes.

“So,” she said aloud, addressing the tear-streaked face staring back at her, “how do I go about getting him back? What do I do?”

She sat for a long while, studying herself, and then slowly stood. Picking up her brush, she vigorously ran it through her hair. Satisfied the tangles had been taken out and that her hair could be cared for in a quick manner the next morning, she slipped between the cool sheets.

How much time had elapsed since she had gotten into bed earlier? Glancing at the alarm clock, she winced. It was a little after two. They had turned off the TV set before the movie ended and had gone to the bedroom. Then Myles had dropped his bomb. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he first broached the subject of breaking up, and here it was still early enough for her to get a good night’s sleep.

She turned off the light after making certain the alarm clock was set and lay on her back, staring into the inky blackness that embraced her and the room. There had to be a way. There simply had to be a way to win back Myles. The last thing in the world she ever thought she would have to do was plot to win back a lost love. But what was she to do? She loved Myles —more than anything or anyone in her entire life.

Nicole turned over on her side and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come easily, and the last time she looked it was almost four in the morning before she managed to drop off.

She opened her eyes. Where was she? It was dark. Black. She couldn’t see anything. How long had she slept? It seemed like hours had passed since … What had happened? Something that had been almost traumatic …

Myles? Where was Myles? She groped next to her. Sitting up, Nicole fumbled for the bedside lamp switch. Plunging the room into light, she blinked. What time was it? How long had she been asleep? She focused on the digital numbers until the blue blurs became hard, fast lines. Four forty-five. It had to be later than that. It just had to be. If time were going to pass that slowly for her, it would take a millenium for her to age a year.

She had dreamt. About Myles. Myles running away from her on a desert plain of some sort. There was nothing else. Nothing as far as she could see—except the diminishing figure of Myles Lawrence as he moved quickly away from her toward the distant horizon.

Nicole found herself crying when she recalled the dream. Crying—for no reason at all. No reason? There certainly was a reason. Myles! Myles had walked out last night—away from her and out of her life. He said he didn’t want to be committed to anything permanent at the present time. She now wondered why he hadn’t said “at this point in time,” like he would have on one of his television newscasts. She hated that expression—useless words that said practically nothing.

What time had she fallen asleep? She remembered looking at the alarm in the dark when it was three fifty-one. Now it was four fifty-six. Had she slept less than an hour? Less than one hour? If she averaged that much, she could devote over twenty-three hours a day to reclaiming Myles’ love and affection.

She lay back on the bed. Why had he left? He had started to say something about how great she was—what a nice person or some such drivel. Way down, deep inside, she felt there was someone else. There simply had to be. The two of them had gotten along too well together for him to simply break up without an adequate reason, hurting her and just walking away.

Hurting? Was she hurting? She felt numb. Her emotions, once under control, had sufficiently anesthetized her, enabling her to look at the problem from a detached viewpoint.

Then the tears came again—almost violently. She felt as if she might cleanse her soul if she cried long enough. Sobs, deeper than any she had ever experienced, unmercifully racked her, bringing loud gasps of air bursting from her throat. Struggling to get off the bed, she continued sobbing, crying as if there would be no sunrise today. Doomsday had just arrived. The judgment would begin promptly at nine and she would have to make an accounting of her life. No time to make amends or changes or smooth things out between her and anyone she might have offended at one time or another in her life. All her sins, all her wrongdoings, all her transgressions would be laid out for the whole world to see.

She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. The splashing in the basin sounded too loud, too exaggerated. Cupping her hands, she caught some of the cold water and splashed her face.

What was wrong with her? She was thinking like a mad woman. The end of the world? Doomsday? Just how devastated was she that Myles had elected to call it quits? She must have deeper feelings for him than she had ever imagined. Her instinctive reflex to sob eased, and she looked up in the mirror at the wet face, puffy eyes and flushed cheeks.

“What a disaster,” she mumbled. For the first time since she had awakened, she felt almost normal. The effect of Myles’ announcement was still fresh, but the initial shock of its impact on her had waned somewhat—enough for her to look at the situation a bit more objectively. She would win him back no matter what the price might be.

Turning out the bathroom light, she returned to her bedroom. It seemed empty without him. He should be lying on his back, the gentle snore she had grown used to rippling through the quiet. But the quiet itself now was the only sound she heard.

Moving toward the living room door, she stopped for a second. She needed her rest. What about her work at Overstreet’s art supply store? Would her boss, Phil Overstreet, be angry if she called in sick? If she did go into work, she’d collapse from lack of sleep by nine thirty—ten, tops. She’d fib to Phil and tell him she had a bug of some sort and wouldn’t be any good in the store today. He’d have to buy it. It was all she could think of at the moment. She turned on the table lamp next to the couch and went to the stereo. Spinning the dial, she found a station and turned the volume as low as she could without completely losing the signal. No need to tell her neighbors that she couldn’t sleep. Bruce Springsteen belted out “Pink Cadillac” in a total whisper that seemed foreign and unfamiliar to his style of singing. A cynical smile crossed Nicole’s lips.

What would her first step be in winning back Myles? What would someone else do in a case like this? Go talk to her mother? Nicole had no mother. Nancy Kilton had died with her husband in a plane crash in Canada when Nicole was eighteen years old, halfway through her senior year in high school. She really had no one to whom she could turn. Before, she might have confided in Myles, but now he was the cause of her unrest.

She lay her head back on the couch, closing her eyes. What should her first move be? She yawned. It would have to be right, absolutely correct, if she were to win Myles back.

She stifled another yawn. Somehow Bruce Springsteen had changed into Pat Benatar and she wondered when he had added voice impressions to his repertoire as sleep again overtook her and she settled into its comforting arms.

Thursday, September 4, 1986 5:55 A.M.

The grayness, peculiar to that half-light, half-dark of predawn, filled the bedroom and Myles shifted from one spot to another, searching for a cool place on the sheets. Stretching his muscular frame, he yawned. His wiggling brought a sigh from Eunice Brooks, in whose bed he lay. He froze to keep from awakening her. Right now, he didn’t want to talk with anyone—especially Eunice.

After leaving Nicole’s apartment, he had come to Eunice. Eunice. She was the chief reason he had sought to call an end—at least a temporary end—to his involvement with Nicole. Now, after pondering the question over and over in his mind during the night, he still wasn’t certain he had done the right thing. It had been difficult for him to simply walk out on Nicole that way. He knew that she had probably spent the night crying, but she’d get over it. People usually got over their anxieties—no matter what they might say at the time. Still, he was concerned. Could she take the emotional beating? Would she be all right?

Nicole and he had not had any fixed arrangement and for that he had been thankful. It had made it easier—easier on him, easier on his conscience. But what about Nicole? How would she fare? She was probably devastated. The only reason he felt any guilt at all was the fact that he truly liked her. Or was it love? No, he didn’t love her. Of that, he felt almost one hundred percent sure. He could not or would not allow himself to love her. Not now. Maybe one day. There had been many times when he found himself daydreaming about the two of them being married—with a mortgage, with children, with all the problems that go hand in hand with marriage.

When Eunice Brooks had come on to him, he quickly had evaluated his own circumstances. If he had turned his back on Eunice, he might have gone through life wondering if he had made a mistake. Then, too, how many more women like Eunice would he encounter in the future? Without satisfying his animal instincts at least once before settling down, he would have no way to guarantee that he would be able to control them the rest of the time. Did that make sense? At the time, he thought it to be absolutely perfect and logical reasoning.

Now, in the quiet and grayness of dawn, he wondered. He had hurt Nicole. Of that he was positive. But, he had to think of himself, too. If he didn’t, he might wind up hurting Nicole or someone like her in the future even more.

When Eunice snorted softly in her sleep, Myles turned to face her. Eunice was a beautiful woman. A perfect body. Lovely features. Long flowing, strawberry blond hair —just a shade or two lighter than Nicole’s. Physically, the two women were similar but Eunice’s tastes in bed games varied much more than did Nicole’s. If for no other reason, Myles convinced himself that he should be thankful to Eunice for the sexual experience he found in her. Perhaps he might draw on what she had shown him, sometime in the future.

Beyond her sensual abilities, Eunice would have lost in any honest comparison between the two women. Where Nicole could carry on an intelligent conversation about a variety of subjects, Eunice felt pressed for a topic once the weather, television soap operas and the current Stephen King best seller had been exhausted. Eunice worked as a secretary for a department store manager and seemed content with her lot in life. On the other hand, Nicole was career oriented and not merely in a selfish way. She truly believed she could help people and wanted to obtain her Masters in psychology before feeling ready to really face the work-a-day world. Her job in the art store was only in passing, and Myles knew one day she would attain every goal she had set for herself. A serious thought struck him. Would she also gain her goal of winning him back as she had promised?

Myles pictured Nicole in his mind, then looked at Eunice lying next to him. She was beautiful but it was a surface beauty. Standing next to Nicole, Eunice might very easily win a beauty comparison, but it would be Nicole who would be the winner when personality was allowed to shine through.

Had he done the right thing? Time would tell. But how much time should he allow? He wondered if Nicole would wait until he had his fill of Eunice.

Myles shook his head in a disparaging way. He knew he had made a mistake but it was a mistake that he would soon rectify and then … He’d have to wait to find what the future would hold for Nicole and him.

“Are you awake, lover-boy?” Eunice said, her throaty whisper full of desire.

“Uh-huh!” He rolled on his side to face her.

“I’m glad,” she said, snaking one finger along his chest, down his belly to toy at the root of his manhood. His penis jumped as if it had a mind and life of its own.

Thursday, September 4, 1986 9:07 A.M.

When she opened her eyes, Nicole jerked awake with a start. Where was she? What time was it? Bright sunlight flooded her living room. How and when had she come into this part of her apartment? Why wasn’t she in bed?

The time question banged at her mind again. What was the time? It seemed too bright to be seven o’clock, her usual rising time. Off in the sleep-filled distance of her mind, she could hear a man’s voice giving a monologue. What the hell was that? Then she saw the red light on her stereo tuner. She had turned on the radio last night. She remembered thinking about Bruce Springsteen imitating someone and smiled at the silliness of her thoughts. She stood, stretching away the aches of having slept in an upright position on the couch, and turned up the volume.

“And that’s the nine o’clock news. Now, at eight minutes past the hour here’s a golden oldie. Elvis Presley singing ‘Love Me Tender.’ “

She turned off the set. Nine oh eight? She was late for work. Why hadn’t she …

Myles! The whole night came back to her in a crashing swirl. Why had he done what he’d done?

She sat down heavily on the couch. Myles had denied it, but it had to have been another woman. But hadn’t she vowed she’d get him back? The words of her oath-like statements replayed in her head like a tape recording. “One day, we’ll be together. It’s no threat. I won’t give up.” But what could she do? There had to be a way. But right now, she had no idea as to what that way might be.

She had to get her priorities in line. The first thing she had to do was call Phil. Phil Over-street was not the type to gripe if an employee was ill, but what bothered her was calling in late. The art store opened at nine. Usually, the first customers were students who would be on the way to their art class, stopping by to get just enough supplies to last them through whatever they might be studying.

Fumbling for the telephone, she dialed the number and, with the long cord trailed out behind her, walked into the bedroom. Phil’s voice seemed normal when he answered.

“Overstreet’s Art Store.”

“Phil? This is Nicole. I’m sorry for calling in late but I had an awful night.”

“Awful?”

“Horrible. I didn’t get to sleep until around four. I vomited. And I …”

“Say no more, Nicole. I understand. You wouldn’t be worth anything to me as an employee and I sure as hell don’t want to catch whatever it is that you’ve got. Take care of yourself and come in when you’re able. All right?”

“Thanks, Phil. I really appreciate it.”

She hung up, a forlorn smile trying to curve her lips. If Phil knew the real reason, he’d probably be angry for a few minutes and then be over it. She hadn’t lied. That part was important to her. She placed a high priority on her personal integrity and she would have felt guilty if she had lied to Phil.

After putting on a pot of coffee, she went to the bathroom. Once she was in the shower, she felt more secure in her thinking. It felt as if she were in a wet, little world all her own. She was the boss, the queen, the ruler of it. What she said was law. The one thing she found impossible to leave outside, though, was her sense of confusion about Myles.

The water beat upon her body, smashing into her large breasts, cascading over her erect nipples, down her flat stomach to the triangle of hair, where it wended its way through until rivulets snaked down both legs to the floor of the shower stall. It felt good, cleansing, purifying. She reflected on the times Myles had kissed her breasts and mouthed her nipples. The water made her remember the exquisite thrill his lips had brought her. She found herself wishing that somehow, the water could wipe away the shock of the previous night. If that could happen, Myles would be in her bed when she stepped out to towel off her body.

In time, as the water continued battering at her, she found it difficult to recall Myles’ face. How tall was he? What did he look like? How could she love him if she couldn’t even remember what he looked like? Still, she remembered having read someplace that the word “love,” as it applied to man/woman relationships, was the most difficult thing to define. And maybe that was the reason she was becoming confused. She was trying to define the indefinable.

She turned off the shower, and stepping out, grabbed the huge towel, wrapping it about herself. Maybe all of it had been a bad dream and Myles would really be in bed. Fearfully peeking around the corner of the door, she peered into the bedroom. No one was there.

Later that day.

For what seemed the thousandth time, she muttered to herself, “It’s not fair. He shouldn’t treat me like this. Not after all I’ve done for him!” But now, she was used to it. Words of reasoning placated her for a millisecond before reality fell back into place. Of course, the way he had gone about it had not been fair. He should NOT have treated her this way. And, yes, she had done a lot for him. Granted, he had done just as much for her but that wasn’t the issue.

She knew she had tried to be all things to Myles. It was one thing she had learned from her mother before her death. “Be compatible. Be flexible in your thinking. Listen to everyone else’s opinion—most especially that of the man in your life. You’ll find that people will be more willing to listen to you, if you listen to them.’”

The one thing she had to acknowledge was the fact that her mother and father had enjoyed a rich, rewarding and fulfilling life together. Her father, as a Sergeant Major in the United States Army, had brought a great degree of discipline into his home, and she had experienced that strict behavior peculiar to one of his rank. But he had tempered it with love, kindness and understanding.

What would her father have done if he hadn’t died on a mountainside in Canada? He had been protective of her as a child, but what would his reaction have been to a man who had rejected his adult daughter? She doubted if he would have resorted to any kind of violence, not that he was incapable of punching another man out. Instead, he would have talked with her, reasoning out that something positive was hidden within all the hurt pouring down on her head.

Suddenly, Nicole grew aware of her surroundings. She was sitting on a bench in a small park downtown with the September sun, bright and warm, flooding over her. She recalled having left her apartment about eleven o’clock and going for a walk. Where had she gone? Had she been contemplating her problems so intensely that she had walked into a park and sat down on a bench without being aware of it? Maybe she needed help.

She leaned against the green backrest. The one thing she had going for her was the fact she knew her strengths and weaknesses, though her worst fault was indecisiveness. Her greatest strength was her tenacity to hang in when the going got tough—once she had reached a decision. Now, she had to make that strength pay off. She would get Myles back even if it meant …

She winced, tears streaming down her face. What was she about to think? Even if it meant—murder?—selling her soul?—stopping at nothing? What did nothing entail? How about selling her soul? Did she even have one? She had been in and out of so many schools, public, private and parochial, that she found herself hardly accepting those tenets taught by the different religious institutions. While she was growing up, the sermons and homilies she had heard in different churches had not made much sense to her. What the hell was a soul?

Murder? No, that was one act she knew she certainly was incapable of performing.

Right now, she did not have any idea as to how to go about winning Myles back. But she would have him back or know the reason why.

A couple, college students, stopped in her line of vision, and she looked away when they kissed. They were together. They had each other. Who did she have? No one! Just unremitting loneliness. The mere idea of loneliness overwhelmed her. That was the one thing she felt she could not bear. Loneliness. She remembered when her parents had died and the awful sense of isolation that had engulfed her then. It had been the school psychologist who had brought Nicole to face reality and the eventual conclusion that she might be able to help people who had problems that were too much for any one person to handle by themselves. But that awful sense of loneliness had taught her never to be caught alone in any situation. The people at the double funeral had tried to be helpful, but she had managed to read a double meaning into everything that had been said to her. They were only trying to be nice to her and comfort her in her hour of need, but she had sensed only the awful alone-ness. Her parents—her world—had died when she was only eighteen.

To ensure her own popularity at school once she had returned to classes, she had been easily available for dates with anyone who asked. Because she wasn’t trying to prove something, she had not fallen into every bed that had been offered to her. The thing she needed more than anything else had been companionship. She had needed it then. She needed it now.

Where had the buildings come from? Shaking her head, Nicole looked about. She was downtown. In the mall—downtown. Across from the building where Myles worked.

She couldn’t believe this. She was going mad. How could she walk from that park to here and not be aware of it? Was she that wrapped up in her thoughts? Or was the havoc of what Myles had wrought last night stringing her out so completely that she didn’t know what she was doing?

Rooted to the spot, she played for an instant with the idea of going up to Myles’ office on the top floor of the building and telling him what she thought of him. But she knew she couldn’t. She loved him, truly loved him, and there was no way she could run the risk of hurting him. There was simply no way she could treat him in the same manner he had treated her.

Myles formed in her vision and she smiled. She panicked when she realized it really was Myles and not her imagination. He was coming out of the main entrance of the office building with another man—Scott McReady, the sports announcer at the TV station. They were probably going to lunch. She looked at her watch. Two o’clock. A late lunch?

She stepped behind a hot dog vendor’s cart, ducking out of sight, pretending to have lost something. Keeping her eye on Myles and his friend, she stood when they rounded the corner and were gone from sight.

“D’you find it?” a voice said.

“What?” she mumbled, perplexed that someone was talking to her.

“D’you find whatever it was you dropped?” the vendor asked.

“Huh? Oh, sure. Sure. Thanks.” She turned, hurrying away. Just what would a competent psychologist or psychiatrist have to say about her single-mindedness? She smiled inwardly. They’d think she was tenacious to the point of being mentally ill—but she knew better. She knew if she concentrated and worked at something—anything—long enough, she’d be able to master it. And this situation with Myles was certainly no different from anything else that had eluded her in the past.

She remembered the old alarm clock her mother had given her to play with when she was about ten or eleven. She had managed to take it apart and, after much experimenting, made the alarm work again. Her parents had been amazed, her father decrying the fact that his one and only daughter would more than likely grow up to be a chief mechanic in some factory. Then, too, there had been the time in high school when she was a senior and a transfer student. She had tried out for the school play, knowing full well that if she got a part, it would be a minor one at best. Still, she had made up her mind to win the lead role, and with one of the best acting jobs the drama coach had said she’d ever seen, Nicole had come through. The girl who had been slated for the lead had been furious, but Nicole didn’t care about that. She had hung in there and won and that was the most important part of anything. Winning. Succeeding. Getting what she wanted. And the thing she wanted more than anything else in life right now was Myles.

What were books doing in front of her? She looked to the right, to the left, directly in front of her. Books were everywhere. Then she realized she was staring through the window of a book shop—a secondhand book shop. She had been there before with Myles. Books of every description seemed to be lined up on the shelves and laid out on the tables. Inside, she could see a handful of people perusing while the owner, a wizened old lady, sat behind a table peering over her pince-nez glasses, keeping an eye on any indigent who might try to convert her shop into a public lending library.

For no reason that she could think of, Nicole found herself entering the musty shop. It had been at least six months since she had been in there, and she wondered how quickly the merchandise turned over. On the table nearest the door, various best sellers of recent vintage, bright book jackets still intact for the most part, sat upright, attractively displayed. Nicole walked by them. Along one wall, she found hardcover romance stories, but romance —the literary type—was not appealing to her mental palate. She wanted the real thing, that which she had lost.

She found history books, then books concerning hobbies, woodworking, hunting, fishing, collecting, economics, geography and social studies.

Then, she saw it. A little red antique book nestled in among bigger ones, whose titles had been worn smooth over the years. But the red book, its gold lettering faded but still readable, caught her attention. Reaching out with a tentative finger, she pulled it from its place and held it up for examination. The title: A Worthwhile Examination of Fpellf and Consultation Manual for Demoniftf.

Just what she needed, she thought, flipping through the stiff, yellowed pages. She stopped at one page to read an incantation for ensuring the love of a good woman.

If there was one concerning the reclamation of a wandering lover, she’d buy it. That she found on the next page—how to regain the love of a lost mate. Suppressing a grin, Nicole slapped the book shut and walked to the front. She laid it on the table in front of the woman and said, “How much?”

Without looking up from her book, other than to catch a glimpse of the article to be purchased, the old lady said, “Four dollars, sixty-nine cents plus tax.”

“I’ll take it,” Nicole said softly, wondering how the old woman knew such an odd amount without looking at anything other than the book cover itself.

She paid the money and accepted the bag containing the book. Walking to the door, she smiled. She must really be desperate to even consider such a thing. But then, she hadn’t really considered it. She had merely bought it on a whim, when she saw that there was indeed an incantation for regaining lost love.

The door closed behind her, and as she started for home, she thought the paper bag holding the book gave a little jump.

Thursday, September 4, 1986 3:50 P.M.

Nicole ignored the other pedestrians on their way to or from work or shopping or home. She too wanted to get home—to be by herself, to commune with herself and no one else. The events of the previous night and her gyrating emotions had worked a peculiar effect on her, and she wanted to get away from people as much as possible. She had to sort out her thoughts, make her plans, and prepare to execute them.

The sea of people coming toward her parted, and one face in particular, framed with frizzy blond hair and a green beret perched at a cocky angle on one side of the head, arrested her attention. As the woman neared her, the featureless face assumed eyes, a nose and a mouth—and Nicole suddenly felt trapped. Stacey Ford. Perhaps, if she kept her head down or turned away, Stacey wouldn’t see her. She doubted if she could handle Stacey at the moment.

While in college, Nicole had had no problem dealing with her. Stacey had decided that since her freshman year represented the first time she was completely on her own, she wanted to live life to the very fullest—experiencing everything as much as possible. By year’s end, she had burned herself out. Lighting up at every opportunity, she had added cocaine to her repertoire of fun things along with beer and whiskey. The men in her life came and went, and Nicole remembered teasing her about putting a revolving door in her dorm room.

Shortly before the end of their second semester as freshmen, Stacey had disappeared and no one had seen her for the next four years. When she came back into Nicole’s life, Stacey told of her experiences with a Far Eastern religious group, the Sun Children, and how she had found their tenets to be just what she was looking for at the time, or so she thought. By the end of six months, she had been completely disillusioned and ready to leave, but they had held her a virtual prisoner. It had only been through the efforts of her parents, a private detective and a Reverend Eddie John Stan-good, that she had been spirited away and eventually brainwashed back to some semblance of normalcy.

Nicole remembered her own personal reaction when Stacey told her of Reverend Eddie John—how good a man he was, how close he was to the real Jesus, how the evil in the world soon would be overcome and men like the Reverend Eddie John would ascend to a position of power in a righteous world and govern everything in the name of Jesus. Nicole had shuddered at the almost frenzied manner in which Stacey had spoken. She recalled having thought that perhaps Stacey had jumped from the frying pan right into the fire of another charlatan’s salvation. But then, Stacey was not the most intelligent person to come into Nicole’s life and she hoped now that Stacey would not see her. All she wanted to do was get home.

“Nicole!” Stacey’s voice cut through Nicole’s revery.

“Hi, Stacey,” Nicole managed weakly. If she were lucky, it would not go much beyond the stage of greeting one another.

“What’s the matter, hon?” Stacey cocked her head as if to get a better, more intimate look at Nicole.

Nicole felt like recoiling but fought the urge when Stacey put a damp, cold hand on hers. “What do you mean?” Nicole asked as indifferently as possible.

“You look like you haven’t a friend in the world. Let me tell you about Jesus!”

“Golly, Stacey, I don’t have time. Besides, there’s really nothing wrong.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re hiding something. I just know you are. When one gets as close to the Saviour as I have, one picks up on many nuances and hints that most others miss.”

Nicole swallowed her anger. The pomposity of such a viewpoint made her blood boil. “Hey, Stacey, would I lie to you?” she asked, shrugging and holding her one free hand out, palm up.

Stacey narrowed her blue eyes until she was peering at Nicole through slits. “Yes. Yes, I think you would. Just to keep from hearing about Jesus. Why don’t you wake up and see Him as the Light, like I have? If you knew how happy I am, you wouldn’t …”

“Stacey, listen to me,” Nicole said sharply. “I don’t want to hear about Jesus right now. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe never. Do you understand?”

As if someone had struck her across her face, Stacey stared for a full minute at Nicole. Then she said in a tiny voice, “I know you don’t mean that. I’ll be patient. You’ll want to hear about Him before long. Jesus has told me to be patient with people like you. In time everyone will come around to him.”

Nicole felt an unfamiliar pang of regret sweeping through her. She had purposely hurt Stacey and that was not at all like her. She believed in God and Jesus to a certain extent, perhaps not to the enthusiastic extremes that Stacey and the followers of evangelists like Reverend Eddie John did. It simply was not like her to be spiteful to anyone—especially over a person’s beliefs in religion.

“I … I’m sorry, Stacey,” Nicole managed. “I didn’t mean that. I’m upset over something, and I shouldn’t be talking to anyone for fear of lashing out like I just did to you.”

“I knew it,” Stacey chirped, a benevolent expression lighting her face along with the look of having just been proven right. “Jesus told me that something was bothering you. What is it?”

“I … I’d just as soon not say. It’s something that I can work out by myself. Don’t worry about it. All right?”

“I think you should meet Reverend Eddie John. I really do. Jesus and I …”

“Maybe sometime, but not right now,” Nicole said, breaking in. The last thing she needed was a bible-thumping, bellowing preacher like the Reverend Eddie John Stangood harping at her. She’d seen him on one of the local television stations, threatening the nonbelievers with hell’s fire and damnation. Anyone not in complete agreement with his interpretation of the bible was a nonbeliever in the Reverend Eddie John’s eyes, and he had gone so far as to scream at the top of his voice that the pope, every minister, every priest and every evangelist in the world would go straight to hell unless they swore allegiance to Jesus, Reverend Eddie John Stangood and the Stangood Foundation of Goodwill.

Nicole pulled away from Stacey’s hand that still held hers. “I really must go, Stacey. I’ll see you around sometime. ‘Bye.”

“I’ll pray for you, Nicole,” she said loudly as Nicole moved away from her. The people passing by on either side ignored the wide-eyed blonde waving at the woman half-running, half-walking away.

Friday, September 5, 1986 to Friday, September 19, 1986

During the next two weeks, Nicole didn’t think about the book she had purchased on a whim but found herself luxuriating in self-pity, mindless of almost everything around her. Other than going to work, where she waited on customers more like an automaton than a warm-blooded human being, she spent most of her time at home, sipping white wine and staring at her television set whether it was on or not. She faithfully watched the news programs, her eyes welling up with tears whenever Myles appeared on the TV screen.

As the days grew into weeks, a black uneveness began filling her world, managing to keep her daily existence out of balance. While walking home, she would make resolutions to clean her apartment, or to work on a piece of needlepoint she had started weeks before, or do her nails, or maybe wash her hair. The promises to herself were endless until she opened the door to her other world. Then, she elected to spend another evening doing nothing.

Her work had not suffered much, and Phil had even promised a raise in the middle of September. Then, one Friday, she hurried toward her apartment, intent on spending another solitary weekend without interruption. She could not imagine herself being sociable with anyone, opting instead to seal herself off. Once inside her domain, she relaxed, reveling in the silence.

She downed more wine than usual before eating half a sandwich and hurrying to turn on the TV set at eleven when she could spend time with Myles’ electronic image. The wine bottle, almost empty, leaned against the couch, and her eyes, heavy with fatigue and the effects of the Chablis, drooped until they closed in sleep.

Images as black as the inside of a darkened theater flitted through her sleeping mind, assuming an almost recognizable shape only to wither and merge into another. She awoke with a start. Befuddled, she tried to put together what time it was and why the TV set was displaying an old Humphrey Bogart movie. The first thing she resolved was the time. Eleven forty-nine. She had missed the news. Oh, God! She had missed the news and Myles. Now she wouldn’t be able to see him until Monday evening when he returned to the news cast.

She stood, chastising herself over and over. Nothing was fair anymore. Myles certainly wasn’t fair. And she wasn’t being fair to herself either by falling asleep. She shouldn’t have had so much wine. She’d have to cut down on it.

Rubbing her eyes, the dim light seemed brighter than usual and something caught her attention. Something red. Something red with pale gold markings on it. The book! The antique book she had bought impulsively several weeks before was sitting on the shelf behind the TV set, where she had thrust it when she had arrived home after her confrontation with Stacey Ford. Nicole had not thought of it once since then, but now it seemed to beckon to her.

Reaching over the set, she pulled it from its resting place, studying it for a long minute before lifting the cover. When she did, it fell open to the place where she had read the incantation for reclaiming a lost love or gaining a man’s love. It seemed as though that had happened eons ago, but when she concentrated, she realized that only a mere two weeks had passed.

Moving back to the couch, she sat down, leaning toward the lamp. “I am possessed by burning love for this man,” she read half aloud. “This love for N comes to me from Apsaras, who is ever victorious in everything. Let this man, N, yearn for me, desire me, let TV’s desire burn for me. Let this love come forth from the spirit of the love-god and enter him.

“By the power and laws of Varuna, I invoke the burning force of love for me in N. This desire, the potent love-spirit created by the love-god which is present in everything, waiting to be recognized, I invoke the use thereof to secure N’s love for me.

“I invoke the magetnized waters of the love-force. Let N desire me as nothing has been desired before. I love him. I want him. He in turn must love me. He in turn must want me. And it is his love for me, by Varuna’s Laws, that I cause to burn. N, thou wilt love me, with a burning desire.

“Oh, Maruts, let him become filled with love for me. Oh, Spirit of the Air, fill him with love for me. Oh, Agni, let him burn with love for me as I burn for him.”

Nicole looked up not quite knowing what she might see. Nothing. A sly grin broke on her mouth. Did she think Myles would magically appear, burning with lust and love for her? She laughed aloud at her own foolishness.

How strange though that the incantation mirrored so many of her own burning feelings for Myles. She held the book up and examined it. It held a certain fascination now that she had rediscovered it on the shelf. The incantation seemed to ring in her head. Its words were her words. The meaning of it was her meaning —her purpose. Opening it, she thumbed through, stopping at a page displaying crude sketches of two stars. The caption below the drawings explained the difference in the two objects:

“Stars with five points are traditionally weapons of power in the practice of magic. The pentagram with one point projecting upward can be imagined as a man’s body with arms and legs thrust out. When the point is upward, the symbol is one of dominance of the divine spirit (the upward pointing one) over matter (the other four points). An inverted pentagram, with two points extending upward, symbolizes the horns of the goat while the downward point is the face of the goat and the other two the animal’s ears. The inverted pentagram is a sign of the devil and care should be practiced whenever drawing the pentagram to ensure that the upward point is drawn first. Otherwise the symbol of good becomes the symbol of evil, and demons with power unimaginable can be conjured up.”

Nicole flipped the pages until the back cover closed with a soft smack against the last page. Did people really believe in such stuff? Believe enough to practice such nonsense? She nodded. Ever since Myles had left, she had been wondering how she could get him back. Nothing had occurred to her. Nothing until now. She looked at the small book resting in her lap and slowly reopened it.

For the next two hours, Nicole read the thin volume. It seemed to her that it was a calculated risk to go with the spirits of good since they may or may not grant the practitioner’s wish or desire. The darker side, on the other hand, seemed more ready and willing to listen and to help. What would happen if she did try one of the spells? It was only so much foolishness. Wasn’t it? But it was something to do. Maybe the powers of right would see how desperate she really was to have Myles back and would take pity on her and see to it that he did return.

She reread one pact that had caught her attention. It seemed safe enough since it invoked God, his Son and the Holy Spirit to help bring the demon or Lucifer, the fallen angel, to the practitioner in case the demon was reluctant. There was no mention of the demons helping God or the angels or whoever was conjured up in the “good” incantations.

Pursing her lips, Nicole nodded. It seemed she would have the elements of both sides working for her if she followed the treatise’s directions and drew an inverted pentagram and summoned God to force Lucifer to do her bidding.

How would she make a pentagram? Where should she make it? She looked at the beige carpeting in the living room. That room was the largest in her apartment. It would have to be there, but how could she make a symbol? Her face brightening, she hurried to her bedroom, returning with a box of body powder. She began trailing a thin line of the white, perfumed dust, making a circle in the middle of the room after moving the coffee table to one side.

When the line closed on itself, she began tracing the outline of the inverted pentagram, starting with the horns of the goat. When it was finished, she picked up the book again and studied the words that were to be written in the points of the star and around the circumference of the circle. When they were finished, she drew another circle and enclosed the words, creating a border. Rummaging about the apartment, she found four candles and placed them at the proper locations.

After lighting the wicks, and with the book in hand, she stepped inside the double circle, turning to the page with the pact written on it. “Pact with Emperor Lucifer” was written across the middle of the page and something above it caught her attention. More instructions:

“To achieve the best magic possible, the practitioner should perform this and all rites in the nude.”

“O Emperor Lucifer,” she began in a soft whisper, “Chief of all the spirits which rebelled, I beg Thee to favor me in this conjuration, which I am about to perform to Thee and Thy Ministers. O Prince Beelzebub, I adjure thee to protect me in this work. O Earl Astorath, favor me, and permit me tonight to obtain the appearance of the Great One, Lucifer, in human shape and without any evil effluvium. And that he may allow me, in return for the pact which I will make with him, to achieve the desire I have and the wish I make in this circle.”

She repeated the incantation she had read earlier, inserting Myles’ name at the appropriate places. When she finished, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. It might work. It just might work.

“O, Great Lucifer,” she continued, her voice shaking just a bit, “I beg Thee to leave Thy throne, wherever it may be, and come to this place to speak with me. I have great need of Thy counsel. If Thou doest not do this, I will constrain Thee to appear, by the force of the Great Living God, His Son and His Spirit. Do my bidding at once, or Thou shalt be tormented forever by the force of the words of Power and the Great Wisdom of Solomon, which he used to compel revolted spirits to obey him and accept his contract.

“Appear, then, immediately, or I shall torture Thee with the force of these Words of Power from Solomon’s Key!

“Aglon. Tetragram. Vaycheon. Stimulama-tron. Exphares. Olyaram. Retragrammaton. Irion. Existion. Esytion. Eryona. Onera. Orasym. Mozm. Messias. Soter. Emanuel.

Sabaoth. Adonay. Te adoro. Et te invoco. Amen.”

Nicole stopped for an instant, glancing about the room, her eyes widening. Nothing. Nothing had happened. But then, she wasn’t finished.

“I conjure Thee, O Spirit. I summon Thee, O Lucifer, to appear within a minute by the power of the Great Adonai, by Elohim, by Ariel, Johavam, Agla, Membrot, Varvis, Pithona, Magots, Silphae, Rabost, Salaman-drae, Tabost, Gnomus, Terrae, Coelis, Godens, Aqua, Gingua, Janua, Etituamus, Zariatnot-mik.

“Palas aron azinomas. Bagahi Iaca Bacabe.

“Eheieh. Iod. Tetragrammaton Elohim. El. Elohim Gibor. Eloah Va-Daath. El Adonai Tzabaoth. Elohim Tzabaoth. Shaddai.”

She stopped.

What was that? That noise? That pounding? She held her breath. The apartment was quiet. No sound. Nothing at all.

But what was that pounding?

She could distinctly hear it. When she released her breath, she controlled the urge to laugh. It was the sound of her own pulse in her temples. Her own blood, crashing through her veins, reverberated in a rhythmic cadence that sounded not unlike a pounding surf on some desolate shore.

She waited. It was now that the book indicated that the summoned one should appear. She continued waiting. Where was he? Had she done something incorrectly in performing the rite?

Glancing at the book, she saw that one more sentence remained after the point where the demon should have appeared. She waited four long breaths before raising the book enough to allow her to finish the rite.

“I promise Thee, O great and mighty Lucifer, to reward Thee in whatever way Thou see fit, if my request for the love of Myles Lawrence is granted and given unto me this night.”

The clock on the shelf above the TV set struck three times. She waited.

Nothing.

It was all foolishness. It had to be. Why had she done it? She wondered about her own mental stability. Was the breakup with Myles affecting her to the point that she would try almost anything to win him back? Even black magic? Or making a pact with hell? She stepped out of the circle, kicking at the lines, spreading the dusty powder around before blowing out the candles.

After taking her discarded clothing to her bedroom, she slipped into a robe and brought a small vacuum cleaner to the living room. In seconds, the quiet machine sucked up the telltale body powder, and all signs of her bizarre ritual were gone. At least it was Friday and she wouldn’t have to go to work the next day. What time? Friday? The small chiming clock indicated three ten. It was actually Saturday and she could sleep until she awoke.

She picked up the book that had fascinated her for the last several hours and chuckled. Returning it to the shelf, she made one last, quick visual check of the living room and turned out the light.

Seconds later, she collapsed on the bed, the sheet half-covering her nakedness. Her breasts rose and fell in an even rhythm. Sound asleep, she failed to notice the drop in the room temperature and little jets of steam puffed from her nostrils. The only sound in the room was her steady, even breathing—and the sound of scratching in the ceiling over her bed.

PART TWO

The Gifts

Tuesday, September 23, 1986 to

Friday, November 7, 1986

Tuesday, September 23, 1986 10:33 A.M.

Nicole stared through the plate glass window at the people hurrying past the art store. Aware of the fact that she had been preoccupied most of the time while at work, she accepted her mental wanderings as an opiate for her troubled mind. Myles had left several weeks before, and ever since, she had found a foreign sense of melancholy invading her waking moments more and more as each day passed.

Sighing heavily, she turned away, aware that she had to do something, and do something soon, or she’d wither up and simply blow away with the next breeze. She felt lonely—as if she were the last human on earth. All those bodies walking by the shop were figments of her imagination—memories of when she had been a live, contributing member of society. But people simply did not count for anything anymore. The only person she had communicated with to any degree over the last few weeks had been Phil Overstreet. And most of those conversations had been about business and buying additional stock and supplies. Nothing related to her as a person, as a human being, as a wounded entity.

Someplace, far off in the distance, she heard a bell ring and felt a wash of cool September air flow over her. Snapping out of her revery, she focused her attention on the front of the store to see a man entering. A customer. She’d have to wait on him since Phil had left to go for coffee.

“May I help you, sir?” she asked absently, approaching him.

“I need some wide-tipped felt markers,” he said.

She looked up to find him studying her. Somehow, he looked familiar.

“Didn’t you attend college here?” he asked.

She nodded. “I graduated in ‘84.”

“So did I,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Nicole Kilton? Right?”

Scrutinizing her customer, Nicole seemed to place him, but only as a face in a classroom somewhere in her past. Had he been one of her teachers? He appeared too young. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

The man, not much taller than she, wore glasses that seemed to dominate his face, emphasizing his narrowly set eyes. She looked away while he stared at her, his face imprinted on her memory. If she had attended class with him, she had made no conscious or unconscious effort to remember him. He reminded her of a little animal, one that might drop to all fours and scurry away from her at any moment.

“Rob Lanstrom.” He smiled kindly. “Psychology one and two. You sat in front of me.”

She forced a smile, faking a look of recognition. “Of course. Doctor Hammerand’s classes. That brings back a lot of memories.”

“What are you doing, working here?” he asked, gesturing around the art shop. “Or do you own it?”

“Hardly,” she said, relaxing just a bit. What did one say next? She felt at a loss when it came to carrying on a conversation. Had it been that long?

“Didn’t you major in psych?” He studied her in an intense way that made Nicole feel not unlike a laboratory specimen being examined under a microscope.

“As a matter of fact, I did. How come you remember so much about me?”

He smiled shyly. “Back then, I had a crush on you like you wouldn’t believe. I really did.”

Nicole smiled graciously. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you ever speak to me? If you did, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember.”

“Are you kidding?” he said, laughing. “I would have been scared to death.”

Nicole snickered. “What brought about the big change? How come you can talk about it now?”

“I guess that’s what married life does to a person.”

Nicole nodded. “How long have you been married, Rob?” It seemed to Nicole as though everyone except her had someone—even this mousy guy.

“Six months now. But tell me, Nicole, what are you doing working in here? This doesn’t seem conducive to exploiting a college education.”

She looked away. “I’m saving money so I can go back to school and get my Masters in psychology. I’d like to be an assistant to a psychiatrist.”

“How long before you go back to school?”

Suddenly, Nicole wondered about this man confronting her. Why was he so nosy? Why had he remembered her out of all the people who had been in his classes? What business was it of his to know about her plans? The next thing he might suggest a liaison of some sort to satisfy his suppressed longing from college. She shook her head. If he was married for only six months, he probably wouldn’t try something like that.

She shrugged. “At this point, I don’t really know. Why?”

“Because I might be able to help you,” he said, pausing dramatically for effect.

“I … I don’t understand.”

“I’m employed at the Cascade Psychiatric Clinic. I’m assistant to the chief psychologist and have several other assistants more or less under my direction. At any rate, have you ever done any publicity or public relations work?”

Nicole shook her head. “Not really, why?”

“If you can stand Rose Tunic, you could probably qualify. They’re looking for someone to train on the job. It’s a nonexistent position right now because there hasn’t been anyone doing the work. But things being what they are, the board of directors wants to acquire a higher profile for the clinic and has decided to hire someone for P.R. work.”

“Who’s this Rose Tunic?” she asked tentatively. The way he had said her name sounded almost ominous, as though he might be warning her of something.

“Oh, Rose is an old bitch who thinks she’s running the place. She doesn’t have anything other than her job to occupy her mind, and she can be pretty obnoxious at times.”

“Why do you keep her on, then?”

“I don’t think the doctors are aware of what it is she’s doing. If they are, they’re probably trying to ignore the fact.”

“And if they’re not,” Nicole broke in, “it might prove to be difficult to sell to the public, psychiatrists who don’t recognize a problem in their own office.”

“Touché,” Rob said laughingly. “Seriously, why don’t you consider trying. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Her brow puckered up in thought for a split second. At least, if she did get the job, she’d be more closely associated with her chosen field than here in the art store. “I think I will.”

Rob dug in his jacket pocket and produced a card. “This is the address. Why don’t you stop in anytime today or tomorrow. The employment agencies aren’t going to be notified until next week. Tell them I suggested that you stop in.”

Taking the card, she said, “Thanks a bunch, Rob. It really helps. I’ve been sort of down recently but I won’t burden you with my problems. Just know that I owe you. All right?”

“Right,” he said, reaching out to grab her shoulder when she turned away. “My marker pens. I still need them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, motioning for him to follow her to the counter along the far wall.

Saturday, September 27, 1986 9:45 A.M.

Nicole blinked, then blinked again. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There was her name in the newspaper. Nicole Kilton. And behind her name, the amount of eleven hundred dollars. She had won! She had actually won a prize in the state lottery. She had been buying several tickets each week for the last two years but never had even won so much as five dollars in the instant lottery portion of the contest. The amount dazzled her. Eleven hundred dollars! She wasn’t alone in her good fortune. There were forty-one other winners, each winning various amounts. Her portion was one thousand, one hundred dollars.

Maybe things were beginning to turn her way again. Rob Lanstrom had offered her a job in public relations four days ago, and after having been interviewed the past Thursday, she had given Phil her two weeks’ notice. Now, with this windfall of money, she’d feel a step closer to going back to school. She hadn’t felt this good since before Myles had left, and now she was more determined than ever to make her life successful and win back his love. Could it have been her working at a nothing job, such as the art store, that had been an influence on Myles? No matter. She was on her way.

Dropping the paper on the table, she picked up her coffee cup to drain it. Then she heard the noise—the scratching sound from the walls. Mice? That was it. She didn’t have to live in a rodent infested apartment. She could move out and get a better place to live. She had been hearing the sounds for the past few days, doing her best to ignore them. But her new turn of luck gave her confidence. She’d complain to the manager and insist that something be done. Wondering if anyone else in the building might be suffering from the same problem, she went to the telephone and dialed the manager’s number.

“Hello,” the manager’s wife whined into the phone.

“Is your husband there, Mrs. Astin? This is Nicole Kilton in apartment 3-49C. I’ve got to talk to him. I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“He’s out working in the complex someplace. In fact, I think he said something about going to your building. I’ll tell him you called.”

Before Nicole could say anything else, the dial tone buzzed in her ear. “Damn!” she said aloud, biting her lip.

When the phone had been replaced in the cradle, she could hear the sounds from the wall once more. She’d have to find the manager and bring him up here to listen.

Slipping into her coat, she strode to the front door. She opened it, barely able to keep from gasping in surprise. The manager stood outside her door, ready to knock.

“You’re just the man I’m looking for,” she said quickly, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “What’s up?”

Nicole stopped when he withdrew from her grasp, mentally scolding herself for having acted so hastily. She didn’t even like Fred Astin. In fact, he gave her the creeps. Shortly after she had moved in, he had made some suggestive statement that indicated he’d give her special attention or anything she needed, if she reciprocated and gave him special attention in another way. She had given him no encouragement whatsoever, and soon the relationship was nothing more than that of manager/tenant. Now, she actually had tried to drag him into her apartment.

“I’ve got mice,” she said loudly.

“Sh-h-h,” he hissed. “Christ! Don’t tell the other neighbors. Where? Where have you got mice?”

“In my walls. In the ceiling, I think. Probably all over the place,” she said, motioning for him to come inside.

He stepped in, closing the hallway door. “Show me,” he said simply.

A confident smile on her face, Nicole went into the kitchen, pointing to the wall where she had just heard mice scampering about.

Astin stood next to the wall, pressing his ear against it. After a few minutes, during which time the only sound was the hum of the electric kitchen clock and the purring of the refrigerator, he said, “I don’t hear nothing.”

“But … but I just heard them … just seconds ago. Tap on the wall. Maybe they’re sleeping or something,” she said.

Pulling a screw driver from his tool belt, Astin tapped on the wall with the handle, first in one spot, then in another. But no sounds new or different to the kitchen could be heard.

“Maybe you imagined it,” he said. “Living alone can do strange things to a person. Pretty soon you start hearing things. Then it’s somebody talking to you. ‘Fore you know it, you’re answering them and they come haul you off to the puzzle factory.”

“I’m not hearing things,” Nicole snapped.

“Neither am I,” he said, snorting a guffaw.

“I’m serious, Mr. Astin,” she said curtly.

“I … I’m sorry.” His voice puled when he apologized. “I just enjoy a good joke every once in a while. If you want, I can tell the exterminator the next time he comes. It’ll cost you but you’ll get rid of the rats.”

“Rats? I don’t think they’re rats.”

“Rats. Mice. What difference? He’ll get rid of them if you got them.”

“Don’t bother. If I hear them again, I’ll let you know. Then, the exterminator can try.”

“Okay by me, lady,” Astin said, moving to the door. “You … ah … you ain’t got anything else that needs ah … attention, do you?”

“Thank you,” Nicole said icily, “but no.”

Fifteen minutes after Fred Astin left, the scratching sounds began again and Nicole turned on the stereo to drown them out.

Monday, September 29, 1986 12:49 A.M.

Nicole rolled and tossed in bed. Her nude body, swathed in sweat, reacted to the chilled night air as she threw the covers off. Flat on her back, her eyes undulated rapidly as scenes played before her sleeping consciousness. Facial muscles worked jerkily as she fought to cry out. After several long minutes, her mouth opened and she began mumbling one word, over and over. Slowly gaining in strength and volume, her voice rose higher until she screamed out, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The sound of her own voice awakened her, bringing her out of the dream-like state. Shivering from the cool air on her damp nakedness, she fumbled with the covers for a moment before pulling them up around her.

What was wrong? What had she been dreaming? What had she been yelling when she awoke? Something … The word yes had been screaming in her head. Had she been shouting it or dreaming that she had been yelling? Whichever, what did it mean? To what was she agreeing? She felt she was agreeing with someone about something or giving someone permission to do something.

What had she been dreaming? Why couldn’t she recall it now that she was awake? Most of the time, she could. But this time, she found she couldn’t get a thread of a notion as to what she had been experiencing while asleep.

She shuddered again and reached for her robe. Slipping into it, she tied it tightly around her small waist, accentuating her large breasts at the same time. Once she was on her feet, she paused. What time was it? How long had she slept? Turning, she found the digital clock displaying one oh one. Good God! Had she slept only an hour? But she felt as if she had slept for ages. Would she be able to get back to sleep? Maybe a glass of wine would help.

Padding to the kitchen in her bare feet, she pulled down a bottle of Rhine wine and poured a tumbler half full. She replaced the bottle in the cupboard and dropped an ice cube into the clear liquid before going to the living room. Sipping from her glass, she turned on the TV set and found a late night horror movie and a religious talk show after flipping the dial. Nothing else caught her attention and she switched it off. She downed the remaining wine and went back to the kitchen where she filled the glass this time.

Time swept by as Nicole drank several more glasses of wine before finally surrendering her exhausted body and slightly drunken spirit to bed. When she lay on her back and her breathing slowed to a steady, even rhythm, the scratching began. The room grew chilly. And the stereo in the living room turned on, filling the quiet void with soft music.

While Nicole served out her remaining time at the art store training the new salesperson, the same dream began frequenting her sleep every night. Little by little, she accepted the phenomenon and was able to roll over and return to sleep, not worrying or wondering too much as to what, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” meant.

Monday, October 13, 1986 9:30 AM.

Rose Tunic, whom Nicole had met the day of her interview, stared at her through thick lenses. Nicole had thought nothing about the woman at all, even after Rob Lanstrom had given such a pointed description. Overweight by at least forty pounds, Rose was not the type to be too concerned how her dresses appeared, preferring to believe that each one, although two sizes too small, fit her as if it had been tailor-made. Rose had been friendly enough the first time Nicole had talked with her, but now for some reason, the office manager was sending out signals that warned the newcomer to stand clear.

“I just want to say one thing, Nicole,” Rose said sharply from the doorway of Nicole’s office. “There are those who work here who think that I should have been given this job. After all, I’ve worked here for six and a half years. I know everyone. I know what the aims of the clinic are. I know just exactly what this job entails, even though it has just been created. Just watch your step or …”

“I’m really happy to know that, Rose,” Nicole said, her voice purring, ” ‘cause if I ever need any help, I’ll know exactly who to ask. Thank you so much for telling me.”

Her face flushing a deep crimson, Rose glared at Nicole for a long minute before turning to leave. When she reached the door, she said, “That’s not what I meant. I’ll just as soon …” Without finishing, she left, slamming the door.

Nicole had everything she could do to control a loud laugh but couldn’t suppress a smile. Standing, she moved around her desk and went to the closet where a full length mirror hung, concealed on the inside facing of the door. She opened the dark compartment and checked her appearance. Picturing Rose Tunic in her mind, she nodded. The woman was frustrated with life, her appearance, her personality, her apparent failure in society. But was someone like that even aware of herself? She remembered what Rob had said about Rose coming to the clinic on weekends, poking through files and keeping a finger on everything that transpired within the confines of each office. Mentally noting to lock her desk and anything else that might hold something she wouldn’t want the nosy office manager to find, she returned to her desk. She had a meeting with Doctor Claypool in half an hour to discuss the first steps in building the clinic’s image.

10:45 P.M.

That evening, Nicole drank more wine than usual and ate little. The whole time was spent reading several books that Doctor Claypool had given her, sipping wine and making notes. By eleven, she closed the last book and turned on the television set. It was time for Myles to give the news. That was something she hadn’t missed too many times since he had left. Each night she sat opposite the set, drinking in his electronic image—remembering, reliving, rejoicing in the more vivid memories of their time together.

She fixed her attention on his mouth. That mouth had given her so much pleasure with his witty sayings and his tender caressing love-making. That mouth hid his tongue, the tongue that had explored every square inch of her body, sending delicious shivers down her spine.

An uncontrollable sob broke through her composure and she murmured, “Why, Myles? Why?”

During a commercial, she hurried to the kitchen to refill her glass, returning to curse the weatherman for taking over with his portion of the news broadcast. Myles would be back, but for only an instant before the idiot sportscaster showed up to rave about the latest football poll or the Sunday games in the NFL. At least Myles would have the tube to himself during the last news story, usually a short, upbeat item about something that might make the viewer forget the awful items he had reported on earlier.

Then, the late movie was beginning. She turned off the set, saying goodnight to Myles who was no longer visible anywhere except in her mind and in the small portrait photo on the shelf above the TV. Making her way to the bedroom she put the empty glass on the dresser and slipped from her clothes. Her body ached. She was more than ready for bed and slid between the cool sheets and beneath the light blanket.

Her wine-drenched mind quickly succumbed and in seconds she was sleeping.

In an instant, the dream began and Nicole found herself in a large ballroom filled with people dressed in the most outlandish costumes. If had to be a masquerade ball. Angels and pirates danced together. Knights in shining armor whisked scantily clad nymphets across the floor. Off in the distance, she could hear the strains of a dance band playing some slow, seductive love ballad, and she felt herself swept away by the scene— swept away by powerful arms that lifted her until her feet barely touched the floor.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at her partner, into the face of what appeared to be an animal. She was dancing with a goat of all things. Fighting to keep from smiling or laughing, she soared across the floor. She inhaled deeply, catching the smoky essence of aftershave lotion. Who wore cologne like that? Someone who …

MYLES!

She was dancing with Myles Lawrence and everything was fine. She felt fantastic. The way he held her—so intimate, so suggestive, so arousing. She could feel one hand slipping beneath her arm from the back to teasingly caress her breast. On one turn of the dance, he released his tight hold and she floated away from him to arm’s length and she looked down to see how she was dressed. The urge to scream rose within her, accompanying the rushing flush of embarrassment. She was nude. She had nothing on but shoes. Embarrassing—and yet, she didn’t really care.

Her goat-faced partner pulled her back, and just as the music stopped, a clock began tolling the hour. Purposefully counting the gongs, Nicole counted three and the clock stopped. Three o’clock.

“It’s time to unmask,” her partner said.

“I know,” she said, anticipating the appearance of Myles’ longed-for countenance.

“Shall we unmask, then?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She reached up to find she had no mask on either. Accepting the fact, she watched her partner take his off, only to reveal another, identical mask.

“Shall we unmask, then?” he asked again.

“Yes.” And the process was repeated.

“Shall we unmask, then?”

“Yes,” she answered, more than a note of irritation rising in her voice.

“Shall we unmask, then?”

“Yes! Yes! YES!” she screamed at each question.

Nicole bolted upright in bed, her body dripping wet. What did that dream mean? Would she wind up confiding in Doctor Claypool or one of his associates about it? Why did Myles have a series of goat masks on? That made no sense whatsoever. None of it made sense. Was it even Myles with whom she had been dancing?

She lay back on the bed, falling asleep in minutes.

On the dresser, the Little Orphan Annie doll turned to face a Shirley Temple doll and one that Nicole had gotten for Christmas when she had been nine years old—her very own high fashion miniature mannikin. The Little Orphan Annie doll nodded solemnly and a smile crossed her painted face. The Shirley Temple doll returned the acknowledgment, nodding herself and smiling, with her molded lips. The high fashion mannikin bowed from the waist and the rest of the collection turned to watch Nicole sleep.

And the scratching came louder in the walls.

Tuesday, October 14, 1986 7:00 P.M.

Myles stared at the ceiling of Eunice Brooks’ bedroom. Unconcerned by what his bed-partner was doing to his lower body, he tried concentrating on the evening’s upcoming activities. He’d leave soon for the station to present the late news. Because Eunice was more interested in anything other than coherent conversation, Myles had found himself staying at the television station after his duties there had been finished. At least there he had his fellow newscasters, the weatherman and the sports director, all who could carry on ideas beyond their own domain, although the latter, Scott McReady, usually worked the conversation around to the latest deal in athletic trades or the most recent football game.

If he faced the truth, Myles had to admit that he did not relish the idea of coming back to Eunice’s apartment for anything other than sex—and he was slowly becoming bored even with that. He tilted his head, surveying the bobbing head of Eunice Brooks—sex machine. The one thing he could not deny was the fact that she was terrific in bed—but that did not a marriage make and he knew it.

Marriage?

Why had that idea entered his head? The reason he had walked out on Nicole had been his failure to make a commitment—or the desire to make one at this stage in his life. Sure, he had wanted to have a little more freedom than he felt he had with Nicole, but why would the idea of marriage suddenly invade his thoughts while Eunice was attempting to withdraw every drop of bodily juices he possessed?

He looked down again. No way could he ever envision being married to someone of Eunice’s ilk. She was nice enough, pleasant enough. She certainly was interested enough in sex to satisfy even the most lust-filled person. It seemed to Myles that the woman even bordered on the perverted side of sex—not that there was anything wrong with that between two consenting adults. He had learned much from her that he would retain for the rest of his life. Whether or not he would be able to convince someone—like Nicole—to partake in these practices was another question.

Gasping at the amount of pressure she exerted on his throbbing penis, he closed his eyes while she drained him. The sensation of his legs turning to jelly increased until he felt that he would collapse if required to stand anytime in the next five or ten minutes. This weakened sensation crept up his legs, to his spasmodically jerking member, past it to his flat stomach, to his hairy chest, to his arms and head. He closed his eyes, feeling as if he would sink into the mattress, filtering through it until he came out beneath the bed.

Eunice stayed in place, her head resting on his lower abdomen. Her own afterglow remained constant as she traced esoteric lines along his legs, inner thighs and up to his crotch. He didn’t care. He felt exhausted. She could do anything she wanted. Right now he would not argue the issue. But soon, very soon, he would walk out of her life and be done with her.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked, breaking the silence to invade his thoughts.

“No.” How could she think that someone could sleep through one of her performances?

She sat up, bouncing to his side before lying down next to him. Resting her head on his chest, she said, “You know, Myles, I’ve been thinking.”

Myles restrained himself from commenting on her mental capabilities and remained silent.

“Aren’t you curious?” she asked.

“About what?”

“About what I’ve been thinking.”

“No.”

“Oh.” She fell silent.

Myles waited. Was she thinking about what she was going to say or was she thinking about his own statement? In either case, he’d wait, since he felt he wouldn’t be able to get up and leave even if he wanted.

“Why don’t you and I get married?” she said suddenly, as if the idea had just formulated, taking root in her mind.

“What?” Myles cried, sitting up and dumping her to the side.

“Get married. You know. You ‘n’ me.”

Myles struggled to get off the bed. That fried it. Now, she was broaching the subject of marriage. Next thing, she’d formally propose. He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t even entertain the thought for more than a split second. Married to Eunice Brooks? The fuck machine?

“What brought this on?” he asked, biding for time.

“Well, we’ve been dating for several weeks now and I don’t know about you but I really dig the sex we have together. Don’t you?”

Myles shrugged. “It’s been fine,” he managed weakly. Dating? She considered his sleeping over as dating? They had gone out to dinner twice, since he had left Nicole.

Nicole. Her face materialized in his mind. Why had he left her? She was a nice person to be with. She never pushed. She never suggested outlandish things. She was so level headed, so pure in her logical reasoning. Why had he left her?

“Fine?” Eunice blurted. “Fine? Is that all you can say? Fine?”

“All right, then,” he countered. “It’s been great. You are really something else when it comes to performing in bed.”

A self-satisfied smile crossed her heart-shaped face. “So why don’t we get married and make it all legal?” She snickered at the suggestion.

“A lot of reasons.”

“Name some.”

All of a sudden, Eunice Brooks was becoming a debater. A philosophical debater. A pushing, argumentative, philosophical debater. He didn’t need that. None of it.

“First of all,” he began, “I’m not ready to settle down and get married. If you were aware of what’s going on in the world like I am, you wouldn’t even consider an idea that might result in children.”

Eunice stared at Myles, her face blank, devoid of any understanding. “What … what do you mean?” she asked, her lower lip pouting.

“Watch the news. Read the newspapers. Listen to the radio. Would you want to bring a child into this rotten world? I wouldn’t. I’m not certain I’ll ever get married. And if I do, there’ll be a firm agreement that we will not have children.”

Eunice’s face brightened. “I agree. No children. Is that all that’s bothering you? I don’t think I could handle snotty-nosed kids who crap in their pants. Do you know what I mean?”

Myles turned away. Christ! She thought he was laying out conditions. Now what? Now what could he do? “I … I …” he began lamely, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

But he had, hadn’t he? He had hurt Nicole who had not asked for anything other than his love and his presence. No strings. All she had wanted to give him was her love and her presence in return. He had been a fool.

“Who are you going to hurt?” she asked, a whimpering defeat in her voice.

Myles shook his head. “Look, Eunice, you’re a nice enough person, but I did not come into this arrangement with the idea of getting married. I … “

“All right, already. So we won’t get married,” she said, sharply. “I was merely thinking out loud. If you don’t want to get married, we won’t.”

“I … I hope you understand,” he said.

He made a mental note to call Nicole the next day. Considering the close call he’d just had with Eunice, he was convinced that Nicole was better suited to him and that he had made a gigantic mistake by walking out on her.

He felt Eunice’s hands kneading his shoulder muscles and turned slightly to see her head close to his. Her tongue flicked out along the back of his ear before jabbing him above the lobe. He felt his resolve withering again as his passions reawakened. Leaning back, he gave himself to Eunice Brooks.

Tomorrow, he’d call Nicole. Tomorrow—or the next day.

11:10 P.M.

The music heralding the imminent return of the eleven o’clock news filled Nicole’s living room and she refocused her attention on the TV set. She looked forward to the half hour broadcasts each night, thinking of them as a late rendezvous with Myles. And that was exactly what they were for her. She had hoped she might detect a change in his appearance-one that might indicate a loss of weight or sleep or something showing that he had made a mistake leaving her, that he missed her, that he was miserable without her. But there was nothing. No sign of any kind. He looked as fit and healthy as ever, without that haunted look around his eyes that Nicole had thought she had found around her own. Perhaps he didn’t care.

A commercial from a supermarket chain came on, showing Halloween candies and treats for sale. The scene cut to a front door opening and little masked ghosts and goblins screaming, “Trick or treat.”

Nicole thanked heaven for one of the advantages of living in this adults-only complex. Such invasions of privacy were nonexistent, excluding the possibility of that scene taking place at her front door. Halloween at best was a stupid, dumb event whose only purpose seemed to be to sell candy and make merchants rich. She hated the thought of the approaching holidays beyond. What would Thanksgiving be like without Myles if Halloween was going to prove to be a problem for her? She didn’t even want to think of Christmas.

She’d have to find some way to occupy her thoughts for the next few months until the holidays were over. Thank goodness she had her new job and the publicity campaign to keep her busy. She would simply work that much more diligently and not even think about Myles or what they had meant to each other.

A slapping sound from behind brought her out of the chair. Turning, she saw nothing. Then she heard the scratching again. And the sound of slapping once more, this time from the direction of the TV set. Spinning around, she found nothing out of place, until she looked at the floor. Beneath the TV table, almost out of sight, lay the red book she had used in that stupid ritual. And Myles’ picture was on top of the TV set. When had she moved it there?

The scratching grew louder.

Nothing had happened to make her believe the rite or the book or anything else she had done that night would ever bring about the change she so desperately wanted. She had felt sick with desire for Myles, but he was a washout. She didn’t want him anymore.

The room seemed chillier and the scratching continued, spreading to all four walls and to the ceiling. The book skittered across the rug until it lay at her feet.

Nicole felt the hackles on her neck move. What was happening? Was she dreaming? Things like a book moving across a carpet by itself simply didn’t happen. Bending down, she picked up the small volume and concentrated on Myles, who was about to give the last news story before the end of the telecast. The book could wait.

She tried analyzing what he was saying but found she could not.

“At any rate,” he said, flashing his toothy grin, “the dog is back with his owners after following his family from Dubuque, Iowa, to their new home in Augusta, Maine. Until tomorrow night, this is Myles Lawrence. Have a good night and a better tomorrow.”

The book quivered of its own accord in her hand, and Nicole stared at it. It was her imagination. It had to be. Things like this couldn’t happen. Incantations and mystical ceremonies were for stupid people hundreds of years ago. Not today. Not today’s people. Smiling to herself, she stood. She returned the book to its shelf above the TV, before reaching down for Myles’ picture. After replacing it on the shelf she turned off the set. The sudden quiet emphasized the fact that the scratching sound had disappeared as well. It was all her imagination. She wanted to get to bed so she could spend the next day finalizing her basic publicity campaign before presenting it to Doctor Claypool and his associates the day after next. The last thing Nicole thought of was Rose Tunic trying to interfere with the publicity proposal. Then she thought of Myles returning to her again. She closed her eyes, falling asleep immediately.

The scratching inched close to her head, coming from behind the mirrors, and a coldness filled the bedroom. Both went unnoticed by Nicole. Then, the scratching and cold were gone.

11:27 P.M.

Eunice smiled vacantly at the television set and Myles’ image, periodically blowing kisses to him. She looked forward to weekends when he’d be off work all day Saturday and Sunday. Those two days they didn’t have to get up to do anything. He had said something about going out to dinner Saturday but she thought that would be a waste of time. If they got hungry between bouts of sex, they could grab a sandwich or something to sustain themselves.

During the commercial break after the sports report and before Myles’ last story, she stood, stretching to her full five foot seven inch height. She stifled a yawn when Myles reappeared, listening intently as he told of a dog following its family from someplace in Iowa to Maine. When he finished, she clapped. She liked happy endings to stories like that.

Then the set went out of its own accord.

Startled, she stared at it for a long moment. A power failure? No, the lights were still on in the room. Did the set simply blow a tube or something? She stepped toward it and the lights dimmed until she could barely see anything in the room, heavy shadows clinging to the furniture and walls. Something had to be wrong with the electricity—someplace. She just knew that. Then, she thought she saw something move off to one side of her. Spinning in that direction she could see nothing. Something else moved in the other direction. Again, she turned, trying to see whatever it was.

A raspy, whispering laugh filled the room and she froze, unable to move. What was going on? What was happening? She felt cold and gasped when she saw clouds of steam jettisoning from her nose as her breath increased in short, sporadic puffs. The laugh died down and came back again, only much louder this time. And she thought she saw something else, something about four feet tall, dart from one side of the gloomy room to the other, ducking out of sight behind a chair.

“Who … who’s there?” she demanded weakly.

Her only response was the dry chuckling. And scratching sounds that grew in volume with each ticking second. The noises seemed to fill the room, coming at her from all directions.

Someone—someone she could not see-slapped her hard across the face. Slipping backward, trying to regain her balance, Eunice fell to the floor. What was that? What had happened? Who had slapped her? Straining her eyes, she peered into the gloom but could see nothing—no one. Her face stung from the blow. It had felt as if a hard, roughened hand, heavily calloused from manual labor, had struck her full force across the mouth. She struggled to her feet, tears pouring from her eyes while sobs tore at her body.

“Come on! Stop it!” she wailed. “Who’s there?”

Again the hand struck her. This time another hand, unseen, completely invisible, clutched her right arm while she was beaten unmercifully. Her head popped back and forth from the blows, tearing at her smooth complexion until blood mixed with her tears and vicious cuts spread open to the bone of her cheeks.

She sensed herself screaming even though she doubted that she made any sound, when the hand holding her right arm began squeezing, tightening until she thought she would go mad from pain. Her eyes widening, she watched as her upper arm caved in where she felt the grip of the unbelievably strong hand closing on it. Why couldn’t she see anything— her assailant or whoever or whatever was attacking her? When blood erupted from her arm, the pressure continued until she heard a crunching sound and she passed out as her right arm was torn apart.

Invisible blows rained down on the unconscious form of Eunice Brooks as a rage vented itself on the girl’s limp body. Little by little, her pummeled flesh fell from her bones. In turn they were pulverized into a yellow, soupy liquid, mixing with the bloody tissue that had, a few seconds before, been a living, breathing human being.

Wednesday, October 15, 198612:01 A.M.

Nicole slept soundly, unaware of the drop in temperature in her bedroom, oblivious of the scratching and the quiet, evil laugh that rippled through the air. She did not awaken when an unseen hand caressed her cheek, working its way toward her breasts where it touched her, fondling her. Then, quite unnoticed by the sleeping woman, the stereo and the television set in the living room turned on, filling the apartment with quiet, muffled sounds.

The dolls collectively nodded their heads in approval from their vantage point on the dresser.

Wednesday, October 15, 1986 2:26 A.M.

Myles locked his car and looked up at the apartment building. Inside Eunice waited for him. Maybe he should just go home to his own apartment. He hadn’t spent a night there since leaving Nicole. What was there about Eunice and her insatiability where sex was concerned? If he ever told anyone about it, he’d be called a liar. He’d try to convince his listener that she truly did indulge herself in every which way, but it would be for nothing. No one would believe him. And what if she ever tired of him? Would she simply throw him out? He had to get his priorities in order.

Slowly mounting each step leading to her fourth floor apartment, he wanted to spend an eternity on each riser. He could have taken the elevator but that would have been too quick. This way, he could take his time, and if he were lucky, the whole night would be gone by the time he reached her door. When he reached the fourth floor, he looked at his watch. Two thirty in the morning.

Pausing before the door to Eunice’s apartment, he hesitated for an instant before easing the key into the lock. When he turned it, he didn’t make a sound.

The hiss of the television set subtly filled the apartment, and he found the blank eye of the set lighting the living room and part of the entry way with its bluish light. Damn! Did that mean she had fallen asleep in the easy chair? If so, could he get away with leaving her there and going to bed by himself? He could tell her he tried to awaken her but she hadn’t responded.

Slipping off his top coat, he dropped it across a chair and stepped to the doorway of the living room. His eyes widened at the bizarre sight, at first thinking it to be some sort of awful joke. But the look of absolute horror etched into the slashed face of Eunice Brooks told him otherwise. Only her head rested in the middle of the room, surrounded by a bloody, pink mess that must have been the rest of her at one time. The pulp spread out in a puddle that embraced the whole of the open space between the furniture. Chunks of her face had been torn away, and the flesh that remained was puffed, blackened with bruises. Her dead eyes held his, riveting his attention.

“My God!” he managed hoarsely. It couldn’t be—couldn’t be Eunice. It had to be some sort of sick prank. It simply had to be.

For the first time he noticed the bitter cold, shuddering involuntarily. It seemed to be freezing in the room. A small Boston fern, its leaves wilted and whitening, convinced him that the room was actually that cold. But it was nowhere near freezing outside. Still, he could see his breath puffing from his nose. How could it be that cold in the apartment?

Forcing himself with a herculean effort, he turned away, reentering the hallway. The thermostat was set on sixty-eight degrees and the thermometer indicated that the temperature in the hall was sixty-six. Impossible!

Picking up the phone, he instantly dropped it. Had he destroyed evidence? Fingerprints? If he had, it was too late. He’d have to call the police and tell them about Eunice. He’d also have to tell them that he had acted out of instinct to call for help, probably ruining any fingerprints that might have been on the phone.

Carefully dialing the emergency number, he waited, and when the voice answered on the other end, Myles reported the death of Eunice Brooks.

3:00 A.M.

Nicole smiled in the embrace of Myles. Tipping her head back, he kissed her, not roughly but tenderly and gently. She wanted to scream, because of the pleasure this simple show of love created within her. They had been apart too long and …

A chuckle snapped her attention away from Myles. A deep throated resonant chuckle.

Who was laughing? She opened her eyes to the darkness of her own bedroom. Alone. Totally alone. It had been a dream. Turning over, she caught herself, ready to cry. That would solve nothing. It had been only a dream. She’d survive. She had to survive. She could not allow the thought of Myles kissing her turn her into an emotional wreck. She’d win him back. Snuggling down beneath the covers, she nodded and closed her eyes. She would win. She knew that.

When her breathing steadied into sleep, she did not consciously notice the drop in room temperature again but instinctively pulled the covers up tighter around her neck.

6:45 A.M.

“Just make certain you keep us apprised of your whereabouts, Mr. Lawrence,” Lieutenant Sandy Michaelson said. He had come to the apartment when the “black and white” had reported the murder after answering the summons put out by Myles Lawrence.

Michaelson watched Myles. He didn’t believe for an instant that the TV news reporter could have been responsible for the gruesome sight that had met him when he entered the apartment. The investigating officers had tried to remain as quiet as possible to avoid awakening the entire building of sleeping tenants. Still, there were those who had peeked into the hall and had been, in time, questioned. No one had seen anything. No one had heard anything. The lack of eye witnesses was not surprising to Michaelson, but the fact that no one had heard anything puzzled him at best. How could a human being be demolished in the manner in which Eunice Brooks had died and not utter a sound? The lab man had said that the best he could do under the circumstances was to estimate the time of death somewhere in the last three to five hours. There was no body as such for an autopsy and the head would barely serve when it came to identifying the dead woman.

Michaelson had been on the force for twelve years but had never seen anything remotely resembling this murder scene. Myles Lawrence’s reaction had been genuine. Of that, Michaelson felt one hundred percent positive. The fact that he had an air tight alibi from eight o’clock the previous evening until two that morning did the most to eliminate the anchorman from suspicion.

Now Michaelson had no idea where he could start. Glancing at his watch, he winced. It was almost seven in the morning. When the examination of the apartment was finished and their primary investigation completed, he’d take the information and sift through it, chart it, file it, study it, investigate each and every facet of each and every detail—no matter how small. And somewhere deep inside him, Lieutenant Sandy Michaelson felt that he would find nothing. Absolutely nothing.

11:00 P.M.

Nicole took took her seat opposite the TV set, humming along with the heralding fanfare that announced the late night news. When Barth Galloway appeared on the screen, sitting behind the desk, she listened intently.

“Myles Lawrence is off tonight,” Galloway began simply without further explanation.

Nicole got to her feet, crossed over and flicked off the set just as Galloway said, “Police are investigating a murder which was reported by …”

The screen went blank. So Myles had a night off. Big deal. She’d be able to go to bed half an hour earlier and get that much more sleep. It was probably better that he wasn’t on, since she had to put the finishing touches on her publicity campaign the next day. Then, she’d be able to hit the streets, with the news releases that Doctor Claypool and his advisors had approved. She decided to call on the television station where Myles worked sometime after the campaign began. By waiting awhile, she felt she’d be much more knowledgeable and able to answer any questions the news media might pose. If she did see Myles, she wanted to be in complete control.

She had no trouble falling asleep and did not awaken when what appeared to be the indentation of fingers suddenly pressed into the covers alongside her. In the living room, the television set came on and the late night news show continued without an audience in Nicole’s apartment.

Thursday, October 16, 1986 7:03 A.M.

The next morning she found the local early morning talk show in full swing when she entered the living room. Pouting, she angrily crossed the room, reaching out to turn off the TV set.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Reverend Eddie John Stangood,” the host said, graciously standing to welcome his next guest.

Nicole stopped for a moment, stepping back. Stacey Ford’s hero, the wonderful Reverend Eddie John Stangood, strode across the room, swaggering self-assuredly. Dark rimmed glasses gave the white-suited man a scholarly appearance.

“We-yell, it certainly is a pleasure to be he-yere this morning with you,” Stangood said.

Nicole half-expected him to launch into a sermon such as the type he delivered on Sunday mornings on one of the local stations. What did Stacey believe? Couldn’t she see that this man had to be a charlatan of sorts?

“The Reverend Stangood has taken the position that unless one is reborn and brought into his church, there is no chance for salvation for anyone. Is that correct, Reverend?” the host asked.

“Yeh-yes. Gee-zus has told me directly that …”

Nicole turned off the set. She couldn’t take this hogwash at any time, much less this early in the day.

The thought that the set had been on when she got up bothered her. She had to be losing her mind. That was the second or third time that she had found the television set on upon arising. What was making her do such absent-minded things?

Recalling the previous evening, she remembered that Myles had not been on the late news. She had turned the set off when she realized she wouldn’t see him. In fact, when she thought about it for a few minutes, she even recalled what the substitute newsman was saying. Something about a murder. She remembered because his voice had withered and died as the set went off. Maybe her set needed attention. The switch might not be going off all the way and some vibration or something might be jostling the TV just enough to put it back on.

She couldn’t waste her time this morning worrying about something like that. Work had to take precedence today. She had enjoyed a great night’s sleep and would be able to leave for work a few minutes early. Relegating the troublesome TV set to the back of her mind, she thought about the stereo going on in the same manner before filing it in her memory bank next to the television problem.

When she reached the office, she found most of the secretaries talking about the peculiar murder that had taken place.

“What do you think happened?” Julie Lewis asked, turning to Nicole when she saw the public relations director enter.

“Think? Happened?” Nicole asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you see the paper last night or watch the news?”

Nicole shook her head.

“A woman was murdered.”

“So?” Nicole asked, shrugging. “Murders happen all of the time.”

“But most of the time the news media are right there with all the sordid details. This time there weren’t any. Details, that is,” Julie said.

Nicole waited. There had to be more to what the girl was saying.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Julie asked, turning to the other girls. “Am I lying?”

They all shook their heads.

“I … I don’t understand,” Nicole said when she saw the curious expressions on the girls’ faces.

“It said in the paper that the body was found by some reporter or something. Last night on the newscasts, they hardly referred to it other than to say that the woman was found by a reporter. No details. Nothing about how she died or the weapon or anything. We think it’s peculiar.”

“That’s all?” Nicole asked bluntly.

Julia nodded. “We think it’s out of the ordinary. We were …”

“All right! All right! All right!” Rose Tunic cried, bursting from her office. “What’s going on here?” Her nostrils flaring, the overweight woman’s eyes shrunk as her cheeks puffed out.

“Nothing, Miss Tunic,” Julie said, turning back to her typewriter.

The other secretaries fled the scene, making their way to their own desks. Nicole stood there for a moment.

“Don’t you have an office?” Rose demanded, blocking Nicole’s passage.

“You know I do, Miss Tunic,” Nicole said quietly, “but you’re standing in my way.”

For a moment, Rose stood her ground before stepping aside. Nicole had all she could do to keep from laughing. The woman thought of herself as the one and only force in the office. She might have the other girls fooled but Nicole would have none of the woman’s browbeating. Doctor Claypool was her immediate supervisor and main concern—the man to whom she reported and had to keep happy with her ideas and work. He had been more than helpful in getting her started in the right direction, and when her own ideas took over, he had seemed more than pleased. Rose Tunic could go jump in the lake as far as Nicole was concerned.

Friday, October 17, 1986 8:30 A.M.

Myles lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t slept since finding Eunice’s remains. Whenever he thought of that pool of pinkish jelly surrounding her severed head, he shuddered, fighting the awful urge to throw up. But since he hadn’t eaten, there was nothing in him to vomit. When had he found her? After concentrating, he concluded only that he had found her the morning before yesterday. After the police dismissed him, advising him to stay in close contact, he had returned to his apartment, shutting the awful world out. Then, today had to be Friday.

He wished somehow that he could cry. Maybe that would help. But his feelings for Eunice finally clarified, once he realized that the woman was dead. He had cared for her only physically—not in the way he had found himself feeling about Nicole. Perhaps that was what had scared him and forced him to run from Nicole. He had been frightened by the growing swell of emotion he felt within himself for her. Now he realized definitely that he had made a mistake, that he had given up something precious.

If only Nicole hadn’t gotten involved with someone else—if she still felt anything for him —if he could gather together the necessary emotional strength to face her again, he would do everything in his power to win her back.

He leaped off the bed, hurrying to the window. Why did he feel like this now? It was hypocritical of him, to say the least. There would be no funeral for Eunice, and for that he was thankful. He had learned from the police that her remains were to be shipped to her room in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. At first he had felt a moral obligation to offer to make the necessary arrangements. He couldn’t recall if Eunice had ever said anything other than in passing about a family or relatives someplace. She had never gone into much detail.

If Nicole and he got back together, he’d benefit. But what if he and Nicole weren’t meant for each other?

A piercing jab beneath his left ear brought a cry to his lips. What the hell was that awful pain? He rubbed his ear for a moment, easing the pain. Hopefully that would be the end of that.

Nicole. He had been thinking about Nicole. Nicole and he getting back together again. It would be more than nice if they did. If they didn’t, he’d survive somehow and so would she.

The pain struck again. Whatever it was, it left when he rubbed his afflicted ear again. Enough of that. He stormed into the bathroom and quickly swallowed three aspirin tablets. When he turned to leave, the shower passively beckoned to him. He hadn’t done much of anything the last forty-eight hours or so, and a hot shower would get him back on track. Slipping from his robe, Myles turned on the hot water and stepped in when clouds of steam billowed through the bathroom.

Monday, October 20, 1986 1:00 P.M.

Nicole could not have been more pleased with the manner in which the campaign initially had been received. The few people she had spoken with on Friday had been more than willing to cooperate, agreeing to do a story or grant her an interview.

But she had resisted going first to Myles’ station. Was she afraid? Afraid of what? A confrontation wherein she would learn that he had fallen in love with someone else? Perhaps he was living with someone. Had he given up his apartment? Worse still, might he be engaged to marry? Whenever those awful thoughts bombarded her, she choked back her urge to cry, to scream, to give vent to her frustrated emotions. He had to be waiting for her. He simply had to be!

Today, she could not give herself logical reasons why she should not call on KSLL-TV. She had three other offices to call on, all of which were in the same building. If she ran into Myles while at KSLL-TV, she’d merely tough it out.

To ward off the possible meeting, she called on her other contacts first and at three o’clock pushed open the glass doors of KSLL-TV.

2:55 P.M.

Myles stood behind his desk. Coming back to work had not been as traumatic as he had anticipated. He would be forever thankful that there had been no funeral for him to attend, but at least she would have mourners when her remains reached South Dakota.

Tonight, he would return to his job as anchorman and things would return to normal. Bending down, he jotted Nicole’s name on a list of people he wanted to contact within the next day or two. What would he say to her? He had no idea and would not make any overture until he had rehearsed something. What he would do beyond that initial call was equally mystifying, but he knew he had to speak to her —and that he would do so before the end of the week. He needed that much time to pull himself and his thoughts together. Glancing at his watch, he decided he’d get a cup of coffee before the three-thirty meeting he had with the station manager. That would give him just half an hour. Picking up his coffee mug, he went to the office door and stepped into the hall.

3:00 P.M.

Nicole froze. No sooner had she entered the lobby of KSLL-TV than Myles stepped from his office into the hallway, walking directly toward her. When he looked up, their eyes met and locked. He looked terrible—as if he had had no sleep or certainly wasn’t getting an adequate amount. Dark circles below his eyes added to his overall appearance of exhaustion.

She watched him come toward her. Why hadn’t he stopped? Why hadn’t he turned around when he saw her, retreating to the sanctity of his private office? Why was he walking directly toward her? Surely he had seen her. She tried remembering if he had looked so haggard the last time she’d seen him on TV. Something must have happened while he was off from work. Perhaps he’d been ill.

“Nicole,” he said simply, his voice catching on the single word.

“Hello, Myles. How are you?” She felt surprise at the confidence in her voice.

“I could he and tell you fine but actually the last few days have been pretty awful.”

“Really? Why?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as cold or as calculating as the two simple words could have implied.

He studied her for a moment, seemingly to drink in her features like a man dying of thirst would do to a glass of water before consuming it. Coughing to clear his throat, he forced a smile.

“You heard about it, didn’t you?”

“It? About what?”

“The murder of Eunice Brooks.”

“Who?”

“The murdered girl I found.”

“You found?” Her face flushed. Myles had been the reporter who had found the murdered woman? She had not read about the incident in the paper and didn’t know if his name had been mentioned. If it had, the people at the clinic could not have associated her with Myles because she had never mentioned him to anyone. And as far as TV news was concerned, she had turned off the set each time she saw Barth Galloway preparing to broadcast in Myles’ absence.

Myles gave her a sterile version of what he had found without going into all the gory details, relaxing visibly when she comforted him as much as she could in a public lobby. She could tell that he hadn’t told her everything and wished he would open up. If he had been involved with the dead woman, it would do him more good to talk it out of his system than keep it bottled up inside.

“Can we talk in your office for a moment, Myles?”

“Sure,” he said, taking her arm to guide her toward it.

When they were seated inside with the door closed, she said, “I know you well enough to realize that you weren’t telling me everything out there. Why don’t you dump on me? I can handle it.”

An ironic smile crossed his face. “I rather doubt that, Nicole. Really. It was awful. The reason the news media has not gone into much detail is that the scene was so awful, so hideous that it couldn’t be described in an acceptable way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And I hope you never have to, Nicole.” He looked away, a haunted expression replacing the sad one on his face. He looked as if he were reliving the scene again.

“Myles, don’t,” she said, standing to cross the short distance to him. Reaching out she gently touched his hand, smiling when he looked up.

“I think that scene will stay with me as long as I live,” he whispered. “It was Eunice who drew me away from you, you know.”

She waited. Talking would do him good. What matter if what he said would hurt her? She wanted to know why he had left, what his reasoning had been. If she knew, she would be better able to fight the ghost of Eunice Brooks.

Little by little, Myles explained why he had left, how stupid his reasons seemed now.

“You know,” he said, after pausing for a while, “you were on my mind a lot of the time. In fact, I was considering leaving Eunice and coming back to you, begging for another chance. She wasn’t the brightest person around, and …”

“Myles,” Nicole said, breaking in, “I’m still here. Waiting. I did nothing while you were gone. Somehow I knew we’d wind up together again. You know …”

“No,” Myles said, pulling away from her and standing. “It’s all over. The memory of Eunice would always be there between us. There’s no way I could ever consider being with you again after the way I treated you. I was such a fool. Fools should not be given a second chance.”

“I don’t believe that, Myles,” she said quietly. “I don’t think you do either. Time will heal …”

“Time will not heal anything. There’s only one thing I can do. Leave … leave the area and …”

Before he could continue, he grabbed his left ear, sucking in his breath as the pain hammered at him.

“What is it, Myles?” Nicole moved toward him. Something was drastically wrong. His face contorted painfully as he rubbed his ear.

“It … it’s nothing,” he mumbled. “It … it’ll pass. It always does.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“It’s happened only once or twice. If it continues, I’ll go see a doctor.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“I have to go, Myles. I have a meeting with the station manager at three thirty and it’s a minute past that now. Will you call me?”

“I’ve got a meeting with him, too. Come on. I’ll escort you,” he said, taking her arm once more.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her concern for his apparent earache more evident than his.

“All right? Oh, you mean the ear. Yeah. The pain is gone now. Come on or we’ll be late. I don’t want him to think I waylaid you on purpose.”

Allowing him to guide her by her arm as they walked down the hallway, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. She fervently hoped that he would change his mind about leaving. The way he had said it seemed to be almost spontaneous. Now that she had seen him again up close, she knew more than before that she wanted him. She felt she truly loved Myles. She’d do whatever it took to get him to stay.

Monday, October 20, 1986 11:12 P.M.

Nicole watched Myles that night while he gave the late news. Marveling at his composure on camera, she compared the cool, articulate news reporter with the disturbed, upset and almost distraught man she had encountered earlier that day. Myles’ horror over Eunice Brooks’ death had shown her a whole new aspect to his personality—one that seemed to complete him as a person. She always had known him to be a serious, concerned person who was completely aware of all the troubles and ills of the world. That was something he had gained from his chosen field of work. There also had been the happy-go-lucky side of him, the humor, the devil-may-care attitude of his light moments. She had liked all of that. His tenderness when it came to making love had been the mortar that had held the bricks of his personality together for Nicole. Now this new facet completed the man and she wanted him even more than she had in the past.

When the news program finished, she hurried to bed, and once beneath the covers, almost immediately fell asleep. After several hours had passed, the turntable in the other room began spinning slowly until it gained its proper speed, and the arm moved obediently from its resting place, stopping when it reached what should have been the edge of a record. Then the arm dropped, and although there was no disc on the turntable, the soft strains of a Strauss waltz began filtering through the apartment. The volume grew, infiltrating the bedroom, and Nichole’s lips curved into a sinister smile.

She bowed her head, holding out her arms to her dream-companion. Accepting his invitation to dance, she joined him and they spun about the floor, their feet barely touching the cold, black marble beneath them. The hands of the huge clock in the ballroom moved inexorably toward twelve, then one, then two, and as they hovered at right angles between twelve and three, the music changed into an abandoned dervish-like melody—wild and fast tempoed. The couple spun faster and faster until the room blurred into a haze of colors and streaks.

In the living room of Nicole’s apartment, the small chiming clock wiggled as if being jostled by unseen hands until it slid to the edge of the shelf on which it rested. Floating in midair, it circled the room three times before sailing through the doorway, down the short hall toward the open bedroom. After three circuits of that room it slowed, hovering over Nicole’s head. The three soft notes sounding the hour brought rapid eye movement to Nicole’s undulating lids. The small clock circled the bed before retracing its route to the living room shelf.

“Shall we unmask?” her partner asked, reaching for his goat’s mask.

“Yes,” she said, removing her non-existent face covering.

When she saw he still had a mask identical to the one he had removed still covering his face, she felt her face redden.

“Shall we unmask?” he asked again, removing the mask only to reveal another.

“Yes.” Her voice rose to an irritated level.

“Shall we unmask?” he asked her the third time, pulling the goat’s face away again. He stared at her, his yellow eyes drilling into hers, ripping away any shield of secrecy that covered her soul, tearing down any resistance she might have mustered.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she screamed, sitting up in bed.

Breathing heavily as though she had been running for hours, Nicole stared into the darkness. What was wrong? Had she been dreaming? What? What had she been dreaming? Dancing? She had been dancing.

Frowning, she concentrated but could not catch the main theme of the nightmare. It had to be a nightmare if she awoke terrified, sweating and breathing rapidly. What had she dreamt? Why couldn’t she remember? Usually she could recall her dreams in great detail. Now, she could not recall anything other than the fact that she had been dancing. But with whom? Where? Why? How? The questions banged at her until her head finally thumped with a dull ache.

Fine. Now she needed an aspirin or two. Throwing back the covers, Nicole slipped from the bed, hurrying to the bathroom. Placing two of the white tablets on her tongue, she washed them down with half a glass of water and returned to bed.

After she turned out the light, she lay there for several minutes, her eyes searching the darkness for some thread of the dream. Nothing materialized and she turned to one side. Perhaps in the morning she’d recall the details. Then she’d not be concerned. Concern? Why should she feel concern over a dream? A silly dream?

She closed her eyes.

In the bathroom, the faucet began turning by itself, breaking the seal from the pipe extending through the sink. Soundlessly moving, the mouth of the faucet pointed to one side, then straight up, to the other side, down at the wash bowl, to one side, straight up and then—the curved piece of chrome floated away to settle on a shelf while the heavy stream of water shot straight out, past the bowl, curving within a foot or two of the basin to the floor. Striking the rug, the water made no sound at first, and as it soaked the pink floor covering, the noise of splashing grew. The door moved gently shut. The water continued flowing.

Tuesday, October 21, 1986 7:00 A.M.

Nicole opened her eyes at the first sound of her alarm’s gentle ringing. Stretching, she sat up. She wanted to keep extra busy today and not even think of the day’s significance—her birthday. God, how awful to be alone! At least she had her new job to lose herself in, directing all of her energy toward the success of the public relations campaign. Slipping from bed, she screamed when her feet touched the icy water covering her bedroom floor.

7:15 A.M.

“I’m telling you I have no idea what happened,” she said nastily into the phone.

“Things like that simply don’t happen, Miss Kilton.” The manager’s voice snapped sarcastically in her ear.

How did he know? He wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen anything of the damage to her apartment or furniture. “Will you have someone come over and take care of it? Today?”

“Of course I will. That’s my job, isn’t it? I’ll have a plumber there by nine at the latest. Do you have insurance?”

“Yes, I have insurance. Don’t you remember it’s stipulated in my lease that I have it.”

“Just checking. At any rate, you’d best call your agent. They should be willing to stand for the damages.”

Fuming at the delay in leaving for work, Nicole then dialed her insurance agent, who assured her that her possessions were insured, but that the building’s owner was responsible for protection to the building itself. After receiving instructions to stay at a motel until the apartment was dried out and her damaged items replaced, she hung up and left for work.

During the next four nights, she stayed at a nearby motel, and once she had received the check to replace her damaged furniture, she shopped for a new bedroom set. The kitchen had had water but nothing there had been damaged, while the rug in the living room had absorbed most of the water that had been on the floor there, leaving the furniture barely wet.

Her first day back in her apartment, a Saturday, seemed endless as she looked forward to retiring for the night in her new water bed. She had thought of the irony of buying such a piece of furniture when it had been water damage that had led to her being able to purchase it in the first place. That night and the next she slept without apparently dreaming anything, something she had not anticipated. While at the motel, she had had dreams but not the strange one. Now that she had returned to her apartment she wondered if it would resume.

Monday, October 27, 1986

Completely refreshed on Monday morning, she showered and was on her way to work by eight fifteen. While waiting for the bus, she thought of Myles. She had hoped she would have heard from him by now. Certainly he should be sufficiently recovered from the trauma of Eunice’s death by this time. Perhaps he never would call. Maybe she should call him.

Shaking her head, she stepped onto the bus when it pulled up. No. If he elected not to call her, then it was finished. Maybe she’d never see him again. Biting her tongue, she looked out the bus window at the flow of traffic, doing her best to dismiss Myles from her mind.

8:30 A.M.

A low growl rumbled through Nicole’s apartment, while the small red book bounced about on the shelf. Simultaneously, as though perpetrated by one unseen entity, one set of many hands, the drawers to her dresser flew open, while the closet door tore from its hinges and Nicole’s wardrobe floated about the bedroom, landing everywhere. The cabinets in the kitchen wrenched open, and the cans, cups, saucers, plates and everything else contained therein sailed about the kitchen, breaking as they hit the floor. Canned foods piled up in the sink, one on top of the next until a shaky thin tower reached the ceiling. The living room furniture ripped open, its cotton stuffing filling the air. All of the books on the shelf above the TV set fell to the floor—all except the red book. It stayed in its place. The chiming clock rocked in place, bobbing back and forth, until it took off, hurtling across the living room with a terrific velocity straight at the television set. The loud pop as the vacuum of the picture tube was broken filled the room and, as if punctuating the havoc wrought, the apartment fell silence except for the sound of heavy panting.

3:00 P.M.

Myles sat at his desk, fingering the key he had found in his desk drawer—Eunice’s key, the key to her apartment. Somehow he had forgotten about it and had not returned it to the apartment manager after Eunice’s death. He had thrown himself into work since returning to the station office the previous Monday and had not allowed himself much time to think about Eunice or Nicole or anything. Now, as if someone had opened a floodgate, the thoughts came pouring out. Eunice was gone. There was nothing he could do about that.

On the other hand, Nicole had seemed genuinely interested in his welfare when she had come into the office the week before. At first he had found it difficult to face her. He had hurt her. He felt he knew her well enough to read her emotions, even though she had almost successfully hidden them behind her display of self-confidence. Had that been the reason he had taken on the role of martyr, saying that he was going to leave?

Leave? Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He could …

The pain struck instantly behind his ear. What was wrong with his ear? Or was there something wrong inside his head? What could be causing it?

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling while he massaged his ear. Little by little, the pain subsided. When had that happened last? He searched his memory. When Nicole had been here in his office. Last Monday. It probably wasn’t too serious if it came that infrequently.

What had he been thinking about when the pain struck? Leaving?

The pain came again and Myles froze, staring at the ceiling for a long minute before rubbing the affected ear again.

6:00 P.M.

“Is this just the way you found it, Miss Kilton?” the uniformed policeman asked.

Nicole, her eyes reddened from crying, looked up at the young officer. “Yes.”

“And you say the door was locked?”

“That’s the strange part about it,” she said, dabbing at the corner of one eye. “The key worked normally. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the damage.”

“You got any enemies? Anybody who might want to get even with you for something?”

Nicole quickly shook her head. There was no one. There weren’t enough people in her life to include someone who could be so vindictive. The only person in her life who didn’t meet her personal criteria as a friend was Rose Tunic. But Rose was simply an unlikeable person. Nicole and she hardly had any dealings at work, and there was absolutely no reason why the office manager would want to destroy Nicole’s apartment. “There’s no one I can think of, Officer.”

“Well, you’d best make certain that nothing is missing. You know—money, jewelry, other valuables.”

Nicole shook her head. “There’s nothing. I never leave money in the apartment and my jewelry is pretty pedestrian when it comes to value. In fact, there’s nothing of value in the apartment other than the TV, stereo and books. They’re all here. Or what’s left of them.”

“I guess we’ll probably write it off to vandalism then. There’s no telling what some people will do today.”

Nicole looked at him, her puzzled expression bringing a half smile to his face.

“They probably broke in here,” he said, “looking for money or stuff they could hock. When they found nothing other than the TV and stereo, they probably went a little nuts and destroyed the place. Beats me why they didn’t take the boob tube and stereo and convert them into cash.”

“Well, either way, I’m the loser, right?”

He nodded, closing his notebook. “I guess so. You got insurance?”

Nicole swallowed. “I hope so. I just turned in a sizable claim within the last week or so. My bedroom was flooded and the furniture ruined. I just moved back in yesterday.”

“I’m sure you have, then,” he said kindly.

“They’re not going to be too happy with this little turn of events, are they?” she asked, forcing a wry smile.

“Hell, that’s what they’re in business for, Miss Kilton.”

6:30 P.M.

“That may be the reason we’re in business, Miss Kilton, but we would like to make a profit as well.”

Nicole bit her lip. He was angry. The insurance agent might refuse to help her now that she had made him upset. At first he had thought she was being funny—playing a practical joke. Then, realizing that she was telling the truth, he began asking her pointed questions. When she thought that he was trying to renege on the claim, she had asked him what the purpose of his company was if not to make certain that she and people like her had insurance coverage on their possessions.

“Look, Miss Kilton, I’m sorry. I’ve had a bad month, and another claim from someone, especially one who just had a sizable check handed to them, is not my idea of ending the day in a very good way.”

“Just assure me that I am covered, Mr. Davis,” Nicole said.

“Oh, you’re covered all right. Right down to your pajamas and the cat’s as well. You did call the police?”

“Yes. They said you’d need the case number since there was a crime committed.”

“That’s right. May I come over and look the damage over? I’m not that far away. I could be there within twenty minutes or so.”

“Please, come ahead. The sooner this thing is settled, the quicker I can get on with it.”

“No idea who might have done it?” Davis asked.

“None. You sound like the police.”

“I’ll probably be asking you a lot of the same questions, Miss Kilton.”

Nicole hung up and waited for the insurance agent to arrive.

Friday, October 31, 1986 7:00 P.M.

Myles locked his car, walking around it toward the entrance of his apartment building.

“Trick or treat,” a rough, little voice demanded.

Myles stopped when the costumed child jumped out in front of him, blocking the way. “Well, now,” he said, “what do we have here?”

The child, its features effectively hidden by the withered countenance of an old witch or troll, said nothing.

“I don’t have any candy for you.”

The child remained silent, holding out one hand, palm up.

“Will you be satisfied with money?”

Still, no response.

Myles reached into his pants pocket, withdrawing a handful of change. Dropping a quarter into the small hand, he moved to step around the Halloween beggar. When he reached the doorway to the main entrance, he stopped before inserting his key and turned to look back at the child. There was no one in sight. Had he imagined it? He knew he was tired but … What he needed was a vacation. A rest. Get away from the station for a while. Maybe cast about for a new job.

He turned the key and doubled over at the same time when the pain hit him. His ear again. Nothing had happened in the last four days. Now, all of a sudden, he was being afflicted again. At least Nicole had been sympathetic about it that day in his office.

The pain eased, disappearing in a few moments.

Riding up to his floor, Myles entertained the mental image of Nicole, smiling as he stepped off the elevator.

Monday, November 3, 1986 6:30 P.M.

Seven days after her apartment had been destroyed, Nicole, who had moved back into the same motel though a different room, hurried home to her newly redecorated rooms, anticipating a restful evening. After admiring her new furniture, she prepared a simple supper. When she finished her evening meal, she sat back on the kitchen chair and thought of Myles. She had not watched him on the late night news while staying at the motel, but tonight she would remedy that. She wondered if he still looked the same …

She stopped. Taking a deep breath, she gagged. What in the world was that terrible stench? She hurried to the sink, first thinking that the odor was not unlike sewer gas, but sniffing around the drain, she found nothing out of the ordinary. Opening the doors below, she inhaled deeply but smelled nothing different. When she stood, the fetid stink still lingered in the air.

Terrible. It was positively awful. Where could it be coming from? The bathroom? Hurrying there, she found nothing that indicated the strange smell emanated from that room.

Could it be coming from her new furniture? She went to the living room. She found the rancid smell was there as well, just as strong as it had been in the kitchen and the bathroom.

Bending down, she sniffed at the couch and the two small occasional chairs. Though they smelled normal, the stench hung in the air. The bedroom? She hurried there and found nothing.

After opening the windows, she got out a can of air freshener, spraying each room. Nothing helped.

Then, it was gone. One second she could smell it and the next it was gone. Well, whatever it was, she would not miss it. Putting the spray can away, she went to the living room, freezing in the doorway.

The stereo was playing, classical music softly filling the air in competition with the TV set, which also was on. She hadn’t turned them on when she was in the living room checking the furniture. She had been too upset to have done that. Nor had she done it when she returned to open the windows.

“What’s going on?” she asked aloud. “Come on. What’s happening? Why are all these things happening to me? Well, there’s one way to fix that.” She crossed the room and pulled each plug out of its socket. “Let’s see you work now!”

As if to mock her, the television set stared at her blankly with its blinded eye while the stereo sat mute.

Later that night, she plugged in the TV set to watch Myles, and when he signed off, she undid the electrical connection once more.

After she had retired for the night, she lay on her back staring into the void. She wanted Myles. She needed him. Tomorrow, she’d call him. Rolling over on her side, she prepared to go to sleep but suddenly sat up.

Through the bedroom door, she could see the glow of the TV set and hear the muted voices of a late night talk show. When she hurried to the living room, she found the stereo playing soft, dreamy music as well.

Biting her knuckle she turned all the lights on in the apartment and pulled the plugs again. Something weird—something out of the ordinary—was going on. But what? Or had she only thought that she had pulled the plugs?

For the next three hours she lay on her back, the lights in the apartment blazing brightly. Finally she dropped off to sleep.

Tuesday, November 4, 1986 8:00 A.M.

Several days after his encounter with the Halloween witch, Myles had decided to take things a bit more easy due to his recurring earache. Instead of leaping from bed and jumping into the shower first thing in the morning, he elected to take it slower. Getting up in a leisurely manner, he enjoyed a long, hot shower before indulging himself in several cups of coffee and the morning newspaper once he was dressed. The first few mornings totally agreed with him, and the last time he had had the pain became a dim memory.

The hot water flowed over him, washing away the night’s sleep, invigorating his body as he soaped all over. One thing he definitely knew. If slowing down this way made him feel that much better, what would a full blown vacation feel like? He’d have to discuss the possibilities with the station manager and find out if he could take a week off. Perhaps he’d apply for a few positions he knew were about to be available.

Instantly, the pain pierced his mastoid area and he grabbed at his ear. What the hell? Rubbing vigorously, the discomfort diminished, leaving in a few seconds.

If he did go, he might entertain the thought of taking Nicole with him, if she would consider it.

The sound of the water rose until it sounded like a self-satisfied sigh.

10:00 A.M.

When Nicole called KSLL-TV the next morning, Myles wasn’t in yet and she had no another opportunity to try the remainder of the day. After her luncheon break, she sat behind her desk, staring into space. The loss of sleep the night before had done nothing to enhance her daytime energy, and she felt sluggish and sleepy.

“You’d best try going to bed at night and you won’t be falling asleep on the job,” Rose Tunic said, standing framed in the doorway to Nicole’s office.

Nicole snapped out of her funk, staring at the overweight woman. “I wasn’t sleeping,” she lied. But had she been sleeping? Actually sleeping on the job? No. She had just reacted slowly when Rose looked in and stopped to drop her nasty little jibe. “If you must know, I didn’t get much sleep last night but I wasn’t trying to make up for it on company time, if that’s what you were hinting at.”

“I wasn’t hinting at anything. If the shoe fits, wear it,” Rose said, a smug look of self-satisfaction crossing her corpulent features. Without another word, she turned and left.

Nicole smiled. How like Rose to use a timeworn cliché to make her point. She wondered when the office manager had had her last original thought. From what she had seen, the woman acted almost entirely on instinct and not intellect. How could someone exist like that? Well, Nicole would be damned if someone like Rose Tunic could get her upset.

Upset. She thought back to the previous night and how jangled her own nerves had been by the strange occurrences. How could the TV and stereo plug themselves into the outlets and turn themselves on? That simply wasn’t possible. Still, it had happened somehow. If nothing else she’d get a good night’s sleep tonight. She felt dead on her feet and wished for five o’clock to arrive as soon as possible.

Thursday, November 6, 1986 7:30 P.M.

Myles sat behind his desk, fingering the stack of news stories he would report on the eleven o’clock news. He was positive that he’d have no problem with any of the stories. Something else was bothering him.

For the last three days, ever since he had the pain in the shower Tuesday morning, he had put two and two together, arriving at the same answer each time. Whenever he thought of leaving or quitting his job or moving away, the pain struck. When he thought of Nicole, the pain left. How could the two be related? Could medicine explain it? Pain didn’t work that way. Love and its relative consequences didn’t work that way. Or did it? Several times during the day, he had resolutely made an effort to write a letter of resignation only to be struck with the pain. He immediately thought of Nicole and the pain receded. Each time he tried, the results were the same. It seemed as if his pain were psychosomatic and directly related to his leaving or not leaving Nicole.

Checking his watch, he decided to stop by Nicole’s after the eleven o’clock newscast and visit with her. If he felt all right when he was with her, he’d give every consideration to going back into her life. After all, he did feel strongly about her. And that probably meant he was one step removed from loving her—if he didn’t already.

The telephone rang and he picked it up.

“Myles Lawrence here.”

There was no response other than an agreeable “Um-hmmmmmmm,” before the line went dead.

8:45 P.M.

Immediately after eating, Nicole washed her few dishes and put them away. Somehow she had managed to get through the afternoon and now that she was home felt that the only place for her was bed. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet but that didn’t matter. She had to get to bed, to sleep.

“Perchance to dream?” she said aloud. She hadn’t thought much about her peculiar recurring dream. Whatever was causing it probably would pass in time.

If she went to bed now, she’d miss Myles, but she could do without him for one night. She had done without him for quite a few nights while she stayed in the motel the second time. Of all things to have a motel room that had a TV set that would not bring in KSLL-TV. She remembered how angry she had been but then thought of it as a test to see if she could get by without Myles’ electronic visit every night. She had survived nicely and tonight would not be traumatic without him. She was positive of that.

She bathed instead of showering, soaking for almost thirty minutes in lightly scented bath oil, washing away the fatigue of lost sleep and a hard day’s work. When she turned out the light next to her pillow, the last thing she looked at was the digital clock and thought that it was the first time in ages that she had gotten to bed before ten o’clock.

Closing her eyes, she teetered on the brink of sleep for perhaps three seconds before plunging headlong into the abyss of slumber. The blackness embraced her, caressing her tiredness and she settled in, comfortable and warm.

At eleven o’clock, the TV set came on, Myles’ voice blaring loudly above the blustery march of Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony, which poured from the stereo speakers. Bleary-eyed, she sat up, not quite certain where she was or what was happening. That noise? That voice? Myles? Was Myles here? Had he come back to her? Then the words began penetrating her foggy mind.

Something about Libya. The PLO. Something. Why was he saying that if he had come back to her?

THE TELEVISION SET WAS ON!

Leaping from the bed, she froze when a heavy knock came at the door. Who was knocking? Had someone called the police? No, there hadn’t been enough time to do that. It had to be an irate neighbor.

Dashing to the front room, she turned off the television set and the stereo. The ensuing silence crushed in on the room.

“Yes? Who’s there?”

“Little Bo Peep, you stupid broad,” a heavy male voice growled. “What the hell’s wrong with you, playing that crap so loud?”

“I’m sorry,” she said through the door, not opening it for fear the man would physically attack her in his angry mood.

“Once more and I call the cops or the landlord. It’s up to you whether I do or don’t. Knock that shit off! Y’ hear?”

“It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“It better not,” he said, his voice softening as he walked down the hall to his own apartment.

Nicole leaned against the door. Things like this weren’t possible. They simply were NOT …

The telephone rang. Now who or what? She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Miss Kilton? This is Fred Astin. I’ve just received a phone call from one of your neighbors. Why are you playing your TV set so loud?”

“I … I …”

“Just a word of warning. If I get one more complaint or there’s one more incident involving you or your apartment, I’ll have to evict you. I have the right. It’s in the lease you signed. It’s under the nuisance clause in case you’d like to check it. Do I make myself understood?”

“Ye … yes, Mr. Astin. It’s perfectly clear. Good night.”

Astin slammed the receiver down on his end before Nicole could hang up.

Tears of frustration rolled down Nicole’s cheeks. Why couldn’t she handle any of this? What in God’s name was going on?

She sniffed, choking back a cry. The musty stink enveloped her. What was causing that? If someone caught a whiff of it and reported it to the manager, she’d be out. Anger slowly built within her, crowding out her frustration, pushing aside her feelings of desperation. Storming across the living room, she yanked out the television set plug and then did the same to the stereo components. Tying all of them together, she threw them down on the floor. She felt like stamping on them to vent her rage.

A soft knock at the door brought her around. Now who? What now? Just as angry as she had been when she attacked the stereo and TV set, she hurried to the door, throwing it open.

“You having a party?” a quiet voice asked.

She looked up into the eyes of two uniformed policemen. Her anger disappeared. Her neighbors were more than efficient. One had attacked her personally while someone else called the landlord and another the police. She’d have to bluff her way through it. “Not really, Officer,” she said, forcing an air of indifferent surprise.

“The precinct got three calls within forty-five seconds, complaining of loud music and noise coming from your apartment. What’s your story?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, hoping her lie would not be too obvious. “The manager called, too, saying the same thing. In fact, a man from down the hall was here before you, threatening to knock the door down or something if I didn’t keep quiet.”

“Well, what’s your story?” the policeman persisted, leaning into the apartment, his eyes darting from left to right. “May we come in?”

“I’m here alone,” Nicole said, stepping aside. “For some reason, my TV set and stereo decided to turn themselves on. It …”

“They decided?” the spokesman for the police team asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I just said that, Officer. I think there might be something wrong with the switches or something. A little vibration from passing traffic and they go on. It’s all I can think of. But I’ve remedied it for tonight. I’ve pulled the plugs and tied them together.”

“Tied them together?” he echoed.

“I …”

Before Nicole could explain, both appliances went on again, this time louder than ever before. It simply wasn’t possible. They couldn’t be playing. She had pulled the plugs, tied them together and thrown them away from the wall toward the center of the room. Whirling about and stepping aside to allow the policemen entry to the living room, she gasped. Both plugs were in the wall while the knot she had tied had vanished.

“How the hell did you do that? I didn’t see you do anything. You’re sure you’re here alone?” He nodded at his partner who moved to the kitchen doorway, peering in.

“I told you I’m alone. If you don’t believe me, look around. Make yourselves at home. I’m as much at a loss as you are. I don’t understand any of it.” Her voice took on a hysterical edge, one that she struggled to control. But how was any of this possible?

The officer moved to the TV set and stereo components, pulling both cords out of the wall. The sound stopped. “There now, we won’t have to shout, will we?”

He seemed pleasant enough to Nicole. It probably was an act, and she backed away from him. Did they think her crazy?

“Look, Miss, no more of this. I don’t know how you did that,” he said, looking to his partner who nodded, then shrugged, confirming Nicole’s story that she was alone. “But no more. It isn’t fair to the other tenants. Do you understand? I don’t want to book you for disturbing the peace.”

Nicole looked away. It was best if she didn’t argue anymore. They couldn’t help her. Help her? Why did she suddenly need help? That wasn’t the problem. She had to think of something—fast. “Don’t worry, Officer,” she began. “I intend on calling a repairman first thing in the morning. I’m sure that it’s nothing more than a bad switch.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” he said.

“Will you do me a favor before you leave?”

“If I can. What?”

“Tie the plugs together. Do it in such a way that I won’t be tempted to watch TV or play a record anymore tonight. They might go loud again and I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone.”

He tried concealing his smile but failed and quickly tied the cords together, winding them around one leg of the TV stand. “There,” he said, standing. “Let the repairman remove them in the morning. G’night, Miss.”

She followed them to the door and said, “Thank you for being understanding, Officers.”

She closed the door, securing the latch before they could say anything. Hurrying to the window of the living room, that overlooked the front of the building, she could see the police squad car parked at an angle in the drive. In a few minutes, the uniformed men strode out of the front entrance and got into their car. Slowly pulling away from the curb, it glided onto the street and was gone from sight in seconds.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, she wiped a hand over her face. She’d slept about an hour or so and would probably have no trouble getting back to sleep. Turning off the lights in the living room, she entered the hall that led to her bedroom but stopped, unable to move. She heard what sounded like a deep chuckle and then the television set and stereo began playing again. Or had the laugh come from the TV set? Racing back to the living room, she turned on the lights and stifled a scream. The new clock caught her attention. It had been almost midnight when the police left but now the hands were spinning wildly in opposite directions. The noise grew louder until it was unbearable. It wasn’t possible for her small stereo to produce that much volume or for the television set to sound as if its audio were being amplified twenty or thirty times beyond its normal peak.

She thought she heard a tapping but could not locate its source. What could that be? At least she knew where the ruckus was coming from but had no idea how. Suddenly, the noise stopped. For only a split second. Just long enough for her to hear the gentle rapping at her front door. It didn’t sound like her angry neighbor’s knock. That would be a pounding that would threaten to knock the door off its moorings. The noise began again, and she went to the door, confident that she was unable to stop the electronic monsters’ din.

Unlocking the door, she opened it, her jaw dropping agape when she saw Myles. He had come back.

Then, the awful, piercing sound stopped.

PART THREE

He Is Come!

Friday, November 7, 1986 to

Saturday, December 6, 1986

Friday, November 7, 1986 6:25 A.M.

Nicole felt a gentle pressure on her right breast and snuggled in closer to Myles. Half awake, she smiled, recalling the sense of elation she had felt when she realized that it had been Myles knocking on the door to her apartment. As consciousness overtook her, crowding out that delicious half sleep, half awake sensation, she thought momentarily about the cacophony that had raged in her apartment prior to his appearance at the door. The stereo, the turntable without a record on it, the television set—all had been operating at full volume, producing a level of sound she didn’t think they were capable of emitting. The hands of the clock had spun wildly in different directions. And now that she thought about it, she thought that the furniture might have been moving of its own accord—bouncing, as if someone were manipulating the chair and couch. But that was crazy—totally impossible. Wasn’t it?

An involuntary moan escaped her lips when Myles began rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger. God, it felt so good. How long had it been? Weeks! Over two months, in fact, but all that was over. Myles had declared his love for her last night in such a way that she felt the two of them would be together forever. Nothing would ever come between them again.

What had he said? She replayed the scene in her mind once more. He had stood there, his face appearing as if a smile would break out any minute, but he had remained somber—at least, for that long moment.

“Hi,” he managed after they looked at each other for what seemed hours.

“Hi,” she said, fighting to maintain some sort of control. She wanted to scream. ” You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!” But somehow, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. When he did, they faced each other again. She closed the door, then stepped closer to him.

He backed away and said, “Give me a minute. I’ve got to say something first.”

She waited.

“What I did,” he began, his voice soft, almost muffled, “was inexcusably stupid. I didn’t think of you once when I decided to take off without warning, and that was wrong. When two people think a lot of each other and are in love—I guess we are in love, aren’t we?— the desires of one should be the desires of the other. I didn’t do that, and for that I’m sorry. I hope you forgive me.”

Nicole stepped closer until their hands touched. She looked into his eyes.

“Myles,” she said, “oh, Myles. You’ll never know how I wanted you to come back, but I guess my pride prevented me from coming to you at any one time. I should have done something but …”

“As long as we both feel this way, why don’t we put it out of our minds and get on with it? Talking about it will only keep the wounds open, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore, ever again.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Myles Lawrence.”

“And I love you, Nicole.”

Their lips had touched, barely brushing before they firmly joined, their kisses saying more eloquently anything their minds could have verbalized.

Nicole moved even closer to Myles, feeling the warmth of his body. She had missed that. She had missed him. All that would be different now. She knew that. Their love-making had been fantastic, and both had dropped off to sleep, holding each other.

Her eyes searched the half dark of her bedroom. It would be time to get up soon but she’d wait for the alarm to do its job.

One thought invaded her euphoria—what had brought him back? Totally unannounced. Completely surprised by his sudden appearance, she had wanted to ask him but had resisted, and when they had kissed, the thought evaporated for the time being. Now it was back. Why had he indeed come back so … so … almost mysteriously? And what had caused the chaos in her apartment? For that matter, what had caused any of the peculiar things that had taken place in the last few weeks? The burst pipes. The vandalism of her clothing and apartment. The rank smell that came and went like a breath of something dead or dying or …

She stopped. Stop thinking of things like that, she ordered herself. Myles was back. That’s all that mattered. They were together, and together, they could face anything. Perhaps she’d ask him what he thought about all the weird things that had happened. And everything had stopped when Myles arrived. Could the two be connected? The noise stopping when Myles showed up at her door? That was crazy! Impossible!

She screwed her face up in thought. The cords to the TV and stereo had been tied around the legs of the TV stand by one of the policemen. Had they still been there when the music and late night movie were blasting so loudly? She couldn’t recall. Removing Myles’ hand from her breast, she slipped from the bed, putting on her robe.

She tiptoed to the living room and turned on the lights. She gasped. The cords were knotted together, wound around the leg of the TV stand.

8:15 A.M.

“What noise?” Myles asked, sipping his coffee.

“Last night. When you were knocking. Didn’t you hear a lot of racket coming from in here?” Nicole stared at him. Surely he had heard the stereo and TV. He would have to have been deaf not to have heard the noise. Earlier, the neighbors had heard it. It had been loud enough for them to complain to both the manager and the police. Why hadn’t Myles heard it? Before she had opened the door, the noise had been deafening.

“I didn’t hear anything, Nicole. Really, I didn’t.”

Could she be going crazy? Losing her mind? She had heard the sounds—hadn’t she? Now she wasn’t sure of anything. The cords were still wound around the table leg this morning, tied together at the end. There was no logical, rational way any of this could be explained. She felt sorry that she had said anything to Myles. What if he thought she were losing her mind?

“I guess I … I imagined it,” she said softly.

“Imagined what? What kind of noise are you talking about?”

“It … it must have been something outside. I just thought I heard a noise before you knocked. That’s all. Haven’t you ever imagined something that turned out to be nothing?”

He grinned. “You bet. In fact, you witnessed it in my office the day you met with the station manager. The pain behind my ear?”

Nicole wrinkled her face in thought. Pain? What pain? Then, she recalled the intense discomfort Myles had suffered shortly after they had gone to his office before her appointment. It had only been for a minute or so. “What about it?” she asked.

“Remember how I had said I might leave town or look for another job someplace else?”

She nodded.

“That’s when the pain struck me. I massaged it and said I probably would stay around, and it left.”

“So? I don’t understand.”

“Every time it seems that I thought of leaving or looking for work someplace else ever since Eunice died, the pain would attack me right behind my ear. When I thought of you and staying, it would leave.”

“What? Are you joking?”

Myles shook his head. “It didn’t make sense until last night. I was finishing the news stories I was going to report last night and kicked around the thought of a vacation or leaving. Wham! The pain hit home. I thought about you and the last time we had seen each other and the pain left. Just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “At any rate, I recalled the other instances when the pain struck and the situation was just about the same each time.”

“That’s unbelievable.” Nicole stared at him. It seemed as if the pain had driven him back to her.

“Not really,” Myles said quietly. “Not when one takes psychosomatic pain and experiences into account. I suppose it was my conscience kicking me in the mental ass for having walked out on you. At any rate, I’m back. And, that’s the most important thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said softly. More than likely, he was right. But when she took everything into account that had happened in the past weeks, she wondered.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “I’ll drop you at the clinic. Tonight, I want to hear how you got that job. I was really surprised when you told me why you were at the station. Your work sounds interesting.”

“It is,” she said, feigning excitement. She’d have to do more than fake enthusiasm when she reached the office. There was a meeting scheduled with Doctor Claypool shortly after nine and she would have to make her report about the results of her media contacts.

At least, Myles was interested, and that was more than she had hoped for at this juncture. He seemed changed somehow. When he said something, she felt that it was said with complete honesty and interest and concern. And it was all aimed at her and for that she was grateful. His sincerity and attention thrilled her. “What do you have planned for today?”

“Well, I’m going to do something I should have done long ago. Move in. At least, I will if it’s all right with you. Is it?”

Hugging him with all her strength, she said, “Of course, it is. How many times did I ask you in the past?”

He held her at arm’s length and said, “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t mention the past.”

“I know, darling. But your moving in is predicated on our having been together so much in the past. It’s not as if we first met last night and are doing something we both might regret in a day or two.”

He kissed her in response and smiled. “Right you are. Where should I put my things?”

“Shove my stuff to one side of the bedroom closet and take whatever space you need.”

By eight fifty-five, he dropped her off at the Cascade Psychiatric Clinic and left. Nicole watched him drive away. She felt so warm, so happy, so fulfilled. After entering the building, she smiled fondly at Rose Tunic who frowned back.

Saturday, November 15, 1986 10:20 P.M.

When they had begun their second week together, Nicole could not help but note how smoothly things had gone since Myles’ return —no unusual incidents. While she sat in the living room, watching a commercial for the new 1987 Fords, she could hear Myles rustling about in the kitchen, making popcorn.

“You’d better hurry. The movie’s about ready to come back on,” she called.

“It won’t be a minute. You want butter?”

“Yes … but hurry.”

The sound of the commercial died and the picture tube darkened for the movie to resume. The picture stayed black for several long seconds—and then she heard the scratching. It was in the wall, directly behind her head. She should have told the manager to call the exterminator. Perhaps if she called him tomorrow and asked nicely he would agree.

The movie came back on, drowning out the irritating noise from the wall, only in turn to be overpowered by a loud crashing followed by cursing coming from the kitchen.

Leaping to her feet, she raced to the small kitchenette to find Myles sitting in the middle of the floor, a look of exasperation on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, failing to smother a laugh.

“The refrigerator door’s stuck. I was trying to get the butter out to melt for the popcorn. It wouldn’t come open and my hand slipped. I guess I was pulling harder than I realized and lost my balance.” He struggled to his feet.

“Are you all right?” she asked, moving to the refrigerator. The door opened easily when she tried.

“Oh, for …” Myles’ face flushed, embarrassed by the ease with which Nicole had opened the door. “What do you suppose …”

“Don’t be concerned,” she said, forcing an air of light-heartedness. “It does that from time to time. Come on. Forget the butter or we’ll miss the rest of the movie.” She picked up the bowl of popcorn, hoping her lie would not be discovered. She had no idea what had happened to the door, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t fall into the same category of the other strange occurrences that had taken place during Myles’ absence.

A quick-silver thought shot through her head. Did Myles’ absence have anything to do with the water incident or the destruction of her apartment? Or the peculiar smell? She shook her head. That was all silly. Stupid! Turning out the kitchenette light, she joined Myles in the front room.

When the movie finished, they went to bed. Myles did not like the idea of going out every Saturday night when he didn’t have to give the late news, preferring to enjoy an occasional quiet evening with Nicole. They had talked and eaten a sumptuous dinner, then watched a movie on the ARTS channel. As long as Myles was with her, she could not have wished for anything else.

After they fell asleep, the quiet sound of music filtered through the apartment, accompanied by a soft laugh that hovered over the bed. The sliding door to the closet wiggled for a second and then remained motionless.

Sunday, November 16, 1986 7:45 AM.

The next morning, Nicole got up first, and after showering, dressed quickly. When Myles awakened, he smelled the coffee brewing and could hear bacon frying, its woody aroma filling the apartment. After stretching and doing a few push-ups, he showered and went to the closet to get a pair of slacks.

Sliding open the door, he stared wide-eyed before crying out, “Jesus Christ! What the hell’s going on?”

The tone of his voice brought Nicole running to the bedroom. “What is it, darling?” she asked, jerking to a stop, frozen in her tracks.

Most of his clothing—the suits, sports jackets, slacks and shirts—were hanging from the bar, ripped into fine threads of fabric, shredded as if by a razor blade.

“What … ?” she asked, approaching him in a deliberate way. He stared at her, frightening Nicole. “What’s the matter?”

He continued glaring, as if he were trying to bore a hole through her with his eyes. “You ask, ‘What’s the matter?’ How can you ask that, Nicole? Why the hell did you … ?” He stopped, shaking his head. “You didn’t. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t what? Do that? Rip your clothing to shreds?” she asked, incapable of believing that Myles would have even entertained such a thought for even an instant.

“I’m sorry, Nicole. I really am. You’ve got to admit that it’s a bit of a shock, opening the closet to see all your clothing shredded like’ that.”

She embraced him for a second before pulling away. “What happened? Was it all right last night?”

He nodded. “When I got my robe out, I didn’t look. Why should I? How could someone have gotten in here during the night without waking one of us up? That doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

She shook her head, agreeing with him. What could she say to him? I forgot to tell you, but this place is haunted now. Maybe we should have gone to your apartment instead He wouldn’t buy that. It was too simple. Myles had a penchant for being overly pragmatic at the wrong time. This was bound to be one of them. Should she tell him of the strange things that had happened? If for no other reason than to determine whose insurance company would be on the line for the risk involved. She’d have to tell him about the water incident and how vandals had sacked her home and how her insurance company had paid off both claims.

“I think I should tell you something,” she said by way of broaching the subject to him.

After she finished, he nodded thoughtfully. “I wondered about the new furniture. In time, you would have told me. I guess I’d better tell my company and let them pay off. If yours becomes involved again, they might cancel your coverage.”

When Myles’ insurance agent was told of the previous claims, he agreed to do all he could to help them. The two suits that weren’t torn apart were moved to the front hall closet, and Myles at least had something to go to work in the next day.

Monday, November 17, 1986 8:57 A.M.

When Nicole entered her office building that next morning, the first person she saw was Rose Tunic.

“Well, you certainly must have been partying all weekend,” Rose said, staring at Nicole’s weary face.

She had not slept most of Sunday night, wondering what indeed was going on in her home. Myles had had some difficulty in falling asleep but dropped off around one thirty. But she had lain awake all night, more or less keeping guard for the two of them. Now this fat, frustrated old maid was going to give her a hard time?

“Don’t concern yourself, Chunky!” Nicole snapped, slamming the door to her office behind her as if punctuating the insult.

11:52 P.M.

That night, Myles returned home shortly before midnight to find Nicole sleeping in the easy chair, KSLL-TV still on, showing a late movie. He turned off the set before gently awakening her.

“I … I must have fallen asleep,” she said groggily.

“Did you sleep much last night?” he asked.

“Not as much as I should have. I’ll be all right.”

The telephone rang and Myles quickly answered it. Nicole stretched, wishing for more sleep, and moved toward the short hall leading to the bedroom.

“I’ve gotta go,” Myles said, coming up behind her. “There’s an out-of-control fire at the Riverside Home for the Aged. I guess it’s pretty bad. The camera truck is on its way there now and I’m to meet them. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Don’t worry,” Nicole said, yawning, “I won’t.”

Myles closed the door quietly behind him and she was alone. When the phone rang again, she jumped. It had to be for Myles. They must have forgotten to tell him something. Retracing her steps to the living room, she picked up the receiver on the fourth ring and said, “Hello?”

“Nicole? Is that you?”

“Uh-huh!” she yawned. “Who’s this?”

“Stacey. Stacey Ford. You sound like I woke you up. Did I?”

“Not really, Stacey. I was just going to bed though. What’s up?” She hoped Stacey did not want to talk about something in particular or that she wasn’t out rounding up recruits for the Reverend Eddie John What’s-his-name. When she looked at the time, Nicole silently cursed.

“Nothing much. I was just curious as to how you were doing. I told the Reverend Eddie John about you. He suggested I give you a call.”

Nicole wanted to scream or curse or do something that would give full vent to her feelings. The Reverend Son-of-a-bitch wanted his lady flunky to give her a call? At this hour? Why? To convert her over the phone? Biting her tongue for a moment, she said, “Now why would he have done that?”

“It’s just the way he is. Really, Nicole. He thought I should give you a call and sort of touch bases with you.”

“That’s real nice, Stacey. But not tonight. I’m beat. I really am. I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’ve got to get some sleep now or I’ll have had it with my job.”

“What about coffee tomorrow morning?”

“What time?” She’d agree to almost anything if she would be allowed to go to bed.

“Is ten all right?”

“That’s fine. By then, I’ll be ready for a cup of coffee. By the way, I’m not at the art store anymore.”

“Oh, really? Where are you working now?”

Nicole gave her the address and they said goodbye. When she dropped the phone in its cradle, she sighed heavily. Reaching her bedroom, she dropped her robe to the floor and fell into bed. In seconds, she slipped off to a sound sleep, unmindful of the vacant spot next to her. Her last thought was of Myles and a fervent wish that he get home as soon as possible.

Her mind swirled, spiraling into the depths of sleep, pulling her down to a deep level from where she would not awaken easily.

She stood before huge golden doors with red handles. Stepping forward, she placed a tentative hand on one, pulling gently. The door swung open without making a sound. Inside, candles flared from behind red shades bathing the ballroom in a crimson wash. Around the floor, people stood as if chatting, but there was no sound she could make out. They seemed frozen in position—almost like statuary.

She walked to the center of the floor, turning completely around as she did. The fine silk dress she wore flared out as she pirouetted. Elegant! She felt absolutely magnificent. But where was her partner? She could not recall ever having been in this place before. And she was alone. She felt so alone—as if there were no one else in the world But there was. There were people standing around the periphery of the dance floor—and they all seemed to be staring at her. Music began playing somewhere in the distance. Then a gentle buzzing of voices, locked in earnest conversation, fingered its way toward her. The music grew louder and the people began dancing. She felt foolish. All alone in the middle of the floor and without a partner.

“May I have this dance?” a deep, resonant voice asked from behind her.

She whirled about to face a man wearing a goat mask. Without saying a word, she held out her hand, which he took in one of his, the other snaking around her waist.

In the living room, the red light of the stereo glowed evenly as the soft strains of Roses From The South wafted through the apartment.

Tuesday, November 18, 1986 2:45 A.M.

Nicole felt as if she were flying. Whoever it was she danced with—Myles?—twirled her across the wide open expanse, her feet barely touching the floor. The room seemed to expand whenever they neared one of the walls. Forcing her eyes open, she found that she and her masked partner were the only dancers on the floor. When she looked, she found the people who had been facing the dancing area had turned away, their backs squarely to her now. How strange. How—how peculiar. But she couldn’t let something that bizarre interfere with her enjoyment of the dance. The man with whom she glided across the floor seemed to be most adept at moving to music. The music sounded like a waltz but it was distant and soft and she could not really make out what sort of rhythm was being played. Nevertheless, she and her partner moved in three-quarter time. What difference? The mood, the atmosphere, everything exhilarated Nicole until she felt an electric-like charge flowing across the surface of her skin.

A gonging sound pealed twelve times, echoing through the wide expanse of the hall. She looked up into the immobile, impassive face of her partner’s mask. What did he look like? Handsome? Dark complected? Or light? What sort of nose? Smile? What color eyes? Did she care? She wanted to ask him his name and she tried to form the question in her mind, which didn’t seem to respond. What was wrong? Why couldn’t she get her brain to order her vocal chords and mouth to ask the simple question? The first word What would be the first word of the sentence? What! Of course. The next would be—is. Then—your. And finally—name?

She opened her mouth. The gong sounded once. One o’clock. Not hardly. It had just tolled the hour of midnight. It couldn’t possibly be one in the morning. It was too soon. Forcing her mouth open, she said, “What is …”

The gong sounded twice. Impossible. Time didn’t pass that quickly. It couldn’t. Time was inexorable. It did its own thing its own way. Nothing anyone ever did could alter that fact. Concentrating on the man with his face concealed who held her, she tried again. “What is your …”

Three resounding gongs brought the music to a stop, and her partner stopped dancing, still holding her tightly.

“What is your …” she tried again. He stopped her with a finger to her lips. The digit felt rough, calloused, not at all like the finger of a man who could dance so smoothly. He pulled it away and she flicked her tongue out, over her lips. A peculiar taste invaded her mouth when she drew her tongue back. Something tasted awful Strong. Flavored like—she couldn’t quite place the unpleasant tang.

“Shall we unmask ?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said automatically.

Reaching up he took off his mask, only to reveal the second visage of a goat.

Nicole touched her face, surprised to find that she, too, wore a facial covering. It was nothing but an eyemask and she removed it without difficulty.

“Shall we unmask?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she said, reaching up to find her face bare.

He removed his goat mask, revealing a third.

“Shall we unmask?” he repeated for the third time.

“Yes!” she screamed and turned away, wrenching free of his grasp. Realizing that she was loose, she raced away from her masked dancing partner. She dashed toward the people lining the walls, their backs still to her. She stopped behind one.

“Help me! Please? Help me!” she cried plaintively.

The man to whom she addressed her plea turned to face her, but displayed another back to her. The man had no front. Forcing herself not to scream, she turned to the woman standing next to the man she had first addressed.

“Will you help me? I need help. Please? Help me! Please?” she said, noting the strange begging nuance in her voice. Why was she asking for help? Why did she need assistance from these people? Turning away from the man, she touched the woman’s shoulder. “Please?” she repeated.

The woman turned, to show that she, like the man, had no front side, only two backs. Why couldn’t she find one normal person here? What was going on?

Footsteps from behind brought her about. The man with whom she had been dancing was approaching her. He still wore a mask and held out his hands to her.

Rooted in place, she stared What did he want? Why didn’t he unmask? Who was he, this man who wore a goat’s visage over his own?

” Who … who are you?” she finally managed She no longer cared what his name might be, but cared so much who he was, that now she had managed to complete a question to him.

“Come,” he said simply, taking her hand in one of his. The calloused palm felt strange, rough, intimidating.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, leading her toward the middle of the dance floor.

As they approached part of the floor began rising until a rectangular portion was waist high to her. When they reached the table-like dais, they stopped and she sensed people standing close by. Turning, she found the people who had been standing around the floor, their front sides restored, facing her and the strange man. Shuffling about, they formed lines that led out, away from the table. Two files of people would move together until they touched in the distance, forming a sort of “V,” and when she turned she found that there were four more such sets of lines. It somehow seemed familiar. Where had she seen such a diagram or layout before? Was it a diagram she had seen? From the distance more and more people came, joining hands around the five points formed by the lines of people flowing out and away from the table-like dais. When a double circle of people on the outside was complete, the man looked down at her.

“Are you ready?” he asked solemnly.

“Ready? For what?”

“You invoked the love-force. The love-force has been invoked and has served you. Maruts has obeyed your command and fired the man’s love for you and the man has returned to you.” His voice rang hollowly.

“I … I invoked? What are you talking about?”

“You begged me to favor you. I answered. You sought the help of my ministers. Of Prince Beelzebub. Of Earl Astorath. All of us have favored you and granted your wish. You had great need of my counsel. You even threatened me with the great living God His Son and His Spirit, with the words of power and great wisdom of Solomon. You invoked me. I served you. Now, I want my just due.” The words echoed through the hall.

Nicole violently shook her head “No. You didn’t come when I ordered you.”

“I did. You weren’t aware of me but I have been with you ever since.”

“No! No! No!” Nicole screamed “Never!”

He reached out, touching her bare arms, and lifted her effortlessly to the table.

“On this altar, you will pay your first installment. You are mine now, as I was yours, to command You will do for me that which I order.”

Nicole wanted to fight, to resist, but found she could not move. Nothing responded to her futile mental commands. She was helpless. Defenseless. The cold of the altar on which she lay didn’t bother her, and she found her senses reeling from the situation in which she found herself.

A murmuring around her grew as the crowd of people pressed in closer to the table. “Lucifuge. Satanachia. Agaliarept. Fleuretty. Sargatanas. Nebiros. Bael. Agares. Marbas. Pruslas. Aamon. Barbatos. Buer. Gusoyn. Botis. And all the demons. Come, join us.

Watch our Emperor, Lucifer, have this slut. Come, oh, Bathim. Pursan. Abigar. Loray. Valefar. Forariu. Ayperos. Nuberus. Glasyabolas. Come. Now!”

Nicole struggled to concentrate on the names that were being intoned. Who were the people they were calling, if indeed the strange words were names? For some reason she knew they were names—but names of whom? Or what?

A slow dawning brought her to her senses. The dream! This was her dream. The one that she had been having over and over again. She had only remembered bits and pieces of it, but now the whole of it was laid out before her— and she would remember. She would finally remember. Or would she? It seemed to her that she had had the same thought before whenever experiencing it, but when she awoke, the entire dream always eluded her, escaping into the deepest recesses of her mind No matter how hard she tried, she could never dredge up more than a thread or two of it. She’d try this time to retain the experience.

The people crowding in around her continued chanting one name over and over. “Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer!”

Looking down the length of her body she saw her partner standing near her feet. He reached up grasping the goat’s mask to remove it. Would he have another under it? Pulling it away with a sweep, he lay bare his face and she shrieked at the visage before her. Almost triangular in shape, the face held slanted eyes that paralleled his “v” shaped mouth which in turn complimented the angular lines of his chin.

“Lucifer! The kiss! Lucifer! The kiss! Lucifer! The kiss! Make her yours! Make her yours! Make her yours!” The cries grew louder and sharper in their fanaticism as the people bowed to the grim personage at her feet. Leaping to the table, he straddled her legs, before dropping to his knees. Ripping off the dancer’s costume he had worn, he reached out tearing away her silk dress, exposing her nakedness.

His glowing amber eyes swept over the damned congregation crying out to him. “Kiss!” he boomed and leaned down, closer to Nicole’s face.

Closing her eyes tight, she turned her head away. She didn’t want him to kiss her. Nothing happened. After several long minutes dragged by, during which she sensed the demon‘s nearness more than felt it, she tentatively opened one eye to find him still kneeling in the same position. Was he waiting for her to offer her lips to him? Then she saw a blur of motion behind him and opened her other eye. The people were passing by, kissing him on the hind side, extolling him in loud voices: “Hail Emperor Lucifer! Hail to Thee, Our Lord and Master!”

Great God! What had she gotten involved in? This dream in all its symbolism and weird-ness had to mean something. But what? Why didn’t she simply wake up? Could she wake up? Or—might she be dead? Gone to Hell? Paying for her sins. What sins? She had never done anything terribly wrong that she felt she would wind up in the netherworld like this.

The last of the creatures kissed the thing above her and he smiled at her. Kneeling erect, he threw his arms out, and at the same time, a blood engorged penis, as large in diameter as her arm and as long, sprang out in front of him.

Nicole screamed, trying to move away, but heavy hands reached out, grasping her and holding her in place. More hands pulled on her ankles, spreading her legs.

“No! No, dear God, no!” she screamed but was answered by the coterie pushing in closer and closer.

“Yes! Yes, dear Lucifer! Yes!” they cried, mimicking her.

The demon came closer, his gigantic member moving of its own accord, angled toward her crotch. When he touched her with it, she gasped at its fiery temperature. Then, he drove it home and she screamed—long and loud. The cry hung in the air, lingering, as the beast pumped at her fragile human body. The semen exploded inside her, icy cold, gushing out of her past his ramming organ, down the inside of her thighs. A hue and cry went up and the people again clamored loudly.

“The Kiss! She must give the Kiss! The Kiss! The Kiss! The Kiss!”

Nicole tried moving, tried thinking, tried reasoning. Nothing worked. She was doomed. She was in Hell. She was dead. She had to be. This was no dream. She should have awakened long before this if it were truly a dream.

The demon withdrew his still rigid member, which quickly withered and shrank until it dangled spent and lifeless along his own thigh, its head bouncing between his knees. Standing, he turned his backside to her and knelt once more. He waited.

Nicole sat up, powerless to do anything but comply with the order she felt drumming in her head.

“Kiss! Kiss him! Kiss Lucifer! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

When she neared him, he bent down, his buttocks spreading apart. Where did she kiss him ? There? There in the middle of the cheeks? She shuddered, leaning forward Puckering her lips, she felt her breath gasping spasmodically. She touched him—for the briefest of seconds— and withdrew.

Then she felt herself floating lightly through the air. Somewhere a maniacal laugh rang through the darkness and she was being hurled down, down, down. At last, she landed on something soft.

6:19 A.M.

Terrified, Nicole opened her eyes to the familiar darkness of her room. Her body, drenched in sweat, trembled uncontrollably.

The dream. She had experienced her dream, and this time she remembered everything. A sick feeling grew from a tiny pinpoint in her stomach, spiraling outward until her whole being vibrated with a nausea she had never felt before. The dream. What did it mean? She remembered thinking she might be dead and almost wished for it as her stomach heaved and jerked.

She sat up. And screamed.

There at the foot of her bed, she saw the same being with the triangular visage, who had violated her in the nightmare. Her strength, her will to live, all human desire wilted—and she fainted, sprawling back on the bed.

The demon lingered for a moment and then disappeared. The same evil smile that had graced his countenance while preparing to rape Nicole, played on his thin, wrinkled lips.

Nicole’s faint became a dreamless sleep, and when hands again grasped her, she sat up, screaming at the top of her voice.

“Hey,” Myles cried, surprised by her reaction, “take it easy. You having a bad dream?”

Nicole stared at him, failing to understand that Myles actually stood there, a foolish little grin on his face. Dreaming? Yes. That was it. She had been dreaming. Her dream. But now, for some unfathomable reason, she could recall everything in the minutest of details. The dance, the frontless people, the demon, his raping her, kissing him on the … She gagged, jumping from the bed and dashing headlong toward the bathroom.

THE DEMON! She had seen him standing at the foot of her bed. Or had that been part of her dream as well? In the bathroom, she knelt by the toilet, her head hovering over the water. She felt like vomiting but knew she couldn’t. There was nothing in her stomach.

“Are you all right?” Myles asked from the doorway of the bathroom.

Assured that she wouldn’t throw up, Nicole stood, forcing a smile. “I might be coming down with the flu or something.”

“Sleeping bare-assed naked won’t help if you’re getting sick, you know,” he said, motioning to her nudity.

She looked down. Where was her nightgown? She had put it on. She distinctly remembered having done so. Myles stared at her while she reconstructed her dressing for bed. She shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

“Bad dream?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to get up or go back to sleep? You could call in sick if you don’t feel one hundred percent.”

“What time is it?”

He looked at his watch. “Six thirty.”

“I’d better think about getting up. How bad was the fire?”

“Very bad. Quite a few died in it. A real mess.”

“Will you make coffee?”

“Sure,” he said, leaving the bathroom.

When he was gone, Nicole ran to the bed and threw back the covers. She swallowed the scream that almost erupted. There, in the middle of the bed was her silk nightgown, shredded into threads. Something else held her attention for a long minute. The spot. She reached out to touch it. Cold. It was freezing cold and damp. Again, she desperately struggled not to scream. Without looking, one hand moved toward her lower abdomen. It felt normal. The fingertips trailed down, through her pubic hair and on to the insides of her thighs. Wet. Damp. Cold. That dream was too damned realistic.

She heard Myles making coffee, and when the cupboard doors slammed, she knew he’d be with her in seconds. Throwing her destroyed nightgown into the hamper, she was almost ready to throw the covers over the spot. What would Myles say? He’d be in bed shortly. How would she explain it?

“Hey, Nicole. Come here,” he called from the kitchen.

“In a sec.” She slipped into her dressing gown and, tying it about her middle, went to the kitchen only to meet Myles coming toward her. “What’s the matter?”

“What’s all over the kitchen table?”

“All over the table? I don’t know.”

“Well, take a look at it and tell me,” he said, guiding her by one arm.

When they entered the small room, she looked at the table, barely big enough to hold the dishes for two people’s meals. It was clean. Spotlessly clean.

“Look at what?” she asked, turning to face him.

Stepping around her, he stopped short. “It was there a second ago. Really.”

“What was there?”

“I don’t know but it was sort of a whiteish-gray goop of some kind. No. More like uncooked egg white. Yeah. Uncooked egg white. That’s it.” He stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Well, whatever was there is gone now, isn’t it?” she said, trying to sound undisturbed.

“For a minute, I thought it looked like …” Myles stopped.

She waited, but when he didn’t continue, she asked, “What?” Holding her breath, she wondered what he would compare it to now.

“Like semen, damnit!” he said gruffly. “But it would have had to have come from a horse or a bull, there was so much of it.”

“Tired, darling?”

“Goddamnit, don’t patronize me, Nicole. I know I saw it. At least I think I did. Ah, crap. Let me go to bed. I’m exhausted.” He pushed around her and went to the bedroom.

Following closely, Nicole practically tripped over his heels. When he looked at the bed and continued around it, she stopped in the doorway. The spot that had been there a moment before was gone.

The only sound in the apartment—other than Nicole’s quick breathing—was the bubbling of the coffee maker in the kitchen.

Tuesday, November 18, 1986 7:30 A.M.

Nicole studied Myles over the rim of her cup as she sipped her coffee. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, doing the same thing. “Are you certain the coffee won’t keep you awake when you do go to bed?” she asked, placing her own cup on the low table in front of the couch.

He smiled grimly. “I’m so beat a herd of elephants charging through the apartment wouldn’t faze me.”

He had told her some of the incidents about the fire he had covered after they mutually and silently agreed not to mention whatever it was he had seen on the kitchen table. Nicole wondered about it. She had seen the wet spot on the sheets and mattress. Yet, when they had returned to the bedroom, it, like Myles’ discovery, had vanished as well. Perhaps it had come from her and was ready to evaporate anyway.

The dream in its entirety had been more than arousing. She had actually climaxed sometime during the night. All of the aftereffects had been there—the absolute feeling of total weakness, almost an inability to move, the glowing that traversed her entire body, right down to the sensation of euphoria—all of them had been there. She had climaxed during the night and had left some of her own bodily fluids staining the sheets. Fortunately, they had dried.

“What time do you think you’ll get up?” she asked.

“Probably around three or so. I still have to report the news, you know.” His voice quaked in its tired state. “What about you? Are you all right?”

She looked up, startled. “Wha … what do you mean?”

“Your dream. The one that made you scream when I awakened you. Remember?”

“Oh, that,” she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant. When she looked at him, she realized she had failed.

“Don’t try to down-play it, girl,” he said gently. “If you had a bad one, tell me about it. It’ll probably help you get over any fear it might have caused you.”

How could she tell him? The whole thing was weird. But maybe if she talked about it with someone, it would go away and never bother her again. She’d simply have to trust her instincts concerning Myles.

“It all started with me standing outside this ballroom with golden doors trimmed in red,” she began slowly.

When she finished, Myles stared at her. The fatigue lining his face still clung there but his eyes betrayed the curiosity of the newsman. “Wow,” he managed. “That’s about the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Myles!” she said. “That’s about the last thing …”

“Hey, wait a minute. Don’t go off half-cocked. Did you listen to everything you just told me? That was some pretty steamy stuff. As a budding psychologist, you should know that one is not responsible for the dreams one experiences. Am I right?”

She nodded slowly.

“Then I rest my case in that particular area. It is sexy. Have you ever had anything like this happen before?”

She turned away.

“I don’t mean for real. I mean, have you had any dreams like that before last night?”

Without facing him, she said, “Yes.”

Myles didn’t respond immediately. When several minutes had passed, she turned to face him.

“Just like it? The same dream? Or were they different?” He smiled reassuringly.

“Yes,” she managed, before coughing to clear her voice. “I’ve had the same dream before, I think.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I remember bits and pieces of it. I guess it must have been the same one. It certainly stuck with me this time.”

Nodding, an ironic smile crossed his face. “I don’t think I’d worry about it, if I were you. Maybe you could talk to Doctor Claypool at the clinic. He’d probably set you straight in a minute or two. Don’t dreams symbolize certain things?”

She nodded. “I don’t think I’ll say anything to him. At least, not right now. I don’t want them to think they hired a ‘case’ who wants free treatment. I’ve only been there a short while. I’ll wait. If it happens again and it bothers me, I’ll think about talking to him. He’s a nice man but I don’t want to run the risk of having him change his opinion of me.” A frown crossed her face when she recalled the last thing that had happened right after she awoke from the dream.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Huh?” Looking up, she found him closely watching her.

“You’re frowning. Why?”

“I just thought of something else.”

“What?”

She pondered the wisdom of telling Myles about the apparition she had seen—or thought she had seen—when she awakened from the dream. When she had told him of the dream itself, he had been supportive and she had found that most refreshing. If she and Myles were to have any type of lasting relationship, she would have to learn to place her trust in him. In turn, she’d have to learn to accept his trust.

“When I awoke right after having … having kissed his … his rear,” she began, “I felt like I was floating or being carried. Off in the distance, I could hear this high pitched laugh. All around me, there was nothing but darkness. Then, I felt as if I had been thrown down. I know it felt like I was falling and falling and falling. Then, I landed on something soft and I opened my eyes.”

“You already told me that part,” Myles said, a hint of irritation in his tired voice.

“But then,” she continued, choosing to ignore his complaint, “I opened my eyes and was in the bedroom. I was wringing wet with sweat and I felt sick to my stomach. I thought I was going to vomit and sat up. That’s when I saw it.”

Myles’ eyes widened, a curious expectation replacing the exhaustion on his face. “Saw it? Saw what?”

Nicole swallowed. “I thought I saw the man or demon or thing or whatever it was, standing at the foot of the bed, staring at me. His eyes were sort of amber-like and his V shaped mouth grinned at me. I … I felt like someone pulled my plug.”

“Pulled your plug?” he repeated.

“Whatever strength I had left drained out of me, and I just fell back. I guess I fainted. The next thing I knew you were waking me up.”

“Well, when you have a dream, you really conjure up a production number, don’t you?”

Screwing up her face in thought, she looked past Myles, to the far end of the living room. “I … I’m … I’m not …”

He waited and when she didn’t continue, he said, “You’re not what?”

How could she tell him she thought she actually saw the demon standing at the foot of her bed? It sounded preposterous. Things like that didn’t happen.

“Come on,” he insisted. “Tell me. You’ve told me everything so far. At least I think you did. Don’t hold back on me now.”

“I really think I saw the demon or something standing at the foot of the bed. I actually saw it. It was standing there.”

“Well, where did he go? He’s not around now, is he?”

“Don’t do that. You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. If you think you saw it, I’m sure it was real for you.”

“Now that I’ve said it aloud, I know I don’t merely think I saw it. I actually, really, truly did see it. I know that.”

“Wait a minute. Tell me something. Why would something like a demon come around here? This is 1986. Demons don’t go around scaring people any more. At least not that I know of.”

Tears filled Nicole’s eyes. Tears of frustration. Tears of concern for something she did not dare admit to anyone—most especially to herself.

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely, realizing that she was weeping. “You have to admit the whole dream thing is pretty far out. What would have prompted a dream like that? Any idea?”

She shook her head.

“Have you watched any scary movies or read any scary books lately?”

Fighting her sobs, she managed, “No movies. But I did read Kiss Not The Child a while back.”

“What was that about?”

“Demon worshippers and … and the son of Lucifer or Satan or someone. I … I don’t remember much about it.”

“Well, there you are. There’s your reason for the dream. Didn’t you say that you’ve been having the dream for some time?”

She nodded.

“Probably the book started the idea fermenting, and the dream grew until it manifested last night.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Hey, look, these authors dream up all this junk about demons and things that go bump in the night and do it in just the right way to blow the mind of the reader. That’s all that happened. You didn’t meet any new people, who might have affected you?”

Shaking her head, she hoped he was right.

“You don’t think it had anything to do with the ritual I performed?” She bit her tongue. Why had she asked him that? She had never intended to tell anyone—much less Myles. She had thought of that night just seconds before when she first started crying. At first, she had concluded the dream and the rite were related somehow. But she couldn’t admit that to anyone—not even herself. Now she had tipped her hand and asked him about it.

His newsman instincts aroused by the strange question, he homed in. “Ritual? What ritual?”

“Oh, Myles,” she began, knowing full well she would have to tell him. “You’ll think I’m crazy or something.”

“No, I won’t. Tell me. How can I help if you don’t tell me everything?”

“Help? Help me how? What are you talking about?”

“Obviously you have something bothering you and want to tell me to get it off your chest. If it involves me or you or us—our lives together—you’ve got to tell me.”

He was right. She knew that. She had no other choice but to tell him. Would he think her mad? Would he even entertain the idea of staying around any longer than it took to put his things together and run out of her life? Did she have to risk that now of fill times? When she looked up, she found him staring at her, waiting for her to answer. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do. You know that.”

“Will you promise to hear everything I have to say? Promise you won’t jump to conclusions about anything I’m going to tell you?”

“If it will make you happy, yes. I’m not the type to jump to wrong conclusions about anything. Even right conclusions. I usually reserve judgment until all the facts are in. You know that.”

For the second time since awakening, Nicole was going to confess a deep dark secret to the man she loved. This one might drive him away from her forever. She had no way of knowing until she laid the awful truth out for him to examine. But it was something she had to do. She knew that.

“Right after you walked out on me, I went into a depression and mental funk like you wouldn’t believe,” she began.

When she finished, Myles whistled softly. “I had no idea that my leaving would affect you so badly. My God. I am sorry, Nicole. Jesus! To think my leaving made you go out and … Look, let’s not talk about this anymore. It’s over. It’s in the past. Ancient history. Never happened. All right?”

“But Myles,” she protested lamely. “Everything seems to fall into place. This is the first time I even admitted to myself that I had performed that silly thing. I was desperate and I guess a little drunk that night. I don’t really remember all of it that clearly. But look at the strange things that have happened.”

“Such as?”

She ran down the list of peculiar events that had taken place since she had performed the bizarre, bargaining supplication. The water in her apartment. The apparent act of vandalism. The awful smells. Her stereo and TV turning on by themselves. His wardrobe’s destruction. Her dream. Seeing the demon. Even Myles’ return, so sudden and unexpected.

“But that was my idea,” he said, breaking into her discourse.

“Why did you decide to come back when you did?” she asked pointedly.

“I thought everything through and returning here was the answer. It’s as simple as that.”

“What about the pains you were suffering?”

“Psychosomatic!”

“How about the noise I heard and you didn’t?”

Myles looked at her. “What noise?”

“Don’t you remember? The night you came back. I asked you the next morning if you hadn’t heard a racket in here while you were knocking. You said no.”

“So?”

“So, earlier, the neighbors had complained to the manager, who called and chewed me out. Some of them went over his head and called the cops. They came and warned me. While they were here, the sets turned on by themselves.”

“Oh, come on, Nicole.”

“I’m not lying. I’m sure they have the incident on record at the police station if you’d like to check my story,” she said coldly, almost dispassionately.

The icy bitterness in her voice brought an immediate reaction from him. “I’m sorry for doubting you. But you have to admit it sounds pretty far-fetched.”

“Try this one for size, then,” she said, softening the edge of her voice. “The morning after you came back, I recalled that one of the policemen had pulled the plugs and tied them together around the leg of the TV stand. When I thought of that, I got up and went to the living room. They were still tied together around the leg.”

“What does that prove?” Myles asked incredulously.

“I asked you if you had heard any noise the night before when you were knocking. Well, the TV set and the stereo were playing at full blast. Why you didn’t hear it, is beyond me.”

“Me and everybody else,” Myles said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“If the neighbors had complained before, how come they didn’t then?”

Nicole paled. “I’m … I’m scared, Myles.”

“Of what?”

“I … I think I might be going crazy.” She dropped her head, weeping quietly.

He moved toward her, embracing her when he sat next to her. “Hey, look, anyone can become upset about something if they worry about it long enough and hard enough. It’s getting late. You have to go to work, and I have to get some sleep. Let’s not think about it anymore today. Not until we see each other tonight. Is that a deal?”

She looked up. He seemed to be minimizing her fears. Is that all that was bothering her? A few silly fears and worries? “I … I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Listen, nobody but nobody conjures up demons today. Hell, this is the twentieth century. The late twentieth century, I might add. Things like witches and spells and demons belong in the dark ages.” He laughed tiredly.

Standing, Nicole said, “I guess you are right. When I started thinking of everything that’s happened and tied it in to that silly thing I did, it became all messed up and twisted out of proportion.”

“Look,” he said, standing up next to her. “Let me make a suggestion. Suppose I visit a priest or minister today before I go to the station? I can tell him about everything that happened and see what he has to say.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Besides, if I want to get some expert advice on any of this, I’ll just ask Doctor Claypool.”

“Well, to be honest, Nicole, I thought maybe we might have need for a priest or minister down the road before not too long. You do know what I mean?”

She managed a weak smile before nodding. “If you want to, there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. Just don’t make it sound like I’m ready to blow my top any second. Make it us … as …”

“Offhanded as possible?” he asked, finishing the sentence for her.

“Right. Offhanded. Casual. You know,” she said, moving toward the hallway and the bathroom.

A shower would make her feel like a new person. At least, she hoped it would. When she finished dressing, twenty minutes later, Myles was already sleeping, his gentle snore bubbling through the quiet of the apartment.

She tiptoed out, ready to face another day, feeling a bit more comfortable with herself for having told Myles everything about the ceremony.

Closing the door with an inaudible click, her footsteps receded down the hall. When the apartment was quiet, the stereo turned on, playing an old Mantovani recording.

10:21 A.M.

“You really look bushed,” Stacey Ford said, shaking a spoonful of sugar into her second cup of coffee. They had talked of college days and touched briefly on Stacey’s life in the religious commune.

“Bad night,” Nicole said, sipping her coffee. She felt Stacey had not wanted to see her merely to reminisce.

“What happened?”

“I had a dream that woke me up, and I didn’t sleep very well because of it, I guess.”

Stacey nodded in an assured, all-knowing way. “Do you know what I think your trouble is?”

Nicole jerked her attention from the counter where a girl had just spilled a decanter of coffee back to Stacey. “What?”

“I think you’re looking for Jesus and aren’t really sure of the fact.”

“Look, Stacey, I didn’t agree to coffee just to get a sermon on Jesus and my sinful way of life.”

“I didn’t say anything at all about your way of life, Nicole.”

“I thought I’d save you the time.”

“Don’t get huffy, dear. Besides, you’re the one who said it was sinful. Why, even people who lead relatively good lives can be upset because something is missing from their day to day existence. Jesus! That is the one and only answer to most—no—every problem today. If one puts their lives and futures in the hands of Jesus, everything will turn around for them. Believe me, I know of what I speak.”

“And I suppose,” Nicole said sarcastically, “that your Reverend Whatever-his-name-is is the man to put me in touch with Jesus?”

“Don’t be cynical, Nicole.”

“I … I’m sorry, Stacey. I’ve been working hard lately, getting this publicity campaign underway. When I don’t get a good night’s sleep, everything goes haywire.”

“I understand, Nicole. I really do.”

“Then, if you understand, lay off the religious hype and your Reverend …”

“Reverend Eddie John Stangood.”

“Whatever,” Nicole said, throwing the word away under her breath.

“He’s really quite nice.”

“Who? Jesus?”

“No. Yes! Jesus is wonderful, but I was referring to Reverend Eddie John. He’s phenomenal. He really is. He does so many good things. And when he’s in control …”

“Control? Control of what?”

“Jesus has told him in a vision that only those evangelists who preach the word of Christ on TV, and those who carry out His ministry on earth, will be among the chosen on earth when the Apocalypse takes place.”

Nicole restrained herself. What a laugh! And Stacey was gullible enough to believe that her Reverend Eddie John Stangood was in direct contact with Jesus Christ? Nicole looked at her watch. “Good Lord, I’ve got to get going. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

They stood, dropping some change on the table for the waitress. Nicole turned, hurrying toward the door, with Stacey right behind her.

“Give Jesus a chance,” she said, half running to keep up with Nicole.

“I’ll think about it, Stacey. I really have to run. I’m late.”

Stacey watched her dash up the steps of the clinic, which stood next door to the coffee shop they had just left. At the top of the steps she saw Nicole hesitate before forcing herself past the heavyset woman blocking the front entrance.

2:00 P.M.

Myles squirmed in the straight-back chair to which the lady, who answered the door, had escorted him. When she indicated he should sit down and had pointed directly at the chair on which he now sat, he felt obligated to obey. Her hawk-like nose and sharp piercing stare had squelched any desire on his part to pass the time of day with her. She left immediately to summon Father DuWayne Gorkland, the pastor of Saint Timothy’s Church.

Myles had called him shortly after getting out of the shower and had made a two o’clock appointment with the priest for that afternoon. Before going to work and getting involved in the troubles of the city, state, country and world, he wanted to be free of the thoughts worrying him since he had awakened.

Standing when Gorkland entered, Myles smiled inwardly. The man stood about five feet six inches tall and probably weighed no more than one hundred forty pounds. His coal black hair, combed straight back, did nothing but call attention to his boyish face. Myles wondered how old he might be. Involuntarily pulling back from the man’s wet palm, when they shook hands, Myles sat down in the chair, wiping his own palm dry.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Lawrence?” Gorkland asked, studying Myles’ face closely. “Are you on television, by any chance?”

Myles smiled blandly. “Yes. Yes, I am, Father. Have you seen me before?”

“On the few occasions that I watch the thing. It’s rather boring, don’t you think?”

Myles shrugged. “I don’t feel I’m at liberty to air my views concerning television’s worth, considering my position with KSLL-TV.”

Gorkland remained aloof and said, “I am rather busy, Mr. Lawrence. What do you need?”

“A friend of mine has been suffering from a dream—a recurring dream—and it seems to be about a demon or possibly the devil. She’s had some rather weird things happen to her recently and …”

“This friend of yours … this lady friend … how close is she to you?”

“We’re intimate friends. I believe that someday we’ll probably marry. Why do you ask? Is that important?”

Gorkland shrugged. “Continue.”

Myles outlined the out-of-the-ordinary things that had happened since Nicole had performed the rite. Pondering for a long minute as to whether he should tell the priest about Nicole having performed the paganistic ritual, he hesitated.

“Are the two of you living together?” Gorkland asked.

Myles blinked at the suddenness and directness of the question. “As a matter of fact, we are.”

“It never ceases to amaze me,” the priest snapped. “People think they can go around sinning and doing whatever they want and then when they think they have a problem, they come running to the Church—to a priest. Well, let me tell you one thing, young man,” Gorkland said, standing, to pull himself to his full height, “it won’t work here. Go to confession. Clean up your act. Get right with God before you come around here trying to waste my time. I have more than enough to keep me busy with those good, God-fearing people who belong to my parish. You don’t belong to it, do you? I thought not.” He smiled grimly, smugly.

“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that I might not be a Catholic,” Myles said, cursing his luck for having had the bad fortune of calling on a hard-nosed throwback. Why did the priest worry about his God-fearing parishioners if they weren’t in trouble? Or did he merely want the time to himself and not have to worry about making waves where others were concerned? Why worry about the ones he felt he had apparently saved already?

Gorkland finally looked up at Myles, his face pale. “I … I apologize, Mr. Lawrence,” he offered lamely. “You have no idea the amount of stress that I’ve been under lately. This so-called ‘new morality’ is a tough pill for anyone in my position to swallow. From what you’ve told me, I don’t see how I could do any good for your friend. Perhaps a competent psychiatrist or psychologist might be better.”

“Well, thank you for your time, Father,” Myles said coldly. Standing, he moved out of the office. Would he meet with this type of lethargy wherever he went if he and Nicole thought that a clergyman was their only answer? At least Gorkland had apologized, which at the moment seemed like a lot more than Myles had expected.

Gorkland continued sitting at his desk, watching the newsman leave his office, an air of indifference hanging on his face.

Wednesday, November 19, 1986 12:22 A.M.

“Good night, darling,” Myles said, leaning over to kiss Nicole on the lips. During the day she had fared better than either had expected. Except for her story about Stacey and the coffee break and the unpleasant moment with Rose Tunic when she returned fifteen minutes late, the day had gone quite smoothly for Nicole.

He had refrained from telling her of his encounter with Gorkland, other than to tell her that he had called on a priest and that the clergyman had suggested the science of psychiatry as a possible way out.

“Nice,” had been her reply, and they had not talked of her dream or the disturbances of the last few weeks. Instead, they had opted to go to bed at once, hoping to collect some overdue sleep.

In minutes after kissing, Nicole lay on her back, her breasts rising and falling steadily in an evenly orchestrated sleep. Myles turned on one side and in seconds had drifted off.

He awoke immediately when he heard the ripping sound. He sat up in the dark, unable to see the blanket that had covered them sailing to the ceiling. The sheet beneath it was being torn full length from bottom to top, as if someone invisible grasped it at the foot of the bed and tore it in two.

“What the … ?” he mumbled sleepily, struggling to understand what was happening.

Before he could utter a sound or reach out to touch Nicole to awaken her, he felt her move next to him. Then, in the darkness, he could no longer feel her weight. He reached out, fumbling for the lamp switch on his side of the bed.

The only sound escaping his lips was a short, hoarse scream when he saw Nicole floating in midair, four feet above the bed.

Wednesday, November 19, 1986 1:45 A.M.

Myles leaped to his feet. What he saw had to be a dream. Nicole could not be floating above the bed. That was simply impossible. He hurried around to her side of the bed, gingerly reaching out to touch her. Would her skin feel any different? Was this all an hallucination? Why did he feel as if he didn’t want to touch her?

Forcing himself, he stretched out his hand farther until he brushed the flesh of her left arm. She felt absolutely normal. Warm. Had he anticipated a cold sensation?

The door to the hallway slammed behind him. He jumped, turning in midair himself. Landing on both feet, he clenched his fists, not knowing what he expected to find facing him. Nothing. There was nothing. No one. Who had slammed the door? He tiptoed toward it. Just as he was about to turn the knob, the bathroom door opened and closed with a bang, only to open again. Then the hall door did the same, and the two began opening and closing alternately, banging shut only to slam against the wall the next instant. The medicine cabinet joined in the commotion as did the drawers of the bureaus. As the sliding doors of the closet began opening and closing, Myles turned his attention back to Nicole who still hovered over the bed.

When he stood next to her, she gently moved back and forth in line with his face. Grabbing her, he tried to force her back to the bed and was met with a hoarse chuckle that seemed to fill the room and his head.

Throwing his hands over his ears, he searched the room with widening eyes. Who was laughing? Who was making the ruckus with the doors? How and why and who was making Nicole hang in midair?

“Jesus Christ!” he mumbled under his breath, unable to comprehend.

Nicole immediately dropped to the bed and awakened. Sitting up, she looked at Myles, standing next to her, his hands over his ears, his eyes bulging out. The doors closed quietly and the drawers of the bureau remained shut the next time they were in that position.

When he realized that she was back on the bed and awake, he glanced at the doors and found them closed. Slowly removing his hands from his ears, he forced a smile and said, “Are you all right?”

Nicole shook her head. “Are you all right, Myles? Do you realize what you were doing?”

He thought for a moment and shook his own head.

She cupped her hands over her ears and bulged her eyes out. “If you had puffed up your cheeks and stuck your tongue out, I would have thought you were doing a Harpo Marx impression. What was going on that made you do that?”

“Why do you ask what was going on?”

She peered at him, not sure of what he meant by repeating her question. “I … I don’t understand.”

“You have to believe what I’m going to tell you.” He sat down on the bed next to her, grasping one of her hands in his. “You were floating over the bed.”

She felt her skin go clammy. “Floating?” she managed after a short pause.

Nodding, he said, “I guess I believed some of the different things that you said happened. But I didn’t buy everything. At least now I’ve seen some of the weird things myself.”

“Weird things? What do you mean?”

He described the doors opening and closing, making all kinds of racket when they slammed shut or against the walls. “Even the medicine cabinet door was swinging back and forth,” he finished.

Reaching out, she hugged him tight around the neck. “I’m scared, Myles. What are we going to do? Was the priest serious when he said we should consult a psychiatrist?”

Myles thought of Gorkland. No wonder the priest had been reluctant to offer any help. He had not expressed the case with any degree of conviction. All Myles had done was tell him, quite second-handedly, about Nicole’s experiences. He had not been able to communicate the horror of an unseen presence in the apartment. And Nicole had had to face it alone before his return. When he felt Nicole tightening her hold around his neck and heard the gentle sobs coming from her, he knew he had to do something and do something soon.

“He said we should consult a doctor but I think I probably goofed when I told him about everything.”

“Goofed?” she said, drawing back to look at him. “I … I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t present everything as strongly as I should have. I had no idea that these things were so … so …”

“Real?” she finished for him.

He nodded. “And frightening.”

“Your ruined clothing was real, wasn’t it? Didn’t you explain to him that that happened while we were in bed, asleep, not over four feet away from the closet?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t do it in a convincing way. I’ll go back to him tomorrow. I have to. My God, Nicole, we can’t go on like this. We both need our sleep and look at us. Wide awake and going on …” he turned to look at the digital alarm clock, “… three in the morning.”

“Let’s get up and make some coffee,” she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Look at this,” he said, holding up the torn sheet. “That’s what woke me up. The sound of it ripping—or being ripped. It must have been torn from the bottom since it’s still joined at the top by a few threads.” He pointed to the end of the sheet that had been closest to their faces.

After looking at the cover, Nicole slipped into her dressing gown and went to the kitchen. Myles followed, tying the sash of his robe.

While she made coffee, he wondered about the priest, Father Gorkland. Why had he been so indifferent? Was it before he had told him that he might not even be a Catholic? Or that the man had berated him for living with Nicole without the benefit of marriage? What difference? Gorkland had apologized and Myles felt that it would be within the realms of propriety if he returned and restructured his way of telling of the events. When he thought of Nicole hovering in midair, he shuddered, forcing a smile when she sat down opposite him. For the rest of the night, they talked of their predicament and what the final outcome might be.

1:30 P.M.

Nicole’s head jerked as she caught herself sleeping at her desk. That was pretty bad. It wasn’t like her to do something like that—not even if she were exhausted to the point of collapsing. But her body had just tried to force her into a sleep. Wasn’t that the point of collapse? Sitting up most of the night with Myles had not helped her tired state previously instigated by the dream of the night before. Although she had been asleep during it, the aftereffects had been draining. She had barely managed to get through the day after meeting with Stacey and her little run-in with Rose Tunic. But at least she had made it. The sleep and rest she was supposed to have gotten last night had been her incentive to get through that day. And it had been denied her. How would she survive today?

“Very nice.”

The words, icy cold, rankled Nicole. Rose Tunic. Looking up, Nicole saw the overweight woman filling her doorway. Why Doctor Clay-pool and the others kept Rose around escaped her. She seemed to be more of a troublemaking, incompetent and unattractive liability as opposed to the general, stereotyped business asset that Claypool had spoken of when he had interviewed Nicole. She made a mental note to ask Rob Lanstrom about her.

“Yes, Miss Tunic?” she asked, demanding from her tired facial muscle a smile of some sort.

“I’ve been watching you.”

“Really.”

“Yes, and I must say you really aren’t interested too much in your welfare or your job security here, are you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Fifteen minutes late from your coffee break yesterday and today … well, let me say that sleeping at one’s desk is highly improper at any place of business. But most especially here at the clinic.”

Nicole waited. What was this overdressed walrus going to do? Blackmail her? Expose her to Doctor Claypool? In a way, Nicole almost wished that she would tell the doctor. If that happened, she could explain to him what had been going on in her apartment over the last weeks.

“If I see one more infraction of proper etiquette or business decorum on your part around this office—or any place else for that matter—I’ll report you at once with a recommendation of instant dismissal. Do I make myself clear?” She peered over the teardrop-shaped horn-rimmed glasses, hanging precariously on the tip of her nose.

“Certainly. Now get out of my office so I can do some work … Miss Tunic!”

Without a word, the woman turned, waddling from the small room. Nicole picked up the phone and dialed Rob’s number after looking it up. “Rob? Nicole. Have you got a minute? I want to ask you something.”

2:00 P.M.

Rob lighted a cigarette after Nicole had settled opposite him. “What’s up?” he asked, smiling.

“Rose Tunic.”

“Oh-oh. Has the baby blimp been up to her old tricks again?”

“Old tricks?”

He adjusted the oversized glasses and drew on his cigarette. “Throwing her weight around. And I mean that figuratively not literally because if she ever did that, the seismographs would go crazy all over the country.”

Nicole snickered.

“Did I say that?” Rob asked, feigning shock. “She likes to make her job of office manager much more important than it really is. Ignore her. You answer to Doctor Claypool and no one else. He passes on your ideas and work suggestions. No one else.”

“Why is she like that?”

“Put yourself in her shoes for a second. You might have a tough time imagining this, but if you were about one hundred forty pounds overweight and tried to wear dresses that were five sizes too small for you and looked like Rose Tunic, you wouldn’t be much of a fun person either, would you?”

Nicole smiled wanly. “I guess not. Why doesn’t she clean her act up, then?”

“I don’t think she knows how. Either that or she’s not aware what she actually looks like. I sure don’t want to be the one to tell her. Do you?”

“I guess not,” Nicole said, reluctantly agreeing. She had enough of her own problems. The last thing she needed was a person like Rose hanging onto her like a pet dog because she paid a bit of kind attention to her. Maybe down the road, once she and Myles solved the dilemma facing them at home, she might make an overture to Rose—but it would be a brief encounter at most.

Standing to leave, she stopped at the door. “Is Doctor Claypool ever negative on hearing about one of his employee’s problems?”

Rob stood in a form of goodbye to his friend. “Rose? I don’t know. I suppose he might. I guess it would come under the heading of a job benefit if that ever happened.”

“Thanks, Rob,” she said, swinging out the door. She felt better now that she had talked with him. Rose would no longer be a threat to her. And it certainly worked out well when he thought she was referring to Rose when she asked about Doctor Claypool being consulted by one of the clinic employees. She’d file that away for future use and talk it over with Myles if they decided they should consult with the doctor.

Walking back to her office, the slogan she had created for part of the publicity campaign for the clinic suddenly sprang into her mind.

“No matter what the problem is—we can help!” But would her problem qualify within the framework of that statement? What would Doctor Claypool say if she approached him and said something like: “Say, Doctor, I’ve got this strange thing hanging around my apartment and I don’t mean Myles. This peculiar son-of-a-gun just about drives the two of us nuts. It does all these weird things, like stinking up the place and flooding the bedroom and bathroom. He even made me float in midair once. What do you say about something like that, Doc?”

She had studied enough about psychology to know that at best it was an empirical science, and items and instances for which there might be no definite proof could never be confronted as being real. Doctor Claypool would simply explain each one as best he could and not face the possibility that Nicole Kilton and her lover, Myles Lawrence, were being affected by a series of strange and unexplainable happenings—happenings caused by some unseen party.

3:37 P.M.

“I’m surprised to see you back here so soon, Mr. Lawrence,” Father Gorkland said evenly.

“I’m happy that you consented to see me, Father. I think I might have done both of us a disservice yesterday.”

“A disservice? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t tell you in a convincingly enough way about the things that have been going on. I merely related to you what Nicole had told me.”

“Sort of like hearsay testimony at a trial, eh?” the priest asked, without changing his facial expression.

Myles wondered where he had come up with that particular expression. Recalling how the priest had said he thought of television programing as being boring, he wondered what Gorkland did for relaxation. “I guess you might say that, Father.”

“So what do you have to tell me? My time is just as tight today as it was yesterday, you know.”

“Last night … no, make that this morning … I awoke to find Nicole hovering in midair. She …”

“Levitating?” he asked, his interest piqued ever so slightly.

“Yes … levitating. The sheets had been ripped in two and the doors in the apartment began opening and slamming shut by themselves. The …”

“By themselves, Mr. Lawrence?” he asked, failing to conceal his own particular brand of skepticism. “Really!”

Myles stared at him for a moment. The man seemed hopeless. “Yes. By themselves.”

“You expect me to believe this, of course?”

“Look, Father Gorkland, I know it sounds unbelievable but it did happen. I saw it.”

“Have you ever thought that it might be God trying to tell you that you and this Nicole person are living in sin? That he wants you to quit? The devil isn’t running around opening and closing doors and making naked women float in the air. You do think it’s caused by the devil, don’t you?”

Myles stared at him, ignoring the priest’s questions. “What makes you think Nicole wasn’t clothed?”

Gorkland stopped short, looking up at him. “I naturally assumed that since the two of you were living in sin that …”

“I think you’d better get your head straightened out, Father. Look. I demand that you come and visit with her. See the apartment and find out firsthand what’s going on. That’s all I’m asking. You certainly are making it difficult for me to respect your position. Try to be a little more compatible. Aren’t you supposed to win converts for the Church? Aren’t you supposed to help people?”

“All right. All right. I’ll come and visit with her. I hope you realize the terrific imposition, but I will come. Give me the address.”

Myles jotted the apartment address and number down on a tablet the priest offered him. “What time shall I tell her you’ll arrive?”

“Between eight and eight forty-five this evening. Will you be there?”

“I’m afraid I can’t be. I’ll be at the station preparing for the late newscast. I’ll tell Nicole that you’re coming over this evening.” Myles stood, offering his hand to the priest.

After they had said goodbye and Myles had left the rectory, Gorkland picked up the telephone and dialed seven numbers.

“Chancery office,” rang in his ear.

“Father Pins?”

“Yes?”

“Father Gorkland here. I just wanted to apprise the chancery office of my activities. I’ve been approached by a man who claims that the apartment in which he and his mistress live, or whatever the terminology is for sinful women, is being plagued by spirits of some sort.”

“I see. Would you like to speak to the bishop?”

“No. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll check it out and if there is anything worth reporting, I’ll get back to you.”

“Very well, Father,” Father Pins said.

Gorkland hung up, smiling benignly. He was positive it would be all for nothing.

Wednesday, November 19, 1986 8:41 P.M.

DuWayne Gorkland ran a finger inside the Roman collar surrounding his neck. Right now, he wished he was someplace else, anyplace but outside the door that led to the apartment of a woman with problems. Of course, it was part of his job to do things like this. Unpleasant things. Why weren’t there more happy duties connected with the priesthood? Why did people have to make life so complicated? Why couldn’t they just live and let live? Did it always have to be the ultra-dramatic whenever someone needed him?

Possessed! That would be the first thing this woman—what was her name? He pulled out the slip of paper bearing the name of Nicole Kilton and the address Myles Lawrence had given him. Myles Lawrence was an enigma, too. Why couldn’t he put a finger on Lawrence’s religious state? Was the man Catholic or not? At first, he had assumed that he wasn’t, but then, the newscaster had said some glib thing about Gorkland’s having assumed immediately that he was. What kind of talk was that? Was he or wasn’t he a Roman Catholic? More than likely, if he were, he probably was not one who practiced his religion. Heathen!

He wondered what would happen when he met the woman. He’d have to be tough and make certain that he remained in control of the ideas generated by this woman—this sinner. But possession?

He’d nip that flower in the bud before it had half a chance at blooming into a full-fledged idea. Stuff like that just simply did not exist. He remembered everything he had ever learned on the subject in seminary. Then, he had been ready to believe—anything and everything. But the year before he was to be ordained, the Vatican had decreed that certain changes would be made concerning the sacrament of Holy Orders. The one that shook his faith most had been the removal of exorcism from the ranks of the minor orders that every priest had taken for the last—how many hundreds of years? If they could remove it just like that, like snapping one’s fingers, it made the whole idea seem a bit superfluous at best. Surely the devil still existed. If he existed, didn’t the possibility of demonic possession also exist? If both were possible, why was the minor order of exorcism—this privilege of doing battle with Satan—done away with and given to only a few chosen priests? The whole idea had bothered him then and had continually pestered him through his whole career as a priest. Never— not once in all the years that he had been a priest of God and Jesus—had the idea of possession ever been mentioned to him by anyone outside ordinary conversation. He had even read the more lurid novels concerning the subject. The Exorcist had caused quite a flap when it was published, but the one he had enjoyed the most had been Garden of the Incubus, which seemed the more accurate and better researched of the two.

What difference? he thought, slipping out of his overcoat. Draping it across his arm, he tentatively reached out with his forefinger to ring the bell. How difficult would this interview be? Would the woman become hysterical? He hoped not. He recalled the one time he had slipped in his career as a priest. Answering a parishioner’s cry for help, he had called on her, a young housewife whose husband had beaten her. She had become frightened, then hysterical, and in an attempt to calm her, he had embraced her. Before he knew what happened, they had wound up in bed. Shortly thereafter, the woman had committed suicide and he had been transferred. The guilt of the sin had been removed in the confessional, but the memory had remained with him over the years. Now, he would have to face another woman on a one-to-one basis. Of course, he had done that over the years but not with the possibility that the woman could become hysterical. He’d control the situation if that happened. He’d have to.

He heard the bell ring and footsteps approaching the door. When it opened, he forced a smile. “I’m Father Gorkland. We have an appointment.”

“Yes, Father,” Nicole said, stepping back and gesturing at the same time that he should enter. “Please, come in.”

Entering, he smelled her perfume. Was she trying to seduce him? A quivering shudder ran down his spine. The jezebel! He’d have to be on his guard. “Is Mr. Lawrence going to be here?”

“Myles is at the station, Father. Give me your coat and I’ll hang it up.”

“If it’s the same to you, I’ll just throw it over this hall chair.” He dropped the coat before turning to face her. At least he’d be able to get away in a hurry if escape became necessary.

“Why don’t we sit in the living room,” Nicole said, moving toward the arched entryway.

The priest followed, selecting an overstuffed easy chair opposite the couch where Nicole sat down.

She hesitated. Who should speak first? Should they have some idle talk first? Or should she simply throw herself on his mercy and tell him everything? Even about the ritual?

She studied Gorkland. Small. In fact, Myles’ description had not done justice to the man. At best, he barely came up to the level of her face. But was size important when confronted with demons and the devil? Faith—that invisible, unmeasurable quality that men and women were supposed to possess in unknown quantities—was the main ingredient when it came to fighting unseen beings.

But her beings weren’t all unseen. She had seen one—the horrible thing standing at the foot of her bed. Should she tell Gorkland about that? The dream? Maybe. But she’d reserve judgment on telling him about the apparition she had seen. It had to have been a figment of her imagination.

Then, too, there was the question of the ceremony she had performed. Should she tell this man, this priest of God, about that as well? Trying to conjure up the devil in the form of Lucifer hardly seemed the right thing to tell a priest who was here to help her. He’d probably rant and rave at her and call her a heathen or a witch or something equally bad. He’d condemn her. Considering the tirade he’d unleashed at Myles about the two of them living together in sin, she decided to relegate the rite to the farthest recesses of her mind, along with the thing she had seen at the foot of her bed.

“Why don’t you begin by telling me everything that has happened that you consider to be out of the ordinary, Miss Kilton.” Gorkland paused after having taken the initiative.

Coughing to clear her throat, Nicole said, “Myles and I had a breakup this past September and I was upset and frustrated because of it.”

She went on to tell him of the depression into which she sank and how her only thoughts had been of Myles. Skipping over the book she had bought on impulse and the rite she had performed that one Friday night, she told of the water incident, the apparent vandalism, the smells, and most everything else that had happened.

When she finished, he brought his fingertips together, staring at her. “The water,” he began. “That in itself is pretty much ordinary. I could hardly consider that something unusual. Probably faulty workmanship in the plumbing. As far as someone else breaking into your apartment and vandalizing your possessions, I could hardly take the suggestion that that is uncommon in this day and age. It happens all the time. Do I make myself clear?”

Nicole chewed on her lip for a moment before answering. It was slowly becoming apparent to her that the man was going to explain everything in a rational manner. Probably, he would even suggest that she seek help of some type. Hadn’t he already done that with Myles? “I understand what it is you’re saying, Father. It’s just that all of it seems so blasted unreal.”

“I don’t see why it should seem unusual, my dear. Vandals do break into homes and apartments every day and night of the year.”

“But,” she said, holding her hands up, “they usually have a reason. They’re looking for something to steal. Nothing was taken from my apartment. If it’s as you say, just ordinary circumstances, explain that if you would.”

“Perhaps they found nothing worth taking.” He smiled, a condescending look holding his face.

Standing, Nicole crossed the room to the stereo and TV set. “What about these? This is high quality equipment. If they were looking for something to steal and turn into cash, both of these things should have brought a good price at any pawn shop.”

Gorkland shrugged, his smile intact.

“What about the smell?” Nicole wrinkled her nose when she thought of the vile, repulsive stink.

“What about it? That could be sewer gas backing up through your kitchen sink or through the shower or bathtub. Good heavens, Miss Kilton, you can’t expect something like the things you’ve told me about to be coming from the devil or hell. Why think that?”

“What about the fact that the police were not able to find any evidence of someone breaking in when they investigated the vandalism incident?”

“Someone is very clever. That’s all I can say.”

“Then, Father, say something placating about my TV set and stereo equipment turning themselves on.” She was growing irritated with the man’s offhanded way of trying to logically explain everything. She had to control her temper or run the risk of embarrassing herself as well as the priest.

Gorkland stood, brushing past Nicole, and went to the window overlooking the street below. “Vibrations. Vibrations from traffic. I’m positive. It’s not really anything out of the ordinary after all, Miss Kilton.” He turned to face her.

“Then, tell me how they suddenly came on when the police were here, answering the call of my neighbor’s complaint? They were standing at the door and I was three or four feet away and just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “they went on. Loudly. Very loudly.”

“Because you didn’t feel the vibrations doesn’t mean they weren’t there.” He stopped smiling and a sober, self-confident expression crossed his face. Obviously, he was pleased in the manner with which he was fielding her questions and objections. He sincerely hoped she would forget about the incident that followed the police investigation. When he saw her eyes light up, he knew she was about to mention it.

“When the cops left,” she said, slowly, evenly, “and right before Myles returned, they went back on again but they weren’t plugged in. The police had pulled them out and tied the cords together. Explain that, Father Gorkland.” Her voice had grown bitter and an icy sarcasm hung on each word.

“Now you have one piece of unexplained evidence. Not too much when one considers that everything else has a ready explanation.”

Before she pursued that one piece of evidence and before she brought up anything else, she bowed her head, biting her lip for a second. “Could I offer you a cup of coffee, Father? I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good hostess.”

“That would be nice,” he said, returning to his chair.

“We can still talk while I make it,” she said, entering the kitchen. “The apartment isn’t that big.”

“You’re sure,” he said, raising his voice just a bit to make certain she’d hear him, “that you haven’t made any wishes or done anything that might be considered … well, contrary to God’s law?”

“I’m not certain what you mean, Father,” she said, measuring the ground coffee into the basket. She certainly was not going to tell him about the Satanic ritual she had performed. If he had proven to be somewhat different from Myles’ interpretation of his prim character, she might have considered but not with the man sitting in her living room. To her, it was too apparent the priest had a few problems of his own.

“An idle promise in the form of a deal with … say, the devil.”

“Such as?” She entered the living room, the sound of water heating and perking through the coffee coming from behind her.

“Suppose you were in line for a promotion at work or for a raise. It wouldn’t be uncommon to say to one’s self something like: ‘If I get that job or that raise, I’ll do this or that or the other thing.’ Sort of a bargain, if you will.”

Nicole puckered her lips in feigned thought. “No. Nothing like that. Tell me, Father,” she said quickly, “how do you explain what happened last night? Myles swears I was floating in midair. Is something like that possible?”

“You know it’s not. In the old days, the Church demanded, among other things, that phenomena contrary to the certain laws of nature be evident before someone could be declared as being possessed. But today, we have psychiatry and psychology, and most of the clues from the past that were part and parcel of possession are no longer relevant.”

“But the cover sheet ripping and me floating … good God, Father, can’t you say something that will help me understand?”

“Don’t be so quick to call on God in circumstances such as this.” His voice snapped the words. His pragmatism was getting to Nicole, eating at her like a cancerous growth. Thankful for the quiet coming from the kitchen, she stood, excusing herself to go for the coffee.

“I think that the fact that you’re living in sin with this man might be affecting you more than you realize.” Gorkland stood, his attention caught by something over the TV set. Crossing the room, he reached out, pulling from its place on the shelf the antique red book trimmed in gold.

Nicole came back into the living room, carrying two cups of coffee.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice oily with righteousness.

After she placed the coffee cups on the table, she hurried to the priest. Reaching out, she grabbed the book away from him. “That’s mine. It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business, eh? Well, let me tell you one thing, Miss Kilton. I know what’s in that book. I held it long enough to see that it contains chants and curses and such from witchcraft and what have you. Shame on you. Shame on you, you harlot! You whore! You live with a man and cannot face the responsibility that a lifelong commitment entails. You then develop a mental problem because of it and try to get me to soothe your guilt-ridden conscience! Shame, indeed. I wouldn’t help you now for anything. You’ve lied to me. You are lying to yourself and to God—if you believe in Him and ever pray to Him. But it is all for naught. You, my dear, are going to hell. Straight to hell. Then, you’ll meet, face to face, the unholy force with which you have been flirting.”

Nicole fought to restrain her temper. The sonofabitch was chastising her for a mistake. Whatever happened to common decency—and yes, forgiveness? Wasn’t that the priest’s main role? To represent God, offering forgiveness for sins and transgressions? But not this one. He was judging her and Myles, condemning them to everlasting hell’s fire. She didn’t need that type of guilt thrown on her.

“I think you’d better go. Father,” she said very quietly, in contrast to the rage fomenting within her.

“I certainly am not needed here, witch! You and your partner in sin will burn forever in hell. You and …”

Nicole stormed to the door, throwing it open. Tapping her foot, her irritation with the priest ready to boil over, she waited. He could pick up his own coat and get the hell out of her apartment and her life! Forever!

“The both of you are beyond hope,” he said flatly, slipping into his coat while standing in the doorway to the hall.

Unable to close it because of where he stood, Nicole waited for him to finish his verbal onslaught. Defiantly returning his glare when he stared at her for a long minute before leaving, she slammed the door after he turned to walk down the hall.

The sonofabitch! That bastard! That worthless piece of scum! She stood, feet apart, facing the doorway where the priest had been standing seconds before. She felt relieved, peculiarly safe, now that he had left and she was alone. Why had she thought that anything would come of this meeting? Myles had insisted on it, having told the priest everything that had happened. Convincing him to visit with her had been one colossal mistake. Perhaps another priest might have reacted differently, but this one had something bothering him That was painfully obvious. Perhaps he wasn’t as sure of himself when it came to a pecking order with Divine Providence. Maybe he had only given vent to his own insecurities and convictions when the opportunity had presented itself to do so with one he felt was worse off and more vulnerable than he.

Well, it was over.

The smack of something falling to the floor brought her around to find a picture, framed and covered with glass laying on the floor behind her. Somehow it had fallen from its place on the shelf in the entry way. It lay on its back, the glass covering the enlarged photo of her dead parents, intact. Not broken. Not even cracked. Without thinking, she picked it up, replacing it on the shelf. How could it have fallen over four feet onto the tile floor in the entryway and not shattered? She didn’t care. At least it was all right and not broken. That was the important thing.

The clock in the living room chimed the three-quarter hour. She checked the time. Almost eleven? Impossible. How had time slipped away from her so quickly with the priest here? Almost two hours had passed. Myles would be on the air soon and she wanted to watch his newscast. A quick shower and she’d curl up with her favorite newscaster and then wait for him to get home.

Hurrying to the bedroom, she undressed and, after pulling a fresh towel from the small linen closet, adjusted the shower’s temperature. Once she stood under the spraying water, she felt her taut muscles slowly relax. How could a shower undo so fast the physical discomfort which racked her body after the priest had left?

Nicole enjoyed showers and turned the hot water up just a bit. The steam billowed up, swathing her in foggy clouds. It felt so good, so relaxing. The jets of hot water whipped her arms, caressing her, touching her in such a way that inevitably her emotions awakened, thriving on the sensual beating her skin was receiving.

Opening her eyes with a startled cry, she looked about in the shower. The water felt as if it were actually fondling her nakedness. Her nipples stood out firm, but the strangest feeling was in her arms. The water felt like hands—hands that were slightly rough with callouses—the hands of a worker. Not like Myles’ hands. His were soft, gentle hands. The water gently kneaded her skin and muscles, working its way toward her shoulders, her back. Her legs felt as if they might buckle from the state of euphoria in which she found herself. The manipulating sensation moved from her shoulders, down her back and around under her arms toward her breasts. Never before in her life had she experienced anything so relaxing, and at the same time, so arousing.

A scream escaped her lips when she felt the nipples of her breasts react as if they had been pulled—pulled hard. Opening her eyes, she found the water still gushing over her, the steam enveloping her as it had been. Why had her nipples felt like that? The massaging effect of the water continued to increase her pleasure and she heard a moan flowing from her. God, it felt so good.

Again her nipples were tweaked viciously.

This time she didn’t open her eyes, leaning instead against the hot tile wall of the shower. She wanted to scream with delight. Only when she was about to climax with Myles had she over experienced this feeling. The massaging went instantly to her hairy triangle, the calloused touch manipulating her clitoris in a savage, frenzied way.

What was happening to her? Why did she feel this way? How could water do what she was feeling? It didn’t make sense.

Her breasts ached with the pain of being pinched again, and she opened her eyes to see her breasts jerking up and down as if someone were pulling on them.

“Wha … Ho … God help me!” she screamed and the pain stopped.

The shower door flew open and Myles, naked, stepped in.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, once she realized who it was. “What about the newscast?”

“I finished it thirty-five minutes ago. Why?”

Nicole stared at him through the steam. How could she have been in the shower for over an hour? That didn’t make sense. She had just gotten in a few minutes ago. “What time is it?”

“A little after midnight. Why? You in a hurry to go someplace?”

She shook her head.

“How did it go with the priest?”

“Later,” she said, encircling his neck with her arms. Their tongues met in quick jabs as each explored the other’s mouth in turn. She wanted him—wanted him in a desperate way that she had not known since he had returned.

Reaching out, Myles turned off the water, and the sudden quiet of the apartment filtered into the shower as they continued kissing and fondling each other’s wet body. Nicole locked one leg around behind Myles’ backside, offering herself to him in the tiled cubicle. Without hesitating, he plunged into her, and locked together, they rocked back and forth as their animal instincts took control. When they climaxed, it was as if the hot water had been turned on once more and both felt their strength ebb away.

Thursday, November 20, 1986 1:00 A.M.

Later in bed, Myles lay on his back. Nicole had just finished telling him of her appointment with Gorkland.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I was hoping that he’d come up with an idea or solution that would solve everything for us.”

“I don’t think I helped,” she said lamely.

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t cooperate with him very well. I didn’t want to tell him about the ritual but I think he guessed everything when he found the book.”

“Oh, oh!” Myles said.

“You didn’t mention it to him, did you?”

Myles shook his head, half-raising himself to look at Nicole. “What did he say?”

“He called me a witch and you my partner in-sin. He said we both were beyond hope. That we’re going straight to hell.”

“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “I’m too tired. G’night.”

Propping herself up on one elbow, Nicole kissed him on the mouth. “Goodnight, you sexy sinner, you.” She turned on one side and in minutes, her steady breathing joined his in a duet of sleep.

Myles rolled over, facing Nicole’s backside, and instinctively slipped his hand across to fall onto her breast. She in turn, snuggled in closer, their breathing the only sound in the room.

Then the duet was joined by a third breath, heavy and labored, that came from nowhere and yet filled the room. Myles’ hand raised, as if someone lifted it from Nicole’s breast, laying it on his hip. The covers worked their way back and down until her upper body lay exposed to the night air. Indentations, where unseen fingers and palms grasped her by one shoulder and hip, appeared and her body was gently rolled onto its back. Impressions on her stomach worked their way downward, past her naval, across the tiny mound toward her hairy nest.

She moaned without awakening, and a dry chuckle broke the quiet of the room.

Monday, November 24, 1986 5:30 P.M.

When nothing happened during the four days following Father Gorkland’s visit with Nicole, both she and Myles relaxed, hoping that the strange occurrences were over.

Considering that the holidays were fast approaching, Nicole looked forward to Thanksgiving, which was the following Thursday. It would be fun sharing Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s with Myles. Then, too, his birthday was coming up shortly after Thanksgiving. When she thought of that, a tear formed when she recalled her own birthday’s uneventful passing in October. How could she possibly have been happy with another anniversary of her own birth date? The man who had sired her and the woman who had borne her and given birth to her were both dead. The one man in her life, to whom she would have given her all, had walked out on her and she had been miserable. But now, Myles and she were together and for that she was happy.

The Monday before Thanksgiving went smoothly. Rose Tunic had not been much of a factor in Nicole’s mind since she and Rob had talked. More than likely it had been her own change of attitude toward the woman that had prompted a difference in the relationship. While walking from the bus stop toward the apartment complex, she reflected momentarily on her own sense of inadequacy the first few weeks on the public relations job. She had probably allowed the overweight, almost antisocial woman to dominate her. That was over-finished. If Rose Tunic wanted to play mind games, it would have to be with someone other than Nicole Kilton.

Although it was Monday and Myles should be working, he had arranged to take the night off and she had readied a meal that should have been cooking since three that afternoon, when the automatic timer activated the oven. She anticipated an extra night, other than Saturday or Sunday, when the two of them could enjoy a meal and generally loaf around the apartment if that was what they chose to do. Maybe they’d go to a movie. Or walk through some of the shopping malls, avoiding the onslaught of shoppers after Thanksgiving, getting early ideas for Christmas gifts. Of all the holidays, Christmas was the one she feared the most since the death of her parents. The first such holidays had been most traumatic, and it had only been her sociology teacher, Emma Foxworthy, who had prevented her from bottoming out that first Christmas when she was a senior in high school. The Foxworthy family had been more than gracious, sharing their holiday with her, and for the first time in several months, she had actually laughed and enjoyed herself.

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she stopped and froze. Something was wrong. She smelled something burning. What had she done wrong while preparing the meal that morning before leaving for work? Rushing to the kitchen, she expected to see clouds of smoke billowing from the oven, but the room was clear. She threw open the oven door and gasped. The meal, a pot roast with potatoes, carrots and onions around it, sat in the middle of the cubicle, totally unrecognizable. The meat was cinder black, the potatoes and other vegetables, charred to various shades of deep umber.

Shakily standing, she looked at the controls she had set that morning. They were still in the same position as she had set them. The oven had not gone on. The air inside was cool. The stove’s top, which should have been warm to the touch, was cold. How had the meal burned?

Slipping out of her coat, she turned to hang it over a chair and jumped when the door opened.

“Hi,” Myles called. “I’m home.”

“Wonderful,” Nicole muttered when he entered the kitchen.

“That’s a nice way to greet the man you love. What’s the matter?”

Stepping aside, she gestured toward the open oven. Myles bent down, looking inside.

“I thought I smelled something when I entered the apartment. What happened? Were the controls set incorrectly?”

“I wish it were that simple. Look,” she said pointing to the dials at the back of the stove. “They’re still set the same way. They didn’t activate when they should have.”

“Then how did the stuff burn?” Myles asked, not catching the hint of concerned fear in her voice.

“I … I don’t know,” she said, stepping closer to him. They embraced and Nicole felt more at ease.

Catching her slight trembling, he said, “You don’t mean that … that … whatever has been … has been …”

“Causing all the grief and trouble around here is back at it again?” she said finishing for him. “I think so.”

They looked at each other. Why hadn’t the priest been of more help? Why had they not been able to convince him that something totally uncommon was taking place?

“What do you want to do?” he asked, tipping her chin until their eyes locked.

Shrugging, she said, “Let’s get out of here and go eat someplace. I’m starved, no matter what happened here. We can talk over dinner.”

“Okay.” He picked up her coat, holding it for her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m upset. Damn! I was looking forward to tonight.”

“It’s not a total loss. We can still come back here and enjoy the evening.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Without another word, they left the apartment. Just as they left, and before Myles locked the door, he wrinkled his nose. The fetid smell. It was back. After closing the door, he turned to Nicole. From her expression, he knew she hadn’t detected the odor. For now, he wouldn’t mention it. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin her dinner. She was disturbed enough, and because she was, he felt the same degree of discomfort. First dinner, then they’d have an after dinner drink and talk. Maybe then, if she seemed all right, he would decide if he should tell her.

Taking her arm in his, they walked down the corridor.

8:41 P.M.

Their appetite for food satisfied, Nicole and Myles had chatted about the approaching holidays, agreeing to go to a Thanksgiving buffet that Thursday. When Myles mentioned the burnt dinner, she shook her head, almost violently, saying she didn’t want to talk of it.

After a second drink, they paid their bill and left. Neither talked as they drove back to the apartment. Once they were on the third floor, walking toward their apartment door, Nicole hung back, tugging on Myles’ coat sleeve.

“What is it?” he asked, stopping to face her.

“What if …”

“What if what? Something else is wrong? Something else has gone haywire?”

She nodded.

“Maybe we should think about moving.”

She giggled nervously. “Why haven’t we talked about that before? It’s so simple … so damned simple!”

“Simple and inconvenient,” Myles said, taking her hand in his and starting down the hallway.

“What do you mean, inconvenient?”

“This apartment complex is the closest one to both the clinic and the station.”

She looked at him. “Let’s not let a matter of convenience stand in the way of our peace of mind.”

“What about your lease?”

“I’ll break it.”

“Can you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Let’s take a look at it,” he said, thrusting the key into the lock. With one motion, he turned the knob and sent the door swinging in on its hinges. “Oh boy!” he muttered when he flooded the entryway with light.

“What’s the matter?” she said, looking around him. She sucked in her breath.

The furniture stood gathered together, piled in an inverted pyramid in the middle of the living room—not just the furniture from the front of the apartment but from the bedroom and kitchen as well. Everything except the water bed.

“How’s that possible?” Nicole squealed, pointing to the pile. A small footstool was at the bottom. On it, the stereo tuner rested, holding the TV on top of it. The speakers from the stereo balancing outward from the television set were held in place by an inverted occasional chair. Sitting on the legs of that chair was the overstuffed chair that was part of the new living room set. It, in turn, held the couch, tipped at an angle. The kitchen table appeared to be wedged tightly between it and the ceiling. Kitchen chairs hung from protruding chair legs and table legs that had been forced into position here and there.

Myles slowly shook his head. The pile seemed to be defying gravity. How would they get the furniture down without being caught in an avalanche of chairs and tables? “Where’s your copy of the lease?” he asked, stepping inside, closing the door once Nicole followed him.

“In a bureau drawer. The middle one. Where’s the bureau? I don’t see it.”

Shrugging, he took her hand and went to the bedroom. Nothing was there other than the bed. Hurrying to the kitchen, they stopped short once they entered. The heavy chest of drawers stood balanced on one corner of the stove top, slowly spinning on its axis.

“Help me,” Myles said, gingerly reaching out to stop the piece of furniture. Not knowing what to expect, he relaxed, relieved when it stopped. Gently tipping it toward him, he motioned for Nicole to step around and steady the base of it as he lowered it to the floor. Once it sat on its four legs, he slipped off his overcoat. “That’s unbelievable.”

“At least everything looks as if it weren’t damaged in any way. Not like the last time.”

“Find the lease.”

Without a word, she went to the drawer and opened it. Pulling out the brown envelope, she handed it to Myles.

“Now let’s see what we’re up against here, legally speaking.” He opened the envelope and spread the paper out on the kitchen counter before him. His eyes widened, and looking up, he found Nicole studying him.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, moving closer.

He pointed at the paper and the strange wiggly lines covering it. “Are you sure this is it?”

She nodded and stared. “What is that?”

“I have no idea. It almost looks like Chinese or Japanese or some such foreign language. But as to what language, I have no idea.”

Grabbing the envelope, Nicole glanced at the upper left-hand corner and read the return address of the firm that owned the complex Her name was handwritten across the front in the same smooth flowing style that had been there all the time. “It’s the right envelope, and look,” she said, pointing to the letterhead of the top page, “there’s the symbol of the company and the address and … Myles, I can’t stand much more of this.”

Embracing her, he said, “Take it easy. We’ll figure this thing out sooner or later, with or without the help of some clergyman. Do you think you could get a copy of the lease if you called them in the morning?”

“That should be no problem. I can tell them I spilled something on my copy. What language do you think that is, assuming it is a language and not just a bunch of squiggly lines?”

Picking up the paper, he studied it for a moment. “It looks like a herd of worms with a problem crossed the paper. From what little I’ve seen of script from Iran and Iraq, it looks like it could be either or neither of them. I don’t know. Are you that interested?”

“Not really. All I’m interested in is knowing what I have to do to get out of this agreement.”

“Well, right now, we’ve got our work cut out for us. We’ll have to move all of the furniture into place before we can go to sleep. At least, we got some decent rest over the weekend.”

As they worked, Nicole fell silent, barely answering his questions or commenting on his statements.

Rewiring the stereo, he said, “I think we should have called the cops. This should have gone on record.”

Nicole stared at him. “That happened the last time. I don’t want the police involved anymore. After all, when someone begins imagining things it’s a little difficult to make others believe in something one thinks one has seen. Besides …”

“Thinks one has seen? Are you serious?” He stood, spinning about to look at her.

“I’ve been thinking about what Father Gorkland said. He seems to feel that I’ve imagined a lot of the stuff that went on around here. The smells. Contributing normal things such as the water pipes breaking and things like that to some devious entity or person.”

“I don’t believe you’re saying what you’re saying. Remember, I’ve seen some of these things as well. How do you get off trying to explain furniture piled in the middle of the living room as a figment of our imagination? I saw it. You saw it. How could both of us …”

“Perhaps we both imagined it. Really. When you stop to think of it, what’s so unusual about a pile of furniture? Some vandals broke in and played a practical joke on us. That’s all.”

“Vandals don’t break in to play practical jokes and you know it. They didn’t take anything. They didn’t take anything the other time. Burglars or vandals just don’t work that way. I’m sorry. You can’t pass this off as products of your imagination.”

“I really think Father Gorkland was right,” she persisted. “We’re both overworked and overwrought about all of this. We’re merely trying to explain everything as something from hell or whatever. Do demons from hell— the devils—work like this?”

He shrugged. “The one thing I know is this. We’ve got to stick together on this thing. You can’t believe one thing and me another. We have to find another minister or priest and tell him what’s going on.”

“No way. I don’t want any more people like Gorkland around. I really don’t, Myles.”

“I’m not going to argue about something like that right now,” he said, turning on the stereo. Soft music oozed from the speakers. He smiled when he saw her mood change from one of being argumentative to a more placid one when she heard the music. “We’ve got to get to bed or we’ll both fall asleep standing up.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s going on three. We’ve been jacking around all night with the furniture.”

He bent down to move the footstool into position in the front of the overstuffed easy chair and froze. Beneath the stool lay the antique red book trimmed in gold. Neither had noticed that it wasn’t on the shelf over the TV.

Nicole stood to pick it up. Without a word, she placed it on the shelf. Turning to Myles, she said, “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

Puzzled at best, he followed her to the bedroom after turning off the stereo. When he turned out the lights, the stereo went back on, its red light the only visible thing in the room.

Friday, December 5, 1986 6:59 P.M.

Seven days later, the incidents of the previous weekend had been relegated to the backs of both Nicole’s and Myles’ minds, minimized by the passage of time. Thanksgiving had come and gone uneventfully, and they were thankful for that if nothing else. Neither spoke of the happenings, and because nothing else went awry, both relaxed, mutually agreeing not to mention the subject again.

Christmas was a week closer and Nicole convinced Myles that they should go shopping for each other that Friday night before he had to go to work. He readily agreed to meet her immediately after she got off work and they would swing through several malls. Because of the time limit imposed by his job, they agreed to merely look but not purchase anything right then, opting to do so when they were alone. This trip might tip one or the other’s hand at something that would appeal as a gift. In addition, Nicole wanted to buy Myles a gift for his birthday, which was the next day.

By seven that evening, they headed toward the apartment, where they picked up the mail and climbed the steps to the third floor. There, they would say their goodbyes until Myles came home close to midnight.

“After I see you inside, safe and sound,” he said, “I’ve got to take off. I’ve a lot of work to do before the telecast.”

Hesitating for a split second before jamming the key into the lock, he sniffed. “What’s that?” he asked, inhaling short breaths, trying to identify the strange odor.

“What’s what?” she asked. “I don’t …”

Unlocking the door, he opened it and fell back. The stench, like a warm sea of putrescence, flooded out of the entryway, engulfing them.

“Great God!” he cried, gagging and holding his hand over his mouth.

“Oh, Lord,” she said, falling back, her stomach pumping as it tried desperately to vomit its contents. Instead of diminishing as it swept into the hall, the malodorous rot grew in strength.

“Quick,” Myles said, “inside.” He pushed Nicole into the stink, slamming the door behind him.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded, running to the window to open it.

Rushing to the bedroom he threw open the window, then went to the kitchen were he turned on the exhaust fan. He did the same in the bathroom before returning to the living room. “I didn’t want the smell to spread too much. Right now, until we know where we stand on the question of the lease, we shouldn’t make waves.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding when she realized why he had acted so quickly.

Within minutes the stink dissipated and they closed the windows.

“Will you be all right?” he asked.

“Of course I will. All that was was the sewer backing up.”

“Nicole!” he snapped angrily. “You know better than that. It was the same stink you’ve described to me. Remember, I’ve smelled it before. It wasn’t the sewer backing up.”

“Then it’s our imagination,” she said, thumbing through the mail. Before Myles could say anything in rebuttal, she held up a brown envelope and said, “Here it is. This must be the lease.” Dropping the rest of the mail, she slit it open, pulling out the stapled sheets.

“I won’t have time to go over it now,” he said. “I’m stopping by to see Gorkland.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake? We don’t need him. He doesn’t like either one of us very much. Why hang around him?”

“Because whether you want to admit it or not, we’ve got one helluva problem here. I don’t think it has anything to do with the apartment although a change of scenery might do both of us a world of good.”

“Well, what do you think it is?”

Her voice clipped off the words in an angry way, but the concerned, worried look on her face told him that she was trying to maintain an indifferent, unconcerned front. “I don’t know. I don’t know what could be causing these things, but somehow I think they’re related to that book and the ritual you performed.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and before she could say anything, sobs shook her body. He stepped closer, embracing her in a gentle hug. The last thing he needed right now was Nicole falling to pieces when he had to leave. Instead of abating, the crying grew until hysterical cries intermingled with deep-rooted sobs.

“Hey, you can’t carry on like this for over another thirty seconds,” he said, trying to sound light-hearted but failing miserably.

“I … I …” she stuttered, “it’s … it’s … all … all my fault!”

“It’s no one’s fault. If anything, it’s mine for having walked out on you when I did. The way I did. That’s what prompted you to try that rite. But I can’t leave you now … not in the state you’re in. We’ve got to call someone. What about a neighbor?”

She shook her head. “No … no way. I don’t know any of them … other than to say … hello in the hallway. There … there isn’t … isn’t anyone. Just … just you!”

“Why don’t you come along to the studio with me?”

“No. What … what would you say to someone about my red eyes? Once … once I start crying, I … I sob for hours. You’ve … you’ve never … never seen me cry before.”

“We’ve got to do something. I won’t leave you this way.”

“Go ahead. I’ll … I’ll be all … right,” she said, attempting a grin and laughing along with the sobbing when she realized how silly she sounded.

“No. I refuse. There must be … what about your friend from college?”

She stared at him. Who? Who did he mean? “Wh … who … do you mean?” she asked. “Not Rob … Rob from … work?”

“No. Not him. The girl you told me about.”

“Sta … Stacey?” she managed and hiccupped.

“Yes.”

“That might … might be dangerous.”

“Why? Because she’s a Jesus freak?”

She nodded.

“Tell her you don’t want to talk about religion when she gets here. Tell her we had a fight. Anything. But let’s get her over here. Now.”

“What … what’ll I … tell her?”

“The way you’re sobbing, you can tell her we had a few words or something. She’ll believe you. I know I would if I heard you sobbing like that. I’m going to stop by Gorkland’s, regardless of what you say.”

“Will … will you … have time?”

He nodded. “Call what’s-her-name.”

Nicole went to the phone in the hall and picked up the directory. After several minutes of hunting, she found Stacey’s number and carefully dialed it.

Myles watched her closely, barely hearing the one-sided conversation. When she hung up, she turned and said, “She’ll be over in twenty minutes and … you … don’t have to wait.”

“I’ll wait. I’m concerned about you. I love you. I couldn’t just walk out like that and not be worried sick until I knew you were all right and with someone. Someone you can trust.”

She shrugged, not really certain if she could trust Stacey when she thought of the zeal she possessed when it came to matters of religion.

“Why … why are … you … you going to Gorkland?”

“He already knows about everything for the most part. It won’t be that difficult to talk to him about it. Maybe this time I’ll get through to him.”

“He … he knows too much … much about the two of us … us already,” she said, blowing her nose in a tissue she pulled from her handbag. She went to the bathroom where she flushed her face with cold water. When she came out a few minutes later, her eyes, although still red from crying, did not appear too much out of the ordinary. When she talked, her sobs had slowed to only occasional ones.

Myles waited patiently, and twenty minutes after Nicole had hung up the phone, the door bell buzzed. “I’m going to duck out the back door,” he said. “I don’t want to confront her right now. She might take it on herself to start preaching to me about making you cry or fighting with you. If I’m going to have time to see Gorkland and get to the station before nine, I’ve got to go now. ‘Bye, Nicole. I love you.” Hurrying to the kitchen, he waited by the back door until he was positive that it was Stacey Ford who had rung the doorbell.

When he heard Nicole greet her friend, he stepped into the back hallway and closed the door quietly after hearing Nicole’s opening sentence: “Come in Stacey … but remember … no talk about reli … religion.”

8:33 P.M.

Father Gorkland eyed Myles suspiciously. “What is it this time, Mr. Lawrence?”

“I know you don’t especially care for Nicole and me, Father, but we do need your help,” Myles began.

“Forgive me for that slip of humanity, Mr. Lawrence. I should not have been so judgmental of you and Miss Kilton. Please sit down and tell me what’s troubling you.” He gestured to Myles to take a chair and did so himself when his guest was seated.

Myles quickly brought the priest up to date and finished with, “I think she might be slipping away from me. The way she’s changed, citing your arguments about the phenomena being products of our imagination and so on, really bothered me. If you had seen the manner in which the furniture had been piled, you’d agree, Father.”

Gorkland shook his head. “That’s just it, Mr. Lawrence. I didn’t see it … or anything else that you and Miss Kilton have told me. How could I go to the chancery office, seeking permission to confront something that at best would be the product of an overwrought imagination? It would be my overworked imagination if I were to do something like that.”

“Do you mean you won’t or can’t?” Myles asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Both, I guess. I won’t because there isn’t enough proof—the kind of proof that is required by the Church today. Even if there were, a competent psychiatrist would still have to be consulted and those findings taken into consideration before any further discussion could take place. And I can’t because …” His voice trailed off.

“Why can’t you?” Myles demanded.

“I can’t because I think both of you are completely wrong. Wrong in the way you live. Wrong in the way you interpret things around you. Wrong about your attitude toward religion. Wrong …”

Myles held up his hand for the priest to stop. “Forget that. Those are your particular prejudices. What about the Church? Can’t the Church help us in some way?”

“Such as?” Gorkland asked, shrugging. “I’ve told you what the Church demands in cases such as you’re hoping you have.”

“Hoping? Hoping to have?” Myles said, gagging on the words. Did he think they were hoping for something evil? How could this man of God allow personal feelings to affect his decision when it came to helping someone?

“Aren’t you hoping that these things that are happening are in reality caused by some dark force? Perhaps you hope to capitalize on the situation. People today are weird, strange at best.”

“Look here, Father Gorkland, I don’t have time to be arguing moot points of theology or about mankind’s behavior today. Nicole and I have a real problem. Can’t you leave the Church or the chancery that you mentioned, out of it and just come back? If you witness something like we have, you can do whatever it is one like yourself is supposed to do, and everyone will be the better off because of it.”

“You’re suggesting too many liberties for me to take. The chancery is my boss, so to speak. My hands are tied in situations like this. I must have the permission of the bishop if I am to proceed with anything out of the ordinary. Don’t you understand?”

Myles, feeling defeat imminent, nodded.

“There’s only one way a priest can proceed with an exorcism without getting the permission of the bishop. If the priest’s life is endangered by an unseen entity, he may invoke the prayers of the rite of exorcism. But that is the only set of circumstances. Now, don’t try to tell me that my life would be threatened if I were to come back to that apartment. I …”

“I understand, Father,” Myles said, getting out of his chair. “I’ll be on my way, and I promise I won’t be back to bother you any more.” Turning, he left the priest’s office.

He could feel the baleful stare of the man on his back until he turned at the door and hurried toward the entryway that led outside. Now what would they do? If this priest didn’t believe them, what chance did they have with other men of the cloth? Probably slim to none. Outside, he went to his car and stared through the windshield for several minutes when he sat behind the wheel.

All he knew was that he loved Nicole and he would do anything to protect her from whatever evil force she had conjured up that night. The demon or devil or whatever was harassing them had better be on guard.

He turned the key in the ignition switch and the motor roared to life. Checking his rearview mirror, he eased the car away from the curb. He’d best seek out a minister or another priest. He simply had to. There was no way he felt confident enough to face this thing alone. Sure he’d lay his life down for Nicole, but why do it foolishly if there were another way to fight? He’d have to find another priest or minister as soon as possible. For some reason that escaped him, he felt they were running out of time.

11:11 P.M.

Nicole turned the sound of the television set down and watched Myles’ image, his words choked off by the volume control. “There,” she said, “at least we’ll be able to watch him and continue our talk.”

She turned to Stacey. The evening had been more successful than she had dared hope. The subject of religion had not been brought up, and for the most part the evening had been spent reminiscing about their days in college. Their talk had brought them around to the subject of different boys and men they had known during school, when the time for the newscast came around.

Stacey, who had been one year behind Nicole, said, “Why did you date your first year?”

Nicole pursed her lips in retrospect. There had been several but Jimmy Allen had been special to her. It had been Jimmy who had seduced her and taken her virginity. “Did you know Jimmy Allen?” she asked.

Stacey shook her head, waiting for Nicole to tell her about him.

“Well, Jimmy got me. Do you know what I mean?”

Stacey stared at her, a bewildered look crossing her face. “I … I don’t understand.”

“We went to bed. He was my first. I was a virgin and …”

Stacey’s face grayed. “My good God, Nicole. You sound so callous, so hard, so … I don’t know what! You actually went to bed with him and gave yourself to him? Just like that?”

Nicole’s head swam, her stomach churning. Why had she said that? Now, the evening would be ruined. Stacey would start spouting religion, but wait! What about her college sexual escapades? “Do you mean to tell me, Stacey, that you’re still a virgin?”

“Nothing of the kind. When I was going to college here I sinned and lost my virginity but now in retrospect, I can say that it was the devil at work. I did not want it to happen. But the way of the flesh won and I enjoyed sinning as if I had been drugged with lust. I was a sinner and then the Children of the Sun found me. But now, I have my sweet Jesus. He watches over me. He protects me. He helps me whenever I am placed in a position of temptation. You simply have to meet Reverend Eddie John. He’ll help you out of this morass of sin that you’ve allowed yourself to get drawn into.”

Stacey kept talking, rambling on about Jesus, her Saviour, and her own personal direct contact, the Reverend Eddie John Stangood. But Nicole heard nothing else, entwining with the words of the girl seated opposite her. It sounded more like a far off, distant siren, moaning and groaning as it built in intensity. The volume grew as the sound neared. But what was it? What could that sound be? She strained her ears desperately trying to distinguish it but failed the harder she tried.

Stacey continued prattling.

Nicole heard bits and pieces of the rhetoric Stacey spouted. Jesus was coming. Stacey wasn’t exactly sure when, but come He would. And it would be right after Armageddon had been fought. Or was it before? Nothing was making sense to Nicole. The wailing cry continued growing and Nicole tried desperately to place its origin. It seemed to be coming from someplace in the room. Forcing herself to turn, she watched Stacey. The woman kept talking, completely unmindful of the piercing wail that mounted in growing decibels until Nicole thought her head would shatter. The room spun crazily about in her line of vision. The TV screen was showing a movie. Where had Myles gone? What time was it? Was he on his way home? Please! Please, dear God, let Myles hurry home. Let him get here now.

Jesus is coming!

Armageddon is closer than you think! One final battle and Reverend Eddie John’s prediction will come true. He will be directly in contact with Almighty Jesus and the world will be Reverend Eddie John’s.

The piercing cry burrowed into Nicole’s brain. Why didn’t she just fall over and die? It would be so much more simple. So much more painless. No more Stacey to preach to her. No more siren wail. No more—Myles?

She threw her hands over her ears, rocking back and forth.

“Well, if you don’t want to hear the truth, I won’t try to force it on you,” Stacey said, standing.

The door to the hall opened and Myles peered in. “How are you two getting along?” he asked, forcing a note of cheer into his voice.

Instantly, the sound stopped and Nicole fainted.

Saturday, December 6, 1986 12.-07 A.M.

“I think your cab is here,” Myles said, dropping the curtains and turning back to face Stacey.

“I’m not sure if I should leave. I’m worried about Nicole.” Reluctantly slipping into her coat, Stacey turned to Nicole, who sat on the couch staring into space.

Snapping out of her daze, she said, “Don’t worry, Stacey. I’m fine. I really am. I guess I was just too tired or something. I should have gone to bed hours ago.”

“If you’re certain,” Stacey said, confronting Myles with a quizzical expression.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine … or is fine, right now. Nicole?” He waited for Nicole to confirm his diagnosis. When she nodded, he smiled broadly, crossing the room to Stacey’s side. Taking her arm, he escorted her to the door and opened it.

“Cab’s waiting,” he said lightly.

“I’ll call later in the morning. All right?” she asked, stopping in the hall for another endless second of waiting.

“Do that, Stacey,” Myles said, closing the door. When he heard the sound of her footsteps diminishing down the hall, he slipped the chain lock in place and turned to face Nicole. “What really happened?”

By now he had accepted the idea, as preposterous as it sounded, that something unusual-something strange and eerie—had entered their lives. Not for a moment had he bought the story Nicole had mumbled about not having eaten and merely fainting from lack of food. Positive she had made that up for Stacey’s benefit, he waited for her to say something.

“It was weird. I goofed when it came to subject matter for our conversation and accidentally set Stacey off on a tirade about Jesus and such. Then I heard it.”

“It?” He looked at her, cocking an eyebrow.

“A peculiar sound.”

He waited, studying Nicole’s face as it screwed up in consternation.

“It sounded at first like a … a … siren of some sort. But the pitch was lower, not quite so shrill. At least it wasn’t shrill at first. That came later. And it grew in volume. It was so God-awful loud. Why Stacey didn’t react is beyond me.” She looked up into his face, thankful to find concern instead of disbelief, worry instead of ridicule.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, softly, “just maybe, Stacey didn’t hear it.”

Nicole stood. Walking to the window overlooking the front of the building, she peered out. The cab was gone and she could see no one three stories below. “Why wouldn’t she have heard it? That’s a little silly, Myles. My God, the noise was frightful. I think it was getting loud enough to make me pass out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not a fainter. I didn’t feel dizzy until I heard that noise. I wasn’t upset in my stomach nor did I feel the least bit sick.”

“The noise made you pass out? Is that what you’re saying?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he said quietly after several seconds, “that might explain why Stacey didn’t react. If it was in your head she probably didn’t hear it. She probably couldn’t hear it. I know I didn’t hear anything. But then, I was only here for a moment before you passed out.” When he looked at her, he found Nicole glaring at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Are you saying that all of this was in my head? That I imagined it?”

Myles waited before answering. At first he had doubted some of the things she had told him. Then little by little, as he experienced some of the phenomena himself, he began accepting her story. But then, she began echoing Father Gorkland’s explanation that all of it was the product of hers and then Myles’ and her combined imaginations. Now she was back to wanting him to believe, reacting strongly to the suggestion that it had been in her head. He hadn’t meant that at all.

“Look, Nicole,” he said, moving across the room to her, “what I meant by that was you were the only one to hear it. I’m not implying that you’re imagining it.”

Tempering her attitude, she said, “How could that be possible?”

He shrugged. “There have been some pretty strange things that have happened here recently. Who’s to say that something like that couldn’t happen?”

“What are we going to do, Myles? We’ve talked to a priest who won’t believe anything we say, and we’ve seen some pretty peculiar things. How do we adjust to something like this? Are we supposed to go through the rest of our lives, being tormented and teased like this?”

“You’ve just hit on something. We’ve never been actually threatened, have we? Neither one of us.”

Puckering her forehead in thought, Nicole slowly shook her head. “What do you mean by threatened?”

“I don’t think we’ve actually been in danger. Do you?” He looked at her but continued without giving her a chance to respond. “What I mean is this. It’s as though there’s a shield around you and me. Maybe whatever it is isn’t able to touch us.”

“Wrong,” Nicole said, throwing her one hand up like a traffic cop. “Remember when you came home and found me in the shower? You got in with me?” She waited for him to recall. When he did with a nod, she continued. “I didn’t tell you but the shower and I were getting pretty friendly.”

“What?” Both eyebrows shot up in surprise and he stared at her.

“First of all, I lost all track of time. I thought I had only been in for a few minutes. In fact, I went in right after Gorkland left. I wanted to shower and be able to watch you on TV. It was about ten forty-five. Before I knew it, you were opening the door, standing there naked as a jaybird and wanting a little R and R yourself.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying that because you lost track of time while enjoying a hot shower that that in itself is significant?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No. The water. The water felt different somehow.”

“How do you mean ‘different’?”

“Don’t think I’m going crazy, but it felt as if hands were pawing me.”

An ominous silence filled the room for several seconds before Myles coughed and said hoarsely, “Pawing you?”

She nodded but said nothing.

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“Maybe you weren’t supposed to.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I was the one who performed the ritual. I’m the one who conjured up a spirit or demon or whatever it is that’s been hanging around here.”

“Are you saying that it’s got something going for you? Sexually?”

She forced a short, bitter laugh. “What else?”

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions. One incident does not make an affair of the heart.”

“Funny, Myles. That’s not what I mean. Suppose that whatever is bothering us really came about because of the thing I did. Wouldn’t that mean it was really unholy. Maybe Father Gorkland didn’t catch the full significance of what we’re telling him.”

“Maybe we didn’t either, if what you say is true. But why now? Why so long after the fact? You performed the rite quite a while ago. Right?”

She nodded. “It’s well over two months ago. In September.”

“Why did it wait so long to make a move on you?”

She shrugged.

“I can’t believe we’re saying some of the things we’re saying, Nicole. Do you realize what you’re suggesting is that an unseen thing, or whatever you want to call it, made a pass at you … and I’m going along with it as though some guy got fresh with you at a party? The whole thing is crazy beyond belief.”

“You’re probably right,” she said. “None of it makes too much logical sense, does it?”

Myles crossed the room to the television set and reached up, taking down the small book. “Show me. Show me where the ritual is that you performed. I’m assuming it’s in this book.”

Nodding, she went to his side, taking the book from him. “Promise you won’t laugh or poke fun at me?” Flipping through the pages, she looked up once she found the correct page, waiting for his answer.

“I’m not about to make fun of anything or anybody,” he said, taking the book when she offered it to him.

Nicole sat back on the couch while he read. When he looked up, she said, “Why didn’t you ask to see it sooner?”

A puzzled expression froze on his face. “I … I don’t know. It never occurred to me. I guess I thought, because I was back, that it didn’t make much difference what the circumstances were that brought us together or what you might have done to help things along.”

“You do believe me, then, don’t you?”

“I guess so. But the point now is, are you in danger? This thing that I just read sounds like so much double-talk. I don’t see much significance in anything that’s included, but that doesn’t mean that it might not work.”

“What are we going to do? I’m frightened.”

“Let’s not panic. Tomorrow, we’ll begin a search for another priest or minister. This time, we’ll go in without hesitating about any of the facts.”

“And in the meantime, what do we do?”

“Go to bed. We can’t afford to lose a night’s sleep. We’ll have to be sharp if we’re going to be talking to a lot of religious people tomorrow.”

“A lot?” she echoed. “What about your birthday? That’s an awful way to celebrate.”

“We can celebrate another time. This is more important. I don’t think we’ll be so lucky as to find a priest who’ll believe our story the first time we try. Do you?” He returned the book to the shelf over the television set.

“You’re probably right.” The shower incident came back to mind, bringing with it the sensation of the rough, calloused hands that had fondled her breasts and genitals. “Myles,” she cried, running to him from the couch, “hold me.”

“Hey, take it easy. We’ll be all right. Nothing has happened yet. I doubt if it will. And if it does … well, whatever it is had better damned well watch out.” He held her tight to his body, realizing how upset she really was by the way she trembled. “Come on, let’s hit the hay. We’ll probably laugh at it in the morning.”

“But we are going to find another minister, aren’t we?”

“You bet we are,” he said, leading her to the bedroom.

As they undressed, he watched her. Why her beauty, her nudity, her movements would arouse him now, considering the circumstances, escaped him. But when his penis jerked to life, he stepped closer to her.

Enfolding her in his arms, he kissed her, relieved to find her open to his unspoken suggestion. He lowered her to the bed, holding her close, their nakedness joining as one. He propped himself up on one elbow, continuing to kiss her mouth at the same time. His tongue darted in and out, being welcomed by hers. Both slipped in and out of each other’s mouth, caressing, exploring, arousing.

He trailed one hand down her side then back up to her breasts. Fondling them in a gentle, soothing way, he felt her fingertips run across his own back and shoulders. Her touch, exquisitely sexual, continued its restrained massage. His free hand roamed over her body, exciting her to a fevered pitch when it rested on her hairy triangle. Reacting instantly, she thrust her hips upward, in an offering, giving gesture. When he felt her hot fingers touching his pulsating erection, he raised himself over her.

Nicole spread her legs, waiting for him to enter her, and gasped with pleasure when he took her. His thrusts were gentle at first, matching her own quiet pumping rhythm. Slowly growing in intensity, the natural animal instincts of both, aroused to the fullest, quickly agitated to a feverish pace. His legs tingled as his glands heightened their natural response to the stimulation of her slippery vaginal walls. He could feel her fingertips at the base of his neck, while her legs jerked spasmodically around his neck.

His passion growing, he increased the rhythmic speed of his buttocks and found himself pumping more demandingly than he had ever done before with anyone—even Eunice. It was like a new experience. The sensation of hands on his buttocks, pressing in direct cadence with his own increased tempo, brought him closer to climax. She held his face with both hands, kissing him, thrusting her tongue in and out of his mouth.

Myles stopped, frozen in position by the sudden realization that she was holding his face.

Then who was pressing on his buttocks?

At first, Nicole wasn’t aware that he had stopped, passion carrying her to the brink of her own climax. Realizing after a moment that he wasn’t moving, she asked huskily, “What’s the matter, darling?”

When she freed his face, he turned his head as far as he could but saw nothing. The room was empty except for the two of them. He looked in the mirrors behind the bed—nothing. They were alone. Still, he could feel the pressure of two hands. Roughened hands. Calloused palms and fingers. Straining to one side, to see his rump better, he screamed when he made out the impressions of his own backside—five indentations half-surrounding a larger one where the palm of the hand should have rested on each cheek.

“What is it? Myles? Speak to me!”

Leaping from her, he grabbed her hand, roughly pulling her to her feet. “I … I could feel someone’s hands on me. Helping me. Pushing my rear end to enter you even farther.” Shuddering, he pulled back from her when she tried to embrace him.

“Myles. It’ll be all right. Maybe you imagined it.”

“Did you imagine the shower?” he snapped, reaching for his pants and slipping into them. “Get dressed. We’re getting out of here. Now.”

Both rushed to the closet, pulling clothing out. But try as they might, they could not dress in a hurry. Buttons seemed to be uncooperative, popping open as soon as they were done. Zippers stuck.

“Can you smell it?” she asked, throwing her bra aside when she could not get the hook to stay in place.

Myles sniffed deeply. “Yeah. God, that’s awful.”

The rancid stench continued to grow in intensity until it filled the room, pressing in on the fumbling couple. After what seemed an eternity, they stood facing each other, dressed but frantically apprehensive now that they were ready to leave.

“Should we take a bag or something?”

“No time. Grab your coat and let’s go,” he ordered.

The cloth coat she pulled from the closet clung to its hanger, each button holding fast to the opposite side. Taking the time to open it, she tried to hurry but her fingers acted clumsily, not responding to her brain’s simple commands. While she struggled, he fought with the zipper of his jacket. Again, an eternity seemed to pass before they were able to don their wraps. When they turned to leave the bedroom, they discovered they could only walk slowly, despite their instincts of survival and their desire to run as fast as possible.

“What’s wrong with us?” Nicole asked, her words slurred, running together as if she were intoxicated.

“I … I don’t know. Take my hand,” Myles said, offering his and taking one of hers.

Together, they made their way to the hall door. When they reached it, the latch turned sluggishly as if the lock had not been turned for years. Myles reached out for the knob once the lock had yielded, and both froze when they heard the laugh. Low, evil, hoarse, it came from the bedroom, coursing down the hall toward them. Growing louder and louder, it filled the living room, flowing into the kitchen until the whole apartment rang with obscene hilarity.

Throwing their hands over their ears as the laughter stabbed at them threatening to break their eardrums, they half-fell, half-stepped into the hall. Instantly, the sound stopped and the door slammed shut of its own accord.

Unable to control her emotions, Nicole wept, reaching out to Myles. “What … what’s going on? I … I don’t think I can stand much more of this sort of thing. Where’ll we go now? Who can we call? How …”

“Whoa,” he said, leading her away from the door of the apartment. “One thing at a time. There’s an all night drugstore a couple .of blocks over on Syracuse Avenue. Let’s go there, and look up a church. There has to be one close by someplace.”

“Then … then what?”

“Then we’ll go there. I don’t think there’s a priest or minister who would not talk to a couple of people in trouble.”

“Is … is that all there is to it? We’re merely in trouble of some kind?” Her voice rang bitterly as they waited for the elevator. When it finally bumped to a stop and the door slid open, they got on.

“Call it what you will. I’m not quite certain as to what we should call our … our …”

“Pre … predicament? Situation?” she finished for him. “What about Gorkland? Couldn’t we call him? He already …”

“No way. I’ve had it with that sanctimonious frustrated ass. We’ll find someone else. And when we do find somebody who’s willing to listen, I don’t intend to hold back anything. And you had better not, either. Otherwise, who’ll believe us if we tend to downplay it?”

As the doors slid open, she shrugged and sobbed once, following him into the small lobby.

He had anticipated his car being as stubborn as the lock and the clothing but it turned over on the first try, and they drove silently to the all night drugstore. Inside, they found a small bank of three telephones. Only the pharmacist on duty behind the locked lab cage peered out at them. When he saw they were going to use the telephone, he went about his own duties, looking up every so often to check on the late night visitors. The other employees, a woman behind the check-out counter and a heavily muscled man sweeping the floor, ignored them.

Flipping through the Yellow Pages, Myles ran a finger down the list of churches, quickly checking each for its address and proximity.

“The Holy Messiah Lutheran Church is only six blocks away. Let’s try it.” He jotted the name of the pastor down, along with the address, and pulling Nicole after him, hurried to the car.

In minutes they were standing in front of the main entrance to the parsonage of the church.

“This is crazy, Myles. He won’t see us at this hour of the night.”

“He’d better damn well plan on it, or I’ll go in and drag him out,” he said, jamming his finger onto the doorbell. After a half minute had passed, he did it again. As he pressed it for a third time, a light came on at the end of the hall and he smiled, satisfied that he would be talking with the Reverend Harvey Meissen in another minute or two.

The porch light flooded the entryway before the curtains in the door’s window were pulled back, allowing a sleep-puffed face, belonging to a middle aged man, to peer out. “Who’s there?” he demanded groggily.

“We need your help, sir,” Myles said.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No,” Myles said loudly. “We need help and we need it now. Tonight! Not tomorrow. Please?”

“Please, help us, Reverend,” Nicole cried, stepping closer to Myles so she could see Meissen and he could see her.

“Give me a moment,” he said, disappearing from sight when he dropped the curtain.

“Do you think he’ll see us or is he calling the cops?” Nicole asked.

“We’ll know that soon enough, won’t we? Let’s not anticipate the worst and only hope he’ll see us.”

Several long minutes crawled by before the sound of the door being unlocked soothed their rattled nerves and they stood facing Reverend Harvey Meissen.

“Come in,” he said graciously. “I’m Reverend Meissen. How can I be of help to you?” He motioned for them to enter the living room off to one side of the hall, following them after he closed the front door.

“I hope you’ll understand once I explain why we’re here, Reverend,” Myles said.

“I hope it’s worth it,” Meissen said, looking at his wristwatch. “I don’t often get calls for help at my front door at three forty-five in the morning.” Stifling a yawn, he said, “Please, sit down,” and took a chair opposite the couch.

After Myles and Nicole sat down, Myles said, “Let me begin at the beginning and tell you everything. Nicole, you jump in anytime you feel I’ve overlooked something or haven’t emphasized a point strongly enough. All right?”

She nodded—and Myles began their story.

If Meissen had been reluctant to listen to trouble so early in the day, his sleepiness and hesitancy soon departed and he hung on every word that Myles uttered, turning his attention to Nicole whenever she spoke.

“Why have you waited so long to seek help?” Meissen asked when Myles finished telling of Nicole’s ritual. Meissen looked at Nicole, who dropped her eyes from his, a gentle blush flowing onto her cheeks.

“We did.”

“From whom?” Meissen asked, a more than quizzical look crossing his tired face.

“A Father Gorkland. Father DuWayne Gorkland.”

“I don’t believe I know him. Where is his parish? Is he Catholic or Episcopalian?”

“Catholic. And he’s at Saint Timothy’s over on Lanchester Avenue.”

“What did he say? Are you two Catholic? If you are, why are you here?”

“First of all, Nicole isn’t a Catholic but she attended a Catholic grade school at one time. I am … to some degree or other. I guess I haven’t been practicing my faith too well lately. But the reason we’re here is that Father Gorkland either didn’t want to help us or couldn’t help us. I still haven’t figured out what it was. For some reason, I always felt he didn’t believe anything I said … or maybe it was because he himself doesn’t believe in the devil.”

“That’s pretty unfair when one considers our whole function as ministers of God is to fight the devil. Perhaps it was nothing more than a conflict of personality. Might that have been the case?”

Myles shrugged. “I don’t know. All I do know is that he was ready to condemn Nicole and me for living together without the benefit of marriage and he seemed always to come back to that point. He said we were living in a state of sin and that our consciences were reacting to our guilt and making us believe all sorts of things.”

“I wish he would have helped you, young man,” Meissen said, running his hand through his thinning black hair.

“Wish he would have helped us? I don’t understand.”

“Why should I jeopardize my standing in the community and most especially in my own congregation by helping someone whose own priest wouldn’t consider helping?”

“He’s not my priest.”

“He’s of your religious persuasion, young man, and that makes him yours whether you want to accept him or not. Besides, I tend to agree with his appraisal of the situation.”

Myles stared at him but said nothing.

“You both are living in a state of sin. Get your act straightened out for the sake of Jesus Christ, your Saviour. Now, please leave. You’ve already cost me enough sleep.”

“I …” Nicole began but was stopped by Myles.

“Thank you for nothing, Reverend.” He took Nicole’s hand, leading her to the door before Meissen could stand.

When they reached the car, parked at the curb, Myles closed the door after she got in and went around to his side. Once the motor was running, he pulled away from the curb, driving aimlessly for several minutes before either spoke.

“What are we going to do, Myles? We’re in real trouble. We need help, but no one is willing to listen to us or offer assistance.”

“Right now, I’m beginning to remember why it was I stopped going to church. Pomposity of the individual. From the priests right down to the ushers who looked like they had a direct line to the Almighty themselves, and no one other than they and maybe the priest would ever make it to heaven.”

“Do you know who I blame for tonight?”

“Who?” he asked, turning to her.

“Stacey. Stacey Ford and her ran tings and ravings about …”

Myles slammed on the brakes and turned to face her.

“Stacey!” they both chorused.

“Let’s call her,” he said, moving the car forward again.

“Maybe this Reverend Stangood or whatever his name is can help. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking exactly the same thing. Let’s go back to that drugstore and call her.”

“Right now? It’s going on four forty-five. I’m not sure how she’ll react to being called.”

“If she’s genuinely sincere and he’s a real minister, they should have no objections whatsoever. Besides, the way you said she was— being so zealous and all—she’d probably welcome the call. Especially from you.”

He parked the car in front of the drugstore and they both hurried inside. While Nicole looked up her telephone number, Myles stared at the colorful display of paperback books stretching for fifty feet down the aisle opposite the pay phones.

“Hi, Stacey?”

“Who’s it?” the sleepy voice asked.

“It’s Nicole. I … we … that is, Myles and I have a problem we thought Reverend Stangood might be able to help with.”

“What kind of problem?” she asked, yawning.

“Listen carefully, Stacey, because it’s sort of weird and way out.” Nicole launched into her rendition of the phenomena and events that had plagued her and then Myles since she had performed the ritual. That in itself seemed to have taken place in another century—so far removed from reality as if it were merely a scene from a scary movie. She could hear nothing other than Stacey’s even breathing in the earpiece and hoped that the woman hadn’t fallen asleep. When she finished, she said, “That’s about it, Stacey. Do you think he could help us?”

After a few seconds passed, Stacey said, “Where are you calling from? Your apartment?”

“No. We’re in an all night drugstore. Why?”

“Give me the telephone number there and I’ll call you back as soon as I talk with Reverend Eddie John. Okay?”

“That’ll be fine, Stacey. Just a minute and I’ll give the number to you.” She read it from the little plate above the dial and hung up. She found Myles perusing the titles of the occult section of the paperback rack.

“Do you believe that people actually buy some of this crap?”

“Crap?” Nicole parroted.

“Yeah. Look at some of these titles. Unto the Altar. Evil Dreams. Garden of the Incubus. What sort of people read these? More importantly, what sort of weirdo writes them?”

“Never mind that now. Stacey’ll call back and tell us if the Reverend Stangood will help us. She sounded as if she could convince him. At least I hope she can.”

“That’s great. Let’s get a bottle of pop or can of juice to drink. I’m really thirsty.”

“You get something. I’ll wait by the telephone.”

“Are you awake? Reverend? Reverend Eddie John? Are you awake? Wake up! We have to go out and help some people who are in trouble.”

Eddie John Stangood moaned, breaking into another guttural snore without awakening.

“Please, Eddie? Come on. Wake up. Nicole needs your help. Wake up. You can win her as a convert. She needs you.”

“I need you,” Eddie John Stangood said, reaching out to pull Stacey back into bed. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?” He groped for her breasts.

“There was a telephone call from Nicole Kilton. She’s got a problem. Sit up and let me tell you what it is. It might be just the thing to gain some attention to your cause. Our cause.”

At the thought of promoting himself and his church, Reverend Stangood sat up in bed, ready to pay attention to whatever it was his lover, Stacey Ford, was about to tell him.

When she finished, he said, “That’s about perfect. I’m sure she’s only upset about something or other but if I can calm her down and make her see the light of Gee-zus and the tru-ooth as I present it, she should be willing to come into my flock. What about this man who’s with her?”

“Myles? Myles in the anchorman on one of the TV stations here in town.”

“That’s even better. If we help her, we might get him to come along in with her. If that happens, the prestige of someone who’s highly visible in the community and who is a member of my flock will be invaluable. Plus the fact that he might be able to help me launch a bigger television ministry right here. Call her, Stacey. Tell her I know my duty and obligation. I will help her. I will save her from this awful thing that has happened to her. Tell her, Stacey, tell her!”

He leaped from the bed and began dressing while Stacey hurried to the phone. “Tell her to meet us at the entrance of her apartment building. Oh, thank You Lor-ud above for this opportunity to gain her soul for You. Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!”

“How long did Stacey say it would take them to get to the apartment?” Myles asked after Nicole had hung up the receiver.

“She said we should go there directly and that they’d get there as soon as possible.”

Hurrying to the car, they got in and drove toward the complex several blocks away. When they turned the corner, they saw a large sedan parked in front of the entrance. After parking, they got out, and as they did so, Stacey Ford erupted from the back seat of the limousine. Reverend Eddie John Stangood, dressed in white from hat to shoes, followed her.

“The Lor-ud is my shep-herd and I shall not want. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no ev-eil,” he mumbled as Nicole and Myles approached.

“Reverend Eddie John, this is my friend, Nicole Kilton, and Myles Lawrence. They sincerely need your help. Will you help them?”

“I shall. I shall in-deed help them this night. And when I do, I know they shall be more than willing to sing the praises of the great Lor-ud Gee-zus and fall prostrate in His presence to thank Him. Of course, that can be done in the confines of my cathedral.”

“I’ll promise most anything if you can help us, Reverend Stangood,” Nicole said softly. She was willing to compromise at the moment. Joining the man’s church, or whatever it was he purported to have, would be small enough payment if she and Myles could get rid of the thing upstairs.

“And you, sir?” Reverend Eddie John asked, turning his attention to Myles.

Myles nodded brusquely, holding in reserve any vocal commitment at this point.

“Then come, my chil-dren and follow me, your leader. I will flush out the denizen of hey-ell and do battle with him. I shall drive him back to the fiery pit from whence he has dared venture.”

He turned to lead them into the front entrance but was stopped by the locked door of the lobby. “Do you have a key, child?” he asked, turning to Nicole.

She stepped forward, her key already out, and unlocked the door. With a flourish, he held Nicole back and made his own entrance first. Stacey followed him and Nicole and Myles brought up the rear.

Upstairs, the lights in the third floor apartment flashed on, then off, then on, then off.

Saturday, December 6, 1986 5:50 A.M.

The small entourage made its way to the third floor, opting to walk instead of using the elevator. Reverend Eddie John Stangood moved slowly as if hesitant to meet whatever lurked in the apartment. Nicole followed him and Stacey preceded Myles who brought up the rear. When they stood on the third floor, Stangood stopped, waiting for Nicole to reach his side. When she did, he turned to her and said, “Which way does the fow-ul beast await?”

Without speaking and afraid she might break out into an impromptu laugh because of his way of speaking, Nicole pointed to her left, toward her apartment at the front of the building. She knew it was silly to want to giggle in such a situation. Myles would be upset if she took too light an attitude. Besides, she wanted the situation over and done with. If it meant having someone who talked in a weird way around for a short time, so be it. Nevertheless, his white suit and cloak seemed to make him even more ridiculous when he spoke. Fow-ul beast, indeed! She only hoped that something would happen when they entered and the Reverend Eddie John would be the one who would drive whatever was harassing her and Myles from the apartment and their lives.

When she stopped ten feet from her door, she motioned with one hand toward it. “That’s it,” she whispered.

“How close is your nearest neighbor?” he asked, looking first to the right and then to the left.

“Above me. Below me and on either side. Why?”

“I hope they’re sound sleepers. One can never tell what one might encounter when facing a devil or demon from hey-ell.”

Nicole glanced at Myles, whose serious expression held rigid. Moving closer to him, she took his hand and then stepped closer to the door, unlocking it. She looked to Stangood who moved between her and it.

Reaching out, he opened the door, throwing it back with a flourish that seemed out of a nineteenth century melodrama.

The apartment, swathed in blackness, waited.

“Where is the light switch?” he whispered.

“To your right,” Nicole answered, whispering in turn.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Stangood fumbled for a moment and then turned on the lights. Welcome, bright, revealing light flooded the entryway, spilling into the living room and down the short hall that led to the bath and bedroom.

“Shall we?” he asked, stepping in before anyone could answer.

Myles held Nicole back when she made a tentative step to go inside. Instead, he made way for Stacey to follow Stangood. After Stacey entered, her face whiter than usual, her mouth hanging agape, Myles stepped ahead of Nicole in a protective move, making her the last to enter.

“I think we should have the lights on all over the place,” Stangood said, looking to Nicole and Myles for agreement.

Stretching out one hand, Myles reached around the corner of the living room and plunged it into light. The kitchen, bedroom and bath were taken care of before anyone said anything.

The stillness closed in on them. The mantel clock chimed six times.

“At least the devil’s hour of three is past,” Stangood said softly.

“The devil’s hour?” Myles repeated, looking to the man for an explanation. “I always thought midnight was the bewitching hour.”

“Old wives tale,” Stangood said. “Think about it. There’s three Gods that Christians believe in—Gaw-ud the Father, Gaw-ud the Son, who is Gee-zus, and the Holy Spirit. There are other things in the Bible that relate to the number three and the devil seems to be most active at that hour. At least, it seems to be, according to everything I’ve ever read about the subject.”

Myles nodded but remained quiet. The awful silence crushed in on them. The only sound he could hear was the hissing of nothingness in his ears.

“Perhaps your consciences have been bothering you more than usual lately. Perhaps the other ministers to whom you spoke were right. I don’t see anything or hear anything that would convince me that something is wrong here—out of the ordinary, that is.”

At once, the door to the hall slammed shut and furniture began tipping over, one piece at a time. As if in slow motion, everything in the apartment turned over in a most careful manner—the chairs, the couch, the tables. Pillows from the couch floated through the apartment circling the four people, out to the kitchen, back again, down the hall where the doors to the bathroom and bedroom would open to them them fly in and close with a resounding bang when they returned to the living room. They swept by Reverend Eddie John Stangood, mussing his hair after knocking the white broad-brimmed fedora from his head. Ducking to one side, then the other, the pillows invariably touched him, bringing squeaky responses from the self-proclaimed minister of God.

“Oh, my God, look!” Stacey screamed, pointing to Nicole.

Myles turned, dropping her hand when he realized that she was horizontally floating in midair, next to him. Leaning away, he stared, too frightened to reach out and touch her, to try to bring her down to the floor, to help her. Slowly, deliberately turning counter-clockwise, Nicole’s feet pointed to the north, to the west, to the south, to the east before she began gyrating at right angles to the floor. Her hair brushing the carpeting, she straightened and floated to the ceiling where she turned another 360 degrees. Then slowly, she wafted back to the floor, standing upright at the last minute next to Myles.

Books flew off the shelves in all directions before setting up a formation and attacking Stacey. Ducking behind the overturned couch, she screamed, swinging wildly at her attackers.

“De … de … demon?” Stangood cried shakily. “Get … get … out … of …”

“Welcome, Reverend Eddie John Stangood! Welcome!”

The voice boomed hollowly, echoing loudly, growing with each word until the windows shook. The stereo turned on, playing a John Phillips Sousa march, while the TV set displayed an early morning cartoon show.

Stangood stood frozen in the middle of the living room. Color drained from his round, pudgy face and a wet spot blossomed in the front of his white pants at the base of the zipper, expanding and growing in an even larger circle as his bladder emptied.

“You do good work, you fucking phoney! Keep up the effort? You win more souls for me than you ever will for your God. Your god is money! You charlatan!”

The voice grew even louder and Stangood was buffeted about the head, his whole body reacting as it jostled from side to side as he was backhanded by the entity’s unseen hands.

“But … I worship Gee-zus! Gee-zus will save me. Gee-zus is my savior. He will drive you back to hey-ell. Gee-zus, help me!” Stangood’s voice barely whispered the words and when he saw clouds of steam ejecting from his mouth as he uttered the prayer, his face paled more.

Myles and Nicole watched, open-mouthed. What were they truly up against? Apparently Stangood would not be of much use to them. He needed an audience to put on his religious show. They needed a man of God who had the necessary weapons to fight something like this. Myles recalled his own childhood and the holy water that the priests had used on occasion. And the crucifix. Why didn’t Stangood have something like that? At least Myles would feel as if they had some sort of armament on their side.

Stacey stood, yelling. “Get out, Eddie John. Let’s get out of here.” Half-running, half-stumbling, she made her way toward the door, throwing it back. She dashed into the hall and didn’t stop running until she reached the main floor. Reverend Eddie John Stangood, the only direct line to salvation, followed her and Nicole and Myles were in pursuit of him. As Myles plunged into the hall, the door slammed loudly, punctuated by a high-pitched laugh flooding the hall. The sound of the maniacal glee seemed to follow them to the first floor.

Once outside, Stangood and Stacey stood near their car. Myles and Nicole clutched each other some twenty feet away.

“I can’t hardly wait until the neighbors call the cops,” Myles said sarcastically.

Everyone looked up at the apartment building’s front wall, expecting to see lights going on in each apartment. But the only thing out of the ordinary were the lights in Nicole’s apartment, flashing on and off repeatedly. The sound of music continued from the stereo and voices boomed from the TV through the closed windows, but no one turned on lights in any of the adjoining apartments.

Myles walked over to the other couple, Nicole’s hand tightly encased in his. “Well, Reverend?”

Stangood, swept the cloak around him in an effort to cover the yellowish stain, the tentacles of which streamed down both pant legs. Turning his back to them, Stacey stepped out, blocking Nicole and Myles.

“Reverend Eddie John doesn’t want to speak to you.”

“What?” Nicole and Myles cried together.

“He feels you purposely set this whole thing up just to embarrass him and he doesn’t want anything more to do with you.” She turned to Nicole. “I’m sorry, Nicole. Really I am. Why did you do such a thing?”

“Why … why did I … we … do such a thing?” Her anger mounted with each word.

Stacey nodded, a pained expression dominating her inanimate features.

“You really think we staged this whole thing just to make your Reverend Eddie John Stangood piss in his pants?” Nicole gasped the words out, unable to control her laughter that quashed her anger.

Stacey nodded.

Despite the serious aspects of what had happened upstairs, Nicole suddenly found it immensely funny that this pompous little ass would think that someone would want to embarrass him. She giggled uncontrollably.

“Laugh! Laugh, you whore!” Stangood screamed, turning around to shake a finger at Nicole and Myles. “Gee-zus does not let things like this go unpunished. Gee-zus will protect me. Gee-zus will heal me. Gee-zus will condemn you to everlasting hey ‘ell’s fire unless you both repent and repent now. This instant. Gee-zus help them. Gee-zus give me the power to convince them to stop this chicanery.”

Myles took Nicole’s hand, leading her away.

Chicanery? That seemed to be his trump card, not theirs. How did Stangood think they could rig up some of the things that happened just a few minutes ago? He looked up. Lights were on in two of the apartments and he could see people peering out. Stangood’s ravings must have awakened them although why they hadn’t awakened earlier escaped him.

Off in the distance he could hear the wail of a siren. “We’ve got to get out of here, Nicole. Come on.”

“Why?”

“Listen. A siren. Cops are coming.”

“We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know that but we can be arrested for disturbing the peace. I don’t want that to happen. Not for something like this. We’ve got to get help of some sort. Someplace.”

“But what about my apartment? What will happen?”

“Why are you worried about that all of a sudden?”

“The book is up there. If the cops go in …”

“I don’t think they’ll notice that little book. Besides, I think we should get rid of it.”

“I suppose you’re right. I should have thrown it away a long time ago.”

“Come on. The siren’s getting closer. The cops will break in if they have to and turn off the stereo and lights. Tomorrow, we can act surprised if they contact us and ask questions. If we aren’t here and no one other than Gee-zus’s sword over there knows, we can bluff our way through. Somebody broke in and did it. We weren’t anywhere near at the time.”

Nicole got in the passenger’s side while Myles went to the driver’s. Reverend Eddie John Stangood’s white Cadillac roared by and in seconds, Myles pulled into the street. He turned the first corner they came to, just as a squad car rounded another two blocks away.

7:30 A.M.

The sun drew a pencil line of gold across the bottom of the overcast eastern sky as Nicole and Myles made their way to the motel room they had rented. Unlocking the door, he hesitated for an instant before stepping in to turn on the light.

“What’s the matter?” She looked at him furtively but still could not control her genuine concern.

“Nothing,” he said, quickly adding, “that’s not true. I was thinking what happened the last time we walked through a door.”

“You mean at the apartment. A little while ago?”

He nodded- “If it weren’t so goddamned serious and frightening, I would have laughed my ass off at Stangood. Whatever it is that’s hanging around sure scared the be-Geezus out of God’s right hand, didn’t it?”

“I guess when I laughed, I was more hysterical than appreciating the humor of the situation.” She moved closer to him and he took her in his arms. “Myles, what are we going to do? No one will help us.”

“It sure seems that way. First Gorkland and then that Lutheran, Meissen. Why we thought that Stangood could help is beyond me.”

“He is a minister, isn’t he?”

“He’s a phony. A real modern day marvel! One of the bible-thumping evangelists who are going to save the world, most especially your own individual neck and soul. And all for a small price. Of money, naturally.” He pushed her back and threw himself on the bed, half-sitting, half-lying down.

His bitterness grated on Nicole. Most of the time, Myles was calm and laid back, almost passive in the things that went on around him. But he had been through an experience that most people seldom, if ever, face. He had been touched by the filthy evil that had caressed her in the shower. And no one would believe him or her about the things that had been going on. Weren’t priests and preachers and even evangelists supposed to be ministers of God? Of Jesus? What were ordinary people expected to do under such circumstances? Run and hide their faces? Nicole and Myles were doing just that by being in the motel room. But there had to be more they could do—more that someone could do.

“Myles, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I think we have to.” She dropped into one of the chairs.

He looked at her when she stopped talking.

What was she going to bring up? “I don’t understand,” he said, turning to face her from his position on the bed.

She sat forward in the chair next to the round table positioned under the hanging lamp. “About what happened. About your being touched.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “What about it?”

“I think we had better get our stories together in the event we have to tell someone.”

“Like who do you suggest?”

She shrugged. “What did the … hands feel like?”

“Rough. Very rough, as if they belonged to someone who did heavy, manual labor. Very calloused. Hardened skin. Am I making myself clear?”

Nodding, she said, “That’s exactly the way I’d describe them.”

“All right,” he said, “our descriptions tally. Now what do we do?”

Tears created by the stinging reality of his question rose until they poured out. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“Did you ever see The Exorcist or read the book?”

She shook her head.

“Any of the scary books? See any of the movies about possession?”

She shook her head again. “Just Kiss Not the Child.”

“I’ve seen The Exorcist and it was awful.”

Wiping her eyes, she said, “Is that what you think is happening? That I’m possessed? Or that you are? Or that …”

He held up his hand for her to stop. “I don’t think you are, but I’m no expert. What I was going to say was that in the movie and in the book, too, they used holy water and a crucifix. I think if I remember correctly, they’re supposed to have devastating effects on the devil.”

“My God! Myles, what if I am possessed? What happens to me?”

Jumping from the bed, he crossed to her, falling to his knees in front of the chair. He held out his arms and she leaned forward until he could embrace her. “You’re not possessed. I think you probably started something with that rite you performed but I don’t think you’re possessed.”

“How can I tell?”

“Well, the little girl in the movie had open sores on her face and talked in a deep, rough voice and did all sorts of weird things like floating …” He stopped.

After a long minute went by, she said, “What’s the matter?”

“You … you were floating in midair tonight and you did it once before. Remember?”

She slowly shook her head as the truth of his statement sunk home. “I … I don’t remember actually flying around. Should I? Maybe because I don’t remember means that I’m not possessed. Say that I’m not, Myles.” Deep sobs racked her body and he held her tightly.

“I truly don’t believe you’re possessed, Nicole. I truly don’t. But we do have to get some questions answered and answered damned soon. Or we have to be better equipped to fight whatever it is that’s doing all of this stuff.”

“Bet … ter equip … ped?” Her sobs grew in their intensity.

Holding her face in his hands, he stared deeply into her teary eyes. “I think we had better get some holy water and a crucifix. Maybe a little religion wouldn’t hurt either.”

“How … can that … help?”

“First of all, I don’t mean the good old fashioned evangelical kind that the Reverend Eddie John Stangood puts out. I mean organized. Maybe I’ll go back to the Catholic Church.”

“What about … Gork …”

“Father Gorkland?” he finished for her.

She nodded, dabbing at her eyes.

“The man’s human. He’s going to have personal prejudices and likes and dislikes. So he can’t see you and me living together and is blind to everything else where we’re concerned. He’s not the only priest around. Besides, maybe we should do something about our marital status anyway.” He smiled gently.

Her eyes widened. Was he proposing? Were they going to be married? “What’s … what’s our … first … step?”

“First thing we’ll do when we get up is go to a religious goods store and buy a crucifix. Then, we’ll find a priest who will bless it and get some holy water from him.”

She looked at him, tilting her head.

“We won’t necessarily tell him about our problem or what the crucifix and holy water are for. At least not right away. If we feel he likes us and we like him, maybe he’ll be the one we unload our story on—again.”

A look of relief crossed Nicole’s face and she bravely forced a smile.

“I think we should at least lie down for a while and get some rest. It’s been a long night.” Standing, he held out his hand for her and she took it, allowing him to lead her to bed.

They both lay back, fully clothed, on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, silently vowing to himself that somehow they would drive the demon who was in their lives back to hell. He knew they could beat the devil.

7:57 A.M.

Gray daylight seeped through the curtain of the apartment’s living room. The TV, stereo, turntable and lights waited patiently, neither playing nor blinking. The furniture had been righted and everything had been straightened. The soft drumming of impatient fingers sounded through the rooms in accompaniment to the whispered words, “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!”

PART FOUR

“You Are Mine Forever”

Saturday, December 6, 1986

Saturday, December 6, 1986 9:00 A.M.

To bolster their sagging physical condition, Nicole and Myles had several cups of coffee at the motel’s dining room before going to the nearest religious goods store. After a wait of twenty minutes, the manager arrived, unlocking the door just at the hour of nine. They waited several minutes and then left Myles’ car, hurrying to the store’s entrance through the brisk morning air.

“What are we going to get other than a crucifix?” Nicole asked. For the first time since the weird happenings had begun, she felt as if she and Myles might gain the upper hand. But what if all this, like everything else they’d tried, was for nothing? Then what? Could they look forward to spending their lives together? Could they expect strange happenings forever?

“Let’s look around but I don’t think it’s too great an idea to ask for something to drive a devil out. He’d probably call the boys in the white coats.”

Nicole nodded, opening the door. The warmth of the store embraced them, which they welcomed. Without realizing it, they had been chilled waiting in the car without the heater running. She visibly shuddered, relaxing a bit in the heat.

“Good morning,” the man said as he approached them. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Myles said, taking the initiative. “We’d like to look at some crucifixes.”

“Right this way,” he said, gesturing for them to follow. He went to the far side of the store, pointing to a glass counter that had the symbols of Christ’s death displayed on several shelves. Behind the glass stand, more bare crosses and cruciforms adorned the wall. “Is there any one style or mode that you’re looking for?”

“Not really,” Myles offered absently, stepping closer to the counter. What would they need? As far as he could remember, a cross was a cross. Did it matter what the crucifix looked like when it came to driving the devil away? “Why don’t you let us look these over? If we have any questions, we’ll call you.”

“Very well,” the man said. “I’ll be over at the cash register.” He turned, walking away.

“What do we need?” Nicole asked as soon as the man was out of earshot.

“Just a crucifix. I don’t think there’s any one type that’s preferred. See anything you like?” His voice carried a hint of humor which he suppressed, refusing to make light of the situation.

“I like that one there,” Nicole said, pointing to a silver one, which displayed the Crucifixion in modern design. The thin beams of the cross were barely big enough to support the slender, stylized figure of Christ.

“Okay,” he said. “I can’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Is there anything else we could get?” She looked at him, her eyes pleading for something that would virtually guarantee their ultimate success.

“Other than holy water, I can’t think of anything.”

“Do they carry it here?” she asked.

“That you get in a church or from a priest.”

Her look of understanding seemed like a little girl’s, trusting and calm, as if being given a lesson in some facet of life. Before she could react he bent and kissed her mouth.

“What was that for?”

He smiled. “For just being you and the way you are.”

It was Nicole’s turn to smile. Myles’ love for her seemed to be growing every day, every hour, and she enjoyed each expansion. “Are we going to go to a church and get some holy water?”

He nodded. “Let’s ask the clerk if he can recommend someone—a priest. It can’t be that all priests and ministers are like the turkeys we’ve encountered.”

“Are you including Reverend Eddie John Stangood in that evaluation?” she asked, her eyes twinkling as she thought of the man’s white suit pants adorned with the yellow splotch of urine.

“Especially that phony bastard. Let’s not get started on him. I’ll call the clerk.”

After they indicated the silver crucifix, he withdrew it from the arrangement in the case, handing it to Myles for closer inspection.

“What else do you have to ward off evil?” he asked, handing the piece to Nicole.

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, the man closely studied the couple for a long minute before answering. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” He brought his fingertips together, tilting his head to one side while waiting for further explanation.

“Well, the cross or crucifix is a talisman to ward off the devil, isn’t it?”

“In some respects, I imagine one might say that. However, it is primarily used as a reminder by Christians, Catholics most notably, of Christ’s ignominious death and sufferings that He endured for all of mankind.”

Myles sincerely hoped the man was not about to launch into some sort of religious tirade. “So, do you have anything that would fall into that category?” he said, quickly adding, “Of warding off evil, that is?”

Pursing his lips in thought, the man said, “I suppose a medal or two would be in keeping with what you’re describing. However, I feel things like that should be blessed by a priest before they’re going to be of any use to the individual.”

“Can you recommend someone?”

Again, he puckered up before speaking. “Well, there’s Saint Mark’s and Saint Peter’s. Both of them are relatively close by. Of course, there are others. You can get a full listing of the different churches, Catholic, Protestant, Jewish Temples and what have you, in the Yellow Pages of the phone book.”

Ignoring the man’s generalized offer, Myles said, “Do you know the addresses of the two you just mentioned?”

“Of course,” he said, taking the crucifix from Nicole, who held it out for him. “I’ll write both of them down. What about the medals?”

Myles looked at Nicole, who nodded. Anything. If whatever the man suggested worked, they’d take anything.

“Put a couple in with the crucifix. Which of the two churches would you personally recommend?”

Stepping behind the counter holding the cash register, he withdrew a box, placing the silver item in it. He turned, opening a drawer in a small chest behind him. When he faced Myles and Nicole, he smiled and said, “Here are a couple of Miraculous Medals. They should fill the bill.”

Myles thought he detected a note of sarcasm in the man’s voice, wondering if perhaps his decision in leaving the Church when he did had not been right all along. If everyone was cynical about faith and beliefs, then why should anyone simply give lip service to an unseen God?

“That’ll be fourteen thirty-seven with tax,” he said.

Myles studied him for a split second. Had he overreacted to the man’s statement about the medals filling the bill? Was he becoming paranoid about this whole situation in which he and Nicole found themselves? That was all they’d need—jumping at every shadow, every move, reacting to every word said to them.

Instead of contemplating further, he reached for his billfold, pulling out two ten dollar bills and handing them to the man.

“Incidentally,” the clerk said, “before those medals can do any good, they should be blessed. Here,” he said, handing Myles a slip of paper, “are the addresses of St. Mark’s and St. Peter’s.”

“Which of the two would you personally recommend?” he asked. “We’re strangers in town.”

The clerk leaned his head to one side. “I know you from someplace, don’t I? Have you come in here before? No. That’s not it. I’ve seen you though, I know I have. In the movie … No! On television! That’s it! I seldom forget a face. Ever since you walked in here, I’ve been trying to place you. Aren’t you on one of the local channels? News? Or weather or something to do with a news program? Sports?”

“I’m an anchorman,” Myles said stiffly, hoping that the man would not pursue the subject or ask why he said they were not local.

“Well, then, you’re not, are you?”

Myles looked at him, puzzled by the strange question. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You’re not really a stranger in town, are you?”

“No, I guess not. You caught me there.” Myles forced a harsh laugh. “However, which of the two churches would you recommend? Which has the most open, or should I say, laid back pastor?”

The clerk looked away for an instant, smothering a chuckle under his breath. “I think that would probably be Father Maskey at Saint Peter’s, then. Father Willis at Saint Mark is pretty old and crotchety. Father Maskey is about forty years old or so. Real nice guy. Calm.”

Miles looked at the slip, noting the address of Saint Peter’s church and rectory. It was only a few blocks away. “Well, thank you very much for all the help you’ve given us,” he said to the clerk.

“My pleasure, I’m sure.”

Myles took Nicole’s arm, steering her toward the door. He could feel the man’s eyes on his back. If only he would forget about his TV anchorman customer of the morning. The last thing Myles needed was someone telling stories about him looking for religious articles that warded off evil. If the man knew the truth, he would never believe it, and the stories would more than likely stop before they started. But he seemed to Myles to be the imaginative type, and there was no telling what he might develop as a fanciful tale.

Once outside, he told Nicole of his fears where the clerk was concerned.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “That’s the price of fame. I think you’re worrying needlessly.”

“I hope you’re right. Paranoia, I don’t need.”

They went to his car and in moments drove away from the curb, toward the rectory of Saint Peter’s Roman Catholic Church.

9:30 AM.

Myles and Nicole waited patiently at the door of the rectory. They had rung the bell, waiting for what seemed like minutes when in reality only a few seconds had slipped by. Presently, they could hear footsteps coming toward the. entrance. Heavy footsteps. Myles quickly pictured a huge man, one capable of playing the line for a professional football team, storming toward the door, demanding to know who dared interrupt his holy revery so early in the day.

When the door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief. The man peering out at them smiled broadly and said, “Good morning. I’m Father Maskey. I don’t think I know you. Do I?”

Shaking his head, Myles said, “No, you don’t. Father. We’ve never met. I’m Myles Lawrence and this is Nicole Kilton. May we come in?”

“Judas Priest, I’m sorry,” he said, jumping back from the opening to make a broad gesture with his free arm for them to enter. “The parish board would scalp me alive if they saw me standing here with the door wide open, trying to heat the great outdoors.”

Covering her smile, Nicole followed the priest’s motion, entering the warm hallway. Myles followed.

“What can I do for you?” the priest asked, peering first at one of his visitors, then at the other.

“We’d like this crucifix and these medals blessed, Father,” Myles said, offering the package to the priest.

“Hey, no problem. Glad to be able to do it. Come with me,” he said, motioning for them to follow him down the hall. He stopped at an open door, allowing them to enter first. “Take a seat. This’ll only take a minute.”

He laid the package on the desk, opening a drawer from which he pulled a small purple stole and vial of holy water.

Nicole elbowed Myles, nodding toward the small bottle. Taking her arm in his hand, he gently squeezed it.

When Father Maskey had draped the stole around his neck after kissing it, he picked up the bottle and began praying softly but unintelligibly where Nicole and Myles were concerned. Then, he slowed the pace of the words and said, signing with the vial of holy water in the form of a cross, “I bless this crucifix and medals, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

Taking the stole from around his neck, he kissed it again, before returning it, along with the container of blessed liquid, to the drawer. Myles and Nicole stood. “There,” he said, smiling broadly, “that didn’t hurt a bit, did it?” Handing the crucifix and medals to Myles, the priest studied his visitors’ faces. “I must be slipping,” he said slowly. “You two are Catholics, aren’t you?”

“I am, Father,” Myles said. “Nicole isn’t. At least, she isn’t now. I …”

“Does that mean the two of you are thinking of being married?”

Myles looked down at Nicole. “I guess you might say we’re thinking along those lines.”

An expression of relief crossed Father Maskey’s face. “Let me explain what I meant when I said, ‘I must be slipping.’ ” He walked casually into the hall, his guests following.

Myles shot an inquisitive look at Nicole, who returned one of her own.

“Every once in a while, some religious nut or member of an off-the-wall religious cult will stop at a rectory and ask for holy water or something that they can use in a rite or ritual of some sort. They always pose as Catholics. We’ve always been told to be on guard for just such a situation. Then, you two walk in, hand me a crucifix and a couple of medals and I obligingly bless them without so much as a question or howdydoo!” Father Maskey smiled broadly. “Why do I feel as if I should know you, Mr. Lawrence? Do you belong to Saint Peter’s or go to Mass here once in a while?”

“No, Father. I’ve never been in your church. You might have seen me on television. I give the newscast for KSLL-TV.”

Snapping his fingers, he said, “Hey, that’s it. Of course. Well, at any rate, I’m glad I could be of service.” He waited as if expecting them to say thank you but fell silent when the couple did the same.

After several seemingly endless seconds passed, Myles said, “Holy water, Father. Could we get some from you?” He tried smiling but felt it must have looked forced and weak at best.

Father Maskey briefly glanced at Myles, then at Nicole and then back at Myles before speaking. “What is it, Myles? What’s troubling you two?”

Myles coughed, embarrassed at the fact the priest could read his emotions so well. “I guess we didn’t do so well at covering up, did we, Father?”

“After almost twenty years of being a priest, I guess one might say I can tell when people are happy and when they’re not. You two are definitely not happy. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think you’d be able to help us, Father,” Myles said evenly. “From what we’ve learned so far, our problem is ours and no one else’s. At least, no one we’ve talked with has been willing to offer a solution or help of any type.”

“Let’s go back into my office,” Father Maskey said, standing aside to allow them to enter.

“No,” Nicole said. “You’ll only listen and then tell us we’re living in sin. I’m tired of hearing it.”

“Are you?”

“Are we what?” Myles asked.

“Are you two living in sin, as the old saying goes?”

Myles turned to Nicole. “At least you have to give him credit for being laid back.”

“I’ve been accused of being just that,” Father Maskey said. “Being laid back, that is. Come on, it can’t hurt that much to talk it out with someone who’s willing to listen. I’ll bet you hit some other priest who was just itching for a fight because of some dumb experience and the two of you got the full brunt of his wrath. Am I right?” He smiled, looking at both of them in turn.

“I suppose you’re right, Father,” Myles said, taking Nicole’s arm, steering her back toward the man’s office.

“How old are you, Myles?” the priest asked.

Myles looked at him but didn’t respond.

“I imagine you were raised Catholic and went off to college … or maybe the armed services … and found it was pretty easy to miss Sunday Mass. Then the next thing you knew, you just weren’t going to any masses or fulfilling your obligatory duties to maintain your status as a Catholic.” He stopped, looking up to find Myles nodding slowly.

Nicole looked at Myles. “Maybe he will help. Maybe he’s the one we should have talked to in the first place.”

“Well,” Maskey said, “whatever the problem is, I’m willing to listen and if you want a suggested solution or help, I’ll be more than happy to be of assistance, if I can.”

Myles and Nicole relaxed, absorbing for the first time in hours the almost foreign sensation of calm.

“Well, who wants to start?” Maskey asked.

“I guess I should,” Nicole said. She told him of Myles leaving her and her utter sense of desperation and loss, her hours of loneliness and her nightly rendezvous with Myles when he gave the news. Then she hesitated for an instant about finding the book and looked to Myles for moral support.

“Go ahead. That’s probably the most important part of the story.”

Coughing to clear her throat, she continued, telling the priest of the antique book she had discovered. She described the rite she had performed before launching into the litany of weird events that had taken place since.

Without getting too explicit about the sensation of climaxing in the shower when the water took on the touch of rough hands, she nevertheless told of the calloused fingertips that seemed to touch her in the steam.

Maskey’s eyes widened. “And you saw nothing?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“I’ve felt the hands, too, Father,” Myles offered, breaking in.

“Tell me about it,” Maskey said brusquely, turning to Myles.

Myles recounted their evening up until they began making love and stopped.

“Go on, Myles,” Maskey urged, “don’t leave anything out. No matter how insignificant it might sound.”

Myles laughed, embarrassed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Father. It’s just what was going on when I did feel the hands.”

Father Maskey studied the two people sitting across from his position behind the desk. “Were the two of you being intimate? Making love?”

Myles nodded while Nicole looked away.

“Don’t be ashamed. For heaven’s sake, how do you think the human race is populated? If you two are in love, and I have every reason to believe you are, why wouldn’t you be manifesting that love in a physical way?”

“But, Father,” she stammered, “we’re … we’re not married.”

“Let’s not get involved in a battle of semantics. Sometime in the future, the two of you will be married, I’m sure. Meanwhile, let’s solve your problem or try to find a solution that’ll work.”

Relieved he would be able to tell the priest everything without being embarrassed, Myles continued. “I felt the hands on my bare rump, Father. So help me, I looked in the mirrored headboard and could see my image. We were all alone. There were no hands on me at all. That I could see, at least. Nicole’s hands were holding my face. We were all alone in that room.”

A thick silence fell over the office and Father Maskey did not speak immediately. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “You do need help. Both of you.”

“I hope you don’t mean that in the way the others meant?” Myles said.

“No. They were only concerned with the surface of your beings. The problem you two have is something entirely different. At least, I have to say it sounds like it’s extraordinary from what you’ve told me. However, I can only do so much.”

Both their faces fell.

“What do you mean, Father?” she whispered.

“Right now, it’s just your word. There has to be an investigation, of course. Someone will have to visit your apartment and witness some of the phenomena that you’ve described.”

“But what if nothing happens while you’re there?” Nicole asked.

“I didn’t say I’d come to your apartment.” Maskey peered at them.

“Who, then, Father?” Myles asked.

“Let’s slow down a bit. Let me tell you how these things are handled normally.”

A sense of disappointment visibly crossed both their faces and Father Maskey smiled. “This won’t take forever. Still, it doesn’t hurt to know and learn something. Especially in cases such as yours.”

Their looks of unhappiness turned to expressions of puzzlement.

“What do you mean by ‘cases such as ours’?” Myles asked, sitting forward. “Do you mean that what’s happening to us is not that uncommon or even happens frequently?”

“Suppose I take it one step at a time. If you have a question, jump in.”

Myles and Nicole nodded.

“Very well, then,” Father Maskey said. “First of all, try to forget everything that you’ve ever heard about or read about such things as possession. Most of them are not all that accurate, and writers and novelists as such usually take artistic liberties in dealing with the devil.”

Myles shrugged, smiling benignly.

“There are a couple of novels on the market that were obviously well researched, but I don’t think that a person’s imagination can capture on paper the full fury and general horror that is involved when one deals with the forces of absolute evil.”

“Have you been involved in anything like the novel The Exorcist told about, Father?” Myles asked quietly.

Father Maskey shook his head. “I’m not an exorcist, as such. There was a time in the past when all priests were considered exorcists but one of the results of Vatican II was the removal of several of the minor orders, one of which was the order of exorcism. When the priest blessed the congregation, it was a form of exorcism. But today, there are those priests who are designated as exorcists and they handle any and all cases of bona fide possession.”

Nicole shuddered and Myles held up one hand for the priest to stop. “Are you saying that Nicole and I are possessed?”

Father Maskey shook his head. “Nothing of the kind. There are many steps that have to be satisfied or taken before such a decision is reached. First of all, I question whether or not either or both of you are or could be possessed. Based on what you’ve told me, it sounds as though you’re describing disturbances caused by the Evil One—or Satan—or Lucifer—whatever you want to call him. Such disturbances are an interpretation that falls just short of what the Catholic Church defines as possession or actual control by the devil of a person’s body and mind.”

“How many steps are you talking about, Father? How long will it take to determine just what our problem is?” Myles turned to Nicole, who nodded, expressing her own sense of doubt and mixed emotions.

“In the past, hundreds of years ago, many times people who were suffering from common ordinary ailments were subjected to the awful rigors of exorcism. I …”

“Wait a minute, Father,” Nicole said. “What do you mean by common ordinary ailments?”

“We’d think of them as being pretty commonplace by today’s standards of medicine and psychiatry. But in the Dark Ages and before, right up to the introduction of modern psychiatry in the nineteenth century, people who suffered from some form of psychosis could have been diagnosed as being possessed by the devil.”

Looks of astonishment crossed both their faces.

“Such as?” Myles asked.

“Such as impotence for example. If a man could not perform sexually, it was thought the devil had rendered him thus. Ordinary little fears, which would be ignored or at the worst handled during a visit to a psychiatrist today, would result in banishment or exorcism. Pretty scary stuff when viewed by today’s standards.”

“And you’re saying,” Myles said, “that psychiatry did away with all of that?”

“Let’s say, the advances made by medicine and psychiatry caused the Church to fall back and reappraise the situation and condition of possession. Today, before anything can be done by the Church, medical and psychiatric evaluations must be made. There are certain conditions that have to be met before one can be officially declared by the Church as being possessed by the devil or an evil spirit. If a person expresses a knowledge of hidden things —by hidden I mean not generally known to the average person or unspoken thoughts of someone—it is classified as being extraordinary and one step or condition is more or less fulfilled. If the person suspected of being possessed suddenly speaks in a language that is completely unknown to that person, then something is obviously out of place, wouldn’t you say? I don’t mean just a few words. Someone could pick up a phrase or two of, say, German for example, just by watching a movie or television. What I’m saying is that a person who could carry on a conversation in a foreign language such as Greek or Iranian or Japanese without any prior knowledge or experience or memory of ever having spoken such a language, then …” His voice trailed off when he saw the people sitting opposite him understood.

Myles and Nicole looked at each other but remained quiet.

“Then, there is the phenomena of, how should I say, mind over matter? Unusual occurrences. Flying objects whenever the person is around. The person in question levitating or …”

“Oh, boy!” Myles groaned the two words.

“What is it, Myles?” Father Maskey asked.

“Nicole has levitated twice that I’ve seen. The furniture has been strewn around the apartment like a tornado went through.”

“I remember Nicole saying that. But let’s not go off jousting with windmills before we know what we’re up against.”

“But isn’t that out of the ordinary, Father? Nicole floating around in midair?”

“Of course it is. But you’re jumping to conclusions if you’re saying that she is possessed because of it.”

“What else could it be?”

“Saints have been known to levitate while praying intently. It’s been documented. And that hardly seems to be the work of the devil. Besides, you have to remember there are quite a few steps to making a decision one way or the other. We must move slowly on this thing. At this point, we don’t know what it is we’re up against. That hasn’t been determined. It could be possession but I doubt that very much. If I had to bet, I’d put my money on disturbances by the Evil One. Right now, I think we had best think .in that direction. All right?”

Myles nodded and Nicole relaxed after glancing at him.

“What’s our first step, then, Father?” he asked.

“First of all, I can only do so much. Remember, I’m not an exorcist and there will be someone a lot more qualified than I, who will be involved. Of course, that’s assuming that what you have is a true case of possession, disturbances or something akin to it.”

“Akin to it? What else could it be?” Nicole asked.

“Other than disturbances by the Evil One, which is I’m sure a new one to you, you’ve both heard of poltergeists, haven’t you? Playful ghosts or however it is translated from German. It could be something like that. It could be a case of obsession, wherein Nicole’s subconscious mind would be responsible because of her having performed the ritual. It could be just a good old-fashioned ghost trying to get your attention.”

“A ghost?” Myles and Nicole said together.

“For lack of a better word. If one is to believe in the immortal soul of man, one almost must accept the possibility of a wayward soul once in a while. But first we must determine if your case is real.”

“It’s real, all right, Father,” Myles said, turning to Nicole for confirmation.

She nodded.

“I’m not doubting that you believe it’s real. What I’m saying is I have to witness something that will convince the chancery office to have a full-fledged exorcist take a look. Then both of you will have to have a complete medical examination and consult with a psychiatrist who will be chosen by the diocese.

“But, we are getting ahead of ourselves with that sort of talk. First things first. When can I visit your apartment? If I determine that a real entity of some sort is present in your home, I’ll have to report the facts to the bishop.”

“Then what?” Myles asked.

“Then the Church starts doing the things I outlined before.”

“Just how long will all of this take, Father?” Myles asked, his voice failing to hide his frustration.

Maskey stood. “I suppose something like this could drag on for quite some time.”

“What? Days? Weeks? Months? What, Father?”

Maskey shrugged. “There have been instances I’ve read about that took only a few days. Others, though, took months and even,” he paused, “years.”

“Oh, fine. And we’re supposed to put up with all of this during that time?”

“If you don’t like it, move,” Father Maskey said.

Nicole’s eyebrows shot up.

“What? Just like that? Move and leave the devil behind. Is that it?” Myles glared at the priest.

“To be. quite honest,” Maskey said, “it sounds as if the apartment you live in is more the victim than either of you. Neither one of you is suffering from malnutrition or loss of sleep to any great degree. You’re not physically deteriorating in any way that I can see. It could very easily be just your apartment.”

“We’ve already tried to check out the lease. We found it written in some foreign … language,” Myles said slowly when he realized the full impact of his statement.

“Let’s not panic,” Father Maskey said. “Remember. First things first. Let’s make that the order of the day. All right?”

Myles and Nicole stood.

“Look, Father,” Myles said as they moved toward the front of the house. “Unless something happens darn soon, I’ll drive the damn thing out myself.”

Maskey stopped, turning to face him. “And how would you go about doing that?”

“I’ve got the crucifix you blessed and the medals. I can get some holy water at any Catholic Church. But I’ll do it myself, if necessary. I don’t want any delay on this. When are you going to come over?”

“First,” Father Maskey said, “I’ve got to contact the chancery office and tell them that I’m going to visit your home. I’ll also tell them everything that both of you have told me.”

“Can we get together again today?” Myles asked, persistent in his intent.

“Let me check,” Father Maskey said, pulling a small appointment book from his jacket pocket. “I’ve got an appointment every hour right up until noon. Suppose I come this afternoon about four. I’m free the rest of the day and evening and we can have at it. Is that all right with the two of you?”

Nicole nodded and Myles said, “Yes. But …”

“No buts about it, Myles,” the priest said. “I want your promise that you’ll not do anything regarding this situation. Will you promise?”

Myles hesitated for a long minute before looking up at him. “I … I guess so, Father.”

“Fine.” He handed Myles a small card and said, “Write down your address. I’ll be there right at four, this afternoon.”

After giving him the address, Myles and Nicole went to the car and got in.

“For the first time, I think we might be getting somewhere,” she said.

He turned the engine over and let it idle for several seconds before pulling away from the curb. “Yeah. I just hope he can do something for us.”

Father Maskey returned to his office after closing the front door. Picking up the telephone, he dialed a number and waited while it rang.

“Chancery office. Mrs. McPherson.”

“Mrs. McPherson, this is Father Maskey. Is Father Pins in?”

“One moment.” The line went dead for several seconds before she came back on the line. “Go ahead, Father Maskey.”

“Joe? Chuck Maskey. How you doing?”

“Fine. What’s up?”

“Let me tell you and then you decide if I should talk with the bishop.”

3:57 P.M.

Myles checked his watch again. Three minutes to four. Would the priest show up? Since leaving Maskey’s office that morning, they had aimlessly driven around town, stopping several times for coffee, then lunch. By unspoken yet mutual agreement, they had not gone near the apartment building. At three forty-five, they had parked in front of the main entrance to wait for Father Maskey to arrive.

“I’m glad we didn’t go in,” she said. “I’m afraid you might have tried to do something.”

“Like?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just glad that we waited for Father to come here.”

“He’s got one minute,” he said, looking at his watch again. “If he doesn’t …”

“Is that him?” she asked, interrupting him.

They watched the small Chevy turn into a parking place across the street. Both sighed when they saw the black-suited man get out. He half-ran, half-walked across the street toward their car and was about to walk by when he noticed them getting out.

“There you are. Haven’t you gone inside?”

“We thought it better to wait for you,” Nicole said.

“It’s probably for the better. Shall we go?”

Myles took Nicole’s arm and they hurried toward the lobby. Holding the door open after unlocking it, Myles stepped in after Nicole and the priest had entered. The smell of fresh paint assailed them, and when they saw the elevator was out of order, they began the climb to the third floor.

Just as they reached the entrance to Nicole’s and Myles’ home, the door to the next apartment opened and a woman stepped out. After locking her door, she noticed them for the first time and, startled, said, “Hello.”

The trio answered in kind and then the woman stopped, peering at Nicole.

“Did you hear the commotion outside this morning?”

Nicole shot a quick look at Myles who stared at the woman. Would she accuse them of something now—in front of Father Maskey?

“Commotion?” Nicole asked, biding for time.

“Yes. Some fool in a white suit was yelling at the top of his voice in front of the building.”

“No,” Nicole lied. “I … we didn’t hear anything like that. Did we, Myles?”

Myles shook his head.

“I have no idea who it was, but he sounded like he was preaching. There were several others there, too, but I couldn’t make out who they were. At any rate, I called the police but the rascal got away before they arrived.”

“Was that it?” Myles asked. “Nothing else?”

“No. But that was certainly enough. Ever since my Waldo died, I hear every little out-of-place noise in the building. Well, I must be going. ‘Bye.”

They watched the woman hurry toward the steps, muttering under her breath about the elevator being out of order.

“Are you ready, Father?” Myles asked, thrusting the key into the lock.

Father Maskey opened the book he carried, balancing it on one hand, while he withdrew a vial of holy water from his coat pocket. “Ready,” he said softly.

Myles turned the key and opened the door. “Well, for crying out loud,” he said hoarsely. “Look at that!”

Nicole stepped closer to Myles and looked over his shoulder. The furniture all sat in place. The books and papers were all back together, and the awful smell that had filled the room was not evident.

“What is it?” Father Maskey asked.

“Everything is in order. The place was a mess when we left this morning with Reverend Stangood,” Nicole said.

“Was he the one the lady was talking about in the hall?” Father Maskey asked.

Myles nodded, stepping inside. Maskey followed and Nicole quietly closed the door behind her.

“Don’t you find it strange that Mrs. Bellasco from next door hasn’t heard anything out of the ordinary? Especially coming from my apartment?” Nicole asked.

“She must have heard the stereo and TV the times they blasted out,” Myles said, looking to the priest for some sort of explanation.

Father Maskey shrugged. “These things can be pretty strange at times. I’m sure because the woman says she didn’t hear something doesn’t necessarily mean that it didn’t take place.”

“Then, too,” Myles said, “she admitted calling the police this morning when Stangood was ranting and raving in front. More than likely she was the one who reported you that time when the police called when the TV and stereo acted up.”

“Would you like to get that book for me, Nicole? I’d like to see it,” Maskey asked, relaxing just a bit.

The sound of hissing punctuated his request and the three people exchanged quick glances at each other.

“What is that?” Nicole whispered. “I’ve never heard anything like that before. Have you, Myles?”

Myles nodded. “It sounds like water hissing on hot metal or steam escaping. What’s it sound like to you, Father?”

Maskey was just about to speak when Nicole turned to face him. Her short scream pierced the quiet. Pointing behind the priest, she waited until the two men turned in that direction before crying out again. The door to the hall was fading from sight. The sizzling sound came from it, as the entrance disappeared.

Without waiting, Myles shouted, “Quick. To the kitchen.” He dashed through the living room to the kitchenette, stopping in his tracks.

The door that led to the service hall and rear entrance was gone. Disappeared. He turned to face Nicole and the priest. Before he could say anything, the slamming of doors, of clanging metal plates being driven home, banged through the apartment. When they entered the living room, they found heavy, steel plates materializing from nothing, jamming into the openings of the windows.

They were trapped in the darkened apartment.

Saturday, December 6, 1986 4:07 P.M.

The awful quiet complemented the heavy darkness pressing in on Father Maskey, Nicole and Myles. No one moved. No one uttered a sound for fear of arousing the entity’s wrath. How could such things as disappearing doors and steel plates that formed from nothing suddenly happen? How powerful was this demon? Barely breathing, the three stood their ground, unable to move because of the Stygian blackness enveloping them.

Nicole’s stomach heaved. She wanted to cry but bit her lip. All of this was her fault. If she had not performed that stupid ceremony, none of this would be happening right now.

The full implication of Myles’ return and the way it was connected to the book and the ritual and with the black space she found herself standing in right now overwhelmed her, and she lost the battle to keep from crying. Her plaintive wail wormed its way through the dark.

“Nicole?” Myles whispered hoarsely. “Are you all right?”

“Ye … yes,” she sobbed. “All … of this is … is my … my fault!”

“I don’t think it’s the right time to hang blame for any of this on anyone,” Father Maskey said quietly.

“Take my hand,” Myles said, groping in the dark for Nicole’s. When they touched, she grabbed his in a tight, vise-like grip. Pulling her closer, he put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her sobbing body to his.

She must have felt vulnerable in the dark, weak, helpless. How could Nicole accept the blame for any of this? If he, Myles, had not walked out on her the way he did, she would not have felt compelled to resort to some magical perversion—some bit of evil, black magic from a dark, bygone era. If anyone was to blame, it was he. When he drew that conclusion, he pulled Nicole even closer and she responded by throwing both arms around him.

“Father is right, Nicole,” Myles said gently. “I feel strongly that you are not to blame for this. If anyone gets that particular honor, it’s me. I walked out on you and …”

“I don’t know about you two,” Father Maskey said, breaking into Myles’ admission, “but I’m tired of standing around in the dark. Why don’t one of you try turning on the lights?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Myles said. “Why didn’t we think of that? Nicole, turn on the lights. You’re standing right by the switch, aren’t you?”

Without a word, he released his hold and she pulled away from him. When he heard the click of the switch and the room was plunged into light, he uttered a short gasp. Nicole stood next to the light switch, but he was at the far-end of the living room, next to where the windows were covered with steel plates. Who had he been embracing?

Nicole screamed when she saw Myles at the opposite end of the living room. “Myles? How did … did you get there? You … you were standing … next to me, holding me …” she stopped, the full impact of the situation hammering at her. Turning to the priest, she desperately swallowed the screams she felt rising within her.

Myles hurried to her side, throwing both arms about her.

“Don’t be concerned right now,” Father Maskey said. He sniffed the air. “What is that?”

Myles and Nicole followed his example, inhaling deeply. The awful stench, which had hounded them over the last weeks, filled the air. The redolent stink of decaying flesh, of something rotten and dead, washed over them. One moment it seemed to be alleviating but would increase tenfold the next instant.

“That’s worse … worse than it’s ever been,” Nicole said, gagging.

A wailing laugh threaded its way through the apartment, ebbing and flowing as it undulated in volume. The lights went off, then as quickly back on. The rhythm established, the flickering lent an unreal, almost surrealistic atmosphere to the living room and that part of the kitchen that was visible from where the trio stood, rooted to their spots.

Then the darkness took hold again, while the laugh rose and fell in direct proportion to the smell of death that filled the apartment.

“Candles?” Myles cried. “Have we got any candles?”

“I … I’m not certain,” Nicole said.

“Here,” Father Maskey said, “I’ve got a lighter.” He spun the wheel on the small cigarette lighter, and when the flame danced on the invisible stream of gas, the odor increased. Then, the rooms plunged back into a sea of light, then dark, then light—and the flashing continued unabated.

“You filthy, rotten, non-fucking cocksucker. Get out of this apartment right now, or I’ll take this weak-willed sow for my own!” The words boomed from the stereo speakers as the tuner went on. The television set glowed with a life of its own and the picture began changing from one station to the next as it traversed its way around the dial, the cable-converter box spinning flashing red digits as some unseen finger pressed the button.

“Come on, Maskey, you worthless bastard. Get out of my apartment! You don’t belong here. This cunt is mine. She asked for a favor and I granted it. Now she owes me. Isn’t that the way things are supposed to be, you worthless faggot-fucker?”

Nicole sucked in her breath and Myles looked away from the priest. Father Maskey opened his breviary to the prayers for exorcism and calmly said, “Don’t pay him any attention. From what I’ve been told and from what I’ve read about such situations, the devil or demon tries to discredit the religious person present and shake up those who are in attendance.”

“I … I’m sorry, Father,” Nicole whispered.

“Don’t be. Not for what he’s saying at least. Remember, the devil is the champion liar of all times. Believe just the opposite of whatever he does say, and you’ll be all right. I don’t think he’s capable of telling the truth about anything.”

“Is there anything we can do to help you, Father?” Myles asked softly, stepping closer to him. Why did he feel he had to be close to the man and practically whisper?

“It’s not necessary, you stupid asshole. You think you’re so great because you’re on television. Watch the set. This is what I think of you, Myles Lawrence!” The voice boomed so loudly that the lamps on the end tables bounced while the knick-knacks on the shelves above the TV set jiggled toward the edges.

The three people turned to the TV set, as if forced by some remote control. The picture tube’s flipping images slowed, until it went blank. Then, the studio setting as used by the KSLL-TV news staff appeared. An image of Myles sat behind the large desk and he smiled at the camera.

“Good evening,” the image said and was instantly greeted with a load of what appeared to be animal waste dumped over his head. The smell of manure filled the room. Maniacal laughter bellowed through the apartment. Eggs pelted Myles from off-camera, and a nude woman, grossly overweight, sashayed across the front of the desk, lightly jumping to the top of it. Bending her knees and thrusting her lower abdomen forward, she stood over the unperturbed image of Myles, urinating on his head.

Myles turned away from the picture and Nicole embraced him.

“Stop!” the priest shouted at the top of his voice. “Stop in the name of Jesus Christ!”

The scene on the tube disappeared, instantly replaced by a face, hideous in its make-up of jaundiced skin erupting with pustules and running sores. The triangular shape of the head paralleled along the two sides the shape of the mouth and nose, while the eyes were squinted into “V” shapes of their own. The mouth opened and the visage growled, ” Who are you to tell me to do anything, Priest!”

Nicole stared at the visage. It was the same evil countenance that she had seen standing at the foot of her bed. Good God! What had she started?

Father Maskey raised his hand concealing the small bottle of holy water from sight and threw several drops on the television set. The first second the blessed liquid touched the tube and cabinet, a high-pitched scream, louder than anything yet unleashed by the demon, rent the air. The picture went blank, then dark as the set turned off.

A heavy silence hung in the air for several minutes. Father Maskey coughed. “Myles, if you know and recall the responses to the Litany of the Saints, please say them. We must, for our own protection, begin the rite of exorcism.”

“Very well, Father.”

“Go fuck it on the mountain—Go fuck it on the plain—Go fuck anything that’s fuckable— try fucking on a train,” the voice sang from the stereo speakers.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Father Maskey began.

“Amen,” Myles said.

“Amen,” Nicole repeated after Myles. Even though she had no idea what a Litany of the Saints might be, she intended to say as best she could the prayers along with Myles and the priest.

“Lord have mercy on us.”

“Ah … Christ have mercy on us,” Myles said, hesitating at the response, familiar and yet remote by the passage of time since he had helped say the prayer at a church service.

“Lord have mercy on us. Christ hear us,” Maskey said.

Myles could not think of the appropriate response. Later in the prayer, when the names of the Saints were intoned, he would be able to answer with the correct, “Pray for us.”

“Christ graciously hear us,” Maskey said, before continuing with the next summons, “Holy Trinity, One God.”

“Pray for us,” Myles said, an expression of doubt covering his face.

“Have mercy on us,” Maskey corrected.

“Have mercy on us,” Myles said, turning when Nicole whispered it immediately after him.

Maskey intoned saint after saint, imploring their help in this hour of need. When he loudly said, “Saint Michael, the Archangel,” the lights flashed on and off and the TV set turned on, joining in a deafening battle for supremacy with the stereo set that boomed with the sounds of cannon.

“Pray for us!” Myles shouted along with Nicole who quickly had learned the repetitious response, saying it with renewed fervor each time.

Realizing that the name had upset the entity, Father Maskey continued.

Myles answered each supplication with “Pray for us!” failing to notice immediately that Nicole had stopped answering with him. When he turned to her, he gasped. Nicole was gone. Looking up, he saw her body parallel to the ceiling, hovering in midair.

“Father! Father Maskey! Look!”

Maskey stopped the recitation of names, his eyes following Myles outstretched arm. Blessing himself, he said, “We must get her down. NOW!”

Myles reached up, just able to touch the pants leg around Nicole’s ankle. When he pulled, she moved as if pivoting on a fulcrum. “She feels as if she weighs tons,” Myles said, when Maskey reached up to help him.

Pulling with all their strength, the two men brought Nicole’s feet down toward them and little by little, returned her down to the floor.

Nothing more happened, other than the putrid mist continuously filling the air along with a drastic drop in the room’s temperature. When Maskey finished the Litany of Saints, he continued into the next prayer, a psalm.

“Save me, O God,” he intoned, “by Thy Name, and judge me in Thy Strength. O God, hear my prayer: give ear to the words of my mouth. For strangers have risen up against …”

“I’m no stranger, you stupid fucker of old women!” the voice screamed. “That prayer will not help you one iota’s worth of fly-shit! Forget it, Maskey. Go get fucked someplace and leave me in peace!”

Father Maskey continued reciting the psalm, raising his voice when he came to the last lines. “For Thou hast delivered me out of all trouble: and my eye hath looked down upon my enemies.”

Turning the page, the priest continued. “I adjure Your Grace, Oh, heavenly Father, to aid me in this battle against the wicked dragon who possesses this dwelling. Drive him back to hell when it is right to do so. You, demon of the dark, tell me your name! Tell me the day and the hour and the manner of your leaving this place. Do this with some sign!”

Laughter was the priest’s only response along with an increase in the degree of vile fetidness filling the rooms.

“The Lord be with you,” Maskey continued, his breath’s vapor condensing in the cold air, then read a gospel of John. Opening his coat a trifle when he finished with the words of the evangelist, Maskey exposed a purple stole hanging around his neck. He reached into a side pocket, withdrawing a small crucifix.

When Myles saw the cross, he opened the package he had been carrying when they entered the apartment. Withdrawing the silver crucifix, he held it up not unlike the priest, waiting to see what would happen next.

Nicole stared wide-eyed at the two men, both holding the symbols of Christ’s death high in front of them.

Maskey held the cross and breviary in one hand and the bottle of holy water in his right. “I exorcise you, most vile of spirits, the embodiment of our dreaded enemy, Lucifer, the entire specter, the whole legion, in the name of Jesus Christ, to get out.” He made the sign of the cross with the bottle, splashing droplets of the liquid about the room. “Flee this place, leaving these creatures of God.” He made two more signs of the cross and was instantly slapped across the face by an invisible hand.

“Are you all right, Father?” Nicole asked when she realized what had happened.

Undaunted by the attack, Father Maskey continued the prayers of exorcism. The demon shrieked when he finished the first prayer of the ritual. “Fear Him who was immolated in Isaac, sold in Joseph, slain in the lamb, crucified in man and then was triumphant over hell!”

The high-pitched cry spiraled into laughter, seeming to take root in the kitchenette. Nicole tugged on Myles’ sleeve and they both turned to Father Maskey, the unasked question on their faces.

Maskey shrugged, stepping back to peer into the next room. The door of the refrigerator flew open and eggs, fruit, vegetables, bottles of milk and salad dressing floated out into the kitchen, making a large circle in the air. The cupboards flew open and the contents of the refrigerator were joined by cups, saucers, plates, silverware and boxes of dried food. The circle grew more crowded and a second one formed beneath the first. Both turned more rapidly, and when it was difficult for the priest to distinguish the different items, he suddenly realized what was about to happen.

“Hit the floor,” he cried just as the carton of milk sailed into the living room, smashing against the far wall. The milk splashed a white flower-pattern against the wall, fingers from each petal flowing toward the floor. Glasses and vegetables, pots and pans, fruits and eggs —everything that had been in the cupboards and refrigerator—followed the milk carton, sailing into the living room, over their heads, crashing into the wall. Shards of glass sailed about after the tumblers had disintegrated. Food smeared the painted walls in a bizarre pattern as the remainder of eggs and oranges mixed with the milk and butter.

Nicole pressed herself to the floor in a desperate attempt to squeeze into the carpeting, her hands over the back of her head to protect herself. Myles lay half on her, shielding her from the assault. Father Maskey raised his head every second or so to see if the barrage had ended. Each time, he ducked as a new missile dove toward him before swooping back up to smash into the wall.

After several long minutes dragged into an eternity, the attack ceased. The only sound in the apartment was Nicole letting out sobs each time she could catch her breath.

Then Myles said in a hoarse whisper, “Is it over, Father?”

“That particular trick is probably finished because he ran out of ammunition in the kitchen,” Father Maskey whispered.

“Trick?” Myles wheezed the word. Was the priest enjoying this or was it merely a poor choice of words on his part?

“Call it what you will, Myles. Manifestation. Phenomena. Hallucination. Of course if it were an hallucination, we’d all be suffering from the same delusion, wouldn’t we?”

“Are you saying, then, that it is over?”

“I’m not too well versed in this sort of thing,” Maskey said quietly. “I rather doubt that he’d quit so easily. Usually there’s quite a confrontation between the exorcist and the demon. And I’m no exorcist.”

Myles coughed as he stood, helping Nicole to her feet. Father Maskey followed suit and when they stood in the middle of the living room, Myles stared at him.

“What do you mean you’re not an exorcist?”

“Not as such. Remember the minor order of exorcism has been done away with and the Church appoints those priests who are to act as official exorcists.”

“So, in … in the meantime, what do … do we do?” Nicole asked, a slight tremor in her voice. The sobs diminished noticeably when she spoke.

“I’m going to have to report this to the chancery office, when and if we get out of here.”

“When and if!” Myles asked.

“Right now, I don’t see any means of leaving, do you?” Maskey asked.

Myles and Nicole shook their heads.

“Do you think we’ll get out of here?” Myles asked.

The priest shrugged. “Right now, all I can say is we’ll have to pray to that end since the demon has trapped us in here. When and if we can subdue him, to some degree at least, then perhaps with his power weakened, we’ll be able to leave.”

“This whole thing seems like a bad dream,”

Myles said, squeezing Nicole’s hand.

“This whole thing is my fault … regardless of what you say, Myles. If I hadn’t been such a romantic ninny, I would have accepted your decision to leave. I …”

The stereo blasted the apartment with a John Phillip Sousa march accompanying a high-pitched laugh.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Father Maskey intoned, opening his breviary. “I adjure thee, thou old serpent, by the judge of the quick and the dead, by thy Maker and the Maker of the whole world and universe, by Him Who has power to send thee to hell, that thou depart quickly from this place and leave these servants of God …”

“They’re adulterers and fornicators, you fuckhead! They don’t give a good healthy shit about your fucking Church. They’ll not …”

“Quiet, you hound of hell,” the priest shouted over the loud voice coming from the speakers of the stereo. “They will return to the bosom of God and his Son, Jesus Christ. They will do this with fear and affliction of thy terror. I adjure thee again …” Father Maskey made the sign of the cross on his own forehead, “… not in my weaknesses and infirmities, but by the virtue of the Holy Spirit, that thou depart from this place and these people of God, who were made in His image and likeness.

“Yield therefore. Yield not to me but to the ministry of Christ. For his power urges thee, who subjugated thee to His cross. Tremble at His arm, Who led the souls to light after the lamentations of hell had been subdued. May the body of man be a terror to thee.” Maskey blessed his chest with the sign of the cross. “Let the image of God the Father be terrible to thee.” He blessed his own forehead again. “Resist not, nor delay in fleeing from this place and these people, since it pleases Christ, the Almighty, to want this man and this woman to be of His Body here on earth. And although thou knowest me to be none the less a sinner, do not think me contemptible. For it is God Who commands Thee.”

Father Maskey blessed the room and a scream pierced the air with an immediate response. Where the liquid fell to the floor, tiny puffs of smoke curled up while burnt spots singed the carpet, making the outline of a large double circle with a five pointed figure in the center.

Nicole winced, looking away when she recognized the pattern. An instant vision of herself, nude, standing in the center of the inverted Pentagon, formed. Please, God, help me! she prayed to herself. The image left.

“The Majesty of Christ commands thee.”

Again, Maskey threw holy water about creating more smoke when it struck the rug. Wisps spiraled upward.

“God, the Father, commands thee. God, the Son, commands thee. God, the Holy Spirit, commands thee.” After each order, Maskey threw water about and the stench of burning rug filled the air, entwining with the rancid aroma of decay and death.

Holding the cross high over his head, the priest threw water with his other hand after checking the next lines of exorcism from his book. “The sacred cross commands thee!”

Continuing thereafter to intone the names of Peter and Paul and calling on the martyrs to help in the battle against the demon, Father Maskey intoned the prayers, all during which Myles held his silver crucifix high with one hand and pulled Nicole tightly to him with the other.

When Father Maskey finished the second prayer of excorcism, he turned in a small circle blessing everything in the room. When he faced the wall and shelves whereon the TV, stereo components and books rested, he threw extra holy water.

His efforts were rewarding with laughter turning to shrieks of pain. When he finished, he turned to Nicole and said, “Where is that book?”

A sense of panic tore at Nicole. Myles’ arm about her felt so comforting, so warm, so right. What would happen if she gave up the book? Surrendered it to this man of God? What would happen between her and Myles? Would he leave or disappear? After all, right now, she wasn’t certain if he was real or if he was a conjuration of the demon she had summoned. If he had come back because of the paganistic ritual she had performed, would it not be likely that he would be gone once she gave the book to the priest?

“What’s wrong?” Myles asked when he felt her tense.

“No … nothing,” she managed. “I love you, darling. Please don’t leave me. I …” She stopped, crossing the few feet to the shelf where the book rested. Turning, she faced the priest and Myles. “No! I won’t give it to you. Myles will leave if I do. He’s here because of the book. He never would have come back to me if I had not performed the ceremony.”

“Are you saying you wish to continue with the demon always present in your life?” Father Maskey asked, his look of astonishment barely concealed.

“Nicole! You’ve got to give it to him,” Myles pleaded. “I’m not going to leave. I’ve learned that I love you. I want to be with you forever. I’m yours forever. You’re mine forever. We belong together, you and me. Give it to Father or I will leave and then you’ll have nothing but the demon and that Goddamned book! Give it to him!”

“I … I love you, Myles. Don’t leave me … ever!”

“I promise you,” Myles cried impatiently. “Please, darling, give Father Maskey the book. I will not leave you. I’ll be yours forever. I promise.”

After a long moment of deliberation, Nicole reached over the stereo equipment, pulling down the small gold-trimmed red book. When she faced the men again, it lurched in her hand before flying away to circle the room, diving at the priest, then at Myles before swiping at Nicole. Father Maskey threw holy water at it.

When it fell to the floor, an ear-splitting howl filled the apartment, dying away in minutes until there was nothing but its awful memory lingering in the ears of the three people.

Maskey bent down, picking up the book and laying it on an end table. Opening the breviary he prayed the last prayer of exorcism. Myles held Nicole in a tight embrace while the priest finished.

Nicole looked up into Myles’ eyes. There was nothing there that said he had lied to her. They would be together forever. She smiled. The whole thing had been so foolish.

“He expels thee, from Whose Eye nothing is secret. He expels thee, to Whose Power all things are subject. He excludes thee, Who has prepared for thee and thy angels everlasting hell. Out of Whose Mouth the sharp sword will go, He shall come to judge the quick and the dead and the world by fire.” Maskey blessed the room once more.

A dense silence filled the apartment. Nothing happened. Only the breathing of the captives could be heard above the roar of silence hammering their eardrums.

Then, the furniture wiggled, dancing about until each piece was flipping from side to side, each time rising higher in the air until the living room furnishings became airborne, flying about the apartment. The doors still had not reappeared nor had the windows. Still trapped, they watched horror-struck when the chairs, tables and couch deftly avoiding each other, attacked in formation, each taking a turn to dive at them. Father Maskey stepped between the first chair and Myles and Nicole, holding up the crucifix, splashing a few drops of holy water on it. As it fell, the squeal intensified once more, growing louder each time he blessed a piece of furniture that attacked them.

Covering their ears with both hands, Nicole, Myles and when he could no longer stand it,_ Father Maskey, dropped to their knees to avoid being hit. The last piece of furniture settled to the floor and again the silence held sway.

A sound from the direction of the bedroom filtered down the short hallway until it formed into the sound of shuffling feet. Someone was coming toward the living room from the bedroom. Nicole looked first to Myles, then to Father Maskey, asking, pleading her unspoken questions. What was that? What was coming down the hall? Who was coming toward them?

Turning the corner, the doll collection that had filled the top of Nicole’s chest of drawers came marching into the living room, two abreast, row after row after row.. Marking time until the rest of the dolls reached the living room, the first ranks formed a solid line across the far wall, waiting. When the company of animated dolls had formed a phalanx, they began moving forward, toward the wide-eyed man, woman and priest.

“Remember Oh, most gracious Virgin Mary,” Father Maskey prayed, raising his hand to splash holy water, “that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help or sought your supplication was left unaided. Inspired …” he threw the water “… by this confidence, we fly unto you, Oh Virgin of virgins, our heavenly Mother. To you do we send up our sighs from this vale of tears. Help us oh, Mother of Jesus.”

As the water touched the dolls, the bellow of pain came once more, louder than anything they had heard before and the dolls fell over in their tracks.

Horrified, the trio stood their ground, staring at the pile of toys littering the floor. Slowly, the moldy odor of decay and rot dissipated until it was completely gone.

A death-like quiet gripped the warming apartment as Nicole’s eyes roamed about searching for some sign of activity. When she focused on Myles, she smiled. He was still there. He was still with her. He hadn’t left. But then, he had promised to stay with her forever.

A quiet hum brought them around to face the windowed wall of the living room. Not unlike clouds breaking up in a summer breeze, the plates over the windows dissolved and when they turned about, they found the door to the hallway.

Several minutes passed before Father Maskey blessed himself with the sign of the cross. Then he blessed Nicole and Myles.

Nicole smiled weakly. “Is it over, Father?”

“I’m not really certain. I think so. I hope so,” Maskey said softly.

Saturday, December 6, 1986 4:38 P.M.

“Doesn’t it seem rather light out for this time of night?” Myles asked, moving toward the windows.

“I don’t understand,” Nicole said, walking to his side and peering out with him.

“We came in here a little after four this afternoon. How long have we been in here? Three hours? Maybe four?” Myles looked, first at Nicole then to Father Maskey for agreement.

“It seemed like a lifetime,” she said, “now that I think back on everything that happened. It must have been hours. Four at least.”

Father Maskey smiled when he looked up. Pointing to his wristwatch, he said, “What time do you have, Myles?”

Myles glanced at his own, his attention frozen when the truth of the time registered. “It can’t be. Thirty minutes? That’s not possible. I don’t believe it. How do you explain it, Father? What time do you have?”

“My watch apparently matches yours, since I have four thirty-nine. I imagine that the time seemed to go fast because there was so much going on, so many things happening. Other than that I have no explanation. I don’t know if the devil can fool with time or not.”

“I find thirty minutes unbelievable,” Nicole said, “but your watches agree and so does the clock here in the living room. You said that it was over, Father. Is it?”

Shrugging, the priest said, “I hope so. I sincerely hope so. I don’t know if it is or not. Remember I don’t have too much experience in things of this nature.”

“I hope it is. I’ve certainly learned my lesson. No more fooling around with stuff I know nothing about. Right, Myles?”

Myles nodded, reaching out for one of her hands, squeezing it gently when they touched. “If it is over, is it over for good, Father?”

Nicole stared at the priest until he answered.

“All I can say for now is that it seems to be over. However, it could occur again.”

“What?” Myles and Nicole chorused.

“Let me explain,” Maskey said. “There have been instances when the person afflicted with possession has been reinfested later by the same demon. Perhaps the person who was exorcized weakened later in his faith or dwelt too long on the situation, recalling the previous experiences with the unholy. I don’t know. I’m no expert. Still, I do know of one or two well-documented cases wherein that very thing happened.”

“I’m not sure I want to know about any of this,” Nicole said sharply.

Myles looked at her but said nothing, turning back instead to Father Maskey.

“I think you should listen if for no other reason than to be aware of what not to do,” the priest said, smiling kindly at the couple.

When Nicole nodded slowly, she looked up at Myles and found him smiling warmly at her.

“There was a famous case in Iowa wherein the woman who was possessed had been cursed by her father when she refused to have sexual relations with him. For many years, she found it impossible to go to Church, receive the sacraments, even though she wanted to, or do anything remotely holy or responsible in that area. When she was successfully exorcized, she was repossessed later in life. In fact, there was a lady in Germany who suffered with the stigmata of Christ, who predicted quite accurately that the woman in the Iowa case would be possessed by the unholy again.”

“Then you’re saying, Father, that this demon, even if he’s gone now, could come back?”

“I’m saying that in as precise a way as I can. There was an incident involving a young girl who was allowed by the demon to enter the convent and was possessed when she did so. As I recall, she was killed in a fall from a church steeple or something. But the point I’m trying to make is, do NOT take any of this lightly. If the devil could invade the sacred confines of a convent, then actually no one is really safe, are they?” Maskey peered at Nicole before shifting his gaze to Myles.

As the truth of his statement sank home, their understanding reflected on their faces.

“As far as the two of you are concerned, I think Myles should get right with God. And you, Nicole, if you should want to visit me about any of this or if you have any questions pertaining to the Catholic Church, I’d be happy to answer them. The truth is, I’d feel a whole lot more comfortable answering that type of question than any about possession. Think about what I’ve said. It won’t hurt you, you know. In fact, it’ll take a lot more guts to go to Church and be a good Christian Catholic than it does to stay in bed on Sunday morning and try leading a life without Christ.”

Myles looked down at the floor and said, “I guess I’ll have to do something like you suggest after seeing what we’ve seen here this afternoon.”

“Right , now,” Maskey said lightly, “why don’t we try putting the apartment back together.”

“That’s really not necessary, Father,” Nicole said.

Tipping the easy chair upright, the priest said, “Hey, come on. You and Myles can’t handle that couch alone. Myles,” he said, indicating the couch with one hand and stepping toward it.

Myles followed his example and between them brought it to its correct position. In a few minutes the tables and other chairs had been righted, and Father Maskey stepped toward the kitchen.

“That’s it, Father,” Nicole said, moving quickly in front of the priest. “We can handle it from here on. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I’m only glad that we had the opportunity to meet and weather the awful incident that took place this afternoon. Myles?” he said, turning toward him and extending his hand.

Myles accepted it and they shook firmly.

When he stood at the doorway to the hall, Maskey said, “Considering what the three of us have been through, maybe I’ll be the one to help bring Nicole into the Church. Incidentally, when the two of you are ready, I’d be honored if you’d ask me to perform the marriage ceremony for you.”

Nicole offered her hand to him and said, “That would be nice, Father. When we’re ready, you can be assured that we’ll be in touch with you.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Maskey said, turning to the door where he hesitated for a split second before spinning about once more. “The book. May I have it?”

Nicole looked at Myles for an anxious moment. Perhaps Myles was still here because the book was still here. Could she risk the chance of his leaving or disappearing once the book was taken away? Foolishness! Claptrap!

“One moment, Father,” she said, turning to hurry to the shelves above the TV and stereo. She had put it back without even thinking while the men were arranging the furniture. Reaching up, she half expected the small volume to give a reluctant jerk, as if it wanted to stay. Grasping it firmly, she hurried back to Father Maskey.

“Isn’t it amazing,” the priest said, taking the book, “how people scoff at the idea of a devil in today’s highly sophisticated world? You two certainly know better now, don’t you?”

Wide smiles showed their agreement.

“Some people have the faith to move mountains and the same degree of faith can conjure up something horrible such as we witnessed here. And yet look at all of the un-happiness in the world—most of it because of misdirected faith. Lord, why doesn’t man learn to get his priorities in order? Again, goodbye Nicole. Myles. I’ll expect to hear from you.”

Myles reached around Maskey to open the hall door and the priest stepped out. The hallway appeared the same, and when they heard the normal sound of footsteps coming down the hall, they all smiled.

Mrs. Bellasco mumbling under her breath, turned the corner, her face contorted by angry frustration.

“Oh, hello, Father,” she said when she saw the priest. “Haven’t you three gone in yet? Or are you leaving, Father?” She peered at the three, her own fit of unhappiness forgotten for a moment.

“What is it, Mrs. Bellasco?” Nicole asked, when she realized the woman was upset about something. Had she heard some of the commotion inside the apartment? Was she about to launch into a tirade directed at them about making too much noise for an apartment building?

“I walked all the way to the drugstore in the shopping center to buy some of the specials they have advertised in this bulletin,” she said, waving the gaudily colored tabloid, “and I forgot my billfold.”

Suppressing her grin, Nicole watched the woman storm by toward her own door.

“Goodbye, Father,” Nicole and Myles said in unison.

“Goodbye,” he said, turning to walk down the hall in the direction from which Mrs. Bellasco had come.

Nicole closed the door, the latch falling into place with a quiet click. “At last we’re alone.”

Myles embraced her and said, “Isn’t it strange that ever since I came back, we thought we were alone a lot of the time but we really weren’t.”

“That’s the scary part,” she said. “But right now, my friend, we have to clean up that wall full of food, and the dolls have to be taken back to their place in the bedroom.”

“Which do you want me to do?” Myles said, before adding, “I should tell you I don’t do windows or walls.” He smiled.

“I’ll do the walls and you take care of the dolls. All right?”

“Fine with me.”

Nicole went to the kitchen and Myles stood in the center of the living room, rubbing his hands. Why did they feel rough? He stared at them, looking closely to see if he had developed some callouses. His palms appeared as smooth as always but when he ran one over the other, he found them both to be rough.

His breath came in short, puffy gasps. A wave of horror splashed through his trembling body. Staring at the backs of his hands, he focused on hair—more hair than had ever been there before. When he stroked it, he found it to be more coarse than usual. A peculiar sensation corkscrewed through him, leaving a dizzy, nauseated sensation whipping at him.

What was wrong? What was wrong with him?

He rubbed his hands together again, finding them even rougher and the hair more coarse than just seconds before.

What was happening?

His eyes swept over the room, locking onto the dolls laying in a pile where they had fallen. An antique Little Annie Rooney doll’s head turned by itself, staring at him, and then winked.

“Before you get started, darling,” Nicole called from the kitchen, “can you come here and help me for a moment?”

A smile—an evil smile—crossed Myles’ lips. “Coming, darling.”

Table of Contents

PART ONE "I Conjure Thee ..."