Demonologist (23 page)

Waiting for the Legion to arrive.
  

With his hands on the steering wheel, Grover sat up straight, eyeing the limo with great interest as it began backing out of the driveway, sans Bev
Mathers
. Foot on the brake, he turned on the windshield wipers and shifted the car into drive. The limo arched out into the street and slowly drove north up
Hillage
Avenue. Grover checked the rearview mirror.

Through the rain-spotted rear windshield, he noticed a silver Jeep Cherokee parking at the curb across the street, a few houses back. The driver’s side door opened and a woman emerged. Shielding her head with a newspaper, she started walking briskly up the sidewalk. Ahead, the limo rounded the first corner onto Donnell Avenue. Grover returned his sights to the road, slowly pulled away from the curb, and followed.
   

~ * ~

Bev waited, a few minutes seeming an eternity, unwilling to take the first step. It had felt as though one step might equal a fall into an inescapable chasm, one that would keep him buried in his agony for eternity. He gazed forward. The trees were thick, trunks staggered like soldiers, their roots reaching underfoot in serpentine loops, a threat to take him to the carpet of bristling foliage.

Then, a voice in his head: “
Bev?
”

This, in the muffled distance: a woman’s voice.

Julianne
...

In fear, Bev raced away, dodging trees and foliage, swinging his arms, pushing aside drifting rain-spotted twigs.

Again, Julianne’s voice: “
Bev? Is that you?
”

Bev ran, lungs cold and heaving. In the looming darkness, he lost his footing and fell. Mud slathered his hands and knees. He scrambled up, twigs poking his skin, rain dousing his entire body, sending chills deep into his bones. Bits of bark and wet leaves clung to his clothes like appliqués.

Bathed in semi-gloom, he moved east across the thickest stretch of woodland Torrance had to offer. He caught brief glimpses of the darkening sky filtering in through the treetop patches; rain continued to fall upon him.

And the voice in his head called to him. “
Bev...wait
...”

Despite the rain, the crickets were in abundance, their ceaseless cries piercing to Bev’s strained psyche; on and on
they
tolled
, like the incessant beckon of a phone left off the hook; neither pine nor elm nor brush could absorb the racket as it lanced into his head, finding the nerves of his bones and joggling them until his blood began to boil. He caught a
palmful
of thorns and nearly screamed out in pain, but choked it down for fear of pinpointing his location to anyone who might be out here seeking him.

Jesus, what am I thinking? Out here? Looking for me? That’s absurd! The limo is in the driveway. Yes...but then, what about the dark man? He’d managed to find his way backstage...and followed me at the beach as well. Might still be following me. And the detective? He has his suspicions. Might’ve seen me making my escape down the fire ladder. After all, I did have blood on my hands.

Didn’t I?

I didn’t kill Jake!

Julianne’s voice: “
Bev...where are you going? Wait for me!
”

With the onset of the showers, a pacific wind ensued, restlessly tossing the upper reaches of the trees about, creating a static-like sound that grew stronger as he moved deeper into the woods. This, in combination with the crickets, made more than enough noise for Bev to wonder if he’d ever hear anyone approaching him. But, not enough, he felt, to shroud the noisy twigs and underbrush snapping beneath his footsteps.

He continued on. Running. Stumbling. Breaths short and spurting as he advanced trance-like through the woods, hearing only the crickets and the wind, his footsteps and his own mind trying to make sense of the horrifying events that had taken place over the past two days.
This is what it’s all come to. All the success, a single in the top twenty-five, and here I am running through the rain-soaked woods like a man who’s lost his mind. Lost his mind
...

He heard something. Not the voice in his head. Not his feet against the woodland floor. He pressed his body against the trunk of an elm, hands embracing the rough bark, waiting for what seemed an eternity, listening attentively and peering into the surrounding woodland in search of what he thought could have been a voice.
Not the voice in my head
.

“
Bev...I’m right behind you
.”

“No! It can’t be!” he yelled, and he darted away, continuing east and veering slightly to the right, following a thin matted trail mostly free of brush. He trampled weeds and grass. Loose stones struck his ankles. He fought exhaustion, making decent progress nonetheless and realizing suddenly where his deepest instincts were taking him. He kept his eyes peeled on all sides, taking advantage of gaps in the woods to help reaffirm his current state of solitude. He pictured in his weary mind the place he was now heading, and wondered if it would provide the much needed sanctuary he so recklessly, and suddenly, sought.
 

He continued on for another five minutes.

Then froze.

He heard it again.

A scraping sound. Raspy.
Breathing? The scratching in my head?

He crouched down next to a bush, looked left, right, up, down. Saw nothing. No one.

Heard only the wind. The crickets.
My mind’s playing games with me. Common sense dictates that it is only an animal. A squirrel, perhaps a deer. Not the scratching in my head.

Maybe it’s the demon inside of you?

He waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. Nothing. Still, he felt strongly that something might be back there, hiding in the woods, watching him. His inaction brought pain: stiffness in the bones and muscles. Weariness. He wanted to scream.

Then, suddenly, footsteps. Nearby. Heavy, labored breathing. And, a voice.
Her
voice. Julianne: “Bev, please, wait...”

Bev remained frozen in his crouch. Tears sprouted from his eyes.
Julianne, my dear wife
... He covered his face with his muddy hands, hearing the approach of tentative footsteps. When he took his hands away, he saw sneakered feet alongside him.

“Julianne?” he whispered, looking up, heart escaping his chest.

She kneeled down alongside him. Labored breathing. Then, “Bev...what’s going on? Why are you out here running?”

His eyes fell upon her.

Rebecca
Haviland
.

Tears poured from his eyes, half out of relief that it was someone he knew, someone he could trust, half out of disenchantment because he’d thought the woman whose voice he’d heard would be his long-lost Julianne, back from the dead to comfort him.

That’s an insane mind thinking
...

Rebecca stood, helping Bev to his feet. He leaned against a tree, hands rubbing his face, smearing mud about his worn features, eyes darting crazily back and forth.

“Bev...are you okay?”

“My God,” he wheezed, hands on knees, lungs heaving for air. “No...I...I don’t know.” Through the cast of gray weather and his douse of tears, he gazed at her imploring features and saw so much of Julianne, even more so than the night before when they’d made love. His heart pounded ferociously. He asked, “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Following you.”

“Why...?” He fought to catch his breath.

She breathed heavily for a few moments. Then said, “Bev...we were talking on the phone earlier, about Jake. We got disconnected...I tried calling you back but I couldn’t get a signal. Eventually—it took me a long time—I got through, but you never answered. I was very worried…I’ve been trying you all afternoon! I was concerned that you...you might’ve, well that
something
bad might’ve happened.”

Bev shook his head. “I was at Kristin’s place when you called,” he whispered laboriously, still out of breath. “I forgot my phone there.” He coughed hard and spit his labors onto a patch of moss. A string of saliva hung from his bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry Bev...but...I had to find you, and talk to you...” She started sobbing, her words, breaking up. “I was so shocked and scared when I heard about Jake...I didn’t know what to do, and when I couldn’t get back in touch with you, I had to come by your place, to talk to you about it, but when I got there, I got worried. Something looked wrong. The front door was ajar. I knocked a few times and called your name, but you didn’t answer, so I went in and looked around and saw that your bedroom window was open and the rain was coming in, so I walked over to shut it, and that was when I saw you, running into the woods. I called you but you didn’t stop, so...I just...I just came after you. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do...I thought something was wrong, that you...well, that you might be really upset over Jake, that you might...might hurt yourself.”

“You went down the fire escape?”

She nodded.

“You could’ve hurt yourself, Rebecca.”

“I’m sorry…it’s just that I feel something…an unexplainable connection to you. I can’t help it. All I knew was that I needed to find you.” Shivering, Rebecca wrapped her arms round her body. “What is it, Bev? What’s happening?”

“Jake...he didn’t drown. He was murdered.”

Rebecca gasped. Her face fell white. She gripped her cheeks with nervous, probing fingers. “My god Bev, when did you hear this?”

“A little more than an hour ago. A detective came by and questioned me. Told me that Jake had been choked to death with a guitar string.”

Rebecca’s eyes grew wide, her body swaying unsteadily. “A guitar string? Bev?”

Bev shook his head defiantly. “No, no, I didn’t kill Jake, and I don’t know who did.” He thought of the gouges in his palms that were no longer there, and ran his hands through his wet hair as if to wash away any remaining evidence. He looked at her. Their eyes locked, and he almost told her about the scars that had miraculously healed over.

She stood her ground, arms crossed, waiting in tempered silence. “What, Bev? What is it?”

Shivering, he stepped forward. “Come with me.” He grabbed her hand, eyes darting about the woods. “I’ll tell you everything when we get to where I need to go.”

“Where’s that?” she asked, following his lead.

He didn’t answer.

Slowly, Frederick Grover followed the black limo in and around the neighborhoods as it wound its way up into Hollywood Hills. Here, your net worth was estimated by the altitude in which your home sat—the size of the homes grew bigger as the air grew thinner. Grover stayed back, maintaining a low profile while keeping the limo in his view at all times; the rain had darkened the skies, creating a gray sheet between them, keeping his unlighted presence cloaked.

The roads curved. The distance between the homes expanded. Finally, the limo made a left turn and stopped before an iron-gated mansion. The driver, unseen from Grover’s position at fifty yards away, reached out and punched numbers into a code-entry box. The gates opened automatically, allowing the limo access. Upon the car’s entry and disappearance behind eight-foot hedges, the gate closed. Grover inched his car up to the corner, positioning himself between a gap in the hedges. He shut off the ignition. Watched in darkened silence as the limo rolled up a long curving driveway to the entrance of the house: eight-foot twin gothic doors bathed in misty crimson lights. Besides the driver, one person emerged. They were both dressed in black robes. Quickly, they skirted into the mansion.

Grover grabbed the radio handset in his car, cleared his throat, then called in his location and asked for details on the home’s residency.