Inside Lucifer's War (11 page)

What I don’t understand is why now? I’ve known Stacie, through Mike, for some time. And although I’ve always found her appealing, she’s never had this kind of effect on me. I’ve continued to run with Mike these past weeks, and on a few occasions, I’ve mentioned her out of politeness, usually while inquiring about the entire family. Twice Mike mentioned that Stacie might join us on our runs. But she hasn’t made it yet. Mike must have noticed the disappointment on my face the last time, though I masked it with some teasing about her keeping up with us, which I hoped would get back to her.

In the meantime, I’ve settled for seeing Paige a few times. She’s not Stacie, but I’m not one to be without someone by my side. Paige is an easy conversationalist and pleasing to look at. She smells great also. I need to find out what perfume she wears. Most men would kill to be dating her.

It is a Friday evening, and once again I ponder what Stacie is doing. This is ridiculous! I decide I need some drinks to rid me of her. Mike and I are supposed to run tomorrow morning at seven thirty, and I’m considering canceling, knowing what my state will most likely be. Saturday morning runs are a good way to keep my Friday socializing and drinking in check. Mike never fails to show, even if I am sometimes late getting out of bed. I’ve made arrangements with the lobby valet to always let Mike up to my apartment. I know he will be on time if I don’t cancel. I delay the call, though, and tell myself I can call him later if I’m hitting it too hard.

I gather my things to head out and then hear a gentle tap at my door, which is slightly ajar. It’s Leslie.

“You’re up here late, Leslie,” I comment.

“Just finishing up a few things. I’m taking off a few days next week, so I needed to close out a few things,” she says.

“What’s up?” I say, closing my laptop and gathering my jacket to signal that I’m on my way out.

“I wanted to talk to you about Josephine. Quite honestly, I’ve been reluctant to mention it,” she says.

I really don’t want to hear this, especially now. My hope that the Josephine situation would no longer require my involvement was a false hope. Somehow, Leslie was able to reach out to Josephine and convince her to get help. I tried not to get involved with the details, but I solicited a favor from a psychiatrist friend and provided her with some brief background information. She gladly accepted the assignment and worked with Leslie on setting up the meetings, but I continue to have a nagging feeling about Josephine. I wanted closure, but I knew it would take time.

Leslie continues, “I had hoped that you would have asked about how things are going. Josephine has been seeing Dr. Gould twice a week for some time. She’s feeling much better about herself, and her old self is starting to show. She’s very strong.”

“That’s great,” I say, trying to end the conversation.

“In talking with Dr. Gould,” Leslie continues, “she says that there will come a point where Josephine will want to get closure with you. That will mean a face-to-face conversation. This obviously won’t happen for a while, but I thought you should know that it should happen. You need to be prepared for it. To do the right thing.”

I slink back to my chair. “Thanks for all you are doing, Leslie. I really do appreciate it,” I say, looking away. I know that what she has said is true, but it annoys me.

“Good night, Dr. Fields,” she says as she closes the door behind her.

I definitely need a drink now, but I don’t want to be alone. I think of Paige and quickly call her. Of course when I call, Paige has plans for the evening. I’ve no doubt she is very popular in her circle. Still, she says that she can cut her evening short and meet me. I ask her to meet me at a hotel bar near my apartment building. It’s within walking distance, which is all too convenient. They know me well at the hotel, not only for my evening trips to the bar, but also for the many referrals I provide them. They always treat me well.

I make it to the hotel bar around seven thirty, and I’m greeted by a too-thin blonde hostess. No doubt she has recently graduated from UT with a marketing degree. I sit down at a table near the bar. It’s slightly off to the side of the room, and I sit facing the bar with a view of the television. ESPN is showing highlights of a baseball game. The waitress immediately comes over and takes my order—bourbon and Coke—but I ask her to come back for my appetizer order. Within moments she brings me the drink. My gaze follows her shape as she walks away.
Not bad,
I think.

As she walks away, a dizzy feeling comes over me. She suddenly seems miles away now. Everyone seems to be miles away now. The room stretches into distortion, except for the television, which moves closer to me. I feel faint and clutch the table. The mark on my arm burns severely, and I almost cry out from the pain. Suddenly, Lucifer is in the television and looks at me. He smiles.

“Hello, Thomas. It has been a spell. You don’t look so well. Tell me you aren’t going to get sick again?” He floats out of the television and stands in front of me.

I do feel sick. I’m also stunned into silence.

He breathes on me, “You should feel better now.”

I do feel better. I look around to see if anyone else can see him, but they are so far away, continuing to do what they have been doing.

He says, “You don’t have to worry, Thomas. They won’t interrupt. I’ll make this short. My people tell me you’re performing your duties as expected. That makes me glad. I was worried you would begin to believe this was all a bad dream. I hope my mark is reminder enough. I would hate to make a more lasting impression on you.”

My arm burns again, but it is a deep burn, as if the bone itself is on fire. He enjoys the pain on my face.

“I anxiously await your performance in Dallas. Do well, and I will reward you nicely. I have many resources at my disposal. Make sure you do the right thing in Dallas. You’ll know what it is. Be ready.”

The voice changes. “Are you ready, Dr. Fields? Dr. Fields, are you ready?”

I realize Lucifer is no longer speaking, but the waitress has returned.

“What?” I ask.

“Are you ready to order an appetizer?” she repeats. “Are you okay? Can I get you something? Would you like a glass of water?”

I down my drink, pull up my sleeve, and pour the ice over the scar. It sizzles slightly when it touches the skin. It burns and I grimace. The waitress’s expression shows more concern.

“I’ll take another bourbon and Coke . . . and bring me the oysters and shrimp. But don’t keep me waiting on the bourbon.”

It is close to ten o’clock and way past too many drinks for me when Paige arrives. She wears a tight, sleeveless black dress that shows a little cleavage and a lot of leg. There’s not a male head in that room that doesn’t turn as she walks by. She looks great there is no doubt, but she is not Stacie.

“I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” she tells the waitress as she walks past her. Her boldness humors me, which is more impressive given my current surly mood.

“Finally made it?” I ask condescendingly. “I was about to give up on you for that redhead over there,” I say, pointing to a woman surrounded by three men at a table across the bar.

She looks long into my eyes, smiles a short grin, and says, “First, if you think that redhead is a better catch than me, you must be really drunk. Second, I didn’t put this dress on for just anyone. I’m late because I swung by my apartment to put this on especially for you. And third, I won’t tolerate a mean drunk. Even if you can get that redhead, I guarantee I can get those three men.”

I laugh a hard, loud laugh. My surliness turns into playfulness, which she gladly returns. We share a few kisses, some laughs, and I drink some more. We leave through the door near the lake and follow the trail toward my apartment. The night is muggy. She hooks her right arm under my left arm as we walk.

That’s the last thing I remember from the evening.

C
HAPTER 11

Late to Bed, Early to Rise

The next morning I’m lying in my bed and hearing a terrible racket—two people talking. I can’t make out where the voices are coming from. Had I left a window open? Was I in Paige’s apartment? I grab a pillow and press it over my head. My head throbs. It’s way too early. I still need a couple of hours of sleep to get through the hangover. Suddenly my covers fly off me, leaving me cold and exposed.

“What’s going on!” I yell, waking up and looking at the culprit. I’m not prepared for this.

Glaring at me is Stacie Fischer. Mike stands next to her.

The situation is overwhelming. For a brief moment, I forget about my headache. I immediately look down and thankfully see that I’m wearing underwear. The night before comes rushing back to me.

“Paige?!” I look around to see if she is in the room.

“Is that her name? We said good-bye to her when we came in,” Stacie says, irritated. “She bolted when she got a call from someone named Kinsley. She didn’t seem too pleased that I saw her phone on the counter when the call came through. She wasn’t very polite, but her dress was stunning.”

Kinsley? I think. Why would Kinsley be calling her? Maybe Stacie was confused. Maybe she saw my phone. No. That doesn’t make any sense. My phone is on the nightstand next to me. How does Paige know Kinsley? Am I being set up? I feel anger flushing over me.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell at Stacie.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me,” she yells back at me. “I let myself get dragged over here by my brother to go running with you. And here you are, still in bed, and hung over from last night. That’s what’s wrong with me. I bet you can’t even run.”

She’s beautiful when she’s angry.

I look over at Mike, now sitting in the corner and laughing under his breath. His head is in his hands, but I can see him gyrating with laughter. Still, he steps into the conversation.

“Get up, Tom. Get your clothes on and meet us downstairs in five. Otherwise, I’ll sic Stacie back on you. Stacie, don’t worry. Tom will run. I’ve seen him run in worse condition than this. Trust me, he’ll run.”

They leave with Mike laughing and Stacie seething. I rise too fast. The room spins and my head rocks. Worse than having a hangover, I am still a little drunk. I think to myself that Mike lied to Stacie. I doubt he’s seen me this bad off. Still, I decide that I have to run this morning. I’m not going to let Stacie win this. I quickly pull on some clothes, grab my running shoes, down an energy drink along with four ibuprofen, and head downstairs.

In the lobby I see Stacie stretching on the couch. Her left knee and shinbone are on the seat of the couch, pointing behind her, and her right leg is in front and bent almost ninety degrees. It’s called the couch stretch, and it’s a common stretch. She pushes forward with her hip and stomach to stretch her quad. She looks at me. I smile. She looks away, quits stretching, and heads for the door.

Mike smiles. “I guess we’ll be going now.”

The hot air outside hits me like a wall. I don’t feel good as we walk to the running trail. The pounding of my feet makes my head rock, and the heat only dehydrates me more.

Seeing that I’m not doing well, Mike whispers, “If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. I’ll run with Stacie. We’ll have some quality time together.”

I’m not turning back, though, as I watch Stacie walk ahead of us. I ignore Mike’s offer.

Stacie makes it to the trail. She stretches some more and turns to me. “You ready?”

I wink, and with that, we’re off.

For a short distance we are abreast on the trail. Stacie is on the inside, Mike is in the middle, and I’m near the edge, which turns out to be fortuitous. Although the pace is nothing special, I’m not in the best condition to be running. My head is spinning and my footing is unsure.

About four hundred meters into the run, I see a small runoff trail and instinctively take it. I jog maybe twenty meters into the trail and then walk off into some trees. Bending over, I throw up until I’m certain that my left shoe is going to come out my mouth. Heave after heave, I shoot projectiles into the bushes. The chunks quickly fade to liquid, and then the liquid becomes dry heaving.

Amazingly, when I’m done, I feel so much better. My headache and fogginess are gone. My stomach soon relaxes, and my walk is steady. I’m also fortunate that a water fountain is nearby. I drink several swallows of water as Stacie and Mike watch. I wipe my face and tell them I’m ready to go again.

Stacie’s anger has faded during my punishing vomiting spell. “Why don’t you call it a morning? It’s a short walk back. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to keep going,” she says with a gentleness in her tone.

“Are you kidding me?” I say. “This is how I roll, baby! Ask Mike. I don’t start running until I vomit two, maybe three times. How far are we going?”

Mike jumps in, “Dude, you just launched three meals into those bushes. I think I saw a whole potato come out at some point. Sit this one out.”

I start jogging and don’t look back. I must have gone fifty meters before they both catch up to me. Before they can tell me to quit again, I tell them that I’m running the six-mile loop, and I feel good enough for a quick pace. I speed up slightly as I pull in front of them. I can hear Mike’s breathing pick up a little as he starts to fade back. Stacie, though, is moving up next to me. Soon, the two of us have some distance on Mike. He slows down considerably. But we don’t say a word as we continue our run.