The Devil's Demeanor (25 page)

Aunt Cynthia
moved into this house when Don was around five years old. He actually
remembered the day, and it was one of the few pleasant childhood memories he
had.

When he got to
the top of the steps, he saw Aunt Cynthia pop out of the kitchen with a large
wooden spoon in one hand. “Hey!” she called in her strong, loud voice. She
looked from Don to the kids and back. To Don, she said, “Boy, look at you, all
grown.”

Don grinned;
she said that every time she saw him. She gushed over how big Jordan was
getting as well before setting a wary sight on Conner.

“He looks just
like Ethan,” she said to no one in particular. To Don she said, “My babies,
havin’ babies.”

“Aunt Cynthia,
I’m thirty-one.”

“Good Lord,
you’re
that
old?” She laughed as she quickly checked on whatever she was
cooking and invited them to have a seat on her white floral couch.

The living room
was beautifully decorated, with paintings and plants and tiny angel-baby
porcelain baubles. Aunt Cynthia joined them on the couch moments later. Don
guessed she was cooking some kind of soup or stew; it smelled delicious.

“If you’re
thirty-one,” Aunt Cynthia continued, “then I don’t even want to know how old I
am.”

Don and Monica
laughed. Cynthia didn’t look bad for her age; her once-black hair, now mostly
gray, was pulled back in a slight ponytail. Don didn’t know how old she was,
and didn’t dare venture a guess out loud.

Cynthia stared
at Conner, who stared back. He was leaning against Monica’s legs, partly
standing and sitting at the same time. “Ethan was always such a strange boy,”
Cynthia mused. “But he was still my baby. You both were.” She looked at Don
again.

“Conner’s a lot
like his daddy,” said Don, “even though he never met him.”

Cynthia nodded
knowingly, causing Don to wonder if they were having some kind of secret
conversation. Did she know about the curse?

Sounds of
laughter and play came from the den downstairs. Despite the fact that there was
a liquor bar down there, the kids tended to play in that room often.
Thankfully, the liquor was under lock and key.

“So,” Cynthia
said, “you now have two kids. Are you prepared for that?”

Don looked to
his wife, who nodded, and then said to his aunt, “Absolutely.”

“If you ever
need me to watch them both, I won’t charge you extra for it.”

“Thanks, Aunt
Cynthia.”

The thought of
Conner around other children worried Don, but there was nothing he could do
about it. If he was going to help the boy, he needed to give him as normal a
life as possible. Stability was the key.

“Who all’s
here?” Monica asked, indicating the ruckus downstairs.

“Oh, Robert,
Shannon, Teresa and a few new faces. They must’ve just woken up from their
naps.”

“Let’s go meet
some kids,” Monica said to Jordan and Conner. They nodded.

Everyone went
downstairs, passing a washer and dryer located in a nook under the stairs. Don
always felt like he was going underground when he came down here.

The den was at
the end of the hall, across from the laundry nook. Six kids, all about the age
of six, ran around the room like they were high on sugar. Half of them were
African American, the other Caucasian.

Don had spent
all of his childhood surrounded by black people that he almost felt like one
himself. He often joked to Monica that he was only attracted to black women.

Conner and
Jordan joined the other kids. Don looked out through the curtained back-porch
door to get a view of the beautiful backyard, which sloped downhill to a dense
wooded area. He remembered all the times he and his aunt played badminton in
that yard. Sometimes her own children, both older than Don, would join in.
Ethan had even played....

“Honey,” said
Monica. “You okay?”

Don wiped his
eyes quickly as he turned to face her. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine,
though. His chest hurt. The pain and guilt over his brother’s death was more
than he could bare. He knew that his wife could see it on his face. He was so
lucky to have Monica; he would die without her.

But he would
lose her someday, if he kept secrets. Yet, he may lose her if she found out the
truth. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

When Cynthia
walked them to the door moments later, Don looked across the street. “I still
can’t believe you live across from a graveyard.”

“It’s just a
little one,” she replied. “Seven graves or so.”

“When I was a
kid, I used to have nightmares that zombies would rise up and cross over here
to get me.”

“Just you?”
Monica laughed.

“Yep. In a
large house full of people, they would only want me.” He grew serious. “I would
look down at them from one of those windows.” He pointed to the living-room
windows above. “It was terrifying.”

“Well,” said
Cynthia, “for as long as I’ve lived here, there haven’t been many zombies.”

Don smiled.
“That’s reassuring.”

*
 
*
 
*

He had
nightmares that night, the kind that froze you with complete terror. In the dream,
he was a kid, no more than ten years old. He was looking out from Cynthia’s
windows to see zombies shambling across the street and up the brick steps to
her front door.

Ethan was among
them.

The sight was
horrible on that moonlit night, and though Don tried to keep an eye on his dead
brother, he kept losing sight of him. At one point, Don ran to the kitchen
window and saw Ethan standing on the deck in the backyard, looking up at him.

And then Ethan
disappeared when Don blinked. But when he turned around in the narrow kitchen,
he saw Ethan standing in the adjoining dining room, in the dark. Just standing
there, making no sound.

Somehow, Don
willed himself awake and found that he was covered in cold sweat. Monica lay
sound asleep next to him. His heart raced and he couldn’t imagine going back to
sleep just yet, so he booted up the computer across the room and silently added
to his manuscript. He wrote about the nightmare while it was still fresh in his
mind.

After he was
done, he saved and closed the file. He never bothered to lock his computer;
truthfully, he hoped Monica would read the rough draft and figure out his
secrets. He had trouble initiating that particular conversation with her, but
once the floodgates opened....

The family had
breakfast together that Sunday morning, Don cooking his well-regarded sausages,
eggs, biscuits and grits—just the way his father used to. It was hard to
believe it had only been less than two days since the incident. Jordan and
Conner sat with their heads close together, whispering to each other.

“This year’s
family reunion is going to be interesting,” said Monica, tilting her head
toward Conner.

“I’m already
dreading the onslaught of questions my aunts and uncles are going to ask,” Don
joked as he suddenly grew nervous. The reunion was only two weeks away, and he
honestly feared his family’s reaction to Ethan’s love child.

Don had to
prepare for a lot of things now that he had a second child. He hadn’t even
planned to have
one
kid. He and Ethan had ended up in the same boat five
months apart, but Don didn’t regret the turn his life had taken. He looked upon
his wonderful wife and son and considered himself much luckier than he deserved
to be.

During the
first week of June, the Scotts piled into the family SUV and drove to Destin,
Florida. Monica drove first, with Don taking over once they reached the halfway
point. He sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window and letting the sun
warm the right side of his face while the air conditioner cooled the left. He
grinned as he thought about how great it would be to see his cousins again. The
last reunion had been two years ago and had felt all too brief.

Don looked at
the kids in the backseat; they were fast asleep, their heads together. They had
bonded surprisingly fast. Don often found one in the other’s room in the
mornings. It was as if they had become inseparable. Monica pulled into a rest
stop at the halfway mark, and once everyone was refreshed, Don took over.

He was always
relieved when he saw the familiar hotels that surrounded his uncle Nate’s house
because, no matter how many times he’d driven there, he always felt like he was
going to get lost.

He turned left
into a neighborhood filled with large pine trees and found the house he was
looking for. There were a dozen cars in the driveway and on the lawn. It was
midday, and plenty of relatives were milling about the house, among the cars,
with beers in his and her hands. Don didn’t know where to park, so he made a
U-turn at an intersection and parked as close to the house as possible—two
houses down.

He could hear
the laughter and music the moment he stepped out of the vehicle. He smiled at
Monica the way he always did when he was surrounded by family.

The first
person to greet Don was not Uncle Nate. Nor was it any of his uncles. It was a
tall, white-haired old man in a suit whose name Don couldn’t remember.

“Say, young
fella,” the man called, “spare me some of that money you got hidin’ there.”

“I don’t have
any money,” Don replied, putting on a false smile as the man tossed an arm
around his shoulders. Every time Don saw him, the man “jokingly” asked for a
hand-out. It bugged Don to high heaven and made him very uncomfortable.

He carefully
maneuvered his family past the possibly drunk gentleman and stepped into the
house. He was greeted by the smell of fried fish. There weren’t as many people
inside as there were out, which was fortunate since the house wasn’t very
large. Don spotted Uncle Nate in the kitchen directly to the right of the front
door. Aunt Mimi was next to Nate, playing with her trademark pearl necklace.

“Donovan
Scott!” She raced over and hugged him. She then looked down at the boys. “Last
time, you only had one.” She smirked.

Don didn’t know
what to say, and it was too noisy to really get into it. “I’ll explain later,
Aunt Mimi,” he said into her ear.

She nodded and
waved him into the kitchen.

*
 
*
 
*

It only took
five minutes for Don to explain the situation to his immediate family. They
were huddled in a lounge just beside the kitchen. Uncle Nate sat in a recliner,
with Aunts Mimi and Lydia on the couch. Uncle James, Lydia’s husband, stood
with his arms crossed. The kids were in the kitchen with Monica, eating dinner.

“Poor Ethan,”
said Aunt Mimi, clutching her pearls. “First he gets kidnapped, and then just
when he’s getting his life back together, someone shoots him.”

Don pinched his
lips tightly together, saying nothing.

“How did you
find out about Conner?” Aunt Lydia asked. She was one of the youngest of the
six sisters and the most inquisitive.

“I hired a
private investigator,” Don said truthfully. “I didn’t find out about Ethan’s
girlfriend and baby until after he was killed, though.”

“You don’t
think the P.I. killed him, do you?” Uncle Nate asked.

“No,” said Don.
“He was back in Texas when it happened. I think it was a random burglary.”

“Why did Ethan
keep his other life a secret?” Nate wondered aloud.

“I guess we’ll
never know,” said Don. “Ivy is a lovely woman.”

“And a
bloodthirsty killer,” Mimi added under her breath.

Don had told
the popular version of that incident rather than share his theory about Conner.
It bothered him, hearing others speak about Ivy that way, especially since she
was actually innocent. Things would be so much better had she actually
committed the murder, though. Then Don wouldn’t have to worry about his family
being killed in their sleep.

Surprisingly,
however, Conner had been behaving himself over the weeks. He’d cut back on his
weird, off-putting behavior, anyway. Don remembered Ethan doing the same when
he’d been around that age. That only meant that the evil inside of him realized
it was drawing attention to itself. Nothing more.

But the
creature—the originator of the curse—was gone. Without something to influence
the afflicted, where did that leave the victim? Would he or she simply outgrow
the taint that corrupted their souls? Don almost laughed at the question; you
couldn’t outgrow pure evil.

“What are you
grinnin’ at?” Mimi asked, wearing a grin of her own.

“I’m just happy
that Jordan has someone to play with,” he lied.

*
 
*
 
*

Don said hello
to his cousins, who were grilling in the backyard, and stayed close to Monica
and the kids. Everyone had a good time, and as far as Don could tell, there
were at least fifty relatives in and around the house. Uncle Nate joked that
the Scotts were related to everyone in Destin.

People began
leaving as it grew later. The ones who didn’t live nearby stayed in any one of
the many hotels in the area. Don had made a reservation at the hotel where his
cousins were staying.

Uncles Nate and
Johnny were still talking well past eleven when Don decided it was time to
leave. He held a sleeping Jordan in his arms. Conner sat with Monica on the
living-room couch, his head on her shoulder. Even though his eyes were closed,
Don felt the boy watching him.

Don looked
instead to Johnny, who still bore a grisly scar on his neck from when Don’s
mother attacked him fifteen years ago. That was the night he and Dad had tried
to take Don and Ethan away from her. As far as Don could tell, the curse wasn’t
transferable from human to human—only straight from the source. To an extent,
anyway.

Ethan and
Conner had both been born with the curse. Perhaps Jordan, as well. It had been
a part of the Scott family for so long that it almost seemed normal.

Don thanked his
aunts and uncles for dinner and told them he’d see them tomorrow. The hotel was
so ridiculously close that they could’ve walked there. When they parked in the
lot, Monica grabbed Jordan, leaving Don to carry Conner. During the trek to the
third floor, he thought he heard the boy whispering, but wasn’t sure. Don
looked at Jordan in Monica’s arms and saw his lips moving slightly as well.

Were they
talking to each other?

Monica opened
the door to their room and set Jordan on the closest bed before running to the
bathroom. Don slowly laid Conner down next to his son. Both of their lips were
moving, and there was a quiet hiss of words coming from the two of them. Don
leaned as close as he could to his son, trying to make out what he was saying.

Jordan suddenly
screamed.

Don jumped back
in alarm as Jordan sat up, continuing to scream bloody murder. Monica came
running out of the bathroom a moment later.

“What the hell
is happening?” she asked.

At that moment,
Jordan ceased screaming and just sat there, breathing heavily. He looked down
at Conner, who was still asleep beside him, and then to his parents.

“What’s wrong,
son?” Don asked him.

“I had a bad
dream.”

“About what?”

Jordan took a
deep breath before saying, “A mean dog.”

*
 
*
 
*

After calming
Jordan down, Don got his son to go back to sleep. He and Monica settled down on
the other bed. Don simply stared at the dark ceiling, watching the occasional
car headlight flash across it. How could he sleep, after what his son told him?

The mean dog.

It could’ve
meant anything. Jordan hadn’t really been raised around many dogs besides
Pepper (who was being watched by a kind neighbor), but the boy wasn’t afraid of
animals. Liz, Don’s half-sister, was terrified—she hadn’t grown up with any
pets.

But Don knew
what dog his son was referring to. It had been the shape the cursed creature
had taken to roam the earth. But it was dead; Don had killed it himself, not
too far from where he was now. How was Jordan dreaming about it?

Don cast a wary
glance at the young boys in the other bed. They appeared fast asleep and no
longer whispering to each other. Don didn’t recall him and Ethan ever doing
that when they were younger. Was this some new trait?

“Go to sleep,”
Monica mumbled next to him.

“Easier said
than done,” he whispered back.

“What happened
earlier? With Jordan.”

“Nightmare.”

“I saw your
face; it was more than a nightmare to you.”

“What do you
mean?” Don’s heart quickened.

“The dog? It
means something to you.”

“No it
doesn’t.” Why was Don resisting? He’d wanted to talk about this before. Why not
now?

“I was there
that night on Halloween when your brother wandered off, remember? I helped you
look for him. He said he was talking to a
dog
.”

“And he
probably was, but that doesn’t mean the dog was talking back. Ethan was just a
silly kid.”

Monica raised
an eyebrow. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Drop it,
please.”

Instead of
responding, Monica rolled onto her other side, facing the window and the kids.
Don sighed and eventually fell asleep to the soothing sound of the air conditioner.

*
 
*
 
*

After having
breakfast at Uncle Nate’s the following morning, everyone headed to the beach.
Luckily, only half the family from last night made the excursion that day. The
Scotts were a notoriously loud bunch, and fifty of them on the beach would have
been chaos.

Watching his
aunts, uncles and cousins having fun took Don’s mind off of Monica’s cold
attitude toward him. She was still upset with his refusal to talk about his
problems last night. He had missed his chance to tell his wife everything and
didn’t know when the opportunity would come about again.

Monica lounged
on a folding chair, soaking in the sun and reading a book. Don was in the
water, playing with the boys. Every now and then, he looked at his wife, and
she looked back. She was definitely mad. Don contemplated telling her his
secrets over a few beers. The coward’s way.

Suddenly,
someone else caught his eye. A middle-aged man stood a few feet behind Monica,
and Don couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The man seemed just as interested in
Don. He was wearing a tropical shirt and tan khakis with big black shades over
his eyes. Don couldn’t tell for certain if he was staring at him with those
sunglasses....

But he
felt
like he was being watched.

The
white-haired man turned and walked toward the boardwalk and away from the
beach.

*
 
*
 
*

Don sat at the
table of the hotel’s cafeteria while Monica and the kids filled their plates at
the buffet. Don himself was too distracted to eat; he was still thinking about
that old man at the beach. He had been staring directly at Don, despite all the
other people in the water. Don hadn’t recognized him, though.

Suddenly, a
terrible thought came to him. What if he was being followed, investigated? Why
would he be investigated? There was the chance, however, that the man on the
beach had nothing to do with Don. It could simply be his guilty conscience at
work. He looked up as his wife returned to the table with the kids. She smiled
as she sat down, and Don was reminded of how much he adored her.

He had to tell
her the truth, and soon.

On the way back
to the room, he ran into his cousins Nina and Candice, who were staying a few
rooms down the hall. Nina said her parents offered to watch Jordan and Conner
that night if Don and Monica wanted to join them for a night in downtown
Destin. Don quickly jumped at the chance to get Monica drunk so he could talk
to her.

He did not,
however, relish the thought of leaving Conner with Lydia and James.

The image of
Lewis’s mangled face briefly flashed in his mind. Don wouldn’t be able to live
with himself if any harm came to his family. But he had to start trusting his
nephew around other people. School would start up again soon. That thought made
him break into a cold sweat.

*
 
*
 
*

Candice drove
the others to a bar downtown called The Hut, which was designed to look just
like, well, a hut. There were Tiki torches and a grassy roof, with coconuts
draped across the walls. Don instantly loved the place as the four sat at a
table and ordered drinks. Monica seemed to have warmed toward Don, but he
didn’t let that deter his plan to tell her his deepest secrets later on that
night.

He stared at
her, taking in her beauty in the warm lighting of the bar. Even the neon lights
in the windows made her look like an angel. His angel.

Monica noticed
him staring and rolled her eyes playfully. Don took a chance and leaned
forward. He planted a kiss right on her lips. Thankfully, she kissed back.

“You two are so
cute together,” Candice said from across the small table. “I want that.”

“I’m your
cousin,” Don joked.

Candice
laughed. “You know what I mean. I want a man.”

“Girl,” Nina
piped in, “I had it and tossed it back. Wasn’t worth it.”