The_Demons_Wife_ARC (2 page)

She glanced at
the door, then at her wristwatch, then at the door again, expecting Sally to
come out of the restaurant any second now, but there was no sign of her.

What’s taking
her so damned long?

Claire had the
disquieting feeling that, for whatever reason, Sally had ditched her. She
started walking, pacing back and forth under the awning as icy tension wound up
inside her. She thought maybe she should go back inside and use the restroom,
too.

No…I can wait.

Instead of
going back inside, she increased her pacing, fighting the feeling that
somewhere…out there…in the darkness…someone was watching every step she took.
The rhythm to the oldies song by The Police began to play in her head.

“Every move you
make…”

“Stop it,” she
whispered to herself, her breath coming out a mist.

But no matter
where she looked or what she thought about, the unsettling feelings only got
worse.

Finally, the
restaurant door opened. Claire jumped and turned to look, expecting to see
Sally, but she stepped to one side, disappointed, when a couple exited instead.
Her back was to the wall, but she didn’t realize she was standing at the corner
of the building, almost in the darkness—when a rough hand clapped over her
mouth, and a strong arm wrapped around her stomach, tightening so hard it
forced the wind from her lungs.

“Make a sound,
and you’re dead,” a man’s voice whispered.

~ * ~

One of her
shoes flipped off her foot as the man dragged her backwards, into the darkness
beside the building. She had a brief sensation of vertigo, like she was falling
backwards, spinning down into darkness. The most vivid detail she remembered
later was the stench of the man’s breath, which smelled like rotten onions and
was as hot as a furnace on the side of her face. Because his hand was covering
her mouth, any sounds she was making were smothered. Snot blew from her nose.
Later, she thought she remembered hearing the sharp, pained whimpering of a dog
that might have been hit by a car or something.  She never could believe that
such a sound had come from her.

She clawed at
his hand, trying to pull it off so she could scream. She kicked his shins as
hard as she could but couldn’t get enough oomph behind it. She wiggled and
thrashed from side to side, but he seemed to be supernaturally strong. It was
like struggling to lift a gigantic rock.

Claire wasn’t
a weakling. She worked out…irregularly, but she had never felt so overwhelmed
and helpless in her life. Fury and fear rose up inside her as she squirmed and
fought and gasped for air…all to no avail.

The man’s
other hand was all over her. Touching, rubbing, squeezing painfully. By the
time he took his meaty paw off her mouth, she was too exhausted to cry out. He
zipped the front of her coat down and reached inside, squeezing her breasts
again, so hard the pain brought tears to her eyes. He grabbed the front of her
blouse and ripped it down with a quick, savage movement. Buttons flew in all
directions. She heard them clatter on the pavement like tumbling dice.

This is
it…He’s gonna kill me,
was her only clear thought as tears of
frustration burned her eyes.

But then
something extraordinary happened.

Her assailant
went suddenly limp. The bear hug he had on her relaxed, and he slumped forward.
His chin dug painfully into her neck, and the stench of his breath was suddenly
whisked away by cold, fresh air. Claire lurched to one side, shaking herself
free of the man’s arms. Even in the darkness, she could see that his eyes were
rolled back in his head. They glistened like soft-boiled eggs, bulging from
their sockets. His mouth dropped to one side, and he looked for all the world
like he was having a stroke.

“Where
am…What?…I didn’t…”

He stared at
his hands as though amazed that they were part of him.

“I…I never…”

Then he sank
slowly to his knees like a collapsing accordion. When his knees hit the
pavement, he rolled his head to the side and stared up at Claire.

“I’m…so…sorry,”
was all he said before pitching forward. “I…didn’t do it… It wasn’t me…”

His face and
chest hit the pavement at the same instant, making a loud thwacking sound that,
Claire later found out when she testified against him in court, broke two of
his front teeth.

While Claire
was still trying to process what was happening, another figure—in the darkness,
she had no idea who—rushed around the side of the building and grabbed her by
both arms.

“Are you all
right? Did he hurt you?”

Claire shook
her head, still having trouble focusing, but how could she forget that voice?

“Samael?” she
said. “Where did you—”

And that was
all.

She collapsed
into his arms, and he held her, trembling as adrenalin washed through her
system. He made soft cooing noises into her ear as he stroked her back and
shoulders. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, only distantly aware
of the faint smoky smell that clung to him.

He must be a
smoker
,
she remembered thinking crazily, and she imagined he was a fire blazing in a
fireplace—warm…comforting...

After a
while—she had no idea how long—she got a grip and began to calm down…enough, at
least, so she could pull back and look up at him. Even in the dimly lit alley
beside the restaurant, she was entranced by the sculpted perfection of his
face.

And his eyes!

Good Lord,
they glowed in the darkness with a golden light that she found more
intoxicating than the three mojitos she’d consumed. His arms tightened around
her, and he smiled.

“Oh my God!…Oh
my God!”

Sally’s voice
pierced the night at the same time as a police siren started wailing in the
distance.

“What
happened?…Are you all right?”

As painful as
it was to break off the embrace, she turned to see her roommate running toward
her with something other than her purse in her hand.  Only much later did she
realize it was the shoe that had flipped off her foot when the man first
grabbed her. She had cut her left foot on something—probably broken
glass—behind the restaurant.

Speaking of
the man who had assailed her, he was still down for the count, lying with his
head cocked to one side and looking like he was deep asleep. A pool of dark
liquid spread from his nose onto the pavement, looking like spilled India ink.

Samael still
had his hand on Claire’s shoulder as she turned to Sally and nodded. The most
she could do was grunt and nod. When Sally moved closer, though, something
peculiar happened. Claire felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, as if she had
to keep her away from Samael.

“Did he…? Oh,
my God, Claire!”

Sally appeared
to be more upset than Claire, but then again, that was Sally’s MO, and Claire
was no doubt still in shock. The full impact of what had just happened—and what
could have happened—wouldn’t hit her until much later that night, when she was
trying to fall asleep.

“I—I’m fine…”
Claire said, panting and shaking her head up and down. “I just… He…He came out
of nowhere, and—No, Samael didn’t try to hurt me.”

She was amazed
to hear how distant and fragile her voice sounded.  It was like listening to
someone else talking. Even the sound of her breathing and the rapid expansion
and contraction of her chest seemed oddly foreign. No doubt, she was just
beginning to realize how close she had come to experiencing some genuine
horrors she didn’t even want to try to comprehend.

As she was
speaking, and as Sally fussed about what had just happened, Claire clutched her
blouse, pulling it closed to cover herself. The night air was cold on her face,
and her teeth chattered as she shivered. The skin on her shoulders and back
burned from her assailant trying to yank off her bra. Her stomach dropped when
the police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, its siren wailing and its
emergency lights flashing bright blue.

The man on the
ground made a watery moaning sound and then stirred, sliding his hands under
himself as if preparing to get up.  Samael casually placed the toe of his shoe
on the man’s back and pressed him down hard enough so the man’s face slammed
against the pavement with a thud that sounded like a watermelon hitting the
ground.

“You’re not
going anywhere—except to jail,” Samael said. His voice was low and casual.
Claire couldn’t help but be impressed by his command of the situation. Even
after the patrolmen got out of the cruiser and hurried over, Samael seemed to
be the one in control. Claire watched in stunned silence, all too aware of
Samael’s arm resting lightly around her waist as the cops cuffed the assailant
and loaded him into the back of the cruiser.

One thing that
struck Claire as odd was her assailant’s total compliance. Once he was on his
feet, he gawked around as if looking for a clue as to what the hubbub was all
about. What was happening? His nose was spewing blood, and his broken teeth and
lips were covered with blood, but he made no move to wipe it away. He looked
completely dazed, and who would blame him, after getting his face smacked so
hard against the pavement?

Claire was
left wondering why the man had let her go so suddenly.

Had he had a
sudden jolt of guilt or remorse about what he was doing?

Is that why
he’d said, “It wasn’t me?”

Or had Samael
come around the corner at that point, and the man, realizing he’d been caught
in the act, had given up?

But why hadn’t
he tried to get away?

And how had
Samael known what was going on behind the restaurant?

How had he
appeared so fast? Hadn’t he already left to go home…unless he had been waiting
out in the parking lot for her to leave?

The exact
sequence of events was a blur, and her stomach sank when one of the
patrolmen—his badge read “Officer Tompkins”—came up to her and asked, “You all
right?”

He shined a
flashlight into her face. It was so bright Claire had to squint and shield her
eyes. She nodded and made a funny little gasping sound, but anything she might
have wanted to say was stuck somewhere deep down in her throat.

Samael was
still standing beside her, holding her close to him. His body heat was amazing.
When he shifted from one foot to the other as if to break contact with her, she
was suddenly fearful that she would fall down without his support. Her left
foot had a hot, dull pain. Glancing at Samael, Claire once again was struck by
the intense brightness of his eyes in the darkened alleyway. She felt a wave of
shame when she wondered what his eyes would look like in her bedroom…with a
single candle burning…after they had made love.

Stop
it!…Jesus, don’t think such crazy thoughts…Keep focused here.

But there was
no way she could sort it out and make sense of what had just happened. Her last
clear memory was of Sally, telling her she had to use the restroom and then
waiting in the parking lot, feeling creeped out. After that, everything got
jumbled up. It was like she was drunk and spinning around wildly on a
merry-go-round. Fragments and images flashed across her mind with the speed of
lightning that blended together and dissolved before she could register any of
them.

Then…Samael.

“An ambulance
is on the way,” Officer Tompkins said, angling his light away from her eyes.
Claire let out a moan and started shaking her head.

“No, I—I’m all
right…I don’t need to go to—”

She didn’t
finish her sentence because, when she took a step back, she finally felt the
full pain of the gash on her left foot. She would have fallen down if Samael
hadn’t been there to hold her up.

“And you’re
the boyfriend?” Officer Tompkins asked as he directed his beam of light into
Samael’s face.

Samael didn’t
even blink as he shot a quick glance at Claire that made her wish he would say yes.
But he turned back to the cop and said, “No, I was just leaving—going to my car
after having a few drinks with a friend, when I saw what was happening.”

Claire felt
deflated.

The cop looked
over his shoulder toward the parking lot. She didn’t need to look to see what
he was checking out. It was an obvious question:
How could Samael have seen
what was going on when there was no direct view from the parking lot to here?

Before the cop
could frame the question, though, Samael volunteered an answer.

“The guy
grabbed her out in front of the restaurant and dragged her back here.” He made
a gesture toward the ground. “You can see where her feet—one shoe was already
off—scuffed the ground.”

The cop shined
his flashlight beam down onto the pavement. Even Claire could see the trail her
feet had made through the debris on the ground. At a certain point, blood from
her cut foot stained the ground. She winced as the cut began to throb.