My Demon (16 page)

“There must be another way…”

Clive shook his head. “I haven’t got all night. Either do what I say or I’m off. You can deal with Mr. Duggan and his attack on your mother by yourself.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, his heat radiating through her. The way he presented the facts, he made it so she didn’t have a choice. A thought popped into her head—this was survival. Alex remembered the bottle, still grasped in one hand. The alcohol inside slashed about as she held it up. “And all I have to do is spill a bit of this?”

“Pour,” he said, and smirked at her. Then he added, “But not all, leave an inch in the bottom.”

Alex poured slowly. The bottle had been almost full, and not all of the alcohol was soaked up by the toweling. The liquid pooled on the counter glistening in the moonlight as it shone through the window. Alex put the bottle back where she’d found it.

“No!” Clive startled her. “Lay the bottle on its side, like it fell over and got left there.”

The pieces of the plan fell into place in Alex’s mind. She put the brandy bottle on its side, a few more drips adding to the mess.

“Now the stove.”

Alex glanced at Clive. She didn’t want to do this final act. She was about to do something that would most likely result in a murder. Was it possible for him to make her? But then Clive nodded for her to continue, and as if on automatic pilot, Alex turned one of the knobs on full. An element on the hob began to glow, sending a pale red light into the dark room.

“Time to go,” Clive said. “And don’t forget to lock the door.”

The demon left her alone. A hot alcoholic stink was already coming from the cloth laid across the red element, adding to the brandy fumes. She said a silent sorry to the old man sleeping upstairs, and pulled the key from the lock where it was kept.

Outside with the door closed and locked, Alex stood for a moment, unsure of her actions. She could still stop everything. She could let herself back in, turn off the hob and move the tea towel off the burner. With the key back in the door, Mr. Duggan would never know what almost happened.

Clive came and stood beside her. “Throw the key in through the cat flap.”

Alex looked down. She hadn’t noticed the cat flap before, but then she hadn’t been looking. Did he have a cat? She couldn’t remember. Somehow in all the years she’d been passing the old man on the street, she’d never once taken the time to do more than say hello to him. He reeked of stale urine most days, and she couldn’t converse with a person who was above the age of three and smelled of piss.

Clive nudged her from her thoughts, and before she had the opportunity to think further, she threw the key in, watching it skitter across the floor through the cat flap, seeing it come to a rest under the table.

“Time to go.” Clive grabbed her hand and dragged Alex up the garden path and back home.

Alex sheltered under the porch of her house with her key clutched in her palm, unsure of how she should feel. Cold shivers ran down her spine and through her arms. Her hand quivered as she tried to slip the key into the lock. She missed sliding it home on the second try. Third time lucky. She glanced behind her, convinced someone was awake, one of her neighbors opposite was hidden out of sight, lurking behind a curtain, watching her every move. What if they found out—what if they guessed? If the fire caught over at Mr. Duggan’s, would they put two and two together and point a finger at her? The key turned and the front door opened. Silently, she slipped inside. In the living room, her mother was still pacing around and talking on the phone.

“I love to take baths in jelly. I rub the slippery stuff into my nipples and other places too…” Alex crept past, ignoring bizarre suggestions and lewd illustrations and climbed the stairs. She stepped over the creaky steps, all the time fighting the urge to sprint up the flight.

Clive shadowed Alex into her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and he perched beside her. She stared unfocused at the pattern of the wallpaper on the wall in front of her. The light in the room was dim, and she could just about make out the shades of pink that made up the flowers. Clive seemed to be doing the same as her, vacantly regarding the bedroom’s decor.

Silent. The pair of them sat side-by-side on the bed. What were they waiting for? What would happen first? What if the fire didn’t catch? She wished it wouldn’t. Mr. Duggan would wake up in the morning to a smoldering and blackened tea towel, and splash everything with water. And he’d clean up the kitchen, to make sure a similar accident never happened again.

She glanced down and realized with a freezing butterfly-type of sensation, she still had the latex gloves on her hands. Alex frowned. These were the proof. If anyone came looking for her, these would be the items that made the crime hers. She peeled them off and chucked them in the bin.

“Remember to burn them later,” Clive said.

Alex didn’t reply. Instead she glanced over and read her clock. Two forty-five glowed across the room. All the things she had done, sneaking down the alley, setting the trap, turning on the burner, everything had taken only fifteen minutes. She tried to swallow but it stuck in her throat. Such a short amount of time to end a life.

“Change into your pajamas. No use getting caught now.” Clive nudged her. “Go on, get moving.”

Alex stared back, but all she saw was Mr. Duggan. His face floated before her, his cane raised accusatorially.

“Alex, do as I tell you!” Clive got up and gave her a gentle slap across the face. He pulled back his hand for another strike. Alex guessed the second wouldn’t be so tame. She shook the image of the old man from her mind and stood up. Clive was in charge. Did that make all this his fault? Could murder be classed like that—someone else’s fault? She imagined a scene in front of a judge. “Sorry Your Honor. This wasn’t my idea. He made me.” But they couldn’t see him. She’d hardly be able to blame her imaginary friend.

Alex straightened her back by degrees as she stood up, her joints creaking as if she had fast-forwarded to a hundred years old. She deserved to be old, near the end of her own days to pay for the horrors she had committed this night.

Clive stood to her side, tap-tapping his foot. She pulled her clothes off, throwing them in an unruly heap at her feet, not even caring about exposing herself to the demon. Anyway, he’d no doubt seen her naked before. He seemed to know almost everything.

She was fumbling around, searching under her duvet where she’d thrown her nightshirt a mere quarter of an hour earlier when Clive snuggled his hot body up against hers. She sighed softly, unable to control herself as his fingers ran up and down the length of her back. Clive’s hands worked their way round to her front, cupping a breast in each hand. Gently he squeezed the nipples until she let out a little gasp.

“Don’t,” she said.

She pulled the covers back further and finally found her nightdress. She tugged it on over her head, pushing his hands down and away. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held on tight.

“I just signed a death warrant on an old man. My body is numb, and I don’t want you. Not now. Not like this.”

He ignored her and pulled her backwards until she was right up against him, with only his cat suit to protect her.

“I know you want me,” he whispered in her ear before taking the lobe between his lips. He nibbled, and unable to stop, she pressed hard against him, her breath deepening. “You need to feel, not to let yourself go numb.”

He sounded so convincing. She guessed what he was going to say even before he said anything. Sex would get her back in touch with herself. Stop the horrible rubbery sensation from creeping all over her body. His hands returned to her breasts for a moment, and then almost as an afterthought, he spun her around.

“I don’t want to,” she said.

In response, he grasped her buttocks and pulled her even closer. He licked her neck, withdrawing for a second and breathing softly on her skin. Goose bumps sprang up.

“Really don’t want to,” she murmured.

Without warning, Clive loosened his grip on her. “Okay, Alex. As you wish,” he whispered in her ear. He pulled her close again, but this time as a cuddle. Alex laid her head on his shoulder, and clung to the demon. They remained this way for a long while. His hands rubbed her back in slow circles. And his heat seemed to fill the room.

From where she stood, Alex could see the edge of the window and a faint flickering glow. Alex stared mesmerized at the oranges and yellows as they colored the sides of the fabric. It took her some time to realize the lights were the fire at number seventeen.

“What now?” Alex asked. She sounded guilty. She recognized it in her voice. How would she ever talk to anyone about the fire, without them guessing instantly what she’d done?

“Now you need to rest. There’ll be fire engines arriving soon, when someone’s woken by the noise.”

“Noise?” A horrific vision flashed before her eyes, of old Mr. Duggan hammering on his door, trying desperately to get out as the fire engulfed him.

“Yeah, windows shattering. And at some point the gas connection to his oven will blow. That’ll be a loud one. It’ll depend on how long the explosion takes. Then the fire brigade will arrive…”

He sounded like he was looking forward to fireworks night. Not the death of an old man. An innocent old man—one she’d murdered! All because he had blue smoke coming out of his eyes. She gulped down a breath as a sensation of panic tried to rise.

“Bloody hell, what have I done?” Alex sat heavily on her bed, beside the window and stared as the flickering got brighter.

“You have saved the world from an evil Andrapodistai. I tell you, he was about to spawn, and he had your mother down as his first target. I told you what would happen if he had. Think of your mother. You saved her. Think of the good you’ve done.”

Alex shot him a look of anger and turned away from the demon, choosing to ignore him and concentrate on the glowing lights outside.

“Footsteps on the stairs, quick, get in bed.”

Alex knew enough by now to trust Clive’s warnings. She climbed under her covers and burrowed down under her duvet. Her heart raced, thumping like drums in her chest, and she was sure her gasping breaths would be noticeably loud across the bedroom. Calm down, and hurry up about it, she thought. She forced sleep-like inhalations, even though her heart still pounded. Complete the illusion, she told herself, and her eyes closed. With a snuggle down into her pillow, face pointing towards the wall, she stopped moving. It had to be enough.

Alex listened as her door moved infinitesimally slowly as Lily pushed into the room. She cracked her eyelids open and watched as a slit of light grew on the wall in front of her. Was her mother looking in right now? Trying to decide whether her daughter was awake or asleep? Alex lay motionless, as she was - curled up in a ball under her covers, and taking slow, controlled deep breaths. Lily must be there, watching. The light gave her away. The dark patch in the beam of light showed where her mother stood. Then the door closed as softly as it had opened. Alex rolled over and stared blankly across the room.

“She looks in on you every evening,” Clive remarked.

He’d sat at the end of her bed the entire time. He turned a little now, and pulled the curtains open. Together, they stared at the way light bounced around on the tops of the trees and hedges. A tinkling noise bought Alex out from under her covers. She sat up against the window sill, leaning on the wood, and peered out into the brightening sky alongside Clive.

“The windows have gone. Someone will have heard that.” The strength of the dancing light was getting stronger, turning the night into a soft yellow day. A few minutes later the sound of a fire engine screeching down their road made her heart jump again.

The demon cocked his head, as if listening to something. “Your mother’s coming back.”

Clive closed the curtains as Alex darted under her covers. The smell of smoke filled her room, fuelling the growing panic in her head. What about Mr. Duggan? What had she done? She heard the door open, but by now the flames were so bright she couldn’t separate out the light from the hallway as it spilled into her bedroom.

“Alexandra,” Lily spoke softly. She sounded as if she was still stood in the hallway. “Alexandra, are you awake?”

Alex ignored her mother’s calls. Please, believe I am fast asleep. Don’t come over and wake me. I don’t want to talk to you now. I might confess everything. I need time to think, to work things out, she thought. Please, she wished at her mother, please go away. Finally, the door closed with a soft click.