My Demon (17 page)

“She’s gone,” Clive said.

“Do you have any idea whether she’ll come back?”

There was a short pause. Maybe the demon was listening. “No,” he said. “She’s gone for good.”

Alex emerged from under the covers and pulled the curtains open some more. A few people stood milling about in the alley, pointing at Mr. Duggan’s house. This was her fault. All of it. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to open the window and shout her confession to them.

“You’ll need to get over this quickly. You look like the kid who got caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Anyone can see that. Last thing you need to do is get caught just as you’re getting started.”

“What the hell do you mean, just as I’m getting started?”

Clive turned from the shimmering light at the window and faced her with an icy expression. “You’re surely not that simple?” he asked.

Alex wanted to give him a slap—how dare he! She opened her mouth to protest, but he started speaking first.

“You actually thought Mr. Duggan would be the only one? Look around you. Open your eyes. How many Podis did you count yesterday before you ran to hide in the damp little shed out there?” He indicated out the window and at her back garden. “Bloody hell, babydoll, what were you thinking? Or did one of your two brain cells get lost along the way? This is a war we’re fighting, choose a bloody side!”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” she whispered as loud as she dared. “For all I know, I’m insane, and you’re not even here. You think I’m going to go around lighting rags in hundreds of people’s homes, you’ve got another think coming.” A popping sound came from outside, distracting her for a moment. Maybe she could back out…

“Don’t even think about it,” Clive growled.

“Don’t think about what?” Alex replied defensively. Get out of my head, she thought, and tried to clear her mind.

“They know who you are and what you did. You’ll find them trying to gang up on you now.”

Alex’s eye flashed open. “And exactly why would they gang up on me? You’ve made me do something that’s going to make them attack me?”

“Possibly, hard to say. They may think you had a grudge against Mr. Duggan, but then again they might not.”

The sound of powerful jets of water pounded number seventeen. Was he dead now? Had she done it? Would she get hounded because she caused his death? “What do I do?” her voice sounded high-pitched and strangely not her own.

Clive climbed over her legs and lay beside her. “Mr. Duggan’s dead.”

Alex felt a black cloud fill up her head. “How do you know? Did they find him?”

“Nah, he died in his sleep, smoke got him. Put too much brandy in his milk. He was sleeping deeply and didn’t have a battery in his smoke alarm. Used it for his panic alarm I believe.”

“Oh.” Alex stared at the flowers on her wallpaper. She traced one with her finger. “He died in his sleep. I suppose that’s not too bad.” She realized she was justifying her actions, trying to make what she did okay. What else could she do? “So what now?”

“Now?” Clive shrugged, “Look out for people who are acting differently to what you expect. You’ll notice that before you see the smoke in their eyes.”

Cryptic hints, just what she needed. His position on the bed shifted and she rolled around to find he’d gone.

“Shit,” she muttered. She’d wanted to ask him so much more. Alex yawned, a sleepy sign that came from nowhere. Despite everything, her pillow was suddenly incredibly comfy, irresistible, and her head crashed down. Then she was cascading down into a black abyss that passed for slumber, the sound of running water following her into nothingness.

A
lex slept impossibly late, waking to the stench of wet charcoal. How on earth she’d slept at all, she couldn’t quite work out. Her covers were knotted around her suggesting she’d been tossing and turning, but she didn’t remember a fitful night of sleep. Alex yawned and glanced out the window. No one was in the alley now, and if she hadn’t known there’d been a fire, she’d be none the wiser from here. Best find Mum, she thought. After peeping in her mother’s room and checking everywhere else, Alex found a note wedged under the fruit bowl on the kitchen table.

Dear Alexandra,

Hello my darling, I had to go out, couldn’t wait any longer for you to wake up. I thought it best you hear from me that old Mr. Duggan from number seventeen died in a fire last night! What a terrible shame! I’m surprised you didn’t wake up with all the commotion, but you always were a heavy sleeper. Hope you’re not too sad.

The doctor still wants you to call and arrange a visit. I put the number at the bottom. Please do ring them. Oh, and Becky called me. Apparently you’re avoiding her. When you’re sick, it’s never a wise idea to abandon your friends. Take it from me.

Anyway dear, I wanted you to know I’m still off the alcohol. I’ll see you this afternoon. We can eat dinner together. I’m cooking.

Love Mummy xxx

 
“She’s cooking?” Alex shook her head. Had Becky told? Had she said about Clive? She hoped not. She wasn’t sure if she was able to cope with an angry Clive on top of everything else. Everything kept getting weirder. Alex decided the best thing for the situation was to make a cup of tea and have a long sit down as she tried to work it all out. But she knew one thing already, she certainly wasn’t going to call the bloody surgery. No way she was going to be forced on to medication—what if it took away her ability to identify the Podis? She’d have no way of protecting herself or Lily. She crumpled her mother’s note up, only then noticing the words on the other side. She straightened the paper out and read:

PS. Mr. Duggan’s cat Tiddles survived the fire, and I offered to give her a home. She’s hiding in the living room somewhere, so look out!

Alex put the crinkled note down and crouched down on the floor. She’d left the door to the kitchen open, so first she checked under the table. No cat. She crawled out and hesitantly called, “Tiddles?”

No cat appeared.

“Tiddles?” she called again. An irrational fear bubbled up from nowhere. What could be wrong? It was only a cat.

“Meow,” a plaintive cry came from the living room.

Alex got up and stepped through the doorway. “Tiddles, where are you?” She walked slowly, head cocked to the side as she listened for the cat.

“Meow.”

The cat cried louder this time. Alex pivoted towards the sofa. Another meow. Yes, she decided, the cries were coming from behind the sofa. Alex pulled the furniture out to find a little tabby cat crouched down against the wall.

“Hey there little one, come here.” She put out a hand and made some encouraging noises.

The cat crouched down even further. Then arched its back, hissing and spitting at Alex.

“Fine, be a bastard.”

Alex started pushing the sofa back into position, and as the cat disappeared from view a thin puff of blue smoke appeared.

“Shit!” Alex yanked the sofa out again and got on her hands and knees to make sure. She crawled closer and extended her hand to grab the cat.

Tiddles growled and let out a high-pitched panicky screech. Before the animal managed to swipe at her, Alex snatched her hand back. She sat cross-legged and studied the cat for blue smoke. Maybe she’d imagined tendrils. A trick of the light. But sure enough, as the cat settled down, a faint blue haze wafted out from its eyes to surround the animal’s head.

“Bloody hell.” Alex rubbed her mouth as she tried to think what to do. What options did she have? Well, she thought, the answer is pretty obvious. She needed to kill the cat. Tiddles must have been infected before she got to Mr. Duggan.

How do you kill a cat? She didn’t suppose killing one would be hard. Break its neck, or there was suffocation. If Tiddles ran from her, she’d kick it to death or throw the thing across a room. Hell, drown the thing in a bucket. This was so much easier than killing a human, and with so much less guilt attached. Maybe she could convince Clive she’d only kill animals.

Alex made sure the room was sealed, brewed herself that long craved for mug of tea and sat next to Tiddles as she worked out what to do.

Alex couldn’t risk debating her methods for hours. She hadn’t a clue when her mother would be back. Alex had a strange surge of adrenalin as she imagined putting her hands around the cat’s throat. Seemed a fitting end considering the infection the other beings caused—the Podis. While she thought of the body snatchers, an idea came to her. She sat behind the sofa next to the cat as she drank the cup down to the dregs and settled on a method: suffocation.

The task would be relatively simple, she decided. After placing her mug on the coffee table behind her, she leaned forward and grabbed Tiddles by the scruff. She held it out, the horrible diseased thing. The cat stank of smoke. She wrinkled her nose and plonked the animal on the sofa. Somehow Tiddles twisted around and lashed out, hissing and spitting the entire time, and scratched her hand.

Alex laughed. How on earth did this tiny creature hope to hurt or fight her? This Podis made a mistake entering a stupid cat. She hit the animal hard on the head. Instantly there was silence. She’d not knocked the animal out, just stunned the thing. The cat stared at her with yellow eyes, the blue smoke steaming like tears.

Easy.

Next she needed a cushion. Several throw cushions were scattered over the sofa. Alex grabbed the nearest—a fluffy pink affair, all the while holding the cat down with one hand. She forced the pillow down hard on top of the feline. Tiddles struggled far more than expected. Legs shot out from the edges, threatening to scratch her again.

“Hold still, you little shit,” she said, grunting as she tried to force the pillow down harder. The bastard obviously had more life inside than she’d expected. The constant wiggling must be letting air in and keeping the creature, the Podis, alive. This was no good.

Then the solution occurred to Alex, it was simple. Sit on the cushion and crush the cat with her weight, but not too much—wouldn’t want its flatness to be noticeable. She eased her bum over the cushion, still holding the cat down with one hand. Happy with her positioning, Alex sat down squarely on the fluffy pink fabric. Tiddles suddenly struggled less. The body twitched under her. An odd sensation but not unpleasant, she decided.

Alex leapt off. The cat surely must be dead now. She didn’t want the animal to be too flat. She picked the cat up by the scruff and gave the body a shake just to be sure it was indeed dead. Tiddles was limp and lifeless. Satisfied, Alex moved the sofa out a little more, and arranged the cat in a curled up sleeping position against the wall.

So easy! No surge of overwhelming guilt, only a vague sensation of doing something wrong. She pushed the sofa back and imagined what Lily and the neighbors would say: the cat had obviously inhaled too many smoke fumes, like Mr. Duggan. Tiddles simply took longer to show the effects. Lily was such a kind woman, taking in a dying cat, but now Tiddles had gone to be with her owner.

Alex allowed herself a smile, how could murder be so easy? But Tiddles was only a cat. One could hardly class snuffing out a feline as
murder
. More like squishing an ant or a wasp that’s buzzing around your house. It had been fair game, its fault for coming inside. Besides, the cat had threatened Alex with its hissing, and had scratched her.

Alex stopped. She had scratches on her hand. How was she going to explain those away? Alex ran to the kitchen and turned the cold water on hard, rinsing the blood down the plughole. Killing the animal had been easy, and the cause of death was acceptable, but why did she have scratches on her hand? What excuse would she give? She’d have to think of something logical.