Night of the Demon: Paranormal Romance (Devon Slaughter Book 2) (3 page)

I WOKE.

I remembered darkness. And coming apart inside it. But that
was all. There was nothing else to orient me. I had no sense of time or space. 

After a while, I opened my eyes. I have eyes, I thought.

There was a ceiling. Smooth, metallic.

I licked dry lips. Moved a hand. Wiggled fingers.

I am breathing
.

I am alive
.
Inside a body
.

I sat up and found myself on a narrow bed in a room filled
with what appeared to be daylight. Only there were no windows. I swung my feet
over the side of the bed. My thoughts tumbled and veered. 

I stared at my hands. They were my hands, the ones I’d always
known.

I am inside my own body
.

My fingernails were encrusted with dirt, like I’d clawed my
way out of a grave.

I touched my face. My heart pounded. I tried to take slow,
deep breaths. So I could think.

God, I was wearing the same clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt but
they were in tatters. Somehow I’d lost my black motorcycle boots, the only
shoes I’d owned back on Earth.

Was it true? I was no longer on Earth?

I glanced around the room. There wasn’t any furniture,
except the bed I sat on. I couldn’t detect the source of light. There were no
recognizable fixtures, just seamless gray walls. It was cavelike and sleekly
modern, at the same time.  

I gazed down at my bare feet on the marbled floor. Same ugly
toes, I thought. The floor wasn’t cold. It was the perfect temperature, in
fact. And I realized I felt no discomfort. No part of me ached. I wasn’t
hungry.

And then, a second later, my stomach rumbled, and there I
was, remembering my favorite foods; cheeseburgers and fries, vanilla
milkshakes, tacos from the street stands in Mexico, caviar … champagne.

My human life played across my mind, like a movie.

I was Devon Slaughter, a tiny baby with dark hair in my
mother’s arms; an only child, unexpected even, born to parents who had already
started the long process with an adoption agency.

I saw myself again, as a boy, in my Little League uniform,
hitting the ball and dutifully running the bases, while my lawyer father
cheered louder than anyone. I had done so many things to please him. I cared
nothing for sports and yet, I played every one.

I saw my mother, standing behind me, while I sat at a table
and worked an algebra problem.

Oh
. Black Forest cake. Another favorite food. So many
layers, eighteen candles.

I stiffened. My breath caught. 

There
, next to me, clapping as I blew out candles—a
girl.
The
girl. Such pale blonde hair against even paler skin, coffee
brown eyes, the most exotic girl I could find.

Zadie
. The one thing I didn’t do to please my
parents.

How my mother had hated her.

I closed my eyes. Grief hit me.

Back then, I figured no one was good enough for me, in my
mother’s eyes. I was her miracle, the answer to her prayers. But now I
remembered what she’d said about Zadie. “She will hurt you.” The words slammed
and echoed against the walls of my mind.

I raked my hands through my hair.

My breath turned ragged, like I was running. I tried to
bring the one memory that still eluded me into focus. Who had turned me? All I
could catch were snatches of vivid color, images and texture, the touch of cold
lips, fractured starlight.

It happened with a kiss. This I knew, but I couldn’t
identify the culprit, the villain. I had spent my last days on Earth trying but
the demon inside me had fought against any human memory.

In the end, through process of elimination, I pinned my loss
of humanity on Zadie. Why would she do such a thing to me? We had truly loved
each other, no matter what anyone else thought.

There was a pressure in my head, a kind of humming, like a
memory about to burst open. I rubbed my temples, and my eyes.

I wanted to scream. Tear up the room. But there was no
furniture to throw.

I still couldn’t see the face of the person who had kissed
me.

What about Zadie?

Was she here? Or had she died of natural causes and gone
somewhere else? Like Nicaragua?

Zadie.

She will hurt you …

I jerked at the sound of movement.

The wall in front of me slid open to reveal a bathroom. I
stared. White tile gleamed. I glimpsed a ceramic toilet with a curtain to pull
around it, in the case, I supposed, I needed to void. At that particular
moment, I did not. And I was grateful.

When a disembodied voice spoke, I leapt to my feet, pulse
pounding.

“Please proceed to the facilities and use the shower,” the
voice was female, computerized.

I stood there, disconcerted. Anxiety gripped me. Sarah’s
face, Sarah screaming (as the earth shook) came back to me: “Go! Let go!” she
had cried.

What other choice did I have?

“Please take a shower,” the voice commanded again, none the
less pleasant.

I entered the bathroom and heard the swish of metal doors
closing behind me. I whirled around, searching for a sign that there was a way
out.

And there was. A green button blinked. “Open doors,” it
said. Naturally, I pressed the button, just to make sure.

The doors stayed shut.

“Please take a shower before exiting.”

Was there a hint of annoyance in the voice now?

My gaze swept the room.

A pitcher of what appeared to be water sat on a metal stand,
along with one tall glass. On seeing it, my throat throbbed with desire.

I crossed the room and drank glass after glass, until the
pitcher was empty. The water was cold and sweet and pure. I felt sated
afterward. But I also felt a little like Alice in Wonderland, swigging from the
bottle that said
Drink Me
.

On a marble counter, there was a spread of everything I
needed: a bar of soap, thick white towels, and a pile of clean clothes, which I
unfolded; an olive green T-shirt and matching pants.

What about shoes? I peered under the counter to find a pair
of what could only be called slippers. They were made of black canvas with
rubber on the soles. Non-slip. How sensible. 

I peeled off my shards of clothes and dropped them on the
floor. Dirt streaked my skin and gave off a mossy odor.

I took the bar of soap and opened a glass door which I
assumed led to the shower. It was spacious and laid with round stones that
comforted my feet. There was a tap, which I turned (like gullible Alice).

Hot water rained down from invisible spigots. Steam filled
the vestibule.

I WIGGLED into a black skirt and had trouble zipping it. My
new medication increased my appetite and I’d gained a few pounds. I didn’t
mind. I felt more solid, like I wouldn’t just float away.

Before leaving the house, I forced down a slug of green tea,
like it was medicine. I preferred coffee but it wasn’t doctor recommended.

When I pulled into the school parking lot, I looked for
Henry’s red Jeep, something I did every morning. I didn’t see it.

He usually arrived at seven to run laps on the track. We met
up in the teacher’s lounge before our first class.

Not that anything big had happened yet. I was still a
twenty-one year old virgin. I guessed I wasn’t the oldest virgin in the world
but sometimes I wondered if I was the loneliest.

Strangely, I dreamed about sex.  A lot.

I knew how it would feel to be touched, in that way, by
someone who knew where to touch me, and how. Sometimes, I’d burst awake in the
middle of the night, slick with sweat. I’d be tangled in the sheets, my body
trembling … with pleasure. 

I waited around the teacher’s lounge as long as I could,
glancing out the window, scanning the parking lot, even going past Henry’s
classroom. It was locked up and dark.

The whole morning dragged on, with me wondering about him. I
was afraid he was avoiding me.

I had no other friends. 

Between classes, I chewed my nails. They had just started to
grow out too.

At lunch, I couldn’t eat a bite of my pita sandwich and
drank a fizzy soda instead, to settle my stomach.

Whenever I had a downward slide, I told myself I would start
over tomorrow. 

Not tomorrow. Right now
.

I grabbed my gym bag, one of those cavernous Louis Vuitton
bags from the 90s that had belonged to my mother.

I’d started working out. Exercise was highly endorsed by Dr.
Sinclair. It did help with my nerves, I had to admit. 

The sun dazzled. It had melted the frost that dusted the
asphalt earlier in the morning. Overhead, the sky was azure with only a few
wispy clouds. I couldn’t see the mountains that edged the desert but I knew
there was snow on their peaks.

My gaze swept the parking lot once more, looking for Henry’s
Jeep.

Don’t worry about it.
Quit being a stalker
.

I headed for my own car.

At the gym, I used an old Stairmaster in the corner. No one
else used it. The machine didn’t track my miles or anything. I just climbed and
climbed, going nowhere, staring at the wall and not thinking about much. It was
weirdly soothing. One time a guy asked me, “What level are you on?” “I don’t
know,” I said. “I don’t care. I just like the way I feel afterwards. Loose and
tingly and thirsty.” He gave me a weird look, like I’d said something dirty. It
made me a tiny bit mad, which Dr. Sinclair said was healthy. “If someone is
rude to you, Ruby, it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. Most of the time, it
isn’t about you. And if it is, so what?” 

When I got back to school, there was still no sign of Henry.

I parked my pink boat of a Cadillac. It was a vintage De
Ville that had belonged to my grandmother and I loved it. I felt safe inside
it. I also felt guilty about driving a gas guzzler. It was one more thing that
could torture me, if I started worrying about it. 

As I crossed the parking lot, I ended up going out of my way
to find Georgie’s car. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t skipping school too. If
she and Henry were absent at the same time, it would be highly suspicious. She
had some kind of history with Henry I couldn’t figure out. He was so evasive
whenever I asked about her, I couldn’t shake the idea they had been lovers. Or
she
wanted to be lovers. Or the other way around. 

I spotted Georgie’s car on the east side of the lot.

I made sure no one watched, before trotting over. She drove
a yellow Mini Cooper. When I tried to peer in the window, the sun glared and
bounced back my own reflection.

What did I hope to find?

Nothing, that’s what. But I was terrified there’d be some
kind of awful evidence. Of what, I didn’t know. But I would when I saw it. 

I glanced at my watch, out of habit. My wrist was bare. 

I went around to the rear of the car. The scratches I’d left
were gone.

Had
I keyed Georgie’s car?

The memory was clear in my mind, vivid in detail, right down
to the sound of scraping metal. Shame over doing it had plagued me for weeks.

You didn’t make it up, I told myself. Georgie had her bumper
painted, like anyone would. But I was confused. There were so many holes in my
mind where memories should be. I felt angry at the hypnotherapist for taking my
money.

I was mad at Dr. Sinclair too, for refusing to hypnotize me,
and forcing me to a hack. 

Cupping my hands, I pressed my face to the driver’s window.
A sparkly necklace hung from the rearview mirror, a McDonald’s bag lay crumpled
in the seat.

Across the lot, an engine started. I scurried away, my heart
racing.

The clock in the foyer said there was time to go past
Henry’s classroom (again) before my next class.

I came down the empty hall, and saw a light slanting from
the small rectangular window on his door. Blood rushed in my ears, like a
warning.

Henry was here?

I hovered outside, for a moment, before standing on tiptoe
to peep in. There was Henry, leaning on his desk, talking to his class. He
turned, as if he sensed my presence. Our eyes locked. 

I ducked down. My cheeks were on fire.

When I peeked again, he was still looking at the door with a
puzzled expression. I waved and scuttled off but I heard him come out into the
hall. His classroom door creaked on its hinges.

“Ruby?”

My stomach dropped. I went back, closing the gap between us.

“Hey,” he said. He wore a royal blue shirt, open at the
collar, no tie. His eyes matched his shirt. His smile made me weak in the
knees.  

“Where were you this morning?” the words were out before I
could stop them. They were wrong. I should have said I missed him.
Georgie
would have said the right thing.

“Car trouble,” he said. “I had to have the Jeep towed to the
garage. I’m driving a loaner.”

Relief flooded over me. There was usually a reasonable
explanation for things that seemed foreboding. Now, a giggle escaped my lips.

“What are you doing tonight?” he said.

“Tonight?”

His smile got wider. He closed the door until it clicked
behind him. “Yeah, Ruby. Tonight.”

* * *

For the first time since Scarlet Rose had left my all girl
writing workshop, I didn’t mourn her absence. At least not quite as much. The
girls were working on short stories inspired by a scene in their diaries and
their enthusiasm was infectious.

Through the windows, the sky was golden in the winter
twilight. 

A strange bubbliness had come over me. My mind roved over
what I would wear on my date with Henry. 

But I couldn’t forget Scarlet altogether. She was the first
student I’d let down, as far as I knew. I felt a twinge of sadness, and
wondered what she’d written in her diary that had made me so jealous.

Let it go.

The hour went by quickly. As the girls were leaving, I
packed books and papers into my pink valise. I called to the twins, Chastity
and Charity.

“Do you girls know what happened to Scarlet?” I said.

Charity answered. “Scarlet dropped out.” She had freckles
and bigger eyes than her sister.

“Dropped out of school or just the workshop?” I said.

“School.”

“No she didn’t,” Chastity said. “She got her GED.”

“She did?” Charity and I spoke almost in unison.

“Yeah, and she’s going to art school. Or something like
that.”

Well, good for her, I thought.

“Her mom’s a famous psychic,” Chastity added.

I frowned. I’d heard about Scarlet’s mother, somewhere. A
memory flitted at the edges of my mind. It was shadowy and tall, like a man. My
breath caught.

“Are you okay?” Charity said.

I gripped the edge of my desk. “I’m fine.”

After they’d gone, an eerie quiet descended.