The Demon Pool (40 page)

Saffi climbed into the Viper and shut the driver’s
door. For an expensive sports car, the interior was more austere that Saffi
would have expected. She fastened the driver’s seat belt and started the
engine. The big V-10 responded, growling its consent to be driven. Saffi pushed
in the clutch pedal and shifted into reverse. She turned the car, put it in
first, then drove toward the gate.

Surprisingly, the gate had been left unlocked, probably
in anticipation of Jim’s arrival. Fighting the wind, Saffi pushed the gate
open. Once clear of the mansion, she felt the storm buffeting the Viper, but
the car treated the hurricane-strength gusts as a minor annoyance.

She turned onto the highway and pushed down on
the gas pedal. The Viper responded immediately and the rear wheels broke
traction on the wet pavement. The rear end began to float around until the
spinning tires regained their grip. The Viper jumped across the opposing lane
as Saffi hit the brakes. The Viper stopped inches from where the road dropped
off into a ditch.

She took a deep breath, backed the Viper up, and
started back down the highway toward Ft. Myers, this time not being as heavy on
the gas. The Viper responded like a barely controlled lover, impatient to reach
passion’s final destination. She prayed aloud as dark shadows swarmed around
the Viper, crossing in and out of her field of view.

***

As Jim stepped into the water, he accepted that he was
now dealing with something beyond the bounds of scientific reality. Something
beyond his normal, rational universe. It was as real as the water he now stood
in, but at this point, he didn’t care. After all, if the worst that Kat and her
shadowy allies could do was make him feel bad, he would just have to feel bad
as he dragged her ass out of the water and arrested her.

Keeping his eyes on Kat, Jim tucked his pistol
into his belt at the small of his back. Since she was naked, Jim didn’t have to
worry about concealed weapons. Kat had backed up farther into the pool until
the water lapped at her nipples. She kept her hand outstretched toward Jim,
inviting him forward.

“I think I have this thing figured out, Kat.”

Jim stopped, with the water at his thighs, only
inches beyond the reach of Kat’s hand.

“Whatever occult crap you’re into apparently has
limits, and it looks like one of those limits is that your nasty, little,
red-eyed friends can’t attack just anybody they want to. Otherwise, why waste
your time with all this seduction crap?”

It was obvious from Kat’s expression that she did
not care for Jim’s conclusion.

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Jim.”

“I figure that they can only go after freaks like
Williams and guys like York. Fools willing to bargain their souls for toys and
strippers and whatever else those two morons were into.”

Jim reached into his right cargo pocket and took
out a set of black zip ties.

“We can do this nice or we can go the hard way.
Your choice.”

Jim took another step forward and reached for
Kat. He grabbed her right wrist intending, if she resisted, to put her in a
wristlock and drag her from the pool. Unfortunately, for Jim, she resisted.

Kat’s physical prowess was beyond anything that
he had ever experienced. Her left hand shot across her body and clamped on his
left wrist. She squeezed so hard that he involuntarily released her. Before he
could react, she yanked his arm, pulling him toward her. Then, just as quickly,
she forced his arm out and away, trying to turn his body enough to reach his
gun. Jim tried to pull back but he felt like a six-year-old in the hands of an
angry adult. Like he had in the third grade.

He dropped the zip-tie handcuffs and reached back
for his gun with his right hand. He managed to get his hand on the pistol’s
grip. They both struggled for control of the gun until it finally slipped away
to the bottom of the pool. Despite Kat’s unnatural, even supernatural,
strength, her shorter height worked against her.

Trying to maintain control, she pulled hard on
Jim’s arm, attempting to pull him down into the water. She managed to get her
other arm around his neck, applying a rear chokehold. She fastened her right
hand onto her left arm, above her elbow. Her arms became an organic clamp,
locking the hold.

Jim flailed around until he reached back and found
a handful of Kat’s hair. As he tried to pull her off his back, she locked her
legs around his waist, digging in with her heels. He let go of her hair. He
reached back and punched her in the head several times. His awkward blows
seemed to have no effect. He began to feel lightheaded as her chokehold
decreased the oxygen to his brain.

He grabbed her hair again and pulled with all of
his strength. A hand full of hair pulled loose from her scalp. He reached back
again and again tearing out chunks of hair by their roots, yet she held on, and
Jim felt the lightheadedness that told him he would soon be out if he could not
break free. Using his remaining strength, he turned and struggled to get out of
the water. He knew that if he passed out before he broke her grip, he would
die. And he was not ready to die.

Kat Connors was no longer Kat Connors. Baalzaric had
shoved her aside when he realized that Demore would not, could not, be seduced.
While Demore might have become a useful tool, he was now a major obstruction to
Baalzaric’s plans. It was time for Demore to die.

Kat’s body clung to Demore with all of the
strength that Baalzaric could impart. In the struggle, Demore had been able to
do some minor damage to Kat, but it was strictly cosmetic. The only unknown
would be the restoration of Kat’s mind.

If Baalzaric had broken Kat, sent her into a
permanently psychotic state, he would have to abandon her. Fortunately, he
still had Robert Teal. Baalzaric had never had to share a host, but it would
only be for a season. And to get to that season he had to kill Demore.

***

Jim knew he had but a few seconds, maybe ten or
fifteen, before he would succumb to cerebral hypoxia. Kat had gotten him into a
carotid restraint, a classic sleeper hold. His windpipe was open but the hold
drastically reduced the blood to his brain. If he didn’t get free in the next
few seconds, he would black out and be brain dead in a minute or two.

He fought his way to the bank, Kat clinging to his
back, and staggered out of the water. Once back on firm ground, he used his
free hand to grab Kat’s arm where she had anchored it, under his chin. He
pulled down with all of his strength. At the same time, he bent over at the
waist and flexed his knees. He knew he had only one shot at breaking her hold.

Moving her arm was like trying to pull a piece of
rebar out of solid concrete. Yet his effort to dislodge it allowed more blood
to reach his brain. Just enough to provide another five seconds of
consciousness.

He took one deep breath and launched himself up and
backward with every ounce of strength he still possessed. He arched his back as
much as possible, so that when they landed, it would be on her neck and
shoulders. Like many warriors who train for personal combat, he had one final
thought.
God, I hope this shit works.

***

Demore’s final maneuver was so unexpected, happened so
fast, that all Baalzaric could do was hold on.

Demore’s body crashed down on Kat with hundreds of
pounds of pressure per square inch. Baalzaric felt Kat’s grip break loose. He
also felt the impact fracture Kat’s right clavicle and right arm. The tiny bit
of Kat still attached to her mind screamed. For Baalzaric, Kat’s agony was an
exquisitely painful reminder of why he prized a body of flesh, and why he would
not let Demore win this battle.

In spite of the great strength Baalzaric brought
to Kat, Demore’s little trick had worked. He had broken the hold and managed to
roll away. Baalzaric turned Kat’s body over on her stomach and tried to make her
stand. An agonizing pain shot up from Kat’s right hip as he tried to get her
onto her feet. He realized that the impact had also broken Kat’s pelvis, but he
didn’t care.

 He forced Kat to her feet, delighting in the
excruciating pain that flooded into her brain. Demore was still down, and
Baalzaric would drag him into the water and drown him. A few broken bones and a
bloody scalp would not keep Baalzaric from his destiny.

***

Florida alligators were not known to normally attack
humans. They preferred smaller animals and whatever fish they could get their
teeth into. The problem was that there was nothing normal about the big gator
at the end of the pool. He had stopped being normal almost a century before —
when Baalzaric first entered him.

Of course, he was currently free to
be himself, but what did that mean to an animal whose tiny mind had been made
even smaller to accommodate the needs and desires of a disembodied spirit?
Thus, at that infinitesimally small junction where the minute remnant of the gator’s
reptilian brain intersected the stark reality of his need to feed, there
remained only hunger.

The gator pushed his weary, virtually
used up body away from his hiding place under the bank and cruised slowly and
silently across the pool. It was the second time this evening that he’d strayed
from his perch at the deep end of the waters. The first time, he had pushed
himself off the bank, slapping the water with his tail. A stupid move for a
decades-old hunter. His prey had heard him and escaped.

Despite his advanced age, his one
functioning eye, and his almost useless brain, his ability to sense movement
still worked well. The vibrations of some unknown animal crossing the clearing
traveled from ground to water to the waiting gator. He could not know if the
animal would stop and drink, but it did not matter. Hunger drove him as he
pushed himself away from the bank and out into the pool.

The other times tonight, the
vibrations faded quickly away, so he turned around and swam slowly back toward
his perch. Fatigued from those efforts, he had stayed in the water, remaining
in the security of his small enclave beneath the bank. The great bulk of his
sixteen-foot-long body fit neatly into the private hole he had gouged out
during his almost century-long residence at the pool.

He had closed his eye and rested,
though not actually aware of being fatigued. In his near-mindless state, only
hungry and not hungry remained, and the periods of not hungry had become so
short and infrequent that tonight only hungry survived.

Now, strong vibrations resonated
through the water. A tiny fleck of instinct hit its impossibly small target
deep inside his brain and propelled him toward the far bank. Dozens of small,
sensor-like nodules sprinkled across his face transmitted the vibratory
sensations of some animal, or animals, fighting, bathing, or foolishly
frolicking in his personal lunch pail. His physical senses, minus the one
damaged eye, were unaffected by the demon-induced atrophy of his cerebral
cortex.

It took only seconds to be close
enough to see and hear the creature leave the water. The gator’s tail stroked
the water with all of its strength.

Unexpectedly, the creature he
observed fell backward and split into two separate animals. For a moment,
neither moved. The big gator hesitated, confused by the choice of two entrées,
then pushed harder with his tail driven by his one remaining thought.
Hungry
.

The billboard for Salty’s Shrimp Shack advertised cold
beer, hot coffee, twenty-four-hour gas, and more kinds of shrimp than Bubba
Gump. Saffi squinted at Salty’s billboard as the rain slammed down hard and the
Viper’s windshield wipers strained to keep the glass clear. She barely noticed
when she passed the spot where her car had gone off the road.

At this point, it didn’t matter. There was nothing
she could do about her car, or about Jack Demore, but she did pray, thanking
God that Jack’s soul lived on even if his body had been broken. Jack was in a
good place now.
Me and Jim? Not so good
.

Saffi struggled to see the road as the rain poured
down in wind-driven sheets. She passed another billboard. More advertising for
Salty’s Shrimp Shack. Saffi remembered seeing the low roof, cinder block
structure on the way out from Ft. Myers. The second billboard advertised that
the place was twenty minutes ahead. Saffi pushed the Viper hard against the
hurricane. As hard as she dared. She would be at Salty’s in ten minutes or
less. Come hell, high water, or hurricane.

***

The clouds had closed back in and rain beat down hard.
Jim felt it striking his back, neck, and head. He had been successful in
getting crazy, naked Kat off his back. He rolled away from where he had landed
and tried to stand. He struggled to his knees, then upright. Then something
smacked the back of his head.

He opened his eyes and realized he was on his
back, rain beating down on his face. He must have blacked out. The thump was
the back of his head hitting the ground.

He closed his eyes and remained still, hoping the
sudden urge to puke would go away. He fought down the bile that crawled up his
throat, just as something clamped itself around his right ankle. Jim’s eyes
shot open. He tried to pull his leg back. He kicked and twisted, trying to free
his foot, as Kat pulled him back toward the pool. He grabbed handfuls of grass
and tried to hold on.
Not working
.

He pulled hard with his captured leg and did a
sit up. He slammed the foot of his free leg into Kat’s face. He kicked her
repeatedly until blood erupted from her nose and mouth. She was bent over at an
odd angle, her free hand and arm swinging uselessly by her side. Bloody bald
spots speckled her scalp. She channeled the raw, ugly nakedness of a wounded
beast.

Her hand gripped his ankle like a steel trap and she
pulled harder. Her eyes blazed red-orange. Her lips moved, producing
unintelligible syllables sprinkled with gross vulgarity. Blood, spittle, and
rain washed down her chin, turning her torso pink. Jim felt the wetness of the
pool rush up between his legs.

In desperation, he powered himself into another sit
up and grabbed Kat’s wrist with his free hand. He held himself in the up
position, reached down with his right hand, and pulled his pant leg up. He
yanked his back-up pistol from the ankle holster. The water rose to his chest,
then his neck. He felt his face slip under water. Holding his breath, he fired
four shots at point-blank range.

***

Baalzaric hated Jim Demore more than anyone or
anything. Even more than God and the Nazarene. The beautiful vessel, the
promise of eternal pleasure, Kat Connors, was destroyed. Four thirty-eight
caliber bullets shattered her face, penetrated her skull, and turned her brain
into oatmeal. Kat died instantly, Baalzaric went back into the pool, and Demore
lived.

A chorus of vulgar screams echoed through the
spirit world. If he had to return to the torment of the pool, then he would
send Demore straight to the torments of hell.

Baalzaric abandoned the still warm, but rapidly
cooling, body of Kat, and reentered his old and very cold, reptilian home. The
big gator shuddered and kept swimming. Cold and hungry.

That was all the sensation the gator provided.
Baalzaric knew that the gator would always be cold, but he would not have to be
hungry. A warm meal lay just ahead.

***

Jim’s leg was free. He forced his feet to the bottom of
the pool and stood in the waist-deep water. Kat’s body floated just in front of
him. The hurricane-force winds shook the tops of trees, but remained outside of
the clearing.
This crap just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

Looking around, he noticed that the shadows had
disappeared. He looked for the red eyes that had been watching him since he
entered the foliage-choked barrier surrounding the pool. Gone
.
Relief.
Until the water rippled up in front of him and something bumped Kat’s corpse,
knocking it aside. Before Jim could react, the gator struck, and agonizing pain
shot up his right leg and slammed into his brain.

The gator’s massive jaws clamped down on his right
leg from knee to ankle. Waves of blinding pain raced up his spine. He tried to
push himself back toward the bank with his free leg, starting a tug-of-war with
the gator. He beat the gator’s snout with the butt of his pistol. The gator
responded with powerful rotation into a death roll.

***

Saffi pulled the Viper into the parking lot of Salty’s
Shrimp Shack. The wind slammed into the car and tore at Salty’s exterior signs.
Saffi parked in the space right next to the front door. Other than the Viper,
the parking lot was empty. Someone had used plywood to board up all of Salty’s
windows, and the front doors had clear polycarbonate panels bolted to the
frames, covering the glass. Saffi saw that the lights were still on inside.

She struggled to push the Viper’s door open
against winds that had roared up toward a Category 3 storm. She climbed out of
the Viper, letting the door slam closed. The rain crashed into her in waves.
She sprinted around the Viper to Salty’s front door and found it locked. She
banged on the doorframe. Again and again. Harder. Louder.

She stuck her face to the door and thought she
saw someone, or maybe just a shadow of someone. Hard to tell. Some type of
security gate sat behind the glass doors and their polycarbonate panels. Saffi
tuned away and glanced around the parking lot.
No shadows. Nothing more
demonic than a hurricane
. Thank you, God
.

Saffi glanced back at the door. A woman’s face
peered out at her. The woman squinted at Saffi, then drew back the accordion
security gate. She turned the front door’s dead bolt. The wind grabbed the
door, pushed it open, and shoved Saffi inside. The woman gripped the edge of
the door and shoved. The wind shoved back. Saffi grasped the door and both
women struggled together to get it closed. Finally, inch-by-inch, they forced
it back into its frame and the woman flipped the heavy-duty deadbolt. Once they
secured the front door, the woman pulled the accordion gate closed and locked
it. Saffi turned around and leaned against the gate.

“You look awful, dear. You need to sit down,” the
woman said.

She scampered around a counter and came back with
a step stool. She guided Saffi to the seat. “I hope you didn’t stop for gas.
Pumps are off. Hurricane does that to us. Our emergency generator does keep the
lights on, though, and I do have some first aid supplies.”

Saffi looked at the woman. She had a kind but
weatherworn face. Around her neck hung a silver chain with a beautiful silver
ichthys pendant. In the center of the ichthys — the Christian fish symbol — was
a diamond-encrusted cross. Saffi sighed with relief.