The Demon Rolmar (6 page)

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C
HAPTER
9

T
he sun glinted through the ivory shades of Ian’s room, waking him from slumber. He rose, stretched, and began to think about what the day might have in store for him. Ian swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped off. He strolled out of the room and paused at the top of the stairs when he heard voices below.

“Not another word about it. You’re calling the police today. This has gone on long enough,” Grant said.

“He hasn’t been here that long. He stays for one day and you’re ready to throw him out,” Linda replied.

“Damn right I am. This is my house. And he is someone’s child. They’re probably worried.”

“Keep it down, would you? He may hear you.”

“I don’t care about what he hears!” he said, his voice booming on the last word.

“You’re impossible!” she yelled, and ran out the front door and into the morning mist. She went down the street toward the brush that covered a dead-end sign. On the other side of the thick brush was a clearing. Linda often came here to think. It was just a small field, but it gave her a sense of escape.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Ian faced Grant. “What did you say to her?” Ian yelled.

“Nothing that concerns you.” The look in Grant’s eyes was colder than ever.

Ian grew emboldened by his concern for Linda. “You are cruel and petty in your small way. But you cannot fathom true cruelty,” he said.

“What does that mean? You’re just a little—”

Ian ran out the door before Grant could finish his sentence.

Linda sat on the grass under a large oak with her eyes closed. She tried to think about nothing. However, the sting of Grant’s words wouldn’t drift away. She kept trying to block out the thoughts, but they were too fresh to be squelched.
Maybe I should go back. He was just so angry. It’s my fault. What was I thinking when I said Ian could stay? Grant has never liked children.
She opened her eyes and saw Ian standing in front of her.

“You followed me?”

“Yeah. Mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all.”

He seated himself in a shady spot next to her and tried to think of something to say that would help the situation. He really knew nothing of these marital troubles and what appropriate conversation might be. For a long time they simply enjoyed the quietude, and the breeze would occasionally make its own conversation.

“Why is he so mean?” Ian eventually asked.

“Oh, he’s just angry,” she said, giving him a smile that hinted at the pain she felt.

“He doesn’t want me here.”

“That’s not true,” she tried to cover hopelessly. But they both knew the truth at this point.

“You aren’t happy with him.”

“No, you’re right. But let’s keep that our little secret,” she said smiling. Linda noted how the shadows from the tree canopy danced on his face as the breeze blew. His hazel eyes were bright with concern.
He really must care about how I feel.

“Don’t worry. Things will work out,” she said to Ian.

They sat together in the arbor and pushed the world out for a time that seemed interminable. The solitude and quiet of the place enhanced their senses. Every sound and movement seemed choreographed, as if nature was making its own story for them.

Eventually Linda said, “There’s no sense in running from the problem. Let’s get started back.” Ian seemed to be ensconced in the world around him and was oblivious to her words.
There’s something unique about him. When he looks at something it always seems as if it’s for the first time—like a baby.
“Ian?” He turned and looked at her. They both rose from the grass and began walking.

Ian felt a connection with Linda that seemed to be growing stronger.
I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t really know Linda, but she’s been so nice to me.
“Will I be able to stay?” Ian asked.

“Maybe for just a little while longer. I would like for you to stay, but you must go back to your parents. It was wrong of me to let you stay this long,” she said. They walked by the uniform houses on the block. Some children were playing on the front lawn of a bright-red house that sat two doors down from Linda’s home. Linda waved at the children and then said to Ian, “Why don’t you go play with those kids while I try to smooth things over with Grant.”

“OK.” Ian ran over to them. She watched him leave her side and thought of how she would miss him when he left.
I wish that he could stay. If only he were my child…
But she divested herself of those thoughts as she entered her home; focus would be required in order to win the battle ahead.

“Hello? Are you here?” Linda called. She heard Grant mutter something from the den. She walked in and found him typing away at the computer.

“So are you going to call or should I?” he said, assuming she came to her senses.

“No. And I expect you to treat him with more respect.”

“Why?” Grant asked.

She exploded with a fury in her voice that he had never heard before. “Because he is a person like anyone else! And I’ll do the calling when I’m good and ready.”

He looked at her and blinked, and she saw fear in his eyes.

“Fine,” Grant said. The word was one octave above a whisper.

Ian approached the two youngsters who looked to be around his age. They were seated on the ground and playing with various piles of connecting blocks, organized according to size. A waif of a girl with blonde ringlets and glasses was making what appeared to be a fleet of ships. Ian watched as she made a fastidious inspection of the one in her hand before placing it beside the pile of completed ones. The boy, who had dark-brown hair and blue eyes, was fumbling with a stubborn block, which for some reason would not adhere to his airplane.

“Hi, I’m Ian,” he said.

The children regarded him for a moment and then went back to their play. While he had not received an invitation, they hadn’t rebuffed him either, so he decided to sit down. He began arranging the blocks in rows of threes and continued to do this until the girl piped up, “You’re not doing it right. You have to
build
something.” Ian ignored the criticism and continued his pattern.

“She’s right, you know. The whole point is to make something,” he said with eyes downcast. “You must be new here. I’m Robbie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian replied.

“Likewise,” Robbie said.

“I’m Cynthia,” the girl said pointedly. Just then, a boy with curly, light-brown hair came walking by with his face in a book.

“Look who it is. Little Randy Bakerfield, Little Randy Bakerfield. Always got your nose buried in some dumb book,” Cynthia teased.

The boy buried his nose deeper in the book—which hardly seemed possible—and continued on his way.

“Boy, he makes me mad. He always thinks he’s better than everyone else,” Cynthia said. She punctuated the last two words with punches to the ground. “I’d like to rip him limb from limb.”

“You could rip out his entrails,” Ian offered quietly.

“Good one,” she said, eyes wide and full of excitement. “But what are they…antrails?”

“Locks of hair, of course,” he said offhandedly.

“Ooooh,” Cynthia replied. She broke out into shrill laughter that had a hint of fiendishness to it. Then all of a sudden, it stopped when she became overcome by the need to criticize Ian’s fledging object. “Just a house? How run-of-the-mill.”

Ian ignored her comment and continued with his work until the sound of Linda calling him from inside the house caught his attention. “I’ve got to go. See you later,” he said.

“See ya. Maybe we can play again sometime,” Robbie said, and then went straight back to his work.

“Yeah, maybe,” Ian replied.

“See ya,” Cynthia said.

Ian ran across a few lawns to Linda’s front door and let himself in. Before Ian could shut the door, Linda’s husband—red faced and obviously perturbed—rushed past him and went to his car. In a moment his engine roared to life, and the screeching of tires ripped at their tympanums. Ian looked at Linda. Her face was pallid. She was a shell of herself.

The sound of the tires resounded in Linda’s head for much longer than she would have anticipated.
Had he finally gone off the deep end? I thought I had gotten through to him just a few minutes ago. Is he that stubborn? He’s just angry right now. Things will work out.
But even the consoling tone of the voice inside her head lacked conviction.

“Ian! I almost forgot that you were standing there,” she said when she saw the youngster.

“That’s all right.”

“Are you hungry at all?”

“No, I’m fine. But there’s something that we need to talk about.”

“OK, sweetie,” she said, looking a little concerned. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

She walked into the dining room and pulled out one of the heavy, oak chairs for Ian. Then she walked around to the other side and pulled one out for herself.

“Is everything OK?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Tell me what’s up.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“Who are you, then?” she said, laughing a little.

“You won’t believe me, and judging by how the last encounter went I think it’s best if I don’t reveal my true form.”

“Last encounter? True form? I’m still lost.”

“That’s all right. Just watch that candle in the middle of the table,” he said, and pointed a finger at it.

“I don’t see how this game is going to make me understand…” Just then, the candle rose from its spot on the table and began floating in midair. Linda immediately stood, eyes wide and with one hand clasped over her mouth. Ian stood up too, and the candle immediately dropped. He touched her free hand with his, and she seemed to calm down.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked.

“Yes.” Linda nodded in awe, took a deep breath, and sat back down. Seeing that she was now OK, Ian took his own seat again.

“I won’t hurt you,” he reassured her.

After a moment of silence she said, “How is all of this possible?”

“I’m not from this planet.”

“Where are you from?”

“A place called Pentar, in another dimension.”

Linda sat silently, rubbing her temples and trying to take everything in.

“You look like you could use a drink of water,” Ian said.

“Yeah, that would be great. I left a pitcher on the kitchen table.”

The boy went into the kitchen and retrieved the heavy pitcher and a cup. He handed her the cup, which she accepted with both hands. After he filled her cup, Linda asked, “How can you control objects the way you do?”

“It’s not an extraordinary talent on my planet. Everyone learns telekinesis when they are fledgling demons. I can remember the first time I had one of my lessons…” he said, and continued to tell his story.

“The five moons of Pentar stared down on its dunes, giving their normal color a more eerie hue. The elder demon—my teacher—stood far behind me. He was only a dark silhouette obscured by the gusting sand. I looked back at him, but only silence came from the small figure who was dwarfed by the massive dunes. I turned forward again and tried to focus through the relentless torrents of sand that pelted my face. Through his telepathic speech, he told me to think only of the sand. Concentrating was difficult on the frigid dunes, but I kept at it. Hours passed. I turned back to see if the elder was still watching, but he had gone. I tried to remember what he had told me in earlier lessons. He had said, ‘Concentrate and will the object to move as you would an arm or a leg.’ I tried one last time, and closed my eyes. After a few seconds I opened them, and there was a large mass of sand in front of me. The bottom of the mass spilled to the dunes in a thin stream, like that of an hourglass. A feeling of triumph poured over me. I made the mass move up and down, side to side, and then twirl— creating strange patterns of sand in the air. All night I worked with it. Eventually, I had fine-tuned my talent enough to keep the sand from spilling. Using both arms extended in front of me, I willed the sand into transient arches—much like those in the sun’s corona. As the sun rose, I attained mastery of the art. But upon realizing this, I collapsed to the dunes from sheer exhaustion.”

“That’s a very interesting story,” Linda said.

“Pentar is an amazing place.” Ian’s face grew serious, and he said, “I’m glad that I met you.”

Linda’s eyes began to well up with tears. “Really?” she asked.

“You see, Pentarians are a fierce race. Their emotions are much more repressed than humans. Our relationships are bound by respect. The idea of caring for another individual was completely foreign to me, but after meeting you I began to feel this emotion of caring. One of my fellow Pentarians warned me of the potential side effects of being around humans for extended periods of time. At first it felt quite repulsive, but now I’m growing accustomed to it. The depth of these emotions is so amazing, and yet so strange…” He trailed off for a moment, and his gaze went to a ficus tree outside the window.

Linda looked at the dazed youth. “Ian, are you all right?” she asked.

He turned back to her. “I don’t know. I fear that taking on this emotion has rendered me ill. I feel changed somehow. All I know is that I must change back to my demonic form—and soon.”