A Friend of the Devil Read online

  No, your only chance now is to ride this out with me. You and I, together. Forever? Maybe, but who can tell such things. That seems so far, but I’d like it. Yes, yes, I would…

  The voice would keep going, rambling on and on until Vince’s thoughts of turning himself in were so discombobulated that he didn’t even know if they were his. He could no longer tell his thoughts versus its, and much of life felt like a watery dream. As if he was swimming in a pool, everything blurry and hard to hear.

  And so, when the voice saw someone else it liked, Vince listened. He couldn’t even help it, though in the beginning he’d wanted to. He tried fighting, but as always, the voice coaxed him.

  Vince killed those four people. Plastic trash bags taped across his body, a black mask on his face, no part of his skin visible, Vince had murdered them. He pulled their teeth from their heads, watching blood flow from their mouths down their cheeks and chins. He spent hours tying those teeth into crowns, all the while the voice whispering in ecstasy. Vince didn’t understand it, only remembered doing all of it with a rock hard cock—so hard it hurt, as if he was participating in some fantastic orgy and not dissecting human beings.

  The next morning, he’d gone to work without any sleep.

  There was no crying, though. No falling down on the kitchen floor. Vince was changing, though it was difficult to say if he recognized it.

  Watching the news the next night, the icy bowling ball was in his stomach, but for different reasons than before. Vince had thought, impossibly, that the things he did when the voice spoke to him wouldn’t be discovered. The voice would take care of it, or maybe—magically—nothing would happen at all. He’d thought everything was fine, because when the voice quit its chatter, Vince found himself back at work. He found himself doing what he usually did, and the world was normal. His thinking was clear. The voice—not gone, never that—wasn’t as prevalent.

  The previous night’s news changed Vince’s mindset; there wasn’t any magic happening.

  Now people knew.

  And then one of the reporters had said words that pierced through Vince. Words that should have never bothered Vince Demsworth as long as he lived—at least if his life had taken a different turn.

  “The FBI is taking an interest in this case, given the deviant nature of the crimes. We have yet to receive a comment from them, but we will keep you up-to-date on an hourly basis.”

  The FBI.

  No, that wasn’t possible. That was the news lying, just trying to scare Vince.

  He’d stood up in his living room then and started pacing. His heart thudded in his chest like thunder, threatening to crack through his chest plate and rib cage. He didn’t look at the television, just kept his eyes on his feet.

  Not possible. Not possible. None of this is possible. I’m dreaming it all.

  Air started to surge in and out of his mouth and he felt himself growing lightheaded, but still, he didn’t stop pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth, he couldn’t stop.

  The voice was quiet, right up until Vince started seeing black swirling at the edge of his vision. Then, it finally came forth.

  Hey, hey, buddy, it said. Calm down. Just breathe. Just slow down that old breath and breeeeaaatthhheee. I’m gonna take care of everything. You don’t even worry about that. I’m gonna make sure everything is A-OK. I understand the RULES of this place. I know what to do and what not to do now, and these little F-B-I people aren’t going to do anything to my new friend. Okay? You understand? You and I are going to be just fine. I promise, Vince. I promise. I promise. I prooomiiissseee.

  Vince quit pacing and stared at the wall in front of him.

  He did that for quite some time, the television continuing its chatter. Vince heard none of it.

  When he finally moved again, he turned the television off and then sat back down on the couch. He remained there for another hour, his only movement blinking. Finally, Vince lay down on the couch, closed his eyes, and went into something that might have been considered sleep.

  And now, today, he sat outside his office building and stared at the entrance. Hotdog in hand, Vince didn’t know what to do at all. He couldn’t call his parents or his friends … He couldn’t call anyone.

  Hey, Mom. How are ya? Good, good. Hey, listen, I’m sitting outside my building right now and I’m a little freaked out. Yeah, yeah. No, just hear me out. So, I may or may not have a voice talking to me, and—no, I don’t know where it came from. Just showed up and started whispering, and now … Well, just let me finish. So, I’ve killed a few people, and apparently, this voice really likes people that work in the same building with me. Now, Mom, the FBI are here. Yeah, I just saw them walk in. A man and a woman wearing those black jackets with yellow lettering on the back. I’m outside and kind of wondering what to do. You have any ideas?

  That conversation wouldn’t go too well.

  The voice was silent and Vince could have spit acid. It was an odd feeling, hating that voice right now for being absent, as if … Well, as if Vince depended on it.

  He looked down at his watch. The lunch hour was almost over.

  He stood and threw out the hotdog, then walked across the street. Only two FBI agents had entered the building. Vince had thought more might show up, but he’d seen none over the last hour. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe they would question people, find nothing, and the voice would stay away. Maybe everything could go back to normal.

  Vince went into the building, half expecting to be tackled the second he stepped inside.

  Nothing, though. Everything appeared normal. People using security badges to enter, others leaving—just a usual bustling day.

  Vince took the elevator up to his floor, exited, and then stopped.

  The black FBI jackets stared at him, their yellow lettering just inside the office’s waiting area. The two agents were sitting down, their backs to Vince, a glass wall separating them from him.

  The governor rarely worked in this building, but rather was constantly on the move. He had an office here, of course, but you didn’t become the governor by sitting behind a closed door.

  What the fuck did you think was going to happen? he asked himself. You work for the governor, and two people who work inside his building were murdered. Did you think they wouldn’t make their way up here?

  Vince’s heart rate spiked. Sweat popped out across his back, and he knew there was no way he could walk forward. He couldn’t go in there and talk to those people, because they would see through him immediately. They could probably hear his heartbeat from across the room; it was certainly loud enough in Vince’s ears.

  The elevator door closed behind him, blocking him off, but the two FBI agents didn’t turn around.

  Vince started hyperventilating, air rushing from his mouth as his chest moved up and down in large, visible heaves.

  Wooooah, Vince. Woah. I’m here now. I’m here. Calm down, okay, buddy? Those two in there aren’t anything to worry about. You just leave them to me. You leave all of this to me. I didn’t come here to get caught this early, oh, no, we have a lot of time you and I, time and time and time and time forever and ever amen.

  The words began repeating over and over in Vince’s head and his breath rapidly returned to normal. His heartbeat dropped, and the sweat stopped pouring from his skin. Vince—or something very much like Vince—reached up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He then wiped it on his pant leg, still staring at the yellow lettering on the black jackets.

  Whatever thoughts had been going through Vince Demsworth’s head disappeared.

  He went forward, through the open door, then stopped as he turned and looked at the two agents.

  “Hi,” he said.

  His assistant was behind her desk, across the room. She stood up and walked across the room, talking as she did. “Vince, this is Special Agent Laurens and Special Agent Lichen.”

  The woman stood, offering a brief smile and her hand. Vince shook it, then switched to the gentleman.
Vince’s face didn’t smile, but remained solemn.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Vince Demsworth. I’m the Chief of Staff for Governor Perry. How can I help you two?”

  The man spoke first. Special Agent Lichen. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Demsworth. We know this is a large building, so we’re not sure if you’re aware, but two people that work here have been murdered, a week apart.”

  Vince’s eyes opened wide. He blinked once, doing a great impression of someone who couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “Sherry,” he said, turning to the secretary. “I think it’s best we go into my office to discuss this. Do you know when my next appointment is?”

  “You have one at 2,” Sherry said.

  “Will you please reschedule that for me?”

  “Sure, certainly.”

  Vince looked back at the two agents. “Will my office work?”

  “Yes, thanks a lot,” Lichen said.

  Vince nodded, then turned and walked down the hallway. He said nothing and neither did the two behind him. He opened the door to his office for them, letting them enter first, then followed and closed the door.

  “I’m going to shut the blinds, if you two don’t mind. I don’t want to start any unnecessary gossip with the jackets. Being in politics, the FBI shows up ….” Vince raised his eyebrows as he drew the blinds. “Well, people could get the wrong idea.”

  “No problem at all,” Lichen said.

  Vince finished drawing the blinds and then stepped behind his own desk. “Please, have a seat,” he said and gestured to the two chairs in front of him.

  The agents sat down, then Vince followed.

  “We spoke with Governor Perry this morning and he directed us to you. He said you’d be able to help us,” Lichen said.

  “I’ll certainly do everything I possibly can, but is it okay if we back up for a second? There was a murder here, in this building?”

  “No, no,” Lichen continued. “I’m sorry; we didn’t mean to give you that impression. Someone that worked here was murdered a week ago—”

  “Have you not seen the news lately, Mr. Demsworth?” Laurens asked, the first thing she’d said. “Over the past day?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Vince said. “The last week has been pretty hectic, and we have any coverage regarding the governor culled and delivered each morning.”

  Lichen nodded but Laurens only stared at Vince.

  “Well, last night a man that worked here was murdered. His whole family was killed actually. You’ll probably catch it on the news today if you watch any TV.”

  “Oh my God,” Vince said and leaned back in his chair, his face drawing concern across it.

  “Mr. Demsworth,” Lichen said, “we’re speaking with the heads of each business or government agency inside the premises. We’d like to understand first if you, or anyone in your immediate vicinity, has seen anything suspicious or simply out of the ordinary. Anything, that looking back, might make you pause.”

  Vince stared down at his desk and pursed his lips. “I really can’t think of anything, at least not off the top of my head.”

  Lichen nodded. “We don’t expect you to be able to identify anything right now, but we just want you to begin thinking about it. We’re going to be interviewing people throughout the building, though the two people worked for other companies and not underneath the governor’s purview. We’ll be starting with people who knew the victims, but we wanted to let you know that our investigation might venture into your organization as well.”

  Vince nodded. “Of course. The governor’s office will help in any way we possibly can. Anything you need, you just let me know. I’ll talk to Governor Perry, but I know he’ll give me complete latitude to do whatever is necessary.”

  “Great,” Lichen said, him standing first and the woman following but remaining silent. “We’ll get out of your hair for today, then. We just wanted to stop by and give you a heads up. We sincerely appreciate your cooperation.”

  Vince stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He moved around the front of his desk and opened the door for them. The three walked down the hallway in silence, and when they got to the lobby, they exchanged handshakes.

  “Please let us know if you need anything at all,” Vince said. “I speak for the governor when I say we’re very sorry about this tragedy. I’m sure he’ll have a statement out later today regarding the situation.”

  “Thanks again for your help, sir,” Lichen said. The woman said nothing.

  Vince watched them get on the elevator and then turned back around.

  “This is so crazy,” Sherry said as he passed through the lobby. He didn’t look at her, nor respond. He simply walked back down the hallway, into his office, and then shut the door behind him.

  He stood there without moving for five minutes.

  The voice didn’t start up immediately, but only as Vince’s consciousness began taking control again. As it moved forward, the voice’s incessant chatter started.

  Her, Vince. Her. That’s who we need. Oh, goodness, yes. That woman, she is perfect. There’s something about her, isn’t there? Something that seems perfect. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there. Yes, she’s our next one. She’s who we need—

  “No.”

  Vince’s voice was a harsh, strained whisper, as if he could barely get it out of his lips.

  Vince, Vince, Vince, baby—yes. Don’t you see? Didn’t you feel that? Whoever she is, whatever she is, there’s something inside her. There’s something different with her than everyone else. She is—

  “No,” Vince said again, his voice a little louder.

  Finally he turned from the door and went to his desk, sitting down in the chair. The blinds remained closed and Vince stared at them. He’d canceled his next meeting, though the talk with the two had taken only a few minutes.

  Vince, Vince, hear me out. Just let me talk for a second.

  Vince shut his eyes tight, his face a stern grimace as he tried to push the voice from his thoughts. It was insane. All of this was insane. The FBI had just left his office and a voice was telling him he needed to kill one of the agents. That he needed to murder an FBI agent.

  No, Vince thought. No. I’m done with all this. They’re here in this goddamn building, and unless you’re just imagining all this, you killed those two people. Those people and their families. No voice. No more hearing things. No more nothing.

  An idea came to Vince then.

  Run. You have to run, because that’s the only option left. They’re going to catch you, without any doubt. They’re in the building, and just came to your office. You have to run, Vince, and never come back here.

  His hands were gripping his pants’ legs, pulling them into tight bunches.

  You’ve got to get in your car right now, and run. Maybe you can grab some things from your house, but other than that, you have to run. You don’t have a choice. Not anymore. Not if you want to avoid the electric chair.

  Vince stood and walked back around his desk to the office door. His hand jutted forward, shaking but ready to twist the door knob so that Vince’s feet could propel him down the hallway. From there to the elevator. From that to the bottom floor, to his car, then to wherever the hell his car could take him.

  Calm down, Vince.

  The voice spoke, but its normal manic happiness was gone. Now it spoke with the gravity of a black hole, nothing able to escape it—not even time.

  If you go out there and get in your car, you’re going to be noticed. First, that fat secretary is going to see you. Second, maybe the agents will too. If one word gets out that you left after speaking with the FBI, you’re done. It doesn’t matter how far you run, the RULES say you’re done. There are ways they can get you, and you know it. The RULES won’t let you leave.

  Vince remained with his right hand shaking, hovering over the door handle. He didn’t reach down to touch it, though, because he couldn’t. The voice wouldn’t allow it. No longer seductive, slowly slipping i
nto his consciousness. Now, it simply commanded.

  Sit down, Vince, and get back to work. I suggest you call your BOSS and put out the STATEMENT that we said was coming.

  Vince didn’t nod, though his hand slowly fell to his side, still trembling.

  He stood there for another second, some part of his mind still wanting to run, but losing an unseen battle. Finally, he turned back around and walked to his desk.

  There you go, Vince, the voice said, returning to its usual glee. See how much better that feels? No need to run. I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to make sure all of this works out just the way it should, okay? No need to worry. Not even a bit.

  “You heard that?” Brett asked.

  The two had been given a small office inside the building, just something temporary that they could use while here. They probably wouldn’t conduct interviews in it, though it was possible if they wanted. The room was more just a regrouping area.

  “Huh?” Emi asked.

  She’d come into the room and sat on the first chair she saw. She needed a drink, no mixer, just vodka without even ice.

  “Did you hear that? What Demsworth told us?”

  Emi blinked, looking up from the table.

  “Hey, are you listening to me right now?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. What did you say?” Emi asked.

  “Did you hear what Demsworth said?”

  Emi’s eyes went to the table, her mind remembering the conversations minutes ago. Emi had been nearly silent inside that office … because she’d hardly been able to breathe. From the moment Vince Demsworth appeared, her chest practically seized up. The engine inside her body had lost all pretense of forward movement, the oil inside running dry.

  Emi had barely kept from fainting, and she didn’t understand it at all.

  “No,” she answered, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t hear it.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You’re pale. You look like a freakin’ sheet, Emi.”

  “I’m fine,” Even said even as she felt sweat on the back of her neck.

  (Fine as a frenzy.)