The Boy Who Killed Demons: A Novel Page 22

  There was no point in going to any of my classes, and I certainly didn’t want to be in them with Devin sitting behind me and plotting how to kill me. I hid out in the library, and after each class I’d catch up with Sally to make sure Devin left her alone, which he did. At this point he was wary of coming too close to me. Maybe these demons knew about L’Occulto Illuminato, or maybe it was only a legend to them, if even that, but I doubted that Devin had any idea why he collapsed in the bathroom.

  During lunch, Sally and I sat alone together. I should’ve left campus with her. It was stupid sitting there with her and exposing myself the way I did, especially with Devin sitting four tables away studying me with this intense furrowed look, as if he were trying to figure out what it was about me that made him collapse onto the bathroom floor without the strength to move. Ironically, it wasn’t Devin that I had trouble with, but Wesley. I was so focused on watching Devin watch me that I didn’t notice Wesley come over to my table. I felt a frostiness from his presence before I saw or heard him. When I looked to my right he was standing maybe two feet away from me trembling with what I guessed was a mixture of rage and fear. I didn’t say anything to him and for a long moment he seemed incapable of saying anything to me. Then he called me an asshole, saying it loud enough so that people in the cafeteria turned to look at us.

  A hotness flushed my cheeks, but I didn’t respond to him. Sally asked Wesley what was wrong. I didn’t want to hear his answer. I just wanted to be anywhere but where I was.

  “What’s wrong is your boyfriend is an asshole and a thief!” he shouted, his voice rising and cracking in his nervousness. “He came to my house so he could drug me and steal a forty thousand dollar comic book from my dad!”

  “That’s not true,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sally looking at me funny, as if she was trying to decide whether I was lying or not. Maybe trying to decide whether everything I’d been telling her was a lie. Goddamn Wesley for having to do this!

  Wesley, enflamed, shouted back at me, “You’re a liar! An asshole, a thief, and a liar!”

  I turned to Sally to implore to her that what Wesley was saying wasn’t true. “I don’t have that comic book,” I told her. “Wesley and his dad sent the police to my house with that same bullshit story, but I don’t have their comic book and the police believe that I don’t. They have to because they haven’t bothered with a search warrant. And if they did they’d only be wasting their time because I don’t have it.”

  There were flickers of doubt in Sally’s eyes as she tried to read the truthfulness of what I was saying, and there was just enough of the truth in what I told her to leave her confused, or maybe even leaning my way. My attention was drawn away from her by something cold and wet slapping me in the face. I turned to see Wesley holding an empty cup, his lips twisted into a harsh, rigid smile. He had tossed his soft drink into my face. I could taste enough of it to know it was ginger ale. Ice cubes slid down my shirt and clattered onto the floor. I sat there frozen in my seat while ginger ale dripped from my nose and chin.

  “Stand up,” Wesley demanded, his voice quivering with his false bravado, his small hands balled into fists. He looked ridiculous as he challenged me. This awkward stick figure who’d probably never been in a fight in his life. He may have been picked on over the years, maybe been put in dozens of headlocks and thrown to the ground and otherwise treated like a tackling dummy, but I couldn’t imagine Wesley actually ever being in a fight. He was scared to death as he waited for me to stand, but he wasn’t about to back down.

  I hated Wesley right then. I hated him for drawing all this attention to me and creating doubt for Sally. But what was I going to do? Beat him up? As angry as I was right then, I understood how betrayed he was feeling, so I just shook my head and told him I wasn’t going to fight him. That just frustrated and enraged him even more. Here he had built up the nerve to do what he did and get in the first fight of his life, and I was refusing to give him the satisfaction even if it would only result in him badly losing that fight.

  “You asshole coward!” he screamed, tears now wetting his eyes and worming down his cheeks. “You’re nothing but an asshole coward!”

  Maybe Wesley was planning to pull me to my feet and make me fight him, but he never had the chance. Mr. Landry, one of the phys ed teachers, had come running over to grab Wesley, and was quickly ushering him away from the table, ordering him to calm down and to get a grip. The whole time, Wesley twisted as much as he could to face me and scream at me that I was coward. Almost everyone in the cafeteria watched the scene as Landry forced Wesley out of the cafeteria. Devin didn’t. A quick glance showed that he kept his stare focused on me, a bemused smirk twisting his demon mouth as he considered how he could use this. Once Landry and Wesley were gone, all the other kids sitting in the cafeteria turned their attention to me. The silence right then was so oppressive I could barely breathe against it. I told Sally I needed to get out of there, and that there were things I needed to tell her. She nodded, her mouth brittle and her eyes showing the dread she was feeling.

  On the way out, I grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped off my face and neck. My shirt collar was wet and sticky from the ginger ale, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  Sally and I walked out a side door and headed towards one of the empty baseball fields. I tried to think about what I could possibly tell her so that she wouldn’t think I was crazy—or at least give me the benefit of the doubt. I couldn’t afford for her to lose faith in me now, not with Devin still around and looking for any opening to get at me. Sally would be that opening, and Devin knew it.

  Once we were alone by the bleachers and far enough away that Devin wouldn’t be able to hear us even if he was lurking around outside the building, I asked Sally if she remembered reading about Clifton Gibson. The way her forehead wrinkled and her nose scrunched up, the name sounded familiar to her but she couldn’t figure out where she had heard it before.

  “Two years ago the police found dozens of little children in cages in a warehouse in Brooklyn, New York,” I said. “Terrible things were done to those children, although the police never released specific information on what happened. Clifton Gibson was arrested and found guilty of the crimes.”

  Sally’s complexion paled as she remembered. “Of course,” she said, her voice thin.

  “What I’m going to tell you now is going to sound incredible, but please believe there’s a chance that it’s true. The same thing that happened in Brooklyn is happening now here in Boston. Dozens of children are being stolen, and for the same reason.” I took a deep breath and told her about Ginny Cataldo and the others that I knew about, and as I did so her face became blank. She didn’t believe a word I was saying. I took another deep breath and carefully removed from my backpack my copy of L’Occulto Illuminato.

  “This was written four hundred years ago,” I mumbled as I hurriedly searched through the pages for the section that talked about the rituals the demons needed to perform to open up the gates of hell. Galeotti had drawn several detailed illustrations that showed children in cages and a few of the horrific acts that these demons would perform on these children.

  Sally’s knowledge of Italian was rudimentary at best given that she’d only been studying the language since the beginning of the new school year, and hadn’t put in the hundreds of extra hours that I needed to, nor been exposed to the archaic language that the book used. Still, her eyes narrowed and her mouth became pinched as she looked over the pages. I could see her picking out words here and there, but it was those illustrations that absorbed her attention.

  “Those monsters in these drawings . . . the book calls them demoni . . . they’re supposed to be demons? Is that what you think Connor is?”

  “The drawings are symbolic,” I lied. I had to lie, otherwise she’d be discounting everything I was telling her. “Whether they’re actually demons or an ancient cult who thinks of themselves as demons, it doesn’t matter. I contacted Detective
Joe Thomase, the lead investigator for the Clifton Gibson case, and I told him about the rituals outlined in this book. He confirmed to me that those same rituals were performed on those children, but he thought I knew about them only because Gibson had contacted me. But that’s not what happened. I knew what was done to those children because it was described in this book. A book that was written four hundred years ago.”

  Sally studied the book more intensely. “Porte dell’inferno? What does that mean?”

  “Gates of hell.”

  She shook her head and handed me back L’Occulto Illuminato. “You actually believe this?” she asked.

  “I know there was a cult in Brooklyn that tried carrying out these rituals. I know there are members in Boston now doing the same.”

  Her eyes drifted from me. She wasn’t believing any of this. “And you think Connor is one of them?” she asked, a coolness in her voice. I was losing her. Goddamn it, I was losing her. What I threw at her was too much.

  “I know he is,” I said. “Think about it yourself. The way dogs react to him. I can show you in the book about these demoni cult members and dogs. But think also what you saw in him the moment before you thought he was going to hit you the other day.”

  There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes again. She wasn’t completely lost. I continued, telling her that the children would be found soon. “Within a week,” I said. “And when they’re found, stories will come out that the same horrific things that were done to those children in Brooklyn were done to the ones found in Boston.”

  “How do you know that?”

  More of that flicker of doubt in her eyes. She was beginning to believe there was a chance that what I was telling her was true.

  “I just know it,” I told her. “So please, just give me a week, okay? If it doesn’t happen, then you can consider me a lunatic.”

  That drew a slight smile from her. Of course, I didn’t know that those children would be found within a week, but if it didn’t happen then nothing would matter. I had to hope that when I was killing those demons, I’d find something that pointed me to where those children were being kept.

  When we walked back to the building, Sally looked exhausted, maybe even more so than I was feeling. But she promised me that she’d give me a week before making up her mind about me, and that she’d keep away from Devin during that time. As we got within twenty feet of the school’s entrance, she asked me about Wesley and his dad’s forty thousand dollar comic book.

  “You stole it, didn’t you?” she said.

  I hesitated only a second before telling her that everything I was doing was to find those stolen children and to expose the demoni cult members. A white lie, but in a way close enough to the truth if you replace exposing with killing.

  “That’s why you stole it,” she said, “so you could buy that book you showed me.”

  Damn, she was perceptive. I couldn’t answer her directly, so I just asked her not to say a word to anyone about everything I’d just told her. She promised me she wouldn’t.

  The rest of the day at school was mostly uneventful. No more run-ins with Wesley, but I’m guessing the school must’ve sent him home. Devin kept his distance. I checked in with Sally between classes to make sure that the demon was keeping his distance from her also, and I convinced her to take the bus home with me. She got off at the same stop with me and Curt, and she walked with me to my house so I could ride her home on my bike. She squeezed onto the back of my bike seat like she used to, and soon her arms were wrapped around my chest and her body pressed against my back. As we went past Hanley’s house, there weren’t any cops or police cars out front, so it was a pretty good bet they hadn’t found him. Or if they did, they didn’t know who he was. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to identify him by fingerprints.

  With Sally’s body squeezed up against mine and with the feel of her breath on my ear, I soon realized I wasn’t as dead inside to her as I had thought, that there were more than several cracks in the shell I thought I had formed. Before too long my throat felt as dry as if I’d swallowed a handful of sand and a throbbing started deep in both my temples. All I wanted to do was throw away my plans and spend the afternoon with her, but I had to accept that I couldn’t allow myself to do that. I had to find a way to close myself off to her for good, at least at that level, and this time seal every single crack. It would make things impossible otherwise. I’d be dooming her and everyone else. As it was, after I left her off at her home, I became overwhelmed with this heaviness in my chest, and I just started crying like a little kid. It was embarrassing and I couldn’t stop until I got within a block of Curt’s house.

  When Curt saw me, he knew I’d been crying but he mistook the reason for it. He gave me this knowing look as he shook his head, his lips pressed into a hard line.

  “She dumped you for good, huh?” he said. “Man, that sucks. Was it because of the blow up you had with Wesley during lunch? I didn’t see it myself, but I heard about it. I warned you he was pissed at you.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “Let’s go to your room. I’ve got two favors I need to ask you.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that, but he led the way to his room and waited until we got there before asking me what I needed from him. His room was pure Goth motif and smelled like stale cheese. It was cramped and messy with dirty clothes scattered about, and bookcases crammed with Lovecraft and other dark fantasy books. Metal skulls and monstrous creatures rested on these bookcases, and the walls were covered with dark fantasy posters. None of these creatures were as ugly or as dread-inducing as the demons that I had to deal with, though.

  Curt cleared off some clothes from a chair so I could sit. Making sure that he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the dagger that I had in my backpack, I took my journal and L’Occulto Illuminato from it and asked him if he could store them for me. He was curious—I could tell that from the way he eyed both of them and wetted his lips. He held a palm out so I’d hand them to him. I shook my head.

  “That’s part of the favor. You don’t read either of these. At least not now.”

  “One of them looks ancient.” He squinted as he tried to read the cover of L’Occulto Illuminato. “L’Occulto? What does that mean, occult?”

  “Yeah. It’s written in Italian, so it probably wouldn’t do you any good to look at it anyway. So can I keep them here?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, why not? The best place to hide them is in plain sight.”

  I couldn’t disagree with him. He had hundreds of books crammed in those book cases, many of them leather bound and crafted to look every bit as ancient as L’Occulto Illuminato, as well as dozens of his own handwritten journals. I stuck them on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases. They blended right in.

  “As part of this favor, if anything happens to me, I want you to read my journal and do your best to get it and my other book to someone who can do something.”

  A queasy smile twisted his lips. “You’re spooking me, Henry. What’s this about?”

  “If I’m able to tell you tomorrow, I will. If not, my journal will explain everything far better than I could now.”

  “So you’re going to be all mysterious on me? Okay, whatever. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Now for the second favor. I’m going to tell my parents I’m spending the night here. If they call, cover for me, okay?”

  He nodded, his round face beginning to look pasty, maybe nervous. “You’re sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

  “Not now. Maybe later.”

  With that I told him I had to get going, that I had a long night ahead of me, and as it turned out I wasn’t kidding. Curt walked me to the door, his face having grown even pastier. He gave me a smile that looked like he was suffering from a bad stomach ache.

  “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, like getting back at Sally for dumping you. You’
re not going to hurt anyone, are you?”

  “Not a living soul, I promise.”

  Which was a promise I was able to make with all sincerity.

  My hand’s killing me. I need to take another Vicodin and a break. I’ll be back soon, and will write about my night of killing demons.

  Wednesday, October 19th 2:35 PM

  I’VE BEEN PUTTING OFF WRITING ABOUT ALL THE DEMONS I killed last night. I guess it’s because I haven’t been feeling up to reliving it, but I really need to document what happened, especially since I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this journal going. I have a feeling things are rapidly coming to an end.

  Let me begin with what happened after I left Curt yesterday. The subway and a bus took me to Lynn, and by five thirty I was breaking into the house tied to the phone number I got from Chaske. Like the demons Robohoe and Hanley, this one’s house was also isolated and had a fenced-in backyard, and it was easy enough to hop the fence and break in through a back door. When these demons pick their houses, privacy must be an important issue. Probably so they can sneak stolen dogs into their houses without being seen. Also probably so they can butcher them without anyone hearing it.

  The house was empty when I broke in, and I had time to search it. The inside was almost a carbon copy of Robohoe’s. No pictures or photographs anywhere, same stack of sickening porn by the TV, same bundles of mysterious meat in the freezer, same ancient and odd-looking trinkets in his bedroom closet. This time I took them. I was going to have to find out what they were. I haven’t finished translating L’Occulto Illuminato yet, and if I have a chance before it’s too late, maybe the book will end up explaining the significance of these trinkets.

  When I made my way down into the basement, I had the same vibes as I did at Robohoe’s—this was where he butchered the dogs he stole. One big difference between this house and Robohoe’s was that this demon had a computer, and it wasn’t password protected. I couldn’t find any personal emails, but I found digital receipts for bills that he paid, and my original guess was right—this demon was paying bills for all the others. As I went through the receipts, I found bills paid for Robohoe’s address, Hanley’s and all the other addresses for the demons that I had located, as well as other addresses that I didn’t know about. Searching further back through these emails, I also found bills paid for dog cages. Thirty-nine of them. And I found the address in East Boston where they were delivered. Some more searching and I found that the address was for a warehouse that this demon had rented over two years ago. The date when it was rented sounded familiar, and after a minute I figured it out: it was the day after that warehouse in Brooklyn was raided. That’s why these demons were here in Boston. In case anything went wrong in New York, they’d be ready to act.