The Demon Pool (18 page)

The pathological need of humans to feel in control
amused Baalzaric. Most of them never realized that their unwillingness to admit
to what Adonai (some call him God) called their “fallen nature,” gave Lucifer
great advantage in his battle for supremacy. Blind to their own avarice and
feebleness, humans constructed false realities for themselves, thinking that
somehow they could transcend their base natures. Become little gods. Control
their destinies. The truth was that humans actually controlled very little, and
the few things that they thought they controlled actually mattered little. They
were simply powerless pawns in the great battle between Adonai and his darkest
angel.

In spite of her naiveté concerning the true source
of her new powers, Kat pleased Baalzaric. He would allow her to believe that
she was in control for as long as it suited his purposes.

Robert had traded his soul for pleasure and power.
Kat had provided the pleasure, now it was time to have Robert exercise some of
his newfound power. Under the control of Baalzaric’s demonic minions, of
course. Briggs and AGT had made significant contributions to the governor’s
campaign, both in money and in kind. It was time to cash in that marker.

***

Robert knew exactly what he needed
to do. Kat had left him on the floor in a purple haze. Some kind of darkness
had inundated his mind and, for a moment during sex with Kat, he believed he
might be having a stroke. After some period of time
(Seconds? Minutes? An
hour?)
, his mind cleared and solutions came to him. Out of the blue. Like a
computer being fed a list of instructions. Robert had heard about automatic
writing —
but automatic thinking?

Kat was doing something in the bathroom. He could
hear water running as he walked past to his office. After-sex stuff he
supposed. He picked up his desk phone’s handset and dialed the governor’s
direct line. The governor picked up on the third ring.

“Governor Breckenridge.”

“Governor, Robert Teal, AGT, here.”

There was moment of silence.

“Dr. Teal, I didn’t know you had this number.”

“Just cleaning up some loose ends here, Governor.
Briggs wasn’t the type to let a little thing like getting killed hold AGT
back.”

Another pause.

“Briggs was special. No doubt.”

“And so is our research, Governor. Tens of
millions of dollars’ worth of special. So special that we can’t afford any
delays or distractions. After all, if we lose money, we can hardly justify
continuing our large political contributions. I’m sure you understand.”

A third pause.

“Dr. Teal, the State of Florida has a vested
interest in the success of all Florida businesses. We certainly don’t want to
see any of our corporate citizens lose money. How exactly can I help AGT
today?”

“My security team,” Robert corrected himself, “
our
security team tells me there is no real evidence that Briggs’ mishap was
anything but an unfortunate accident. He got himself killed probably driving
too fast in his damn Corvette. Tragic, but hardly the stuff of
Law and Order
or
CSI
. Like I said, we can’t afford any delays or distractions. Every
minute I spend doing something other than research potentially costs us a
fortune, and Florida is one of our largest stakeholders. I just thought you
might want to help us out here.”

The fourth pause was the longest.

“Only a handful of people have this number, Dr.
Teal. I’d like to keep it private.”

“I understand, Governor.”

“Briggs was a risk taker, no doubt. Probably
driving too fast. What a waste. Probably no reason to spend more of the
taxpayers’ money. I’ll make a call. Anything else, Dr. Teal?”

“Well, maybe you could join me for dinner
sometime, Governor. Next time you’re down this way.”

“Sure, Dr. Teal. Let me make that call.”

The line disconnected and Robert grinned. Briggs
had never invited him to any of his many lunches or dinners with the governor.
Now Robert would do the inviting.

***

The bathroom door lock clicked
and Kat stepped into Robert’s office. Robert sat at his desk grinning like an
idiot. Baalzaric’s careful control over Kat mimicked a modern computer
interface. He had infiltrated her brain’s neural network and could send an
interrupt signal, taking control, feeding information, executing a program. Now
he had as much or as little control as he needed. She would still be Kat, but
more and more, she would be his version of Kat.

“Do you remember our agreement, Robert?”

Robert’s eyes were locked on Kat. He spoke
through his grin.

“Strangely enough, I do. Lead researcher on the
Infinity Project.”

“Effective immediately, right?”

“Effective immediately.”

A dozen shadows extended out from Robert’s body.
One shadow, larger than all of the others, dipped toward Kat. As he gave her
greater knowledge and power, Baalzaric gained greater control. She would lose
her own will, her own destiny. What did that matter? She would serve him, and
through him, Lucifer’s kingdom. Her destiny intertwined with his, and his
destiny would be an eternal existence of pleasure and power.

The cloning of humans would not happen overnight,
but it would happen, and Kat and Robert would lay the groundwork. It would only
take a few short years to prepare the first spiritually hollow, human
receptacles. The transition to a demon-controlled world of pliant flesh pots
would then come quickly. Like the days before the great rain, once again, it
would be a great time for demons.

After Jim had left the hospital’s ER at three in the
morning, Trooper Mike Stubbens had driven him back to what remained of his
house. By the time they returned to Jim’s home, an alphabet soup of local,
state and federal investigators — ATF, FHP, FDLE, FMPD, LCSO — swarmed over its
crispy remains. It seemed that only God himself had failed to show up with
badge and gun.

Several portable lighting generators lit up the
crime scene to daylight levels. Yellow police tape surrounded what was left of
his home. His damaged personal vehicle sat next to the house. With the
exception of some melted plastic, the exterior paint had absorbed most of the
damage, but it would be in the body shop for a couple of weeks. At least he
hadn’t lost everything he owned. Just almost everything. Fortunately, he had
parked his FHP Charger on the street, and it had escaped with no damage from
the explosion.

Jim spent two hours answering questions, and
another two hours waiting to see if anything could be salvaged. Then he called
his insurance agent. It was not a happy conversation.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” Brent said. “The home office
says it’s an act of terrorism, and your policy does not cover acts of war,
riots, or acts of terrorism.”

“You have to be shitting me,” Jim shouted into
his cell phone.

His use of vulgarity — something that, under
normal circumstances, seldom occurred — had increased exponentially since last
night. Even speaking with Brent, Linda’s brother-in-law, didn’t mitigate the
anger. Jim continued his rant into the cell phone.

“What the hell was I paying all those premiums
for?”

“Jim, I’m sorry. The initial report is that the
cause of the fire was likely an Improvised Incendiary Device that ignited your
propane tank.”

“Yeah,” Jim replied. “Some son-of-a-bitch blew up
my house and you sold me the insurance policy, and now that my house is burnt
down, you’re telling me that my insurance doesn’t cover the damage. That’s a
load of crap, Brent.”

“Look Jim, I’m just the agent who sold the
policy. Under today’s rules, this could be classified as an act of terrorism.
However, I will contact the company’s New York headquarters. It can take a week
or two to get an answer out of them. As soon as I know, I’ll call.”

“Fine,” Jim replied, “and you need to call your
sister-in-law. She’ll be looking for her share of the house’s equity. Wait, I
have an idea. Why don’t you give Linda the number to the insurance company’s
home office? After she gets done with them, they’ll probably agree to build
each of us a new house.”

“Have you told her what happened?” Brent asked.

“Hell no. I didn’t want to hear the
disappointment in her voice, knowing that she had missed out on a big life
insurance payout. God, I need to get all of that stuff changed. Look, never
mind. Don’t say anything to Linda. I’ll call her later. I have another call.
Let me know when you have some good news.”

Jim did not wait for Brent to answer. He pushed
the button on his cell phone to accept the incoming call.

“Hello?”

“It’s Kat Connors, Officer Demore. We need to meet.”

Jim could not decide if the day had gone from
worse to total insane crap, or maybe, finally, toward the better.

“Okay, when and where.”

“The Midnight Oasis club in Port Tampa. You know,
where I work,” she said. “Tonight at 11.”

Her voice seemed to have a built-in seduction
mode. She had it switched on and dialed up to full power this morning.

“If you’re not in uniform, tell them who you are
at the door and they’ll forget the cover charge.”

“I’ll be there.” Jim replied.

He did not care much for so-called gentlemen’s
clubs, but this was in the line of duty. And he had to admit that the prospect
of meeting her at her club did peak his curiosity. The part of his psyche
governed by testosterone would not object to seeing Kat in her native
environment.

The call disconnected. In spite of the
anticipation he felt, rooted in a primitive, hormone-driven sexuality,
something did not feel right. The off-kilter feeling raised a number of
questions.
How did a guy like Bruce York get the money for a Dodge Viper and
a house any corporate senior vice president would be happy to live in, and land
a girlfriend like Kat Connors on a government bureaucrat’s salary? Even with
what he had called “a small inheritance,” it seemed implausible. Especially the
Kat Connors part.
If Kat Connors was just another gold digger, she was
most likely digging in a shallow mine. Why? Why settle for the likes of Bruce
York?
To a guy like Bruce, she must be quite a trophy, but what’s in it
for Connors? She had the looks, and appeared to have the brains and class to be
hunting much bigger game.
Well, regardless, if she caused Briggs’ death,
she would be just one more beautiful convict, behind bars, fighting off the
dykes
.

Jim
needed to make one more phone call before he could go find a cheap hotel and
sack out for a while. Jim dialed the number for Pedro de la Garza.

Jim found a discount motel in Ft. Myers next to a
one-hour dry cleaner and close to a superstore. Before checking into the motel,
he spent an hour and a half buying khakis, jeans, shorts, sneakers, and a
couple of shirts, since everything owned, except what he was wearing, had been
destroyed in the fire. He also picked up some socks, undershorts, laundry
detergent and softener.

Returning to the motel, Jim unlocked the door to
his room, threw the bags on the bed, and grabbed the TV remote. He turned on
the antiquated nineteen-inch television, flipping through the channels until he
found a local news broadcast. A weather reporter said the early fall weather
would stay unseasonably hot, and the tropical depression that had languished in
the Gulf of Mexico was now a tropical storm.
Well, at least I won’t have to
worry about a hurricane blowing down my house this year.

Jim stripped off his uniform and headed for the
shower. The cramped bathroom did not offer much in the way of amenities, but at
least the motel supplied plenty of hot water and a relatively modern shower.
Jim put the shower head on pulse and let the hot water beat the smoke stink off
his body. He washed his hair twice.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

He turned the faucet’s single handle until the
water sprayed out as hot as he could stand it. He put his head under the
pulsing water until it felt as if a molten cocoon engulfed his body. It not
only washed the dirt and the smoke away, it also melted some of the tension.
Jim allowed his shoulders to relax. His arms hung limply at his sides.

The ringing in his ears had finally subsided and
the stabbing pain in his knee decreased to an annoying ache. Just as he was
feeling better, the water went from hot to scalding. Jim jumped back, banging
his elbow against the hard tile behind him.

“Shit.”

He slapped at the faucet’s handle.  The
temperature went from scalding to ice cold. He jumped again.

“Shit.”

He banged his other elbow and then jerked the
handle to the off position.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He stood there naked, dripping wet, and suddenly
ice-cold.
Son-of-a-bitch
.
What else is going to go wrong today
?

***

Kat extinguished the black candle
and returned it to her tote. She did not know what the exact effect of burning
the black candle would be on Demore, but she still trusted the magick, even if
she had not yet perfected it. She believed in its power. She also realized that
since she and Kevin had both failed to stop Demore, her execution of the magick
may have been less than perfect.

Kevin had not called her yet to confess his
failure, but she would deal with him later. Kat knew that something, some
greater power, now fed her information. It came from some place that she could
not quite identify. Not a voice, but more like a feeling. The best she could
come up with was that it was a “knowing,” like the first time at the pool with
Bruce. The book that Martha had given her had a section about special
knowledge. It described a candle ritual that would allow her to connect with
the universal mind and its unlimited knowledge and power. She only lacked the
right candle. Martha would take care of that when Kat returned to the store in
Ft. Myers.

More immediately, Kat needed to prepare for her
meeting with Demore. Since he had survived, and both her magick and Kevin’s
assassination attempt had failed, she had put another plan together. The first
part of that plan would be to get Demore back to Tampa. Her phone call would
accomplish that. This time she would rely less on magick and more on good old-fashioned,
human weakness.

***

Jim dressed in the civilian
clothes he had bought, put his uniform in the plastic laundry bag he found
attached to a coat hanger in the motel room’s tiny closet, and went to the
one-hour dry cleaner next door. Returning to his room, he wiped down his
leather duty belt, holster, and other gear. He cleaned off his shoes and laid
down on the motel room’s cheap, but welcome, mattress. Jim set the alarm on his
cell phone for four p.m. and tried to relax.

He was damned lucky to be alive, and although he didn’t
give much thought to religion, Jim took a second to thank God, assuming God
existed, for getting him out of his house alive. However, Jim could not resist,
before drifting off, asking God why He had let Jim’s house blow up in the first
place.