The Demon Pool (6 page)

Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
Apparently he had slept the entire trip back to Tampa. He was not a newcomer to
sex, he had been married many years to two different women, but Kat had
exhausted him in a way he had never experienced. Neither of his ex-wives would
have consented to sex outdoors, let alone initiated it. Kat was incredible, and
the sex they had in the grass next to the pool was indescribable.
Gotta find
a gym and start working out or this girl is going to give me an early heart
attack.

Bruce took the Viper’s key fob from Kat. She gave
him a quick kiss and stepped outside. She turned back and bent down, looking at
Bruce.

“Come see me tonight, Lover.”

A flash of excitement pierced the fog of his
fatigue. He nodded. He could barely get the words out.

“I’ll be there,” he managed. Kat strolled away,
and Bruce was amazed at his luck. He had an important job, a killer car, the
hottest girlfriend in South Florida, and, for the first time in his previously
crappy life, he had money. Lots of money
.
Lots of secret money that he’d
better not tell a soul about. Not even Kat.

He thought about his comment to Kat about the
treasure rumor at the de la Garza estate. He would need to find some way to
walk back any idea that the rumors of a lost fortune had anything to do with
his current good fortune. He liked Kat and he could tell that she liked him.
But no sense in taking any chances.

For the time being, he would be content to live
just above his means. Much like all the other overworked, middle-class losers
who borrowed their way to the appearance of success. For now, his only real
excesses would be the Viper and Kat. Just a little middle-aged craziness that
that could be easily excused.

Bruce climbed into the driver’s side and started
the Viper. He squinted into the late afternoon sun. He turned the air
conditioning up a notch and adjusted the driver’s vents so that the cold air
blew directly onto his face. His gaze shifted to the rearview mirror and he
watched as Kat walked up the stairs to her apartment. She did not look back.
Not at Bruce and not at the Viper. He sat still, waiting until she went into
the apartment and closed the door behind her. Just watching her walk was enough
to get him going again.

Bruce put the Viper into gear and drove out of
the parking lot. He steered the Viper toward Hillsborough Bay. A few miles
later brought Bruce to his cul-de-sac at the north end of the Palma Ceia Golf
and Country Club. Bruce steered the Viper up his driveway and into the garage.
He sat in the Viper for a moment, listening to the exaggerated purring of the
car’s ten-cylinder engine and the rattle of the garage door closing behind him.

Bruce had financed the Viper and had also made a
large down payment on the Spanish-style hacienda that he called home. Paying
cash would have raised too many red flags. He had always been frugal, and, even
after his last ex had taken half of his 401k in their divorce ten years ago, he
was still able to borrow enough against the remaining balance as a cover for
where the money had come from.

 Besides the home itself, he had allowed himself
one additional luxury. From the interior of the Viper, Bruce could communicate
with the house, unlocking doors, turning on lights, and adjusting the
environmental system that kept the hacienda cool and comfortable when both the
temperature and the humidity gave hell itself a run for its money.

All of the sophistication came through the
Viper’s high-end electronics built into the after-market GPS radio. The rest of
the Viper’s dash looked as plain Jane as a 1960 Jaguar. A speedometer that
pegged out at 220 miles per hour, a tachometer that redlined at 6,200 RPM, and
a gas gauge that showed 3/4 of a tank. As functional and boring as Bruce
himself had always been.

Sitting in the Viper, in the quiet of the garage,
he finally took notice of the station on the radio. Someone was singing about
mystic love potions and gothic lust. The singer’s voice was low and raspy, not
what Bruce would call talented. However, the music had an ephemeral quality
about it that intrigued him. He kept waiting for the song to end, but it would
renew itself circling around and around, pulling him in until it lolled him to
sleep.

Something screamed.

Bruce’s eyes popped open and he shot up in his
seat. His head snapped right, then left, then right again as he fought to
identify the source. It took him a moment to identify the sound — the garage’s
carbon monoxide sensor.

His head ached. Something in his stomach slid up
to his windpipe and threatened to explode into the cabin. He choked it back
down. He realized the Viper was still running and switched off the ignition.
Then he hit the remote control to open the garage door.

Dizzy and nauseated, Bruce opened the Viper’s
driver’s side door and tried to step out. His legs refused to move. Something
was terribly wrong. His arms hung limp, useless, and the throbbing in his head
increased, like someone driving a bridge pylon into his skull. Spots and tiny
flashes of light sparked and skipped in front of his eyes.

His vision blurred, refocused, and blurred again.
Bruce caught himself in the Viper’s rearview mirror. Broken blood vessels in
his eyes gave him the appearance of some freakish, scarlet-eyed monster. Bruce
watched in horror as tiny drops of blood oozed from a subconjunctival
hemorrhage. His vision blurred again as the blood mixed with his tears and
created a strawberry-colored film over the lenses of his eyes.

Panic rose from somewhere inside his gut and his
chest heaved with every forced breath. His brain seemed to swell within his
skull and the pressure threatened to push the soft, grey tissue out through his
ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. The pain became unbearable.

Bruce tried to cry out for help, but his mouth
mocked him with silence. Drumfire boomed in his head like some internal,
improvised explosive device. Just as Bruce slipped to the edge of
unconsciousness, the pain stopped. His eyes focused and the red-tinted fluid
that had dimmed his vision cleared. Bruce felt his legs again and his arms
responded to the weak instructions from his battered brain.

He got his legs out of the Viper, his feet onto
the garage floor, and stood. He weaved and wobbled, barely able to hold himself
upright. He left the Viper’s door open as he half-shuffled, half-stumbled
toward the door leading into the house.

As a facilities manager, he knew something about
the dangers and symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning. Yes, he had left the
Viper running. Yes, the garage door had been down. Yes, there had been enough
of the gas to set off the alarm. But what he had just experienced went well
beyond what he knew about exposure to the gas. He needed to lie down, get off
his unstable feet. Pushed beyond exhaustion by his day with Kat, he had nearly
killed himself. The Viper’s advanced cabin filter system had apparently done
its job.

Maybe.
God, what an idiot
.
What the
hell is wrong with me? Maybe I got too much sun?

But he could not shake the sensation that
something else had happened. Something crazy. Something weird. He could think
about it later. Bruce looked down at his wrist. The Tag Heuer said a quarter
till nine. Kat would be expecting him soon. He needed to shake off his woozy
fatigue and get going.

He entered the hacienda and made his way to the
living room sofa. He sat, heavy and weak, and opened a jewelry box that rested
on the coffee table. It had belonged to his mother. He rummaged through the
tangle of earrings, rings, and miscellaneous gold and silver chains. A silver
crucifix attached to a rosary lay curled at the bottom of the box. Bruce had
never cared much for religion, but at that moment, some kind of prayer or chant
or meditation seemed to be what he needed. His mother had often prayed using
the rosary when their life spun out of control. A seemingly frequent
occurrence. Sometimes, though, things worked out. Just not often.

Bruce’s pulse continued to race. If he did not
get it under control, a heart attack would be his next problem. He spoke
softly. “Take a shower, get dressed, go see Kat.” He pulled a bead away from
its neighbor. “Take a shower, get dressed, go see Kat.” Another bead moved.

The words he chanted were not religious.
Nevertheless, the repeated prayer, or chant, or whatever someone wanted to call
it, was soothing. Bruce’s pulse slowed and soon he was back to a place where he
could function again
.

“Take a shower, get dressed, go see Kat.”

His mother would say it was sacrilegious, using the
rosary to chant about getting ready to see Kat. Bruce did not care that someone
might think it was sacrilegious or that it was a stupid sounding chant. He
would see Kat again tonight and everything would be fine. Kat’s charms would
restore his soul. He would make love to her again. Everything would be right in
the universe. He was sure of it.

***

Kat put the candle back in its holder. As soon as she
had entered her apartment, she went to her bedroom and began the ritual.  She
had lit a black candle and allowed its smoke to caress a small photo of Bruce.
She glanced at the spell in the book she had laid next to the candle. The black
candle represented a special power to control others, the book said, but the
book also said the results could be unpredictable. She brought the flame
closer. The tiny tongue of fire from the candle licked the surface of the
picture causing Bruce’s face and head to blacken. The paper began to burn all
the way through and Kat dropped it into the ashtray on her dresser. She had not
meant to burn the photo. Maybe she had gone too far
. Shit, I hope I didn’t
just kill him. Okay, Kat, relax. If he shows up at the club tonight, it’s all
good.

The day’s events had moved her past
hope to belief. She chose to believe she had tapped the power locked within the
black candle. Useful power. Real power. Power to control Bruce. To get what she
wanted. Even power over Bruce’s very existence. Well, Bruce, if you are still
alive, it is a power I will use to the fullest.

Kat paused for a second. Someone
laughed. A self-satisfied chuckle, deep and masculine. Unsure where it had come
from, she went to her bedroom window and pulled the curtain aside. It was dusk
and no one was in the parking lot. Kat shrugged. The thoughts that shot through
her mind seemed exceptionally clear.

She looked around the empty parking
lot once more. Still no one in view. She was sure she had heard someone laugh.
I’ve
opened the third eye, the all-seeing, all-hearing, all-knowing window into the
unseen world.

Kat let the curtain fall closed. The
magick must be working.

***

Deep in the dark recesses of Kat’s mind, Baalzaric
smiled to himself. What Kat perceived as magick was his own supernatural power,
channeled through his new host and other demons at his beck and call
.

He had already achieved a deeper connection much
faster than he had expected. He had been the one to laugh, not with a mouth and
lips of flesh, but deep within his own dark soul. Nevertheless, somehow, the
woman had heard it and her reaction had not been fear. It had been curiosity
and rational thought.

Even though what she had been doing, performing
the rituals of occult magick, would seem irrational to most humans, the woman
had opened a wider path and facilitated the deeper connection to Baalzaric and
his demon world. A world where freedom and pleasure were gods.

Baalzaric loved her for it.

A frown squatted in the middle of Bruce’s face. He was
not a happy bureaucrat. He had reservations at the best beach resort in South
Florida. The Colony House in Naples. An elegant and stately resort with a
worldwide reputation. Three days in paradise with a great mid-week rate. Bruce
had reserved a suite with a king-size bed. He would show Kat he had class and save
some money at the same time.

He stared at the email. Although it had been years
since the New Orleans debacle, it seemed as if FEMA would never get over
Katrina. Bruce reread the line of the message that had pissed him off.

“Your participation in this conference is
mandatory. Therefore, your upcoming leave represents a scheduling conflict and
is hereby cancelled until further notice...”
Blah, blah, f-ing blah.

With another heavy hurricane season predicted,
FEMA management scheduled a last minute conference in Atlanta. A new set of
bureaucrats in Washington were afraid of being caught unprepared for another
disaster and did not want to take any chances. The current administration did
not want the problems and criticism caused by the weak Federal response to
previous catastrophes.

Bruce had purposely made plans for the week after
Labor Day weekend, when Naples would be less crowded and less expensive. He
reached for his phone and punched in Kat’s new cell number. The new cell phone
she wanted and he paid for.

“It will let us stay in touch,” she had said.
“Anytime you need me, just call me.” That pleased him. The government, however,
did not please him. It had pissed on his parade.

Bruce listened to the phone ring until Kat
answered. Bruce’s frustration grew when he realized it was a recording. His
mood soured as he waited for the beep.
What the hell good is it to buy her a
cell phone if she doesn’t answer?

“Kat, this is Bruce.”

He made no effort to hide his irritation.

“Look, something’s come up and I have to go to
Atlanta. I have to leave tonight. It’s too late to cancel the reservations.
Damn it. Call me, OK?”

The phone beeped again, cutting off his message.
He had wanted to say, “I love you, babe.” It would have been the first time.
Now that had to wait too.
Shit, all this technology and I can’t leave a
freaking decent message.

As soon as Bruce replaced the handset, his
private line rang displaying Kat’s number on the caller ID. Bruce picked up the
phone again and answered.

“That was quick.”

“Sorry, Babe.” Kat replied.

Bruce liked the sound of her voice.

Kat continued, “I went shopping. My hands were
full. I bought some nice things for Naples. I got a killer new bikini. Wait
till you see it.”

Bruce closed his eyes.
What are you supposed
to do when life kicks you in the balls?

“I can’t go. Something has come up with my job. I
have to be in Atlanta tonight.”

Bruce waited for Kat’s reply. She simply said,
“Oh.”

“Look, I know you’re disappointed,” Bruce said.
“Let’s do this. Take me to the airport tonight and you take the Viper to
Naples. I’ll extend the reservations through the weekend. Maybe I can get out
of Atlanta by Wednesday night and meet you down there.”

At least he hoped he would.

***

Baalzaric listened to the conversation, decidedly
pleased. Straight away, a plan formed in his mind. Kat’s candle magick had
created a fast track into her deepest thoughts and memories. He knew and
understood the research that Advanced Genetic Technologies conducted.
Eternity-changing
research.

Baalzaric replayed the conversation Kat overheard
between her boss, Robert Teal, and Jefferson Briggs.

“I’ll be in Naples midweek, Robert,” Briggs said.
“I’ll have my assistant email my schedule and where I’ll be staying.”

Perfect timing.

Baalzaric also knew that Robert Teal wanted Kat.
He played that memory back. Teal’s hot breath on Kat’s neck as he leaned
against her, checking her work. His hand slipping down her side, resting on her
hip. Kat slapping his hand away.

It had not taken Baalzaric long to assess the
situation and develop a plan. The prospect of an immortal human host was more
than Baalzaric might have ever hoped. Getting rid of Jefferson Briggs would be
the first step in completing that plan. Unlike most of human history, where the
majority of people found their gods in the trees, in animals, or within
themselves, science had become the new god of this age. Its practitioners, the
scientists, were its priests. Advanced Genetic Technologies needed a new chief
priest, one who Baalzaric could control and manipulate. The most likely
candidate? Robert Teal, Kat’s immediate supervisor.

Teal would be useful. Under Baalzaric’s control,
Kat would see to that. She would create opportunities; Baalzaric would exploit
them. After all, advancing human longevity would benefit everyone. Eternal life
and eternal pleasure without submission to any god. Even Lucifer dared not
dream such grand dreams.

***

“Maybe we can stay through the weekend?” Bruce
suggested.

“If I call off sick from the club...” Kat let the
words hang in the air. She began again, “Taking two weekend days off. I don’t
know. The club doesn’t like it when we are not there on weekends. On top of
what we lose not dancing, they fine us. I don’t think I can afford that.”

“I have a little extra money put away. I can
handle the extra expense.”
So much for the cheap trip.

“I’ll call the hotel,” Bruce continued, “Let them
know we’re staying longer. My flight leaves at 8:23 tonight. I can pick you up
around six?”

“Six is fine, Lover.” Kat’s voice held promise.
“After you’re done in Atlanta, we’ll make this a special weekend. See you at
six.”

***

Baalzaric was almost giddy with anticipation. Kat would
take the Viper to Naples tonight. He did not know exactly how it would happen,
but tonight, he would take the first step toward freedom from the accursed
pool.

***

The line disconnected and Bruce hung up the phone.
He closed his eyes. Kat had called him
“
lover” again. He liked the way
she said the word. He let it dwell in his mind.
Lover. Kat’s lover
.

His spirit embraced the concept, tasted its
sweetness, held it, caressed it.
Kat’s lover
.

It seemed to Bruce to be a perfect fit.