The Devil You Know (14 page)

Marie
let out a long breath. She wanted a cigarette but would not allow herself to
have one among Jasper’s books. His questions about her faith had made her
wonder just how capable she was of doing anything about the men from
Piedmont’s. Up to this moment, she had been driven by anger over what had been
done to Elise, but now she wondered if anger was enough.

“Maybe
it shouldn’t be me who’s going up against them,” she said.

“Well
it certainly won’t be me,” Jasper said with a chuckle. “I’m a bit old for such
things.”

Marie
smiled. “I know. I wasn’t thinking you. Maybe I should go to the church, start
with Father Joe.”

Jasper
shrugged. “You could.” He nodded and repeated, “You could. But you made it
sound like he was pretty dismissive when you brought up the idea.”

“He
was.”

“And
we could go beyond him. Go to the diocese. But we need to be careful there,
too, Marie. Once we figure out what these things are up to and the best way to
stop them, we’ll have one thing on our side—they won’t be expecting
anyone to be coming after them. And if we go to the diocese…I don’t follow the
film industry all that much, but aren’t the Catholics pretty tied in with the
Production Code?”

“I
think so.”

Again,
he shrugged. “It seems probable to me that someone going to the bishop and
accusing a film studio head of conjuring demons and directing incubi to attack
women…don’t you think Piedmont would get wind of it sooner or later?”

Marie
nodded. “Most likely.”

“And
they’d know we’re coming. They’d probably go into hiding or just change their
shapes.”

“They’d
resurface and continue.”

“That’s
right,” said Jasper.

“And
more women would end up like Elise. Or worse.” Jasper simply nodded at her. “So
it’s me, then,” she added, feeling a bit resigned. At the same time, her
feelings of doubt were passing. Thoughts of Elise brought the anger and
determination back. Standing up, she set the book she’d been reading on the
chair and said, “Thanks, Jasper.”

“Of
course.” He seemed surprised that she was getting up. “I don’t think Tom’s got
dinner ready yet.”

She
smiled. “That’s all right. Your gazebo’s calling me. I need a smoke.”

Chapter Twelve

In
her dreams, Laura Tremaine felt like she was looking at the world through a thin
red veil. The sky was red, the streets, the people—everything she saw had
a red tinge. Even her skin, when she glanced down at her body, had a reddish
glow to it. The colors did not alarm her, nor did the languid, heavy feeling of
her limbs; it felt as though she were trying to swim through a lake filled with
oil. Though everything about the dream had a strange, otherworldly quality, no
part of it distressed her. A faint tingling resonated to her core, and it
seemed as though everything in the dream world—the sounds and smells and
even the air—was enveloping and embracing her, stimulating her every
sense and making her want to scream with delight.

The
best part about the dreams, though, was that she was naked in them, and so was
everyone else. She could walk the streets or shop or stroll along the beach,
luxuriating in her nudity, feeling utterly free not just of clothes, but of
cares, and all the people she passed in her dreams were just as liberated.
Better still, when men gave her admiring looks, she could give herself to them
without shame or embarrassment. They wanted her, after all, and made it clear
in their stares. She wanted them, too, and had no qualms about showing it, or
about dropping to her knees before one in the middle of a crowded shop or on a
street corner and taking him right there. None of it mattered. She knew it was
just a dream, and that the real Laura lay in a tangle of sheets on her bed, her
body still sweaty and aching just a bit from the enthusiasm of her latest
encounter with Taylor.

He
had come to her every day since their first meeting, always getting right down
to business without any pleasantries. He was like an animal with her, and his
lust made her feel wanton and wild and more alive than she could remember
feeling in all her twenty-three years. And every time it ended the same way,
with the whole room glowing white and the feeling that he was somehow in her
head with her and that he was taking just a bit of her away when he finally
pulled his body from hers. She would slip into one of these glorious dreams
that felt like they lasted for hours. Upon awakening, she would feel consumed
with desire again, desperate not just for his touch, but for the intensity that
accompanied the white light. Masturbation was a sorry substitute, but that
didn’t stop her, and even though she wept through her orgasms because they
could not compare to how Taylor made her feel, she would often start right away
again, telling herself that the next one would be better.

She
had forced herself to get up for work on Wednesday, but it had been impossible
to concentrate, and so today she had called in sick. Not ten minutes after she
had hung up the phone, the knock had come at her door, and she had let Taylor
in without bothering to slip a robe onto her naked body. Just a few minutes
earlier, she had promised herself to make him take her out before letting him
into her bed again. She wanted to talk to him—about who he was and where
he’d come from and all the other things that made up Taylor Thompson. Along with
all of that, she also wanted to know how he did the little trick with the white
light, how he made her climax so intensely, wanted to know just what he was
doing to her that made her feel as though her body was about to catch fire. But
in spite of her promise, she had pulled him across the room and dropped back on
the bed with him on top of her.

Now
she dreamed that she was walking down Sunset Boulevard. On a busy corner, she
stopped in front of a store display and stared at the mannequins. Like everyone
else in the dream, they were nude, but it did not strike Laura as strange that
a clothing store would have unclad models in the windows—or that there
even was a clothing store in a city where everyone ran around naked. The thing
that did strike her, though, was the male mannequin. He wasn’t exactly human.
Instead, he appeared to be a six-foot tall blend of man and bat. He stood with
wings half-folded behind him, the spindly fingers at the edges of the wings
appearing ready to grasp something. Whoever had designed the creature had given
him a huge erection, which Laura looked at appreciatively. The mannequin’s face
was not attractive. There was no hair on its head, which seemed to rise up in a
little crest, his mouth hung open, and his eyes sagged. His face looked very
old and a bit diseased. In front of the bat creature was a female mannequin.
She lounged on a sofa, her head propped up on her elbow, her back to the other
mannequin. So smooth and undefined were her features that she looked out of
place in the window with her fantastic partner.

The
dream shifted. Laura no longer stood on the street; she was in the window,
lying on the sofa, watching the crowds pass by the storefront. Some stopped and
admired the scene in the window, and Laura felt a tingle of excitement at
knowing she was being watched. Then she felt the bat’s fingers on her shoulder,
and she turned to look into his haggard face. His lips were on hers, and she
tasted rotting meat on his breath. It didn’t matter. The wings closed around
her, the red leathery skin wrapping her in a cocoon, and she felt the weight of
his body on her. She turned over and spread her legs, and then the bat thing
was in her. She had never done anything so wrong in her life, and she loved it.
When she turned her head to peek over the edge of his wing at the spectators
watching her performance, the first orgasm cascaded over her, and she bit into
his shoulder, his hot blood salty on her tongue.

When
the waves of pleasure subsided, she looked again at the crowd and now saw the
first thing in the dream that struck her as wrong. A little boy, no more than
four, was standing at the glass with all the leering adults. He looked innocent
and confused, and Laura did not want him to be there. Bothered as she was,
though, she could not bring herself to push her lover off her or keep her hands
from grasping his buttocks to pull him into her more fiercely. The little boy
began knocking on the glass, tentatively at first and then more insistently.
She wanted to shout at him, to make him go away, but when she opened her mouth
only a gagging sound came out.

Just
as she became convinced that the boy’s now frantic knocking would shatter the
pane and send shards flying in at her, Laura awoke from the dream. She sat up
with a start, the sweat on her back instantly giving her a chill as her wet
skin was exposed to the air. The apartment was dark with the shades drawn, and
it took her a moment to lose the feeling of disorientation that her sudden
awakening had left her with. Then she realized that the knocking had not just
been in the dream. Someone was at her door.

Telling
herself that Taylor had returned, she pulled herself from the bed and almost
tripped on the sheet that had gotten tangled around her ankle. She kicked free
of it and went quickly around the dressing screen between the bed and the door.
When she flung the door open, though, she immediately ducked behind it so that
she exposed only her head and neck to the young woman who stood in the hallway.
She was tall with auburn hair and wore a smart skirt and jacket. Her expression
registered a mixture of surprise and embarrassment at the quick flash she had
gotten of the naked woman answering the door.

“Oh,
I’m sorry!” the woman said, cringing. “I didn’t mean…”

Also
a bit stunned and still disoriented, Laura did not think to close the door in
the woman’s face or to excuse herself to go find a robe. Instead, she simply
stood there for a few seconds and then muttered, “What do you want?”

The
woman in the hallway hesitated. “Well…I had been about to ask if I could come
in for a moment, but I see you’re not—”

“No,
I’m really not. You caught me a bit off-guard.”

“I’m
so sorry. You’re Laura Tremaine?”

A
bit suspiciously, Laura said, “Yes?”

“I’m
so sorry to bother you, Miss Tremaine, but…” She hesitated, glancing up and
down the hallway as if to make sure no one would overhear. “This is going to
sound crazy, but I think there’s a chance you’re in danger of some kind.”

Laura
raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Is
there a…” The woman bit her lip and continued. “Is there a man you’ve been
seeing lately? A new man, incredibly good looking, like Cary Grant, really.”

Laura
felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with fear and confusion. Her heart pounded, and
she wanted to slam the door in the woman’s face.
Another girlfriend maybe, but not the wife
, she told herself; of
this she was certain though she could not have explained how or why. Somewhere,
though, in the back of her mind, a tiny part of herself, a new and devious side
of Laura Tremaine that had never been there before, wanted to give the woman at
the door a little bit of rope just to see what would happen. “Who are you?” she
asked.

The
woman’s expression changed just a bit. Some of the tension left her face as one
eyebrow rose slightly. The shift told Laura that the woman had been unsure up
to this point, not certain if she had the right apartment or the right person.
Now, though, she knew, and the knowledge seemed to give her confidence. The
woman at the door thought she had the upper hand, and Laura was content to let
her think it.

“My
name’s Marie Doyle,” the woman said. “If we could just talk for a minute…”

“Wait
here.” Laura closed the door and walked to her coat rack where her bathrobe
hung. Smiling devilishly, she slipped on the robe. The belt had long ago been
lost, so she gathered the robe around herself and held it tight with one hand
as she walked back to the door. Before opening it, she switched on a small
lamp. “Come in,” she said as she stepped aside to let the other woman enter.
Then she closed the door and leaned against it while her guest turned to face
her.

“This
must be awfully strange,” Marie said.

“You
could say that.” Her arms folded across her chest with one hand still holding
the robe closed, she said, “So what kind of danger am I in? Are you his wife or
something?”

Marie
shook her head. “No. It’s not that easy to explain. I have a friend who…well,
she started having an affair with a man she met at a party. He’s part of a
group of men who are going around Hollywood and, well, seducing women. The man
you’re seeing is part of the same group.”

Laura
shrugged. “So?”

Marie
smiled, giving Laura a look that was probably meant to be reassuring. “It’s
just that…it’s not just sex. After you’re with him, things aren’t quite normal
for you, are they?”

The
woman’s question made Laura uncomfortable. She had not realized until now how
desperate she was to keep to herself her experiences with Taylor and the white
light. That someone else should know, that someone else should have experienced
it…the very thought made Laura grit her teeth. Trying to hide her feelings, she
said, “What do you mean, normal?”

Marie
sighed. “I mean, you kind of pass out, don’t you? You wake up and he’s gone,
and you don’t remember when he left, or even how long you’ve been out.” She
looked piercingly at Laura. “Would you say that’s what’s been happening?”

Laura’s
sense of having the upper hand had faded while her guest spoke. Marie knew too
much about her, and about her relationship with Taylor. Suddenly, Laura wanted
nothing to do with this woman; all she wanted was Taylor. She felt fearful and
sensed that Marie wanted to keep Taylor from her. Tears welled up in her eyes,
and she turned her head to keep Marie from seeing.

“I
think you should leave now,” she said, almost choking on the words as she
stepped away from the door.

“Laura,
please,” Marie said. “You can’t stop him. You know that. Even if you don’t want
to be with him, when he comes around, you can’t resist him, can you? And it’ll
get worse. My friend’s been locked up now. She’s…gone somehow—mentally,
emotionally. I just want to help you.”

In
spite of herself, she was listening. A knuckle wiped the tears from her eyes. “How?”

“Just
to warn you. To get you away from him so you don’t end up the same way.”

“Get
me away from him?” Laura asked. The thought was absurd. It was as though this
woman was asking her to do something preposterous. She may as well have asked
Laura to defy gravity or breathe underwater.

“Move,”
Marie said, a bit desperately now. “Leave the city. You can’t just move a few
blocks away, okay? Take a vacation. Go visit your family. Just go where he
can’t get to you. He’ll find other women.”

Now
Laura shot Marie a fierce look. She twisted the doorknob and pulled the door
open. “Get out!” she hissed.

Marie
hesitated. Then she nodded. “All right. I understand.” Clasping her hands
together, she walked out of the room, but stopped in the doorway. She pulled a
slip of paper from her purse. “Please take this. It’s my number. Call me if you
reconsider. I just…I just don’t want you to end up in the same place as my
friend.”

Tentatively,
Laura took the paper and swung the door shut without letting the other woman
speak again. She looked at the paper for a moment. There were two numbers—one
for daytime, and the other for evening. She wanted to crumple it and throw it
in the trash, but made herself set it down on the little table that her lamp
rested on. There was something about Marie Doyle that bothered her, frightened
her. The woman didn’t just want to save Laura; she wanted to stop Taylor. If
there were others like him, Laura didn’t care. Let them do what they wanted
with whatever women they could find. Taylor was hers, and nothing Marie Doyle
could say or do would change that.