The Devil You Know (5 page)

Chapter Four

The
alarm clock on Elise’s night stand began ringing at 6:30 Sunday morning and
went on for almost a full minute before she woke up, the clock’s spring nearly
spent and the hammer making only a feeble thud against the bell before she
reached a hand out to silence it. “Oh my God,” she mumbled, half her mouth
pressed against her pillow.

She
rolled over and found the will to reach for the window shade behind her
headboard. If she didn’t yank on it to let the morning light in, she knew sleep
would take her again. She could not remember ever sleeping as deeply as she had
the last two nights, and forcing herself into wakefulness was more of a
struggle than she could remember.

The
shade flew up with a crack. It killed the shadows in the room, and ruined
Elise’s blissfully relaxed mood. She was tempted to call Marie and tell her she
had changed her mind about going to Mass this morning. She stretched and
thought about how nice it would be to simply pull the covers up and drift back
into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

At
that thought, though, she sat up quickly as a little gasp escaped her. Her
heart raced as she tried to figure out why she suddenly felt so alarmed.
Glancing around the room, she saw that everything looked familiar and safe, but
she could not help feeling that the room was not hers, that she no longer
belonged in it, and that someone—no, something—else possessed it
now.

Elise
whipped her pillow out from behind herself and hugged it to her chest. Unable
to remember exactly what she had dreamed about, the fragments that came to her
made her tremble. They made no sense, but the longer she sat there holding back
tears, the more the images flashed through her memory. The color red dominated—red
walls, red lips, red skin, red sheets. She knew that she had felt overwhelming
panic in the dream but could not remember its source or if she herself had even
been in the dream. She could also recall sounds—grunts, laughter, screams—and
the feeling of being touched, but not in any way she had ever been touched. It
was not a physical sense of someone’s hand on her skin. Rather, she had felt
invaded, touched from the inside by something that had no hands, no real body.

“Oh
my God,” she said again, choking back tears. Then she leaped from the bed and
ran for the bathroom where she vomited violently into the toilet.

* * * * * * * *

Elise
washed her face and ate a piece of dry toast, then ran to the front door when
she heard Marie’s car pull up. She opened the door and watched as her friend
came up the little walkway to the front door. She had hoped that her earlier
feelings had all passed and that she wouldn’t need to worry Marie, but when she
saw Marie’s expression change from cheerful to alarmed as she neared the house,
Elise knew that her own face had betrayed her. When she stepped into the little
living room, Marie grabbed her by the shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
she asked, panic in her voice.

Holding
back tears, Elise hugged her for a moment and then said, “It’s nothing. Stupid
dreams is all.” She shook her head. “I’ve just been letting it get to me.”

“I
shouldn’t have left you alone last night.”

Elise
forced a smile, not wanting to admit she had been thinking the same thing. “I’m
a big girl,” she said. “I had to be alone at some point.”

“But
maybe not so soon.”

Elise
led Marie inside, and they sat down on her couch. The day before, Marie had
spent much of her time cleaning and straightening up Elise’s house, putting
away all the clothes Elise had strewn about on Friday. Though the simply
appointed room was now free of clutter, Elise felt uneasy sitting there. The
room felt small and tight; she struggled to keep from trembling.

“Was
the dream about... him?” Marie asked.

Elise
shook her head. “I don’t think so. I can’t remember faces or people—just
feelings. Terrible feelings. And sounds. Colors.” She shuddered and forced her
hands firmly into her lap.

“You
haven’t been able to remember anything else about Friday night?”

Again,
Elise shook her head, but said nothing.

“And
you still don’t want to see a doctor?” Marie asked. “Or talk to the police?”

“No,”
Elise said. She looked at Marie and saw the deep concern on her face. Forcing a
smile, she reached for Marie’s hand and said, “Don’t look so scared. I’ll make
you a deal. If it gets worse or if anything weird starts happening, I’ll go.” She
saw that her friend looked dubious, so Elise added, “I promise.”

“To
the doctor
and
the police?”

Elise
repeated, “Promise.”

Marie’s
expression relaxed just a little, and she squeezed Elise’s hand. “We’ll skip
Mass this morning. I’ll leave a message for Father Joe so he doesn’t worry
about me.”

“No,”
Elise said quickly. Indifferent to the idea earlier, now the thought of going
to Mass comforted her. It would be good to be around other people, to pray, and
maybe to forget. “You at least should go. And... it’ll be good for me to go,
too. I don’t go enough. I need to get back on the good foot.”

Marie
smiled. “You’re sure? We could just take a drive or something—head out to
the beach?”

Elise
shook her head. “Later, maybe. Let’s just do what we said.”

Marie
nodded. “Okay, sweetie. And you’re right; it’ll be good. For both of us.”

* * * * * * * *

As
they drove north from Melrose and toward the Hollywood Hills, Elise recalled
the time a date had taken her on a cruise to Catalina Island. She had liked him
so much and had wanted the date to go well, so she tried to hide it when she
began to feel more and more queasy during the boat trip. She tried to imagine
being on dry land and walking barefoot in the sand with him as each little wave
that lifted the boat also made her feel as though her stomach was rising into
her throat. Finally, she had thrown up over the side, wishing for a moment that
embarrassment could be lethal.

Now
she hoped again that her true feelings did not show as Marie drove them toward
St. Lucy’s. She fought not nausea, but panic this time. Relieved that Marie had
switched on the car radio, Elise hoped her friend would not notice how tightly
she gripped the armrest or how her left hand was bunched into a tight fist
beneath the folds of her dress.

The
feeling of panic had started the moment Marie had started the car, the rumble of
its engine and the steady vibration under her feet giving rise to a completely
irrational fear—of what, she could not guess. She simply had the
undeniable feeling that something terrible was about to happen. At the same
time, she wanted desperately for this not to be happening, wanted only to be
normal and to go back to being the person she’d been on Friday afternoon.
Everything will be fine
, she thought,
but at the same time did not believe it.

When
Marie pulled into the church parking lot, Elise reached into her handbag with
trembling fingers and took out her compact. She looked into the little round
mirror and dabbed powder over the sweat on her nose and brow before opening the
door, as relieved to be out the car as she had been to feel solid ground after
the disastrous Catalina trip. She took a deep breath and closed the door,
waiting for Marie to join her at the front of the car. They walked together up
the oak-lined path to the elegant little church.

When she walked through the doors, Elise felt a sudden chill, and the
sense of foreboding she had had in the car seemed to double. She had to force
herself to dip her fingers in the holy water and was unnerved at the sensation
that her hand seemed repelled by it. It was as though she actually had to push
her fingers in. When she touched her fingers to her forehead, the tiny bit of
water made her skin burn.

I’m going crazy
, she thought as she
looked around at other people dipping their fingers in and making the sign of
the cross without any show of distress. They were all normal, she told herself;
there was nothing wrong with the water. The only thing wrong was her. All the
others were safe in a place of worship, loved by God and embraced by the
church. She could not say the same for herself; she was not loved, not wanted,
not saved. She could not even pray, and she knew that if she could, her prayers
would not be heard.

Falling
into step beside Marie, she walked down the center aisle until they found a
spot in one of the middle pews. Giving Marie a nervous smile, she stood aside
so Marie could scoot in first. Then Elise took the aisle seat. It wouldn’t make
the whirlwind of thoughts, memories and fears dissipate, but being on the aisle
made her feel slightly less claustrophobic. As they knelt side by side on the
riser, supposedly in a moment of silent prayer, Marie leaned over and
whispered, “Are you okay?”

Elise
nodded quickly and turned her head slightly toward Marie. She hoped there was
nothing odd about her demeanor, nothing that would remind Marie of the promise
to seek help if her condition worsened. It
had
worsened, she knew, but telling a doctor or anyone else about what had happened
or about her bizarre thoughts only made her feel more terrified.

She
forced herself to go through the motions once the service started—kneeling,
sitting and standing when everyone else knelt, sat and stood; singing when they
sang; repeating the refrains along with the congregation when she could
remember them. But she found it hard to concentrate as hazy memories began to plague
her. Now she could vaguely remember dancing with the man Marie had described to
her, kissing him on the staircase and feeling him on top of her in the
unfamiliar bedroom. The memory brought with it a sudden feeling of arousal, and
she felt her skin flush even as goose bumps broke out on her forearms.

She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was not the time or place for such
indecent thoughts, she told herself. She clenched her jaw as she opened her
eyes and forced herself to stare at the crucifix behind the altar and Father
Joe, but the thin and tortured figure of Christ only made her feel worse.

A
few minutes later, Father Joe began leading the congregation in singing “A
Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Elise stood up beside Marie and tried to remember
the words, but she could recall only a little of the song and simply moved her
mouth, hoping to appear as though she was singing with everyone else. Halfway
through the song, though, she saw a large brown rat scurry across the altar
right behind Father Joe. Shocked, she gripped the pew in front of her to steady
herself. Without thinking, she half raised her other hand to point, but saw
that no one else in the chapel seemed to have noticed.

They didn’t see it
, she thought. Trying
not to look nervous, she glanced at Marie, who smiled back, but a bit
questioningly. Elise shook her head and returned the smile before she looked
away again. Marie had not seen it; no one had. It had been real, though. She
was certain.
Then where did it go?
she asked herself. A rat in church could no more disappear than it could
magically appear in the first place, she knew. And in realizing this, she also
knew that she had imagined the creature.

Just tired
, she thought, trying to
reassure herself.
Just tired.

“Not
tired.” The words came to her as a harsh whisper from somewhere behind her,
strangely part of the song and yet distinct from it—words meant for her
ears alone. Again, goose bumps raised themselves up and down her arms, and a
chill ran up her neck. It made her shudder. She would have raised a hand to
wipe the tears from her eyes, but she held so tightly to the pew before her
that she feared she might fall over if she let go.

Something
was behind her. She knew it. It was something inhuman and unholy. A fleeting
image from her nightmares came to her—a ghastly red skinned creature, a
living gargoyle with leathery wings folded up behind its back, a hideous gaping
mouth full of yellow fangs, and bony hands with sharp claws instead of
fingernails. She was certain it had watched her throughout the service and
could hear her thoughts. After a few more seconds, she began to smell the
thing; it smelled of decay, as though a rat had died in the walls. Knowing the
thing was close enough to touch her, she fought the urge to bolt from the pew.
The wings, though
, she thought.
It’s fast. It’ll catch me if I run
.

But
in the instant the song ended and everyone began sitting down, Elise felt as
though a spell had been broken. She suddenly had clarity again. The smell of
death was gone, as was the certainty that a monster sat behind her or that a
rat had run across the altar. She sat down beside Marie, feeling as though she
had just woken from a dream. Again, she wanted to cry, but now it was from
relief.
I’m not crazy
, she thought.
She had never experienced a waking dream before, but told herself there could
be no other explanation. Though the knowledge filled her with joy, she could
not stop herself from furtively pinching the back of her hand throughout the
rest of the service. The little bit of pain was insurance that she would remain
alert enough to keep her dreams at bay.