The Repentant Demon Trilogy Book 1: The Demon Calumnius (8 page)

“So how did you end up in my class?” she wondered. “It's really an introductory-level course.  Surely you were beyond that, besides being a day student.”

“I was drawn to your bio,” he said, reluctant to admit it, “and your picture.  I wanted to meet you.  And I thought the class would be fun—which it was.”

“Fun?  Nobody has ever said that about my classes,” she said.  “And you wanted to meet me?  That's another first.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said.  “You just didn't know about it.  Probably, the other guys were intimidated away, but I'm a lot braver than most.”

“It takes bravery to approach me?” she gasped.  “No wonder I never get any dates—not that I would have time for that anyway.”

Oh, this is getting promising,
thought Calumnius. 
They are flirting, actually flirting.

“You don't seem to know how beautiful you are, Abigail,” he said sincerely. “It's very obvious to all the men in your classes.  I watched them.  Not a one of them didn't admire you—even the jerks.  Whether you know it or not, you send out a strong
keep away
message with your body language.  That, plus all your credentials, is very intimidating to most guys.  We still are affected by that old stereotype that the man should be smarter, more accomplished, and make more money than the woman on his arm.”

“Well, the money part would be no problem,” she teased.  “So you are the brave one, the one with courage enough to approach me?  What makes you so unafraid?”

“Courage doesn't mean without fear,” he stated, smiling. “It means in spite of fear.  I was shaking in my boots that first night, waiting for you in the hall, sure that you might slap me or something.”

“Slap you!” She smiled with amusement.  “Apparently you do not realize how attractive you are either.  I wouldn't slap you, but I admit if I had realized in the beginning that your interest in me was purely physical, I might had declined your request to meet with me.  I'm very cautious about involvements.”

“Why? If I may ask.”

“Perhaps because of my parents,” she said.  “I don't want to be like them, putting their physical desires before everything else—even the welfare of their own child.”

“I get that,” he said, “and I respect it, too.  But just so you know, I need to correct your assumption that my interest in you is
purely
physical.  I wouldn't describe it like that at all.  I've done purely physical, for my whole life, actually, and I don't want more of that.  I can't say I even know where it is that we are headed together.”

“Iraq?” Abigail said, answering his query.

He laughed, glad to change the subject.

They both laughed.  So it became established that something, indeed, was happening between them.

Calumnius felt more encouraged than ever. 
Yes, those ones who struggle to deny their lustful desires, they are the ones who fall the hardest.  Her pent-up feelings will explode as the first sensations of arousal hit her.  Doug already has arrived at this state, though she isn't aware of that.  It is quite evident to me,
thought Calumnius. 
I can smell it on him.

As he gathered his box of candy intended for an Iraqi family, he reached his hand toward her as if to shake it congenially, as if she were only a colleague. But when she took his hand happily, agreeing to embark upon a journey with him, he held it longer than she anticipated.  He kissed it quite formally—like an officer and a gentleman would.  Then her smile was too much for him to resist.  He pulled her toward him and kissed her mouth, but ended it before he felt he would be unable to resist asking for more.

“Trust me, Abigail,” he said, walking to the door. “I will respect you—both in Iraq and after we get back.”

She felt herself blushing and the warmth of desire beginning in her body.  It frightened her, but Abigail decided to muster courage despite her fears because she believed him—and it felt right.  She smiled good-bye to him and returned his silly wave as he closed the door behind him.

T
he two of them boarded a MetroLink en route to Chesterfield from the Delmar station, which had been in walking distance of Abigail's apartment.  Doug left his car safely parked in her secured parking space, one assigned to her but which had gone unused since she did not own a car.  This saved him a rental fee at the airport.  Each carried a rolling suitcase of medium size, and they found themselves rushing toward his private plane as if fearing they'd be late.  Actually, they were both just excited!  It was Abigail's first experience with a craft such as this; Doug was always excited every time he came in view of this treasured transport, which belonged only to him.

The plane was quite impressive—an eight-passenger Cessna Citation Ultra, one modified for military use by a few changes in thrust and in the cockpit.  Otherwise it was identical to the ones used as business jets by the rich and famous.  Abigail remembered when Mel Carnahan died in a Cessna crash just before elections in the year 2000.  That accident was due to pilot error, bad weather, turbulence, and a faulty altitude indicator.  In spite of remembering this, Abigail was not at all afraid, climbing into the cabin with Doug.  She was thrilled!

“So how did you happen to get your hands on one of these?” she asked, climbing into the comfortable cabin complete with air-conditioning, plush seats, and even earphones with a DVD player at two of the six passenger seats.  Six of the eight passenger seats had been removed and replaced by couches that unfolded into beds, a wet bar and refrigerator, and a tiny bathroom.  “Don't tell me you have another friend.”

“Sort of, that's the way it went, believe it or not.” He laughed.  “My captain got a deal for me that I couldn't refuse.  This model was being replaced by the military with the C-12 Huron, so I was able to grab it at a bargain price.  With the modifications I've made, it's actually paid for itself with my little side business taking people on private flights.”

She had wondered how he made a living outside of a military career, which apparently had ended at some point, allowing him to work toward degrees.  He seemed to be free from any work schedule both during day and nighttime hours, and yet he lived in student housing at the university.  It had crossed her mind that he might be independently wealthy, and she liked this explanation better.  He was a pilot—one with his own private airline—as well as a military veteran and a student of antiquities.  She wondered if a man could possibly come more perfectly packaged for her.
After waiting a lifetime, could it be that I have finally found Mr. Right?

The flight from Spirit of Saint Louis was more fun than Abigail could ever have imagined.  She was used to commercial flights with crowding, waiting, and a series of inspections.  This was more exciting than a thrill ride at an amusement park, a quick two-hour trip with both a take-off and a landing that jolted her from her seat.  Their brief arrival in D.C. amounted to a quick switch from the hangar where the Cessna was parked to a jeep and driver, which took them to the huge cargo carrier headed for Iraq. 

She had expected to see cargo and troops, but the sight of Humvees and drones chained to the floor made her realize she was actually riding in a floating garage.  All human passengers lined the sides on benches equipped with seat belts during take-off and landing, but in between they were free to wander around.  Doug introduced her to one friend of his, the rest he didn't seem to know personally, though they all saluted him as he passed.  They obviously knew him—or knew of him—because he was not in uniform.

Sergeant Malcolm Quigg spoke only briefly before walking away to attend to his duties, but he made a comment before departing that aroused questions for Abigail.  He said, “Sorry to hear about your dad, Doug.”  And Doug answered with a simple, “Thanks.”  He hoped to leave it at that.

“Doug, you didn't tell me much about your father—or your mother either,” she began, seeing that he was uncomfortable, but he began to tell her what had happened.

“It hurts, even now, to think about it,” he said, somberly. “I was a big disappointment to my father, in the end.”

“What?  You must have made him so proud with your military accomplishments.” Abigail seemed shocked.

“He was very proud of my military career,” Doug explained.  “But he didn't like my interest in history or anything in that area.  Then when I became a Catholic, it was the last straw for him.  He refused to speak to me for the last five years of his life.  My mother wasn't happy with his choice, and she wanted to see me.  We stayed in contact, but secretly.  She had been raised in the faith, but she did not practice after marrying my father—a devout atheist, if there is such a term for it.  On his deathbed, he forgave me and asked to see me.  But I didn't make it in time, missing his passing by only minutes.  After that, my mother went back to church.  We went to Mass together whenever I was in town.  Then she died just two years ago.  They are both buried in Arlington National Cemetery in the same plot.”

“Oh, Doug, I am so sorry.  You've been through so much,” said Abigail, “and here I thought you lived this charmed life—had the world as your oyster.  You've suffered greatly.”  She put her arms around him.

“I do consider my life charmed, in spite of all that.  I have a good life,” he said, smiling at her and returning her embrace, “and it just gets better every day.”

They strolled through the rows of parked aircraft and other military vehicles.  He seemed very proud of the drones that had been so successful on military missions throughout the Middle East, and he went into great detail describing the features of each military vehicle. 

“You can't be interested in this,” he said apologetically. “Please stop me when I start boring you.”

“I'm not at all bored, Doug,” she insisted.  “This is all quite amazing to me—I'm doing something I never dreamed I'd ever do.  I am honored to be standing so close to all these mechanical marvels.  I never told you how I used to go to the V.P. Fair over the July 4
^th
celebrations on the riverfront just to see the Harrier every year.  That aircraft filled me with awe.  I knew to expect the same vision hovering over the Mississippi River, pushing the water into a vast circle of deep waves, looking like an alien spaceship parked in mid-air.  And yet, every year I was more in awe than the year before.  After that, I would go home, not interested in any of the other amusements.”

“A girl turned on by aircraft,” he jokingly said with wonder, “where have you been all my life?”

“Waiting in Saint Louis for you to show up,” she joked back.

A
t Baghdad International, Doug seemed prepared for the spectacular corkscrew descent required to thwart possible anti-aircraft attacks from just beyond the airway borders.  He hadn't explained that to Abigail until afterward, so she quickly surmised he was amusing himself at her expense.  He wouldn't have found it so humorous if she'd had to use the barf bag he had provided.  But Abigail's stomach was fine.  She was actually quite thrilled.  When they made it to the ground, she yelled, “Wheeooo, can we do it again?”

Calumnius could have easily transported himself to Baghdad and met them there within an instant, but he wanted to travel with them to hear their conversation.  He was as excited as they were, for different reasons.  Their latent desires will surely flourish in such an exotic setting—a place they both love, a place that to some degree could be considered the home of many demons. 

Calumnius had existed there an eternity earlier, but his first involvements with people of the earth had been with the ancient Babylonians.  Some worshiped him under many different names, and he even showed himself to several of them.  Hence, the distorted figures of horned creatures with wings found among artifacts discovered in the area—most of them undiscovered, most of them probably never to be discovered.

Here at Camp Victory, adjoining Baghdad International, troops were still sleeping in barracks as the two of them climbed from the carrier at three in the morning.  They rolled their baggage along with them quickly, dodging to the rear of a huge fighter taking off nearby and finally made their way to a small caramel-colored building.

“We could spend the night here, if you like,” Doug said, explaining the guest accommodations available and that they would be in separate barracks.  He told her about the pool, the beauty parlors, concessions with American food, and other amenities.  And then he told her how much safer it was to travel at night, that the IED dangers were greater during the daytime.  Since they would go by British armored vehicle, their safety was assured either way—though they would be very near Mosul, where armed battle continued at all hours.

“The family whose hospitality we will be enjoying live southeast of the Nineveh site, and if we leave now, we could be there by eight or nine a.m.  In time for a nice breakfast of goat cheese, figs, and rich Iraqi sweet coffee,” he said next, giving her a hint as to what he would prefer to do.

“That is more tempting to me,” she said, “than a dip in any old pool.”

“You might not agree after those 104 degree temperatures hit you.” He smiled, leading her in a brisk trot toward their next transport vehicle.

On their ride inside the armored vehicle, they could barely see and could hardly hear each other over the noise of the engine.  Severe bumps in the road knocked them continually into each other.  It would have been an almost insurmountable temptation for the two, whose bodies landed atop each other's several times.  But they were not alone.  One British soldier manned the rear gun station, and another watched for suspicious activity through the slit of a window made from bulletproof glass.  Four hours of their bodies repeatedly falling into intimate contact began to be almost too much for them to resist.  They could no longer deny the depth of the attraction between them.

When they finally arrived at the stone building, they were greeted by two men who came running cheerfully to grab Doug with warm embraces.  She stood at the sidelines, observing the group so thrilled to see each other.