The_Demons_Wife_ARC (38 page)

But she had
stood up to the snake demon—which, she guessed, very well could have been the
imposter in a different form. She was confident she could handle Sally now.
What worried her was wondering when all of this collateral damage would end.

“I’m so sorry
all of this happened,” Claire said.

“I know,”
Sally replied, “but don’t you worry. I’m going to make sure that son of a bitch
gets what’s coming to him, I can guarantee that!”

Wait a
second…That’s my husband you’re talking about
, Claire thought but didn’t say.
She was too stunned to speak.

“I’ll sue his
ass. That’s what I’m gonna do. And trust me—I’m not going to rest until he’s
thrown into jail and they throw away the key. You should see what he did to
me.” Her voice choked off with emotion.

“I’m sure it
was horrible,” Claire said, but her voice trailed off. She was trying to figure
out some way she could convince Sally that it hadn’t—it couldn’t have been
Samael. 

How much can I
tell her…and how much will she believe? She wondered. She could just imagine Sally’s
acid-tongued comments, questioning her sanity.

“I’ll be there
in—”

She checked
her wristwatch and saw that it had been almost four hours, now, since Samael
had been taken downtown to the police station.

Why haven’t I
heard from him?

“—within half
an hour.”

Sally sniffed,
as if to say don’t bother. 

“Take care,”
she said. “See yah soon,” and before Sally could come back with something
sarcastic or hurtful, she ended the call.

And then
immediately dialed Samael’s cell phone.

~ * ~

He answered on
the second ring.

“Hey,” was all
he said. He spoke with a low voice—almost a whisper—so Claire knew right away
that whatever he was going through wasn’t over yet.

They obviously
had brought him in to answer Sally’s accusations.

“Hey
yourself,” Claire said. “Tell me. What’s going on?”

Samael took a
deep breath but didn’t say anything for the longest time. And in that time, the
tension inside Claire coiled tightly.

“They’ve
charged me with aggravated assault and criminal restraint,” he finally said.

“You can’t be
serious!”

“All too
serious,” Samael replied.

“But you know
and I know you didn’t do it. You didn’t have time to do it.”

“So you know?”

Claire made a
grunting sound in the back of her throat and said, “I talked with Sally, and I
know it’s simply not possible, I know you’d never hurt someone I care about.”

“There are
some who would doubt the veracity of that.”

“Not me,”
Claire said sharply, and she felt the conviction deep in her soul.

Samael heaved
a sigh, and Claire knew he was relieved to know she believed in him.

“They have
Sally’s charges. This is serious stuff.”

“You haven’t
faced worse?” Claire asked, and she smiled when she heard him chuckle.

Claire was
suddenly jolted to silence. Over the phone, she could hear someone rattling and
banging something—maybe the drawers of a steel filing cabinet or something.
People were talking in the background, but she couldn’t make out what they
said.

“So what are
you going to do?”

“I’ve already
got a call in to my lawyer, Terry Traut. We’re waiting for him to come by the
station.”

“And do what?
Can he get you out?”

“We’ll see if
they let us post bail or if I have to stay here until the trial.”

“Trial?”

Claire’s
insides felt like cold jelly as she looked around for someplace to sit. Instead
of sitting down, she backed up against the nearest wall and then slowly slid
down into a squat on the floor. The air in the room sparkled with spinning
white dots that burned like stars in the bars of sunlight.

“Stay there…”
she heard herself say.

Over the
phone, it sounded like someone in a nearby room was speaking for her.

“Look, Claire.
I know how hard this is—how hard it will be for you. It’s hard on me, too.
Believe me. But I have to do this. Just knowing you have faith in me is all I
need.”

“Oh, Samael…”

“Because if
you don’t love me,” Samael went on, “if I didn’t have any reason to hope, and
if you didn’t believe in me…if you didn’t trust me, then there’s no point in
doing what I’m doing.”

And
what—exactly—are you doing?
She wanted to ask.

“I’m coming to
see you,” she said abruptly.

“I’m not sure
that’s such a good idea.”

“Oh,
yeah?…Well I do!”

Samael
chuckled and said, “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

And then the
phone line went dead.

~ * ~

As Claire
drove from Falmouth to Portland, she wished she had a Xanax—or a stiff drink—to
quell her anxiety. The storm had passed, leaving the world covered by a thin
coating of fresh snow. The sun was shining brightly, and with temperatures
soaring into the high forties and low fifties, the snow would melt soon. She
tried to enjoy the beauty that surrounded her.

Every day
passes entirely too fast
.

But try as she
might to enjoy the day and forget her worries for the moment, her stomach felt
like a nest of writhing snakes. She wondered briefly if she could be pregnant,
but then dismissed the idea.

How can I get
pregnant from a tail?

But now that
she was thinking about snakes, she couldn’t ignore the kaleidoscopic images of
what had happened last night. The images were too horrible, and the psychic
echoes of fear and revulsion and stark terror were still strong and would
probably remain that way for the rest of her life.

She had seen
it.

She had lived
through it.

And she had
survived it.

Earlier this
morning, she had checked the bedroom where Sally—or the demon masquerading as
Sally—had been. Miraculously, the walls were intact, and there was absolutely
no evidence of any struggle

So either it
had never happened or she had imagined it.

The only other
possibility was that the fight had taken place on some different level of
reality…some celestial plane that most people in this world never experienced.

One of those
explanations had to be right, she decided, or else Samael, Michael, and maybe
Michelle were supernaturally good at rebuilding and cleaning things up. The
police would have noticed something was wrong if one side of the house had been
torn apart, and a huge headless snake lay dead on the floor.

She wished
Michael had come back to the house before she left so she could ask him about
it. She needed answers…something conclusive…something that would remove all of
her fears and doubts.

Could he ever
do that?

Or is living
life exactly that?

Maybe all it
amounts to is naming your fears and doubts, and moving through them.

Ultimately,
because she knew this was the only way she could ever handle it, she told
herself to accept that she would never know all of the answers.

Because what
did it matter?

~ * ~

Claire pulled
into a space in the parking lot next to the police station. A small snowplow
was moving back and forth, pushing the already slushy snow into thin ridges
along the perimeter of the parking lot. The plow’s warning beeper started when
it backed up for another pass.

Claire got out
of the car and locked the door, but before she walked up to the front entrance,
she purposely took a moment to enjoy the thrill of being alive.

Take a deep
breath.

Look up at the
beautiful vault of blue sky
.

“Not a cloud
in the sky,” she whispered to herself, smiling tightly because she was all too
well aware of the clouds that darkened her life…and were getting worse.

She took
another deep breath, smelling the salty tang of the nearby ocean and the thin
pine resin in the air.

“This is life…This
is really happening.”

People passed
by on the sidewalk, and cars drifted by heading in all directions. Life went on
in spite of her worries. She looked around at the ordinary activity and felt
like she was the still point in the turning world.

The hub.

The axis.

But that
feeling soon passed, and she started up the wide granite steps to the front
door of the police station. The thought that Samael was in there
somewhere…locked up…alone…filled her with pity.

She grasped
the door firmly and entered.

~ * ~

The smell of
floor wax filled the entryway as she walked up to the front desk. A
dispatcher—an elderly white woman—was hunched over her desk, talking to someone
on the radio. Without even turning to look at Claire, she raised a forefinger
to signal that she’d be with her in a moment.

Claire stepped
away from the window, taking a moment to look around. Her eyes were drawn to
the assorted postings on a corkboard—leaflets, “Most Wanted” posters, and
advertisements for apartments and various other small businesses around town.
All the while, she couldn’t stop thinking that somewhere in this building—

Probably in
the basement.

—Samael was
locked up in a prison cell.

She shuddered
at the thought and was determined more than ever to get him out of here no matter
what.

“How can I
help you,” the dispatcher asked, startling Claire, who turned back to face her.

“Oh, I—I’m
here to see my husband.”

Hearing
herself say the word husband still sounded strange.

“And he is…?”

“Samael
Pierson. He came in earlier today with—”

“Detective
Trudeau. Yeah,” the dispatcher said. She reached for a phone, picked up the
receiver, and held it to her ear. Then she pressed a button on the phone’s
base. After a short wait, the woman spoke into the mouthpiece, nodded, and then
put the phone back in its cradle.

“He’ll be up
to see you in a few minutes,” the dispatcher said.

“Who, my
husband?”

“Detective
Trudeau. Have a seat, if you’d like.”

And that was
all. Without another word or any more consideration, the dispatcher turned back
to the array of electronic gear that was chattering with faint voices broken by
bursts of static.

As she took a
seat, Claire felt like a cancer patient waiting in her doctor’s office for word
as to whether or not she was terminal. While she waited, she watched a variety
of people file in and out of the station, going about their business. She
wondered what their stories were—what fears and doubts they lived with, but her
impatience was steadily mounting, and she was anxious to resolve this situation
now and be done with it.

If I ever can
be done with it.

She
involuntarily jumped to her feet when a loud buzzing sound filled the waiting
room. She turned toward the heavy metal door just as it slammed open, and
Detective Trudeau appeared in the open wedge of the doorway. His face was set,
showing no emotion as he approached Claire. His footsteps echoed in the wide
room.

“Mrs.
Pierson,” Trudeau said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “What can I do
for you?”

Claire shook
hands with him, noticing that his grip was warm and dry. She wondered why she
would be friendly to the man. It wasn’t like she was here on a friendly visit. 

And Trudeau
certainly wasn’t a friend. He was the man investigating whether or not her
husband had assaulted her roommate.

“I’m here to
see my husband,” she said, blurting out the words. “Please,” she added.

Detective
Trudeau regarded her for a moment as if he had something important to say. Then
he nodded and, without a word, stepped to one side, indicating that she should
approach the door. After another short ear-shattering buzz, the door lock
clicked, and Trudeau held the door open for her.

Once they
started down the hallway, and the door slammed shut behind them, the atmosphere
suddenly shifted. It became oppressive…stifling. Claire and Detective Trudeau
walked side by side down a long corridor that echoed with the sound of their
footsteps and the faint sound of voices and the clacking of keyboards from
offices on either side of the hall.

“He’s
innocent, you know,” Claire said. She felt foolish doing so, but she had to say
something to break the awkward silence between them.