Devil's Taunt and Other Stories Read online

  “Welcome. Could I get your name, please?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s Luther Cross.”

  She looked through the list and after reaching the very last page, gave me a confused expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I see your name on here…”

  “Really?”

  I made eye contact with her. My irises were unique, being bright red. And as I looked into her eyes, those red irises of mine began to glow. For a moment, her face took on a glazed look and that’s how I knew the glamour had worked. I could tell her I was Denzel Washington and she’d not only believe me, she’d beg for my autograph.

  “There I am,” I said, pointing at a blank spot at the end of the list.

  She looked down and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Oh, silly me! How’d I miss that?” She drew a line with her red pen across the empty spot. But in her mind, she saw my name printed there. “Go on in, Mr. Cross.”

  I gave her a smile and slid my hands into my pants pockets as I entered the banquet hall. I strolled over to the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks, scanning the room as I waited for the bartender to pour the drink.

  The rich and powerful. You get a bunch of these types together in one place, throw in an open bar, and sooner or later, they’ll start talking. But what helped even more was having a sixth sense for the supernatural. Made it easy to zero in on the people in the room, get a sense for anyone who might have need of my services.

  I took the drink and raised the glass to my lips, casting a look around the room. Taking a deep breath, I steeled my focus, reaching out with my senses. Having this kind of ability was something that took years of practice. But things like that came easier for me, what with my demonic heritage. We could smell our own, so to speak.

  Ever walk down the street and pass someone you think you know even though you’re positive you’ve never met them before? That’s kind of what it’s like when you pick up on those traces of the supernatural on a normal person. There’s something you recognize, something that just isn’t quite right.

  I picked up on something in this room. I walked around the banquet hall, moving between the mingling guests who chatted about their summer homes, their yachts, their investment portfolios, the tax write-offs this banquet would grant them. Every now and then, someone would try and talk with me and I’d brush them off as gently as possible.

  The feeling grew stronger. I moved past the tables until I found a middle-aged woman in a black evening dress, her dark, red hair cropped around chin-level. There were a few other women sitting at the table, gossiping. But this one, she just sipped her red wine, clearly focused on something completely different.

  I didn’t even need my handy little sixth sense to tell something was wrong with her. Her green eyes told the whole story—vacant, fearful. When she pulled the glass away from her mouth, I could see from the shifting of the wine level that her hand was quivering and she was trying to keep it as steady as possible.

  Something had scared her. She was only here out of obligation. Or maybe to get away for a night, try and forget about everything. Whatever the case, she didn’t want to be here. But I had to wait. I took my drink and sat at a nearby table, keeping an eye on her. I couldn’t very well walk right up to the group and say, “Sorry to interrupt, ladies. But I’m a paranormal investigator and my demonic sixth sense has told me one of you might have need of my services.”

  On the other hand, it was pretty unique as far as icebreakers went.

  For now, I’d just watch. With the state she was in, I could tell she’d need some air sooner rather than later. I continued to sip my scotch and it wasn’t long before someone came along to try and strike up a conversation. He was a young guy, looked fresh out of business school. Talked about his new job and how he came to this thing with his mother. I nodded politely and threw in a few key phrases every now and then, but I kept my eyes fixed on the woman. If my new conversation partner had any idea I wasn’t paying attention to him, he certainly didn’t let on. Seemed like he just wanted to hear himself brag about his life.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her get up from the table and excuse herself. She didn’t go to the bar for another drink. Instead, she left the hall completely. I excused myself from my conversation and followed her.

  She took the escalator down to the lobby and went out the front door. I followed her, staying a few feet behind so as not to startle her in any way. When she reached a decent enough distance from the hotel, she opened up her purse and took out a pack of Virginia Slims. The cigarette shook as she raised it to her lips and the plastic lighter she carried just sparked impotently without actually lighting.

  I took my Zippo from my pocket and approached her, flicking it open and producing the flame. With the lighter held by my outstretched hand, I got her attention. She looked at me and nodded her thanks before placing the tip of the cigarette over the open flame. After she lit her cigarette, I took out my own case and drew one for myself.

  “Thank you,” she said as she exhaled the smoke. There was clear relief in her voice from being able to light up. “I needed that.” She sized me up from head to toe. “You were upstairs, right?”

  I nodded as I lit my cigarette. Took it out of my mouth and held it up. “Seems we both had the same idea.”

  “Had to get out of there. If I hear one more boast from Edith Starnes about her son at Harvard, I think I might stab someone with a dinner fork.”

  I chuckled. That’s the key, first establish a rapport with them. Make them feel comfortable around you. Tease out the information, make them want to tell you. “I know the feeling. Had this guy chatting with me. Didn’t catch his name, but he wouldn’t shut up about his yacht. All the places he’s gone, how he can’t wait to take it out again, blah, blah, blah.”

  She laughed before taking another drag on her cigarette. Then she offered her hand. “Diane Harwood, by the way.”

  “Luther Cross.” I took her hand and gave it a gentle shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Harwood.”

  “Mrs., actually, but please call me Diane.”

  “Only if you call me Luther.” I flashed her a smile before taking another draw on my cigarette. Leaving the floor open for her to fill the silence.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these things before, Luther,” she said. “Are you from around here?”

  “Just moved, actually.”

  “Oh? You live nearby?”

  “Close enough.” Didn’t want to tell her that I was living in a studio in Albany Park as opposed to a lakefront condo on the Gold Coast. Maybe someday. “Yourself?”

  “Quite a way’s out actually, up in Barrington.”

  “Barrington?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a long way from home, Diane.”

  “Well, you know how it is…” She drew on the cigarette. “I needed a night away…”

  “Night away from what?”

  She looked up at me, surprise in her gaze. I snickered and held up my hand, shaking my head.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s okay. Just…a lot’s been going on.” She bit her lip and looked down. When she did look up, she changed the subject. “So what do you do for a living, Luther?”

  “I’m something of a consultant,” I said. “A specialist, you might say.”

  She squinted a bit. “Specialist? Like a doctor?”

  “Well, I do help people, but probably not in the same way you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah, well…maybe I do need some help…” She looked away again and smoked her cigarette.

  “I don’t mean to pry, but seems like you’ve got something on your mind. Something pretty serious.”

  She scoffed. “Trust me, Luther. If I told you what’s bothering me, you’d want me fitted for a straitjacket.”

  I focused my eyes on her. Sure, I could probably use my powers to coerce her into answering me. But that’d create a bad precedent and damage any potential future working r
elationship we might have. Couldn’t risk that.

  “Try me,” I said. “I might be a bit more open-minded than you think.”

  “It’s…insane.” She sucked on the end of the filter and exhaled almost immediately after the cigarette left her lips. “It’s my daughter.”

  “What about her?”

  “I don’t—” She swallowed hard, not wanting to say the words. But I had a pretty good idea what those words were. “I don’t think my daughter is really my daughter.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s been acting…” Diane looked from side to side as if checking for any eavesdroppers. Then she whispered to me, “strange.”

  “Strange as in…?”

  “As in she’s a completely different person!” Diane’s tone was frantic, but she still kept her voice low. “I know how that sounds, but…”

  “Diane, you know how I said I’m a specialist?”

  “Yeah…?”

  “I think I might be able to help you.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out a business card case. I handed one of the cards to Diane and she looked at it, studying the symbol of the cross and reading my name and title. I saw her eyes widen once she realized what my job was.

  “Paranormal investigator?” she asked. “Is that even a thing?”

  “Sure is,” I said. “And if I’m right, I think you and your daughter could use my help.”

  2

  The next morning, I was on I-90 heading west towards Barrington. Just under an hour under normal highway conditions, but the way I drove, it was closer to half an hour. Diane was suspicious about my job, but from what she’d told me, it also seemed like she was running out of options. So she told me to come to the house and see her daughter, then chat with her and her husband about what could be done.

  I already had a pretty good idea of what I was going to be dealing with. I glanced over to the passenger seat where an unzipped leather bag rested. Sitting on top of the supplies was a flask with a cross on it. I reached over, zipped the bag, and sped up.

  Most of the communities around here were gated. I pulled up to the front gate and rolled down my window to speak to the guard on duty. “Luther Cross,” I told him. “Here to meet the Harwoods.”

  The guard nodded and leaned back inside to make a call. After he got off the phone, he raised the gate and motioned for me to go ahead.

  I drove slowly down the blacktop, looking around at the well-manicured lawns, the man-made ponds, and the large mansions that made up the community. There were landscapers going to work on the grounds outside the homes and in the driveways were an assortment of Lexuses, BMWs, Mercedeses, what have you.

  In my hand, I held one of my business cards and flipped it over. Diane wrote her address on the back of it for me and I looked at the mailboxes of each home I passed to try and match the numbers. When I finally found it, looks like they’d made it easier—THE HARWOODS was printed right on their box.

  I pulled into the circular driveway and came to a stop right at the front door. Turned off the car and stepped out, taking the bag with me. As I closed the door, I stared up at the mansion. The Harwoods had done well for themselves, it seemed. From what Diane told me, it was just the parents and two children, plus a live-in maid. All that room for just five people—seemed like a waste to me.

  I walked up the concrete path and up the three steps leading to the large, white french doors, then pushed the doorbell right beside the frame. A loud chime sounded and within a few moments, a young woman with long, black hair pulled into a ponytail and wearing a maid’s uniform opened the door.

  “Luther Cross, here to see Mr. and Mrs. Harwood,” I said.

  “Yes, Mr. Cross, come in, please.” She stepped to the side and held the door open for me. I moved into the foyer and the maid closed the door behind me. “Would you like me to take your coat?”

  I set the bag on the floor, then took my trench coat off and handed it to her. The sunglasses were next, sliding them into the breast pocket of my suit jacket. I adjusted my suit and made sure my red tie was straight before I picked up the bag once more.

  “Please wait here,” said the maid. “Mrs. Harwood will be with you in a moment.”

  “Thanks.” I waited as the maid took her leave with my coat. High ceilings, around ten feet or so. White marble tile on the ground and a large chandelier hanging overhead. Right in front of me was a large staircase leading up to the second floor. On the left were a pair of windowed doors and through the glass, I could see a sitting room that looked more for show than actual use. The right housed a massive dining room—also seldom-used, I’d assumed.

  I heard footsteps on the tile. Diane came around from one side of the staircase. She was dressed casually in jeans and a white blouse. She offered a small smile when she saw me. “Thanks for coming, Luther.”

  I shook her hand. “Not a problem. So, can I speak with your daughter?”

  “In a minute. My husband wants to have a word with you first.”

  Right, of course he did. My guess was Stuart Harwood wasn’t overly fond of this arrangement. I followed Diane around the staircase and into a family room where I heard the sound of a television set. I saw a man in jeans and a black sweater sitting in a large, leather recliner in front of a big flatscreen with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Stuart? He’s here,” said Diane.

  Stuart Harwood looked up from the TV and eyed me with suspicion. His brown hair was receding back from his forehead and he kept it cropped short. He sipped coffee from a mug with WORLD’S GREATEST DAD stamped in bold, black letters. After setting the mug down on the table beside him, he rose from the recliner and held out his hand, never once taking his brown eyes off me.

  “Stuart Harwood,” he said.

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” When I shook his hand, he squeezed once and then quickly released. With his tense shoulders and the way he looked at me, I could tell Stuart didn’t want me here. He thought this was a waste of time and was clearly just indulging his wife.

  “Diane says you can help us out with Shelly,” he said.

  “Just need a few minutes alone with her.”

  He looked down at my bag. “What’s in there?”

  “Some supplies. Things I might need if this is what I think it is.”

  Stuart folded his arms over his chest. “And what do you think it is?”

  I almost wanted to laugh. He was trying to be a tough guy, intimidate me. Wanted to let me know who was in charge here. That kind of puffed-up bullshit wasn’t gonna work on someone like me.

  “I’d rather not make any premature judgments,” I said, keeping my cool. “It’s important I speak with Shelly before forming a theory.”

  Diane inserted herself into the conversation. “I’ll take you up to her room.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded to Stuart. “Mr. Harwood.”

  He didn’t say anything else and I followed Diane from the family room and up the wooden staircase. The second floor was covered in an off-white carpet, with walls to match. Portraits hung in gold-painted wooden frames. Photos of the family through the years. I came across one of a teenage boy and young girl standing in front of a Christmas tree and stopped in front of it.

  “That’s Shelly and her brother, Tim.”

  “Where’s Tim?” I asked.

  “At school. Shelly’s already missed a week, but we didn’t know what else to do. We took her to the hospital, but they said there wasn’t anything physically wrong with her. They recommended a psychiatrist, but…”

  “But what?” I asked, never taking my eyes off the photo.

  “We called someone, a child psychiatrist. Supposedly the best. He agreed to come visit and he spent about half an hour with Shelly.”

  “And then?”

  “He ran out screaming.”

  I stared at the picture. Shelly had her mother’s dark-red hair and green eyes, while Tim took after his father. Innocent faces, though something told me she didn’t look so innocent anymore.<
br />
  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “The psychiatrist? Weeks, Harold Weeks.”

  I made a mental note to look in on Dr. Weeks later. But for now, I wanted to visit Shelly. “Okay, let’s go chat with your daughter.”

  Diane nodded and swallowed hard. She continued to lead me through the second floor. We came to a closed white door and Diane produced a key from the pocket of her pants. She slid it into the lock and slowly turned. I heard the sound of the lock clicking and Diane wrapped her fingers around the golden handle. She hesitated for a moment before turning and pushing the door open. She went in first and I followed after.

  A chill filled the air. Colder than any other room in the house. We stepped into the room. A TV sat on a dresser on one side of the room and right across from it was a bed with white sheets and a white headboard. Sitting upright in the bed was Shelly, the girl from the picture. Around ten years old, holding a teddy bear in her hands. Sheets were tied to the bedposts and around her wrists. And she had a wide grin on her face. One that looked haunting.

  “Hello, Mother,” she said in a high voice, maintaining the smile. She stared at the TV, even though it wasn’t even turned on. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Mr. Cross,” said Diane. “He’s here to talk with you.”

  “Is he?” Shelly tilted her head to the side and her gaze shifted to me. “Good morning, Mr. Cross. You seem…familiar.”

  I put my hand on Diane’s shoulder. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes alone?”

  “A-are you sure?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Positive. Shelly and I should really talk alone.”

  Diane nodded and excused herself, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. I heard the lock turn again. Shelly never took her eyes off me.

  “Locking her daughter in the bedroom with a total stranger? That can’t be a good idea, now can it?” she asked.

  I set the bag down on the floor and knelt beside it, pulling back the zipper and taking out the flask. I could feel Shelly’s eyes on me as I worked. I rose up and approached the bed, unscrewing the top.