"Blood? Tell me what's going on, John. Have you done something wrong?"
"It wasn't me!" I pleaded, knowing that I was lying. "It wasn't me at all, it was the monster. I didn't want to let it out, but I had to. I tried to kill one demon, but I made another, and I can't stop."
"Listen to me, John," said Dr. Neblin, more serious and intense than I had ever heard him. "Listen to me. Are you listening?"
I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth.
"It's not John anymore, it's Mr. Monster."
"No it's not," said Neblin. "It's John. It's not John Wayne, or Mr. Monster, or anybody else, it's John. You're in control.
Now, are you listening to me?" ,
I rocked back and forth. "Yes."
"Good," he said. "Now pay very close attention: you are not a monster. You're not a demon. You're not a killer. You are a good person, with a strong will and a high moral code. Whatever you've done, you can get through it. We can make it right again. Are you still listening?"
"Yes."
"Then say it with me," he said, " 'We can make it right again.'"
"We can make it right again." I looked over at Kay Crowley's body, crumpled on the floor with a pillow case over her head. I felt like I should be crying, or helping her, but instead I just thought, Yes, I can make this right again. My plan will still work. This will all be worth it if I kill the demon.
"Good," said Dr. Neblin, "now tell me where you are."
"I need to go," I said, and raised myself to my knees.
"Don't hang up!" Neblin shouted. "Please stay on the phone. You need to tell me where you are."
"Thank you for your help," I said, and hung up the phone.
I realized the clock radio was still in my other hand, and threw it aside with revulsion.
I looked at Kay. Had I killed her? I tore off her pillowcase as brusquely as I had torn off my mask, and checked her head for obvious signs of damage. It felt fine, with no blood or breaks, and she was breathing shallowly. Seeing her face was too much for me, and I turned my head. I didn't want to think of her as a person. I didn't want to think that what I had just done had been done to a living, breathing human being.
It was easier without a face.
The phone rang abruptly, startling me, and I glanced at the caller ID. Dr. Neblin. For the first time, it occurred to me that my call to him would leave tracks—evidence on his phone, and on Mrs. Crowley's, that would lead the inevitable investigators back to me. I took another deep breath. There was no stopping now—evidence or no evidence, I needed to kill the demon.
Thought of the demon flooded me with fear, and I checked the GPS. The car was still moving; I still had time. I closed my eyes to avoid seeing Kay and pulled the pillowcase back on, more gently this time, then picked up the phone to snap more pictures. The call from Neblin stopped ringing, and moments later a small beep told me he had left a voice mail.
My pictures now were more elaborate, as I took time to arrange the body.
She was sprawled on the floor in her floral nightgown, tiny blue hospital socks on her feet, and a pillowcase on her head.
She was rolled onto her back, the busted radio displayed next to her head.
She was stretched out on the floor, my shadow falling ominously across her.
I pulled the strips of ripped curtain fabric from my backpack and tied her wrists together as tightly as I could. Her bones were thin and brittle, and I thought I could probably snap them in half if I wanted. I realized that I was already squeezing with one hand, pressing toward the breaking point, and pulled away.
Leave her alone!
Gently, I stretched her bound wrists above her head, and tied them securely to a radiator below the window. I did the same to her ankles, tying them first to each other and then to the foot of the bed. All the while, snapping photos, shot after shot, keeping an eye on the GPS handset.
The demon's car stopped moving.
I dropped the phone, and grabbed the GPS with both hands, eyes glued to the dimly glowing screen. He was on the far side of town, near where Lauren lived, at an intersection. I held my breath. He started driving again, and I let it out. False alarm.
I peeled back the pillowcase just far enough to see Mrs. Crowley's mouth, and gagged her with another strip of curtain.
She was still unconscious, and still breathing evenly, but I didn't want to take any chances of her waking up and calling for help. I took another picture of her face, and then pulled the pillowcase back down. I had enough photos now. The monster snarled again inside my head—a picture of her arm, lying unattached in the middle of the floor, would be so effective—but I struggled to ignore it. With one eye on the GPS I repacked my bag. It was time for phase three.