And then the demon stopped again.
The street corner on the screen was unfamiliar, but both streets were named after flowers, so I could guess which neighborhood he was in—The Gardens, just this side of the train tracks that led through town to the wood plant. He was very close to where he'd killed Max's dad. It was sure to be patrolled, and he was taking a big risk. Maybe he'd been stopped by a cop. I held the GPS unit in one hand and the phone in the other, waiting. The car was motionless. It was now or never. I created a text message, attached the first photo of Kay, and dialed Mr. Crowley's number:
MYTURN
As soon as I sent the message, I created a new one, then the third, then more, dropping the GPS unit, and using both hands on the phone to keep up a rapid-fire onslaught of horror. Soon I stopped sending messages altogether, just photos,
one after the other, in a step-by-step catalog of everything the demon's wife had suffered. I paused a moment to glance at the GPS screen and cursed loudly at the motionless arrow. Why wasn't he moving? What was he doing? If I didn't catch him in time, he'd kill someone, and the whole plan—everything I'd done—would be wasted. I didn't want to let him kill anyone else—not even one more person. Had I waited too long?
The phone rang again, and I almost dropped it. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Mr. Crowley's number this time—I had his attention. I ignored the call and sent him more photos: Kay sleeping, Kay hooded and gagged, Kay tied to the radiator. A moment later the arrow on the screen jerked backward, turned, and came barreling back down the road. The bait had worked, but would it be enough? I watched the screen intently, waiting for the car to slow down, or careen off the side of the road—any sign that his body was finally destroying itself. But nothing changed.
The demon was healthy, the demon was mad as hell, and the demon was headed straight for me.
18
The arrow on the GPS set raced closer. I looked around at the room—at the disheveled sheets on the bed, the scattered mess on the dresser, and the beaten body of my next-door neighbor lying bound and gagged on the floor. I couldn't clean any of it up—I would barely have time to get outside before the demon came back, let alone find a place to hide. In a few seconds I'd be dead, and Crowley would rip open my chest and pull out my heart. After what I'd done to his wife, he'd probably kill my whole family, too, just for vengeance.
Well, everyone in the family but Dad—good luck finding him. Sometimes it pays to be estranged from your psychopathic son.
Yet even if I had given up, the monster inside me had not. I looked up from my fatalistic thoughts to find myself gathering my things—the GPS set, the ski mask, the backpack—and heading for the bedroom door. As my intellect caught up with my instinct for selfpreservation I doubled back into the room, scanning the floor for anything I might have dropped. DNA evidence didn't worry me—I had spent so much time in the house for legitimate reasons that I could probably explain anything the police found. I told myself that the phone records could also be explained, or erased, and that somehow I could still hide who I was. I took the phone with me, just to be sure. As a final action, I turned out the lamp and slipped into the dark hallway.
The house was pitch black, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I stumbled blindly toward the stairs, my hand on the wall, not daring to use my penlight. I felt my way carefully down the stairs, one step at a time. Halfway down, I caught a glimmer of light from the window in the back door. Moonlight, faint and sullen. I reached the ground floor and turned toward the basement stairs, but another light was growing in the front windows, pale yellow, and the dull roar of an engine swelled rapidly to an angry scream.
Crowley was back.
I forgot about the basement and ran for the back door, desperate to be out of the house before the demon entered.
The knob stuck, but I twisted hard and a little button popped out, unlocking the latch. I threw the door open, stepped outside, and drew it closed behind me as quickly and quietly as I could.