squeal in terror.
I was five feet from the door.
The Celia-thing was expanding, the demon no longer resembling a child, but rather a noxious, misshapen beast. Its face loomed toward Bittner’s. “Celia despises you. You abandoned her!”
Bittner whimpered, his hand quivering toward the grip of the gun.
“Yeeeesss,” the demonic voice said, nodding, the eyes a hellish red now, the vertical disks of pupil narrowing in savage glee. “Go for your weapon, Jack. See where it gets you.”
My hand was trembling so violently I could scarcely grip the brass doorknob, which was hot to the touch. Though we were only separated by a few inches of solid wood, the voices on the other side of the door sounded miles away.
“You’re not Celia,” Jack whispered, as if to himself. “You’re not my baby.”
“No, Jack,” the voice rumbled. “No I’m not. But Celia’s going to hear all about her daddy tomorrow.”
Something new came into Bittner’s face then, and his right hand finally seemed to steady. His fingers looking sure now, he drew the gun from his holster. But rather than imbuing him with confidence, this seemed to bring him only puzzlement and dread.
“Jack Bittner,” the demon’s voice said. “Aged forty-six. Twenty-year veteran of the Chicago Police Department…”
The gun rose, Bittner’s hand as steady as a surgeon’s.
“…died last night in an upscale Lincoln Park home…”
Bittner stared at the gun as if it had transformed into a deadly viper. “What are you doing?”
When the demon spoke again, its tone was celebratory. “Time to join your mommy in hell!”
The full realization of horror stretched Bittner’s rough-hewn features. He uttered a breathless little moan.
The barrel drifted toward his open mouth, penetrated the barrier of his quivering lips.
Bittner’s eyes were moons, his moan going shrill.
His lips wrapped around the slender barrel.
His trigger finger whitened.
I looked away a moment too late. I saw the finger squeeze. I saw the rear of Jack Bittner’s head explode like a bloody firework.
The door swung toward me, its edge narrowly missing my face. Danny stumbled in. He stopped beside me, gaping at Jack Bittner’s slouching form, which toppled sideways as we watched.
The demon, unmasked, turned and grinned at us. It was still Casey’s body, but nothing about that face resembled human feeling. Or perhaps it was the horror we all wore beneath our carefully constructed masks.
“Jesus,” Danny whispered.
“Run,” I said.
Chapter Nine
Sutherland was in the hallway, his forehead bloodied and gathered in a taut bump. I realized at once how it had likely happened. Bittner had somehow gotten back inside, overcome Danny, taken his gun and then subdued Sutherland too.
Liz and Carolyn stood adjacent to Sutherland and Danny, with Ron a little ways off.
Footsteps sounded within Casey’s bedroom.
“Come on,” Danny said, sweeping Carolyn into his arms. I put a hand on Liz’s back to get her moving. Sutherland looked bemused, but he followed us anyway. From behind us somewhere, Ron was pleading for us to wait up.
But we couldn’t wait. The demon was coming.
“We can’t leave Casey,” Liz said, her voice shrill.
“We won’t!” Danny shouted over his shoulder. “But I’m getting Carolyn out of here!”
We sprinted for the stairs, but even before we got halfway there, I could see something was wrong. I heard a multitude of deep, cracking sounds. The spindles of the banister seemed to undulate in the meager light of the corridor.
“Wait a second,” I called as we drew nearer, but Danny either didn’t hear me or was too frightened to heed my words.
He and Carolyn were five feet from the top stair and running at full speed when the whole thing gave way.
There was an unearthly groaning noise, followed by a series of harsh staccato pops. Splintered wood and scraps of carpet twirled through the air like pinwheels. Danny skidded on the wood floor, and for
I was five feet from the door.
The Celia-thing was expanding, the demon no longer resembling a child, but rather a noxious, misshapen beast. Its face loomed toward Bittner’s. “Celia despises you. You abandoned her!”
Bittner whimpered, his hand quivering toward the grip of the gun.
“Yeeeesss,” the demonic voice said, nodding, the eyes a hellish red now, the vertical disks of pupil narrowing in savage glee. “Go for your weapon, Jack. See where it gets you.”
My hand was trembling so violently I could scarcely grip the brass doorknob, which was hot to the touch. Though we were only separated by a few inches of solid wood, the voices on the other side of the door sounded miles away.
“You’re not Celia,” Jack whispered, as if to himself. “You’re not my baby.”
“No, Jack,” the voice rumbled. “No I’m not. But Celia’s going to hear all about her daddy tomorrow.”
Something new came into Bittner’s face then, and his right hand finally seemed to steady. His fingers looking sure now, he drew the gun from his holster. But rather than imbuing him with confidence, this seemed to bring him only puzzlement and dread.
“Jack Bittner,” the demon’s voice said. “Aged forty-six. Twenty-year veteran of the Chicago Police Department…”
The gun rose, Bittner’s hand as steady as a surgeon’s.
“…died last night in an upscale Lincoln Park home…”
Bittner stared at the gun as if it had transformed into a deadly viper. “What are you doing?”
When the demon spoke again, its tone was celebratory. “Time to join your mommy in hell!”
The full realization of horror stretched Bittner’s rough-hewn features. He uttered a breathless little moan.
The barrel drifted toward his open mouth, penetrated the barrier of his quivering lips.
Bittner’s eyes were moons, his moan going shrill.
His lips wrapped around the slender barrel.
His trigger finger whitened.
I looked away a moment too late. I saw the finger squeeze. I saw the rear of Jack Bittner’s head explode like a bloody firework.
The door swung toward me, its edge narrowly missing my face. Danny stumbled in. He stopped beside me, gaping at Jack Bittner’s slouching form, which toppled sideways as we watched.
The demon, unmasked, turned and grinned at us. It was still Casey’s body, but nothing about that face resembled human feeling. Or perhaps it was the horror we all wore beneath our carefully constructed masks.
“Jesus,” Danny whispered.
“Run,” I said.
Chapter Nine
Sutherland was in the hallway, his forehead bloodied and gathered in a taut bump. I realized at once how it had likely happened. Bittner had somehow gotten back inside, overcome Danny, taken his gun and then subdued Sutherland too.
Liz and Carolyn stood adjacent to Sutherland and Danny, with Ron a little ways off.
Footsteps sounded within Casey’s bedroom.
“Come on,” Danny said, sweeping Carolyn into his arms. I put a hand on Liz’s back to get her moving. Sutherland looked bemused, but he followed us anyway. From behind us somewhere, Ron was pleading for us to wait up.
But we couldn’t wait. The demon was coming.
“We can’t leave Casey,” Liz said, her voice shrill.
“We won’t!” Danny shouted over his shoulder. “But I’m getting Carolyn out of here!”
We sprinted for the stairs, but even before we got halfway there, I could see something was wrong. I heard a multitude of deep, cracking sounds. The spindles of the banister seemed to undulate in the meager light of the corridor.
“Wait a second,” I called as we drew nearer, but Danny either didn’t hear me or was too frightened to heed my words.
He and Carolyn were five feet from the top stair and running at full speed when the whole thing gave way.
There was an unearthly groaning noise, followed by a series of harsh staccato pops. Splintered wood and scraps of carpet twirled through the air like pinwheels. Danny skidded on the wood floor, and for
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