Occasional Demons Read online

He straightened up and, taking a deep, shuddering breath, looked up at the sky, a wide smile spread across his face.

  “There’s one thing to think about, Mr. Bonney.“

  At least he stopped calling me Stuie-boy, Stuart thought with a certain grim satisfaction.

  “What’s that?“ he asked.

  “You already got to record at Sharp Sounds Studio. You might at least be famous for that!“

  With that, he slammed the car door shut and gave Stuart a big wave before crossing the street, heading back to the studio. Even when he was in the middle of the street with bright sunlight pouring down on him, his body seemed somehow insubstantial. He looked almost like the shadow of a passing cloud, shifting across the hot asphalt. Stuart shook his head, not even looking as he slipped the key into the ignition and started up the car.

  “Yes, goddamn it,“ he whispered, glancing at his reflection as he adjusted the rearview mirror. The gleam in his eyes frightened him, but he had already made his decision. He shifted the car into gear, but before pulling out of his parking space, he pressed down hard on the brake pedal and jammed the shift back into park. His mind was whirling, and all of his thoughts centered on the basic question Al had raised.

  How much do I want it... How much am I willing to risk? There was no doubt about it; Al could get some incredible sounds. Recording here would guarantee that Brokenface’s follow-up CD would hit the top of the charts. Stuart knew he should feel happy—elated that Al had agreed to let the band record there, but for more than a full minute, Stuart just sat there, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he considered what he had just agreed to. The clearest, most rational voice in his head was telling him that thinking he would die just because he recorded at Al’s studio was absolutely crazy. There was no way all those people’s deaths could be connected with their having recorded here.

  But another voice deeper in his mind was demanding attention. It was telling him that it might already be too late. He had already agreed to come back to Sharp Sounds Studio to record some more. If he followed through with those plans, it might mean that he would die shortly thereafter.

  A cold tightness verging on panic gripped him by the throat as he considered this but—finally—he came to a decision. He couldn’t risk it. He didn’t want to die even if it meant he joined those ranks of dead legends.

  This whole fucking thing is crazy! He told himself, but now he was sure he didn’t want to take that kind of chance. Although there were a few problems with the ban right now, things were going fairly well. They were getting good airplay, and although their new album might not be in the stores in time for Christmas, things were coming along just fine.

  Why take a chance of messing things up?

  He’d go back in and tell Al thanks, but no thanks.

  His decision made, Stuart turned off the ignition, opened the door, and stepped out onto the street. He tossed his car keys once into the air and caught them, then slid them back into his pants pocket as he started across the street. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he never even saw the car that had just turned the corner and was heading straight toward him.

  I’ve Been Thinking About You

  “I’ve been thinking about you.“

  The woman’s voice was almost too low to hear over the telephone. Bill Wheeling gripped the receiver tightly and tried to respond, but for a few seconds, the only sound he could manage was a high, wheezing gasp.

  He’d just come back to the motel room after a four-mile jog along the beach. Even with a steady onshore breeze, the August afternoon had been furnace hot. The humidity was high, like it had been for the last five or six days. Sweat was streaming down his face and chest as though he’d just stepped out of the shower.

  “Who—who is this?“ Bill asked, noticing how funny his own voice sounded over the phone. He was wearing only running shoes and a pair of light-weight shorts, no shirt. The chill of the air-conditioned room made him shiver.

  For a second or two, there was only total dead silence at the other end of the line as if the call had been disconnected. He pulled the receiver away from his ear and looked at it curiously. After tracking the wire back to the wall jack to assure himself that he hadn’t unplugged it somehow, he pressed the receiver to his ear again and, in a sharper, more commanding voice, repeated his question.

  “Who is this?“

  “I’ve been thinking about you.“ The woman’s voice had a deep, pleasant lilt to it that sounded faintly Scottish or Irish, and it was teasingly familiar, but no matter how hard he tried to place it, Bill couldn’t quite remember where he’d heard it before.

  He was certain it wasn’t Mary, his wife. She’d gone off shopping with their friends, John and Nancy, looking for souvenirs for the kids while he did his afternoon jog. The plan was for all four of them to meet at Joseph’s By the Sea at six o’clock for supper. In any event, it wouldn’t be like Mary to play a practical joke on him, even on vacation.

  “I—I’m afraid you must have the wrong number,“ Bill said, his voice tightening. But even as he said it, he couldn’t help but wonder who the caller was. He instantly got a mental image that she was young and very attractive. He could hear a subtle sexual energy in her voice. Obviously, she had hit a wrong number or two while dialing her lover.

  Bill straightened his shoulders and closed his eyes as he tried to imagine in more detail what this woman looked like. In his mind, he saw cascades of long, dark hair, high cheekbones, and narrowed, cat-like eyes that glowed green—yes, green, like a cat’s. She had a young, well-toned body that was tanned nut-brown from the summer sun, and right now, with the phone in her hand, she was sprawled languidly on a king-sized bed in a luxurious motel room. If she was wearing anything at all, it wasn’t much more than a skimpy bikini...or maybe silky, red lingerie. Yes, that was it. And she was caressing herself as she shifted her hips across the silk sheets. Closing her eyes, she whispered into the phone, which Bill could imagine was almost melting from the heat of her breath.

  “What?“ the woman asked softly, sounding a bit confused and a little bit hurt. “Do you mean to say that you’ve forgotten all about me?“

  This time when she spoke, Bill noticed a curious quality in her voice. Probably just a bad connection, or maybe she was using a remote telephone that had a weak battery. Whatever the cause, her voice modulated with every word, creating a curious, bubbly sound effect.

  “I... I’m sorry,“ Bill said, unable to push the erotic images out of his mind. “I think you really do have the wrong number. What number were you dialing?“

  “I want to talk to you, Bill,“ the woman replied, “because I’ve been thinking about you.“

  A sudden jolt stiffened Bill’s back. A sharp cramp tightened the muscles in his left shoulder. He looked around the bedroom as though expecting to see his wife and friends nearby, guffawing as they enjoyed his comical confusion at their practical joke.

  The drapes in the room were tightly closed. The fabric glowed a rich lemon yellow from the late after sunlight. The faint hum of the air-conditioner was the only sound in the room other than Bill’s rapid breathing.

  “Well I haven’t been thinking about you!“ he whispered harshly into the phone. “Who is this? How did you get this number?“

  Without waiting to hear her reply, he slammed the phone down onto its base. For almost a full minute, he stood there beside the bed, panting heavily as he stared at the phone. He felt only a slight measure of relief when, after a minute or more, it hadn’t started ringing again. He finally decided that the woman—whomever she was—must have re-dialed and gotten the right number this time.

  Grunting softly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his running shoes. He emptied the accumulated sand into the wastebasket by the bed, then peeled off his sweat-drenched socks. It was only when he stood up that he realized he had a rock-hard erection from fantasizing about his mysterious caller. There had been something...something alluring about her voice, and it
had really turned him on. Too bad Mary wasn’t back from shopping. They could grab a little quickie before supper.

  He liked the buttery glow of afternoon light that filled the room, so he didn’t turn on any lights as he pulled off his running shorts and jock, and strode naked into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and, after testing the water, stepped under the needle-sharp spray.

  The instant his hair was thick with shampoo lather, and sudsy water was streaming like sea-foam down both sides of his face, the phone in the bedroom started ringing again.

  “Shit!“ he muttered, sputtering as he rinsed his face, and slid open the shower stall door. Soapy water streamed down into his eyes, stinging them as he stared out into the bedroom.

  The phone kept right on ringing, and Bill could sense the caller’s impatience.

  “Shit!“ he muttered again, his anger rising fast as he stepped out of the shower and started for the bedroom. His bare feet slapped the floor. As he leaned across the bed, dripping water fell onto the bedspread. He reached out for the phone and just before he grabbed it, the sound cut off in mid-ring.

  “Fuck!“

  Scowling, he picked up the phone anyway and pressed the receiver to his ear, listening to the steady droning buzz of the disconnect.

  I hope that wasn’t Mary, calling with a change of plans, he thought, but he knew it wasn’t. He was certain—somehow—that it had been that mystery caller again, and somehow she had known he was about to pick up, and she had hung up simply to annoy him.

  “Yeah? Well, who cares?“ he muttered, glad he hadn’t spoken with her again. As pleasant and evocative as her voice had been, he’d just as soon never hear it again. The memory of it made his skin crawl. He shivered but convinced himself it was because he was wet, and the air-conditioner was running on high.

  Still scowling, he went back into the bathroom and hurriedly finished up his shower. He wanted to be dressed and out of the room as fast as possible just in case that woman did call again.

  The phone didn’t ring again until 5:45.

  Bill had just and stepped out into the hallway, being careful to lock the door behind him, when the ringing started again. He hesitated for less than a second before turning and walking down to the lobby. He’d be damned if he was going to bother unlocking the door and rush back into the room just to have her hang up again before he could pick it up.

  And if it was Mary with a change of plans, then she would just have to catch up with him in the bar at Joseph’s because that was the plan, and that’s exactly where he was going to be.

  “I thought you might be trying to play a trick on me or something,“ Bill said.

  He was seated at a table in Joseph’s, having drinks and appetizers with Mary, John, and Nancy before ordering their meals. The wide picture window looked out over a vast expanse of sea grass and sand dunes that led down to the sparkling blue Atlantic Ocean. The tide was ebbing, and long, narrow combers were rolling in, churning up frothy heads of foam that looked the color and texture of storm clouds. The wide stretch of wet sand from low tide was dark and glistening, like an irregular mirror.

  It was a little after six o’clock, and the beach in front of the restaurant was mostly deserted except for a few lingering couples or parents with children straggling along. High overhead, a solitary seagull coasted along on the thermals. The disk of a nearly-full moon was rising in the east, looking like a large silver coin on the edge of the ocean.

  “Why would I ever do something like that?“ Mary asked, smiling crookedly.

  Bill chuckled as if he had to remind himself that his wife didn’t have much of a sense of humor. He loved her deeply, as he had for the last twelve years, but he enjoyed teasing her about how her sense of humor, like her appendix, wasn’t much more than a vestigial, non-functioning organ.

  Bill frowned and took a sip of Shipyard Ale. “Must have been a wrong number, then,“ he said, trying to sound casual. “But still...it bothers me that she used my name.“

  “Probably just a coincidence,“ John said, waving his hand dismissively. “’Sides, you don’t know anyone around here, do you?“

  Bill’s frown deepened as a long-buried memory stirred in his mind, but he didn’t allow it to reach the surface.

  “No... Ahh, not anymore, anyway.“ He took another sip of ale to cover up the catch in his voice before he continued. “When I was a kid, we used to come up to Old Orchard for a week or two every summer. That was back in the Sixties, when the Pier was still here.“

  Everyone at the table nodded. Bill noticed that no one seemed to pick up on the tension he could hear in his own voice. He didn’t remember many details about those family vacations. Mostly he remembered being bored out of his mind much of the time because he didn’t know any other kids his age around here. He mom always said he’d make friends of other vacationers, but he never did. Once he got older, he met a few local kids and started hanging around at night by himself. Usually, he spent his time trying to meet the local girls or score some pot. But, at least as far as he could remember, he hadn’t struck up any friendships—certainly none that had extended beyond those one or two weeks every summer.

  “Besides,“ he said, shaking his head, “this person sounded much too young to be looking for me.“

  Mary cocked one eyebrow, but any suspicion there might have been in her expression quickly faded and was replaced by a smile as she leaned over and kissed Bill on the cheek.

  “Oo-la-la,“ John said, laughing raucously as he slid his gaze over to his own wife. “I can see that the oysters are already having an effect on someone.“

  Mary blushed at his comment. Pursing her lips, she looked down at her folded hands and shook her head as though mildly disgusted.

  “How would you have any idea how old she is, anyway?“ Nancy asked before taking a sip of her Manhattan.

  She seemed totally oblivious to—or else purposely ignoring—her husband’s leering glances. Bill couldn’t help but wonder if this was simply because John and Nancy had been together more than twenty years, but maybe there was some deeper, unspoken tension between them.

  Bill shrugged and tried to push the mental image he had created of his mysterious caller out of his mind; but when the vision of a gorgeous, dark-haired woman wearing nothing but sheer red lingerie rose in his mind again, he felt himself stiffen. He shifted in his seat to get comfortable.

  “Well, she...she sounded young...almost a kid, really,“ he said, even though that didn’t at all match the mental image he had created. He wished they would all just drop the subject, but the surprising thing was that, no matter how much he tried not to think about her, he had an extremely clear image of his caller’s face and body. Even when he wasn’t consciously thinking about her, he found himself dwelling on minute details about her that pulled together into a very sharp and individual picture. He also couldn’t deny that the image had a strong erotic charge that had given him another rock-solid erection.

  Or maybe—like John said—it was the oysters.

  No matter, Bill was now convinced that the mystery woman had a dark, well-tanned face, a full figure, with swelling breasts and sensuously curved hips, and most definitely narrow, green eyes the color of deep, cold sea water. He even imagined a small mole on her cheek, about an inch below her left eye, and when she smiled, her teeth looked small and pearly, perfectly even, like a cover girl’s.

  But as alluring as this image was, there was also something deeply disturbing about it.

  In his imagination, Bill thought it looked almost predatory, like a panther, stalking its prey. Her arms were slim but well-muscled as she reclined on her bed and reached up as though welcoming him. Her thick hair floated like a dark cloud on the pillows as she shifted her hips subtly from side to side. Bill’s fantasy image of the woman rippled as though he were looking at her, floating beneath the water and looking up at the sky, reaching up for the surface.

  As foolish as it seemed, Bill was positive he would recognize this woman if he ever
saw her. The image of her was etched so clearly in his mind that he barely paid any attention to his wife and friends as they continued their idle banter. He sat there pretending that he was listening, but all he was thinking was that he would have to keep his eyes open throughout the rest of their stay in Old Orchard just in case he caught a glimpse of her...whoever she was.

  The meal was exquisite, but even after they were finished and were contemplating the dessert menu, Bill found it difficult to focus on the conversation at the table. He couldn’t begin to explain the curious thoughts and feelings his image of the phone caller stirred up in him. It cast him into a gloomy mood of nostalgia and sadness, leaving him with a vague feeling of something he had lost. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and every now and then, almost against his will, he found himself bringing the conversation around to a discussion of missed opportunities and the ephemeral passage of time. He couldn’t help but be struck by the deep sadness that seemed to be at the heart of everything, and try as he might, he couldn’t shake the lost, lonely feeling that gripped him ever since he had first heard her say—I’ve been thinking about you.

  He tried to explain it away by telling himself that he was simply waxing nostalgic about his lost youth because of the vacations he’d spent here as a child, but that didn’t come close to convincing him. The sadness seemed much deeper and more powerful than that. Several times during the meal, he actually felt tears gathering in his eyes, as though he were filled with grief. He kept trying to bring the conversation around to hint at some of these deeper feelings, but his wife and friends—John, in particular—seemed bent on keeping things on a happy, superficial level.

  All four of them joked about doing the right thing and passing on dessert, so they ordered coffee. As they sipped coffee and talked, the sky outside the restaurant window gradually deepened to a dark, bruised blue. The disk of the moon was higher, now, and brighter, casting a cold, white glow across the water.