My Demon Page 4

“Can you enter your pin please,” Alex asked her.

  “Certainly dear,” the lady said, and juggled a copious handbag and two other shopping bags to free some fingers.

  “Listen,” Clive said, and rested his hands on her shoulders. “When the till opens, Mrs. Peabody will drop something. A commotion near the shop will distract everyone else. Take the money then.”

  The cash drawer clunked open with a bing. Mrs. Peabody dropped her handbag and purse. Coins flew in all directions, tinkling across the floor. An evangelical preacher appeared right outside the entrance with his amp and loudspeaker, as if from nowhere, and started shouting the blessings of the Lord into the shop.

  “Now!” Clive ordered.

  Alex swung into action, grabbing piles of twenties, tens and fives. She folded them carefully and stuffed them down the front of her trousers.

  “No pockets,” she said when she caught Clive’s half-cocked smile of amusement. “Oh no.” Alex grabbed Clive. “What about the surveillance cameras? They’ll have taped me!” Despite whispering, Mrs. Peabody’s head popped up from behind the counter.

  “Did you say something, dear?”

  “No, no. Do you need some help?” Alex’s smile stretched wide. If Mrs. Peabody stared long enough, she’d know. She’d spot the bulge in Alex’s trousers, and shout, Cooey. This girl stole an extraordinary amount of cash from the till. Will somebody please take her away?

  Instead, Mrs. Peabody’s eyes fluttered to the floor. “Yes please. The insides of my handbag do seem to have gone far and wide.” She glanced behind her. “Whatever is the noise about?”

  Alex turned to the front of the store. Agnes and Becky were trying to shift the religious zealot and stop his attempt to convert the shop and contents.

  “And the Lord will bless you…”

  “Wonderful. I’m happy for you. Now will you leave?” Aggie spoke in a barely repressed shout. Customers left the shop, squeezing awkwardly past Aggie, Becky and the preacher. “I’ll call the police!”

  “Good. They need some teachings. Corrupt demon-led police!” preacher-man retorted.

  “He has no idea,” Clive said with a smirk.

  “Cameras?” Alex questioned cryptically, her eyes wide.

  “What, dear?” Mrs. Peabody popped up again.

  “Coming.” Alex dashed round to the other side of the counter and began gathering keys, receipts, and coins, along with a lock of hair. Alex eyed Clive quizzically.

  Laughing at her strange expression, Clive finally said. “Don’t worry. This evening, your Amazonian boss will discover the central core of her recording device overheated. Today’s recordings will be non-existent. Shame.” He performed a curt bow. “You can thank me later.”

  Alex put a hand to her tummy, tracing the edge of the wad of cash before pushing it a little further below her waistband. A vision came to her, notes tumbling out in front of everybody. Tens and twenties floating away in the breeze while Aggie jumped through the air. She’d hit her—full-force in the center of her chest, throw her down and pin her to the ground.

  Mrs. Peabody stuffed a handkerchief into her handbag, and surveyed the floor. “I think that’s everything. Thank you ever so much for your help, dear.” She grabbed her shopping, and edged tentatively past preacher-man. The local bobby arrived as Mrs. Peabody disappeared around the corner. Everyone was shouting.

  Alex straightened her clothes and checked her waistband again.

  “Alex, stop fingering the money, someone will see.”

  Alex put her hands by her sides, but they fidgeted with a mind of their own. She settled for clasping them in front of her, where she could keep an eye on them, and took a few steps towards the commotion.

  “Aggie, is it okay if I leave? I feel awful. I think I’ve got a migraine coming on, or something.”

  Aggie stopped to check her over. “You do look pale.”

  Alex nodded. “I just didn’t know if you needed my help with the, um, situation.” She tilted her head at preacher-man, who was now directing his sermon into the precinct. The noise was still deafening, and no one dared make their way past him and into The Closet. Aggie and the policeman had been discussing the possible methods for exorcising the preacher as she’d walked up.

  “That’s fine, Alex. Go home and lie down. When’s your next shift?” Aggie shouted above an exceptionally loud quoting of the testament.

  “Thursday, I’m here on Thursday,” Alex said, edging away from her boss.

  “Feel better, and see you in two days,” Aggie turned back to the policeman.

  Alex wandered through the shop out the staff door and into the tearoom where the lockers were. As she reached for her waistband, Clive caught her wrist. “Not here. At home.”

  “What if it all falls out halfway there?” Her vision changed. Now she was on the high street. Bills floated in the breeze, blowing everywhere. Crowds of people ran towards her, plucking money from the air.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole way. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens.” He pressed his palms against her shoulders, his long fingers finding knots and kneading them out. Clive’s touch was soothing … therapeutic, like hot stones. Without warning, his hands left her back, and Alex almost toppled over.

  “So much for being with me the whole bloody way!” Alex shouted into the empty room. “Oh my God.” Alex clasped a hand to her mouth. “I’m cracking up. Crazy as a box of biscuits and a thief to boot.”

  Alex grabbed her bag and coat out of the locker. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she whispered. “I’m even talking to myself now. That’s a sign of insanity.” She shook her head, as a crushing sense of helplessness grew and seemed to fill her. Alex still had to get out of the shop, past the crowd at the door, and all the way home. She took a deep breath and began by leaving the tearoom.

  Chapter Three

  Alex stepped out from the staff area, and took a deep breath. Her hands seemed magnetized, creeping constantly back to her tummy where the roll of notes was still hidden. Arms clamped at her side, she chose a circuitous route through the maze of clothing rails, avoiding both Aggie and the policeman. They would be very interested if her trousers began to regurgitate £20 bills all over the shop floor. Alex kept her eyes fixed on the linoleum, and concentrated on escape.

  Someone grabbed Alex. She suppressed a squeal, and looked up to find Becky staring—silent, but worried.

  “Aggie’s let me go home sick,” Alex said. “Sorry.” She put a hand to her ear, mimed call me, and kept going. Her legs wanted to run, to sprint away from Bec and out of the precinct. Her best friend already knew something was wrong. Alex recognized it in her frown, the way she cocked her head, long black hair falling to one side. Perfectly still, Becky transformed into a mannequin again, and for half a second, Alex wished she could. Then there wouldn’t be questions.

  The preacher-man had attracted a crowd. They stood outside The Closet, waiting for more police, or maybe to see if Aggie would pick the zealot up by the scruff, and forcibly remove him. They chatted and pointed, sniggered and gawped. Didn’t they have anything better to do? Alex wondered. There was a small space sandwiched between the preacher’s amp and the wall. She headed for this, and crept silently past.

  With only two steps before Alex found freedom, the preacher-man spun around, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shouted into his microphone, “You are unclean, child!” He paused for a second, as if surprised by his own words. Then he said, “You have the mark of Satan on your soul. Be wary how you tread for yours is a well-worn path.”

  Alex wrenched clean of his grasp. The man fell silent, one arm raised, a finger pointed at her heart.

  He dropped the hand with the microphone away from his mouth, and whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”

  Alex spun around, and sprinted out of the precinct. The stares of the onlookers burned into her back. They passed their own judgment, chatted about her now. Sniggered and gawped as she fled the shopping arcade. Everything was such a mess, she t
hought. If Clive was a hallucination, why did he seem real? Or was that how mental illness worked? Shit! Alex barreled out of the Broad Street Mall and onto the high street.

  What about the healing? Alex skidded to a halt outside a closed down furniture shop and ducked into the entryway. She needed to understand, make sense of the demon, and stop the damn tears from falling. Alex slid down until she squatted over the litter, turning her face away from passers-by. The stench of urine and worse filled her nostrils, but she hardly noticed. Maybe she hadn’t fallen, she thought. Had the pain been an illusion as well? And the documents she found about Becky’s thievery? Her mother’s dildo? She couldn’t have known those things. That would make him real. But only she could see or hear him. That would make him imaginary. Alex held her head firmly between her hands and tried to squeeze out the problems. Her brain hurt. Her legs ached from crouching. And she wasn’t going to solve anything in a stinky doorway with a bundle of bills stuffed down the front of her trousers. Alex rose up, weakly wiped the tears from her cheeks, and began a cheerless walk down the road.

  The time was coming up to late afternoon, and the bus stop was crowded with people going places. A queue snaked along the high street and away from the shelter.

  “Fantastic. There’d better be space for me,” she mumbled.

  The round man waiting ahead of her turned around, offered a smile and his nod of agreement. Alex widened her eyes at him for a second then stared down at the pavement. He stayed in her peripheral vision, greasy hair pulled over a bald patch, brown raincoat buttoned to the top. A giggle came from nowhere as Alex imagined him flashing his jiggly torso to the queue, comb-over flopping in the wind. In reality the man frowned and turned away.

  Only half of those waiting managed to squeeze onto the first bus before the driver closed the doors. Alex squeezed onto the next one and pushed through to the back where she spied a small space. A large backpack partly blocked the aisle. Alex braced against this and grabbed onto a pole as the bus shuddered forward.

  The man sat to her side had the Reading Chronicle open at the sports pages. Alex read over his shoulder and scanned the headlines. The scent of oranges, juicy and sweet floated past her nostrils, like in one of those cartoons with the beckoning hand at the end. She craned her head to find out where the smell was coming from. No one was pealing fruit. Confused, Alex turned back to the front. Again, a strong citrus odor tantalized her senses. She twisted around. Clive appeared directly behind her, so close they almost touched noses. He beamed one of his demonic smiles.

  “Sorry. Had to duck out, something came up. Everything okay, honeybun? Money still safe?” Clive grinned ear to ear. She imagined the smile stretching around and his head toppling slowly backwards until the top fell off. He’d puff into dust like a beheaded vampire, and he wouldn’t bother her ever again.

  “Yeah, no thanks to you,” Alex grumbled. She opened her mouth to say more, but noticed the newspaper-reading man, his face upturned. The young lad who owned the backpack, his face liberally freckled with piercings, stared vacantly at her. A thin woman, her hair pulled into a severe ponytail, turned around, her blue eyes inspecting Alex with an almost scientific curiosity.

  Clive’s smile grew impossibly bigger as he waited for them to return to reading or gaping out the window, or simply watching someone else. She hoped his head would fall off.

  “You can’t talk back,” he said. “Don’t want everyone thinking you’re crazy, now. Do you?”

  Alex studied the view of Oxford Road as it flashed past.

  “Did you appreciate my warning of impending arrival?” He nudged her side.

  Alex twitched and considered responding. Then she clamped her mouth closed, teeth grating in frustration.

  “Yup, that was me with the oranges. I can do other smells as well. Do you want me to try some? Right now?”

  Alex shook her head softly.

  “Oh, okay. You sure? I’ve got a selection of unusual odors tucked up my sleeve. Went and sourced them especially for you.”

  Alex cuddled the pole, putting the cold metal between the demon and her.

  “Oh, my little sugarplum. There was something I wanted to tell you.” He waited for a response. After a moment’s pause, he continued regardless. “I know a morsel of information you don’t. But I’m not sure if I want to give it to you yet. I might savor this one for myself…” his voice trailed off with an air of teasing.

  Alex didn’t care about what he wanted to tell her. She wanted him to go away. Her stop was drawing near. She peered past piercings guy and out the window as she searched for street names. Her cue to move to the front was when the bus passed by the end of Romsey Road. As they drove past Bramshaw Road she reached up to press the bell. It rang out over the general garbled noise of the passengers. She climbed over the bag that had helped her stay on her feet and picked her way down the aisle, and away from Clive. Just as she was almost free of the aisle’s constriction, Clive materialized in front of her, a sickening smirk on his face. Alex tried to dodge to the left, then to the right. She simply didn’t have enough room. The demon was blocking her only way out.

  Alex angled her shoulder into his chest, and shoved hard. He stood rooted, like an oak tree. The driver braked, slowing the bus in a series of shudders. She was going to miss her stop, why wouldn’t he move? Alex dug her elbow hard under his ribs, and Clive simply smiled wider. She tried to jam her heel into his foot, but the bus lurched as she picked her foot up, and she had to slam it down to stop a fall.

  Clive laughed and pushed her back against the passengers behind her.

  “Excuse me,” a lady said. “Can I get by?”

  Alex turned around, feeling sheepish. “Sorry … uh … my foot’s stuck…” They both staggered forwards as the driver braked again, they were about to stop. Alex pushed at the demon, grunting. She had acquired an audience. Perhaps they thought she was practicing for a degree in miming. “Please! Move!” Alex jostled with Clive one last time as the bus ground to a halt, and the doors hissed open.

  “That’s all I wanted you to say. One little word.” Clive moved deftly to the side, sitting on the lap of the flasher-man.

  Alex jumped out onto the pavement. Behind her, the lady called out for the driver to wait then climbed down the steps. Anonymous faces stared blankly at her from the windows as the bus pulled away. The other passenger turned to face her for a moment, frowning at Alex before spying a break in the traffic, and crossing the road.

  “Why the hell did you do that to me?” Alex shouted. She slapped him hard. She liked the shock of pain on her hand, knowing she could have hit harder and hurt him more. But his face snapped back, with his irritating stick-on smile that only made her madder. “You’re a crazy fuck. Are you listening? You are CRAZY!” She screamed the last word, spraying him with spittle.

  “I’m crazy?” he asked, and pointed to a kid who had crossed Oxford Road to get around her. Alex made eye contact with him and he broke into a run as if he’d turned into a startled rabbit. She surveyed the area, searching for anyone she knew. No one else was in sight.

  “Go away. I don’t want you and your tricks anymore. GO AWAY!” Alex turned and stamped off towards Weald Rise. She heard footfalls behind her, and sped up.

  “Wait, Alex. I really do have something important to tell you.” Clive caught up to her. He changed the gloating expression he’d left the bus with, swapping it for a more sympathetic appearance. And all fake, Alex thought.

  “No. I told you to go away.” She stopped and looked around repeatedly, and once satisfied the street was empty, fixed Clive with a stony glare. “I don’t want you telling me any more stories about how awful my friends and family are. I don’t want you leading me and making me do things I’d never normally do. I just want to bumble my way through life like everybody else. Do you understand?” Tears blurred her vision. She spun about, and marched away from the demon.

  “I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to make you sad. I thought you needed to know some of
that stuff, like the fact you’ll be homeless soon.”

  Alex stopped and inspected the cracks in the pavement, wiping at her face with odd sporadic movements. Clive hesitated, and then wrapped her up in a firm cuddle. For a second, Alex resisted, her arms loose at her sides as Clive pulled her close. But this was what she needed. Touch, even if he wasn’t human, even if he had her emotions in a spin and doubting her own sanity. Then she grabbed at him and clung to the demon as if she was drowning.

  However, she still had a thing or two more to say to him. Her face pressed up against his warm chest, she said, “I can’t say no to you. With you, I can’t do what I want, and it scares me.” She pulled away a little, and looked up at him, blinking at the tears.

  “Sorry, babydoll,” Clive replied sheepishly. “Part of being a demon. One of the tricks of the trade one might say.” He shone his sparkly teeth her way, and wiped a teardrop from her cheek with superheated fingers.

  “So what now?” she asked weakly.

  “Go home, call the council and pay some of the outstanding rent.” Clive pulled out of the hold Alex had secured on him and linked an arm with hers. “Come on,” he said and led her away.

  Alex tiptoed into the house. Lily was in the living room, her mumbled conversation drifting through the wall. After a momentary lull, her mother let out a controlled laugh, deep and almost lusty. Alex stood in the hall, unsure of whether she should go in or not. The roll of cash burned her skin. Lily might think it strange if Alex ran straight upstairs. Might say she was behaving out of character. But then again, Alex had come home early—supposedly ill. There was no reason Lily would even know she was in the house unless she announced herself. Alex gazed longingly up the stairs. If she stuck her head around the door for a second, and blurted out a quick hello, she could run up to her room without too much suspicion.

  Alex took a step towards the living room, mouth already opening to call out, when Clive danced in front of her and put a finger to his lips.

  “Shush,” he hissed. The demon indicated her mother was on the phone. “Listen for a sec. Trust me,” he mimed zipping his mouth, and touched Alex’s arm to make sure she understood. His mischievous expression proved infectious. She returned his grin and gently pushed the living room door open until she heard her mother’s voice clearly.