The Book Waitress Series Volume One (14 page)

“I don’t go out anymore. Take this to the Island Cemetery. Lay it on my son’s gravestone. His name is Jacob Scroggins.” She placed the stone in his palm and curled his fingers around it. “He’s in Section S6. Put the stone on his name.”

“Certainly. So very sorry you’ve had this kind of tragedy in your life.”

“It’s all my fault. Mark my words, young people.” She shook a gnarled finger at them and sat down at the table. “Never make a deal with the Dark Lord. My boy was stolen from me far too soon. His spirit’s been haunting me day and night for about a week now. This should help soothe him and give him some peace until my debt is paid in full.”

He put the pouch in his backpack and sent Camille a questioning glance. Should he ask or leave that comment alone? Her brow furrowed and she shook her head ever so slightly. “We’ll go there directly after we’re finished here. I hope it helps.”

“Yes, well, let’s get on with why you’re here. Whatever is your problem? What does Sandy Page think I can do to help?”

He hesitated, so Camille stepped in and told the whole sordid story. Myra sat, stoic all the while. Both waited for her to say something, as a suffocating silence fell upon the cloistered room. Camille finally shattered the quiet in a bout of desperation.

“Myra, do you know anything that can help us? You’re our only hope. The handbooks haven’t offered any information on how to close the portal, or how to go about finding the creatures crossing through it. Not to mention the fact that we have no clue what to do with them once we do find them.”

“Mighty big predicament you’ve gotten yourselves into. And Sandy thinks I can help?” She scoffed. “As you can see, I have my own issues with the Evil One. You’re talking to a marked woman, too. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for me. Taking my son served to make my time here on earth unbearable. Next, he’ll come to take me to Hell, and that, I imagine, will be even worse.”

She pursed her lips and sighed before continuing with seeming reluctance. “I
do
have some books that I’ve collected throughout my studies of cultural occultism. Some of the primary sources may have a line or two of value in them. You’re welcome to take them. They’re in a box marked with a pentagram in the second bedroom upstairs. Young man, go get them for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As he got up to go on his quest, she beckoned Camille to move closer to her. Shifting her chair, she wondered what other fanciful stories the woman had to share. “You’re a very special woman. It’s not every day that a person can escape Satan’s grasp and live to tell about it. You’ve done it
twice
now. I’m thinking, maybe you ought to be looking within yourself for the answers you seek. In the recesses of your mind, you know exactly what you need to do to end this.”

The old woman’s pupils dilated, and the colored rims morphed from a faded blue to a brilliant red. Camille felt an instant compulsion to look deeply into them. As the crazed woman continued, the words teased her free will. A piece of her, alarmed, questioned what was happening, but soothing tendrils calmed the cautionary warnings and kept her rapt with every utterance Myra spoke.

“The creatures you’ve let pass into this realm are of no real consequence, just nuisances to wreak havoc while the world awaits His coming. There’s been evil here since time began and there always will be, but have your fun trying to round them up. I’m sure there’s a way to send them back, but, more importantly, Hell’s portal
must
be closed. He
will
come through when He’s ready, and this place will never be the same. You must be the one to do it, and I know you already know how. The seed has been planted. It’s time to reap what you sow. To resist is futile.”

“I found the box of books. Thanks, Myra. We’ll return them as soon as we find what we need.”

Camille heard him enter the room and watched as he placed the box on the table, clueless of the hypnotizing diatribe she’d been subjected to, but she could neither move nor speak to acknowledge him.

“No need. I certainly don’t want them anymore. We were just chatting about how insidious Satan can be. One never knows where his influence lies hidden until it is too late and you’re already hooked in. Greed was my lure, and see what I live in now? I won’t wish you luck on your quest. It won’t help you at all. She knows what’s at stake and how to succeed. Right, my dear Camille?”

She heard her name and something snapped in her brain, allowing her to respond finally. “Yes, yes, that’s right. Thank you, Myra. You’ve been a great help to me, to us. We should go now. We’ve taken up too much of your time and there’s much to be done. Derek?”

She pushed her chair back and stood, smiled at Myra, and left. As she walked down the rotted steps to the street, she felt so strange. Her stomach tied in knots and her heart felt like an orange being squeezed for juice. Most disconcerting of all, were the voices inside her head whispering unintelligibly.

Hitting the sides of her head with her fists did nothing to quell the inner noise. “
Quiet!”
All went silent.

“I haven’t said anything.” He stopped her in her tracks. “What’s the problem? What’s going on?”

“Never mind, it stopped.” She waved it off and shook her head to clear it. “Let’s go.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but backed down when she wouldn’t say anything more. He drove, as promised, directly to the cemetery.

“Here it is. We found him.” They’d been walking for a while around the maze of old and newer cemetery plots, and finally came to the section where Myra said her son would be. Camille knelt down and leaned in to get a closer look at the simple, bronze plaque, nearly grown over with grass and weeds. She pulled some of the growth away. “Look at his birth and death dates. He was only six years old when he died.” She turned and looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. “Do you think she was a part of the cult all those years ago, and sacrificed him?”

He joined her, knees sinking into the soft ground. “I don’t think so. I think it’s pure coincidence. She said she’d been lured in by greed, and that he’d been stolen from her. Doesn’t sound like a cult thing to me. It sounds more isolated in nature. And, since she studied the occult, it stands to reason that she might have gotten consumed by the notion of dealing with the devil to make their lives better. So sad.”

He ran his fingers lightly over the boy’s name and a chill crawled up his spine. This could easily have been him so many years ago. His parents had fostered him straight out of the hospital, having been brutally attacked by his birth mother at about the same age. What had set her off that time? Milk. He’d used too much milk in his cereal. He hung his head as the irony of it hit him hard. No wonder most of his investigative reporting revolved around the exploitation and abuse of children.

Comforting arms slid around his waist and rescued him from sinking back into a cold, dark anger he thought he’d left behind years ago. Camille rested her head against his chest. “May he rest in peace, despite the sins of his mother.”

“Amen.” He placed the stone reverently on top of the marker. Kissing the top of her head, he drew her closer to him. “Let’s go home.”

Going home meant driving past the library. As he did, she tapped his arm. “Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Pull into the library. I want to see something.”

He nodded and drove the car into the parking lot. “You can wait here. I just want to read the notice on the door.”

“Okay.”

He watched her bound up the steps, and with one hand resting on her hip, read the notice on the door. She pounded a fist on the door and turned around with a look of fierce determination. A different woman walked down the path to his car, and he itched to know exactly what the notice said.

She opened the car door and sat down like a woman with a huge secret to tell. “The library’s up for sale.”

“I know. The realtor’s the one who let me in to get the books.” Putting the car in gear, he shoved off.

“I’m buying it.”

He stomped on the brakes.
“What?”

Chapter Five

“I’m buying the library.” She fidgeted in her seat, too excited to stay still. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s slightly insane, is what it is.”

Annoyed by his response, she bristled as he put the car in park again and turned to give her his full attention. “Listen, we need access to the well and I need a place to live. The library board paid rent on the house. No board, no house. It’s only a matter of time before someone realizes that and kicks me out.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s not quite so insane after all. Sorry. How much are they asking?”

“Don’t know, but I got a name and phone number.” Her giddiness returned. “I’m buying that library. Come Hell or high water. Since Hell’s already here....”

“Yeah, I get ya. Here, use my phone.” After handing her the phone, he started driving again. “If you can get ahold of someone and put in a bid, we can focus on these here books while we wait for a response.”

“Thanks.” Her very soul shook as she took the phone from him and called, knowing this was the right decision. Now, if fate would cooperate, she’d be the library’s owner in no time. No answer. She left a message stating her intent and a phone number where to return her call.

“How long should these cold packs last?”

“About four hours. Why?”

“I don’t think they’re gonna last that long for me. The minor tingling is getting stronger and starting to burn. We’d better stop and buy more before we get home.”

“Sure, no problem.”

She fell silent and nibbled at her pinky nail.
Oh, but it’s a huge problem. What am I going to do? Change out the packs every hour? I’ll go broke!

“It’s really no problem.” He rubbed her thigh, but she couldn’t feel it through the neoprene. “We do what we gotta do until we find an alternative. It could be worse. At least the cold packs are helping.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but we’d better find a better solution soon.”

She spent the rest of the trip, stops and all, in total silence, trying to meditate through the growing pain.
How many times had the waves come so far today? Damn.
She forgot to count.

***

Stan Humphreys just didn’t feel like himself today. He hadn’t felt right since the town council meeting last night, but he limped through his day, taking calls and dealing with ornery customers demanding to know why their bank wouldn’t approve them for a loan. Caring had always been a strength of his, but he felt no compassion or empathy at all at the moment. Instead, he felt extreme loathing and an intense need to wrap his long fingers around each and every one of his customers’ necks to strangle the very last whiny breath out of them.

Thankfully, closing time brought an end to his misery. That is, until a frantic woman raced into the bank asking to see the bank manager. He groaned, closed his eyes, took a breath, and walked over to the teller counter.

“How can I help you?” He gritted his teeth behind a smile.

“I just got this letter in the mail saying my loan application has been denied. How am I supposed to fix the septic system in my home without a loan? We’re gonna have words, mister!
”

She stalked past him, waving a piece of paper in the air, and plunked herself down in a chair across from his, spewing derogatory names at him and the bank. Her barbs and curses continued, and Stan just…
Snapped
. He walked into his cubicle, opened his desk drawer, pulled out a letter opener, and with perfect aim, chucked it straight at her neck. He’d cut her off mid-curse, freezing her mouth open in shock.

Not saying a word, he nonchalantly walked over to the teller area and punched in the security code to gain entrance. A pair of scissors lay on the counter. He picked them up and plunged them  straight into the heart of the closest teller. As she dropped to the floor, amidst screams of terror from the other one, he picked up a stool and swung it, slamming her into unconsciousness. Had the bank been on the mainland, a cop would have been there to stop him, but not here. The area was too small to require that level of security. Evil could run amuck! Eyeing a pen, he picked it up and plunged it into the unconscious woman’s neck, right through the jugular. He cackled as he likened her to a water fountain, and paused a moment to listen to
her final breaths gurgle out before he left the bank. As he stalked out, he flipped the bird to the security camera.

***

A shrill ring cut through the silence, vibrating the dining room table and the air around it. Derek grabbed his phone. “Hello? One moment please.” He passed the phone to her. “It’s for you. I think it’s the realtor.”

“Oh, thanks!” She took the phone from him. “Hello?”

“Ms. Dutton?”

“Yes, this is Camille Dutton. Who is this, please?”

“My name is David Marks. I’m the realtor for the sale of the Shelter Island Library. I’m returning your call.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll get right to the point. I’d like to buy the property, cash. I see you have it listed for $300,000.00.”

“Well, I think that may be the fastest sale I’ve ever made. I thought I’d be sitting on this property a while given, well, never mind.” He coughed. “Can you come to my office tomorrow about nine? We can draw up papers.”

“Sure, I’ll be there. I’m hoping that my paying cash will speed up the process. I really need this place immediately.”

“It should go pretty quick. You don’t need to be qualified for a loan.”

“Okay, well, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She ended the call and handed the phone back to him.

“Well? What’d he say?”

“I’ll need to go to his office tomorrow morning at nine to make it official. This is great!” She clapped her hands together. “I’ll be able to research morning, noon, and night. Hopefully, I’ll be able to
see
what happens when the pain comes, see if anything happens at the well.”

“That sure is a hefty price to pay, but it makes sense to be near ground zero.”

“My life will never go back to normal. Not until I end this. So, let’s keep looking in the books Myra gave us. I was actually looking in this book here when the realtor called, and I think I found something. Gimme a second.” She scanned the page she had stopped on
. “Aha!
There’s a small section that talks about the opening of a portal to Hell. Wells seem to be a great place for a portal to be opened, since they are dug down deep. It goes on to vaguely reference objects to be collected and a series of rituals to be done to close it.”

“Does it say what these objects are, or anything specific about the rituals?” He got up from his seat and came around to her side to look at the book, as well.

“Hmmm. No, it doesn’t, but just knowing that we need to be looking for anything having to do with them is a huge step forward, don’t you think?” A measure of relief washed over her.

“Any little bit of information we can gather is another step closer to a resolution. How are you doing? Do you need a gel pack switch? Are you hungry? I could make us something to eat.”

She stood up. “All’s quiet for now, but I am a bit hungry. You sit and research. You made us sandwiches, so it’s my turn to cook.” Ruffling his hair, she squeezed his shoulders for a quick massage. “Wow, are you tense!”

“You don’t know the half of it, lady. Better go cook something before I devour you right here and now.” He turned to her and seared her with his smoldering eyes. She backed up, suddenly frightened by his intensity and her own heated physical response.

“Yes, I should. I’ll go right now.” Breathless, she nearly ran to the kitchen. She grabbed the sink’s edge with one hand to steady her racing heart, and fanned herself with the other. Her need for him approached a fever pitch. How much longer would they be able to hold back? The scars hadn’t burned in a while. Maybe they could have a quickie before the pain came back? Tears of frustration filled the corners of her eyes.

“Camille.”

She spun around. He stood in the archway of the kitchen, a man full of need. Drawn like a magnet, she returned to him, and found herself enclosed within his sphere of comfort. She breathed in his clean masculine scent. The heat pouring off of him and the musky smell of man intoxicated her.

“I wish I could feel your skin. This neoprene is totally in the way.”

“Besides freeing myself from this cursed pain, there’s nothing more I want than to feel your skin next to mine. But I know what’ll happen when I take the packs off. I’m just so tired of the agony. I thought I’d be numb to it by now, but I’m not. Every new episode is as fresh as the last. If it weren’t for these ice packs, I’d kill myself. Just hold me, Derek. Touch my face. At least, I can feel that.”

She looked up at him and saw frustration at war with concern in his eyes. He brought his hand up to caress her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. He inched his face ever closer to hers and layered feather-light kisses upon kisses over every exposed inch. Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt his lips touch her eyelids. Oddly, those scars never burned along with the others. She thanked God, because she’d probably have torn them off with her bare hands.

“I can’t imagine experiencing what you’re going through right now. At one turn, I feel triumphant for having found a way to ease some of your suffering. On another, I feel like a cad for wanting you the way I do and knowing the distress you’re in. Just ignore me when I behave like a Neanderthal. I can’t control myself just yet, but I’ll learn. I will. Your health comes first.”

He twined his fingers through her corkscrew curls, touched his lips to hers, and released her. “I’ll let you get back to making our meal. I’m going for a quick sprint to burn off some energy and get the blood flowing back to my real brain. I’ll be back in a minute. Okay?”

She laughed. “That’s fine. Enjoy gathering your wits.”

Putting a stock pot in the sink, she turned on the faucet, with its meager pressure, and watched the small stream of water slowly fill it up. Ripples formed where stream met pool and mesmerized her. She stood watching as the water level rose until it crested the lip of the pot and overflowed. The inside of the pot wasn’t silvery steel but black Teflon coating. Black like the well. She leaned over the pot to get a closer look, paying no mind to the sink which had begun to fill as well.

Something was in there. She couldn’t make out what, with the water rippling. She leaned in closer still.

Satan’s visage appeared before her and he extended his gruesome hand toward her. As he pulled it back to his side, her face drew within inches of the surface of the water. The scarred etchings on her eyelids burned fiercely, but her feet remained rooted, not allowing her to retreat. He repeated the action and her nose dipped into the cool water.

“Your fate is inevitable. You are mine. You’ve known all along. Come to me now and the portal shall be closed.”

“It is what I must do. My fate is inevitable.”

She lowered her entire face into the water-logged pot.

The intense sprint gave Derek a chance to clear his head and release pent up energy, but now he was too stinky and sweaty to be near anyone good or evil. Opening the front door, he announced his entrance. “Camille, I’m back!” He continued talking as he made his way to the kitchen. “That was a great run, but I’m so stinky that if you don’t mind, I’d sure like to take a quick show—Holy shit!”

Screw the stink, she stood leaning over the sink, head deep in a pot of water. He ran over, turned off the faucet, and grabbed a mass of hair. Yanking back, he heard her gasp deeply. She screamed, and fought against his hold.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. Easy now, easy.”

Blinking a few times, understanding replaced the terror in her eyes. She grabbed onto him and let out a choking wail so gut-wrenching, his tears joined with hers.

“I…couldn’t… stop myself,” she gasped out. “But I… refused… to breathe in.” Sobs wracked her body as the two of them crumbled to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

“Shh. You’re okay now. You’re okay.” He wasn’t sure whether he repeated that to comfort her or to convince himself of that fact. Maybe it was a bit of both. Rocking her until she quieted, he found a calm so deep and resolute. “Well, we’ve learned something new, haven’t we?”

“What is that?” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the backs of hands.

“We learned water and you don’t mix. It’s a direct conduit between you and Satan. No more getting close to water for you without me right by your side. Even when you want to bathe, I’m not leaving your side.”

She blushed. “Glad I’ve got a scuba suit.”

“Seriously, Cam. I’m gonna have to keep a close watch on you. Seems he’s toying with you, but his real intent is to have you. I can’t let that happen.”

“I know. Derek?” She swiped away a few stray clumps of hair from her neck.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for pasta anymore.”

“Okay, what do you want?”

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” She batted her eyelashes at him with a childlike innocence.

“PB and J it is. Anything for you, Cam.”

He eased them up, settled her at the kitchen table, and used a towel to dry her face and hair. As he fixed their meal he tossed out some small talk. “How many more books are in your pile to look through? I have one. Hopefully we’ll find out how many items there are and what types of rituals need to be performed.”