The Devil's Cat Read online

  Andrea moaned as Tommy fumbled at her with his fingers. The others leaned close and spat several times.

  Then Tommy was hunching on her.

  "We got all day, boys," Chuck said. "Take your time; make it good for you."

  And the cats sat and watched silently.

  The angry young teacher leaned over the principal's desk, putting both hands on the desk. "Mr. Comeaux," she said. "You've got to do something. It's getting worse."

  Comeaux looked at the very pretty young teacher, "Tess, it's the heat. It's just damn near unbearable. I've spoken with the superintendent about short days. He said no."

  "Mr. Comeaux, it's not the heat. Ted Wilson just asked me if I wanted to fuck. Don't tell me the heat made him do that."

  Comeaux's eyes widened at the young woman's blunt talk. He started to say she probably misunderstood the Wilson boy. But he knew that would be a lie. Never, never, in all his years of teaching and administration, had he seen discipline deteriorate so rapidly as was occurring in Becancour's school system.

  No, he mentally, silently, corrected that. He'd seen it coming. And that fool of a superintendent should have seen it. If he'd ever take the time to visit Becancour more than twice a year. Even though Comeaux knew that wouldn't have done any good. Spineless turd had all the backbone of a leech.

  He lifted his eyes, meeting the angry eyes of Tess Nardana. "Tell Ted Wilson to report to my office, Tess. That punk has coasted through four years of high school, and you and I both know why. Now I'm going to do something I have yearned to do for years."

  "Don't blow your pension, Mr. Comeaux," Tess warned.

  "My pension is secure, Tess. Get him!"

  Ted Wilson swaggered into the office. "You wanna see me, Comeaux?"

  The principal hit him. No warning given, just one good solid hard right fist to the jaw. Ted's feet left the floor and he bounced off a wall. On his sudden return to his approximate original position, Comeaux hit him twice, a left to the jaw and a right flush to the mouth.

  Ted hit the floor and stayed down, blood leaking from his busted mouth.

  Comeaux's hands hurt, but he felt better than he had in years. "Get on your feet, you smart-mouthed jerk!" Comeaux yelled at the young man.

  Slowly, with glazed eyes, Becancour's hero of the grid-iron managed to get to his knees. He remained there only by propping himself up by his chin on the edge of Comeaux's desk.

  Comeaux pointed a finger at the young man. "New rules are now in effect, boy. Totally unconstitutional. But they will be enforced for as long as I remain the principal of this high school. You may take heart in the fact that after today my time is probably very short. And that suits me just fine. The new rules. You open your big mouth only when spoken to! And that bunch of punks you run with? … Boy, you better keep them in line. I better not have any discipline problems with any of them. If I do, it's your ass on the block. And anytime you feel like you can take me, sonny-boy … come on. How about it, boy?"

  "No, sir, Mr. Comeaux," Ted said.

  And for the moment, Comeaux felt, the boy meant it. "Get on back to class, boy. Then, when school is dismissed for the day, you can run home to mommy and daddy and moan and blubber while you tell them about how this mean ol' middle-aged man whipped your rough, tough butt all over his office. Now do you understand all mat, you bucket-headed maggot!"

  If Ted had known just the slightest about the Marine Corps, he would have realized that one ex-Marine Corps Force Recon had just hit the beach.

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Comeaux!"

  "Drag your ass, boy!"

  When the door had closed behind Ted Wilson, Comeaux leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together.

  Goddamn, but he felt good!

  • • •

  Father Javotte rose to touch the deep scar on Sam's chest. He signed himself and returned to his seat. "When did that happen, Sam?"

  "Several years ago, in the Montreal airport. Nydia was with me. I also had … communication with my father that day."

  "Touched from beyond the grave." Rita spoke very softly.

  "I've been at war with the Dark One ever since," San finished it. "Nydia beside me." His eyes touched afl present. "Don't delude yourselves into believing this will be the final battle. It won't be. That day will come when God decides to end it all. But prepare yourselves mentally, for this fight facing you—us—will be unlike anything any of you have ever experienced. You're going to see and hear things that up until now you've only seen and heard and read in make-believe movies and books. And it's very possible that some of you won't make it."

  "It was a very small pocket Bible that saved me,' Father Javotte said.

  Now we get to it, Sam thought. He looked at the pries and waited.

  "Saved you from what, Father?" Sonny asked.

  "The embrace of the Dark One," the priest replied, his eyes downcast, his brow furrowed in what must have been painful recall. "I had a church in Lake Charles. A fine future. I was well thought of by my superiors. Then … a young couple approached me. They felt their child was possessed. After speaking with the young girl on several occasions, I agreed with her parents. I did everything exactly right, following Church procedure to the letter. In the few short years I'd been a priest, I have gained a … well, not to be modest about it, a reputation as an exorcist. I believed my success factor to be very high.

  "I knew from the very beginning this one was going to be very bad. The child fought me every step of the way. She was very powerful, and very much Satan's child.

  It took hours, and I accomplished so very, very little. I could feel her growing stronger, and myself growing weaker.

  "Then …" Javotte paused. "He appeared." The priest looked at Sam. "You have seen the Dark One?"

  "Briefly."

  "That is all the time you can afford to gaze upon him. But I'm telling you nothing you don't already know. He laughed at me. The child laughed at me. I ran, fleeing like a thief in the night. I lost my faith, my hope. The child pursued me; simply broke her bonds as if they were cobwebs and chased me from the house. I knelt in the backyard and wept. I was ready to surrender to the Prince of Darkness." He shook his head. "The priest who had been assisting me was killed. I could hear his screaming. But I was powerless to do anything. I simply could not function. I think that was the worst moment in my life.

  "The police found me wandering the streets, babbling like a fool. My clothing was filthy and I was unshaven. They put me in jail, believing me to be a vagrant drunk. Wat could I tell them? That I had been attempting to exorcise Satan from a child and failed? I would have been committed to the nearest asylum. And in my mental state, at that time, they would have been correct in doing so.

  The monsignor found me and had me released. The police apologized. I harbored no ill will toward them; they were only doing their job." He smiled ruefully. "Then, in a manner of speaking, I was committed. I spent almost a year in a church-run hospital. Two years after the failed exorcism, I was given this small church. This is the end of the line for me. I can progress no further. Flawed?" he spoke to Sam. "Oh, yes, I'm flawed. I'm a coward."

  "You were a coward once, Father Javotte," Rita said. "When you looked upon the face of Evil. What person wouldn't run. But how did a small Bible save you?"

  Javotte sighed deeply. "I remembered that only after extensive treatment in the hospital. Kneeling in that yard, that night, I held up the Bible, in front of my eyes, as the Dark One approached. It stopped him. He recoiled as if hit by lightning. That's all I remember."

  "And you feel that experience makes you unworthy, Padre?" Sam asked.

  "It proved my cowardice."

  "It proved you are a human being, nothing more. Don't you think I know fear?"

  "But you stand firm against it," the priest countered. "You don't run away."

  Sam smiled. "Padre, I run away if I feel that is the best course of action to take, at the time. Only a pure fool stands and dies when nothing is to be gained by it. What one does is
circle around and come up from behind. Strike them from the blind side."

  The priest grinned. "Why do I get the feeling that you don't fight fair, Sam?"

  "Because there is no such thing as a fair fight, Padre. The words are contradictory when put together. If one knows they are in the right, not necessarily legally right, but morally right—such as protecting your life, your property, your loved ones—then one fights to win, with anything at hand. And when fighting Satan and his minions, you can toss fairness out the window."

  C. D. pulled out a .357 magnum and held it out for all to see. "Will this stop them?"

  "The mortal ones," Sam said. "The others? … No. You work with wood, C. D.?"

  "Well, sometimes. I like to build things for the house. Shelves and that type of thing. Why do you ask?"

  "Then you have a lathe?"

  "Sure."

  Father Javotte stiffened slightly. Sam and Rita picked up on it.

  "I would like for you to start making some things, C. D. About a hundred of them will do, I think. Make them about three feet long and rounded. Sharpened on one «nd."

  "Sure," the city cop agreed. "But what are you asking ne to make?"

  Sam looked at him, his eyes hard and flat. "Stakes."

  14

  Looks normal enough, Susan thought, as she observed Dave over a lunch of sandwiches and salad. Dave was chattering on about this and that and really saying little.

  Then Margie dropped the bombshell square into his lap.

  "I don't know if I'm going to be able to get those grass stains off the sheets, Dave."

  The look Dave gave his wife was almost enough to cause Susan to back away from the table.

  Dave quickly recovered his composure. His expression changed from one of hate to one of blandness. "What are you talking about, Margie? What grass stains?"

  Margie had her anger up and battle flags flying. She wasn't about to back away. "The ones you had on your feet last night, or this morning. The ones you got while parading about in the backyard, naked, with all those goddamned cats around you."

  Dave's left eye began to tic. Margie had told Susan it did that when Dave became very nervous. "Dear, have you been drinking this early in the day?"

  "Stop lying, Dave! Now I showed the sheets to Susan. I showed her the backyard, full of cat crap! Now it's your turn to stop the crap, Dave. What in the name of God were you doing out in the yard, naked, with all those damned cats? And what were you saying? What were you trying to change into? And those other names … Satanachia and Rofocale—something? What is going on?"

  Dave leaned back in his chair. "I … uh … I'm being initiated into a club we're starting up here in Becancour. It's … kind of silly, isn't it, girls?"

  "I wouldn't know, Dave," Susan said dryly. "I didn't see you parading about in the moonlight stark naked."

  The look he gave her was ugly, hate-filled.

  "What's the name of this club, Dave?" Margie asked.

  "It … ah … doesn't have one yet."

  "Aw, Dave!" His wife pushed away from the table. "Come on—you can do better than that."

  "Yeah, Dave," Susan jumped in. "Who-all belongs to this … club?"

  Dave smiled, once more regaining his composure. "Did either of you hear the news around town?"

  "Your problem is not going to disappear by not talking about it, Dave," Margie said.

  "I don't have a problem!" Dave shouted. "But what you've got, Margie, is an overactive imagination."

  "A bed full of grass stains, a husband who prances around in the middle of the night naked, and a backyard full of cat shit was not my imagination."

  "You want to hear my news, or not?"

  Margie waved her hand in a weary gesture. "By all means, Dave. Tell us your news."

  "Matt Comeaux beat up Ted Wilson. Used his fists on him this morning."

  "Good for Matt," Susan said.

  "I second that motion," Margie said.

  "You two are crazy! Ted's a fine boy and …"

  "… a great football player!" Margie and Susan joined voices with Dave.

  "Yeah, we've heard it all before, Dave," his wife told him. "About a thousand times."

  Dave slowly pushed back his chair and stood up. Both women thought his eyes looked just a bit crazy. "You sorry bitches!" Dave's voice was double-edged and sharp. He looked at his wife. "Have your ass out of this house by the time I get back from work."

  "Whoa, boy," Margie told him. "You seem to forget something. It was my money that started the insurance and real estate business, and this house is in my name. You carry your ass, Dave. I've had it with you."

  "Fine," Dave said tightly. "I'll pack up my stuff after work."

  "No, you won't," Margie told him. "You'll do it now. And I'll help you."

  "So will I," Susan said.

  "You want me to call the office and tell Bette that you'll be late?" There was an equal amount of sharpness in that question.

  Dave's smile was nasty. "I wondered when you'd get around to that."

  "Oh, Dave, I've known about you and Bette for a long time. The whole town knows. At least you waited until Dave, Jr., and Sally were gone before you started screwing around. I thank you for that."

  Dave leaned over the table, putting his face close to hers. It was then that she noticed his breath was very bad and he smelled as though he had not bathed in several days.

  "Damn, you stink, Dave!"

  He slapped her, the force of the blow knocking her out of her chair. Susan conked him on the head with the salad bowl and cut a small gash in his forehead.

  And the fight was on.

  Andrea heard the boys leave; listened to their ugly laughter and rough talk.

  "Good juice, baby!" Tommy said.

  "Yeah," Peter said. "Great gash, honey."

  "We'll do it again sometime, baby," Billy said.

  "Yeah, Andrea," Chuck said. "Only next time—and there will be a next time—move your ass a little bit more, will you?"

  The boys scampered up the bank and were soon gone, laughing and talking.

  Andrea sat up and looked at the trestle. The cats were gone.

  For a fifteen-year-old, Andrea had uncommonly good sense and a fairly level head on her. Her one mistake had been in taking the shortcut across the trestle that morning. She would not make that mistake again.

  With a painful sigh, she sat up and gathered her torn clothing around her. While doing so, she reviewed her options. Like most teenagers, she was TV smart when it came to the law. She knew if she reported the rape it would be her word against theirs. Four to one. And they would all alibi the others. But she wasn't going to let them get away with it. Regardless of the outcome, she was going to report it.

  She looked at her torn panties, almost balled them up and threw them away, then thought better of it and stuffed them in her jeans pocket. She found a piece of old rope and used that for a belt to hold her jeans up; the zipper was ruined. With a deep breath, she began the climb up the bank to the tracks. First stop, she thought, Dr. Livaudais.

  "Let's go!" Don said. "A neighbor just reported that Dave and Margie and Susan Brackett are having a fight in the Porter house."

  When the cops arrived, they found Dave sitting on the floor in the den, bleeding from the head and face.

  And City Patrolman Bid Grenier noticed something else while standing outside. Cats. Lots of cats all around the place. They were restless, and he did not like the look in their eyes. He didn't think he'd ever seen . . . quite that look before. He didn't know exactly what it meant, but he damn sure didn't like it a bit.

  "Anybody want to press charges?" Sonny Passon asked the three combatants.

  "I just want to get my stuff and get out of this house and those crazy women!" Dave said.

  "I'd like to have that crazy jerk committed!" Margie said, pointing at Dave, who was glaring at her.

  "Oh?" Sonny asked. "You care to elaborate on that a bit, Margie?"

  "Yeah, I do," she said, taking a deep
breath. Then she unloaded it all, Don and Sonny taking it in.

  Odd, Susan thought, watching the faces of the cops. They don't seem surprised. Susan glanced out the big picture window to the street. And there sat Rita Dantin in civvies, with Father Javotte and that new guy in town, Sam something-or-the-other. Handsome fellow, whoever he is. But why would they all come over here?

  Odd.

  Margie finished, Sonny looked at Dave. "You want to say anything, Dave?"

  "On or off the record, Sonny?"

  "Dave, you're not filing charges, and she's not filing charges, so it'll have to be off the record."

  "Fine. She's a lying goddamn bitch!"

  "That all you got to say?"

  "That's it."

  "Margie?"

  "I want it on record that he is to stay away from this house and from me, Sonny."

  "Duly noted, Margie."

  "And witnessed," Susan said.

  "Just let me get my stuff together and I'm gone!" Dave said.

  Bid Grenier stepped into the room just as Dave and the women were leaving the den, heading out to pack up Dave's clothing.

  "Don," Bid said. "The clinic just called. Andrea Golden just staggered in. Says four boys just raped her." He looked at a small notepad. "Chuck Lee, Billy Downing, Tommy Patterson, and Peter Labarre."

  "I'm on my way," Don said.

  "That ain't all." Bid's voice stopped him. "Ted Wilson's parents have sworn out a warrant against Matt Comeaux. Said Comeaux beat up their little darlin' in his office this morning."

  "You got any more good news, Bid?" Sonny asked.

  "Yes, sir. Dispatch just called. Said the Alexandria P. D. just teletyped a message. Mary Claverie busted out of the nut house during that big fire."

  "All right. Bid. Call out our reserve officers. I think we're going to need them."

  "I can't, sir. Dispatch said they all called in 'bout five minutes ago. They quit."

  15

  Leaving the cops to deal with cop business, Sam and Father Javotte got in Sam's car and slowly drove the streets of the small town.

  "Are you certain of the timetable, Sam?" Javotte asked.

  "You can't be certain of anything when dealing with Satan, Padre, as you well know. Everything could blow up tonight, or six months from now. I voiced a theory, that's all."