Personal Demons: A Riverton Demons Novel Read online

  “The wind is actually a pretty good guide. And I’ve gotten to meet some really cool people,” he said. Laura felt the heat creep up her neck.

  “Well I’m very glad that the wind blew you this way. I don’t know what I would have done…” Her vision swam for a moment before she blinked it clear. “Well, I’m really exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed myself. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. And fair warning to you that Owen might get up and wander by you in the night. He comes into my room more nights than he doesn’t.”

  Brian smiled again.

  “He’s a great kid,” Brian smiled at her. “He won’t bother me at all.” Laura’s vision started to swim again. She just nodded and went into her own room, closing the door behind her.

  *****

  Brian rolled over on the couch. It was remarkably comfortable for sleeping on, but the throbbing in his arm, the giant bruise on his side, and the excitement of the day were conspiring to make sleep elusive. He’d heal quickly— he always did, and now he guessed he knew why— but in the meantime, it still hurt like hell. And itched like crazy!

  It was very late now, or maybe very early depending on which side of dawn you were looking at. The quiet sounds of the small hours were almost soothing after the awful dream that had woken him from his admittedly restless sleep. It was a new variation on an old nightmare: instead of being chased through city streets by faceless hunters, he was being chased through the park by a knife wielding madman in odd glasses. At least this dream he could connect to something tangible, even though his dream-lunatic was shouting the same things the hunters did, and seemed to be after him for the same reasons. It didn’t matter who did the chasing in his nightmare, as it turned out, they all left him with a racing pulse and a clammy, sickening sweat.

  He sighed and sat up. He should wash his face at least, try to feel vaguely clean again. Maybe a drink of water or warm milk or something would help, too. He stepped quietly across the room, careful to avoid anything that looked like it might be small, sharp, and plastic. About halfway to the kitchen, he heard something. A quiet sound coming from Laura’s bedroom door. It sounded like…

  “Laura?” he knocked gently. “Are you okay?” He heard a small gasp and imagined that she had thought he was asleep. The door opened and she stood there in a thick terrycloth bathrobe hastily thrown over her own pajamas. He was right. She had been crying.

  “I’m fine. I just couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she sniffled.

  “I couldn’t sleep either. Turns out slasher wounds don’t make for a comfortable bedtime. Maybe some warm milk for both of us? If you have any milk, anyway.”

  She huffed a small laugh and nodded, making the effort to smile past her pink nose and watery eyes.

  “Are you kidding? I practically have to buy it by the tanker, as fast as Owen goes through the stuff. Is whole okay? I ask, but it doesn’t really matter. That’s all we have.”

  She followed him onto the kitchen and stood by the small table, watching as he opened the fridge and let the light inside illuminate the kitchen rather than turn on the glaring fluorescents. He didn’t really need the light, but it’s glow was comforting, creating a soft bubble of domesticity in the dark apartment. Brian opened a few cupboards until he found the cups, and then went back a cupboard and pulled down the rum he’d seen. He took the jug of milk from Laura’s hand and motioned to the table in the tiny dining area between the galley kitchen and the living room.

  “I got this, you have a seat.” He waited till she sat down then flipped on the stove’s hood light before closing the fridge, and bustled comfortably around the small kitchen, heating the milk in a pot he pulled out of the dish rack rather than using the microwave. He could feel her watching him from wary, tired eyes and his jaw clenched. Had his own mother ever sat in their kitchen like this, red eyed and exhausted from worrying about him? Probably, he thought, the facts he’d learned since her death twisting inside his gut as he focused on the sounds of the pot scraping across the burner and the steam floating gently up from the milk’s calm surface.

  The quiet sounds of night in the city whispered around them and he reflected that he probably belonged more in the dark than he did in the daytime, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. His own mother— single, struggling, and apparently terrified— had made sure he had more sunlight in his life than darkness, and he wouldn’t let her sacrifices be for nothing. Right now, though, he felt the comfort of the shadows in this cheerful kitchen, and the hushed, muffled traffic sounds that filtered in from the street was universally, reassuringly familiar to anyone raised in a city. He knew, somehow, that he and Laura were the only ones truly awake in the apartments right around them right now and that was also strangely comforting, even though he wished that she wasn’t unhappy about whatever it was. Well, he would do what he could for Laura tonight, anyway, even if it was just warming the milk and offering her a friendly ear. He poured the steaming milk into the mugs and added a healthy glug of the rum to both servings before carrying them over to the table.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Brian. I could have heated that up myself. You’re a guest,” she said, wrapping her hands around the cup and staring into the steam. Brian shrugged, watching her and wondering what had brought her to this point. Single, with a young son she clearly adored, crying by herself in the middle of the night. It brought him out of his own problem for a while, wondering how he could ease her burden even just a little. It wasn’t much to do in return for her kindness in offering a place to stay.

  “My mom raised me all by herself. If you are anything at all like my own mother was, I’m willing to bet that you don’t often have anyone taking care of you. Warming up some milk isn’t exactly a hardship,” Brian answered. He took a sip of his own and let the quiet of the night settle around them again. Traffic noise drifted in as cars streamed by on the nearby freeway. Someone in an apartment downstairs turned on the water for a minute, making it rush loudly through the pipes. When Laura spoke, she was almost too quiet to hear at first.

  “I met Owen’s father when I was in school. I was bookish, you know, and only enrolled in the academic program even though I had just enough power to qualify for the Temple program. Kevin was handsome, and charming when he wanted to be, and he was training to be a Temple warrior in the hopes of becoming a Guardian which impressed me no end. Basically, I was young and stupid,” she shrugged. Brian just nodded and stayed silent. He could tell that there was something behind this confession, and with his own past boiling in his mind so much lately that he felt a guilty relief at hearing about someone else’s problems. Outside the front door of the apartment, muffled footsteps thumped down the hallway, and a door closed with a bang on the other end of the long hallway, though it felt much further than that. Here in Laura’s kitchen it was warm and secret, the only light coming from the stove light he had left on, and the streetlight pouring in through the window across the living room.

  “If I’d stopped being dazzled that he noticed me for just a few seconds, I would have noticed all the red flags. Academically and in the Temple training, he was just squeaking by, and he always had some reason for not being the best in his classes. He’d been tired from studying so hard. Someone else cheated. The instructors were deliberately making things harder for him for a whole slew of reasons. If his team didn’t do well in the challenges they were assigned, it was the other two that had screwed up. That sort of thing. Everything was always someone else’s fault. He acted like he deserved all the recognition and praise and glory that was naturally due to him by virtue of his very existence.” Her sarcasm almost oozed though the air while she rolled her eyes for further emphasis.

  “Then when I found out I was pregnant, well. That wasn’t his fault either, obviously. He dropped me like a hot rock. My teacher found out what had happened somehow, and of course that blew the whole thing out of the water. I was just barely eighteen, you see, and anyone doing the math co
uld figure out what Kevin had been up to before my birthday. My teacher told my parents— my dad nearly murdered Kevin— and they told the Elder at the school. The local Council that ran the school hauled Kevin before them and when he refused to take any responsibility for anything that had happened, combined with his poor showing in all his classes and the bad reports from his Temple trainers, they tossed him out on his ass. Which was, naturally, entirely my fault and not at all his own. The last thing he said before he left was that I should have just gotten rid of the stupid brat instead of ruining his life.”

  Laura finished the last of her milk, then looked up to stare thoughtfully at the rum that still sat on the counter. Brian felt the heat in the back of his neck as she wound up her story and was all too aware of the warning signs. His pendant lay warm against his skin. He took a deep breath to steady himself. The past was in the past and there was nothing that could change it.

  “What an unbelievable bastard,” he said. Laura nodded.

  “He had started out so charming, you know? And his smile made me blush all over that he was even aware of me, let alone dating me. Mom and I usually just call him The Asshole anymore.” A weak grin flickered over her face.

  “Sounds tame. At least you have your parents around, though. I bet that’s been huge.” He thought back to the letter he’d found in his mom’s papers. Her parents had disowned her immediately when she told them she was pregnant, cut her off cold, and she hadn’t made a single move to repair the relationship, apparently.

  “Enormous. I don’t know how I could have done this without them,” she nodded. Now she smiled at him across the table, and Brian couldn’t help but notice that it lit her up like sunshine, even through the last of her sniffles. “Owen has been totally worth the work.”

  “He’s a lucky kid. It’s totally none of my business, I know, but…” he said, slowly. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure. It seems to be confession hour here, so why not?” She said.

  “Does Owen know about this guy?” Laura shook her head. And looked back at her mug, like it held all the answers she needed.

  “No. I mean he knows there was a man involved with his conception, not that he knows all about that stuff exactly. He’s too young for the birds and bees chat, but you understand what I mean. But no, he doesn’t know about all of it. He’s so young, and I just don’t know what I should tell him when he asks.” Brian nodded at her, then looked down at his own mug.

  “Well. I can tell you from experience: I would rather have known about the person who fathered me before my mom died. I have so many questions and I will just never know the answers to them. It…” He took a deep breath, staring in apparent concentration at the empty mug he was rotating slowly on the table with the tips of his fingers. “I know it’s not worth anything to say this, but if it was me, I’d tell him the truth,” he said, his gut twisting again with the still fresh knowledge. He felt Laura’s gaze and looked up to meet her eyes.

  “Yeah. Well I might have the chance sooner than I’d like. He’s been sending me awful poems and creepy letters that he probably thinks are romantic or something. He even sent flowers once. I have no idea how he got our address, but I never changed my name. It probably just took a quick internet search for that much. I don’t even know how he learned Owen’s name, or got my email address. He left long before we knew the baby’s gender, let alone decided on a name. I’ve moved, changed all my contact information, all of that. He must have hired a detective or something. Then, this morning— yesterday morning now, I guess— I got an email from Kevin. He wants to meet and discuss Owen’s future. That’s how he put it: ‘discuss Owen’s future.’ ” She stood and poured another few glugs of rum right into her mug, then turned and leaned back against the counter. “I’m supposed to meet him at a coffee shop this afternoon. Mom’s coming by to take Owen to the zoo so he’s nowhere near the creep, and I was going to call a friend of mine to go with me for moral support, but with all the excitement today I never did.” She sighed and shook her head. “I want to tell him to buzz off, but I’m scared. I don’t know what I’d do if he somehow managed to take Owen. Not that I think he could, mind you, but still.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Brian said. He didn’t even hesitate. There was no way in hell he’d let her go alone. The whole situation resonated too loudly in his mind for him to ignore. Besides, his mother had taught him to look after people, and to channel his aggression towards more positive outlets, and he couldn’t think of a more positive outlet then protecting Laura from her crazy ex. It was like the gods had sent him here on purpose, though why the gods would do anything to help him out he wasn’t sure anymore.

  “Oh no. I couldn’t ask that. You’ve already been so kind,” she protested. Brian shook his head and stood to wash his mug and the pot he had used.

  “I wish someone had been there for my own mother when she needed it. I’m not going to just let you go there alone. Worst thing that could happen, I’ll be going to get coffee with a pretty lady. That’s not exactly a hardship either.” He winked at her, putting as much good humor into it as he could. Laura blinked at him as he dried his hands on the kitchen towel and hung it neatly over the edge of the sink.

  “Now I’m going to try to get some sleep. You probably should too. Good night.” He felt her eyes on his back as he walked into the darkened living room.

  Chapter 3

  Brian woke up with the sun streaming in on his face, and a pair of small brown eyes peeking at him over the edge of the sofa cushion.

  “Moooooooom! He’s awake!” Owen yelled.

  “Owen! Shhhhhh! Use your morning voice!” Laura came around the corner of the kitchen, and made an exasperated noise when she saw him crouched by the sofa inches away from Brian’s face, and staring. “Come on now, scoot away from him, that’s so rude! Let him sleep.” Owen reluctantly obeyed, slowly crawling backwards from the couch as Brian sat up.

  “What time is it?” he asked. “And do I smell coffee?”

  “It’s just after seven o’clock, I’m so sorry. Owen wakes up at the crack of dawn. I’ve gotten used to it, but I’d hoped that he’d leave you alone to sleep. And yes, you do smell coffee. I hope cereal is okay with you for breakfast, though. I seem to be out of eggs.” She looked nervously at him and he wondered if he’d grown fangs overnight or something. He rubbed his hands over his face, pretending to wipe the sleep from his eyes, just to make sure. Nope, just normal morning breath and couch-created bedhead. Okay, well, that was bad enough, probably.

  “Anything’s fine, really, as long as it starts with coffee.” Once upright, he managed to turn his attention to Owen who was almost vibrating with excitement. Apparently, a sleepover party was a grand excuse for getting out every single one of his toys, and Brian was required to appreciate all of them. Once he’d had some coffee and brushed his teeth, he let the boy pull him into his bedroom to continue the show-and-tell, much to Laura’s astonishment, and proceeded to pass an amusing morning in Owen’s room laying out train tracks and building towers for the specific purpose of bringing them crashing down in a great clattering mess which prompted squealing laughter from the boy every time. Laura kept coming to stand in the door with a look on her face that was somewhere between complete bewilderment and stark relief.

  “You know, you don’t have to let him keep you in here,” she finally said. “I know he’s pushy, but you can… I don’t know. Do whatever you want to do.” She hovered in the doorway, holding a toy she’d been bringing in to put away and looking ready to shoo Owen back if Brian wanted to leave.

  “But Mom, Unca Brian is a good helper!” Owen looked up at her, the pout already starting to form.

  “Nah, I’m good here, as long as it’s cool with you. It’s weirdly relaxing, actually. I’m finding the zen of building blocks.” Brian grinned. He stacked another block on top of the wobbly structure and the whole thing leaned dramatically for a heart-stopping moment while everyone held their breath, then tipped over to scat
ter blocks all the way across the room and under the bed. Owen yelped and laughed so hard he fell over himself, before rolling like a log to follow the blocks into the underbed gloom. Laura shook her head and turned away back into the short hallway, muttering about child based self-inflicted punishment.

  Brian just grinned. It was a relief to be able to ignore the weight that had been pressing down on him for the past several months. Just to sit and have some honest fun playing with toys on the floor, and enjoying Owen’s cackles of laughter when his truck brought down yet another carefully constructed edifice seemed like the best idea he had ever had.

  Pretty soon there was a knock and Owen leapt up to go fling the front door wide open.

  “Gramma!” he yelled. Brian stood, and tried to make sure he looked presentable and trustworthy. He was still surprised that Laura was being so generous, instead of treating him like a serial killer or something, but considering they met because of an actual knife-wielding psycho, maybe he seemed safe in comparison. Still, while Owen’s mom seemed to be comfortable with his presence, there was no reason for Laura’s mother to feel the same way. He straightened his shirt and stepped into the hallway where Laura was greeting her mother. They all turned to him and Owen pointed.

  “Owen, you don’t just fling the door open like that. You wait for me to come first. Hi, Mom.” Laura hurried up behind her son to greet the newcomer. Owen grabbed his grandmother’s hand and dragged her to his bedroom.

  “Gramma, come on! This is Unca Brian. He’s a hero!” he said, actually jumping up and down while tugging on the woman’s hand. Brian blinked.

  “Um. Well I don’t know about the hero part, but I am Brian. Sedge. Brian Sedge.” He closed his mouth to keep any further rambling nonsense inside his head and held his hand out. The woman looked at him for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him in a crushing hug.

  “I agree with Owen, definitely a hero. Thank you so, so much. Laura told me all about it when she called last night,” she stepped back and her damp gaze flickered over the bandage on his arm, currently trapped under her hand. “Oh! Oh, my dear! I’m so sorry, I got too carried away. I just don’t know what we would do if we lost Owen. He’s our treasure. My name is Martha Butler. It’s so nice to meet you.” She reached up and peeled a sticker out of his hair.