The Demon in Me Read online

  The impulse was too strong to ignore. “This will only take a second. It’s probably nothing.”

  Hell, with her track record, maybe it was the guy’s dog.

  Eden wrapped her fingers around the handle. The hinges creaked as she slowly opened the door.

  She blinked and stared with disbelief at what she saw.

  She’d been right. There was a clue inside. A big clue.

  A clue that was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, and held a large knife.

  For a long, frozen second she stared, unable to move or speak with only one thought flitting through her head—

  What were the damn odds that the very serial killer they were looking for would be in the house? Hiding in the freaking closet?

  Good odds, obviously. Very good odds.

  Eden shrieked as the large man thrust out his hand and grabbed her. He turned her around and held her firmly in place with one arm. The sharp tip of the knife grazed her throat.

  “Shouldn’t have done that,” he growled. “I was trying to hide all quiet like a mouse.”

  “Drop your weapon!” Ben had his gun out and pointed at the friendly neighborhood serial killer currently pressed against Eden’s back.

  The sharp edge of the blade pushed closer against her skin. “I just came back to pick up a few things, not to have a show-down. You should have damn well left me alone.”

  Eden shot Ben a panicked look and then concentrated on not moving. “Please let go of me.”

  He dragged her roughly backward into the open archway leading to the living room. The curtains were drawn on the bay window, leaving them in shadows. “I need your help. I heard you talking. You’re a psychic. That’s how you sniffed me out.”

  Now that she was really close to him she could literally sniff him out. Considering how neat and tidy his house was, the man had obviously been away from deodorant or showers for several days. Her skin crawled and bile rose in her throat.

  “How can I help you?” she managed.

  “I’m possessed by a demon,” he hissed into her ear. “And I want it out of me.”

  “A demon?” she repeated, trying to sound as if she believed him. “Is that what you think is making you kill people? The devil made you do it?”

  She exchanged a fleeting look with Ben, who stood six feet in front of her. He’d be able to hear everything the freak was saying to her. The cop’s expression was fierce but a distinct flicker of worry crossed his blue eyes. He was thinking what she was thinking. This guy was insane—even by serial killer standards.

  “I can’t concentrate.” The killer shifted farther back with her. “Can’t think with it in my head. I killed a homeless guy a couple weeks ago and the demon’s been with me ever since.”

  “I’m warning you again,” Ben snarled. “Let the woman go right now.”

  The guy tensed. “He’s telling me to let you go.”

  “That’s r-right,” Eden said, her voice shaky. “Listen to the nice policeman. He wants to help you and so do I. Nobody has to get hurt here.”

  “No, not the cop, the demon. He wants me to let you go.”

  Okay. “Well, then listen to the nice d-demon. I can help you. I am psychic. Very powerful. That’s me. I’ll be able to talk to your demon and convince him to leave your body and go back to—to Hell… and then everything will be fine.”

  “You don’t believe me. I can hear it in your voice.”

  Her stomach clenched with fear. “No, I do. I totally believe.”

  “The world is full of strange things and strange beings. They’re among us. Walking around, eating, drinking, living side by side with humans. I couldn’t see them before but now I can. They’re everywhere. Do you see them, too?”

  “Of course I do.” It sounded like a lie. Mostly because it was. She could be this bastard’s next murder victim. Her life might be crappy at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wanted it to end. Her legs weakened, and if he hadn’t been holding her tightly she would have fallen straight down to the beige-carpeted floor.

  She gasped as the knife pressed closer.

  “Maybe if I slit your throat the demon will leave,” the killer growled into her ear. “He’ll see that he doesn’t have any power over me.”

  Eden met Ben’s steady but worried gaze. He had his gun aimed at the serial killer’s chest, but at the moment she was blocking the way.

  “This is your last warning,” Ben snapped. “I will shoot you.” Suddenly the killer let go of Eden and she spun around to see that he looked extremely upset.

  “Shut up!” he yelled, and brought his hands up to his head. “I’m not listening to you, demon. I’ll kill her.”

  His gaze tracked to where Eden stood, his eyes wide and crazed. He raised his knife and lunged at her.

  She screamed, staggered back, and tripped over the edge of the carpet, landing hard on her butt.

  A shot rang out, then another, and the serial killer crumpled to the ground.

  He didn’t move again.

  “Eden, are you okay?” Ben asked sharply.

  Okay? she thought, feeling stunned and shivery. Hell no, she wasn’t okay. But at least she was still breathing.

  “I’ll be fine.” Her hands shook so she clasped them in front of her. She decided to stay seated on the floor since she was sure her legs were too shaky to stand on. A line of perspiration sped down her spine. “You wanted me to help find the s-serial killer—” She took a shuddery breath. “Mission accomplished.”

  Her stomach churned and she was afraid she would be sick right then and there. She tried to focus on something, anything until she could calm down. Her gaze moved cautiously toward the prone body of the dead man she knew she’d have nightmares about for weeks—possibly years—to come.

  She frowned. “Hey, do you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “That.” She pointed at what looked like a thin, dark shadow emerging from the serial killer’s gaping mouth and trailing along the floor like a black scarf.

  That is definitely not normal, she thought.

  Ben shook his head. “All I see is a dead body. It’s okay now, Eden. You’re safe.”

  The shadow paused as it moved across the floor between her and Ben. Then, before she could do anything else or figure out what on earth it was, it shifted direction and, in a split second, flew through the air toward her. She shrieked and instinctively put her hands up to block whatever it was, but the moment the shadow touched her… it disappeared.

  She looked at her hands.

  What the hell just happened?

  Had it only been her imagination?

  Ben held out a hand to help her back up to her feet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She swallowed hard. “I will be—you know—eventually.”

  He squeezed her hand in his. “Good.”

  She definitely needed a drink. A big one. Straight up.

  She knew she should have stopped for some lunch earlier. A piece of toast and a glass of juice nine hours ago was not enough for proper mental alertness. She shook away the strange feeling and tried to relax while Ben got on his phone and called for backup.

  Constable Santos ran in and swept the room with one look. “Eden! Damn, you sure work fast! You found the killer!”

  That she did. And now the killer was killed.

  But she still felt like she wanted to hurl. Missing dogs were much easier to deal with than serial killers. That was the lesson of the day.

  At least it’s over, she thought wearily. She’d be very happy to go back to her regular life now.

  No more traumatic experiences for her, thank you very much.

  TWO

  Ben was too busy for that dinner date after all. In fact, other than a few concerned looks cast in Eden’s general direction, he mostly ignored her once the rest of the cops got there.

  He asked Constable Santos to give Eden a ride home, but she had him take her to her day job instead. Fifteen minutes later she arrived at Triple-A Investigat
ions, a small, low-end detective agency.

  Why Eden currently worked there was very simple.

  Her mother, may she rest in peace, loved to play poker. And drink. And neglect her only daughter whenever possible, but that was another story. Recently, she’d won half the agency in a poker game with the owner, Andy McCoy. When she died last month she’d left her share of it to Eden, along with a pair of small diamond-stud earrings.

  At least the earrings had some value.

  When news reached Eden that half was hers, she’d just lost her job at Psychic Connexions—which meant she was officially looking for work again. She’d gone into Triple-A hoping what was behind the glass front door had more potential than the name of the place.

  What she’d found was two desks. Overflowing garbage cans. Peeling wallpaper. The stench of cigar smoke permeated the air. All of this luxury was next door to a coffee bar, also owned by Andy, called Hot Stuff.

  Andy wanted to buy Eden out, which was fine with her, but he didn’t have any money, which wasn’t fine by her. So, despite her gut instinct to walk away from the business completely, she moved to the city, rented a small apartment, and started to work there. She didn’t have a PI license and had no intention of getting one, so she instead helped out with paperwork, filing, typing, and answering the phone. She’d tried to get the smell of cigars out of the air and walls; however, Febreze could only do so much.

  She waited for Andy to get enough money together to pay for her half of the agency.

  It had been almost a month. She was still waiting.

  In the meantime, Andy did give her reasonable biweekly paychecks to help make ends meet. He wasn’t a total tightwad.

  “Eden,” Andy greeted her when she walked through the glass front door. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Trust me, after the day I’ve had, I’m glad to be back.”

  Andy was a man who’d definitely had the potential of being attractive and charming at one time, but life and circumstances had gotten in the way to make him pinched and squinty. An FBI agent until fifteen years ago, he was pushing fifty, still solidly built, pale blond hair and eyebrows, and warm and friendly green eyes.

  “How did the thing go?” he asked. “With the cop?”

  Well, he did ask. “I was attacked by a serial killer who said he was possessed by a demon. I almost died. A gorgeous cop who’s a dead ringer for Brad Pitt asked me out for dinner but then reneged and I’m not sure if I should call him. Do you think that would make me look like a stalker?” She sighed. “I may actually throw up at any moment. Just a warning.”

  He stared at her. “Are you serious about the serial killer?”

  “I’m not in a good enough mood right now to joke.”

  “But you’re all right? You’re not hurt at all, are you?”

  It was sweet of him to care. “I’m okay.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He pursed his lips. “Listen, I’d stick around for moral support or whatever, but I have to split. Are you staying long?”

  Well, maybe he didn’t care that much. “For a while. I’m trying to take my mind off what happened, actually. This place is oddly soothing, despite the décor.”

  “Well, if you’re looking for something to do… can you enter this all into the computer? I’d appreciate it.”

  Eden looked at the stack of files he had his hand on. Andy liked to handwrite everything. Eden was one of the only people in the world—she thought—who could decipher his penmanship. Typing was good mindless work and would definitely help her brain focus on something else before she went home. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

  He grinned and actually patted her shoulder, placing the folders on top of her desk. “Super. You’re a peach, especially after everything you’ve gone through. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, okay?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Have a good night.”

  He threw his coat over his shoulder and walked out the front door.

  Eden watched him get into his leased red Porsche and drive away. The sky was turning pink and purple and orange as the sun slowly began to sink beneath the horizon.

  She walked over to sit at her little desk, feeling oddly despondent about everything after her brush with death.

  If she was really 100 percent psychic, would she be able to see into her own future? What would it hold? Excitement and romance? Or more of the same?

  “Place your bets,” she murmured. “My money’s on more of the same. Bring it on.”

  She’d recently made a promise to look on the bright side of things after reading The Secret. Five times. She owned the book, the audio book, and the DVD. If she believed that good things were going to happen, then they would. But the belief had to be complete. She had to clearly imagine what she wanted in life in order to make it happen.

  Sure. It was possible.

  I’d love more money so I could move out of my crappy apartment, she thought. That would be super.

  She’d also love a great job that fulfilled her and would also help others in some way. All she knew was that she hadn’t found it yet.

  Finally, she’d love to find a wonderful man who loved her for who she was inside.

  Believe it. Feel it. See it. Be it.

  Her stomach still growled with hunger. And the universe provided an immediate solution. There was a big box of Hot Stuff donuts and pastries over on Andy’s desk. There was also a pot of coffee that actually looked remotely fresh.

  She picked up a Boston cream and devoured it in about five seconds, very glad there was no one there to witness it. She then grabbed an apple fritter, put it on a paper towel, and fixed her coffee—two creamers, two sugars. She tipped the mug back and swallowed a mouthful.

  The warm liquid swished around in her stomach as she felt something else. A strange tingling sensation began to spread through her body and down to her arms and legs.

  She put the mug down and held her palm over her stomach.

  “Maybe that coffee wasn’t as fresh as I thought,” she said aloud.

  “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  The male voice made her turn around to see where it came from, but there was nobody in the office except for her.

  “Hello?” she responded cautiously.

  She felt a small lurch in her gut. Indigestion so quickly? Perhaps she should have had a salad. The nutrition gods were trying to tell her something.

  “Who are you?” the voice spoke again.

  Eden’s gaze darted around the room. What was going on? Her body immediately tensed and her heart began to pound—hard. She was still feeling the effects from being grabbed by the serial killer earlier, and it was likely she’d do so for a while.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Where are you? Andy’s gone for the day.”

  “You’re a woman.” Whoever this was sounded surprised by that.

  “Good guess. Now you’re going to have to tell me who you are and where you’re hiding or we’re going to have a problem. I’m not a big fan of hide-and-seek.”

  “You can hear everything I’m saying?” He sounded surprised.

  She swallowed hard. “Of course I can.”

  “It’s just that the others… well, most of them haven’t been able to hear me at all. And the ones who could didn’t hear everything clearly.”

  She curled her hand around the baseball bat she kept under her desk. One could never be too careful. Triple-A wasn’t exactly in the city’s best neighborhood.

  “What others?” she asked.

  “My other… my other hosts. Look, I don’t want you to be afraid—”

  “It’s getting a bit late for that, whoever you are.” She gripped the bat tightly and stood up from the desk. Nobody else was going to sneak up on her. One serial killer a day was her limit.

  She nudged open the door to the small bathroom with her foot. The office was completely empty. She began to tremble. Even if someone had been hiding, their voice wouldn’t be so loud in her ears. So loud that it sounded as if it was comi
ng from—

  Inside of me.

  “You’re the woman with the long, reddish hair, aren’t you? He wanted to kill you. And then—” He paused. “Then I don’t remember much—it’s fuzzy right now. Was he killed? Of course, he had to be or this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “How do you know about that?” she demanded, and began to shuffle backward into the far corner by Andy’s bookshelf. “I’m going to call the cops if you don’t leave me alone.”

  “There was a cop there. A tall man with blond hair. He had a gun.”

  “How do you know what happened?” She glanced under Andy’s desk, which would have made a good hiding spot. But other than three balled-up pieces of paper that hadn’t hit the trash can, there was nothing there. “I just want to be left alone. Honestly, I’m not really as psychic as people seem to think. Checking the coat closet was a lucky guess. It’s called coincidence and it happens all the time.”

  “You’re psychic?” he repeated. “Right, he mentioned that. He thought you might be able to help him get rid of me.”

  Eden frowned deeply. “Get rid of you? The killer said he was possessed by a demon he desperately wanted out of him.”

  Her head spun just thinking about it. Demons didn’t exist. Of course they didn’t. That was crazy.

  Besides, a demon wouldn’t sound like this, would it? Her newly discovered inner voice was deep, warm, and calm. She would have expected a demon to sound scary and, well, demonic . Her hands began to ache as she clutched the bat tighter.

  “The important thing is not to panic,” the voice said.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Really, demon is a bit of a derogatory word, isn’t it?” he continued conversationally. “I promise I mean you no harm at all. I did what I could to keep my former host from hurting you and luckily it all turned out okay. Well, sort of okay. Now if we can just talk about—”

  “You… you’re a d-demon?” she stuttered.

  “Well… technically, yes I am. But just try to relax. I know this is a bit of a surprise, but everything’s going to be fine.”

  No, it wasn’t possible. Not a chance. Demons didn’t exist. She must have had some kind of mental breakdown. Now, that was possible. It had been a very traumatic day. Something deep in her psyche must have cracked open wide enough for her to suddenly hear a voice in her head.