The demon stood watching for several moments more before turning away to continue down the road. He read later that if the boy's body hadn't been found in front of his house, the authorities would have needed dental records to identify him. His family couldn't recognize him from what was left of his face. The dog, which one of the neighbors described as the boy's best friend, was quarantined for the mandatory ten days to determine if it had rabies and then put down.
Junior Elway pulled the Jeep Cherokee against the curb in front of the dilapidated apartment complex situated on Avenue L and West Third where Deny Howe rented a small, one–bedroom unit. They talked for a moment while the demon listened, agreeing to meet at Scrubby's for pizza and beer that evening. Both were divorced, on the downside of forty, and convinced that a lot of women were missing a good bet. Derry Howe climbed out of the Jeep, and the demon climbed out with him. Together they went up the walk as Junior Elway drove off.
Inside the apartment, the window fan was rattling and buzzing as it fought to withstand the heat. It was not adequate to the task, and the air in the apartment was close and warm. Derry Howe walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a can of Bud, walked back to the living room, and flopped down on the sofa. He was supposed to be on picket duty at the number–three plant, but he had begged off the night before by claiming that his back was acting up. His union supervisor had probably known he was lying, but had chosen to let it slide. Derry was encouraged. Already he was wondering if he could pull the same scam for Sunday's shift.
The demon sat in the rocker that had belonged to Derry Howe's grandmother before she died, the one his mother had inherited and in turn passed on to him when he was married and she still had hopes for him. Now no one had any hopes for Derry Howe. Two tours in Vietnam followed by his failed marriage to a girl some thought would change him, a dozen arrests on various charges, some jail time served at the county lockup, and twenty years at MidCon with only one promotion and a jacket full of reprimands had pretty much settled the matter. The road that marked the course of his life had straightened and narrowed, and all that remained to be determined was how far it would run and how many more breakdowns he would suffer along the way.
It had not proved difficult for the demon to find Derry Howe. Really, there were so many like him that it scarcely took any effort at all. The demon had found him on the second day of his arrival in Hopewell, just by visiting the coffee shops and bars, just by listening to what the people of the town had to say. He had moved in with Howe right away, making himself an indispensable presence in the other's life, insinuating himself into the other's thoughts, twisting Derry's mind until he had begun to think and talk in the ways that were necessary. Hardly a challenge, but definitely a requirement if the demon's plans were to succeed. He was Deny Howe's shadow now, his conscience, his sounding board, his devil's advocate. His own, personal demon. And Deny Howe, in turn, was his creature.
The demon watched Howe finish his beer, struggle up in the stale air of the apartment, walk to the kitchen, and fish through the cluttered refrigerator for another. The demon waited patiently. The demon's life was wedded to his cause, and his cause required great patience. He had sacrificed everything to become what he was, but he knew from his transformation at the hands of the Void that sacrifice was required. After he had embraced the Void he had concealed himself until his conscience had rotted and fallen away and left him free. His name had been lost. His history had faded. , His humanity had dissipated and turned to dust. All that he had been had disappeared with the change, so that now he was reborn into his present life and made over into his higher form. It had been hard in the beginning, and once, in a moment of great weakness and despair, he had even thought to reject what he had so readily embraced. But in the end reason had prevailed, and he had forsaken all.
Now it was the cause that drove him, that fed him, that gave him his purpose in life. The cause was everything, and the Void defined the cause as need required. For now, for this brief moment in time, the cause was the destruction of this town and its inhabitants. It was the release of the feeders that lurked in the caves beneath Sinnissippi Park. It was the subversion of Deny Howe. It was the infusion of chaos and madness into the sheltered world of Hopewell.
And it was one thing more, the thing that mattered most.
Deny Howe returned to the sofa and seated himself with a grunt, sipping at his beer. He looked at the demon, seeing him clearly for the first time because the demon was ready now to talk.
"We got to do something, bud," Deny Howe intoned solemnly, nodding to emphasize the importance of his pronouncement. "We got to stop those suckers before they break us."
The demon nodded in response. "If union men cross the picket line and return to work, the strike is finished."
"Can't let them do that." Howe worked his big hands around the beer bottle, twisting slowly. "Damn traitors, anyway! What the hell they think they're doing, selling out the rest of us!"
"What to do?" mused the demon.
"Shoot a few, by God! That'll show them we mean business!"
The demon considered the prospect. "But "that might not stop the others from going back to work. And you would go to jail. You wouldn't be of any use then, would you?"
Deny Howe frowned. He took a long drink out of the bottle. "So what's the answer, bud? We have to do something."
"Think about it like this," suggested the demon, having already done so long ago. "The company plans to reopen the fourteen–inch using company men to fill the skill jobs and scabs to fill the gaps. If they can open one plant and bring back a few of the union men, they can work at opening the others as well. It will snowball on you, if they can just get one mill up and running."
Howe nodded, his face flushed and intense. "Yeah, so?"
The demon smiled, drawing him in. "So, what happens if the company can't open the number–three plant? What happens if they can't get the fourteen–inch up and running?"
Deny Howe stared at him wordlessly, thinking it through.
The demon gave him a hand. "What happens if it becomes clear to everyone that it's dangerous to cross the picket line and work in the mills? What happens, Deny?"
"Yeah, right." A light came on somewhere behind Deny Howe's flat eyes. "No one crosses the line and the strike continues and the company has to give in. Yeah, I get it. But why wouldn't they start up the fourteen–inch? All they need's the workers. Unless …"
The demon spoke the words for him, in his own voice, almost as if in his own mind. "Unless there is an accident."
"An accident," breathed Deny Howe. Excitement lit his rawboned features. "A really bad accident."
"It happens sometimes," said the demon.
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? An accident. Maybe someone even gets killed. Yeah."
"Think about it," said the demon. "Something will come to you."
Derry Howe was smiling, his mind racing. He drank his beer and mulled over the possibilities the demon's words had suggested to him. It would take little effort from here. A few more nudges. One good push in the right direction. Howe had been a demolitions man in Vietnam. It wouldn't take much for him to figure out how to use that knowledge here. It wouldn't even take courage. It required stupidity and blind conviction, and Derry Howe had plenty of both. That was why the demon had picked him.
The demon leaned back in the rocker and looked away, suddenly bored. What happened with Derry Howe was of such little importance. He was just another match waiting to be struck. Perhaps he would catch fire. You never knew. The demon had learned a long time ago that an explosion resulted most often from an accumulation of sparks. It was a lesson that had served him well. Derry Howe was one of several sparks the demon would strike over the next three days. Some were bound to catch fire; some might even explode. But, in the final analysis, they were all just diversions intended to draw attention away from the demon's real purpose in coming to this tiny, insignificant Midwestern town. If things went the way he intended–and he had every reason to think they would–he would be gone before anyone had any idea at all of his interest in the girl.