IT WAS LATE THAT NIGHT WHEN DAMIEN LAY IN BED, READING A MAGAZINE BY lamplight. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping too well after what he'd seen that day, at least not without a little tossing and turning. For years he'd been having nightmares, recurring nightmares whose themes varied only slightly from night to night. There were at least three of them by now. He preferred to try and shove them out of his mind as he read.
The first one, the one he'd been having the longest, was of standing in a field, trapped within a circle of fire. This had happened to him, many years ago, only his family had been there with him. In his dream he was almost always alone. And as the years had gone by he'd grown up in his dream, so that he was no longer a child trembling with fear, he was an adult trembling with fear. In his dream the circle of fire pressed closer and closer until he could swear he felt it singeing his clothes, at which point he would usually scream and try to cover his head with his arms in an attempt to stave it off. Of course, that was when he'd wake up. And he was always hot, as if the fire had been real. For him the substance of dreams was real enough.
The second one was the one he hated the most, the one which he'd been having since his sister was killed. It sometimes had slight variations, but was still very much the same. What would happen was that he'd go to the old railroad bridge over the Cheboygan River to find his sister, Lilu, with her heart cut out. He'd ask her who did it, and she'd tell him to watch out or the same thing would happen to him--and it just about had, last summer. She'd fade away into the water and that was when the dream would get really weird. As if it weren't weird enough.
He usually ended up screaming after that one.
[Note--EXTREME SPOILERS FOR D Is For Damien!] The third one was the most recent. He'd only started having it after last summer's incident in the tunnels, when he and his friends had been trying to find a D necklace of his. [Note--by "last summer," it is meant "the summer which just passed."] In this dream, when his friend Miss Clare shot out the giant window in the tunnel under Gordon Turner Park to prevent Mabarak from shooting them, and the water crashed in over them all, forcing the air from their lungs, he'd be pulled under, unable to get to the surface. In real life all of them but Mabarak had escaped, but in the dream he was again alone, struggling against the water. He couldn't breathe and felt himself growing light headed. Then someone would grab him by the arms and he'd look up, to see Mabarak grinning at him fiercely in the blue light. When he spoke bubbles rose out of his mouth to the surface.
"I'll be looking for you in the square," he'd say, and then laugh and flash his knife, a switchblade with a winged snake carved into its ivory handle. [Note--Mabarak's comment does have relevance in future stories--but unfortunately I've forgotten exactly WHAT that relevance is, just now.] Damien felt the numbness surround him, and then everything would go dark, and the darkness echoed only with Mabarak's insane laughter, which would eventually fade out. [Note--apologies for the shifting verb tenses in that dream.]
That was the only dream from which he never woke up abruptly with a scream. Indeed, every time it was over, he'd just slowly come to, as if being resuscitated after nearly drowning. And he'd never be in a panic. He'd just feel a mixture of disconcertion and foreboding, as if he expected something, a thing he had no way of knowing when to expect. [Note--awkward sentence construction.] But he knew it would happen, somehow. Whatever it was. [Note--Damien's behavior seems contradictory here, but it's not. When it comes to other people claiming miraculous experiences, he tends to be very skeptical--see Men In Black for a taste, and see how he reacts to Keemo's prophesying in D Is For Damien. However, when it comes to himself and people very close to him, things he's had firsthand experience with, he very much believes. I think that's the key--he needs to see something for himself before he'll believe it.]
Right now he tried not to think of any of these things as he read the music reviews in the magazine, idly paging through it in the semi-darkness. He glanced at the clock. 12:02. Jeez, was it really that late? He didn't even feel tired. With a sigh he put the magazine down on the bedside shelf and settled down to sleep, almost hoping that the Mabarak dream would come, to give him a chance to figure out its meaning.
As luck would have it the dream didn't come, but a new, different one did. He was walking through the Scorpio compound, a huge, abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, searching for something--or someone. He entered a large, empty room, and immediately coughed as dust motes were raised by his footsteps. A noise caught his attention, and he whirled around to face--
A hideous goat-headed creature.
He stumbled back, nearly falling over into a batch of cardboard boxes emblazoned with the BLACK EAGLE PRODUCTION COMPANY logo. [Note--it's never really explained in the series, so..."Black Eagle" is apparently some sort of front or cover for Scorpio's operations, I take it. I haven't any idea what they are or what they do, just that they're meant to look legitimate and the Scorpio "compound"/warehouse likely once belonged to them. The name "Black Eagle" is used again in future unwritten stories for a Scorpio splinter group; I won't go into further details here as it's very spoilery. The eagle, of course, is one of the zodiacal symbols of Scorpio.] The goat-creature laughed, and Damien cringed, recognizing that laugh; it could be no one other than Luther Broderick. In the dim, musty light he couldn't tell if Luther was wearing a goat mask or in fact actually did have a goat head. But whatever the case was, the goat head looked exactly the same as the one he'd seen in Mulroy's bag, the one that had been left on Leslie's doorstep--black with a white blazon down its forehead.
He climbed to his feet, then only to find he couldn't move. Fear and rage swept up into his throat as he struggled to move his limbs, and the goat-thing only laughed again, flinging out an arm in his direction. Damien found his own arms, and flailed them up to protect himself, fearing Luther would have a gun as he had the last time they'd met; however, the goat-creature only pointed one long, menacing finger at him.
"You were prepared," he said. "But we're catching up to you now."
"What do you want?" Damien hissed at the weird creature. "How come you can't leave me alone for once?"
Luther/the goat-creature howled with laughter. Suddenly there was, before, Damien, a flaming jack-o-lantern. Able to move now, he backed away from it, holding up a hand to shield his eyes as the fire inside consumed the pumpkin totally. "Remember everything your dreams tell you!" Luther called out to him. "Are they real? Am I real? Are you real? Are you really safe in bed, or are you here with me right now? Tell me which seems more real?"
Damien found his voice--"Not you!"--and the whole scene before him vanished, swirling and breaking apart, like waves in the water. He was now standing on the old railroad bridge, and had to swing out his arms to catch his balance as he found himself looking down, down over the edge, at his tiny reflection below. He grabbed a rusted metal bar--and it gave way suddenly, and he was falling towards the water. For some reason this scared him, and he screamed. He hit the water, only it wasn't water now, it was a blazing fire--the fire was leaping up around him, circling him, consuming him-- [Note--I'd likely make the dream sequences less hokey (and less obvious) in a rewrite, if only to stick it to the snooty writers out there who sniff that dream sequences should never be used because they're always stupid. Phhhbbttt! Snobs. I'll show you someday.]
He started awake, a scream rising in his throat. He cut it off abruptly as he realized there was the sound of pounding on his door, and voices calling out. He glanced around him, panting, his eyes wide with terror. Everything was as he'd left it on going to sleep--the lamp was still on, the magazine beside him on the bedside table, the clock now showing 12:41. He'd been asleep just over a half hour. [Note--I've had really impressive dreams take place in just under a half hour. I once even had a dream where, in the dream, I asked somebody how long I'd been dreaming and she told me, "75 minutes," but when I awoke it had been less than an hour. My own dream lied to me! Pff.]
"Damien?" came a voice through the door, and the pounding came again. "Damien! Are you all right?"
"I--yeah!" he shouted, stumbling out of bed. He swung the door open to reveal his girlfriend, Katrina, in her nightgown, and several of the others who lived there standing behind her. They were all staring at him, their eyes wide. He looked from one to another, his heart still pounding. He looked at the door he held in his hand, feeling it, making sure it was real. The wood was solid beneath his touch.
"Are you all right?" Kat asked again. She was holding a heavy flashlight, as if she'd been expecting to bash some intruder's head with it. Noticing it, Damien couldn't suppress a faint smile. Noticing that, Kat began to scowl.
"I'm all right, Kat," he assured her, rubbing his eyes. "Just a dream."
Kat sighed, disgusted; she waved her hand and the others shuffled away. "Damn it, Dami, take some sleeping pills or something," she snapped, and Damien's grin grew wider; he couldn't remember having heard her swear before. "I don't like it when you wake the whole house up with your nightmares."
He only smiled back. "You look really sexy when you swear."
He was rewarded with a slap across the face; Kat was still looking disgusted and he was still grinning. He could have said something truly dirty, but settled for "Good night to you, too." She snorted, pulling the door away from him, nearly slamming his hand in it. He broke away just in time as it shut, and could hear her thump off down the hallway, hissing at the others mingling around.
Damien laughed silently to himself and went back to his bed, sitting down on the edge. He didn't really feel like going back to sleep, and besides Kat had a point--how could he go all night waking up everybody in the house? Still, if he ever expected to get anything done, he had to get some rest sometime. Maybe if he turned off the light he wouldn't have so many nightmares. He'd read that somewhere, he thought. [Note--I slept with a lamp on when I was little and had frequent nightmares, but I think it was just because I was young. I sleep with the light on now and don't have nightmares.] With a sigh he flicked off the lamp, lay down, and stared at the blackness that was the wall before dozing off.
An annoying ringing sound dragged him slowly out of sleep, a sleep that had been growing deeper and deeper so he felt just about ready to sink right through the bed. He sat up groggily and reached for the phone without even opening his eyes. Maybe it would be something useless, a stupid call--but that he doubted because of his private number. Who knew. Maybe word was getting around.
He put the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Shave-and-a-haircut," a familiar voice sang.
Damien opened his eyes now, squinting and blinking. "Huh?"
"Shave-and-a-haircut," the voice said again; then, "You've never heard of that? God, I must be getting old."
"Who is this?" Damien asked. He knew the voice but for some reason he couldn't place it.
"It's Mulroy," the voice said, sounding the slightest bit hurt. "I must have gotten you at a bad time. If you'd like to get back in touch with me, my hours are--"
"No, no, it's okay," Damien muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The clock read 7:33. Jeez. "What is it?"
"Just thought you might like to know, we were planning on having Ms. Laws over again and ask her a few more questions. I also thought your uncle might be interested. That's where I got your number, by the way, so nobody else in the house will have to worry about your little rendezvous--that is, if you're interested."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be down there in about fifteen. Hold the coffee for me."
He couldn't tell if Mulroy laughed or not. "Yeah, sure. We've got plenty of coffee down here."
Damien sighed and hung up. By the time he left he still didn't feel completely awake, and didn't know whether to blame it on Daylight Saving Time, his own bad sleep habits, or what. He supposed it didn't really matter.
They met in the interrogation room again; Damien found himself to be getting rather used to the place. He nodded at Leslie, who nodded back; she was sitting at the table near Father Damien, who smiled up at his nephew. Mulroy was leaning against the wall playing cats-in-the-cradle [sic]. Damien watched him for a little while until the door opened again. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.
"Is this the party?" the cop who had entered asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He spotted Damien, who kept grinning. "Oh, goodie. The gang's all here."
"Hiya, Jones," Damien said, with almost a sneer. "Nice morning, huh?"
"My shift isn't supposed to start till ten," Officer Jones muttered, moving over to the far end of the table and sitting down, still rubbing at his eyes. "Just when you think you'll be getting some R and R."
"Well, that should about do it," Mulroy said, pulling the string off his fingers and joining them. He sat down across from Leslie. "Now, you know why you're here, right?" He didn't wait for any answer. "We have to clear up a few more things about these threats you've been getting. I'm assuming there's more than just this one."
Leslie nodded, looking at the table.
"When did this start?" Damien asked, puzzled.
She tried to talk, only to have her throat stick. She cleared it and tried again. "About two months ago."
"Two months?" Jones exclaimed. "You've been getting threats for two months?" He looked at the others. "What'm I missing here, guys?"
"That's what I hope to clear up," Mulroy replied. "So how exactly did this start?"
"Phone calls," Leslie said. "I started getting these weird phone calls from some man--he kept saying, 'He's ours' and 'We'll take him back' and things like that. Someone threw a brick through my window and painted on my house but I--" She shrugged. "I thought it was somebody's sick idea of a joke. You know. Scare the pregnant lady down the street. I thought maybe because I lived alone they were picking me."
Mulroy nodded. "You believe now what they mean by 'He's ours' is the baby."
She nodded. "It's going to be a boy. I just assumed, you know, because nothing else makes any sense."
Damien noticed Mulroy was taking a few notes as he asked her questions. "Have you informed the father yet?" he asked.
Leslie paused. Mulroy glanced up at her when she didn't answer. "Uh--" she started, looking uncomfortable, then shrugged a little and tried to reply. "I don't--exactly know who the father is."
Now everybody was looking at her. She turned red and looked at her fingers, avoiding their stares.
"You don't know the father," Mulroy repeated.
She shook her head.
Another pause. "Not to pry," Mulroy prompted, "but, is there any particular--reason--you don't know?"
Leslie sighed and shrugged. "I don't know who the father is. I never slept with anybody."
Damien was certain they'd have been able to hear a pin drop at that moment. "You--didn't--sleep--with--anybody?" Mulroy said, his voice monotone like a robot's. His writing hand had gone still several moments before.
She shook her head. "No."
The detective continued staring at her for a while before venturing, "Should we be calling in the Pope on this one?" [Note--one of my favorite lines EVER!]
"Maybe what she means is she doesn't remember?" Jones prodded.
"No. That's not it." Leslie sighed, exasperated. Damien somehow understood what she must be feeling. A roomful of men! I'm stuck in a roomful of men! "You think I wouldn't remember sleeping with the guy who got me pregnant?" Jones was the one to flush red now and turned away. Leslie turned back to Damien and Mulroy. "I never slept with anybody. I can't explain how this happened. It just did. I was just as surprised as you are when I found out."
"You never questioned this." Mulroy still seemed confused.
"What was I supposed to do? Put an ad in the paper? 'Looking for the father of my child'? What would I say? People would obviously think I'm crazy enough, with all these phone calls and things going on. It's not like I could just go out and drag back in who did this."
Mulroy was struggling to keep his voice level. "But you have no idea?"
"No. No idea. No idea." Damien was starting to feel sorry for her frustration. "I'm telling you I've never been with anybody as far as I know. Not since high school. That was almost fifteen years ago. I doubt this has anything to do with that. If it did maybe you had better call the Pope."
Mulroy shook his head slowly. "No," he said, sounding dazed. "No, no reason." He capped his pen and tapped it against the table. Everybody else was looking around the room. "So--Scorpio wants your baby, and you're not sure exactly--why you're having a baby, just that you are."
Leslie nodded.
"Okay." Still sounding confused. "Moving on." He uncapped his pen again. "You said it was a man who called you."
"Yes. The same one each time." An almost imperceptible shiver passed through her body. "I'll never forget that voice. It was so--cold."
Damien slowly sat up straighter. "You'd remember it if you heard it again?" he asked. The others all looked at him. He only continued staring at Leslie.
She glanced at him also, and nodded first, shaking her head second. "I won't forget that voice. It's like somebody stuck their hand in my chest and squeezed my heart like this." She made a tight squeezing motion with her hands.
Damien stood up, looking at Officer Jones and cocking his head toward the door. Jones stared at him, then looked over at Mulroy questioningly. Mulroy shrugged. Jones sighed, stood up, and followed Damien out of the room. The singer shut the door behind them. Officer Haley was standing at the front desk, and he barely looked at them as they entered the lobby.
"Yeah?" Jones asked in a low voice, sounding and looking puzzled.
"You remember last summer, when Luther left that message on Mabarak's answering machine?"
Jones nodded.
"You still got the tape?"
The cop shrugged slightly. "We should, it's evidence in a state case."
"Think you could find it for me?"
A sigh. "I'll check." He turned away, towards the stairway, and jogged upstairs. Damien stayed in the lobby, pacing in circles, scuffing the floor, examining the walls. Officer Haley watched him for a moment or two before going back to work. After about five or ten minutes Officer Jones reappeared, holding a tape in one hand and a tape player under his other arm. "This what you wanted?" [Note--no, I did not understand the rules of evidence storage back then.]
"I hope so." Damien took the items and returned to the interrogation room. Mulroy, Leslie, and Father Damien all watched as he entered, plugged in the machine, and put in the tape. He set the player in the middle of the table, between Mulroy and Leslie. The detective was looking interested. Leslie made eye contact with Damien and her look said, "What's this all about?"
"What's this all about?" Mulroy asked.
Jeez, I really am physic. [Note--no, THAT'S not a typo...it was just a badly placed joke.] "You said you'd be able to recognize the voice if you heard it again," Damien said to Leslie.
She nodded.
He sat down. "I want you to take a close listen to this and tell me if anything sounds familiar." He put in the tape and pushed PLAY.
Leslie listened without any change of expression to Mabarak's voice as he told the caller to leave a message. There was a beep. Damien carefully watched her face for any reaction when a second voice spoke.
"Don't bother tracing this call," it said. "It will get you nowhere. We have people in high and low places, so we know exactly what's going on at all times." [Note--verbatim from Chapter 14 of D Is For Damien--meaning this version of Sidekicks dates to after the completion of that novel. But I guess that was pretty obvious anyway.]
Click. Leslie had stopped the tape player with one finger. She drew her hand back, her face deathly white. She nodded at the machine.
"That's him," she said, her voice quavering.
Jones and Damien shared a look. Mulroy leaned forward.
"You're positive," he said.
She nodded again, slowly, looking dazed. "That's the one. The one who called me." She shook her head now, as if in shock. "I won't forget that voice."
Damien sat back, pulling out the tape. His own expression was set. "We know who's behind it now," he said. "As if it mattered. If I were you guys, I'd be looking for protection for Ms. Laws right now."
Mulroy glanced at him and, to Damien's surprise, nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. That is, if you agree," he said to Leslie. She looked up at him. "We can't exactly offer you round-the-clock protection, but we could try to keep an eye out for you. I could arrange an hourly drive-by around your block to see how you're doing, or you could call in and check with us if you wanted." A shrug. "It's up to you."
Leslie glanced from one to the other. "You mean--you mean these people are serious?" she asked. When neither of them replied she pressed, "Who are these people? What do you know about them? Why do they want my baby?"
Damien started winding the reels of the tape with his finger, not looking at her. "I'm guessing everybody in this room knows at least a little about them, huh?" he said, looking at Mulroy in particular. Mulroy actually looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck and stepping away. Damien turned to Leslie. "Look. We've dealt with these people before. It doesn't matter who they want or why. If they want something bad enough they're going to go for it. What matters is that we don't let them." He wanted to reach out and touch her hand but felt the gesture would be too intimate, so he just set the tape aside where Jones picked it up. [Note--compare to Chapter 1 of Luther, where Damien puts his hand on Leslie's shoulder and I noted that this was out of character for him. His actions here are much more believable, so the writing of Luther probably predates this.] "What you've got to do is keep your head. I know you're scared out of your mind right now. I know because I can't even begin to count the times they've made me feel that way. But you've got to keep your head. And maybe these guys'll be able to help you." He cast another look at Mulroy that clearly said he didn't trust the detective.
Leslie stared at him for a moment, then nodded. She didn't say anything. As soon as Mulroy moved for the door she stood up and followed, and exited when he held it open for her. The others all stood up to leave also. Damien was the last out; when he passed Mulroy the detective put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Damien turned to look at him.
"I know you've got something against cops in general and me in particular," he said; Damien flushed, a little embarrassed that he'd been so obvious. "And maybe you've got your reasons. I just want to tell you I'm on your side in this. If I ever do anything that looks or sounds or seems kind of covert, you have to understand my position in all this. [Note--by now I don't recall what I planned to have Mulroy do in this story that would seem suspicious, but his actions become clear in The Scorpio Murders.] And it's right beside you."
Damien paused before turning to leave. He wanted to believe Mulroy, it was true; yet there was always going to be this little voice in the back of his head that said watch out.
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