Jenna Black - Speak of the Devil

I stared at the package, still unable to make a guess at what it might contain. Of course, unless I was on the verge of developing X-ray vision, staring at the package wasn’t going to tell me much of anything.

Still feeling weirded out, I picked up the package and tore the paper away. Inside was a plain white box, the lid held closed by a couple strips of Scotch tape. Like a child at Christmas—only a lot more suspicious—I shook the box. Nothing rattled inside, though what a rattle would have told me was anyone’s guess.

With a shrug, I picked open the tape and lifted the lid. Whatever was inside was packed in tons of bubble wrap, which would explain why nothing rattled.

I patiently worked my way through the bubble wrap until I found the object at its center, an irregularly shaped lump wrapped in baby blue tissue paper. This was just getting stranger and stranger.

I picked up the bundle, frowning at the … odd texture. It was kind of hard, but also had a bit of give to it. I unwrapped the tissue paper and finally saw what was inside.

It was a rubber hand, closed in a fist, except for the extended middle finger. What the fuck? I turned it this way and that, and my gorge started to rise. I guess my body figured out exactly what I was holding before my mind did. It was only when I saw the severed bone at the wrist, surrounded by ragged, pale, bloodless flesh, that I realized this wasn’t a rubber hand at all.

I’m not much of a screamer, but if ever there’s an occasion for screaming, finding out you’re holding a severed human hand is it. I dropped the hand and the tissue paper, taking several steps back as if expecting it to attack. I stared at it in horror for a second, then ran to the bathroom.

After I finished puking, I scrubbed my hands frantically, trying to erase the feeling of that dead flesh against my skin, but of course I couldn’t. I gripped the sides of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.

My face was ghost pale, my eyes red and swollen from crying, though I hadn’t even noticed the tears. I was easily stressed out enough now to break down the subconscious barrier that usually kept Lugh from speaking to me when I was awake, and right now I desperately wanted to hear his voice, just to know I wasn’t alone.

You’re not alone , his voice whispered in my head. I wish I could say or do something to make you feel better, but I’m afraid I can’t .

“No,” I said. “Not unless you can erase the last ten minutes or so from reality.”

I would if I could , he assured me.

“I know.”

I stood there a little while longer, staring at myself in the mirror, trying not to think. But there’s only so long I could get away with that.

When I finally managed to shake off the worst of my shock, I slipped out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, averting my eyes so that I couldn’t see into the dining room where the hand still sat on the floor like some discarded movie prop. An image flashed into my mind of those fingers uncurling, beginning to drag themselves across the floor toward me.

Can you tell I was a bit spooked?

One thing was for sure: it wasn’t Adam who’d sent me that package. Right after the Maguire exorcism, I’d gotten a series of death threats on my answering machine. I hadn’t received one in at least a week, and it sure looked like my admirer had decided to raise the stakes. Like I didn’t have enough other problems in my life at the moment.

Instead of calling 911, which I suppose is the proper protocol at times like this, I decided to call Adam himself. I don’t suppose this scare tactic was in his official jurisdiction, but he had enough status within the department to get away with occasionally stepping on other people’s toes. Besides, with his name on the package, he definitely qualified as an interested party.

He was on duty today, which meant I had to call his office to reach him. Never fun. The staff at the Special Forces office seemed to have been hired specifically for their unpleasant personalities. The first time I called, I got put on hold and then dropped after listening to elevator music for about five minutes. Elevator music is about as soothing to me as nails on a blackboard, and in my present state of mind it had me practically climbing the walls.

The next time I called, I was put through to Adam’s voice mail even though I specifically requested not to be. The third time I called, I ranted like a lunatic, claiming it was a matter of life and death that I reach Adam immediately. I’m not sure the guy who answered the phone actually believed me, but maybe he was just sick of answering my calls. Whatever the reason, he transferred my call.

The call must have gone to Adam’s work cell phone—a number he had never given me, though I was pretty sure Dom had it. Hmm, maybe next time I needed to reach Adam at work, I should call Dom instead of the damn office.

I swear I could actually feel Adam’s annoyance at my call through the phone. “I’m in the middle of something,” he said curtly. “Unless—”

“I just received a severed hand in the mail.”

That shut him up in a hurry. He was quiet for a moment, then I heard him mutter something, the sound muffled. I think he was holding his hand over the phone.

When he spoke to me again, there was a lot less background noise. I guess he’d moved to somewhere more private. “I’m on my way to interrogate a suspect,” he told me. “I can’t get away just now.”

“Don’t you have flunkies to do that kind of thing?” I think there was an edge of hysteria in my voice.

Adam sighed. “Sorry. Not this time. You need to call 911.”

“The return address on the package is yours.”

“Fuck,” Adam said after a moment of shocked silence.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Another long silence. “All right. I’ll see what I can do about getting free to come over. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.”

Adam was never big on saying hello or good-bye, so he just hung up.

There was nothing I could do now but wait. Shivering in a phantom chill, I fluffed up the pillows on my bed and made a nice backrest out of them. Then I sat and tried my hardest not to think.

It took Adam more than an hour to get to my place. Lugh did his best to keep me calm while I waited, but I was seriously rattled, and I was lucky I didn’t spend the whole hour bent over the toilet. I was so creeped out that when the front desk called to announce that Adam had arrived, I jumped so high I almost hit my head on the ceiling.

I was glad he was finally here. But my front door was locked, which meant I had to walk by … it … on my way to let Adam in. Feeling like a little girl in a haunted house, I held a hand up to my eyes to shield my vision. I didn’t even take my usual precautions to confirm the identity of my visitor. Luckily, it really was Adam, and not some homicidal maniac out to kill me.

“Where—” he started to ask, but I just pointed in the general direction, still trying not to look.

He nodded briskly and took a couple of steps toward the dining room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take in the scene and frown.

“I see you took good care of the evidence,” he said dryly as he pulled on some gloves.

“When I first opened it, I thought it was rubber,” I said, and my voice hardly sounded like my own. I liked to think of myself as a tough chick, but I wasn’t feeling so tough right now.

Adam must have finally noticed what bad shape I was in. He gestured to the living room. “Why don’t you go sit down? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I’d have liked to argue with him, but I was afraid he was right. I made my way rather unsteadily toward the couch. Adam squatted to examine the hand, his body thankfully hiding it from view. I was pretty sure that was deliberate, and I felt absurdly grateful to him. He studied it in silence for what felt like forever, looking at it from every angle without touching it.