Devil Be Gone

Prologue

What’s happening to me? I can’t be dreaming; I’m not asleep.

The weight of my blankets made me feel claustrophobic, prompting me to squirm like an animal caught in a trap.

I panicked, inhaling short, quick breaths instead of my usual deep, calming ones. My heart pounded out of control—as if it were trying to escape my chest. Even during my near-death experiences, I’d never been this scared. But when I opened my mouth to scream, nothing came out. Exhausted by my fear and this strange, desperate struggle, I slipped into a restless sleep.

I awoke groggy and rolled over to check the clock on my night table. It read 3:30 a.m. Seconds later, I sensed someone or something watching me from the corner of my room. Realizing I had more freedom of movement than I’d had last night, I kicked and thrashed until the covers landed on the floor. I kept my eyes clenched tight, hoping this was just a nightmare.

Although no one touched it, my pillow attempted to cover my face, to smother me. One corner thrust its way into my mouth, making it impossible to breathe. All I could do was push it out with my tongue.

Even my pillow is betraying me.

Whatever was in my room wouldn’t allow me to remove the pillow. Tugging on it like a dog with a bone, I clamped down with my teeth, lips apart. This allowed me to breathe through my teeth and partially opened mouth, keeping me from suffocating.

This thing is not a figment of my imagination. I’m not dreaming. Something or someone is trying to kill me.

This unseen coward forced me out of my bed. I landed face down, losing my pillow in the fall. I could finally breathe deeply again. Feeling a little braver, I opened my eyes and stood to face my intruder.

Up to this point, I’d only sensed a dark shadow. Now, standing before me was a spirit or a ghost, one not quite fully formed into a human body.

Who are you? Get out!

I read many books and knew ghosts would leave if you asked them, but demons, wraiths, or whatever this was, would not. As soon as I challenged him—at least, I thought it was a him—the spirit moved closer to the end of my bed. Standing before me now was the vision of a young boy, probably about ten years old. He had a foggy, ghostlike form—an angel with a dirty face. His body shook, and his eyes were covered in a film of tears. He looked more scared than I felt. Dressed in tattered clothing, wearing worn-out high top shoes, the image seemed to be from the 18th century.

Do you need help?

No response.

I’d never encountered a ghost from a time before the late twentieth-century, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Nor did I know his intentions. As if he read my thoughts, this spirit, or whatever it was, transformed from the innocent child before me into a full demon wearing a black cloak with a hood that covered his lowered head. To scare me even further, he slowly lifted his head to reveal a red glow from within his eye sockets.

He slid the cloak back unveiling a deep cut as if he had been hit with an axe. Strands of long, blond, greasy hair fell around his face.

His bandage was covered in a dark red stain, the color of blood, that dripped down his face and onto the cravat tied around his neck. I noticed that the wide-sleeved, white shirt he wore didn't escape the blood seeping from his head.

The sash around his waist held up baggy, knee-high pants. Protruding from the hem of his pants were dirty, gnarled, bare feet. Seeing that mixture of dirt and blood, I suspected he didn’t change clothing often, if at all. From pictures, I’d seen, I thought he might be a pirate. The demon’s face resembled that of the young boy. But he’d aged, probably in the mid-thirties.

His evil smile mocked the innocence of the young boy I’d seen earlier, and it curdled my stomach. Then, he raised his hands.

I can't move. He has control over me. His intentions aren’t honorable.

What’s happening to me? I can’t sleep.

Chapter 1

Look at me. Although I was scared out of my mind, I wasn’t about to let him know that.

My words revealed that creepy smile that brought bile to my mouth. I positioned myself in defense mode.

I’m ready. I told him. Hit me with your best shot. Before I could even blink, a bolt of light struck me in the stomach and flung me into the corner beside my bed. Pain shot through my back, working its way up into my neck and head.

Damn him. He’s not going to take control.

Have you met me? I taunted him. I don’t give up. Still lying on the floor, my vision blurry from the pain, I vaguely saw the shadow raise his arm to repeat his action. Supporting my injured back with my left hand, I slowly raised my right, opening it in a feeble attempt to stop the demon.

You can't win. It was his turn to taunt. I am stronger and more powerful than a mortal human. My soul belongs to the devil.

Then, he let another bolt go.

Don't count on it. Stunned by the strength of the demon but determined to live, I deflected his bolt back. It struck him in his chest, thrusting him through the window.

When did I learn to do that? Only the Ronson twins, ghosts from our last case, could have given me this kind of power. It must have happened the night we held hands. At the time, I had no idea what the twins’ touch meant.

Dad taught me to defend myself against eager boys or attackers who wanted my money or me—but not against demons. Nor had I ever been exposed to them—only humans with demon qualities.

I want my dad.

After several attempts, I finally pulled myself up. But, unable to straighten my back, I remained bent at my waist. I flopped face down onto my bed. The time was 3:38 am. All this took place in less than ten minutes. It felt like hours. I tried using my arms to pull my body toward my night table where my phone lay. The pain was too much, and I passed out.

When I woke, the boy had returned, not his demon. This will help you. With a circular movement, he engulfed me with a lavender scent that somehow removed my pain. Then, he sent me into something that felt like a whirlwind at a speed so fast I wanted to hurl.

***

When I regained consciousness, I felt refreshed but discovered I was sitting on the edge of someone’s bed, in my nightshirt, next to a woman who’d just given birth. The room resembled those I’d seen in movies about centuries past. With the curtains nearly closed and only a few lit candles, the bright sun pushed its way through the glass in the window to form a yellow halo over the woman’s head.

Where am I? I asked in a voice loud enough to be heard. No one acknowledged me. Can anyone hear me? I reached over and waved my hand up and down in front of the man sitting on the other side of the bed. He didn’t so much as blink. To him, I was invisible.

Elizabeth, our beautiful baby boy has your blue eyes. Would you like to hold him? Tears streamed down the man’s face. His accent told me I was somewhere in England.

Take good care of him, she told her husband. We will call him Jonas, after you.

Then, Elizabeth turned to me and touched my hand. Help him. She died before she could hold her child.

That sucks.

I wiped my tears on the sleeve of my nightshirt. Am I a ghost here? Why could Elizabeth see me?

Jonas held his son close, rocking him, as he wailed. What are we going to do? What are we going to do?

I’m so sorry, I said. Your family will be fine. What am I saying? He can’t hear me—and I already know Baby Jonas won’t be all right, or he wouldn't have appeared to me.

Jonas, let me hold the child, so you can say goodbye to your wife. The man I thought to be the doctor took the baby from his father. Jonas immediately pulled Elizabeth into his arms.

Midwife, the doctor gently placed the baby in her arms, please take the boy and see that he is cleaned and fed. They stepped out of the room to give Jonas some time alone with his wife.

Can we get to the part where I come in and rescue Baby Jonas, I said to no one in particular.

After a few minutes, the doctor returned without the baby. Jonas, Sr. held onto his wife tightly, reluctant to let her go. The doctor took Elizabeth from his arms and slowly laid her back on the bed. He pulled the covers over her face. At the same time, he tried to console Jonas.

***

Whoa! Here we go again. I was whisked away to another time, another room. A tall, thin woman was staring out the window. She stood erect, dressed in a dull brown, tight-fitting, long dress suited to the time. She showed no interest in the boy, who crawled happily across the floor. Baby Jonas occasionally stopped and listened when his father spoke. Although Jonas, Sr. held the boy’s attention, he didn’t pick him up. He’d aged dramatically, looking too thin and too frail to lift his son.

I hope you’re not leaving your child with her. She doesn’t look like she has any interest in anyone but herself, I blurted out.

Lydia, my dear sister, you are my only living relation. It will fall to you to take care of our son when I am gone. If I leave the house and property to you, will you promise to care for Jonas, Jr. as if he were your own? Jonas, Sr. wiped tears from his eyes and a thin smear of blood from his lips.

He must have tuberculosis.

I know you didn’t want children, and you and I have never been close, but the child needs care. Neither you nor my son will have money worries. Jonas’s pleading eyes met Lydia’s.

I will see to it that the child has all that is coming to him. He will be kept secure and have every opportunity to learn his status in life, Lydia assured her brother, showing no emotion toward the child or his father. Her gray eyes were as cold as the dark clouds that threaten a storm.

There’s something really wrong with this woman.

***

After another stomach-turning ride, I found myself standing in the front row of mourners at a gravesite. Jonas, Sr. had evidently died a short time after the conversation with his sister. Jonas Jr., still unable to walk, crawled toward the casket and pulled himself up. There was a hint of a smile on Lydia’s face as she lowered her head in feigned piety. She didn’t stoop to pick up the boy or show any interest in his welfare.

A woman, clearly distraught and dressed in caregiver clothing—black dress with a white apron, stood at the edge of the mourners. She scooped up Jonas and held him close. After the service, Lydia took the horse-drawn buggy to their home, while Jonas’s caregiver, who cried uncontrollably, walked the long way home carrying him. His little arms clung tightly around her neck.

I followed the crowd back home and wandered among the mourners. From the buzz at the funeral, it seemed obvious that Jonas Sr., and his wife, Elizabeth, were well liked and admired.

Jonas’s father had been a politician until he became too sick to continue his work. He was an abolitionist dedicated to ending slavery, as were most of the people who attended his funeral. Lydia held different views, threatening the caregiver with dismissal if she didn’t do as she was told.

Since I didn't know if I would be returning to my home that night, or ever, I decided to take a tour of the house where Jonas lived, partly because I wanted to get away from Lydia’s poisonous personality. I roamed the rooms without care, knowing no one could see or hear me.

Baby Jonas certainly lived his short life in luxury. This house looks like a castle. I'd hate to have to take care of that garden or dust all these porcelain bowls and figurines. If it were Izzy here instead of me, she'd spend the night cleaning. I miss her and Jorge. We were The Dynamic Trio, finding relief for ghosts in need.

I made my way into the grand ballroom and spoke to Jorge—okay, imaginary Jorge but my real boyfriend. Yes, I would love to dance. We waltzed around the room, as I held the side of my non-existent long gown in one hand, allowing him to twirl me. It felt real. It was real—at least for me.

Hungry, dear? I asked Jorge. Odd, I'm not. That's very strange for me. I walked into the dining room and placed myself at the end of the long table as if I were Elizabeth. The staff had already set the table with their fine dinnerware for breakfast. I counted twelve settings. Evidently, some guests from the funeral stayed overnight before they would leave for their long journey home. Others who lived closer to Jonas’s home had already returned.

What a horrible life this would be as a woman, I said aloud—since no one could hear me. "Days spent taking long walks, reading, doing needlepoint, or playing the harp or piano. And too much time spent staring out the window waiting for a potential husband to visit. Yuck! I hope I'm just visiting."

I found Jonas’s room and saw that he dreamed peacefully—a smile on his face. His caregiver dozed in a nearby rocking chair. I lay down on the floor next to his crib, wide awake. I wasn’t sure why I was still there, but felt I should be close to Jonas when he woke.

After breakfast, several of the guests cuddled and kissed Jonas before leaving. For that short period, he became the center of attention. He giggled and laughed. All but one couple left before noon.

Mistress Worthy and I will be more than happy to care for Jonas if you find it too stressful. The man held Jonas close to his chest while his wife stood stoically beside her husband.

I will manage, Lydia replied.

They returned a slight nod, handed Jonas to his caregiver, and left.

Finally, Jonas you are no longer the center of affection, Lydia hissed. Sister Mary Francis will make sure of that. She favors no one, and, like myself, she is not fond of children. I will spend your father’s money freely and as I choose, living the life I deserve. You will live in poverty and hunger.

Knowing the boy had done nothing to earn such hatred, especially from Lydia who was about to inherit a fortune, I couldn’t help crying. Now I understood why Jonas approached me.

***

After another tumble through space and time, I found myself back in my room, awake and puzzled. My clock read 4:45. Either I dreamt this time spent in the 18th century or time stood still here. I lay back and fell into a deep sleep.

My ringing phone woke me around noon. I noticed that I had missed several calls from Izzy and Jorge. Totally by accident, the three of us had become crime solvers—crimes that deal with ghosts. I shut the phone off and tried going back to sleep. About two minutes later, I heard banging on my front door. No one keeps Izzy waiting.

Are you going to sleep all day? Let’s go out and do something. Vacation’s started and we need to get our fun in before our relatives invade our homes and take up all our time. Izzy pushed through the door with Jorge at her heels.

Jorge captivated me with his smile that makes me forget everything—even if only for a few seconds. You deserve as much sleep as you want. I only came with Izzy because I was worried. We’ve been calling since ten and when you didn’t answer, I had to check. He gently touched my upper right arm to draw me in for a kiss. I flinched.

What’s happened to you?

I hadn’t noticed the black-and-blue