Once they were finished with their breakfasts, they walked together toward the sheriff’s office. They didn’t talk along the way. Sherry was too tired and frightened, and Father Barry looked too nervous. When they got there, the officer at the front desk gave Sherry a shy little wave. “Hi, Miss Pinkwhistle.”
“Hello, Cody,” Sherry said, in her most grandmotherly tone, and swept on through to Sheriff Brown’s office.
Sheriff Brown looked up when she entered. “Oh, Sherry. Did you change your mind about investigating?”
“No,” she said, already thrown off. He didn’t look at all like a man being confronted by a woman whom he’d screamed at and terrified only a few hours before. He definitely didn’t look like a man who’d been demanding that she investigate the murder. He looked just about like he usually did when Sherry saw him, which was to say that he looked a little tired, a little wary, and largely resigned to whatever she was about to subject him to next. “Well, yes, sort of. But I came because I want to talk to you about what happened last night.”
“Last night,” Sheriff Brown repeated, and then abruptly went very pale. “I don’t remember anything. Was I—I don’t even rememberdrinkinganything.” His eyes widened with what looked to Sherry like a franklyinsultingdegree of horror. “Did we—wedidn’t—”
“No,” Sherry said, feeling exactly as horrified as the sherifflooked. How could she possibly sleep with acartoon mouse? “And even if we had, why on earth would I bring apriestalong to discuss it?”
Sheriff Brown’s whole face went red. “Uh,” he said. His eyes darted toward Father Barry. “Whydidyou…”
“Sherry wanted me to come along when she spoke to you,” Father Barry said. He was standing up very straight, his shoulders back and wide.
Sheriff Brown looked back to Sherry. “About what?”
“You came to my house last night,” Sherry said, watching his face carefully as she spoke. She wanted to see his reactions. “You pounded on my door and screamed at me.”
He didn’t look angry or defensive. Mostly he lookedbewildered, and possibly frightened. His eyes kept flicking back toward Father Barry. “I don’t remember that,” he said. “Are you sure that it was me?”
“Completely sure,” Sherry said. “I saw your face. And you were shouting about how I had to help you investigate the case. You stayed there for hours.”
“My feet were cold,” Sheriff Brown said, almost dreamily. “I remember that. I wanted to go home.” Then his gaze snapped back to Father Barry. “Does he have to be here?” he asked.
Sherry frowned. “I think I’d be more comfortable if he stayed,” she said.
A voice that sounded like wood creaking in the wind emerged from Sheriff Brown’s mouth and said, “And what if I’d be more comfortable if you left?”
Sherry jumped. Father Barry sucked in an audible breath. Sherry cleared her throat. “Sheriff Brown?” she ventured. “Are you all right?”
“Sheriff Brown isn’t here anymore,” Sheriff Brown said.
“Oh,” Sherry said. She contemplated saying,I’ll come back later, then!and leaving immediately. Instead she nailed her courage to the something post—she could never remember how that saying went—and asked, “Who are you, then?”
“WhoamI?” Not-Sheriff-Brown asked. It sounded almost like a genuine question. “You’ve brought a priest, so I must be—Lucifer? Yes,Lucifer.” His voice changed again, turned deep and gravelly and horrible. “Have you seenThe Exorcist?”
“Um,” Sherry said. She wasn’t sure whether it was best to tell the truth or to lie when discussing popular movies with a possibly demonic individual calling himself Lucifer. She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t more frightened. Maybe she’d worked all her terror out the night before. “I read the book,” she said finally. It was the truth. She hoped that Lucifer wouldn’t be disappointed.
“Of course,” Sheriff Brown said, and then slowly, deliberately started turning his head 180 degrees around on his neck.
“Oh, no,stop,” Sherry said, as Father Barry made a sound like, “Ablaaurgh!”
The sheriff’s head snapped back to the front. “Fuck you,” he said, and threw a paperweight straight at Father Barry. A second later he groaned and put both hands to his neck. “What the—did I just—” He was back to using his own, ordinary voice again. “Myneck—”
“Here,” Father Barry said, and thrust a rosary toward him. Sherry wondered whether he traveled with extras. “Hold that.”
“I’m a Lutheran,” Sheriff Brown said. He sounded dazed.
“Take it, anyway,” Father Barry said, and then physically put the rosary around Sheriff Brown’s neck. Sheriff Brown didn’t scream or fling it away or turn into a giant bat. He just blinked dozily at Father Barry for a moment.
“My head hurts,” he slurred out. “I think I’m sick. I think—I should go home.” He stood up, swaying slightly. Then he staggered out the door.
Sherry and Father Barry stared at each other.
“Father,” Sherry said, “I think that it’s demon problems.”
Eight
