Devil in the Details

Evelyn Pritchard had been slaying demons since she was twelve. Granted, they were in her nightmares, but nightmares can teach you things. If you’re paying attention.

***

The nightmares began when she moved to Aspen Valley. In them, a demon possessed the family fireplace, and she - as the youngest child - was tasked with slaying it. She was led to the fireplace, and presented with a set of rusty gardening shears. She raised the shears and slammed them down on the hearth as if she were chopping wood. An iridescent head emerged from the mantle clock, mocking her. She kept swinging. The fire raged and her skin began to glow. She kept swinging. She knew her wrists would surely break - the pain was unbearable. She kept swinging. As her pain manifested itself into a blood curdling scream, the demon exploded, leaving behind nothing but an average fireplace. Then, she always woke up. 

As an adult, the demons had been kept at bay. Her current nightmares - weren’t much better. The worst ones, the ones that truly robbed her of her peace, were the ones that felt like everyday life. The ones that tricked her into believing she was awake until it came to an unthinkable (and usually gory) conclusion. These dreams left her feeling as if she had lived another lifetime while she slept. No rest. She knew there had to be a reason - a purpose - for these nightmares. Perhaps her dreams were simply ghosts of the past, there to inform her of her future. To prepare her. To warn her.

***

Evelyn splashed water on her face and looked in the bathroom mirror. Something was off. She cocked her head to the side, like a dog deciphering the words of its master. She leaned in closer to the mirror, the breath from her nostrils fogging the glass. Her mouth ached. She ran her tongue across her perfect teeth and her right front tooth - wiggled. She opened her mouth to touch it, maybe give it some relief, when suddenly the tooth broke off into her fingers. Blood drenched her hands and filled her mouth. She couldn’t make it stop. On the precipice of fainting, the fire alarm blazed into her ear. The sound was deafening, but oddly familiar.

Her eyes sprang open and she shot out of bed.

"Effing Clock!"

She slammed down her fist, turning off her vintage alarm clock/radio. Anger management taught her that using her phone for an alarm was a bad idea - too fragile.

Her bed was simply an old mattress on the floor of an efficiency apartment above the local bakery. Good for her budget…bad for her waistline. She had put on ten pounds since moving in last spring. Rising from the bed, she pulled on her favorite pair of ripped jeans and threw on an over-sized Metallica t-shirt. She grabbed a bowl of Cheerios and went to the fridge. Crap. No milk. On the counter, sat the evidence of her late night snacking. An open jar of Nutella. Why not? She scooped the remains of the spread into her cereal bowl, then crossed over to the floor of her living room - a.k.a. the office for her private detective agency. An agency of one.

It was snowing again, she noticed as she glanced out the window. But then again, when was it not? She ate her breakfast and watched the horses in the snow along the ridge at the end of the road. One of the only perks of living in a small mountain town.

Aspen Valley was usually sleepy, all things considered. Most tourists stayed at the Anderson Ski Resort and never had a need to come into town, leaving the locals to go about their days in peace. The owner of the resort - Martin Anderson - was a local celebrity. He had his own private ranch and villa on one of the main streets of the town. Evelyn had seen it every day of her life. As a teenager she used to dream of what it was like on the inside. Apparently it housed an indoor pool and a bowling alley. “Gee…I wonder how the poor folks are gettin’ along,” her father would say whenever they drove past. “Well dad…this is how the poor folks are getting along…Cheers!” She raised her spoon in pantomime of a toast, then took a bite of her Nutella and Cheerios.

Lately, the Anderson Ranch had undergone some odd changes. For decades, anyone could travel down Eagle Ridge Road and watch the horses being trained in the fields. But last month, they started building a wall around the property. Sad, she thought.

Evelyn turned on the news as she plopped down on the floor in front of her current case files. The glamorous life of a private detective, she thought.

“… charged with endangerment of a child and human trafficking. Luke Anderson, son of Martin Anderson and CFO of Anderson Ski Resort, was arrested last night. He is being held in the county jail on a five hundred thousand dollar bail. More details, tonight at 6.”

Evelyn instantly saw a correlation between the Anderson’s sudden privacy and the arrest of their son. Maybe there was something to hide.

Evelyn thought of her memories with Luke in school. Moving to Aspen Valley as a freshman had been tough on Eveyln. The small mountain town was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of New York City. She knew from the time she set foot in the school that making friends was going to be an insurmountable task. Thank God for Luke. After three days of eating lunch alone under the stairs, he had tracked her down, and within a week convinced her to eat in the lunch room. She sat with Luke and his friends, and while they were kind and accepting of her, she never really took to mountain life.

Luke was the best kind of cute boy - the kind who didn’t know it -and for some reason, he had chosen to make her his responsibility. After graduation he moved away for college and they drifted apart, something Evelyn regretted, deeply.

The Quick Quack jingle snapped her back to the present. Luke. Arrested for human trafficking? She tried to make sense of it in her head, but couldn’t. Luke had been a friend to her. It didn’t matter if they had grown apart. She needed to see him. Her case files of affairs and vandalism could wait.

***

The guard at the county jail was a friend. Well, the closest thing Evelyn had to a friend anyway, which these days just meant a person she could leverage to do her bidding. He told her what she needed to know: Luke Anderson made bail, and was set to be released at 12:00 pm. It was 11:55, and she stood, leaning against her 1991 Ford F150, waiting for Luke to exit the back door - avoiding reporters.

The cold pierced her cheeks and nose. At least she didn’t have to wait much longer. If her mother were still alive, she would have insisted on Evelyn’s procurement of a heavy coat. As it stood, she didn’t own one. Now, as she shivered in her denim jacket, she questioned her life choices.

The only other car in the parking lot was a white SUV. Probably an unmarked police car, she thought.

By 12:05, she began to wonder why they hadn’t released him yet. As the question entered her mind, she was assaulted by an overwhelming sense of Deja Vu. The cold against her cheeks. The sound of the gate as it buzzed open. The look on Luke’s face as he saw her standing there.

Then, as quickly as the feeling had consumed her, it vanished. For just a moment, the white SUV blocked her view of her old friend. Suddenly, a man wearing tactical gear bailed out of the rear door, forcing Luke into the back with him. Evelyn was left with nothing but the sound of screeching tires in her ears.

“What the…?”

Before she could complete her thought, she shook off the shock, jumped into her pickup, and sped after them. The screech of her tires echoed throughout the now vacant lot. She had already known something was off about the news story. It may have been over a decade since they were in high school together, but she couldn’t imagine any person changing that much.

She blazed through a red light at Independence street, then was brought to a halt by a sudden onslaught of vehicles. Crap - the Winter Festival Parade is today. She took a moment to take her revolver out of her glove box and ensure it was loaded, then placed it in the gap between her jeans and the small of her back. She was going to have to follow on foot.

If traffic caused her to come to a stand still, it must have at least slowed Luke and the SUV that abducted him. At least, she supposed that’s what was happening. It’s not like she had much experience in these matters. The most dangerous thing to previously come across her desk was a file about a secret poker game meeting in the basement of the country club every Friday. That seemed a far cry from human trafficking and kidnapping.

Regardless of why they had taken Luke, it didn’t change the fact that she needed to speak to him. She could feel it in her bones. She needed to hear his side of the story - to help him sort through what was happening to him. But first, she had to find him.

She peeled off down the alley between the local coffee shop and the art gallery, hoping to come around in front of them. On the other side of the parade. But once she got there, there was no sight of Luke, or the SUV. Her next thought was of Martin. Surely he would be able to help. He was the most powerful man in town. She ran back to her truck, put away her revolver, and backed out of the crowd of cars.

***

As she pulled up to the automated gate, the security guard stopped her.

“No one is being admitted to the ranch today ma’am,” he told her.

“I have important information for Mr. Anderson. It’s about his son, Luke,” she replied.

The guard started to give her his rebuttal, but stopped, putting a hand to his earpiece. Someone was talking to him. After hearing him say, “Yes Sir,” a few times, she deduced whose voice was on the other end.

“Mr. Anderson said to send you in.”

The gate buzzed, then opened, letting the old F-150 sputter through. DejaVu struck her again; this time harder than the last. Although she had only ever imagined being inside the gates of the ranch, she had definitely lived through this memory before. Her heart began to race and she broke out into a cold sweat. Her breaths quickened and became shallow. They roared like a freight engine between her ears. As she stepped out of her truck, the world suddenly tilted on its side. It was as if someone had turned on a slow strobe light, then turned off the electricity to the entire world. Everything went dark.

***

Evelyn was in some sort of conference room. Not the big executive kind, but more like a home office. The only distinguishing factor was the wall of windows across from her, looking out onto the vast mountains surrounding the town. She must be inside the Anderson’s house, although she had no idea how she’d gotten there.

“Hey Evelyn.”

She recognized Luke’s voice as he entered the room. He stood, his back against the windows. He looked good.

“Thank God you’re OK,” she said as she crossed over to him to examine him for signs of a struggle. She saw none. In fact, he looked pristine. His skin tanned from time on the slopes. His muscles showing through his crisp dress shirt. A million dollar smile surrounded by the perfect amount of stubble. This was not the boy she remembered from school.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “But you should run.”

Evelyn was confused. Run? Suddenly aware of the taste of copper, she put her hand to her mouth and returned it, covered in blood. It was so dark it was almost black. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was confronted with a terrifying sight. She was so battered she didn’t even recognize her reflection, and her right front tooth - was missing. As she realized she was dreaming, the world went black again.

***

Evelyn woke to the smell of leather. Hushed voices. The whinny of a horse. A calico cat rubbing its back against her shoulder. She was lying flat on her back, in a pile of hay. Something metal pressed against the small of her back. Her gun? No. She could tell she wasn’t that lucky. She could feel the outline of the tool buried beneath the hay…gardening shears.

“Hello, Miss Pritchard.”

She had always heard the devil was in the details, but tonight, he stood over her - six feet tall - in a bespoke suit, a cowboy hat, and boots. Martin Anderson showed no signs of kindness in his countenance. She had never seen him with anything but his toothy smile plastered to his face. She understood why. Without the mask, he was terrifying. Cold, calculating, and seemingly heartless. What in the world was going on?

“I’m sorry you got mixed up inta this.” His southern drawl somehow made him sound charming and menacing all at once. “But y’see, I know how good you are at your job. And if you’re pokin’ around this situation with Luke…well…I just can’t have that. He’s a good boy. A good soldier. I need him to take the fall for this.”

Evelyn took in her surroundings, looking for her salvation - a shovel, a pitchfork, an exit route. As her head cleared, she realized that the horse stalls around her weren’t filled with horses. Each stall housed a young girl. All seemingly between the ages of ten and fifteen. Luke wasn’t the trafficker - Martin was.

Suddenly everything became clear. The reason for all of her nightmares. The DejaVu. They were warnings. And she knew exactly what to do.

***

Evelyn raised herself - slowly and painfully - onto her elbows. “Mr. Anderson- You’re making a mistake. I just wanted to see Luke. To let him know he has a friend. I wasn’t investigating anything.”

“Now Miss Pritchard…don’t tell me you think I was born yesterday.”

“No. Of course not. I’m sorry.” She replied. “You’re right. I was investigating the ‘situation’ with Luke. I knew there was no way he was guilty of any of this. Turns out I was right. I should have known only a desperate old man could be guilty of something so stupid.”

Martin reared back his right foot and kicked Evelyn - right in the mouth. She was thrown back to the ground, this time, on her stomach. The taste of blood was familiar by now. She stayed on her stomach, not moving. She knew her teeth were broken. For real this time. She also knew this was her chance.

Sometimes, all you need to defeat the devil is a pair of old gardening shears.

Martin’s cell phone rang. He nudged her with the toe of his boot. When she didn’t move, he answered his phone and stepped away. He thought she was unconscious. Good.

She slowly grabbed the handles of the shears and pulled the blades apart. She knew they would need to be open if this was going to work. She could tell by the sound of his voice that his back was turned. Listening to him turn on the charm for whomever was on the other end of his call made her sick. Quietly, she pulled herself up from the ground. As she stood, shears in hand, Martin ended his call. She had to act now.

Taking the handles of the shears in both hands, she ran toward him, the same blood curdling scream from her nightmares escaping her body. Martin turned, startled, just in time to have the open shears plunged into his chest. He exhaled - hard - like the puncture had evacuated all the air from his lungs. Maybe it had. He stumbled backward, confused. He backed into the door of the nearest stall, then slid to the ground, blood streaking the wood behind him. Evelyn grabbed a shovel. She might still need a weapon.

“Now Luke doesn’t have to pay the price for your evil!” Evelyn exclaimed as she stood over him.

Martin coughed, blood staining his lips and spattering his chin.

“See Miss Pritchard, that’s where you’re wrong. He already paid for it.”

Evelyn took a step closer. From her vantage point, she could see into the stall in front of her. This stall wasn’t housing a young girl. It was Luke, blood soaked and lifeless.

“You killed your own son!?” Evelyn yelled in horror. It was time to send this devil back where he belonged. She approached her prey, throwing caution to the wind. There was no stopping her now. She grabbed the pistol off of Martin’s hip. She pulled back the hammer. She aimed right between his eyes. She pulled the trigger.

***

The weeks that followed were a blur of interviews and depositions. The girls held captive had been placed into foster care while the state worked to find their families. Luke and Martin were both buried on the ranch in a private ceremony. No one was allowed in the gates but family. The only mention of it in the news was their obituaries in the newspaper.

After her recovery, Evelyn was allowed to assist in the investigation. The rabbit hole was deep and wide. It would be hard work to put this trafficking ring to an end. But Evelyn was ready. She had been slaying demons since she was twelve.