Bones of the Demon King

Chapter 22

“I want to know why you came here,” Vincent stated as he put the knife back down on the table.

Eva was having trouble speaking. She shook her head and tried to hold back tears. This had been a traumatic night for her. She didn’t even know how late it was. She unconsciously clutched her locket and started taking deep breaths to calm herself.

He sat back down in front of her. “I see that you’re still in shock. Well, from your phone’s text messages, I could see that you’re a reporter. Are you here to interview me?”

Eva’s eyes refused to behave and continued to shed tears.

Vincent took a cup of water that was on the coffee table and handed it to her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not drugged.”

Eva really didn’t care if it was drugged or not, she was thirsty. She took a drink of water to calm herself and relieve her throat.

Vincent went on, “Since you still seem unable to speak-”

“I can speak,” Eva interrupted. “I can speak,” she repeated in a stronger voice.

“Well that’s more like it,” Vincent muttered.

“I’m…I’m here to ask you about your son Tom McDaniels. He’s been accused of murder. They arrested him and are saying that he’s a serial killer. They’re calling him the Demon King.”

Vincent sighed, “Is that so?”

Eva nodded, “I didn’t mean to trespass…I just wanted to know. Tom came to me and asked me to help him find the Demon King. It didn’t make sense to me. Why ask for help if he was the killer?” He had handed her his handkerchief and she was using it to wipe her tears again.

“I see you’re not itching to escape anymore.” Vincent remarked. He was surprised by her tenacity to get her story.

“I want to know about your family. Apparently the FBI tried getting answers from Tom but he wouldn’t talk.” Eva explained. “In all honesty, after seeing you in your cellar, I thought you were the Demon King.”

"Thought?" Vincent asked.

“Might still think,” Eva corrected herself.

“Good,” Vincent smiled. “I would think less of you if you didn’t. So what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Eva was eager to get her story. “I want to know about everything.”

Vincent nodded. “Okay, I used to be a great writer once, so let me tell you a story.”

Eva took another sip of water and waited for Vincent to continue. She was clutching the glass in case he went crazy on her and she needed a weapon to hit him with.

Vincent went on, “I used to be a great writer but I wasn’t present as a father, as a husband, or a man. The reason I was able to write such fantastical stories was because I wrote them when I was under the influence.”

“Under the influence? Of what?” Eva blurted.

Vincent sighed, “It would be easier to tell you what I didn’t do. Those rushes and highs cost me dearly.”

“What do you mean?” Eva asked. She watched Vincent light another cigarette for himself.

“They cost me my family. My first wife abandoned me. To be honest, she was also an addict and she didn’t want to stop. I tried to sober up, which is when I met my second wife Lucinda. She was my savior for six whole months before my addictions dragged me back to Hell. We had Christopher right after we met and a few years later, we had Beatrice.” Vincent took a long drag from his cigarette before continuing. “Back then, I was very young and I was getting all of this praise for my work. I felt invincible. The problem was…I was also having blackouts. I would wake up in strange places, not knowing how I got there or remembering what I did. I remember Lucinda threatening to leave me, so I tried to sober up again…at least enough for her to leave me alone about it. I didn’t think she understood that I needed my highs to write. If I didn’t write then how would we survive?”

Eva was surprised but didn’t speak. She wanted him to continue.

“Once, I woke up in the woods with blood on my shirt. I wasn’t sure how I had got there or what had happened. I remember being scared because I thought it was my own blood but I didn’t have any wounds so then I was scared that it was another human’s blood. I never did find out where that blood came from but that’s when I knew that I needed help. I checked myself into a residential treatment center that also offered therapy.”

Eva wasn’t sure if it was appropriate but she asked anyway, “Was Beatrice really killed by a drifter?”

If Eva hadn’t had her eyes directly on Vincent’s face, she would have missed the quick show of fury on his face before he looked down. “Are you implying that I killed my daughter?” His words were slow and precise.

“No, it’s just that her death was never solved.”

“It was solved. I just didn’t need the police to get involved.” Vincent took another drag from his cigarette.

“You know who killed your daughter?”

“I wish I didn’t know.”

Eva was waiting for Vincent to go on. When he didn’t, she asked, “Who do you think it was? Was it you?”

“It wasn’t me. I would never have harmed Beatrice. She was my angel.”

Eva wanted to know, “Then who was it?”

Vincent closed his eyes and said, “I wouldn’t normally tell a soul. Especially a reporter. Can this be off the record?”

“I make no promises.” When Vincent refused to go on, she relented, “Okay…off the record.”

“We found Beatrice stabbed in these very woods. She had gone out to play and didn’t come home. We all went searching for her. My little girl looked like an angel. She was in a bed of flowers. Her eyes were still open. I couldn’t believe it.”

Eva could see that Vincent was holding back tears. “Who do you think killed your daughter?”

“I don’t think. I know.” Vincent answered. Eva waited for him to go on.

After a moment he did.

“It was Tom.”