Read Online Demon Jack by Patrick Donovan - Free Book Online

soothing. Everything was done in simple colors, all cool blues and greens. I didn’t know enough about colors to judge if it would actually achieve its goal, and truth be told, I gave about no fucks whatsoever.
    Maggie walked to the nurse’s station, another one of those circular desks similar to the one in the lobby. She chatted briefly with the nurses, flipping the badge open again, chatting a bit more and then closing it before returning a moment later. She had two visitor passes in little plastic sleeves. She handed me one and I clipped it to the pocket of my hoodie.
    “Room three oh four,” she said, and turned, marching down the hallway. I followed her. The door was closed. Maggie knocked lightly.
    “Come in,” a voice from the other side said a moment or two later. It was soft, muffled by the door’s thick construction.
    The room and furniture were all constructed to be completely safe. Everything was bolted down, rubber coated, or had blunt, rounded corners. A wardrobe sat in one corner. A TV was bolted to its top with soft coated metal straps. The bed, a simple set of rails with a headboard, was held to the floor with bolts as thick as my pinky. A window overlooked a patch of woods, and a slight chilled breeze came through the barely six inches at the top that would open. You couldn’t fit through the window, let alone jump out of it. It reminded me of prison, only with a better decorator.
    A girl sat on the bed. She was early twenties at best. I felt a stirring as soon as my eyes fell on her, something far away and distinct. For a moment, all I could do was stare. Maggie was pretty. This girl was almost painfully beautiful. There was something almost unreal about her. She was above average height, her build athletic enough to be considered healthy, but with curves enough to be feminine. Her skin had a healthy bronzing, the sort of tan someone gets au natural, from the beach or long summers outside as opposed to a spray on or one of those microwave beds. She had hair that was cut short and followed her jaw line. It was the same color as a crashing wave. Deep blues mixed with white and light green highlights. On most it would have looked punkish, or maybe even extreme. It fit her, like it was her natural color as opposed to a bottled hue.
    She looked between us, her eyes slightly on the large side, almost too big for her face but perfectly offset with a tiny nose and lips the color of cherries. She watched us for a long moment, before one thin, delicate brow rose slightly.
    “Do I know you?” she asked.
    Maggie seated herself in a chair beside the bed. I propped against the wall and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Lucy stared back and forth between us, eyes wide, glassy. She had a distant look, as if she was seeing something beyond what either Maggie or myself could. It was disconcerting when she turned them on you, like she was seeing under your skin, to your core.
    “‘Ello poppet. My name’s Maggie. This dour looking motherfucker ‘ere,” she said, motioning towards me, “is Jack. We wanted to talk to you about what ‘appened.”
    Lucy slid back on the bed trying to put as much distance between her and us as possible. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself. She watched us warily, like a mouse that’s just seen a cat waiting on the other side of the mouse hole.
    “I don’t wanna talk about that,” she whispered.
    “I don’t blame ya, but ya need to. We’re the only ‘ope you ‘ave of whatever it is getting a little come-uppance on your behalf.”
    “It wasn’t my fault,” she said.
    “No, it wasn’t,” Maggie said, her tone soft and comforting.
    Lucy tilted her head to the side. Her eyes slid out of focus and became distant. She looked like she heard something far off, a whisper or a song, and was putting the majority of her focus there and ignoring our presence.
    “You believe me?” she asked.
    “We do,” I said