Chapter Eleven #3
That righteousness, that’s where the danger lay. Beings like Denis could do something heinous and have no guilt afterward if they believed they were in the right.
“You are forgetting you also swore an oath,” Pax reminded him, slowly dropping his hand to his waist where his sword belt once hung, a crass reminder of a paladin’s power. “Know this, gnome. Your and everyone else’s safe delivery is now dependent on the lives of those two humans.”
Denis was not cowed. “Know this, Paladin. I paid the price for a stay in a Wayside with the expectation I would get it all back and more when I arrived at my destination. I will be made whole.”
· · ·
“My friend Mary Jean’s cousin’s niece’s friend is an expert in the satanic arts, and she assures me that statue there is a statue of Satan himself.”
Once again, Gloria had figured out a way to put Josie on the defensive.
Tonight, when they dropped Amos off, Al had taken Amos upstairs and put him to bed so Josie and Gloria could have a “chat.” Although she knew it was impossible, Josie’s first thought was Gloria had somehow found out she’d kissed Pax.
Could it have left a mark on Josie? Was she walking around looking well kissed and delightfully groped?
Had her vow to make good choices crumbled beneath the onslaught of reawakened longings? Josie hadn’t been held by anyone, other than Amos, since Dan died. She’d forgotten the joy in heated kisses.
“Needless to say, Al and I are deeply concerned,” Gloria said.
No matter how ridiculous Gloria’s claim the lobby gargoyles were proof of satanic rituals being performed on the premises, Josie now was in a position where she had to defend her choices.
How do you reason with someone who won’t be convinced?
Josie never got more than her associate’s degree—another black mark against her in Gloria’s eyes—but if she’d had the luxury of attending a four-year college, she would have become a social worker.
She wanted to help kids like herself who were pushed through a system like chickens through a packaging factory.
The highlight of her community college courses had been her psychology classes, and Josie leaned hard on what she’d learned when it came to dealing with Gloria.
The first step was to acknowledge Gloria’s perspective.
“Well, Gloria,” Josie said calmly, “while I have never heard of satanic cults occupying entire apartment buildings and advertising their presence with life-size statues of Satan, the idea of such a scenario would be upsetting.”
Gloria’s makeup palette skewed orange and her lips were the same shade as a can of orange Fanta. Beneath the dim lobby lights, the lipstick made her mouth look like the maw of a dragonfish, especially when she screwed it up tight in suspicion.
“Yes, yes, indeed. I am upset,” Gloria agreed.
Josie took a deep breath in from the nose and blew out from her mouth. Now was the time to find common ground.
“It’s important to both of us Amos lives in a safe place,” Josie said.
“Exactly. Living in a city means exposing him to violence and drugs,” Gloria said. “And Satanists. You’re not going to find any Satanists in our neighborhood. The HOA frowns on that.”
For Christ’s sake. How would Gloria know what her neighbors believed? Did she think Satanists burned pentagrams on their front lawns instead of hanging flower baskets?
Never mind. Time to calmly present information.
“I have been to a few tenant meetings. In fact, Amos and I are on the Gardening Committee. None of the folks we’ve met have shown any interest in Satanism.”
This made no difference to Gloria.
“They don’t come out and announce their allegiance with the Devil,” Gloria snapped. “They’re trickier than that.”
Josie’s smile hurt but she kept calm.
“As for the statues,” Josie continued, “I’m sure your cousin’s niece’s aunt…”
“Mary Jean’s sister’s niece’s friend,” Gloria corrected her.
“…means well, but these statues are like the gargoyles on Cologne Cathedral in Germany. A church,” Josie finished.
They weren’t exact copies but came close. The resemblance was harder to spot when someone dressed the one on the right in NFL team jerseys. Rival NFL teams, at that.
Hmmmm.
Maybe there was something to Gloria’s concerns.
“Have you noticed someone keeps dressing them in Kansas City jerseys?” she asked Gloria now, hoping for some common ground. “Does seem an evil thing to do in upstate New York.”
“No one cares about basketball, Josie,” Gloria huffed.
Okay. No more calm statements of facts or finding common ground. The woman was impossible.
“Al and I cannot sleep at night knowing Amos is living in a dangerous environment,” Gloria continued.
A strange rattle shook the top rows of mailboxes. Someone on the first floor must have been cooking, because the lobby filled with the scent of cayenne pepper.
Gloria let loose a dainty sneeze, then scowled at Josie.
“Simply because you don’t like the way they decorated the lobby doesn’t constitute an argument that this building is dangerous,” Josie said. Her patience was fraying, and the rattle of the mailbox doors made her teeth hurt.
“…whining about me eating vegetables. Did you know Big Ag is part of the problem when it comes to…” Denis’s voice echoed from beneath the doors to the community room and Josie slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from cursing.
Shit.
If Gloria was freaked out by the gargoyles, what would happen when she met Denis?
Lucky for her, Al trundled down the stairs, humming the theme to Magnum, P.I., and Gloria broke off her tirade to give Al grief about leaving on his coat inside and how it would give him a cold.
Al waved to Josie and walked out of the building without checking to see if Gloria was following.
The doors behind Josie opened a crack.
“…nonsense about gluten,” Denis was saying to someone behind him. “Gluten isn’t even real. Food scientists working for Big Ag made it up…This door is stuck. Why won’t this door move?”
Luckily, Gloria left off her torture and followed Al out of the building while asking him had he taken his vitamin C yet and reminding him her nephew’s proctologist also said wearing a coat indoors was a surefire way to get sick.
Not until the outer doors closed on Gloria’s backside did Denis manage to shove his body through the community room doors and out into the lobby.
“Oh, it’s you,” Denis said by way of greeting.
“Hello, Denis.” Josie fought back her discomfort and raised her hand in greeting.
“Where is the boy?” Denis asked.
How long had Amos been alone in the apartment?
One minute? Five?
What if something happened?
No matter how ridiculous Gloria’s complaints, they still stuck to Josie like burrs, pricking her with thorns of doubt, leaving behind a rash of shame.
“Have a good night,” she said, unwilling—unable—to be so rude as to leave without a word. Wishing she had the self-confidence to run up the stairs to Amos without taking the extra minute to excuse herself politely.
The mailboxes rattled once more, and it sounded like the gnashing of teeth or a chorus of unseen observers voicing their condemnation.
It left Josie anxious, as though she’d been given a message but in a language she didn’t speak.
Amos was fast asleep when she looked in on him, multiple superhero stuffies surrounding his head like a halo.
Al had neatly folded Amos’s clothes and set them on the chair next to his bed, and a handful of books sat in a pile next to them.
She left the door open a crack and turned on the small light in the hallway but was too unsettled to go to bed yet.
Something was happening here. More than simply a wake-up call to her dormant libido from a tall, dark, and humorously challenged stranger.
More than a prewar apartment building that seemed to exist in a world outside the reach of HGTV.
More than a dysfunctional tenants’ association and a pile of dirt that showed up right after Josie wished for a plot of earth.
Something was happening here, and it was Josie’s job to figure out if she and Amos would be safe if they stayed.