TWO
"Can I help you?" Phoebe asked, opening the front door of the manor.
"I hope so," said the man, looking around furtively. "I'm looking for a Penny Halliwell. I understand she lives here."
"I'm sorry," said Phoebe. "She died about a year and a half a go. I'm her granddaughter, Phoebe. Is there something I can help you with?"
"No," said the man, looking dejectedly. "I don't think so. Sorry to have bothered you."
"Are you okay?" Phoebe asked, noticing the mans condition. "Are you injured?"
"Oh, uh, nothing serious," said the man. "I guess I do look a sight. I, uh, was mugged last night. I just, uh, haven't had a chance to get home to get cleaned up, that's all."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Phoebe asked, noticing the man was constantly looking around. "You look like you expect someone to be following you. I have a friend in the police department. You should report the mugging."
"No, no," said the man excitedly. "I mean, it was dark and I didn't get a good look at the guy. Nothing for the police to go on. I just need to get cleaned up."
"Why don't you come in and rest for a minute," Phoebe offered. "You look worn out."
"Yeah, I guess I am," said the man. "My name is....David. David Markham."
"My name is Phoebe," said Phoebe as she led the man into the living room. "Just have a seat and I'll be right back."
Phoebe went to the kitchen and began to fill a bowl with warm water. As she got some towels out of the drawer, she thought about Prue. Her eldest sister would have a fit if she knew she had invited a stranger into the house. But the man looked like death warmed over. She was sure he was in some kind of trouble and she had always had a soft spot for strays.
"Here," she said, handing the bowl and towels to David, "you can use these to clean up. You look like you have some cuts. We have a first aid kit around her somewhere. You wouldn't want those cuts to get infected."
"Thanks," said David, taking the items from her. "I appreciate the help. I, uh, live on the other side of town. It's going to be a long walk back."
Phoebe left the living room and returned a few minutes later with the first aid kit. David had cleaned up pretty well and she could see numerous cuts and bruises on his arms and chest.
"That must have been some mugging," she said. "You look like they worked you over pretty good."
"I was lucky to get away alive," said David. "I was afraid they might have followed me. But I haven't seen anyone. At least, not since the sun came up. I think they might have given up."
"Here," said Phoebe, taking out some antibacterial cream, "let's get this on those cuts. It should at least prevent infection. You should really have a doctor look at these just to be safe."
"Uh, yeah, I'll do that," said David.
As Phoebe applied the cream she couldn't help but notice the four cuts across David's chest. Each was almost the exact same length. And all four were evenly spaced apart.
"Are you sure you were mugged?" asked Phoebe.
"Yes, why?" asked David.
"Because these look like claw marks," Phoebe said.
"Claw marks?" questioned David. "No, no, of course not. The, uh, mugger had a knife, that's all."
"A knife doesn't leave such perfectly matched marks," Phoebe said. "Especially if you were in a fight. These are definitely claw marks. You have the same marks on your right forearm."
'Phoebe," David began to protest.
Suddenly the wind caught one of the shutters and slammed it against the side of the house. It wasn't loud and Phoebe all but ignored it. But David jumped to his feet, staring at the window in stark terror.
"You weren't mugged," said Phoebe. "Someone is after you. Let me call my friend. He can help. He's a police detective."
"Believe me," said David, "he can't help. Not with this."
"With what?" Phoebe asked, suddenly becoming very concerned. "Who's after you? What are you so afraid of?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," David said. "Thanks for the help. I really need to get going. If I stay here, you'll be in danger, too."
"Not so fast," Phoebe said, standing to block his way to the front door. "Maybe I can help."
"No, you can't," David said. "Trust me, if I told you what was going on, you'd think I was crazy."
"Try me," Phoebe said.
David just chuckled. It was the kind of chuckle someone used when they knew they weren't going to be believed. He just looked at Phoebe.
"You want to know who's after me?" he said finally. "Okay, I'll tell you. Demons. Demons are after me. Real honest-to-goodness demons. And when they catch me, they're going to kill me. And they'll kill you, too, if you're with me."
Phoebe just stared at David.
"Can I help you?" Phoebe asked, opening the front door of the manor.
"I hope so," said the man, looking around furtively. "I'm looking for a Penny Halliwell. I understand she lives here."
"I'm sorry," said Phoebe. "She died about a year and a half a go. I'm her granddaughter, Phoebe. Is there something I can help you with?"
"No," said the man, looking dejectedly. "I don't think so. Sorry to have bothered you."
"Are you okay?" Phoebe asked, noticing the mans condition. "Are you injured?"
"Oh, uh, nothing serious," said the man. "I guess I do look a sight. I, uh, was mugged last night. I just, uh, haven't had a chance to get home to get cleaned up, that's all."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Phoebe asked, noticing the man was constantly looking around. "You look like you expect someone to be following you. I have a friend in the police department. You should report the mugging."
"No, no," said the man excitedly. "I mean, it was dark and I didn't get a good look at the guy. Nothing for the police to go on. I just need to get cleaned up."
"Why don't you come in and rest for a minute," Phoebe offered. "You look worn out."
"Yeah, I guess I am," said the man. "My name is....David. David Markham."
"My name is Phoebe," said Phoebe as she led the man into the living room. "Just have a seat and I'll be right back."
Phoebe went to the kitchen and began to fill a bowl with warm water. As she got some towels out of the drawer, she thought about Prue. Her eldest sister would have a fit if she knew she had invited a stranger into the house. But the man looked like death warmed over. She was sure he was in some kind of trouble and she had always had a soft spot for strays.
"Here," she said, handing the bowl and towels to David, "you can use these to clean up. You look like you have some cuts. We have a first aid kit around her somewhere. You wouldn't want those cuts to get infected."
"Thanks," said David, taking the items from her. "I appreciate the help. I, uh, live on the other side of town. It's going to be a long walk back."
Phoebe left the living room and returned a few minutes later with the first aid kit. David had cleaned up pretty well and she could see numerous cuts and bruises on his arms and chest.
"That must have been some mugging," she said. "You look like they worked you over pretty good."
"I was lucky to get away alive," said David. "I was afraid they might have followed me. But I haven't seen anyone. At least, not since the sun came up. I think they might have given up."
"Here," said Phoebe, taking out some antibacterial cream, "let's get this on those cuts. It should at least prevent infection. You should really have a doctor look at these just to be safe."
"Uh, yeah, I'll do that," said David.
As Phoebe applied the cream she couldn't help but notice the four cuts across David's chest. Each was almost the exact same length. And all four were evenly spaced apart.
"Are you sure you were mugged?" asked Phoebe.
"Yes, why?" asked David.
"Because these look like claw marks," Phoebe said.
"Claw marks?" questioned David. "No, no, of course not. The, uh, mugger had a knife, that's all."
"A knife doesn't leave such perfectly matched marks," Phoebe said. "Especially if you were in a fight. These are definitely claw marks. You have the same marks on your right forearm."
'Phoebe," David began to protest.
Suddenly the wind caught one of the shutters and slammed it against the side of the house. It wasn't loud and Phoebe all but ignored it. But David jumped to his feet, staring at the window in stark terror.
"You weren't mugged," said Phoebe. "Someone is after you. Let me call my friend. He can help. He's a police detective."
"Believe me," said David, "he can't help. Not with this."
"With what?" Phoebe asked, suddenly becoming very concerned. "Who's after you? What are you so afraid of?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," David said. "Thanks for the help. I really need to get going. If I stay here, you'll be in danger, too."
"Not so fast," Phoebe said, standing to block his way to the front door. "Maybe I can help."
"No, you can't," David said. "Trust me, if I told you what was going on, you'd think I was crazy."
"Try me," Phoebe said.
David just chuckled. It was the kind of chuckle someone used when they knew they weren't going to be believed. He just looked at Phoebe.
"You want to know who's after me?" he said finally. "Okay, I'll tell you. Demons. Demons are after me. Real honest-to-goodness demons. And when they catch me, they're going to kill me. And they'll kill you, too, if you're with me."
Phoebe just stared at David.