Free Sorcerer by Greg F. Gifune

a shuffling sound indicated someone had moved up closer to the door.
    “Hello?” he said, leaning closer.  “Hello?”
    From behind the door came a female voice; nervous and muffled.  “What do you want?”
    “I need to speak to Mr. Wychek.”
    “He’s not here.”
    “Are you Mrs. Wychek?”
    “What do you want?”
    “My name’s McGrath.  I need to speak to Mr. Wychek, it’s very important.”  Jeff looked at the dark stairway leading to the second floor.  It was filthy and strewn with garbage.  “Could you open the door please?”
    “I don’t know you.”
    “Ma’am, please, my name is Jeff McGrath and—”
    “What do you want with my husband?”
    “I need to speak with him about some personal business.”
    “What kind of personal business?  If this is about the car payment the bank already did a repo, came and took it a couple nights ago.”
    “It’s not about the car.”
    “What bill’s it about?”
    “It’s not about any bill, I—”
    “Then what do you want?”
    With a sigh, Jeff rubbed his eyes.  This was ludicrous.  He obviously wasn’t going to get anywhere without turning up the heat.  “Ma’am, I need to speak to your husband, understand?  Now if he’s not home I need you to tell me where I can find him.  This is very important.  I’m not playing games.”
    “Get out of here or I’ll call the cops.”
    Jeff thought a moment.  “I don’t think Foster Hope would appreciate that.”
    After a lengthy pause he heard locks disengaging.  The door opened slowly, but only a crack, the security chain catching.  Through the opening, a middle-aged woman with bleary eyes and a drawn face peeked out at him.  Her hair was mussed and unwashed, her skin pale and unhealthy looking, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.  She also looked deeply frightened.  Her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled like a scolded child’s.  “Please,” she whispered, “please, we…I didn’t know, I…”
    “It’s all right,” he said, holding his hands up in an effort to calm her.  “I’m not going to hurt you or cause you any trouble.  I just need to speak to Stephen.”
    “Please,” she hissed, shaking as tears streamed her face.  “ Please .”
    Jeff forced a swallow.  “Tell me where he is.  I only want to talk.”
    “We have kids,” she said, choking on her tears.  “Please, I—”
    “I want to help your husband, do you understand?  Tell me where I can find him and I’ll do everything I can to help him make this right with Mr. Hope.”
    Her watery eyes seemed to focus for the first time, and her mouth fell open.  “You don’t…You don’t know what’s happening, do you?”
    Jeff looked around nervously, as if expecting to find Hope in the shadows, watching him from the top of the stairs.  “Look, I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have any choice.  They’re making me do this.  All I’m supposed to do is talk to your husband and try to convince him to contact Mr. Hope.  That’s all.”
    She shook her head, the tears coming faster now.
    “Do you know why they’re doing this?  What did he do to you and your husband?  What are they doing to me?”  Jeff placed his hand against the doorframe to steady himself.  “If you know, please Mrs. Wychek, tell me.  What’s happening?  What have we done?  Why us?”
    She wiped the tears from her cheeks with a shaking hand, but they were quickly replaced.  “Sometimes,” she said softly, “you don’t have to go looking for the Devil.  Sometimes he goes looking for you.”
    Despite the heat, Jeff felt a sudden burst of cold from deep within him.  “Is there anything we can do?”
    “Pray?” she asked hopelessly, her hand suddenly fingering a gold cross around her neck.
    “Where is your husband, Mrs. Wychek?”
    “He’s not my husband anymore.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You will.”
    “Can you tell me where he is?”
    Her sad and frightened eyes looked to the