Chapter Eighteen #2
“I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before.
I have heard the stories my whole life—the spirit that haunts the Widow’s Chateau, the superstitions about murders and cults living in the woods.
Not to mention me,” Theodore says, thrusting his arms out at us as if he didn’t already have our full attention.
“Father Thompson has always told me I am possessed by the Devil or one of his demons. He insists that the hun—”
Here he pauses, stumbles over the word, still hesitant and unsure about admitting it, even when it has been weeks now that he has been sharing Azizi’s stores.
But he recovers quickly, shaking his head as if to remind himself of his point.
“He insists that my issues are because the Devil is using me as a conduit for sin. That doesn’t matter,” he says quickly when my face screws up in distaste.
He brushes a hand through his hair, huffing in frustration. “I’m explaining this badly—"
“Theodore, pet, take a breath.” Azizi reaches out for him and takes his hand, drawing him closer. “Tell us what brought this on. Start at the beginning.”
He listens, as he always does when Azizi takes that gentle, guiding tone with him.
The one that sets a low heat in my stomach and makes me want to do whatever she says.
It works on Theodore exceedingly well, and he sucks in a deep breath, then another, until he is able to release them without shaking.
When he is finally calmer, he considers his words, working his tongue at his teeth in a tic I have noticed more often as he grows comfortable with us.
"We had Mass this morning, and today's service was a discussion on the book of Mark, specifically Jesus and his disciples traveling to the country of Gadarenes.
" He looks expectantly at us, but neither Azizi nor I are as well-versed in the scripture as he is.
Azizi, for lack of interest entirely, and myself, for the lack of memory in learning.
He shifts on his feet and taps the fingers of his free hand on the piano top.
"It's the story of a man who is supposedly possessed by a legion of demons.
Jesus speaks to the man and allows the demons to leave the man's body, instead possessing a herd of pigs, thus freeing the man of the demons’ influence. "
I do not understand the point of the story, nor Theodore's excitement about it, but Azizi must, for her head tilts to the side and she quietly says, "Ah, I see."
“I don’t know if it would work,” he rushes to say, “but I thought maybe—maybe since my soul is damned already, I might be the safest option to try.”
“Your soul is not damned.” Azizi has said it dozens of times, yet she does not dwell long on the argument, as she knows Theodore will not listen.
Instead, she turns to me and raises an eyebrow.
“Well, Kolfina? It is your choice in the end. I do not see the harm in trying, but if you are worried at all about it, then I can write to my brother’s friend and inquire his opinion on the matter.
This is not a part of the occult that I know well, unfortunately. ”
I get the idea that they think I have been following along, but I am left adrift in my confusion. They are clearly asking something of me, permission for something, but I cannot see how Theodore's scriptures have anything to do with me.
I try to express that to them without words, scrunching my nose up and pressing my fingertips to my temple. I look at Theodore and tap my ear again.
I do not understand, I try to say. Tell me.
He frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between mine. “You don’t understand?” When I shake my head, he nods. “I want to try possession. Or rather, you possessing me.”
If my heart was capable of beating, I imagine it would have stopped then and there at the mere suggestion. The fear must show on my face, because Theodore circles Azizi and the piano until he can kneel beside the bench where I sit.
"No, it's okay! I'm not scared, if that's what you're worried about.
And if it doesn't work, then it doesn't work, but.
.." He frowns, a cute little divot forming between his thick brows. His hand comes up to rest on the bench beside my thigh, fingertips close enough that he could feel my gown if it were real. His voice is softer when he speaks next, gentle and a little bit sad. "You look at us sometimes like it hurts. Like every time Azizi and I touch each other, your heart breaks even more. Not just during intimate moments, but casual ones too. It’s the same way you look at your piano when Azizi plays, like you’re missing some piece of yourself. "
I want to tell him that it's fine. That I don't need to touch them to know they care for me or that I care for them.
I want to tell him that I am used to this fragile existence, if it can be called existence at all.
That I do not even know what it means to be real anymore, so I do not know how to miss it.
A part of me, hidden behind the bramble and the brush, insists that I have always been used to this. That even before my memory begins, in the dark something that existed before, I did not know how to miss it. Did not know there was anything to miss.
But I have no voice to tell him that, and I have no touch to reassure him.
And he is right, besides. I do yearn for it. Desperately. But more than that, I fear the hope of getting it and the desolation that will be left behind if it does not work. Or worse, if it does and is taken away from me.
Theo's finger taps beside my leg, drawing my attention back to him. He smiles at me, sure and trusting. "You do not have to, Kolfina, but if you wanted to try, I'd like to. I want to give you something—give you this—if I can."
I turn to Azizi, curious to know what she thinks of the matter, a bit hopeful that maybe she will make the decision for me, but I can tell already she is not here to sway me one way or the other.
She shares the same patient smile as Theodore, her hands folded politely in her lap, her eyes soft and welcoming.
"It is your decision, my dear. I have my hesitations as to the safeties of this, but I do not see the harm in trying, if it's what you wish. "
I do. I do. I do.
When is the last time I was allowed to have something that I wished for? Had I ever?
I nod before the wallpaper has a chance to talk me out of it, and Theodore beams so wide I can see the gums of his teeth. He switches places with Azizi, a little too eager, a little too fast, and the bench shifts slightly beneath him.
"I'll admit, I have no idea how this is meant to work," Theodore says with a bashful little laugh. “All the Word says is that Jesus allowed them to enter the pigs. So, I think perhaps you just have to want to enter me?"
It certainly sounds too ridiculous to believe, but Theodore is the expert in regards to the scripture, and none of us are particularly knowledgeable about my situation at all.
With no better ideas—and just a small bud of hope seeded within me—I close my eyes and reach for him.
I imagine myself standing in the threshold of my garden, the vines invasive and the flowers withering. The hedges are unkempt and overgrown, so much so that they tower over me and bend with their own weight, blocking out what might have been a blue sky or a star-speckled night.
Instead of letting the pebbled path draw me into the winding maze as I usually do, I turn toward where I know my chateau is meant to sit. Theodore stands there, just atop the steps that lead up to the back door. The light from inside casts him in a soft glow as he reaches out a hand.
I take it, and then there is darkness.
At first, I’m sure nothing has changed. The darkness doesn’t feel like the one I’ve grown familiar with—too empty of invasive foliage and quiet of dissonant, whispering winds.
Then—
“Kolfina?”
I open my eyes, and Azizi sits on the bench beside me. She looks expectant, her eyes flitting across my face in search of something, though I know not what.
For a moment, I wonder if I imagined it all. Wonder if Theodore never came racing in with his strange suggestion, and I never accepted.
I am too terrified to do anything other than blink at her.
“I insist you must say something at some point, lest I fear we’ve done something irreparably wrong,” Azizi says, her tone playful even if her eyes pinch with worry. She reaches out and grabs my hand, cradling it in the warmth of her grasp. “At least tell me if it’s worked or not.”
Her hand is warm.
Her hand is warm.
If she continues speaking, I cannot hear her, as the world goes deadly quiet around me.
I cannot see her lips moving, as my vision tunnels on where her hand holds mine.
Or rather, holds Theodore’s. It does not matter that the small hand is covered in freckles, or that my clothing feels too loose and my neck is cold from the lack of hair to cover it.
I can feel her.
Tears swim in my eyes, and I do not bother to fight them as they fall.
I am too entranced with the touch of her skin on mine.
My fingers wrap around hers, and I lift her hand to my lips in what might have been a kiss if I intended it that way.
Truthfully, I simply want to know what she feels like on my lips, what she smells like up close.
“Am I safe in thinking that it has worked?” Azizi’s free hand reaches up to brush across my jaw, and I lean into the touch like an eager pup. “Kolfina?”
A smile forms across my face—Theodore’s face—and I relish in the stretch of it, of the way it tugs at his chapped lips and squints his eyes just so.
I prod my tongue along the back of his teeth as I have seen him do so many times, and I giggle when I feel the slight gap there between the middle two.