Chapter 13 #2
This can’t be the same demon who chased me or enraged me to the point where I stuck a knife into him. For the first time, he seems like an actual person.
Lynx follows me through the forest. It’s silent except for the morning birdsong, and the crunch of fallen leaves and twigs beneath his boot.
As we keep walking, the feeling in my chest morphs until it’s a heavy lump that grows and reaches the back of my throat. Yet at the same time I feel lighter.
When was the last time I didn’t do something alone?
Near the end, Ella was too sick to do much, and I never hung out with Megan unless Ella was there. And now?
Well, I always thought I’d never have a funeral because there wouldn’t be anyone there to arrange it. I figured I might die as a Jane Doe, with no one to collect my remains. And then I thought that I’d have to bury myself alone.
Yet here he is, not taking no for an answer.
“You got a shovel?” Lynx disturbs the heavy silence.
“Why are you doing this?” My lips move without really meaning to.
It’s a pathetic question that makes me look weak and sad and powerless, and I hate it, but I need to know if this… if this isn’t just to fuck with my head. That maybe there’s a person out there making sure I don’t have to do this alone.
Without looking at me or adding any emotion to his voice, he says, “This doesn’t mean I give a fuck about you. I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Oh.
My throat bobs. God, what was I thinking? Of course he doesn’t care about me. How desperate am I to think that anyone might give a modicum of a shit about me?
He’s not helping out of obligation but—but boredom, and that might just be so much worse.
I curl my fists at my sides and chastise myself for the way my eyes sting with unshed tears.
Tears won’t get me anywhere. Any outward display of my loathsome self-pity would only add more proof that every single person I’ve ever interacted with then made the right choice in steering clear of me.
“We’ll pass the shed on the way.”
He grunts.
The shed door is nowhere to be seen after his stunt the other day. He easily manages to hold the shovel and my body.
“It’s five or so minutes in that direction.” I point toward the trees to the left.
The air between us grows more cloying as the minutes pass, like an open wound that’s festering. It’s getting harder to breathe—something I don’t even need to do, only a mere habit to fool myself into believing that I might be an actual living being.
It feels like an eternity before the willow tree comes into view.
It’s smaller than I remember, but I suppose everything looks big as a child, even if I used to feel as big as this tree—like I didn’t quite fit into my surroundings and took up too much space, looking intimidating and full from the outside, but hollow on the inside; something easily torn apart with a breeze.
We both duck beneath the dancing leaves, and my feet stop me in my place.
It’s still there. Two little wooden figurines lean against an arching root, beneath the big love heart engraved into the tree with the words:
E + S = BFFS FOREVER
I used to hate my sister. Jealousy was once its own living, breathing monster inside of me. But sometimes that beast would rest and let me see the one and only person who’s ever been on my side, and in those rare few moments, I knew what being loved felt like.
The first time it happened, Ella and I snuck off from the house while our parents were away and came out here. She was older than me, and I think that’s why she saw through my bitterness and knew what I needed was a friend.
I can’t remember what exactly triggered it and made that beast momentarily disappear, but we ran out here, hand in hand, giggling and squealing and telling each other to hush in case anyone heard—the staff did, but no one was about to interrupt.
We had a bucket of paint, a dream, and the taste of freedom.
We sat right beneath this tree and painted the wooden figurines, each carved in the shape of a girl, with a triangular prism for the body and a sphere for the head.
Ella painted herself to wear a white dress with flowers on it, then drew bows in her hair and at the top of her head.
I remember feeling that sickening jealousy when I looked up from my plain black figurine to hers, and then feeling the weight melt from my shoulders when my big sister told me how good mine looked.
We made a truce that day to never leave each other’s side no matter what. To always put each other first. We engraved that promise into the century-old tree that would continue standing well beyond the day we were eventually lowered into the earth.
I broke our promise over and over again, but Ella never did. She was the only one who stayed. I never apologized for it—for having this monster inside me, and letting it control me time and time again. And now that same beast is punishing me for it.
Ella can witness it all from her spot inside her urn. I brought her ashes out here the other day. It didn’t seem fair to keep her in the house with me.
“Over there.” I point at the spot of dirt right in front of our promise.
Lynx nods and sets my corpse to the side, right beside the two figurines. Then I watch, festering on the inside as the demon digs my grave. He keeps shoveling the hard dirt, cutting through roots older than I am, but in the end, two feet deep is all the tree is willing to offer.
He gently lowers my body into the ground then stands back, letting me have my moment. I swallow and put all my focus into picking up the urn with her ashes. This is the last time I’ll get to hold her.
A lone tear trickles down my cheek as I set her beside me in the grave. We’re together forever now, buried right in the earth like Grandma wanted.
Wordlessly, I nod, and Lynx fills the hole with dirt until my sister and I are nothing more than a mound beneath the willow tree. I always thought I’d fly out to the ocean to set her free, but I don’t think Ella would want to be alone either.
This way, we’ll always be there for each other. We’ll have each other’s back and be the sisters we were always meant to be.
“Why am I still here?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but when he does, he speaks low and… solemnly. “My division dealt very little with spirits. We had one task, and knowledge of the inner workings of mortality and immortality wasn’t required.”
I don’t respond. What could I say? I’m stuck here. That’s the next thing I’ll need to come to terms with.
My gaze flicks away from my grave up to him when he offers, “I’ve heard people say in Hell that spirits stay on Earth when they have unfinished business.”
I purse my lips. I suppose this means I’ll never get out of here unless I want to try summoning every demon in Hell in the hopes I might come across my sister’s ghost. Even if I wanted to try it again, Lynx has rubbed out the chalk circle and hidden the grimoire again.
Even if I had it, there’s no way for me to translate its contents. My phone is dead, and I failed Latin in high school. Plus, it’s too big of a risk, since every time I’ve tried to do anything with that book, I’ve summoned demons.
It’s almost laughable that my ghostly “unfinished business” is to do with another dead person.
“Tell me everything about the night you called me.”
For once, his order isn’t imbued with aggression. It’s softer than I’m used to, but being ordered around prickles something in me.
“My personal life is none of your concern.”
Lynx scowls. “Humor me, or else we’re both stuck here.”
I suck in a sharp breath. He knows the answer to this already. I don’t know how rehashing it will help, but he’s right. The last thing I want is to be trapped here with a demon.
“I was trying to summon my sister.”
“How? Walk me through it, step by step.”
We’ve been over this before—several times, in fact.
“You saw the spell book. You read what it said. I did exactly as it told me. Nothing more, nothing less.” Unless you factor in my inebriation.
“I drew the circles and the symbols, lit the candles, got her ashes and an object that matters to her, then said the incantation. But you appeared.”
“Then Tony.”
“Then Tony,” I confirm. The newest wrinkle in all this, and still, I didn’t get the outcome I wanted. “All I wanted was to speak to my sister.” I can’t hold back the frustration in my voice.
My eyes dart to the mound of dirt, remembering the white, plasticky urn beside my wrapped form, and everything I never said to her comes rushing up my throat and choking me.
It’s all my fucking fault that she’s dead. I’m a murderer just like Lynx.
“Is that even possible?” I wince at the hoarse words.
Lynx sighs heavily, staring at my grave. “It better be.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Shouldn’t you be an expert in all things occult?”
He meets my gaze, and once again, he looks human. Like he’s just another tortured man who’s seen too much shit too soon. “Like I said, I tortured souls and guarded Hell’s perimeter.”
I blink, trying to formulate my thoughts into words because I have no idea how Hell operates. “You’re telling me there was no demon school or something like that before they sent you into the big world?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he bites back. “My circumstances are”—his blue eyes search the ground like he might be able to find the right word—“different.”
His cryptic bullshit won’t get us anywhere. “How?”
“It’s irrelevant to our issue.” Lynx turns away from me to drive home his dismissal.
“Humor me.” I throw his words back at him. “Unless you’d like to continue being stuck here.”
He takes a deep breath before speaking with the level of strain I’d expect from someone with a gun to their head. “I was turned.”
I stare at him, waiting for more information. Does he think I know demon lore? “Explain it to me like I’m five.”
Blue eyes narrow on me, and I tilt my chin up in silent challenge. I’m not backing down. We’ve established that I’m not—outwardly—scared of him anymore.