Chapter Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
Greg was doing his best to keep up with Faye, currently moving at high speed through the woods towards the cave known as Devil’s Cave. It wasn’t easy. Despite all his best efforts to get her to sit down and listen to what he had to tell her regarding Eric and The Paper Boys, she had focused her intention fully on going caving that late afternoon.
“Come on, Greg,” she shouted back at him, “just a little bit more.”
“But I need to tell you something,” Greg shouted, nearly tripping on a rock.
She waved his words away. “We’ll talk about whatever it is later!”
He sighed and gave in to her request again. He also tried to look on the bright side. For now, Faye was out of the house. Away from any danger. He was also hoping that Nelly was working to contact the FBI...
The sound of thunder echoed in the distance. He glanced up at the sky.
“Are you sure this is really the best time to go—”
“It’s the perfect time!” she said, without even looking back.
“But it looks like it’s going to rain.”
“A little drizzle never hurt anybody.”
“And it’s getting kind of dark...”
“The very best time to make magic,” she retorted.
Greg rolled his eyes and sped up. It was only when they came to the opening of the cave, and she had to stop to shift the placement of her backpack, that Greg found his chance.
“I’ve been investigating The Paper Boys,” he said suddenly.
She froze halfway through the entrance. “What?”
“It’s a long story.” Greg spat out the words quickly. “But basically, since I’ve come to Woodstock, there’s been this voice in my head.”
Her gaze narrowed. “A voice in your head?”
“It said justice, justice ...which, at first, I didn’t realize was a whole thing. I just thought it was the word. But I figured out what it meant the night The Paper Boys attacked your store. And then, the words...they became this mantra inside my mind. And I knew that I had to do something to protect you and the entire Jewish community of Woodstock, so I teamed up with Nelly—”
She tsked her teeth sympathetically. “Of course you did.”
“Huh?” Greg didn’t understand.
“I understand. You can’t help yourself. It’s part of your nature.”
“My nature?”
“You poor thing. You just...have no choice in the matter, do you? You’re just this bag of skin and bones holding someone else’s wants and wishes.”
“I don’t...understand.”
“Don’t worry, Greg. Don’t you fret that beautiful, perfectly crafted head of yours. We’re going to resolve all this very shortly. You don’t have to worry about The Paper Boys anymore. Because I am finally, finally, going to send you back to where you belong.”
“Um,” he said. “Okay.”
“Come on then.” She returned to the task at hand, angling her body once again to enter the cave. “We’ve got a Jewitch ritual to do!”
He sighed, and then, letting it go for the time being, Greg followed her inside. After a short path, they had returned to the womb-like center of the cave.
Above them, through the hole in the ceiling, dusk was setting in. Thick clouds gathered, turning the sky a spectacular shade of purple tinged with pink. Faye drifted to the center of the cave and, kneeling down to her backpack, began pulling out items.
“So,” Greg asked. “What exactly is the ritual we’re doing tonight?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said.
“What about setting my intention?” Greg asked.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I want you to think about...going away.”
Greg grimaced. “Away?”
“Home,” she backtracked. “I meant home.”
He resigned himself, and his full intention, to being present. Faye returned to her bag and laid out seven candles around the chamber, bathing them both in a soft light. Then she directed Greg to the center.
“Please,” Faye said, pointing, “sit.”
He took a seat. Faye returned to her bag, pulling out a container of salt, sprinkling a giant circle around him. Next she grabbed a jar of dirt.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have to sprinkle this on you.”
“Well, I’ve never been afraid of a little dirt before, so—”
She dumped the whole thing on his head.
“Okay, then...” he said, spitting some out. “Not quite what I was expecting there, but...”
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I just...you need to be covered.”
“We want this to work, right?” he replied.
“Exactly.”
She returned to her bag and pulled out dried rosebuds, tossing them at him. He picked one up, analyzing it.
“Are these from your garden?” he asked.
“They are.”
“Huh.”
Greg watched while she mixed items together in her small ritual bowl. Oil. Soot. Tiny little shards of pottery. Finally she pulled out her silver knife. “Do you mind if I take some of your hair?”
He considered the question. “Whatever you need, Faye.”
She cut a bit from the bottom, tossing it in the bowl, before setting everything on fire. Greg watched the smoke billow up between them.
“Thank you, again,” she said, her voice softening, “for humoring me.”
“It’s never humoring you, Faye.”
She opened the red wine and poured it into the silver cup, handing it to him. “If you don’t mind...”
“I should drink this?”
“Bottoms up.”
He did as she instructed, drinking the whole thing down. She took the cup from him. “And now,” she said, circling him, “I want you to close your eyes, Greg...and I want you to clear your mind. Just think back to when you first appeared in my life, what brought you here. And then, go back even further, back to the place you came from...”
He cleared his mind, thinking back on that day when he had first met Faye. The way she looked, an angel appearing from the heavens. He was so certain that he knew her. It still shocked him to his core that up until that moment, that very second, they had been strangers.
He felt something like a leaf falling on his face. He opened one eye to see Faye tearing pages from the book she had brought.
“Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, hey, vav,” she said, and tore out a page from her Jewish prayer book, tossing it into the air, where it flittered like a feather before landing on the ground beside him. And then, before he could ask a question—before Faye could explain what the hell she was doing—she began repeating the words and motion. “Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, hey, vav,” she said. “Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, hey, vav.”
She went on and on, each round getting louder and more intense—which he might have stopped—but Faye was gyrating on his body. And so, in some attempt to join in her Jewitch ritual, he played along.
Greg began chanting right along with her. “Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, hey, vav. Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet—”
“Yes,” she shouted, her own voice rising alongside his. “Louder!”
He obeyed. “Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, hey, vav... Aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, hey, vav.”
Faye bent down to him on one knee. “Also,” she said, “I’m gonna need you to eat one of these pages.”
“What?”
“Maybe a few pages...”
He cocked his chin back. “Is that even safe?”
He could see her thinking about it.
“How about I just put them in my mouth?” he said, trying to find a happy medium.
“Perfect!”
Wanting to be a good sport, he shoved four pages of text into his mouth. Faye continued circling him. “Repeat after me,” she said. “I will now return to the chaotic void which I have come from.”
“Errgrrr rrrrrr,” he grumbled, attempting to get out the words. “Chhhrrr.”
“There it is,” Faye shouted. “Your true nature.”
“Irrr cccrrre werrds.”
He was trying to say, I can’t really speak clearly , but it was coming out all wrong.
Faye lifted from her spot, returning to her backpack. When she returned, she had a mason jar of—well, in truth, he had no idea what it was—but it looked like some sort of black sludge. Opening the jar, she dug her hands in, pulling out a clump of it, chucking it straight at his heart.
She did this ritual seven times in total, putting the sludge on his forehead, arms, and legs before finally dumping all that was left of the stinky, slimy material on his penis.
“Alright,” Greg said, spitting out paper, trying to wipe mud from his eyelids, “I think we’re good on the mud—”
Faye wasn’t listening. Instead, she reached for a candle and, lifting it up into the air, arched her back towards the sky.
“Return to your earthbound state,” she said. “Be disassembled, you golem . For I, who have created you from dirt and stone, mud and water, fire and air, word and language...revoke my permission. I return you now by the way I have created you. With dirt and stone, mud and water, fire and air, word and language... I destroy you, my creation. I return you back to your original form. Begone, Gregolem. Begone, and may you never return to our human sphere.”
And then, much to Greg’s surprise, there was silence.