epilogue soulmates
Lilith & Jordan
What about him?
“No . . .”
Are you sure?
“He’s not one, I swear.” The farmers market is full of families. Lovely young couples. Everyone is milling about, lost in
their own worlds, while we, we wander amongst them.
Searching.
There’s always bound to be a beaming needle in the haystack. We just need to be patient.
Easier said than done.
How about her?
“Not her, either.”
Picky, picky . . .
What does it mean to be possessed? Is it a complete loss of control? Is it a ceding of power to another, a parasite, that
overthrowing of the soul, an upheaval from within?
Is it the state of sway? Being utterly under the influence of an entity outside of yourself. They seize control. Occupy. Your
body is now theirs. Every thought, every emotion, belongs to them.
Where does your autonomy go? Are you trapped inside your body? Imprisoned in your own skin, countless hours staring out the windows of your eyes?
What if it’s a fire that spreads, devouring everything in its path? Do you feel consumed? Are you eternally burning? Embraced
by flames that never extinguish?
What if you give yourself over to it? Sacrifice what is yours in hopes of sharing something greater than yourself? A symbiosis
of the soul? Can two possess each other?
How much of yourself do you lose?
What do you gain?
We believe there is enough space within Jordan’s body to host another. To share this vessel with Lilith. Room for two. See how we fit together? Snug as a bug in a rug . . .
Possession is a seed. Something so tiny. Barely a thought. A whisper within.
We planted that seed. We watched it grow. And look at what it has become.
Possession is the flourishing of life. The need for a vessel, soil in order to bloom.
To blossom.
“There.”
Where?
“Right there. Navy blue blazer. Brown hair. See him?” He’s in his forties. He leans over a basket full of tomatoes, still
dusted in dirt. He picks one up and brings it to his nose, inhaling. We watch him close his eyes, drawing in the aroma, savoring
it, holding it in his lungs for a blissful moment before letting the oxygen back out.
Are you sure? He doesn’t seem our type . . .
“It’s faint, but I can feel it.” Sure enough, this man glances at us and halts. Something lingering behind his eyes stills
itself, staring back. He senses us just as much as we sense him. One eye withers in its socket. His left cheek sags, as if
the wax of his flesh is set to melt.
There he is. Now I see it . . .
Lilith is very possessive. She never wants to share.
We’re putting Jordan’s talent to good use. His ability to see those who have succumbed to possession comes in handy. If he
senses another demon slithering in a void, we find a private spot, get them alone, wrap our hands around the host’s throat
and squeeze the demon right out.
It’s brought us closer together.
Our own hobby.
How long had Jordan been in denial of his true nature? How long had Lilith been looking for an accomplice?
Look at us now. “You’re my ride or die, Lilith.”
No—never or. And. Always and now. Ride and die. Why be one or the other when we can be both, together?
Cara was our first. A crime of passion. Messy, yes, but we had to start somewhere. Get a feel for how this all works. Our
common love language. She helped bring us together.
Now we have rules. It’s simple, really—Only those who are possessed.
Send those demons straight back to hell.
Lilith always teases Jordan about his wasted potential. It took the two of us coming together to realize what we’re truly
capable of, as a team. We indulge our darkness.
Together, the world is ours. We’re making it a darker place.
Nothing can stop us.
How many hosts have we liberated? Why keep count? We lost track at a certain point. We used to tally the number of exorcisms
with our fingers, our hands, then on our toes, then . . .
Well, then we simply gave up tallying.
Shall we get started? Before we lose him?
“After you . . .”
And away we go.
This is our gift. To each other.
It keeps things fresh.
Possession is a symbiotic relationship. The union. Host and guest. Body and soul. What one offers and what one receives becomes a conversation between the two of us.
All the chambers of the heart are now open. Take me, Jordan says. Let me in, Lilith says back. This love fills in our fissures. We are sealing up each other’s cracks.
I was never meant for heaven.
“And I’ll live and love in hell.”
We found each other. We complete each other. We fit together. Whole at last.
Soulmates.
* * * * *