Chapter 5
five
. . .
I lean against the window and watch the world, the world that should be mine, pass by.
Someone else is living my life, and all I can do is stand here.
My fingers clutch against what appears as glass, the only divider between my utter helplessness and the outside world.
I don’t know whether it’s better or worse that he’s letting me watch.
I stare at my hand, still donned in fingerless gloves.
Is this a permanent accessory in here—like a fixed part of my being in the way that the clothes of a person in a picture are?
I slip my fingers under the glove on my left hand, tracing up my palm to pull it off.
I toss the freed glove away from me, and it disappears from existence.
This action gets repeated with the glove on my right hand.
That little task cements that I have an ounce of freewill in here that I refuse to let wither away.
I’m going to grasp it firmly and keep it close to my heart.
One way to do that is to not let Kit forget I’m here.
I tap my pointer finger on the glass twice. “Demon man?”
His voice drops in, “Yes, Lacy?”
“How long have you been inside of me?”
He snorts. “What a strange and sexually suggestive way to ask that question.”
A small growl emanates from my throat.
He checks his phone—ahem, my phone. It’s four thirty p.m. “A little over twelve hours.”
Twelve hours. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not long, but it’s twelve hours I’ve lost. Twelve hours of my life that I will never get back—twelve hours to add to however many hours, days, months I’ll be held prisoner.
As we stroll the path in the forest, time feels both endless and nonexistent. I gnaw my lip. “Is that all?”
“Yup.” His mouth pops on the P. “You woke up pretty much immediately. Very annoying.”
My jaw hitches. “If I’m so annoying, why don’t you leave me alone?”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” he says seriously.
“I have to work tomorrow,” I protest.
“Now you don’t.”
I try again. “I’ll lose my job if I don’t show up.”
“And?
“I need that job.” Earnings from my videos may pay some bills, but my day job is my main form of socialization beyond my sister and deceased people. No response. “Kit.”
Nothing.
Whatever. I keep the window open but move to sit, sliding down the smooth wall and pressing the back of my head to the cool surface. I don’t want to give up, but pestering him is not working. If I want him to let me go, if I want to escape, I need a better plan.
My head goes back between my knees. This beyond sucks. I hate to keep complaining, but I have nothing else to do.
Suddenly, I hear my voice. Not coming from me. I mean, this me. I pull myself back up and peep through the window to see my phone on an active call. Megs? I think hopefully.
“Yeah,” I’m saying, somber and serious. “Sorry for the last-minute notice, my brother is just…I don’t know that he’s going to be okay.”
My heart sinks when my boss, Joanne, responds. Not Megs. “No, no sweetie. You’re all right. Take as long as you need. Well, no more than seven days, and then we’ll have to start docking your pay. But you can take the week no problem.”
Even though I long for my sister, Joanne’s voice is soothing. Familiar. Something to help ground my reality.
“Thanks so much,” I hear myself gush. “I’ll keep you as updated as I can.” Kit hangs up.
“What did you just do?” I ask accusingly.
He flinches at the sound of my voice. “Hello. Your brother’s been in a terrible accident, so you can’t come into work this week.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
“She doesn’t know that. Now you won’t be fired. At least not yet. There you go.” He slips my phone back in his pocket.
I cover my face with my hands. “What the hell, man?”
“That’s a weird way to say ‘Thank you.’”
My hands fall back to my sides. “I’m not thanking you for fucking with my life.”
“That’s rude of you. It’s fine. I don’t work for praise.” He clicks his tongue. “Though I do quite like it.”
Joanne may not know I don’t have a brother, but my coworker Matthias does. I’m not sure whether or not I’m hoping Joanne tells him why I’m gone. He’ll question it, but I don’t want him to get hurt if he gets suspicious. He won’t be able to help me.
I ask Kit hopefully, “Does this mean you’re only going to stay for a week?”
“No. I’ll be here for as long as I need to be.”
The destruction of that mere moment of hope makes my knees wobble.
“But…” I start then trail off. It seems too trivial to even bring up. The entry for the contest is due in three weeks. If he stays beyond then, I won’t be able to enter. I promised August I would enter this contest—it’s a chance to get my life on the right track.
“Lots of buts from you today.”
“Never mind,” I grumble.
“Okay. Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll stay, but you’ll be fine for a week now. It’s all I can do.”
Flatly, I say, “You could vacate my body. That’s something else you could do.”
“Not an option. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “What do you do for work?”
He’s making small talk? I should ignore him. Instead, I decide to humor him. Playing nice could work out in my favor. “I work at a bookstore.”
“Is that why you were in a haunted house in the middle of the night? Looking for books?”
I grit my teeth. “That’s a side gig.”
“How’d you get into that? The ghost hunting, I mean.”
I don’t respond. That is none of his business. Humoring over.
“Lacy?” he questions.
I stay silent. He’s not the only one who can play this game. I’m done talking to him like we’re acquaintances getting to know each other. He’s essentially kidnapping me, just in an odd and invasive way.
He resigns. “Fine. Talk to you later, I guess.”
I lean my head against the window and glare out at the forest.
I’ve been a paranormal investigator for four years, since I was twenty-four. I was a little over a week into a new job as a paralegal when everything turned to shit and…and it was the only thing I could do. That doesn’t need to be explained to some demon.
I’m still not convinced I’m awake.
This can’t be real, can it? Demon possession is something that happens in TV shows and movies. Last I checked, I’m not living in Supernatural or The Exorcist. I don’t even like horror movies, and now I’m living one? If I end up vomiting pea soup, I’m finding a way to no longer be conscious in here.
I don’t believe in demons. Or, I didn’t.
I believe in ghosts, and I know some religions believe that ghosts are demons, but I am not of that belief.
Ghosts can be good. Most are troubled souls that got stuck, but demons…
Demons are evil. End of story. Even if this particular demon doesn’t take to killing humans, it doesn’t mean he’s not evil.
Murder isn’t the only evil thing someone can do.
Just because he doesn’t kill doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy maiming, torturing, or whatever else there is that can take someone steps from death.
He’s a demon, so he’s evil. That’s in the rule book, I’m sure.
Kit approaches a car…sigh. My car. I should stop being surprised by this. He unlocks the door to my silver sedan and climbs in.
“You have to pull this seat incredibly close to the steering wheel to reach the pedals,” he comments.
I don’t respond.
“How short are you?”
I’m not that short. I’m five feet three inches, thank you very much. I don’t tell him that, though. If he wants to know so badly, he can measure me. Or check my driver’s license, which I’m sure he is in possession of.
Kit doesn’t appear put off by my lack of response.
He turns the car on with a crank of the key.
I do really have to crank the key to turn her on.
Something sticky got in there at some point, so I probably need to go to a mechanic to have them fix it, but that’s a relatively small thing, and I’d still leave hundreds of dollars poorer.
Also, I’m currently being possessed by a demon, so there are a few things landing higher on my priority list.
My marbles are lost. That’s what this is. Get me to a psychiatrist, pronto.
He yanks out the square car air freshener I have stuck in the vent over the middle console, bringing it to his nose for a sniff. “Uck,” he says. He rolls down the car window and chucks the air freshener out.
“Hey!” I protest.
“There she is,” he says patronizingly.
I’m too annoyed at his actions to be annoyed by the tone. “What did you do that for? I just bought that last week.”
“I hate citrus smells.”
I scoff. “Who hates citrus? That’s ridiculous. That air freshener is my favorite.”
“Angels smell like citrus. Some of them, at least. Older angels. Makes me physically nauseous, which means it makes you physically nauseous, so you’re welcome. No nausea for us.”
“I…” I falter. Angels? Like Angels of Heaven? Those can’t be real. “Angels?” I utter.
“Yeah. Angels.” He cringes enough I can feel it. “Sorry, I thought those would be easier to sell than demons. A lot of people in the Western world believe in angels.”
“I was raised an atheist.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “So…that means God—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t go there.”
“But if angels—”
“Lacy. No. You don’t want a definitive answer on that one. I promise. I honestly can’t tell you for sure or not. Nobody really knows. Not even in Heaven and Hell.”
Probably for the best. “Okay.”
He shifts topics. “So, now that we’re speaking again, you want to tell me how you got into paranormal investigation?”
“That’s none of your business,” I state.
He exhales loudly and puts the car in reverse.
I don’t want to know where we’re going. I don’t care.
I don’t even care to watch anymore. I wander away from the window, walking for so long that it becomes a tiny speck of light in the distance.
As soon as I can no longer see the window, I crumple to the ground and curl into a ball on my side, pulling my knees to my chest. Everything… this is all too much. Angels. Demons.
Numbness spreads over me. My eyes squeeze shut as I repeat over and over, Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.