Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
Another episode of Friends starts, that familiar theme song that I know word for word reverberating through my otherwise quiet apartment.
I hear Kit humming along to it. I can’t resist a reaction as well.
Whenever I hear that famous clap, I always tap whatever I’m closest to on the beat.
My stomach, my leg, my other arm, the couch.
This is why I laugh when out of the corner of my window, Kit does it too on the seat of the couch.
I wonder if that’s something he always does, or if he somehow picked it up from me, like a muscle memory he inherited.
I do the four-beat tap again, just for emphasis, and Kit does it as well.
Hang on.
No, there’s absolutely no way. That has to be a coincidence.
Eyes glued on my fingers, face pressed against the window, holding my breath in fear Kit will notice what I’m doing.
I slowly lift the pointer finger of my left hand and watch as the hand on my body follows suit.
I continue to watch as I lower my finger back to the couch.
Kit has to be fucking with me. He must see what I’m doing in my void.
But then I lift my middle finger, then my ring finger, then my pinky, all one by one, lifting, then placing them back on the couch.
Slowly, I make a fist, watching my fingers curl into my palm. I release the fist.
I have control of this hand. Kit doesn’t seem to notice.
He would have said something if he did. Is it only the hand or the entire arm as well?
I attempt to lift my arm. My hand twitches, but that’s all.
Then I watch in horror as the arm does lift and I am not the one controlling it.
Kit scratches his nose then drops the arm.
I lift my pointer finger again, but my hand does not obey the command.
Dammit.
Temporary control, like when Kit was drunk? Or something that I can gain back if I keep working, if I really concentrate? Because if that’s the case…well, I could use that to my advantage.
“Hey, Lace?” Kit says, pulling me from my schemes.
I look up and notice the show has been paused. Gently, I sit back in my seat. “Yeah?”
“If you’re up for it, I was thinking we could try another ghost hunt. I don’t think we should go back to Voyager’s Mansion. Unless you want to. But with the bees…I want you to be safe.”
“Yeah, I agree. No Voyager’s Mansion. Plus, I don’t love that people live there. Like, the video I’m submitting could potentially be aired on TV or posted to the network’s website or socials. If those people happen to catch it, well, I could get arrested for trespassing.”
“Right. And that would be bad.”
“Correct. I prefer to trespass in vacant buildings. Less people to notice me.”
I can feel his grin. “Well, there’s this old abandoned grist mill, a bit out of the way.
Everything good and haunted is out of the way, right?
We can do some research on it beforehand, if you want?
Make sure you like it. This is your thing.
I don’t want to take over—I just want to assist. And I don’t think there will be bees there, especially if we go at night.
I’ll make sure to bring your EpiPen just in case.
I mean, I’ll make sure to always have that from now on. And, well, yeah.”
I purse my lips. He’s worried about me—like he’s not my biggest problem.
But I appreciate it. And the doing research bit?
He’s actually helping. No one ever wants to assist me with my investigations.
Like, Meggie will make sure I’m being careful, but she’ll never hide her opinion that I’m being reckless.
Matthias will ask questions and talk to me about my investigations.
But neither of them ever offer to help. Out of all people, humans and demons alike, you would think Kit would want to assist me the least. I can’t help myself from saying, “You’re kind of sweet. Do you realize that?”
He huffs in bewilderment. “I am not. I am a fearsome, evil demon.”
Demon, yes. Evil, eh. Fearsome, no. He’s all talk. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Well, no.”
“Have you ever been sexually violent toward anyone?”
“No, of course not.”
“Have you ever seriously maimed or injured anyone?”
“I punched an eighth grader, once.”
“Were you also an eighth grader when this happened?” I ask, eyes narrowed.
“No.”
I roll my eyes. “Were you in seventh grade? Is that why you’re so proud of this?”
He groans. “How did you know that?”
“You’re not nearly as mysterious as you think you are.”
“I’m incredibly mysterious,” he argues indignantly.
“So, the one physically violent thing that you can think of that you’ve done happened not while you were a demon, but a thirteen-year-old child?”
He shoots back, “Twelve-year-old child.”
“Ooo. So, a badass, then.” I shake my head. “Face it, babe. I’m more evil than you.”
I freeze, hearing what I said too late. He thankfully chooses not to harp on it. That babe was a slip. It will not happen again.
“A history of anger mismanagement does not an evil being make.”
I haven’t told him about the anger management courses I took as a child. “So, he has dipped deeper into my memories than he’s admitted.”
“He can’t help it. You think of something, sometimes I see it.” He clears his throat, and I know that was a lie. He sees everything. Even if it’s not intentional, he knows far more about me and my past than he’ll ever admit. I need to level the playing field.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms in an attempt at a casual stance. “Who’s Jenna?”
“Jenna?” he asks innocently, grabbing for the TV remote like he would much rather be watching the show than talking about this. Too bad.
“Jenna. In your memory, you almost called her. Who is she?”
“I knew I should have edited that bit out.” He closes his eyes heavily before reopening them.
“Someone I haven’t thought about in a while.
Just an ex. I broke up with her because I knew I was going to die.
We dated for a while, and things were getting serious.
Too serious. She needed to find someone else.
Someone she could have the life she wanted with. ”
“You loved her,” I say, knowing it’s a fact and not a question.
“Sure.” He sighs. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. Not meant to be. A different lifetime now.” He clears his throat, clearly done talking about this. “So. Research?”
I decide to give him a break. “Sure.”
“Do you know where your laptop is? Did I see it in your room?”
“Yeah. On my bed.”
But then I remember something. Shit. All the research I did the night before on exorcisms. I didn’t close out of any of the web pages.
“Or,” I say quickly. “We could go in blind. That could be fun.”
He chuckles as he stands from the couch. “Maybe for a random weekly video you would post, but not for something like a competition. You want to be as well-versed as possible, right?”
I don’t respond since I don’t know what to say. He doesn’t seem to notice. Kit enters my bedroom and picks up my laptop, settling himself on my bed with his back against the pillows before he opens it.
He types in my password without asking what it is, because of course, he knows it. BuffyxFaith97!
As expected, the first page the computer opens to is the exorcism verse I found.
“Uh,” he says, tapping the screen, “what’s this?”
“Uh,” I mimic. “A prayer?”
“Suddenly religious, are you? What’s the prayer for?”
Shit. What do people pray about? “Plentiful crops?”
He exhales and shuts the laptop. “Were you trying to exorcise me?”
I hang my head, ashamed for no reason. “Yes.”
“That’s rude.”
“Eh.”
He reopens the laptop and closes every page detailing anything to do with exorcisms. “Well, you didn’t apologize, but you are forgiven. So, research time.”
I was expecting more of a scolding. “Wait, you’re not mad?”
“My feelings are a little hurt, but no. I guess not.”
“I hurt your feelings? Really?” I ask snidely.
“Surprised I have them?”
“A bit.” But no. I’m not actually surprised. Of course, he has feelings. He has a whole lot of them from what I’ve witnessed. I resign, softening my tone. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“It’s whatever.”
My lips form a flat line, but he moves on before I can address that fib, typing the name of the old grist mill into Google.
As we read through a couple of articles about the Gurley Rock Grist Mill, I learn of several deaths on site as well as reports of it being a hub for witchcraft and “suspicious paranormal activity.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” I comment when we come across a blog post that claims the writer’s friend was killed as a result of said “suspicious paranormal activity.” I lean closer to the window, and Kit enlarges the web page so I can see it better. “Can ghosts possess people?”
The blogger believes that their friend was possessed by a ghost, which they attribute as the cause of their tragic end.
They assert having witnessed the ghost physically enter their friend’s body, along with the immediate changes that occurred in them afterward.
They became an entirely different person, just like that. Huh. I know the feeling.
“Yeah,” Kit says. “Most either don’t know how or don’t bother because they can survive for centuries on Earth without a host. Eventually, ghosts fade away or move on, as you know, but they can outlast demons any day.”
“Is ghost possession worse?”
“Typically, yeah. Because ghosts don’t need to possess.
They do it for a reason beyond survival, and that reason is typically shitty.
They possess with a specific aim to hurt or kill.
They possess with an anger and vengefulness that is unimaginable.
Demons, on the other hand, have pretty much gotten over any grudges from our human lives.
We’re here for a good time, they’re here for revenge. ”
I’m quiet for a tick. I never thought that the idea of a ghost, any ghost, would be more frightening than a demon. I know ghosts. I understand ghosts, but perhaps I just understand the good ones. “And this is the place you want to take me?”
“Well, yeah. You can’t get possessed by a ghost if I’m already possessing you. Or another demon, at that. No one else has the opportunity to interact with a vengeful spirit like this without fear of getting hurt.”
“Huh,” I say, mulling over the idea of exclusive access to something like this. “That’s actually kind of cool, then.”
“I’m watching out for you, babe. It’s what I’m here for.” He clears his throat. “So, you into this place? We can head over there tonight, if you want.”
I bob my head. “Yeah, I’m down. Can we do some more research? I need a list of names of who our ghost could potentially be. Even if this is an angry ghost—”
“A vengeful spirit.”
“Right. That’s not a terrifying term. Even if this is a vengeful spirit, it’d be nice to know their name.”
“Quite the humanitarian you are. Yeah, we can do as much research as you want.”