by Wendy Cole
All curiosity died the moment we got inside. The room was pitch black, and it only took a moment for me to figure out why. It was one of those restaurants where you eat in the dark. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. The worst idea.
“You okay?” Brady asked.
Nope. “Yeah.” My hands were clammy. I rubbed my palms against the fabric of my dress.
“Your table is ready, Mr. Black,” a server said. “You may place a hand on my shoulder, and I will guide you there.”
We started to move forward. We were moving forward. It was just the dark. Nothing to be afraid of.
Someone sneezed, and I jumped into Brady’s side with a screech. He wrapped an arm around me.
“It’s okay,” he said, lowering his mouth to my ear. “You’re okay.” The words came out smooth and even, and I strangely found myself relaxing at the sound.
We reached our table, and Brady helped me into my chair.
“Can I start you off with some drinks?” the server asked the moment Brady sat down beside me.
“Would you like a drink?” he directed to me.
“I’ve never needed a drink more in my life.”
Brady laughed. “Alright.” He leaned in closer. “What do you like, Sweetheart?”
Heat flooded me. He was close, too close. Not close enough? No. Too close, and too good at talking.
“I’ll have a Long Island iced tea,” I said because it was the only drink I knew the name of.
“I’ll have water, and the lady would like a Long Island iced tea.”
Water. Great. Now he’s gonna think I’m a drunk.
“I’m driving,” Brady said as if reading my thoughts.
“Very responsible,” I commented.
“I’m a responsible kinda guy.” His pinky finger wrapped around mine.
My cheeks heated, and I was suddenly grateful for the darkness. I noticed how rough his skin felt, calloused, like someone who worked outside for a living. “What do you do?”
“When?” he asked.
I laughed. “For work?”
He didn’t respond for a moment, but after seeing that grin so much on the drive, I could imagine it clearly on his face. “I’m a self-made man.”
“You mean businessman?”
“Sure.”
The waitress returned with our drinks and placed them both down on the table. I fumbled forward and found the straw, then tentatively took a sip. It didn’t taste bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be too strong.
When she walked away, I furrowed my brow. “Isn’t she going to take our order?”
“Chef decides at this place. You eat whatever he makes you.” Brady laughed lightly. “It’s kinda like Russian roulette, only with dinner. Will we get a steak? Or will we get snails? Do you like snails, Amelia?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever eaten one.” Nor do I plan to. “Wait…they’ll tell us what it is, right?”
Brady laughed again. “It’s pasta. I checked before we came.”
I grinned. “That’s pretty funny.” I took another drink.
“What do you do, Amelia?” Brady asked. His pinky finger left mine, and I heard him lean back into his chair.
“You already know I’m a college student.”
“Yes. But what are you studying? What’s your plan?”
I continued to sip the drink. It tasted better by the second. “I’m gonna be a pediatric physiatrist.”
He didn’t respond at first, and the silence was deafening. I focused on my drink, my nerves building as it stretched on. Did he not like my chosen profession? It wasn’t like I said I want to be a drug dealer.
“What made you choose that?” Brady finally asked, his voice slightly detached.
I furrowed my brow, racking my brain for an answer, but his response didn’t make sense. “I want to help kids with issues.” Kids like me.
“What made you decide you wanted to do it though? When did you know?”
I downed what was left in my glass, and was saved by the waitress returning. She set two plates on the table. “Can I get you any—”
“Another drink, please,” I said a little too loudly.
“Of course, and for you, Mr. Black?”
“I’m fine for now. Thank you.”
I bit my lip. I should have said drug dealer. Why was he being weird about it? Did he have a thing against psychiatrists? Maybe he’d been in therapy at one point of his life. Most people had nowadays, and most of them didn’t necessarily like their shrinks.
The silence returned as we ate our food, and I drank three more glasses of the tea to try and calm my nerves.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Brady said as the waitress cleared our plates. “I was just curious. Everyone picks a profession for a reason. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Wait. He thought I was upset?
“It’s no problem. Really.” The alcohol made me loose, made my limbs light and my head fuzzy. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like that.”
Brady took my hand in his, and I looked down even though I couldn’t see a thing through the darkness. “I think it’s noble of you, wanting to help people, I mean.”
My heart lurched. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” His thumb ran along the back of my hand, sending little tingles along my skin.
I wet my lips. “There is a reason.” Oh lord. Why did I say that? Was I going to tell him? How much should I tell him?
“You don’t have to tell me. I understand.”
For some reason, him saying that, made me want to tell him. Am I drunk? Probably. “When I was little, I went to one.”
Brady made a humming noise. “How’d that work out for you?”
I laughed. “Not so good. He wasn’t much help. I guess that’s why I want to be one.”
“Makes sense.” He gripped my hand.
“This is my first date, you know?” I bit my tongue, eyes widening. What the hell? Why did I say that?
“Really?” Brady sounded surprised. “How did that happen?”
“What do you mean?”
He chuckled low in his throat. “You’re gorgeous, Sweetheart. But I’m guessing you don’t know that. How is it that nobody has managed to take you out?”
My whole face caught on fire. “I wasn’t very popular in high school.”
Another long silence. “Why is that?”
The longer we talked, the more comfortable I felt. Brady was nice. Really nice. I hadn’t expected to feel this way tonight. Could I tell him the truth? “Promise not to run away screaming?”
He bellowed out a laugh that made me jump. “I highly doubt that’ll happen, Sweetheart.”
I laughed with him, if nervously. “They all thought I was crazy.” I held my breath as I waited for him to respond.
The silence that stretched on this time might as well have been an alarm. What was he thinking? God, I’m so dumb.
“You’re not.”
My mouth parted. “What?”
“You’re not crazy, Sweetheart. They are for not wanting to be around you.”
I never understood what it meant to swoon until that moment. “They’d disagree with you.”
“What makes you so crazy?” He grasped my hand again, then scooted close enough our knees were touching.
“As a kid, I believed there was a monster in my closet,” I said, then immediately bit my lip. Stop talking. Stop.
His grip on my hand tightened. “Lots of kids think that. You’re telling me, no boys ever approached a girl as beautiful as you, because of that?”
It did sound funny when he put it that way, but he didn’t know the whole story. “One did, but I ruined it. I thought I saw something and freaked out.” I stopped myself. “You know what, let’s be honest. I still see things. It’s something I’ve had to deal with.
Instead of pulling away, Brady gripped my hand again. “That must be rough.”
He sounded so understanding. That hadn’t been the reaction I’d expected. Maybe I just needed to
find someone more mature to confide in.
“It was,” I said in awe. If I hadn’t been attracted to him before, I was definitely liking him now.
“What happened with the boy?”
I paused. As great as he was being, how far would it really go? It was one thing to be vague—
“I won’t judge you.”
My chest expanded as I heaved a sigh. My emotions bubbled up, leaving me feeling incredibly light. “It scared me, and in turn, I scared him. We didn’t speak again after that.”
“Why’d you get scared?”
“Why?” I repeated in disbelief. “Wouldn’t you be afraid?”
Another long silence. “Maybe.”
I thought over his question. “We just happened to be in a closet of all places.” My cheeks heated once again. “A party game,” I clarified. “I looked over his shoulder, and a pair of glowing red eyes stared back at me; angry, hate-filled eyes.” Feeling as if I’d said too much, I cleared my throat and took another sip of my drink. “It didn’t necessarily help me feel any better about closets.” My words drifted.
“Maybe it didn’t like him kissing you.”
I nodded absently, then jerked to attention. “I never said he kissed me.”
Brady gripped my hand just as I started to pull it away. He leaned forward until his lips were right against the shell of my ear, his cheek flush with mine. “You didn’t have to,” he purred. “I was there.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A pulsing pain pulled me from a dead sleep and back into consciousness. I lifted my eyelids and searched the room, and it took me more than a moment to realize where I was: the master bedroom of my new home. My boxes still sat stacked where I’d left them the day before, my clothes still haphazardly scattered around them from my quick searching.
I looked at myself. The black dress clung to my skin, disheveled and slightly lifted. I pulled it down as I sat up, fighting against the wave of dizziness that hit me.
Allowing myself a moment to recover, I tried to remember when I’d gone to bed, but for the life of me, I couldn’t recall. I retraced the events of the previous day, leading up to the date.
I was there.
My eyes widened as the memory struck me. The words echoed through my mind as if he were speaking them in that moment. His voice, clear and even. The feel of his face so close to mine, the warm breath against my ear, then…blackness. I couldn’t remember anything past it no matter how hard I tried.
My hands gripped the comforter beneath them. The monster. My monster. Had it been real? I replayed my original meeting with Brady, our conversation throughout dinner. Had he been the monster the whole time, had he been possessed, or was I just way too drunk the night before? The last option seemed the most sane, but with my history, I couldn’t call it the most likely.
My eyes roamed the room again as if the thing were watching me, but I forced myself to stop. Taking a deep breath, I stood and took the few steps needed to reach the boxes, grabbing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the pile. I needed to not think about it. If I thought about it, if I let myself become consumed by fear, I’d already lost. I’d be that little girl again, only this time, I wasn’t little. What would happen when a grown woman started acting insane? Something told me the doctors wouldn’t offer me crayons. They’d probably offer me more drugs, possibly a nifty jacket with plenty of restraints to go with it.
Before the panic of my thoughts could fully set in, I pushed them away. I won’t let that happen. It couldn’t control me. It couldn’t ruin my life if I didn’t let it. Ignorance. I just needed to pretend, ignore, and hope it would become bored.
Chanting that trio inside my head, I made my way towards the bathroom. Ignore. Just take a shower, wash away the memory, ease the headache, and get ready for a new day.
I threw my clothes on the sink before turning on the shower. As I stripped the dress away, a thought occurred that had me once again eyeing the empty room around me.
It’s a pervert.
My shower was quicker than usual, but I told myself it wasn’t because I was being watched. It was just excitement to finally start my day. That was it. Not a monster. Monsters aren’t real. I made a pssh sound. Monsters definitely aren’t real. That’s crazy talk.
My movements were quick and jumpy as I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, ran it quickly over myself, then struggled to pull jeans up legs that were still wet. Once covered, I heaved a sigh.
Steam hung heavy throughout the room, making it hard to breathe and impossible to see. I opened the door to let it clear, then stepped over to the mirror. Fog coated the surface, so I grabbed my towel from where I’d left it on the floor and moved to wipe it clear.
I was less than an inch from placing the material to the glass when I froze in place. A scream locked in my chest as I stared unblinkingly at the sight before me.
There was no ignoring the lines that began to form, right before my eyes, one after another until a message became clear.
Sleep Well, Drunky?
Something snapped, deep inside of me, something that had been barely hanging on by a thread since my childhood. Without thinking, my fist connected with the surface, glass shattering on impact. Then, placing one hand on either side of my head, I let out a scream, only not from fear. Rage poured from my lungs like liquid lava from an erupting volcano. My throat grew raw, choking me until I stood there, half-coughing and half-sobbing amongst the broken glass.
Something warm trickled down my cheek, and I lifted my hands away. Blood coated my right hand, running down my arm, spurting from my palm. I looked into what was left of the mirror.
Deep red coated my right cheek, and in that moment, covered in my own blood, hair still wet and unbrushed, I looked insane.
“I am insane,” I whispered. I turned the water on and rinsed my arm before sticking my face beneath the faucet and rubbing the sticky liquid away. When it was gone, I grabbed the towel and wrapped it tightly around my wound.
I’d just got it bundled properly when something grabbed my hand. A screech left my lungs as I fought to pull it away, but the grip was too tight. A warning grunt came from the empty spot in front of me, only increasing my panic. I swung at the air with my free hand, and the same deep chuckle from the night before echoed through the air around me. Tears filled my eyes, and my throat closed shut.
This is it. The day it kills me.
Then, when I’d just given up trying to get away, it released me. I didn’t waste time. In a clumsy attempt at escape, I rushed through the doorway, into the living room, and to the front door. I found my keys set on top of my shoes beside the doorway as if it was laid out for me.
I didn’t think about it.
Once I made it inside the car, I tentatively unwrapped the towel. Clear skin without a blemish in sight.
“I didn’t imagine that,” I said to myself, as if needing the reassurance. My eyes darted to the passenger seat and the laptop on it.
I needed help. I couldn’t do this alone. Not anymore. I needed an exorcist.
***
A giant breakfast, the cure to all hangover related side effects. The waitress set the plate in front of me, and my stomach thanked her before I got the chance. It let out a growl that resembled a roar, and the small woman smirked at me. “Sounds like someone’s hungry,” she teased.
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much.”
With another smile, she walked away, and I turned my attention to the screen in front of me. Across the surface was a Google web search result I’d found while waiting. Father Peter Bayshore was an exorcist. Or, at least, someone who claimed to be an exorcist. Countless facts about the parish he resided filled the screen: upcoming events, prayers, and links for those seeking help with various vices.
I scrolled as I stuffed eggs into my mouth, and finally found a phone number for the office.
Someone sat down in front of me, and I looked up to see none other than Brady.
I choked.
He s
mirked.
When I finally managed to clear my airway, I took a deep breath. “Hello?” Was it him, or it?
He stared at me for a full minute. “How’s your hand?”
I jumped back as far as I could while being confined to a booth. “It is you. Or, I mean, you’re it!”
Other diners began to look over at my sudden shout, and in return, I offered a glare. Fuck them. I was dealing with some shit at the moment.
“I prefer him, but if you insist on using it, then yes, I suppose I am.”
Why did that sound so articulate? Why did he look so calm, so . . . intelligent? “What are you?”
He rolled his eyes. “I am Brady,” he answered slowly, dragging each word out as if I were dense.
“I know your name!” I snapped, then lowered my voice. “What I meant was, what the hell are you? We both know—”
“I’m Brady,” he cut me off, his smile widening at my obvious irritation.
We watched each other, silently, me fuming and him making me fume more with each second he wore that stupid amused expression.
“Why me? What did I do to deserve any of this?”
His smile fell, and he heaved an annoyed sigh. “I didn’t choose you, not that I wouldn’t have. You’re very choosable.” His smile returned. “There’s no getting around it. You’re mine. I’m not leaving.”
Heat filled my chest, angry disbelief. “You. Don’t. Own. Me,” I managed to say between bared teeth.
He grinned again. “Your anger amuses me.”
“Fuck off!” I tried to get up, but my legs were suddenly frozen in place.
“Don’t get too upset. I didn’t mean it.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “I can’t help it that you anger so easily.”
I jerked my hand away, then tried to get up again, but my legs were like dead weight. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” His eyes were full of mischief, his voice that of a teasing child.
“My legs won’t work!” I glared at him, trying beyond anything to make him die with my eyes.
Die! Just poof into a pile of ashes and never regenerate!