by Val Crowe
Mads had appeared in the air in front of me. “I’m sorry. I was looking for some way to help you, and I got stuck somewhere.”
“What do you mean, stuck?”
“Just stuck,” she said. “I figured a way out. I’m back. You look good. The barnacle’s gone.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s a long story.”
“I got time.” She spread her hands.
I looked her over. Actually, I wanted to ask her about the stuff with my mother, and I wanted to see if she’d ever heard of someone named Negus. “Yeah, I’ll tell you all about it. But can I get dressed first?”
“Sure,” she said, not moving.
“At least turn around or something,” I said.
She rolled her eyes, but she flitted out of the room and reappeared outside the window of the Airstream, pointedly with her back to me.
I laughed softly and then toweled off. I got dressed and then called for her to come back in. While I rustled up a breakfast for myself—eggs and cheese and some bacon—I told her everything that had happened.
By the time I had finished, I was sitting at the table, which was at the far end of the Airstream which had a wraparound cushioned bench seat around it for seating. I was halfway through my breakfast.
I pointed at her with my fork. “So, you said before that you were there, and you remembered what happened. Is it true? Was my mother possessed?”
She set her hands down on the table. Well, kind of. They hovered a fraction of an inch above the surface. “When I tried to tell you before, you didn’t want to know.”
“It’s not something I like thinking about. The whole experience was understandably traumatic.” I stabbed at my eggs.
“But you want to know now?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, yes, it’s true. She was possessed.”
“By Negus?”
“I never knew its name,” she said. “I guess that’s a thing we could have done before I drove it out, exchanged names, but I wasn’t interested in being polite with the thing.”
“Wait, what?” I said. “You drove it out of my mother?”
She nodded. “It wasn’t easy. It weakened me.”
“Oh,” I said in understanding. “That’s where you went. It was about the same time. My mom went back to normal, and you disappeared too.”
“It took a lot out of me. It was some time before I could manifest again. But I watched over you, Deacon. I never left you.”
I set down my fork. I wasn’t hungry anymore. “So, it’s all true. It wasn’t her.”
“No, it wasn’t her.”
“Then all this time, I’ve cut her out of my life and she didn’t deserve it,” I said.
“Well… what you went through, it’s like you said, pretty traumatic.”
“And I guess she doesn’t even remember it.”
“Why would you say that?” said Mads.
“Because she acts like it never happened.”
“I can’t see why she wouldn’t remember,” said Mads. “When the spirits took control of your body and made you walk to the playground, you were inside there, watching it all happen. You remember everything.”
* * *
“Deacon!” said my mother’s voice over the phone. “This is quite a surprise. I can’t remember the last time you called me. Usually, I have to leave you twenty messages just to get a one-word text. Are you okay? Are you dead?”
“Look, I need you to be honest with me, Mom.”
“That was a joke, sweetie.” She tittered on the other end.
“Mom, this is serious.”
“Of course it is,” she said, and she sounded as if she was humoring me, like I was still a kid. “Sorry. What was I thinking? No, I’m all ears. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? It really is so good to hear your voice. I miss you, kiddo.”
My jaw worked. I clutched the phone tightly. My eyes were stinging. “I need you to be honest with me.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“You lie for a living,” I said.
“Oh, I do not. I perform for a living. If I’m lying, so is Angelina Jolie.”
“Mom, please. Can you listen?”
“Sure, sure. I’m here. Go ahead.”
“It’s about… uh, it’s about those few months when I was ten. When my arm got broken?”
She was quiet on the other end.
“I know it wasn’t you,” I whispered. “I know that now. So, it’s okay. You can admit that it happened. It was some thing inside you.”
My mother still didn’t say anything.
“Mom?”
“Deacon, sweetheart.” Her voice was soft. “Why don’t you come and see me? We could meet up someplace. I’m going to do a job at this old amusement park. Try to help some people find closure with their sister who passed away. You could come there. I’d love to see you.”
“If I come, will we talk about this?”
“I…” She made a funny noise, not exactly a laugh. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
My lips parted. She was still going to deny it?
“Why you insist on saying that I broke your arm is beyond me,” she whispered. “You know that I would never—”
“It was a lot more than the broken arm, Mom,” I said, and now anger was rising within me. “All those bruises and cuts. I still have scars, and you know that—”
“All little boys get bruises and cuts.” Her voice was getting higher in pitch.
“Did you block it out? Were you unconscious for all of it? Or can you just not accept it? Whatever the case, if you really do care about me—”
“Deacon, you are my son. You are my life. Of course I care about you. I love you so much.”
“Then you’d care about… about what it did to me.”
Nothing from her.
My mouth twisted. I waited for her to say something.
She just breathed.
I hung up the phone.
Damn her.
* * *
More Deacon?
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