Anna felt the sound as much as she heard it, in her head, her diaphragm and the base of her spine. Her teeth ached like she’d fallen asleep with turbo bleaching strips in her night guard. If there was anything in her stomach, it would have shown itself in a spectacular way.
With every boom came a surge of static energy followed by bursts of color and gelatinous flesh. Boom, boom, boom. The demon sprouted into a skinny old man wearing Bermuda shorts and a green sweatshirt that said “#1 Grandpa.”
Boom, boom, boom and the flesh was changing again, forming into a young girl. She was wearing a private school uniform and had braided hair and skinny legs
I like to play, it had said, to learn. How many people had it possessed and killed? How many families had it destroyed? Bile burned the back of Anna’s throat as the little girl’s arms stretched into gray tentacles that shot up and suctioned to the ceiling. The demon swung its girl body off of the platform and hung from the ceiling.
Boom, boom, boom. The girl body spread apart, ripping in some places, stitching itself together in others, morphing into something like a huge gray jellyfish but with a wide mouth that held several rows of shark like teeth. Eyes were forming along the tentacles and across the gray folds of its body, hundreds of blinking black eyes, moving independently of each other.
Anna’s hand went to her own eyes, peeking at the horror through her fingers while her bladder threatened to empty. It wasn’t too late. She could run to the hatch while the demon was occupied with its theatrics. Her legs tightened, ready to bolt, but something inside her resisted.
This jellyfish thing had once been invaded by the demon. It was a life from another world, probably tortured to death, and now the demon wore its likeness like a trophy fur.
Anna dropped her hands and saw that there were scars on a section of its gray flesh concentrated in a splash pattern. She recognized them as the wounds she’d inflicted on the demon’s Saul body when she accidentally spit holy on its chest. No matter how much the demon fed, no matter what it morphed into, the wounds of Source were permanent. But what did it matter if they weren’t enough to hurt it? She felt defeated.
“If it’s this powerful,” Anna wondered aloud, “why doesn’t it just kill me?”
“Because it wants you to worship it.”
It was Jack’s voice and he sounded pissed.
Anna swung around. Geneva was back on the platform, and damn it, she’d brought Jack.
“Trouble doesn’t even begin to describe the crap storm you’re in for sneaking out,” Jack said to Anna, his temple vein popping. He yanked a spray bottle of holy water from inside his jacket.
The demon detached its tentacles from the ceiling with a wet pop and shot into the water. There was a frenzied splashing and then a smacking sound. It was in the water under the ledge, out of sight and lapping at the walls.
Anna gestured to the spray bottle. “That won’t be enough.” She took a breath. “It’s the demon, Dad.”
Jack looked at Geneva. “What’s she talking about?”
“She didn’t want me to tell you,” Geneva said, her voice wavering.
“Tell me what?”
“There is no demon controlling Saul,” Anna said. “There is no Saul. The demon, Dad, it’s still here. It’s the demon that killed Mom.”
Pain dust funneled into Jack’s nose and mouth as he inhaled. His lips moved, but the what? died in his mouth. His eyes receded into his head and his face contorted into a mask of hate, the evil in the tank already inside him.
The planks creaked as something heavy and wet slapped against the bottom of the platform. The demon’s voice rose through the wood.
“You wanted her dead, didn’t you, Jacky boy? That’s why she stopped fighting.”
Its cackling filled the tank as Jack’s face darkened. The demon slithered over the platform’s edge and stood, facing them, wearing its Saul costume.
“You wanted Helen to stop breathing her ragged breath on the back of your neck every night,” it said. “And when she did, you took your first deep breath in months.” It clucked its tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Jack charged and the demon opened its arms to receive him. Jack rammed into it, punching the open spray bottle into the demon’s chest. They joined in a freakish embrace and tumbled together off the ledge, hitting the water with a giant splash. A murky foam rose in the water but quickly settled. Jack popped up, retching.
“Get out of the water!” Anna screamed.
“The ladder!” Geneva shouted, pointing toward the side wall near the edge of the platform.
As Jack swam toward the ladder, two tentacles shot out of the foam and stuck to the ceiling. The demon swung itself out of the water, shaking the foam from its flesh, wearing its Saul face but with tentacles instead of arms.
There were patches on its tentacles so thin that spider webs of green veins were visible; the connective tissue either not fully formed or failing. Anna felt a rush of pleasure. Jack’s holy water did some damage.
The demon suctioned itself across the ceiling and plucked Jack from the foam with a pickled tentacle, tossing him through the air.
“Leave him alone!” Anna screamed.
Jack hit the tank wall hard, falling back into the water. He popped up and locked eyes with Anna, mouthing the word run. The last traces of foam hissed away in the water, and the dark pain lava reclaimed its dominance. The demon shot back into the liquid depths, immersing its wounds, and emerged seconds later to bare its teeth at Anna, hissing like a snake.
“Little girls, jellyfish and old men!” Anna shouted. “Is that supposed to impress me? Come up here and get me, you coward.” Her nails dug into her wounded palms.
The demon licked it lips, eyes half closed in twisted ecstasy.
“But the water is so lovely. Won’t you join me for a little dip, wash off some of that stink?”
Anna’s fingers twitched as the rage energy in the tank pressed into her ears. She wanted to hurl herself onto the demon and tear at it. There were so many little wounds to claw.
Geneva touched Anna’s arm. “You have to be calm to connect to Source, right? For the cleansing to work?”
Yeah, no shit. With her heart and head pounding in unison, the concept of calm felt like a pipe dream. Anna struggled to control her breath, pushing back against the tide of rage inside her. Yet, despite their predicament, Geneva appeared remarkably unruffled. Was Geneva somehow more immune to the malevolence in the tank?
Whatever connection Anna had to Source was almost gone. She could still see the dark churning of Bloomtown’s pain energy in the water, but it was like the after burn from a camera flash, disjointed and spotty.
Jack struggled to climb the ladder, stunned from slamming into the wall.
“Is there any salt left in your backpack?” Geneva asked.
Anna shook her head.
“We still have some in Emi’s bag,” Geneva said, holding out the satchel.
“You do it. You say the blessing.”
“But, Anna, I don’t know the blessing.”
“Say one of your speeches, ad lib, whatever, just hurry.”
Reluctant acceptance moved over Geneva’s face. She readied the satchel, squatting at the edge of the platform. The demon was floating in the water, sniffing at the air. And then it spoke.
“He thought of the girl whenever he was with you. It was the only way he could stomach your touch.” The demon clicked its tongue in false pity. “That was the two of you, wasn’t it, Geneva? Him aching for her so desperately and you too stupid to see the truth.”
Rattled, Geneva fell onto one knee, crying out in pain. So much for her immunity. Anna reached out to steady her, feeling the scientist shaking under her grasp.
“She came to him when you were in class,” it said. “Did you know that? It got him all worked up, listening to you get ready to leave, knowing that she’d soon be in his arms and in your bed.”
Geneva cursed and tore at the bag’s zipper until it ripped open.
Anna yanked Geneva back from the edge, taking the satchel from her hands.
“Forget it.” She’d put Geneva in enough danger. “This is my fight.”
“Anna?” a feminine voice rang out, bouncing around the tank.
The demon was using her mother’s voice. Bracing herself, Anna looked down at the water. Helen Fagan was treading water and wearing the blue and white striped oversized T-shirt that she used to sleep in.
“How could you leave me with this thing?” it asked Anna. “It’s dark all the time and so cold.” The demon broke into a sob just like her mother used to, lips trembling, chin crumpled. Anna felt herself scattering again, felt her knees start to buckle.
“Helen?” It was Jack’s voice. Then louder and exuberant. “Helen!”
The demon turned toward him.
“Did you ever love me, Jack?” it said. “Because I’m begging you, help me.”
“What’s Jack doing?” Geneva asked.
Anna dropped to her belly. Gripping the edge of the platform, she peered down at the ladder.
Damnit. “He’s going back down,” Anna said. Back toward the venomous water. A crazed joy punctuated the raw longing on his face, and Anna couldn’t help but be swept up by the same delusional hope. Helen Fagan had come back to them.
“That thing is not your mother, Anna.” Geneva said. “It’s a trap.”
But what if it wasn’t?
“Look at me,” Geneva said, and Anna twisted her head back, pain shooting down her neck. “The demon lies.”
Anna nodded, holding tight to the edge of the platform, rooting her body to the wood. Breathe, Fagan. Don’t fly away.
“Dad!” she screamed.
Her father snapped his head up to look at her.
“That’s not Mom,” Anna said, the rough wood digging into her ribs.
Jack stopped moving down the ladder, his head swiveling between Anna and the thing in the water, confusion clouding his face.
“Please, Jack, it’s gone now but it will come back,” the mother thing said, struggling to stay afloat. “We have to go now while we still can. Get me out of this water and let’s go home, baby.” It glanced up at Anna. “She’s not well. The demon poisoned her. It’s not her fault.” The mother thing went under again and emerged seconds later coughing up water.
Jack continued down the ladder, leaning out over the water. Oh shit. He was going to jump in. Geneva and Anna yelled at him to stop.
“I need a better look,” he called back to them, descending another rung.
Anna had to direct the demon’s focus away from Jack.
“Mom!” Anna shouted. But when the thing in the water looked up at her, Anna realized that she’d been wholly unprepared for how the moment would stomp on the reasonable part of her mind—the part that understood full well it wasn’t her mother answering her call. Unprepared for how good it felt to have the thing look up at her and say what is it, honey? Unprepared for the desperate want to pull her mother to the ladder, to save her this time instead of just watching her die.
And then, from the immediacy of that fantasy, from the possible realization of such fervent hope, some of the lost nuances of Helen Fagan returned to Anna’s mind. The way her mother smelled like freshly sanded wood and lilac oil when she came out of the garage. The way she’d pile her hair on top of her head when she worked, sawdust dampening its luster, like a proud goddess sending rains of woodchips down to her subjects. The way Helen’s eyes had narrowed when Anna’s grandmother sent Anna a pink, plastic vanity for Christmas—one that said “Someday your prince will come!” when a button was pushed. How Helen had Anna write a thank you note before taking the vanity out to the garage and handing her a hammer.
Helen Fagan was a warrior. She’d fought to the very end of her life, doing whatever she could to protect her family. Anna’s mother wouldn’t be treading water and crying for someone to save her. She’d swim to the goddamn ladder and pull herself out.
A certainty swept through Anna. Her mother wasn’t in that water. The demon was. A demon who thrived on lies, on taking the worst of who someone was and making it bloom inside them like a poisonous flower until the poison was all they felt, all they believed they were. And the lie the demon told now was that it still had power over Helen Fagan. It was a lie that had tormented Anna since she was a child, that had embittered her. For that lie was made of hate and blame, and there could be no peace in the Fagan house when it filled the empty spaces, worming its way to the surface no matter how much Jack tried to bury it with his hoard.
“It’s not her!” Anna yelled to her father. “It’s a trick!”
Anna knew exactly where her mother was now. The demon hadn’t counted on that. That question had been answered and she was finally free of it.
Something in Anna’s voice made Jack believe her. He reversed his climb and headed back up the ladder, struggling with each step.
“I’ll pull him up,” Geneva said. “The cleansing, don’t give up.”
Anna reached back for the satchel and then hovered it over the water.
“Wherever this salt falls shall be free—,” she turned the bag upside down, but it was empty. Damn it. The salt must have fallen out when Geneva ripped it open.
The demon was in the water next to the ladder, struggling to shift. Boom, boom, boom. From its Helen torso came two hairy arms as long as tentacles, but with floppy, boneless fingers that flapped against the ladder instead of sticking to it.
Anna continued without the salt. “These waters shall be free from the attacks of malicious entities and protected by the powers of Source.”
But the words coming from her mouth fell off her tongue, limp and powerless. The blessing was a dud. The demon hoisted itself up the ladder with its long arms, trailing its tongue against the filthy wall as it climbed. Helen’s hair grew wildly out of its head along with clumps of schoolgirl braids.
Anna joined Geneva by the ladder to help pull Jack onto the platform. Bitter tears stung her eyes.
“It’s over,” Anna said. “We have to run.”
Jack was inches away from Geneva’s outstretched hand.
“Do you trust me, Anna?”
Without Geneva, Anna might never have found her mother’s soul.
“I do.”
“You connected with Source before, and you can do it again.”
Jack was almost in reach when the demon wrapped a hairy arm around his ankle, dragging him down a few rungs before he kicked free. It began lapping at the wall again, feeding. After its vigorous display of power, the demon was tired. And so was Jack. His arms trembled as he pulled himself back up the ladder. Her father’s eyes rolled back for a moment, the whites of his eyes blueish under Emi’s light. He already had a head injury and was just tossed against a wall. Jack could pass out and be dragged into the cesspool and drowned if Anna didn’t do something now.
The demon was not all powerful, the wounds on its body attested to that. If it had a belief system outside of its own entitlement, it must include a fear of Source. If Anna could personify that fear—
“My mother lives,” she shouted down to it. “You couldn’t destroy her spirit. Only Source governs the destiny of souls! You’re not strong enough, not even close.”
She leaned over the top of the ladder at the platform edge, hoping to look menacing and fearless while doing everything she could to quell the chaos inside her.
“I see your lies, demon, because I am an extension of Source, a weapon of Source.”
The demon hissed at her from the water, for the moment forgetting about Jack. Anna closed her eyes, trying to strengthen the traces of Source within her, to recreate the sensations she’d felt on the roof outside her bedroom, the calm that allowed her to hush her chattering monkey mind. But with her father in jeopardy and the demon below, that seemed impossible. She needed a shortcut.
Anna concentrated on the last vestiges of Source inside her, silently asking for guidance. An image popped into her head, a memory: driving down the
Garden State Parkway with Dor in the back and Freddy steering Major Tom. Freddy had cracked his window causing the air pressure to rise in the jeep as a pulsating wind pushed inside it. Anna had to open her window, too, so the air could move freely.
It was the same memory she thought of before leaving her body—making that connection was the push she needed to open up to Source. But now it was Freddy she was focused on, and Dor in the back—all of them laughing at some joke. Anna had felt safe with them even while hurtling down a highway full of ragey commuters. Could it be there, in moments like that, that Anna could find the peace she needed? If some memories could torment and paralyze her, maybe others could strengthen her connection to Source. She let the memories come.
Anna’s parents surprising her on her seventh birthday with a new puppy. Penelope saying hello with a flurry of paws and licks.
Doreen, Freddy, and Anna camping in Freddy’s backyard, telling ghost stories and holding hands. Anna feels their small hands in hers, their softness.
Freddy and Anna on the slant of roof outside her bedroom window, playing the what-if game. Not holding hands, older now, sensing the danger in it. What if each person was their own universe? Or what if each cell in every living thing held a universe of its own? They feel, for a moment, the expansiveness of Source.
The wooden planks began to tremble beneath her. No. It wasn’t the platform. It was Anna. She was vibrating. Suddenly, a sound, her sound—the same sound she heard while out of body—grew stronger inside until she vibrated like a guitar string. It was purifying, shaking away what didn’t belong, what wasn’t real. Anna didn’t brace against it. She let it flow.
And then a crack opened inside her, and Anna was brave and let it widen. Source spilled into her and she felt herself expand, felt herself everywhere, a part of something vast and powerful. A simple truth was clear: the demon couldn’t destroy Anna’s connection to Source. It could only distract her from it, like the manic tornado of her own infected mind. As in Freddy’s dream about the tear in the fabric of the universe, Source was always there, waiting for her behind the madness. She locked eyes with the demon and the sneer wilted on its face—now a grotesque mash-up of Helen’s features and gray folds of jellyfish skin.
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