Demon

by Laura DeLuca

  “Hush, my dear. Have patience too.

  Just give it time. All you long for will come to you.

  Be it soon or be it late.

  All you have to do is wait. Just wait.”

  Rebecca was surprised when Darlene started to sing in the soft, gentle soprano. The song was from a scene where Mrs. Lovatt was trying to placate Sweeney Todd. He was frustrated that Beadle hadn’t come as he promised, thus delaying his murderous plans. Yet, somehow, Darlene’s sweet voice made the refrain sound much less ominous.

  “Wow, Darlene, I didn’t know you were memorizing the script with us,” Justyn teased, but there was still melancholy in his voice.

  “It’s one of my favorite plays,” Darlene admitted. “You know I have a thing for Johnny. Anyway, the point here is, you need to let Becca come to you when she’s ready, in her own time. It’s normal for her to be distant after something like this happens.”

  Normal. Rebecca wasn’t sure she knew what that word meant anymore. Nor did she entirely believe she would ever really be the same again, no matter how much time lapsed. She may have escaped her attacker, but it still felt as though some vital part of her had been left behind in those dark woods. Choking back the tears that threatened to overflow, Rebecca leaned against the sink and clutched her chest as though that single action might somehow keep her from falling to pieces. She might have stayed that way forever if she hadn’t heard a new set of voices enter the conversation.

  “What are you doing here? I hope you don’t actually think Rebecca is leaving with you!”

  “Stan … please—” Mrs. Hope started, but her husband wouldn’t let her finish the sentence.

  “No, Mary! Rebecca isn’t safe with this freak! I knew the first time he stepped foot on our doorstep with those piercings all over his face that he was nothing but a—”

  “Dad, stop it!” Rebecca had heard enough. Her anger overshadowed the fear just long enough for her to slam the bathroom door and face her beet-red, open-mouthed father. She crossed her arms and met his furious gaze with one of her own. “This isn’t Justyn’s fault! Leave him alone!”

  “It’s okay, B—”Justyn started, but her father cut him off.

  “Oh, now you’re giving me permission to be angry that you almost got my daughter raped. I should just—”

  He took a step toward Justyn, but Darlene cut in front of him. Her eyes started to flash dangerously, and her lips were set in a tight frown. “I think we all just need to calm down for a second, Stan. Perhaps you should ask Becca what she wants to do.”

  Her father gave Darlene a dirty look, but he didn’t seem to have the willpower to face-off with a witch. “Forget it.” He swore under his breath. “Rebecca, come on. You’re coming home with us.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

  “What?” He seemed amazed that she would argue. Maybe because it was the first time in her life she had ever openly defied him.

  She sighed. “Dad, I love you. I know you’re just upset and worried about me. But my life is here now. If I walked away, I’d be letting that monster win. He’ll have taken away everything that matters to me. All my hopes and dreams.” She crossed the room and took Justyn’s hand into her own, even though doing so made her tremble. “I’m not going to let him win, Dad. I’m staying in college. With Justyn.”

  Darlene was nodding her head in approval. Rebecca knew they were courageous words. She only wished she felt something when she was saying them. She didn’t though. It was like they were just lines from one of the plays she was reciting—someone else’s words. Rebecca felt nothing. Nevertheless, her father was watching her, flabbergasted.

  “You’re so brave,” Mrs. Hope said, not for the first time. Rebecca wished she would stop saying it. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Rebecca let go of Justyn’s hand to hug her mother and hated to admit that she felt relieved to do so. When they parted, she stared at her father expectantly. Actually, all three of the women in the room were staring him down. Only Justyn kept his eyes averted, as though he still agreed with her father’s assessment of him.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?” Mr. Hope asked.

  She nodded. “I’m sure, Dad.”

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “All right,” he relented. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But you’ll always have a home with us if you change your mind. Always.”

  “I know that, Dad, and it means more to me than you realize.” She reached out to give her father a quick hug. “Now … apologize to Justyn.”

  He had the nerve to look indignant. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You don’t honestly expect me to—”

  “Yes, I can expect it, and I most certainly do,” Rebecca interrupted. Her father stood there, looking stubbornly at the floor. “Dad, you were unfair and just plain mean, and you will apologize to Justyn. I swear I won’t even talk to you again until you do. I’ll spend all my vacations with Darlene if I have to.”

  Rebecca amazed herself with her own gall. She had never threatened her father before. But he was wrong, and at least a part of him knew it. After a few moments of contemplation, he finally nodded and offered Justyn his outstretched hand.

  “Rebecca is right. I was out of line and I apologize. All I can say is … if you ever have a daughter, you’ll understand.”

  Justyn accepted the peace offering with grace. He shook her father’s hand. “I do understand, sir. And I promise you that I’ll keep Becca safe from now on.”

  Mr. Hope nodded. “I’m holding you to that.”

  After the olive branches were exchanged, Rebecca packed up her meager belongings. The nurse came in with discharge instructions, which included directions on how to care for her wound. They gave her gauze and antibiotic packets and sent her on her way with the recommendation she seek post-traumatic stress counseling. She was thankful when her parents reached their car first. Their constant fussing was making her nervous, but they wouldn’t drive off until Rebecca promised to call them every night. Darlene had parked on the other side of the lot, so she walked with them a little longer.

  “I’m so sorry about my father,” Rebecca told her when they reached their car. “You must think he’s awful.”

  “Don’t worry. I only considered putting a curse on him for about three seconds,” Darlene teased then turned more serious. “Then I realized that he was just desperate to find someone to blame. It was a natural reaction. It’s hard for any parent to see their child in pain.”

  Rebecca couldn’t help but remember Darlene hadn’t blamed anyone when her son had been shot. She could have shunned Rebecca for being the motive behind Debbie’s actions or for suspecting Justyn was the culprit. Yet she welcomed Rebecca into her home with open arms, and the two of them had cared for Justyn together while he was recovering. It was just one more reason for her to feel guilty.

  “It really isn’t a big deal, Becca,” Justyn agreed. “No one is upset with him. We all just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  He reached for her hand, but she sidestepped him and grabbed the door handle instead. She tried to pretend she just didn’t notice, but she wasn’t nearly as good an actress as she believed she was. She saw the hurt look in his eyes, even though he didn’t complain. Instead, he exchanged goodbyes with Darlene and wordlessly climbed into the driver’s seat. He started up the engine, but before they could pull away, Darlene tapped on her window. Rebecca pressed the button, and the window buzzed down.

  “You know, Becca, the Craft can help to heal all types of wounds,” Darlene whispered. “Not just the physical ones. Call me if you need me, okay, sweetie?”

  Rebecca doubted even Darlene’s powerful magic could stop the awful ache in her heart, but she still nodded and waved as they pulled away. On the ride back to the apartment, Justyn and Rebecca were quiet. He fiddled around with the radio until he found a classical station and then gripped the steering wheel with both hands while Rebecca st
ared sightlessly out the window. When they arrived home, she quickly announced she wanted to take a shower before he could initiate any type of conversation. He only nodded and dropped her bags in the corner of the bedroom.

  Rebecca noticed her hands were trembling as she slipped out of her clothes. She did her best to will them to stillness as she wrapped her sutured arm in plastic to keep the wound dry. Then she turned the nozzle up as hot as it would go and stayed under the steaming water until her skin was red and blotchy. The hot water made her other cuts sting, but she didn’t care. She washed her hair twice and still found some leftover twigs and leaves entwined within it. She scoured and scrubbed her skin with her loofa until her flesh was raw. She stayed in the shower until there wasn’t a drop of hot water left, then stepped out and wrapped herself in a big fluffy towel. Rebecca had hoped the normal, everyday ritual would finally wash away some of the fear, but she still felt dirty. She still felt tainted.

  Frustrated, she pulled on her favorite pair of flannel pajamas and slipped quietly down the hall to the bedroom without letting Justyn see her. For the sake of keeping busy and taking her mind off things, she grabbed her bags, pulled out the gauze and medicine, and prepared to replace the bandages on her arm. The cut was deep and throbbed relentlessly. The puckered red line was patched with sutures that held the wound closed. Yet when she removed the old dressings, she saw it was dotted with fresh blood. She flinched as she tried to dab it away with a clean cloth.

  “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”

  Rebecca looked up and realized she had left the bedroom door open. Justyn was watching her from the doorway, his dark eyes filled with concern. She barely had time to reply before he crossed the room. He laid the antibiotics and cleaning solutions out on the nightstand and lifted her injured arm with the utmost gentleness. She didn’t struggle. It was awkward for her to try to do it herself with her left hand, but she still felt tense as his hands applied the medicine.

  As she watched him work, she noticed that beneath the concern, he was turning a strange combination of colors. He coughed once to cover a gag. When the reason finally dawned on her, she jerked her arm away. She couldn’t believe she had been so wrapped up in herself that she had forgotten something so vital for even a few minutes.

  “Oh, God!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. You can’t look at blood.”

  “It’s okay,” he insisted. “It’s really only my blood that bothers me. I can handle this.”

  He reached for her arm again, but Rebecca wasn’t so easily fooled. “If that’s true, then why are you turning green? Are you still sick?”

  “Hush.” He put a finger to her lips. “I’m not sick. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. It’s my turn to take care of you for a change.”

  She really didn’t have the energy to argue, so she relented with a small sigh. He did seem to be handling his phobia fairly well. At least, he hadn’t collapsed or thrown up on her. He even started to sing as he worked. It was one of the songs from Demon Barber, though not one of his own. It was actually Frankie’s song. Toby sings it to Mrs. Lovatt when he starts to suspect Sweeney Todd is up to something sinister. Toby wants to protect her, but the poor, naïve boy doesn’t realize Mrs. Lovatt was a part of the disappearances all along. It was a pretty sonnet, but Justyn’s thrilling tenor somehow converted the childish sentiments into an even more appealing love ballad.

  “Nothin’s gonna hurt you, not while I’m nearby.

  Nothin’s gonna hurt you. Or ever make you cry.

  When monster’s come in the night, I’ll be there to set things right.

  Nothin’s gonna hurt you. Not while I’m nearby.”

  Justyn sang beautifully even though the higher notes weren’t in his preferred voice range. As he hummed, he lifted one hand to gently stroke her cheek. Normally when he serenaded her like that, her heart would race and there was nothing she could deny him. She hated that she didn’t feel anything. No fluttering heart or uncontrollable swell of love. There was nothing but—emptiness. She observed him almost like a zombie as he gently wrapped the bandages around her arm.

  She watched the gauze spin, and her eyes started to blur. It almost seemed that beneath the bandages, the gaping wound was opening, the blood pouring out all over again. Like red lights, it flashed in front of eyes, blurring her vision. For just a moment, everything around her melted away. She was no longer safe in her room with the man she loved. She was back in the woods, lifting that same arm to defend her face from a demon’s blade. The flashback felt so real that she darted up, knocking the open bottle of alcohol all over the bed. She didn’t start screaming, but that was only because she was hyperventilating. Her breath came in such short, ragged gasps, screaming had become an insurmountable task.

  When Justyn saw the terror on her face, he jumped up too, looking almost as horrified as she felt. “Gods, Becca, did I hurt you?” He took a tentative step toward her, but stopped when she backed up against the headboard of the bed.

  “No!” she cried out. “Just don’t…don’t touch me!”

  “Becca…please, let me help you,” he begged, desperate. “Just tell me what to do.”

  She saw real tears in his eyes, and though it completely broke her heart, she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to make it better for him. Just like there wasn’t anything he could do to make things better for her.

  “You can’t help me! No one can help me!” Then, using the very last of her willpower, she forced herself to calm down enough to speak in a normal tone of voice. “Please, Justyn. I’m not angry at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…I just need to be alone right now. Please, can you try to understand that?”

  He nodded, but still looked so very sad. “All right. If that’s what you want. I’ll sleep out on the couch tonight. But if you need me—when you need me, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here for you, Becca,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. It would have been impossible to get any words past the giant lump in her throat. She watched Justyn slip quietly from the bedroom, clicking the door shut behind him. Only after he was gone did Rebecca finally let herself collapse against the pillows and weep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next week passed by in much the same way. Rebecca went to her classes, work study, and play practice in a sort of half daze. When she wasn’t at school, she kept her nose buried in textbooks. She had never studied so much in her life. Yet she wasn’t working so hard because she was worried about her grades. She just desperately needed to keep her mind immersed in the mundane every waking moment, or she felt like she was going to lose her mind. Perhaps she was losing her mind. Everyone around her was walking on eggshells. People either gawked at her with wide-eyed, nervous stares or tried too hard not to look at her bruised and battered face. Most of the kids she was just starting to befriend suddenly backed off, as if they were afraid the victim vibe might somehow rub off on them.

  At home, things weren’t much better. She avoided Justyn as much as possible and spent most of her free time locked away in their bedroom while he spent his nights on the lumpy loveseat. He never complained. He never tried to push her when he asked her how her day was and her answers were short and curt. But the sad look in his eyes every time she walked past him said more than words. It broke her heart every time. She knew she was turning into a stranger. How long would it be before he would look right through her and not even realize who she was, just like Sweeney Todd and his wife?

  Nights were the hardest part. When she lay down and shut her eyes, it finally became impossible to block out the memories. The horrible scene played over and over in her head. Every time, she quietly weeped and burrowed under the blankets, as if that might somehow hide her from a monster that lived only in her mind. If she actually managed to fall asleep, more often than not, she woke up choking back her screams. The only thing that kept the cries from erupting was the feeling that his hands were already arou
nd her throat, choking the breath from her. She swore she could feel his presence lingering by her bed, watching her, stalking. She was certain she saw the flash of his silver blade in every corner. She felt like a little girl, terrified of a monster hiding in her closet.

  For his part, Justyn never lost patience—at least not with her. Nevertheless, as much as she would have liked to be, she wasn’t blind. She could see that the stress of what has happening between them was spilling over into his everyday life as well. More than once, he tried to pick an argument with Chad or Scott, as though he longed to have someone to vent his anger on. Even Frankie and Quinn weren’t safe from his short fuse. Everyone in the cast was staying out of his way.

  On the stage, his frustrations were even more visible. For the first time, Rebecca saw him fumble his lines. She saw the anger growing inside him each day, and she knew it was partially because of her distance, but also because the nameless, faceless man haunted him as well. He wanted to defend her, to keep her safe. But he had no one to blame, no one to punish. So he was punishing everyone. She hated to see him so frustrated. She hated even more that she was the reason for his turmoil.

  Rebecca thought she was the only one who noticed the change in Justyn’s attitude and performance. But as they walked silently into play practice on Thursday afternoon, Professor Carter made it clear he had noticed as well. It was obvious by the way he frowned at Justyn that his patience was being tested.

  “You have been a little off on your game the last few days, Mr. Patko,” the director reprimanded as the stagehands set up for the first scene on the docks. “Try to put a little more feeling into your performance today, please. Make it believable or make yourself scarce!”

  Justyn glared at him as he stomped up the stage, but still nodded. Based on the look on his face, she was certain that, had there been a wall within punching distance, he would have happily crushed his knuckles for the opportunity to punch it. Rebecca felt sorry for him. She knew what it was like to be harassed by the director. Since the incident, he had actually been giving Rebecca a little bit of a reprieve, but she didn’t expect that to last forever. She wasn’t sure if it was because he felt sorry for her or because her performance had actually improved. She did feel more in sync with Lucy than ever, perhaps because their plights were so similar. Rebecca used to think of her character as weak and pathetic, but she finally understood why the poor woman had swallowed a bottle of poison and lost her mind. Justyn, too, seemed to be channeling Sweeney Todd’s frustrations as he prepared for the first scene.