I carried her back into the house and I laid her back down on the couch. She appeared to be sleeping. My face must have been white because Martin looked at me with a smile on his face and said, “You felt it, didn’t you? You felt the demon leave her body? Didn’t you?” I looked at him and all I could do was nod my head in agreement. “Something you will never forget, kid. Never forget that for sure,” he said as he leaned over to check her.
After an hour, she stirred, sat up, and started to talk. The first words out of her mouth were, “I want my babies.” I looked at her face. She looked like a different person. No more sunken eyes. No more sunken cheeks, in fact they were rosy. The husband went next door and got the children, and when he gave her the baby she started to cry. And I have to admit there was a second there when I was a little jealous of them. I reflected for a moment, wishing I could have had my wife suddenly wake up and want her babies. I patted Martin on the back and said, “Good job.” I was proud of what we had accomplished there. The last time I saw Martin, he was getting into his car, and with a nod of his head he was gone. Even though I would miss him, I would cherish the things he had taught me and the experience we had shared together.
The whole experience did leave me with more questions. Why Union, Missouri, again? More specifically, why did another case of possession happen within the boundaries of the Cromwell addition of town? The odds of two possessions happening so close together are very slim, at best. It just did not make sense. What was wrong with Union, Missouri, and what was the secret this town was hiding? My theory about the fallen angels and cult activity might not be too far off of the mark. Something bizarre was going on in this small town and I was going to find out what it was.
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Chapter 14
Flashback, 1992
I loved working in the theater more than anything else in existence. You never knew what to expect from one moment to the next. It was this constant, ever-changing world. I found it exciting and exhilarating. I was home and I fit in. There was only one time in my life when I really felt like I belonged, and that is when I was in the theater. Whether I was working or I was on stage. I have never felt at home anywhere else but the theater. The rest of my life, I have been nothing but a fish out of water. It’s kind of sad, walking around feeling like you don’t belong because you are not where you should be. The truth is, we all make concessions for our life and for those within our lives. I was so happy in the theater, and I would spend hours there. Maybe it was an easy place for me to hide, because I knew at home I had a wife who was falling apart. It was my place to escape, and when your place to escape becomes your job, it’s all over. You become a major workaholic. I was unbelievable. I would get there early in the morning and I would not leave until very late at night. On Tuesdays, we would usually have a party for whatever show we had in town, and that usually meant we would go out with the cast afterward to show them around. Those nights could and would often last until dawn.
It was my job. I had to do what was required by my job, and I relished it. I would hit those doors and anything that was going on in real life was gone in a second. As soon as I crossed that threshold, I was on a whole different planet, where those outside problems didn’t exist, where wives who cried all of the time and pulled their hair out in the middle of the night were not there. I could tell my receptionist to hold my calls when my wife would call on those days she thought she could not handle life anymore. When she tried calling, over and over, I would just have her turned off. It was that easy. My life was Evita, Tommy, Les Misérables, The Phantom of the Opera, and numerous concerts and stars who would come and go in a constant flood of chaos. Why would I want to go home? I would dress in the best suits and best ties, and I loved it. All of the time, things were getting worse at home, and I didn’t know or I didn’t care to pay attention, because I was living the life I had always wanted to live. Right or wrong, it was how I kept my sanity and my marriage together. Without it, we were all going to fall apart, and I didn’t know if I was going to be strong enough to pick up the pieces. There are two sides to every story. This is my side of it. This is what I did wrong. I know it. Sometimes it is easier to hide from the problems rather than face them.
We were living in the city. Our house was one of those “yuppie rehabs,” the kind you see in magazines with track lighting and those huge pocket doors. We had the latest in security, just in case someone decided to step over the line into our little yuppie bubble. Heaven forbid if they did, because the police responded quicker for us than they would for, let’s say, two or three streets over––the streets we avoided. It is kind of sickening, now that I think about it. We were everything I now find pitiful. Maybe that is the word to explain the life we were living. Pitiful.
I remember it was a fall evening and the drive home was perfect. The leaves were in full change. The reds, oranges, and yellows contrasted nicely with the brick of our brownstone as I pulled up. Fall in St. Louis is one of the prettiest times of the year. I walked up the walkway, admiring the trees and just the whole atmosphere of the neighborhood. It would be Halloween soon. The kids loved Halloween, and I had to admit that I loved it, too. I had to admit that I loved everything about my neighborhood. I loved everything about my city. I stepped up the stairway and I could hear little footsteps running around inside. I had already been spotted. They knew that I was home.
The front door opened with a flurry of excitement. Lydia, of course, was leading the pack. “The pictures were flying off the wall and were hitting Mommy in the head,” she said, flushed with excitement.
“In the head,” Michael added, punctuating what she had just said.
“What are you three up to?” I asked, ready to get in on the game I thought they were obviously playing.
“Daddy, you must listen to what I have to tell you,” Lydia said, with the verbal skills of a 20-year-old, not a five-year-old. “The pictures were flying off of the wall, and they were hitting Mommy in the head.” Matthew was standing to the side, giggling about the whole ordeal.
“Where is your mother now?” I asked.
“She is laying down,” Lydia excitedly told me.
“Laying down,” Michael said, again punctuating what was just said.
“Lying down,” I corrected them as I set my things down. I went down the long hallway to the bedroom. It is no wonder that these were called shotgun houses. You shoot into the front of them, and the bullet would hit every room before going out the back. And if you were lucky, you got to live on two floors with a beautiful staircase dividing the two. Our bedroom was in the back, on the first floor. “You kids stay in here and watch some TV,” I said on my way, causing Matthew to giggle with delight.
The bedroom was dark as I entered. I started to turn on the light. “Please keep the light off,” my wife’s voice asked, coming from the bed. I walked over to the bed and sat carefully on the side of it next to her.
“You want to tell me what happened?” I asked.
“It was awful. You are not going to believe me, even if I tell you,” she said quietly, not moving on the bed.
“Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.
“The kids were just horrible today. I couldn’t get them to listen. No matter what I did, I could not get them to do what I wanted them to do. They wouldn’t pick up their toys or stop running in the house,” she said. I was a little confused, because this was the typical “the kids would not listen to me” routine. As usual, I was not hearing anything out of the ordinary from her. I did not understand why she was in bed with the light off as the kids were having the run of the house.
“Okay?” I said, trying to be supportive. However, the fact of the matter was, I never could understand having to be supportive over normal childhood behavior.
“Well, I lost my cool and I told them I was going to spank them if they didn’t listen to me, and a picture came off the wall and hit me in the head. They
still were not listening, so I tried to grab one of them and another picture came off the wall and hit me. Every time I would try to stop them, Steven, I would get hit in the head with a picture or something. Something in this house was trying to hurt me, or stop me from trying to get my children to behave.” She started to cry.
“What pictures are you talking about?” I asked. I have to admit the whole scenario seemed too wild and far out to believe, but I was playing along because I had been down this road before, and I knew things would go much easier if I just gave in to it.
“Just look around. You’ll see,” she said.
That is when I looked around and there were indeed pictures off the walls, lying on the floor. “Sure thing, honey, there are pictures lying on the floor,” I said, trying to make sense of it all and trying to calm her at the same time.
“See, I told you so!” she said through her tears.
“Tell you what; I will pick up this mess. Why don’t you sleep and I will take care of dinner,” I said. I knew from past episodes that it wouldn’t do any good to try to talk sense into her when she was like this. The best thing I could do was close the door and let her sleep. And that is what I did. I went around, putting the pictures back on the walls.
“Is Mommy okay, Daddy?’ I turned around to see Lydia standing there, watching me pick up the pictures and hang them back on the wall.
“Mommy will be fine, she just needs to rest. What do you suppose happened to the pictures?”
“I don’t know, Daddy. The madder Mommy got, the more they hit her,” Lydia said.
“Hit her?” I asked.
“Zoomed off the wall and hit her,” said Lydia with both hands to add effect to the statement. “I see,” I said, hanging the last picture on the wall and making sure it was good and straight. Then I turned to her. “Tell you what; how about Happy Meals tonight for dinner?” I proposed. With a screech of delight, Lydia was on her way to get her brothers ready to go, while I stood there puzzling over the whole ordeal. It didn’t make much sense to me. After all, I had not been there, so how could I know?
July 2006
I needed to do what I needed to do––and what I needed to do was raise my children. I did do a community production of Guys and Dolls when the kids were in their early teens. I wanted them to see me at least do one thing. It had nothing to do with ego. I wanted them to see that part of me. They were so young, I knew they would not remember what life was like then. But it was important for me to get them into the theater and work. They helped work on the sets and they got to learn how to hang lights. When it came time for the production to actually open, they got to see people stand on their feet for their dad. It was a side of me they had only heard war stories about, up until that moment. War stories are fine and all, but to actually see it, well, you can’t replace that kind of memory. Now I know that just maybe my grandchildren will hear about that part of my life. I would hope so. You want your children to know you as a person, not just as a figurehead. I wanted them to know me, and to know me you have to see me in my element. The theater is my home. They got to see me at home and not just from sitting in an audience. They got to get their hands dirty in it. I wish I could have told the judge all about it on the day of my divorce. I wish she could have known about my hands-on approach to raising my kids. Lydia wanted to come to court with me. I wouldn’t allow it. There is no reason to expose your children to the ugliness of a divorce hearing. They don’t need to witness the undoing of their family institution. In this case, it was dreadful.
The judge asked my ex-wife questions about the children, and she had trouble answering all of them. She sat there with a smile on her face the whole time. She did not know Matthew was a football player, or that all of my kids were required to play instruments in the band. She had no idea that Michael wanted to be a geologist, or that he was considered a gifted child. She did not know Lydia was a straight-A student who loved music more than life itself. She was clueless about these things and she covered up her shortcomings with that Cheshire grin when she could not say anything of real substance.
When it was time to speak on my behalf, the judge asked me about the children. I told her all of these things and more. I expressed to her how proud I was to be the father of these wonderful human beings and how I was doing everything I could to raise them. The judge told me I was doing a great job. Then she granted the divorce, but before she granted it, she looked at my ex-wife and asked, “You understand you are giving up your parental rights?” She replied, “Yes,” with a smirk on her face. The divorce was granted. Afterward the judge said that in all her years working within a family court she had never seen anything like that from a mother.
I was unsure about my feelings. What I had just witnessed had made me sick to my stomach. I was thankful I had the wisdom not to let Lydia come with me. I felt shell-shocked. My ex-wife was acting like it was a moment to celebrate with the people she had come with. She had just given up her parental rights, and she was going to celebrate it. There is no other way to say it. We all know the marriage did not mean anything to her, because she had someone else’s baby while she was still married to me. However, this was a strike against the children. It was so obvious during the proceeding that even the judge picked up on it.
I walked away from the courthouse knowing that I was going to get hit with an onslaught of questions from the children when I got home. I realized I was going to have to answer some tough questions and deliver some tough answers they were not yet prepared to hear. My children were going to have their hearts broken, once again. It was a difficult decision to make, but I came to the conclusion that it was the children’s choice whether or not to have a relationship with their mother. I had never kept her away from them. All I asked was that it be supervised. They now had the choice of how they were going to deal with her. I was out of the picture. They were now old enough to make those decisions for themselves. I knew she could not physically hurt them anymore, but emotionally, I wasn’t so sure. That relationship had to be theirs and theirs alone.
I could no longer protect them from her, even though in my heart I wanted to try. But sometimes, in order to protect them, you end up hurting them even more. So I took a deep breath and, to my surprise, none of the kids really seemed to care when I presented them with this idea. I think that their mother had put them through enough heartache already. The damage was done. Maybe some of that hurt would heal, but they would have to do it without me. I could no longer put myself in the line of fire. My wife had died years ago. The moment I walked into my house on the night she told me she was leaving, she was already gone. The person who remained was someone I did not know, and a person whom I did not marry. My wife was dead, and who was left was now a stranger.
I went to bed that night with a sense of relief that the divorce was finally over. I could start to heal now, but I was not exactly sure what I was healing from anymore. I mourned the loss of those early years, those good moments, but the bad so far outweighed the good that now all I could feel was relief. She no longer had any legal hold on me or even my name, anymore. That is really what I found myself grieving. I was mourning the fact that I no longer could feel anything good about her. That is a horrible thing, to have someone do so many awful things to you that you can’t mourn the loss of the good times you once shared. But nothing could outweigh the emotional terror and distress she caused my family.
Reflecting back, I tried to see her as the angel she once was when we were young, but then I remembered she was Jekyll and Hyde. She stole my youth and my time to love away from me. I don’t know if I will ever be able to love again. Trust is gone. Where my trust in another should be, there is a very thick, dark, emotional wall. At times, I feel disappointed in myself because I know that I should let it go. If I am still the one harboring the pain, then she is still in control of my life. I feel as if I can never forgive myself for being deceived and dragged down a dirt road. The deepest
part of me needs me to forgive myself so that I can move on emotionally. But we all know that forgiving ourselves is the one thing that is very hard to do.
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Chapter 15
August 2006
The security alarm went off with a crash on the front porch!
I was back in my home in the city. I walked slowly down the long hall to the front door. The walk seemed like it was taking forever. With each step I took, the pounding of my heart became louder in my ears. The screaming of the security alarm intensified, building anxiety. From the other side of the door I could hear a voice yelling. Through the glass in the door I could see some sort of low movement. Something was moving around on my front porch. I cautiously opened the door to reveal the porch and whatever it was.
“Thas okay, I jus don know where the fuck I’m at,” the voice was slurred and obviously drunk. I walked slowly onto the front porch to see a homeless man, drunk as could be, lying there. “Thas okay, I jus don know where the fuck I’m goin!” the man was shouting, in a drunken stupor. I could hear the police sirens in the distance.
“The police are on the way, sir. You have set off my security system. If I were you, I would get going,” I said sternly, trying to get him off my porch where he had already spilled the contents of his bottle. It had obviously broken when he fell. I did not see any blood, so I knew he was not hurt.
The man’s head was down and I could not see his face. “Did you hear me, sir?” I asked. The man’s head slowly rolled back to reveal his eyes. All white with no iris or pupils, nothing but white. So familiar, I had seen those eyes before.
“You think it’s that fucking easy?” he giggled. I backed away from the door into my hallway as the man rose to his feet.
“Get away from here!” I said in a panic.
“You are not going to get me to go away that fucking easy,” he giggled.
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