Be Not Afraid

by Cecilia Galante

I nodded. I didn’t want to say anything more out loud. My throat hurt, two parallel threads of pain making their way up along the inside of it.

  He squeezed my hand and then brought it to his lips, pressing them against it.

  It was for him, I thought later, that I would go.

  For him, and no one else.

  Twenty-One

  There was no scene later on that night with Dad, no situation that required another lie so that I could sneak out to Dominic’s. It was almost too easy. He was going to stay overnight at the hospital, but since only one visitor was allowed to sleep in Nan’s room now that she’d been moved out of the ICU, I had to go home. He drove me, draping the inside of his wrist over the steering wheel the way he always did and throwing me sidelong glances. He looked guilty, as if he felt bad for having to leave me alone.

  “I know you’re exhausted,” he said. “You haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. Probably even longer. Just go right to bed, okay?”

  “I will.” I got out of the car and moved toward the steps of the house.

  “Rinny?” He was leaning out his window.

  My heart twisted, hearing him use the nickname he’d given me when I was little, a word he hardly ever used anymore. “Yeah?”

  “Promise me you’ll just go to sleep. Okay?”

  I nodded, already trying to justify the gesture. Once it was over, I’d never lie again. After tonight, I was done. “Okay,” I said. “Kiss Nan for me.”

  He waved goodbye and spun out of the driveway, the truck disappearing in a cloud of dust down the road.

  My phone buzzed.

  It was Dominic. Pick you up at eleven?

  I looked at my watch. Six-thirty. Maybe I’d be able to get some sleep after all. My knees sagged, thinking of it.

  I took my phone out. See you then.

  The moon was barely visible when Dominic pulled the Jeep into the driveway of his house later that night, the night so dark as to appear vacated. A bitter taste pooled along the edges of my tongue as we got out of the car and shut our doors. Neither of us had said a word on the drive over; I wondered if Dominic was trying to reserve all his mental energy for what lay ahead the way I was. He’d said this afternoon that things were worse—five hundred times worse—than yesterday. And yesterday had been a nightmare. Demon or no demon, I couldn’t imagine what awaited us upstairs now.

  I didn’t have to wait long. We were in the foyer for less than five seconds when a screaming sounded from upstairs. Loud thumping noises followed, a series of raps that shook the walls and made the crystal chandelier shiver. Dominic winced and then reached into a small hall closet. He withdrew a cloth bag and then held it out to me.

  “Is this the …” I swallowed. This was real. What we were about to do was moments away from happening. Words were getting harder and harder to form.

  Dominic nodded. “The box with the bird in it and the iris. I have two candles in there, too, just like it says, and a pillow for her head.”

  Another scream, louder than the first, reverberated down the hallway and then pealed off in the distance.

  “Who’s with her?” I asked, shouldering the bag.

  “My mother,” he said. “And the night nurse.”

  “Your mother?” I pulled back. “I thought she was leaving.”

  “She didn’t want to. Not after Cassie cut herself so badly last night.”

  Well. That was something.

  “Okay. But how’re we going to get past them?”

  “Cassie’s been calling for you again,” Dominic said. “Incessantly. Just like in the hospital. My mother knows I’m bringing you over.”

  Once again, we climbed the beautiful marble staircase and made our way to the third floor. Another ruckus sounded, the crash of glass breaking, a dreadful shrieking that made my toes curl inside my sneakers.

  “Listen,” Dominic said over his shoulder, “when we get in there, we just have to do what we need to do, no matter who’s around. But we have to hurry, okay? I’m really worried that we’re running out of time.”

  “Out of time?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s so weak.” He grabbed my hand. “You’ll see.”

  I nodded, gripping his fingers. The screams intensified as we crept closer to Cassie’s room. They were no longer human; now there was a hungry, murderous quality to them, a raging tenor that made the inside of my mouth turn cold.

  Mrs. Jackson emerged from the room as we approached, slamming the door behind her as if something might be following her. She paused for a moment, pressing her forehead against the smooth wood, and didn’t move. Even from behind, I could make out the orange ball in her stomach. It was as large as a grapefruit now, twice the size it had been yesterday.

  “Mom.”

  She turned at the sound of Dominic’s voice, staring at the two of us with glazed eyes. “It’s not her in there,” she said, one hand still clutching the knob. “I don’t know who it is, but it’s not my Cassie. It’s not her fault, the things she’s saying.…” Her voice began to rise, bordering on the edge of hysteria. “We have specialists coming. The best in the world. They’ll fix it, what’s wrong with her. They’ll fix it.” She clutched at me suddenly, her fingers grabbing handfuls of my shirt. “And you, Marin! You’ll go in and see if you can comfort her? Try to calm her down, even for just a little while?”

  Dominic moved quickly as his mother’s knees gave way and caught her with both hands as she sank to the floor.

  “Sarah.” Mr. Jackson appeared from around the corner, moving in next to his wife and son. “All right, honey. I’ve got you. All right.”

  We watched them disappear down the steps, Mrs. Jackson sobbing against her husband’s chest. Even with all of the mistakes they’d made as parents, neither of them deserved this. Not in a million years.

  “I’m sorry,” Dominic said. “I should have told you I told them you were coming.”

  “It’s all right,” I answered, watching as Dominic pulled something out of his pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  He held up a small crucifix for me to see. It was as delicate as a twig and strung on a silver chain. The emaciated figure of Jesus was draped on the front, the letters INRI engraved in a crude plaque above his head. “My mom gave it to me a long time ago, right before my confirmation.”

  “Dominic, you’re not a priest. And the book didn’t say anything about using a crucifix.”

  “I know.” He wrapped the chain around his fingers like a pair of brass knuckles, until only the crucifix protruded between them. “But it can’t hurt.”

  For a moment, I realized how foolish he sounded, how foolish both of us were, pretending, hoping that we could actually dispel some kind of venomous spirit from inside a girl, according to the directions inside a book of witchcraft. And then in the next moment, behind the closed door, I could hear the strange grunting sounds coming from within, a litany of curses uttered in sudden, menacing spurts. We had to try. We just had to.

  “You ready?” Dominic’s skin was the color of Silly Putty; his lips were tinged a pale purple. His Adam’s apple strained against the muscles in his neck, as if trying to release itself. I nodded and reached out, clutching one of his belt loops with my first two fingers just as I had before. My breathing had already shifted, and my legs felt numb. I fought back the urge to pee and held my breath as Dominic opened the heavy wooden door.

  For a moment, I wondered if we were in the same room as we had been in before. Then I realized that it was the same room, except that everything inside it, but for a narrow mattress in one corner, was gone. A green Navajo-print blanket was tossed to one side of the mattress and parts of the white carpet had been torn up, curling back at the edges like gigantic pieces of peeled paint. But it was the temperature that was different, a subzero feel to the air that turned my breath visible, as if I had stepped outside on a winter’s day. The hair on my arms prickled, and my teeth started to chatter.

  Cassie lay motionless,
grunting, in the middle of the mattress. Her arms and legs had been tied to either side, the rope double-knotted at both ends. An unusually tall woman dressed in white pants and a white tunic stood over her. Her lower lip jutted out and a large blue mass sat nestled inside her jawbone like an overripe tangerine. Cassie stirred as the door opened, the sounds now like a heavy, wounded animal, and turned her head toward me. Her eyes were the same oblong shape as yesterday, the pupils narrowed and cylindrical as she fastened a hateful gaze in my direction.

  “Get out, bitch.” It was a hiss, a spitting of words.

  I stared at the chunks of hair that had been pulled out from the sides of her head, the bare, bloodied patches along the outside of her skull. Her face, a swollen map of open wounds, was now nearly unrecognizable, the figure-eight carving oozing fresh blood. Inside her brain, the blackness swirled, a slithering rope of tar, gliding in and among the crevices with a deliberateness that conveyed an ownership, an undeniable right.

  “Oh my God,” Dominic whispered. “How much more of this can she take?”

  “You’re Marin?” The tall woman in the corner glanced at me. I nodded. “Mrs. Jackson said you were coming, that you needed privacy.” She dropped her arms as she strode toward us, crossing the room in five or six steps. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” The door made a soft clicking sound behind her.

  “Cassie?” Dominic’s voice was too loud. His fingers gripped the crucifix. “We just want to sit next to you, okay?”

  A hideous grin emerged across Cassie’s face at her brother’s words. “Yes,” she rasped. “Come over. Closer.”

  We moved slowly toward the mattress, sinking down next to the girl as we got within arm’s reach. I slid the bag off my shoulder with shaking hands and pushed it toward Dominic. “See if you can get the bird in her left hand,” I whispered. “I’ll try to give her the iris.”

  He leaned over his sister, prying her stiff fingers apart so he could put the tiny animal in her hand. Cassie closed her fingers around it, and Dominic looked over his shoulder, nodding for me to do my part. I crouched down, inches away from her other hand, when Cassie lurched suddenly, throwing the dead bird across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud and then slid down to the floor in a tiny heap. She arched her back, emitting a howl of impossible magnitude. It was not human, not even animalistic. This time, it was something unknowable, completely foreign to human senses. “Don’t touch me!” she screeched. “Don’t you ever touch me!”

  I dropped the iris and lurched, falling back against my hands.

  “No, Marin!” Dominic stumbled, too, but he composed himself, reaching out to me with a trembling hand. His lips were blue. “Please. Please. We have to try again.”

  I crawled toward him, retrieving the iris, and held it close to my chest.

  “You’re afraid,” Dominic challenged his sister. He had gone back over to retrieve the bird; inside his other hand, the crucifix was trembling. “You’re just scared.”

  A dim cackling sounded from the back of Cassie’s throat, a noise even more terrifying than the screams. “You should talk,” she hissed. “Still crying at night for Mommy and Daddy who go so far away all the time. I hear you in there, curled up in your bed. Crying and crying, like a little boy.”

  Dominic paused at her words, his body stiffening. He did not look at me.

  Cassie’s body began to shake, first slowly, as if she was twitching, then with more force until she looked like a rag doll being throttled at the neck, her head jerking from side to side, her legs flopping like dying fish. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets and did not return. She was still again, the shuddering movements quelled without warning.

  And then, a new sound: “I want to see the other one in the room.” It was an old woman’s voice, raspy around the edges with a deep, gravelly center, and I noted with horror that it was directed at me. “The other one,” she hissed. “Where is she?”

  Cassie sat up, her arms straining against the ropes, and hurled a vicious gaze in my direction. Her head jerked tight, as if locking in position, and she opened her mouth once more. “Here I am, little girl. Take a good look.”

  As if on cue, Cassie flung herself back down against the mattress. In the next second, her T-shirt flew up, displaying the skin along her stomach, flayed and torn, clawed as if by talons from the inside out. Red glowed everywhere, gobs of it, dripping, leaking, smearing every last bit of surface where her skin had been, a gutted animal left to die.

  “Marin!” Dominic’s face was white with horror. “Come on. We’ve got to go to her! Right now. We’ve got to do this, even if we have to sit on her hands to do it!”

  Cassie lifted her head again, regarding us with hateful eyes. She growled and lunged, a chained tiger snapping at a piece of dangling meat. “Get away from me, you piece of shit! No one comes near me unless I say so! Get out!”

  I stood frozen to the spot, too frightened to move, but Cassie’s words seemed to energize Dominic, and he grabbed my hand, dragging me toward her. I stood there panting, and then dropped to my knees, trying in vain to wedge the fragile flower inside her hand. But Cassie crushed it under her fingers, smashing it into the rug until there was nothing left but bits of stamen and yellow pollen. The petals lay to one side, bruised and broken, remnants of what they once had been. She threw her head back and arched her spine. Her toes were rigid; the veins along her arms stood out like cords. Somehow, the ropes around them held fast.

  “Go to hell!” she screamed. “Both of you!” She raised her head, widened her voided eyes. Abruptly, the crucifix flew out of Dominic’s hand and smashed against the wall. I screamed and flinched, covering my face with both arms.

  Cassie’s head jerked in my direction, and another low, cackling laugh emerged from her throat. “You. Who do you think you are?” She hissed her words, hate leaking from every syllable. “You think you can come into my presence with your so-called gift? Do you have any idea where your pathetic ability comes from? That the only reason you can see me at all is because I recognize myself in you?”

  “Don’t listen, Marin!” Dominic was yelling, but he sounded far away, as if he were deep underwater. “She’s just trying to scare you! Don’t listen!”

  The low, terrible laugh rose again from inside the girl’s throat. “Do you want to see your pain?” she mocked. “LOOK!”

  Once more, Cassie fell back flat against the mattress. For a moment, her body was completely still. Then, slowly, her head tilted back until the only thing visible was the ridge of her throat pressing like a gigantic cord against her skin. Her mouth opened mechanically, as if someone were pulling the top and bottom apart at the hinges. A faint gagging noise sounded from the back of it, and her tongue lolled to one side, limp as a piece of meat. And then, impossibly, the head of a snake appeared from inside the hole of her mouth. Its skin was the color of burnished coal, and it was as thick around as one of Cassie’s arms. It flicked its pink tongue as the rest of it emerged, liquid-like, from inside her throat, between her lips.

  A hoarse shout came from Dominic as the reptile appeared. But he composed himself in the next moment, retrieving the crucifix again, standing with his feet apart as the snake slithered down the front of Cassie’s stomach. The ritual from the green book was forgotten; he was working only from instinct now. “Get back!” he said. “Go back to where you came from!”

  The snake raised its head at Dominic’s words, almost as if it was listening, and then turned in my direction. Its pink tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, tasting something in the air, and its eyes were dark slits. It moved across the room fluidly, thick coils undulating, as if slipping through oil. Behind it, the terrible cackling laugh sounded again from Cassie’s mouth. “Look at me now! Look at me, and watch me destroy you!”

  I was shaking so hard that it felt as though my entire body had been converted into a single vibrating nerve. Somewhere from very far away, I could hear Dominic’s voice. “Don’t listen, Marin! Don’t look!”

 
; “Where do you think your precious mother is now?” Cassie’s cackling voice charged at me. “She’s where all hopeless souls go, where they are cast down after despairing and turning their back on the world!” The pink tongue flicked. The black tail slithered across the floor, moving the snake closer. “But she left you something behind to remember her by, didn’t she? A gift from me. A blessing from hell!”

  NO!

  It was the answer no one else had been able to give, the one that had been there all along, staring me in the face. My gift, my blessing, was no such thing at all. It was a malevolent force, something seared within me as a result of abandoning Mom, of leaving her to die, as malicious a thing as the snake still crawling toward me, hissing and spitting and moving closer with every second.

  “Yes,” the voice hissed. “It’s the truth, isn’t it, Marin? Isn’t it?”

  At the sound of my name, I started up from the corner as if someone had pulled me by the hair and raced toward the door. I clutched the icy doorknob and struggled to open it. It didn’t budge, didn’t even turn. A crushing sensation from the inside out enveloped me, and I struggled for air.

  I could hear my voice being shouted somewhere in the background—“Marin! Marin, wait!”—but the doorknob loosened, and I was out, pushing past the night nurse, racing down the hallway, stumbling down the stairs, hanging frantically to the railing even as my feet gave out beneath me, even as I swayed and clutched and then fell down the last three steps.

  Another voice sounded, a man’s this time, calling my name, but it was so faint that I was sure I was imagining it. The front door was directly ahead.

  Fifty feet.

  Thirty.

  Ten.

  “Marin!” The male voice again. Dominic, maybe? Mr. Jackson? No matter. The knob turned in my hands, the heavy front door opening to the darkness outside. I cringed under the sudden brightness of the porch light and raced down the long, serpentine driveway, which would lead me to the street, which would lead me home. Which would lead me … where?

  “Marin! Marin!”