The Reaping: Language of the Liar

by Angella Graff

  Though she felt good, every now and again she glanced at her wrists. In spite of her shower, the symbols hadn’t come off. They faded, like echoes of a permanent marker, and that bothered her a little. A constant reminder she had been taken against her will. That two men on the streets right now thought she was possessed by a demon.

  And this wasn’t like the boy in the group home. He was just a screwed up kid, no better and no worse than she was. He’d come from a heavily religious family where he had been subjected to forced chapel and strange healing rituals. It was no wonder he’d come back to the system a little wonky.

  Maybe Lennox and Dash were the product of that. Maybe they were the guys Grant would grow up to become? She never saw him after she’d been sent away. After the foster parents had her shipped back, he was long gone, no trace of him left behind. Not that she wanted to see him again. Not after that. Her disappointment was almost tangible and it took her months to get back on a decent regiment of medication.

  With a sigh, Dorian decided to turn in. Tomorrow would be the start of a new week, and she was determined to see it through. This was her life now.

  Switching off all the lights, she went through her quarters in her usual nightly routine. She checked all the latches on all the doors, making sure they were locked. She secured all the windows with double levers, giving them a good shove to make sure nothing could blow them open. She shut the bathroom door tight as she walked by, double checked the linen closet door, then went into her room.

  It was lit with the yellow glow of her desk lamp, the bulb casting an eerie glow on her bed and desk, but she was used to it now. She shut the door, locking the deadbolt Father Stone installed for her, then shut her closet, her bathroom door, and double checked the window to make sure it was properly locked.

  As she passed by her dresser, she glanced down at the silver pendant the men had given her. It stood a harsh contrast to the cherry wood, and she reached out, slipping it into her first drawer and closing it with a loud thunk. It was a vicious reminder of her assault, and she was determined never to put it on.

  “Good.”

  The word hissed across the back of her neck, and Dorian let out a yelp as she turned. Eyes darting back and forth, they saw nothing but empty bedroom. Her hand was shaking as she reached up to her face, rubbing across her eyelashes, and she looked again. Still nothing.

  “Just jumpy,” she said as she walked toward her bed. She would happily blame any and everything she saw tonight on those two morons.

  Climbing under her covers, she reached over and switched her light off. No more being afraid. She felt good, relaxed and centered for the first time in a long time. Tomorrow was the start to a new day and nothing was going to change that.

  Chapter Nine

  She became aware of the room before she was aware of herself. Pitch black and small, she was surrounded by the darkness like a warm blanket. She knew this place, as intimately as she knew herself. It was a part of her. No doors, no windows.

  Dorian was on the ground, but it felt like she was floating, and she had the distinct feeling she could stay there forever.

  It didn’t last.

  Something off in the distance shifted, like a breeze, a seal breaking, letting something through. Her heart began to hammer, her breath coming in audible gasps, and a long streak of light shot up vertically. A door cracked open, and a figure walked out.

  She knew him. She’d seen him before, when she was young and even now, he would appear from time to time. It registered that he didn’t belong here in her safe space, but he was here all the same. Pure white, he glowed, but his shimmer didn’t touch anything around him. She could see him clear as day though, and a name played on her lips.

  “Nic.” He spoke without moving his face, and her eyes narrowed, studying him. He was tall, thin, his body human but there was something about him that sounded warning bells off in her head. His eyes. They looked like a cat, vertical pupils, shining bright. When he smiled, a row of fangs gleamed, and she thought he could devour her if he wanted to.

  “Never you, my love.” His hand reached up and the icy fingers stroked down her cheek. “Do you remember me?”

  Even as her head shook back and forth, memories were coming. Nic laughed and she was bombarded by the sound. Too familiar. She was a little girl, trembling in her bed, bruised from the harsh fists of the other kids in her group home. And Nic was there. He held her tight to his chest and stroked her hair, telling her it was all going to be okay. He was there holding her hand every day until she told her therapist about him. They began shoving pills down her throat after that, and her dreams were out of reach. He stopped coming, stopped protecting her.

  “How long?” Her voice sounded strange here, muted like they were in a sound-proof room. Clearing her throat, she stood up a little straighter.

  “Your whole life, mon coeur. I was there when you were birthed into this world. I held your tiny fist as you lay there in agony, trying to fight off an addiction you never asked for. I helped make you strong.” He circled her, his feline eyes narrow, his lips curled in a smile.

  Dorian felt her stomach clench. She knew her birth story. Her mother, high on heroin, was rushed to the ER seven and a half months pregnant. Dorian came into the world by emergency C-section. When her mother found out CPS was being called, she left against medical orders and Dorian stayed in the ICU until she was big enough to be shipped off to a friendly couple hoping to adopt.

  It didn’t last long. She’d been sent off to a church-run group home who took infants after the pretty lady hoping for a cute, pink-cheeked baby learned Dorian probably wouldn’t stop crying for months. It wasn’t her fault, of course. But the lady had shuffled the infant off with a teary, “This just isn’t what I signed up for.”

  Dorian heard that often throughout her childhood. Never her fault, but never what anyone signed up for.

  “Except me.” Nic stopped in front of her, and his hand curled around her wrist. “I was angry, you know, at those two men. Thinking they could grab my girl. Try and cure my girl, calling it a possession, an affliction. Angry as I’ve ever been with your therapists trying to drug me out of your head. Didn’t work though, did it?”

  “What are you?” Her voice came out a whisper, terrified and hoping she’d wake from this nightmare.

  “You’re not asleep,” Nic said, answering her thoughts. “Oh, normally it’s how we have to meet, but thanks to your friends, they’ve provided an open avenue for us to talk.”

  Dorian pulled her hand away, massaging the frozen skin just below the heel of her palm. “So they were right. You’re a demon.”

  “The Demon,” he said with a flourish and bow. “Now perhaps some might argue against that title, but I am the Prince of my realm and I intend to keep it that way. With your help.”

  “Am I being possessed?”

  Nic laughed again, and though the laugh was warm, it sent shivers down her spine. He reached up with one hand and drew a line down her cheek. “Such a harsh word, my love. You’re special, Dorian.” He paused, tapping his chin, and a lock of his dark hair fell into his eyes. “Did you know I gave you that name?”

  She scoffed. “My file says one of the nuns gave it to me.”

  Nic smiled and said, “I wrote it in cinder and ash on the steps of the church. She thought it was a sign from the Lord.”

  Dorian almost laughed, but she reigned it in. “What do you want with me?”

  “To talk. At least tonight I want to talk. I want you to throw away the drugs and leave the church and help me.”

  Eyebrows shooting up, Dorian gaped at him. “Help you? A demon?”

  “Don’t be fooled by the hellfire and brimstone nonsense Father Stone spouts at you. There is no devil here, my darling. No Prince of Darkness. No Adversary. There is only realm after realm of beings trying to live. Except ours is at risk, and there are so few of you who exist with doorways to help us cross over and save ourselves.”

  Though it was a dream,
Dorian could feel her frustration rising and she drew her hand back through her hair. “Look, Nic…”

  “Talk to the Exorcists. They’ll tell you the truth. At least they’ll tell you some of it. They’ll try and turn you from me, but read between the lines. Hear what they’re not saying, and you’ll know.”

  He bent to kiss her, but before his lips could make contact with her skin, Dorian sat up with a gasp, her heart hammering near her throat. Glancing at the clock, she saw only minutes had passed. There was no way she’d gone to sleep in that short amount of time. No way she’d experienced all of that.

  In a blind panic, she threw herself from the bed and came to a screeching halt when she saw her bolted bedroom door standing wide open. The wood on the doorframe was cracked and the lock was halfway off the screws.

  Head spinning, she grappled for her robe, toeing on her slippers and she bolted out her front door. It was past curfew, but she knew exactly where to go. The chapel. Father Stone was there in the middle of his nightly prayers, and when the door banged open, he jumped up from his kneel.

  His face was a mask of frustration until he saw how white Dorian’s cheeks were, and without a word he beckoned her over. Dorian crossed the chapel floor, her slippers making a smacking sound on the hard floor, and she wasted no time dropping into the pew next to him. When his arms came around her, she let out a choked sob and leaned her head forward, trying to control her emotions.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after a few moments. “I’m… I had a…” But she wasn’t how to finish that sentence. A waking nightmare? A vision? A conversation with a demon? Taking a few slow breaths, she turned her head to the Father and blinked back tears. “Do you believe in demons, John?” It wasn’t often she used his first name, but she needed familiarity right then.

  He regarded her question with a small frown, taking one arm off her to rest in his lap. “I don’t know. I suppose so.”

  “What about demon possession?”

  At that, his face fell and he shook his head. “Oh, Dorian. I know what you were told when you were younger, and you can’t listen to those people. You are not possessed.”

  Her bottom lip trembled as she struggled to keep control. “I know you read my file, but I’m not talking about that guy. I just…” But the words wouldn’t come. How could she tell him what happened to her? How would she explain the two men and the ritual? Or her conversation with Nic? He would kick her out. There was no denying that. “I’ve been having nightmares. Vivid ones. It got me thinking about possession. In the bible there was a man possessed by a legion of demons and the entire town thought he was crazy until Jesus exorcised them.”

  Father Stone nodded. “Yes,” he said, his tone slow and almost patronizing, “and perhaps I’ll be questioned when I finally meet the Lord Himself after I die, but I’ve always believed a good portion of those stories to be parables. Lessons to be learned, perhaps, but not exact events.”

  Dorian rubbed a shaking hand down her face. “No, I get it. And it sounds so stupid, you know? I mean, maybe it’s blasphemy or something to say this in church, but I don’t even believe in God. And here I am freaking out about demons and…”

  The Father was saying something, but Dorian was distracted. The markings on her arms started to burn and she let out a whimper. Reaching out for the pew in front of her, it wasn’t there. It was cold wherever she was, and dark. Her body hit the floor and she shivered, but she couldn’t move. Screams sounded off in the distance, and the sound of metal hitting metal. It was chaos. Total and utter chaos. And just before everything was ripped away, she heard Nic nearby. And he was laughing.

  Chapter Ten

  Waking with a start, Dorian blinked against the harsh morning light. She was somewhere unfamiliar, outside, her back pressed to a large tree. The grass beneath her bare feet was dewy, and she was sitting in her pajama bottoms and thin tank top. Looking around, she was relieved to find she was alone, but it was a small comfort. Her entire body was sore, and she had scrapes all along her ankles and a couple on the side of her right hand. Her nails were broken and filthy, like she’d been digging, and she felt a bubble of hysterical laughter forming in her gut.

  “What the hell?” She winced at how sore her throat was, and as she tried to stand, every muscle in her body protested.

  Bracing herself against the tree, Dorian squinted into the early morning light to get a better view of her surroundings. It was a park somewhere, and as she noticed a wide field leading to the street, she realized it was familiar. The park where people walked their dogs only a few blocks away from the church.

  But how the hell had she gotten there? The last thing she remembered was talking to Father Stone in the church. Then her wrists had begun to burn and… She remembered Lennox and Dash, and the ritual. Then Nic haunting her dreams.

  Flipping her hands over, she saw the marks had all-but faded. Just a few smudges left, and the burning had stopped. So what happened? She’d had blackouts before, but she hadn’t woken in an unfamiliar place since she was a teenager. They hadn’t been as bad after she started on medication.

  A buzzing in her pocket startled her, and she let out a small cry before realizing it was her phone. She didn’t remember taking it with her, but she dug for it and saw Father Stone’s name on her caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Thank heavens!” His breath was coming in gasps and it sounded like he’d been running. “Dorian, where are you?”

  “Um…” She looked around again to double check. “I think I’m in the park near the church. I’m not…” Her voice started to shake and she cleared her throat. “I don’t remember what happened.”

  “You had an episode, I believe. A particularly violent one.”

  Dorian’s face went white-hot with panic. “Oh God. Oh no. Did I hurt anyone?”

  “Superficial injuries, not to worry.” There was a long silence before he spoke again. “I’ve been in touch with your therapist who urged me not to call the police. I told her if I could reach you before twenty-four hours I wouldn’t involve authorities. But Dorian, we need to talk. Whatever happened last night, I can’t in good conscience have you around children in that condition.”

  She felt her stomach sink and fought back the urge to burst into tears. “Yeah. I understand. I um… I think my meds are on the fritz or something.”

  “Maria did tell me you’d left a message for her regarding concerns over the drugs you’ve been taking, and I’m inclined to agree with her that a thirty-day in-patient treatment would be beneficial. And if you can get it under control and stop these black-outs, you’ll be welcomed back here with open arms.”

  The stress was too much, and Dorian started walking toward the street. “Yeah. I mean… I think, yeah. Yeah I can do that.” The idea of being back in the hospital, monitored, watched, talked to like she was some nutcase, made her stomach churn. It was the last thing she wanted. But if she hurt anyone, Father Stone or any of the nuns, she wouldn’t forgive herself.

  “Maria said she’ll meet you here. That way you can gather what you need to take with you. I promise, I’m not shutting you out. You just need to understand…”

  “Yeah no. I get it. Been down this road a few times.” She didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but she couldn’t help it. She’d lost count of how many people had told her it wasn’t permanent. As long as she could get it together, she’d be welcomed back. “I’ll um…”

  She didn’t finish her thought. Her phone slipped down to her side and she started forward. As she hit the street, she passed a couple standing next to a coffee cart. At first glance they appeared normal, but something in the space around them shifted as she got closer. A shimmer in the air, and their entire demeanor changed. Their bodies elongated, eyes narrowed and cat-like, and their smiles showed rows and rows of shadowy fangs. They didn’t appear to notice her, even as she stopped to gape at them.

  “We have to make a move and soon. We have such a small population, not nearly enough to combat Ra’Sias.”


  “He’s ready to make a move. Rumor has it he’s gotten one of the Exorcists on his side with a spell which can open more doorways in more humans. We have to be ready to pounce. We can’t allow him to outnumber us here.”

  Suddenly the vision was gone, and the couple threw their coffee cups into the nearest bin before making their way down the street. Dorian’s hands were shaking as she stared after them, and she realized she’d hung up on Father Stone. Her hand hovered over the button when her phone began to buzz again, but she didn’t answer.

  Something about the conversation felt too real. Like she’d just stumbled onto a private phone call when a signal was crossed. An Exorcist, someone like Lennox and Dash, had crossed over to the demons’ side. Working against humans, against everything Lennox and Dash were trying to accomplish. The thought terrified her down to her core, in spite of her skepticism.

  She found herself marching down the street in the direction Lennox had dragged her the day before. She had promised herself never to set eyes on them again, but she stood in front of their building now, unable to stop herself from pulling open the door to the lobby and stepping inside.

  She was frozen to the bone, sore, and exhausted, but she climbed the stairs, flight after flight until she reached their floor. It was early, probably too early for a house call, but it was necessary. If she didn’t relay this information, she had a feeling people would die. Innocent people.

  Her fist hit the door several times, echoing through the hall, and she stepped back, her bare foot tapping on the wood. So many minutes passed, she thought for a moment no one was home, but as she turned to go, she heard the chain slide back.

  A second later, the door cracked open and Dash stuck his head out, his hair mussed and eyes half-lidded. “Dorian?”