Saturday, October 1st 2:00 PM
I HAVE L’OCCULTO ILLUMINATO.
My hands have been shaking ever since I got it.
You can probably guess I was up early this morning, and by eight I was out of the house and riding my bike towards Boston. I wanted to get out of there while my parents were still holed up in their bedroom so they couldn’t interfere with my plans, but I also wanted to get to Cornwall’s as early as I could.
I arrived at the store a few minutes before ten o’clock. They were supposed to open at ten, but the door was already unlocked, and as I walked in and saw Dorthop looking as rumpled as he always did, sitting at his usual spot behind the front desk already engrossed in a book, I had the sense the store had been opened for hours. I also had this odd feeling then that Dorthop never left the place.
Dorthop paid no attention to me as I walked up to him, opened my backpack, and took out the binder that I had the first edition of Spider-Man stored in for protection. It was only after I had the comic book out of the binder and laid flat on the desk in front of him that Dorthop shifted his eyes to me and acknowledged that I was there.
Dorthop had thick, meaty hands but he displayed a surprising grace and nimbleness as he removed the comic book from the plastic bag and examined it, gently turning each page. Once he was through with his inspection, he told me that I stole the comic book.
I saw no reason to deny the obvious.
“Of course, I did,” I said. “You knew I would. You knew I would have to steal something to get you twenty-five thousand dollars.”
His gruff rock-hard exterior softened. Maybe even something like compassion flickered for a moment in his eyes. I expected him to ask me if I really wanted to go ahead with this and that it wasn’t too late for me to return the comic book. Instead, he said, “I had to test you to see how badly you wanted it. L’Occulto Illuminato can’t just go to anyone.”
He mostly disappeared behind his desk as he pushed his chair back and bent forward so he could unlock his safe. When he straightened back up, he scooted his chair forward and placed L’Occulto Illuminato in front of me, his gruff exterior was back, his eyes the same cold slate gray as before.
Did he know that I saw demons? Maybe, but I didn’t really care. Now that I had L’Occulto Illuminato, I was done with him and his store. I placed the seventeenth century book on demonology into my backpack and left the store knowing I’d never be back. I didn’t say anything further to Dorthop when I left, and he didn’t say anything else to me.
I had my reason for riding my bike to Cornwall’s instead of taking the subway. I had this odd feeling that maybe a demon would be able to sense the presence of L’Occulto Illuminato, and I didn’t want to be stuck waiting in a crowd or on a subway car and come across one or more of them and be vulnerable. At least with a bike I’d have a better chance of escaping them. Now I’m home with the one book that gives me a chance against these demons. L’Occulto Illuminato is bound in red leather, and I’m trying hard not to imagine that it came from the skin of a demon. The book is over four hundred years old, and I think I can still detect a faint demon odor from it. That onion, sulfur odor that they all have. In a way, the thought is nauseating, in another way, it gives me hope. If the skin of a demon was really used, then they can be killed. But I don’t want to imagine that I’m touching demon skin when I hold this book.
I’ve read the first page. The pages seem to be made of parchment. Calf-skin? Some other animal? The text is written by hand in brownish-red ink (animal blood? human blood?), I’m guessing by the author, Lazzarro Galeotti. It’s carefully scripted, and legible, but it still makes for difficult reading given how archaic the language is. I was unable to find some of the words used in my Italian-English dictionary, or through Internet searches, and had to guess at their meaning from finding similar Latin words. The thought of having this book in my possession terrifies me, but also gives me a hope that I haven’t had since that moment I first saw the demon Hanley without his human disguise.
The only thing else worth mentioning in this entry is that I tried calling Wesley to see how he was doing. It wasn’t just to put on an act; I was genuinely concerned. His mom answered and wouldn’t put Wesley on the phone, claiming that he wasn’t available to talk to me. While she didn’t come out and blame me for what happened, her voice had this chilly, accusatory tone to it. But I’m sure if she suspected anything, it would be that the two of us were doing drugs together, not that I slipped Wesley a Mickey so I could rob them. And if they knew that Wesley had ingested psilocybin mushrooms, they would’ve been on the phone with my parents. If they had discovered that their Spider-Man comic book had been taken, I’m sure the police would’ve already been sent after me. Fat chance they’d be able to prove anything now. But her tone made me realize that I’d better get my baggie of remaining psilocybin mushrooms out of the house and well hidden until I need it.
Sunday, October 2nd 1:45 AM
I’M EXHAUSTED. GOD, I’M SO BLEARY-EYED RIGHT NOW I CAN barely focus on writing this journal entry. I spent the last five hours since dinner (sausage pizza for my mom and dad, mushroom pizza for me) translating L’Occulto Illuminato, and before that I’d done another five hours of translation. I wish I could keep going, but even if I could see straight, I’m too wasted and can’t think properly. It’s hard work given how archaic so much of the book’s language is. At least I got the first forty-three pages done.
I know I might be a little loopy after ten hours of translating L’Occulto Illuminato, as well as everything else I’ve been through, but I can honestly say this book is the genuine gospel as far as demons go. Lazzarro Galeotti says that he was twelve when he first saw a demon. This was in his native Florence. At first he thought he was suffering from madness or witchcraft, but when he noticed that others around him appeared normal and that it was only this one creature—the neighborhood butcher—that he saw as a demon, he began to suspect something else was going on. Two things finally convinced him that he wasn’t mad or touched by a witch’s spell, and that this butcher truly was a demon: (1) The absence of any dogs nearby—I mean, you’ve got a butcher shop and no dogs anywhere nearby? What’s the likelihood of that? (2) Catching sight of this demon’s reflection in a piece of glass and seeing that his reflection showed him as human. After that Galeotti accepted that he had a special gift and that God wanted him to learn what he could about these demons, so that he could be of service to future generations.
The way Galeotti described this butcher demon is the same as the way I see them. And it’s not just his physical description, but also that sweet onion sulfur smell and the inhuman guttural sounds that they make. Galeotti described how he once tied a rope around a dog’s neck so he could take the dog to see this demon. Once they got within a hundred feet of the butcher shop, this scrawny mongrel, as Galeotti described the animal, started fighting with every ounce of strength it had to keep from being pulled any closer. The dog fought so hard that its heart gave out and it dropped lifeless onto the brick street. This distressed Galeotti enough that he never tried this experiment again.
That’s as far as I’ve gotten so far, but Galeotti makes references early on that he had discovered the true nature of these demons and why they were among us. He also writes about how he discovered the secret to killing a demon, and hints that the leather used for the book’s binding is indeed demon hide. This is really nauseating, but also pretty exciting because it means that the demons aren’t invincible, and I have some hope now.
As thrilled as I am to finally have my hands on L’Occulto Illuminato, I can barely keep my eyes open. You can probably tell from this journal entry that I almost nodded off several times while writing it from the pen marks that were made as I jerked awake. I hope to get up early tomorrow to continue my translation, but for now I just need to crawl into bed.
Monday, October 3rd 9:00 PM
I WAS PLANNING TO WRITE A JOURNAL ENTRY YESTERDAY AFTER a solid five to six hours of more translation, b
ut it just didn’t work out that way. I guess I must’ve been really zonked from working on L’Occulto Illuminato the night before because I slept over thirteen hours and didn’t wake up until after three o’clock Sunday afternoon. I was furious with my parents for letting me sleep that late, but they simply shrugged it off, completely unconcerned, and told me that they thought I needed a good sleep.
I had yard work that I needed to do for several of my clients, so that shot most of the day, and only left me a few hours at night to do any translation since my parents insisted that I hit the bed by eleven. I didn’t argue with them. Three hours of translation exhausted me almost as much as the ten hours I had done the day before, plus I wanted my wits about me for today. So let me talk about today before I go into what I learned from the additional thirty-seven pages of L’Occulto Illuminato that I translated the last two nights.
Let me start from the beginning, although none of this will get that interesting until later.
I really didn’t want to take the school bus this morning—mostly because of Wesley—but that’s exactly why I knew I had to take the bus. I had to see if he was going to be coming to school today, and if he did, how he’d react to me. Also, I couldn’t let it look like I was hiding from him, and had to play dumb as if I had no idea what made him sick.
Wesley was at the bus stop. He avoided eye contact with me and acted as if he didn’t hear me when I asked how he was feeling. He didn’t even bother grunting out a response. So he must have decided that I was the one who poisoned him. Fuck him. If his parents knew he had ingested psilocybin mushrooms, they would’ve called my parents by now. So they had no idea what it was that made him sick. All they had were their suspicions. So Wesley acted as if I was invisible while we were at the bus stop, and later once we boarded. I didn’t care. What Wesley and his parents thought didn’t matter anymore. I had L’Occulto Illuminato in my possession, and my destiny was already mapped out. Friends were no longer going to be part of the equation.
When I got to homeroom, Sally gave me the cold shoulder also, although she was willing to acknowledge me long enough so that she could accuse me of skipping school Thursday and homeroom on Friday to avoid her because I was too immature to deal with our temporary break, and that I had to quit acting like a jerk. I didn’t argue with her. Of course, she was partially right, but that’s not why I didn’t argue with her. Maybe it wasn’t already over between the two of us in her mind, but regardless, it was over. Now that I L’Occulto Illuminato, it had to be over. I accepted it, and because of it, all I felt any longer looking at Sally was sadness. Any past longing or desire was gone. All I could do now for her was make sure she was safe from the demons. And I was going to do that.
The demon Connor Devin’s attitude toward me had changed subtly. I had to act as if I wasn’t noticing him, but whenever I had my chance I’d catch a glimpse of him, and he had this more puzzled demon expression as he stared at me as if he sensed that something had radically changed but couldn’t figure out what. Maybe he believed that L’Occulto Illuminato was only a myth, and that’s why he didn’t realize that what had changed was that I owned a copy. But there was no longer any question that I was going to have to get rid of him soon, and the first step was getting him kicked out of the school. Later, once the L’Occulto Illuminato provides me the secret of how to kill demons, I’ll get rid of him for good.
So I watched myself and was careful and avoided as much as I could tipping my hand to the demon Devin. I saw Wesley a few times, once when I was with Curt, and Wesley again treated me as if I was invisible. All I could do was shrug at Curt as if I had no clue what was going on.
Once school was over, I rigged one of the side doors so it would stay unlocked—just as I had done before when I needed to break into the Administration Office—and took the bus home. I sat with Curt and didn’t make any further attempts to talk to Wesley. Later, after I got off the bus, I bypassed the demon Hanley’s house to get home (while Devin didn’t realize what I had in my possession, I couldn’t shake the thought that Hanley would smell the L’Occulto Illuminato from my skin). After dropping off my school books, I took my bike and rode to the demon Connor Devin’s address in Waltham.
The address turned out to be a ratty-looking two family home. My plan was to hide out and see who was coming and going—demons or humans—but I quickly saw that this would be tricky, because the two houses shared a door. I gave it a try anyway, and after about forty minutes, I saw a woman with a dog on a leash leave the house. This made no sense. It just wouldn’t be possible for a dog to live in the same building as Devin. I was furious—I had lost valuable time that I could’ve been spending translating L’Occulto Illuminato, and it was all thanks to the high school administration’s office incompetent record keeping. How could they keep such slipshod records for their students? I felt like an idiot. After the woman and the dog passed by me, I scrambled out of my hiding spot and stormed to the front door, my vision coated red I was so angry. The name on the mailbox was Chaske, not Devin. I rang the doorbell for that side of the house and a minute later a girl about twelve answered the door. She was about my height but much thinner than me, with long straight blond hair that framed a narrow face. She stared at me with this doleful expression, waiting for me to say something, but something about her took me aback—I was speechless.
The girl broke the stunned trance I had fallen into by asking what I wanted.
“I need to see Connor Devin,” I told her, swallowing back my confusion and anger, trying hard to make my voice as innocent and pleasant as I could. “The school told me he’s living here. Is he home?”
A subtle change in her eyes all but confirmed that something funny was going on. She shook her head and asked me to leave my phone number. “I’ll make sure he calls you when he gets home,” she half-mumbled.
“You’re lying,” I said. “He doesn’t live here. I know that. I’m going to call the authorities and find out what’s going on.”
Her face went blank, and she turned quickly on her heels and yelled for her dad. After that she disappeared inside and pulled the door closed after her. Less than a minute later I heard footsteps thumping down a creaky wooden staircase, and a middle-aged man opened the door. He was thick and fleshy, and wore a stained wife beater and gray khakis. His chest had a caved-in look, his pot belly pushing out from his T-shirt as if there was a half-deflated basketball hiding under it. There wasn’t much resemblance between him and the skinny girl from a minute earlier. Maybe a little around the eyes, but that was about it.
“What’s this about?” he demanded, scowling harshly at me as if that would scare me away. Fat chance. I’ve been stared at by demons a lot scarier and more menacing than some balding middle-aged guy with a pot belly, and I’ve always held my ground.
“Connor Devin is supposed to live here. I know he doesn’t, and I want to know where he lives.”
“What? What do you mean he doesn’t live here?” The potbellied man who was probably named Chaske (and who at this point I’m going to assume is named Chaske) scratched above his ear as if he couldn’t understand why I was saying what I was. “Look, kid, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but Connor’s not home right now, that’s all. But why don’cha leave your name and number and I’ll have him call you, okay?”
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll call the police and have them look into this.”
He tried harder to stare me down and bluff me, his eyes shrinking to hard black dots. He clearly didn’t like having some fifteen-year-old kid putting him on the spot, but then he lost his nerve and his eyes wavered from me. At that moment his chest seemed to cave in all that much more. He looked away from me and pushed a hand through his thinning red hair, his mouth folding into a thick, fleshy frown.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
“I want to know where he lives.”
“You going to tell anyone about this?”
“No. I only want to know where he lives. That’s all.”
Chaske breathed in deeply and let it out in a tired sigh. “I don’t know where the boy lives,” he admitted. “All I’ve got is a phone number.”
“How come the school has this address for him?”
He tried smiling at me, but it didn’t stick. “It was arranged that way. From what I was told he needed this address so they could get him into that high school in Newton, so we’re on the books as his foster house. We’re trying to give the kid a break, that’s all. So you sure you’re not going to tell anyone about this?”
“You going to tell anyone I was here looking for him?”
He shifted his gaze back to me and shook his head, his expression defeated but also showing some wariness as he tried to figure out what I was up to.
“Who set this up?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Chaske shrugged without much enthusiasm. “It was all done by phone. I don’t have a name, just a phone number in case someone comes by looking for Connor.”
“How much did you get paid for this?”
Again, he attempted to show me a weak smile. This time he was able to manage it. “Five thousand, plus monthly foster care checks. Times are tough, you know? But I was really just trying to give a kid a break and help him get into a better school. You going to bleed me for some of it to stay quiet?”
“No, but unless you were paid cash, you got a check. And there must’ve been a name on it.”
He smiled kind of a weary smile at the thought of it. “Nah. Neither check or cash. Direct deposit straight into my bank account. So why the interest in this?”
The Boy Who Killed Demons: A Novel Page 13