The Defiance

by Laura Gallier

  “I don’t do drugs.”

  I didn’t call her on the lie.

  She grabbed the sides of my arms. “Just promise me you’ll stay sane and make sure no one dies tomorrow.”

  “I’m willing to die trying,” I vowed. The three onlooking Creepers cackled, apparently pleased with the mere mention of my death.

  Zella finally agreed to let me fetch her an Uber, but she insisted on waiting for her ride at the corner by herself. I looked on from a distance as those Creepers in the street—Deception included—pounced on her, attaching themselves to her chain and cords.

  The old man’s lesson clicked. An empty house can be occupied again by worse tenants than before. A shackled person freed of a Creeper can end up with more attached than before.

  Zella’s car arrived, and as I turned to go inside the house, I noticed the lid on my mom’s mailbox was wide open. I peeked in and retrieved two envelopes—neither marked with an address or stamp. My first name was written in pencil on both envelopes—one in nice cursive, and the other, sloppy kid font.

  Once inside and seated on the sofa, I opened the cursive one and read the blue-lined paper.

  The people who need us the most can turn out to be our biggest backstabbers, the worst kind of traitors. Be careful, Owen. – Veronica.

  Gentry came to mind. He’d been labeled a traitor. Then again, the accusation had come from Hector—a major fraud himself.

  I tore open the other envelope, unfolding the second letter, scanning the scribbled words.

  Expect to cry some bloody tears tomorrow. This one’s going to hurt. – Eva

  Clearly a reference to the Bloody Mary statue, the location for tomorrow night’s group suicide.

  I dropped the stationery and cradled my head, my mind reeling. A helpful warning and a vicious threat, sent from the same woman.

  Was this the kind of maddening mind game occult people play?

  I was crumpling both letters when it hit me: There’s someone who’d know.

  I raced upstairs and knocked on my mom’s bedroom door.

  THIRTY-TWO

  MY MOTHER’S MAKEUP was smeared down her face, and she was lying in bed on a mound of crumpled Kleenex, but thankfully, not sipping alcohol. I lowered onto the corner of her mattress.

  “Mom, I know you hate talking about anything related to your past, but please, I need you to help me make sense of something. Lives are on the line.”

  She raised her eyebrows but nodded.

  I summarized the bizarre situation, asking if she understood how someone associated with the occult could be helpful and hurtful at the same time, using two different names.

  “It’s simple.”

  “It is?” I scooted closer to her. “Tell me.”

  She closed her eyes and spoke robotically, like emotions weren’t allowed. “The abuse children suffer in the occult is so unbearable, so totally overwhelming, they often dissociate—invent an imaginary personality that can survive the pain that would otherwise crush them. They may create numerous personalities, each designed to protect them from specific threats. It’s a desperate form of denial and escape. And it’s not uncommon to give the personalities names.”

  “That’s insane.”

  She opened her eyes. “Owen, I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but if someone in the occult has befriended you, end the relationship immediately. And don’t believe a single word they tell you. Not one thing.”

  It was surreal having such a candid talk with my mother on a topic that had been forbidden all my life. I saw it as my one chance to ask her, “You know your ‘friend’ Dr. Bradford was in the occult—do you honestly believe he got out?”

  I expected her to launch into a lengthy defense of him. Instead, her eyes pooled. “Of course I question it at times. But for once in my life, I’m trying to trust that people can change.” She clutched a wad of tissues. “I have to believe that.”

  In order to believe she could change.

  I wasn’t suddenly infused with any new confidence in Brody Bradford, but for my mom’s sake, I found myself hoping I was wrong and he truly was a transformed man. She had suffered more than enough betrayal.

  She closed her weary eyes, and I politely left the room. I shut myself in my old bedroom and sank to the floor, needing to sort through the traffic jam now gridlocked in my mind.

  I’d heard of dissociative identity disorder but never understood it, much less thought I’d come face-to-face with someone who actually had the condition. The way I now understood it, “Veronica” was truly done with the occult and genuinely trying to help me, but “Eva” was as committed as ever—intentionally plotting against me, taking orders from her handler.

  One person with two opposing personalities that had never met. Maybe more than two.

  Then there was Zella, also being raised in the occult. Could I trust the details of her story tonight? Her motives? Her sanity?

  And how in the world was she marked as a defender?

  I gnashed my teeth, loathing the mounting uncertainty, enduring the physical symptoms of fight or flight. I was tempted all over again to take off—run away with Ray Anne and Jackson and never look back. Instead, I rose to my knees.

  “God, I want to intervene and save these students’ lives—you know I do. And I want to stop the evil in this town and see your will come to pass here. But as usual, I don’t understand who’s for me or against me—who’s lying or telling the truth. But I do know tomorrow night will make or break everything, so please, Lord, show me what to do.”

  I collapsed onto the bed, seriously missing my dog but grateful that the wailing baby and unseen stalker had left me—at least for now. “Whatever you say, Lord, I’ll do it.”

  There was the rapid sound of tapping on the window. At first I was sure it was the witches, but when my eyelids sprang open, I saw raindrops pelting the farmhouse glass. The scarce morning light had turned the white walls a bleak gray. The seriousness of the day’s objective weighed so heavily on me, it hurt my chest to inhale. But I wasn’t willing to lie there cowering.

  I sat up, and Ray Anne’s face consumed my thoughts. I felt like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t get to see her this morning. And hopefully hold her.

  I wanted—really needed—her with me for tonight’s mission, but I knew the odds of her being strong enough weren’t good. Plus, her mom probably wouldn’t allow her out of the house for long, if at all. As of now, my only plan was to show up at the Mary statue and beg the students not to kill themselves. I held out hope I’d piece together a better strategy.

  The old man had warned me not to go alone, but what choice did I have?

  A knock on the front door jarred me out of bed.

  Elle. Dressed to impress. High heels and all.

  I welcomed her into the living room, and she held a gold iPhone out to me. “I figured you might could use my old cell after the fire.”

  Of course she did.

  “Thanks.”

  “Is your mom home?” she whispered.

  I nodded toward the stairs, and Elle spoke softer. “I located the boarding school Veronica Snow attended. It’s in New Mexico. It took a lot of digging, but I found a certain signature on the visitation log.”

  Finally, physical evidence that Detective Benny was Veronica’s handler—a child abuser and leader in Masonville’s underground crime ring. McFarland’s killer. Also the one inciting witches and warlocks from coast-to-coast to war against those of us committed to peace.

  “Is it enough proof to expose the detective?” I asked.

  She crinkled her nose. “The detective?” She leaned and spoke in my ear. “The name was ‘B. Bradford.’ I compared it with the doctor’s signature—it’s a match.”

  I sank to the sofa, reacclimating to reality.

  My instincts had been right about Dr. Bradford’s unredeemed motives, yet it hadn’t dawned on me he could be evil’s point man. Even worse than a dirty cop.

  “And no, I need more evidence
before coming forward,” Elle said. “In the meantime, don’t say anything to anyone, and don’t get near him.” She searched my face. “What are you thinking?”

  I was sitting there contemplating whether or not my mom could handle the news that her faith in Bradford was a huge mistake after all. I was also weighing the rewards versus risks of telling Elle about tonight’s group suicide. On the one hand, if anyone had my back and was willing to help, it was Elle. But as a reporter, she might feel a sense of responsibility to go public with the story, even knowing it could provoke evil forces and the human masterminds to retaliate.

  “I just have some decisions to make.” I left it at that.

  “I understand, but don’t wallow in uncertainty.” Elle had never been much of a nurturer. She hurried toward the door, looking down at her phone, then glanced back. “How’s Ray Anne?”

  “Not so great. I’m about to go check on her. Why?”

  Elle shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, especially coming from Elle.

  She left, and I drove my motorcycle in the drizzle to Ray Anne’s. There was nothing but a soggy, empty diaper box in the bushes outside her apartment now.

  Her dad answered the door.

  “How’s Ray Anne? May I please see her?”

  Mr. Greiner looked at me differently today, his eyes not narrowed for once, like he’d finally grown fond of me. “Now’s not a good time.”

  “Why? Because she’s still mad at me for telling?”

  “Because she’s not here.”

  “Where is she?”

  He smiled, but I could tell it was 100 percent forced. “She’s getting the treatment she needs.”

  Ray’s mom came to the door, her pink-tinted eyes and nose bearing the signs of a tear fest. “Owen, difficult as it was, we committed Ray Anne to the hospital last night.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. “Like . . . a psych ward?”

  Ray’s mom started sobbing and stepped away. Eventually, Mr. Greiner nodded.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Owen, we—”

  “Where is she—what hospital?”

  “She can’t have any visitors.”

  “For how long?”

  “Five days. Maybe longer depending on her progress.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Mr. Greiner stepped outside, his chest inflated like a bodyguard. “We weren’t willing to sit back and lose another child to suicide, Owen. I’m sorry if you don’t understand, but my wife and I stand by our decision.”

  I understood his decision; I just hated that I couldn’t get to her. And nothing about her treatment plan would take the spiritual battle into consideration—how frustrating would that be for Ray Anne?

  I dug my fingers into my scalp, resisting punching the brick house. “Where’s Jackson?”

  Mrs. Greiner stepped outside and stood beside her husband, still weeping. “Jackson’s grandfather asked to see him. We thought now would be a good time, while Ray Anne is away. Dr. Bradford picked him up this morning.”

  The earth might as well have quit spinning. My world came to a standstill.

  I wanted to say something. To tear into both of them, even though they had no idea they’d done anything wrong. Terribly wrong. But my jaw was clenched too tight to mouth the words.

  Mrs. Greiner hugged me. My arms hung heavy at my sides. “We can’t lose heart, Owen. We’re hopeful Ray Anne will recover quickly from this and be back home soon. She’s a remarkable young lady. A radiant person.”

  And just like that, it came back to me . . .

  The chilling question Molek’s bats had posed to Mother Punishment and the indwelling Rulers last night: “You disabled the radiant one?”

  “Under lock and key,” they had replied.

  Ray Anne . . .

  THIRTY-THREE

  I SPED TO BRODY BRADFORD’S HOUSE, the biggest mansion in Masonville. The childhood home of Dan Bradford, the most notorious school shooter in America. I pounded on the double doors with both fists, calling Jackson’s name.

  No answer.

  Five more minutes of pounding and shouting. Nothing.

  I pressed my forehead against the door, still trying to come to grips with how the secret society had managed to confiscate Jackson again. And how spiritual forces had successfully masterminded sidelining Ray Anne at the height of our mission. They’d known what a threat she was to their agenda.

  I had no way to go get her out. As for Jackson, even if I had trusted Masonville’s police force, I couldn’t report him as a missing child this time. His own grandfather had him—a plot concocted by Mother Punishment, I was sure.

  While rushing to my motorcycle, I called Elle, careful to avoid saying names. There was no telling who might be listening to our calls. “You know the handler?”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s got the child. You have to track him down, Elle. Please.”

  I’d never heard her breathe frantically before. “I have an idea.” She hung up.

  I paced in the street beside my motorcycle, already outplayed and outmatched fifteen hours before the group suicide was even set to go down.

  Hard as I’d tried to beat my opponent, I’d walked right into a lose-lose trap.

  If I managed to talk the students out of taking their lives tonight, I’d be guaranteeing that Jackson paid the price—his life in place of theirs. But I couldn’t just sit back and let the students die. Either outcome would grant Molek the spirit-world right to set up his throne alongside the Rulers.

  “How could you let this happen?” I raged at myself. And, I admit it, at God.

  I grabbed my helmet and held it in the air, ready to hurl it at the concrete as hard as I could.

  I can’t take this anymore, God! You picked the wrong guy. This is too hard.

  A crippling sense of despair came over me like a weighted blanket of rage and sadness.

  Wait a minute . . .

  Instead of throwing my helmet, I slowly lowered it onto my bike, then turned to look over my shoulder. There were the two big-eyed, pale-pink Creepers, soaked and shivering in a mud puddle in the grassy empty lot across the street from Bradford’s house, clinging to one another’s bruised bodies. They whimpered, stealing timid glances at me.

  I’m exhausted. I’ve done all I can—this is too much pressure.

  I stepped toward them.

  I’m gonna lose. I always lose. It’s what I do. No—it’s who I am.

  I stopped at the puddle, and they leaned away, tucking and covering their heads like helpless victims.

  I have to leave town. Escape. I can’t save anyone, and I can’t survive here.

  Their mouths weren’t moving, but that didn’t fool me.

  “It was you.” They covered their ears, but I kept talking. “You two were on assignment at Ray Anne’s, pumping her head full of discouragement and defeat, acting like victims to deceive her into believing that’s what she was, like you’re trying to do to me now.”

  There’s no hope for me. There never was.

  “She felt sorry for you while all along, you worked to make her feel sorry for herself.”

  I’m not enough. I don’t have what it takes.

  I bent down, hovering over the malicious pretenders. “Is that the best you can do?”

  No one loves me. Everyone rejects me. I’m always abandoned.

  I huffed.

  I don’t deserve to be loved. Not me.

  Then finally, a silent moment in my mind. But all of a sudden . . .

  I’m nothing but an orphan.

  “No!” Anger took over. I reached out and tried to choke their feeble necks, but of course, my hands passed through them. So I stepped into the puddle, and sure enough, my God-given aura penetrated the water like a sizzling electric current, pumping them full of pain.

  They howled and leaped out of the water—out of my aura—then stood upright for once, only as tall as children yet eyeing me with aggressive sc
owls. Villains now, not victims.

  “In Christ’s name, stop your deception and go!”

  Their skin started melting like wax, and out from their dripping, dissolving frames stretched two fully-grown Creepers—sure enough, the word victim was carved into both of their faces. Their playbook officially disclosed.

  They charged past me, hissing until they disappeared into the Bradfords’ house.

  Home sweet home, no doubt.

  It was a victory, but it’s not like I could celebrate. A much bigger battle was still looming. I sat on my bike and lowered my head. “Lord, it looks like evil has already won and there’s nothing I can do. But the kingdom of darkness relies on distortion—false impressions, as if it can’t be beat. So tell me, God, where do I go from here?”

  Nothing hit me but the drizzling rain.

  I gripped my handlebars and closed my eyes, inhaling deep, exhaling long. “Tell me, God. I’m listening.”

  More controlled breathing. Then the sudden mental picture of a person’s face. The last guy I wanted to see.

  “Really?” I gnawed my bottom lip. “Fine.”

  I drove to Central Hospital and tracked Ethan down in a hallway in the radiology wing. The floors were covered in death dust, like every hospital I’d been in.

  “Owen, what are you doing here?”

  Petty as it was, I couldn’t stand seeing Ethan in scrubs and that white MD-monogrammed coat of his. I knew it didn’t make sense, but it felt like he’d stolen my dream career out from under me. Still, I managed to say it. “Ethan, I need your help tonight.”

  “Absolutely. What can I do for you?”

  I fought back my annoyance at his too-nice persona.

  “I need you to please meet me at Masonville High at ten o’clock. Something really bad is going down in the woods at midnight, and we have to go out there and stop it.” I was relying on Elle to find Jackson, trusting we’d have rescued him by then.

  Ethan wanted the details, but I couldn’t risk word getting out—not until Jackson was safe. “Please, just meet me tonight, and I’ll lead the way.”

  He looked at me for a couple of moments, then nodded. “Okay, man. You can count on me.”