Until the End

by Rick Wood

  Oscar turned and huffed, throwing his arms into the air as if to say this again?

  “Hear me out,” Thea said. “Please.”

  “I’ve heard you out already.”

  “Then hear me out again.”

  “It’s no use.”

  “Just one more time. Please.”

  “Don’t you see? All this does is prolong the pain, increase the torture — it’s done. The more you don’t accept that, the more it hurts.”

  “Fine. The last time. Just humour me.”

  Oscar shook his head, took a deep breath.

  “What?” he finally said.

  “Say you manage to exorcise the thing in April, right, and–”

  “The thing in April is The Devil, Thea. It’s not a demon, it’s not even a prince of Hell, it is the ruler; it is the epitome of everything that is evil. It’s too strong to beat. Even for you. It’s not possible.”

  “You said you’d humour me.”

  “Fine. What then?”

  “Say you manage to exorcise it, you would defeat The Devil, right?”

  “Which is–”

  “Impossible, I know. But say you did.”

  Oscar shrugged. “Then you would defeat The Devil.”

  “Okay, and if you did that…”

  She considered her next words, knowing she already had a tough audience, wanting to be precise and persuasive in what she was about to say.

  “Right,” she tried, “remember when this all happened, yeah? You and the Sensitives went into some other place that meant you weren’t here on Earth to keep the balance of Heaven and Hell. The balanced shifted toward Hell, which allowed all this to happen. That correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right, well — say you removed The Devil from April’s body, and removed him from this world. A current balance between Hell and Heaven has been established, has become the new normal — so if you disrupt that…”

  “Then what?”

  “Surely that would push the balance in Heaven’s favour.”

  “In theory.”

  “Well, an angel is the opposite of a demon, right?”

  “Again, in theory.”

  “Surely the balance shifting against Hell would mean an increase in angelic activity, meaning that Heaven will temporarily have a stronger ability to remove demons, then we–”

  “Thea, Thea, please, just stop.”

  She stopped. Watched him run his hands through his hair. He opened a drawer to look for paracetamol. There was none.

  “If you defeat The Devil,” she said, “you would defeat Hell. It would give us hope, right?”

  Oscar grimaced and sighed again.

  “Right,” he said. “Again, in theory, yes. Defeating him would shift the balance back into our favour and allow Heaven to intervene and reduce demonic activity. The original balance could then be restored.”

  “So that’s what we have to do, then!”

  Oscar raised his clenched fist and gesticulated at her.

  “You’re not getting it!”

  “No, Oscar, I–”

  He picked up a glass from the drying board and threw it across the room, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. He strode forward, grabbed Thea’s arms, and glared into her eyes.

  “It cannot be done. We cannot beat The Devil.”

  There was a knock at the front door.

  Oscar didn’t move. Neither did Thea.

  The knock came again.

  Thea shoved Oscar’s hands off of her and called out, “Henry, please get that.”

  “Why?” Oscar said.

  “Huh?”

  “Why answer the door? Who could possibly matter enough to answer the door to?”

  The sound of the front door opening and closing filled the uncomfortable silence. Seconds later, Henry walked in.

  “Guys, there’s someone here to see you,” he said.

  “We don’t care,” Oscar answered.

  “He says he’s from the Church.”

  Oscar and Thea exchanged a look.

  “He said his name is Father Lorenzo Romano.”

  7

  Oscar had instructed Henry to go watch April while they spoke with the man from the Church.

  Henry did not want to do this but, already feeling useless and unwelcome, he did not want to make himself appear to have no purpose for being there.

  He just really did not want to be in a room with it.

  He approached the door, hearing the shuddering breaths, feeling the ominous evil.

  That was one thing he’d noticed about being a Sensitive — the feelings. He was more in tune with them now, more able to know what they were. They weren’t just random pangs of emotion; they were his gift, trying to guide him and teach him.

  He stepped inside. The woman — although she did not look much like a woman anymore — was bound to the bed.

  The thing inside of her went still and silent. Its head, and only its head, turned toward him with a lecherous smile.

  Henry edged toward a wooden chair and sat down, keeping his eyes on it the entire time; just as it kept its eyes on him.

  It smiled widely. An open-mouthed smile, as if it was waiting for the big punchline.

  Henry shivered. This room was far colder than any other.

  “They must be desperate,” it finally said.

  Henry went to reply, then remembered what Oscar and Thea had taught him: a demon will try to bate you. A demon will do all it can to tempt you into conversation, to engage with you, so it can grow its hold over you. The last thing he wanted to do was give it any more strength than it had.

  “To send in a boy like this. What are you, twelve? Thirteen?”

  “I am sixteen.”

  He flinched. Cursed himself. That was too easy. What was wrong with him?

  “Aw, what’s the matter? Did I get you already?”

  It had.

  Why was Henry even here?

  Why did it need looking after?

  He wondered whether this was a test. Oscar wanted to test his resolve, test whether he was worthy of being in this house. If you couldn’t handle sitting in a room with it, how were you supposed to handle fighting it?

  “Have you told your parents yet?”

  Told my parents what?

  He wanted to say it, and he went to say it, but stopped himself.

  “They must be so disappointed… Disapproving, religious parents… The only thing you ever did to make them proud was be a Sensitive… How will they feel now they know you’ve lost?”

  How did it know all this?

  It must hear Oscar and Thea talk. It’s stuck in a house with them, it must hear everything.

  “I’d be disappointed by a timid little child like you too.”

  “Is this the best you got?” he said, attempting to show some resilience.

  It smiled again, wider, unnaturally so.

  It spoke again, but this time, it was not in its own voice.

  It was in Henry’s mother’s voice.

  “Oh, Henry. What have you done? How have you managed to let us down all over again?”

  How was it doing this? How was it mimicking her voice? How did it know these things?

  “Henry, I hope you know, there is no place for you at home.”

  He shook his head. This wasn’t his mother. It was just a poor imitation.

  “I want to fuck you, Henry.”

  What?

  “I want you inside of me, Henry.”

  It wasn’t a poor imitation. It wasn’t even an imitation. It was his mother’s voice. Exactly. Every inflexion and every rising and lowering of pitch was just as she would speak.

  And she was saying these things to him.

  “I want to put your cock in me like I do with your father’s. Oh, please, Henry, please do it, please put your cock in me.”

  It spread April’s legs.

  Beneath the blood stains, her cunt invited him.

  “You know you want to…”

  Henr
y stood.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Touch it.”

  He turned to the wall. Folded his arms. He wouldn’t let it win.

  “Rape me, Henry. Rape me like your father does.”

  Henry turned around and, with a large roar that broke his voice, he shouted: “No!”

  It laughed.

  “Got you,” it said.

  8

  Father Lorenzo Romano sat on the edge of the sofa, the cup of tea he had been reluctantly offered in his hand.

  Thea sat on the other side of the sofa, on its edge.

  Oscar leant against the windowsill on the other side of the room.

  Lorenzo slowly brought the cup to his mouth, took a sip, then lowered it once more. He did not look at the others.

  “I’m sure you haven’t travelled all the way from Rome to drink our tea. How about you get on with whatever you’re here for?”

  Lorenzo hesitated. Stared at the cup.

  “Or is it just another visit to remind me how much I fucked up?”

  “That’s not what we–”

  “That’s all you do. Blame me, cover stuff up, then blame me some more. I bet you all have meetings in the Vatican where you slag me off just for the sake of slagging me off.”

  “You did do this.”

  “I know!” He stood. “Now fuck off.”

  Oscar went to leave the room, but halted as Lorenzo spoke.

  “Wait. Please.”

  He turned to Lorenzo expectantly.

  “We have a possible solution… I think it would be worth hearing this.”

  Oscar returned to the windowsill, leaning against it and folding his arms.

  “Go on,” he prompted.

  Lorenzo took another sip of tea, then spoke.

  “There is a man in Korea who, it is said, defeated The Devil.”

  “He defeated The Devil?”

  “So it is said.”

  “And you only thought to tell me this now?”

  “He is not… I mean, he does not follow… I…”

  “Lorenzo, I am losing patience.”

  “He is not Catholic.” He blurted it out like he was ripping off a plaster. “Nor is he any denomination of Christianity.”

  “What is he then? Muslim? Hindu?”

  “He is a Buddhist.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  For people who taught their congregations to be accepting of others, Oscar had imagined they would be more open to hearing how people from various backgrounds had defeated evil — but apparently not.

  “So how did he defeat The Devil?” Oscar asked.

  “Well, he says he defeated Mara. That is their version of The Devil — or, at least, that’s what they call their equivalent.”

  “So how did he do it?”

  “We don’t know. We have never spoken to him.”

  Oscar stared at Lorenzo, dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe they had a resource like this and had allowed a difference of religion to stop them from using it.

  “I thought your religion preached tolerance,” Oscar said. “I thought you all worked in harmony, all linking and coinciding, all–”

  “Yes, yes, I get your point.”

  Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably. He grimaced, and his face contorted as if he was chewing something really disgusting.

  “I suppose you are right,” Lorenzo said. “We preach tolerance, and we should show it. We will work with this man for the sake of this war.”

  “That’s big of you.”

  “Lorenzo,” interjected Thea, “if we defeat The Devil, would that be it? I mean, would we win?”

  Lorenzo paused to think.

  “Mostly, yes. There would still be more demonic activity than we would like, but, ultimately, it would shift the balance long enough for Heaven to do its work.”

  Oscar shook his head.

  “Funny,” he said. “When you showed up, I thought you were here to put a knife across April’s throat, hoping it would defeat The Devil.”

  “It would not. Believe me, we have entertained the idea, and should it be the solution, we would not have hesitated.”

  Lorenzo and Oscar locked eyes for a moment; determination versus aggression.

  “Guys,” Thea said. “That’s not the case, so let’s drop it, yeah?”

  Lorenzo stood.

  “I think I am done here.”

  Lorenzo took out an envelope and passed it to Oscar. Oscar stared at it, then took it.

  “These are plane tickets,” Lorenzo said. “They will get you to Korea. The plane leaves tonight. His name is Om Samsara. Good luck.”

  Lorenzo walked out of the room, followed a few seconds later by the sound of the front door opening and shutting.

  Oscar and Thea looked at each other.

  “That’s hope, right?” she said. “I mean, it’s a chance?”

  Oscar opened the envelope. Sure enough, the ticket’s time stamp was scheduled for tonight.

  He stuffed them in his back pocket and walked upstairs.

  9

  Oscar stood at the end of the bed, looking over April’s body. He tried to see her as April, but he couldn’t; not anymore.

  There was nothing of that sweet face, that naughty smile, that caring look…

  It had been decimated. Ruined. Distorted, torn and destroyed.

  This thing was all he saw now.

  He wondered if she could ever return. If the scars could be undone. If the way that The Devil had stolen her body and wounded it, stretched it, and corrupted it, could ever be undone. He wondered if April would be the same should she return.

  He struggled to see the face he once kissed, and the fingers that would touch him so softly and make his entire body tingle.

  Still, he tried.

  “I am speaking to April,” he said.

  “April’s not here right now.”

  It was so cocky, so self-assured. Grinning at him. Showing off that it was in full control.

  He ignored it.

  “April, I don’t know if you can hear me, and I don’t know if you are in there, but…”

  “April is busy getting fucked in Hell.”

  He shook his head. Forced the words to become nothing but white noise.

  If April was in there, she would hear him. He had to ignore The Devil’s interjections. He had to pretend they weren’t there.

  “But I’m on it. I have a plan. I have… Something.”

  “You… have… nothing…”

  “April, if you are in there, I want you to know, I’m not giving up. Not yet. I have something I’m trying, and I don’t know if it will work, but I have to go away for a while, just…”

  He struggled to speak. Struggled to say the three words he wanted to say, knowing they would be mocked and ridiculed.

  He said them anyway.

  “I love you.”

  It laughed.

  Oh, how it laughed.

  If it was not bound to the bed, it would have rolled off. Tears streamed down her face; guffaws filled the room. It was difficult to know if it was genuine hilarity at the thought that Oscar could win, or whether it was forced laughter, designed to taunt him.

  He turned to leave.

  “How sweet,” it said as the laughter died down. “We love you too. Both of us.”

  Oscar paused by the door. Looked over his shoulder.

  “I’ll pass the message on once we’ve finished with her,” it said.

  He strode slowly forward, approaching the bed, shaking his head, feeling a sense of defiance overcome him.

  “Now I am speaking to The Devil,” he said. “Or, at least, the shit stain who tries to taint April’s body.”

  “After all this time, how can you talk to me like that…”

  “Know this — you have not won.”

  It laughed again.

  It always bloody laughed.

  Oscar looked forward to when it stopped laughing. When he could rip that laughter out of her body. When it screamed instead.r />
  “To you who have tried to tear us apart,” Oscar continued, “who have tried to make us feel bad, make us feel like we had no hope, like you had won — you have not.”

  “Beg to differ…”

  “You haven’t. Not yet.”

  Although he didn’t feel it, although he was forcing the confidence, he enjoyed his moment of fightback. He enjoyed telling that thing that, with some modicum of sincerity, there was an opportunity, however wayward and hopeless it was.

  Did Oscar really believe some Buddhist in Korea would have the answers?

  Honestly, no.

  Did The Devil look scared?

  Not at all. If anything, it looked even more enthralled by the idea of Oscar fighting, turned on by the anticipation of more conflict.

  But at least, for now, Oscar could entertain the idea that someone may have the answers.

  That April would not be lost forever.

  That this world could be salvaged; however little he considered it worth salvaging.

  The odds were against him.

  But, then again, they always had been.

  10

  Thea and Henry stood in the hallway, watching helplessly as Oscar readied himself, ignoring all the commotion from above them.

  Thea wasn’t sure whether Oscar was ignoring the noise because he was used to it, or because he had no choice. Either way, he persisted, and he was standing at the front door with a bag of clothes within an hour.

  He looked back at Thea and Henry. He didn’t appear as angry as he had been for the past few days — instead, he looked sad. Broken. With bags under his eyes and a lack of colour in his cheeks. Thea could see in his face just how much April’s torment was destroying him.

  “You look like two scared kids,” he said.

  Thea laughed. It wasn’t said in a mocking or scornful way, but as an observation that Thea and Henry fully agreed with.

  The laughter was small and short-lived, however, and the empty silence quickly returned.

  An enormous bang came from upstairs. Oscar looked upwards for a moment, then back to Thea.

  “I’m relying on you to take care of her.” He looked to Henry, too. “Both of you.”

  Thea nodded.