Authors: James Swain
“My temper isn’t that bad,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” she corrected him. “Come closer.”
He leaned over the bed. Without warning, Milly slapped him in the face. He shot her a murderous stare. The monitors she was attached to started to beep, and her vital signs began moving in the wrong direction.
“Milly!” he said.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she sunk into her pillow. Max came to her side, and put his hand on her forehead.
“Stop this right now,” his teacher said.
Peter forced himself to calm down. Within moments Milly snapped to, and the monitors stopped their frantic beeping.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Believe me now?” she asked.
“Yes, I believe you.”
She again took his hand. This time when she spoke, he listened. “You must be stronger than the demon inside of you. Succumb to temptation, and you will lose your soul.”
“I feel like I’m losing it already,” he said.
“How so?”
“I killed a man who worked for me today. He was evil, and I suppose he deserved it, but I felt no regrets afterward. That’s not normal, is it?”
“You are still one of us,” Milly replied. “Isn’t he, Maximilian?”
“Indeed he is,” his teacher said.
“And you will stay one of us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must rest. It’s been a long day.”
Milly’s eyelids grew heavy, and just like that she was sound asleep. Peter glanced at the machines that she was attached to. The numbers had returned to normal.
“I’ll stay with her,” Max said. “Go home, and get some rest.”
“What about Holly?”
“I sent her home earlier.”
At least Holly listened to someone,
Peter thought. He went to the door, turning to glance at Milly one more time. She looked so tiny and frail lying in that awful bed, and he could not help but feel that he was responsible for everything that had happened to her. He had accepted long ago that life wasn’t fair, a sentiment that became more profound the older he became.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Be safe, Peter,” his teacher said.
“And you as well.”
44
Most New Yorkers were light sleepers. It came from living around so many people, and all the traffic. Peter was no exception. Any strange sound would lift him out of the deepest of sleeps, his radar on full alert. At three
A.M.
, his eyes snapped open, and he stared into the familiar darkness of his bedroom. Liza stirred beside him.
“What’s wrong?” his girlfriend mumbled.
“I heard a strange noise. It sounded like little kids playing. There it is again.”
Falling silent, they listened to rain pelt the window.
“It’s just the wind,” she said.
“That’s not what I heard. The noise was inside.”
“Go back to sleep. You’ve had a hard couple of days.”
Liza kissed him in the dark. Coming home to find her waiting for him had been the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. It had restored his faith in the world, and given him hope that things might be returning to normal.
He drifted off. He heard the sound again. He slipped out of bed without awakening his girlfriend, found his robe, and padded barefoot into the hall, listening hard while trying to block out the storm. The noise was coming from downstairs. It sounded like a small invasion.
He padded down the stairs, and followed the noise into his workshop. He flipped on the light, and was surprised to discover the room was empty, save for the clutter of tricks scattered about. Perhaps Liza was right, and his imagination was getting the better of him.
He turned off the light. The noise came back, softer than before, as if emanating from the bottom of a deep well. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and scanned the room.
He settled on the Spirit Cabinet. The noise was coming from there. It sounded like a gang of playful children. He’d never been visited by the ghosts of children before, and wondered why they were here.
He entered the cabinet, and shut the door. The tambourine used to summon the spirits lay on the stool. He picked the tambourine up, and sat down. The voices filled the small space, and were singing a nursery song he did not recognize. Something about making giant snowmen, and watching them melt. He banged the tambourine against his palm, wanting to know more.
His world changed. He stood in the middle of a barren forest. It was winter, and fresh-fallen snow covered the ground. Five children ran past him on a narrow footpath, laughing and screaming as they did. They were bundled up with hats and coats and mittens. The oldest was no more than seven, the youngest around five, and he counted four boys and a blond-haired girl with an angel’s face. The significance of their number did not dawn on him until the little girl glanced over her shoulder, and waved to him as she ran.
“You’d better hurry,” she said.
His heart nearly broke. It was his mother.
“Wait!” he called after her.
“Come along,” she said, still running.
He chased her in his bathrobe and slippers. “Why are you running?”
“We’re trying to catch the kitty,” she said.
The cat. Milly had told him about the cat. It had strange markings on its forehead, and had lured his mother and father and their little friends to the frozen pond. The cat was evil.
“You have to stop,” he said.
His mother ignored him. She ran out of the forest into a clearing with a large frozen pond. As Peter came into the clearing, he spotted her four little friends standing by the pond’s edge, waiting for her. He tried to determine which one was his father. Then, he spotted the cat. It stood in the middle of the frozen pond, holding its leg as if injured. Jet black, it had a pronounced white star on its forehead. It emitted a shrill cry, begging to be helped. The children reacted as children do, and scurried onto the ice without thinking.
“No!” Peter shouted.
He ran onto the ice, desperate to pull them to safety. His life had been defined by what was about to happen here, and he wondered if he could change the outcome. Before he could find out, the ice gave way with a sickening crack. One by one, his parents and their friends dropped like stones, and vanished before his eyes. The cat skipped away, its injured leg miraculously healed. Then it was his turn, and he plunged into the icy darkness.
* * *
In many ways, living and dying were interchangeable, one unable to exist without the other. Peter knew he was dying as he sank to the bottom of the pond, yet felt remarkably alive, and not the least bit afraid. Perhaps this was because he knew what the future held, and that after this was over, he would one day live again.
His feet hit bottom. His mother was nearby, and looked like an angel floating in space. Nearby, her four little friends were thrashing about with bubbles exploding out of their mouths. He again tried to determine which of these boys was his father. The smallest had ruddy cheeks, just like his father had later in life, and Peter decided he was the one.
Peter shifted his attention to the other three. One day, these little boys would become the Order of Astrum, and cause widespread grief, including the death of his parents. It was hard to imagine that looking at them now, for they were young and totally innocent. He remembered what Milly had said about free will, and the choices he would have to make. Someday, these boys would choose evil, and never look back.
A bright light appeared in the water. It was perfectly round, and looked like a portal to another universe. The little boys stopped thrashing, as did his mother. Peter could not help himself, and stared at the strange object.
A dark line appeared in the center of the light. It was followed by another dark line and then another. An inverted triangle appeared before his eyes as if drawn by an invisible hand. The triangle was balanced atop a large V with a line running across the top. It was a magical sigil. Sigils were as old as time itself. Made of complex symbols and geometric figures, they were used by occultists to communicate with the spirit world. The sigil being formed in the water was the Seal of Satan, and meant that one of Satan’s sons was present.
Peter felt a tug on his body. A powerful force coming from the light was dragging him toward the sigil like an invisible current. He swam backwards, not wanting to be captured by it. The light’s power was greater on the children. They drifted toward it, no longer filled with panic or fear. Three of the boys entered the light, and became one with it. Then, it was his father’s turn. His father hesitated and turned to glance at his mother. Peter sensed that he didn’t want to go without her. Without warning, his father vanished as well.
Peter continued to fight the sigil. As he did, his mother floated past. As the light began to swallow her up, she looked over her shoulder at him, her pale blue eyes beseeching him to join her.
Come with me,
they seemed to say.
Did she know what was on the other side? He didn’t think so. But he did. He knew one of the Devil’s sons was awaiting him if he joined her.
“No,” he said, the bubbles escaping his mouth.
His mother gave him a sad look. Then, she was gone as well.
His world changed again. He was back inside the Spirit Cabinet, banging the tambourine against his palm. The afterimage of the sigil burned brightly in the darkness. He had to get away from it, and he placed the tambourine onto the floor, and stepped out of the cabinet.
He began to shiver. His bones had grown cold, just as they did when evil was present. He hadn’t understood the significance, until now. The cold came from the pond’s icy water, and had been passed down to him from his parents, along with so many other things.
He climbed the stairs and slipped back into bed. Liza had not moved. Outside, it was still raining, the gusting wind pushing at the window. Milly had called his parents wonderful people, and she was right, for they’d battled evil since they were young, and had not given in. They had set an example for him, one which needed to follow for the rest of his life.
Pulling the covers up beneath his chin, he shut his eyes, but could not fall asleep.
PART IV
POSSESSED
45
Peter awoke the next morning to the sight of more promising weather streaming through his bedroom window. Liza’s spot in the bed was empty, and he could hear her downstairs in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. Had his old life returned? He could only hope so, and hopped out of bed.
His blinking cell phone sat on the night table. He found a text message from Holly saying that her aunt was doing better, and would be released from the hospital soon, if her condition continued to improve. The news brought a smile to his face, and he put on his bathrobe, convinced the worst was over.
He bounded down the stairs. In the kitchen, Liza was scrambling eggs at the stove while scrolling through her own cell phone. She was dressed in baggy sweats and a Yankees baseball cap, clothes that would have looked drab on someone else. He affectionately wrapped his arms around her waist, and she craned her neck to kiss him.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
No, he hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to go there. This was a new day, and a new start, and he said, “Like a lumberjack. What’s on the menu?”
“Why don’t you sit down, and let me surprise you?” she said.
He took a chair at the kitchen table, and pored through the paper. Wolfe’s demise was front-page news, and he was relieved to see the article did not mention him or the other members of the Friday night psychics, but simply said that Wolfe had fallen to his death on the Upper West Side, and the police were relieved that a crazed killer was now off the streets. He guessed Garrison had a hand in this, and made a mental note to thank him the next time they spoke.
Liza placed two plates on the table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toasted bagels left over from the other day. He dug in, and noticed that she was still playing with her cell phone.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“A relationship counselor,” his girlfriend replied.
“For us?”
“Yes. Here’s one. ‘Dr. Ruth Berman, licensed New York therapist. Stop fighting, understand more. Connect deeply, love deeply.’ This one sounds promising. ‘Need help in improving your relationship? I’ll show you how to be true to yourself, yet remain close to your partner in a passionate, caring relationship. Call today.’ That sounds like us to a T.”
Peter placed his fork onto his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Liza was serious. He cleared his throat, causing her to look up.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to talk out our problems first.”
“Are you afraid of seeing someone? Be truthful.”
“Yes, I am.”
She reached across the table, and placed her hand on top of his. “I really want us to see a professional. You’re different. I have to learn to deal with that.”
“I’m not that different,” he said defensively.
“Oh, Peter, please.”
His cheeks burned, and he glanced down at his unfinished plate of food. “All right. I’m a lot different. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out ourselves. We need to try.” He looked up, and saw her studying him. An uneasy silence filled the kitchen.
“Why are you so afraid of this?” she asked.
“I don’t want to betray my friends.”
“Therapists are sworn to secrecy. Something tells me that’s not the reason.”
Peter struggled with a reply. Liza was right. There was another reason, and it had to do with the dark side of his personality that he kept buried within him. That was something he didn’t want to discuss with a therapist, or anyone else.
His cell phone began to vibrate. Liza frowned at the interruption. He pulled it from the pocket of his robe and glanced at the face. Garrison calling. He decided the FBI agent could wait, and placed the phone onto the table. It began to move around by itself, then went still.