Falter Kingdom (9 page)

“The door is open.”

I read the message and then look at the door, wander over and give the doorknob a tap, then a slight jostle.

It's open.

I look over at the laptop, breathing out a sigh that I see as a little plume, a cloud in front of my face.

When I look back the sender appears as “offline.”

I don't have time to react though because whatever that was, it was right. They are outside. Jon-Jon's car parked behind mine, Becca looking up at my bedroom window, waving.

I look at the phone and see a few missed calls.

Oh yeah, it's on silent.

I switch the ringer back on, notice over two dozen missed calls and more than a handful of text messages. I run downstairs, taking along my laptop and the power cord too, because, well, I've learned my lesson.

At the front door, I shove the laptop in my book bag and I leave the house without looking. I don't get a real chance to think about what happened until I'm sitting in one of the back pews of the church, waiting to be seen.

I put all the pieces together. And then it sort of makes sense, but not really. I was messaging myself?

Was that you?

5

JON-JON TELLS ME THAT THE EXORCISM IS THE REAL
payoff. At first I don't really follow. Sure enough he explains that first there are a series of meetings.

“Only, like, three,” Becca corrects him.

Jon-Jon brushes the comment aside. “Yes, three, but you see, there will be time—plenty of time, in fact—to milk this for some serious money. The payoff will be the exorcism.”

This bothers me. Jon-Jon isn't a friend. He's a businessman. He lives well as long as he makes money off others. He sells, sure, but he's also got the betting thing going on. And I'm becoming, I think, his main prize.

“Why are you here?” I ask him, just because.

Jon-Jon with another one of his questions: “How confused are you, on a scale of one to ten, ten being amnesiac?”

I don't answer.

Becca doesn't like Jon-Jon either and tells him to leave the church. “This is a spiritual place, like, take it outside!”

Jon-Jon raises his arms in defeat. “Fair enough. I'll be in the car.” To me he says, “Big money, think ‘big money.'”

When he's gone, I ask Becca, “Why did you bring him? Of, you know, everyone you could have asked for a ride, you chose that guy...”

Becca's embarrassed. She's staring at her phone, compulsively refreshing her social media feed. “He asked me, okay? And I thought, ‘Emergency,' so I just said okay instead of looking for someone else.”

I don't want to even look at my phone. Forget that it's there.

Everything's exhausting. Everything's also very, very good... but I won't mention that. Not now. Not here.

We wait in the last pew for, like, an hour, but not really, it just felt like that long, before a priest who isn't Father James introduces himself as Father Albert, greets us and apologizes for the wait.

“Okay,” I say.

Becca leads the way. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice!”

Father Albert sort of bows. “My pleasure, my pleasure.”

On the path to becoming a priest or a deacon or a nun or a monk—spiritual people—I guess you learn how to have a crap-ton of manners. Like, this Father Albert is incredibly nice. Like, too nice. So nice it makes something deep inside me angry. It feels insincere. No way Father Albert is really this glad to see us. I've got a demon attached to me; why would he be “delighted to see us”? Wait, did he even say that? Maybe I made it up.

He's excruciating though.

Look at the way he walks. All pious and calm, like every day lasts forever and there's nothing more important than seeing and speaking to Becca and me.

Father Albert's office is really neat and tidy. Of course it's neat and tidy. Why wouldn't it be? Look at the guy.

Becca does all the explaining.

Father Albert folds his hands and listens all calm and contently.

He's really bothering me. I mean, yeah...

Ugh. I just can't stand it. People like this.

He can't be serious.

Father Albert apologizes for a second time. “Unfortunately, Father James will be unable to perform the exorcism. Yet I am able to accommodate you and happy to complete the task.”

Becca smiles. “That's great. I understand.”

Father Albert asks me a series of questions, starting with “How do you feel right at this moment?”

I should be honest, right? I should just say what's on my mind. Yeah.

Well, here it goes: “I'm kind of annoyed. Annoyed at you, at this whole thing.”

Becca's like,
Hunter, the fuck?
But she doesn't say that; she just looks at me in a way that says something along those lines.

Father Albert nods. He's so understanding.

I say, “And see, that makes me even more annoyed.”

Father Albert says, “That's fine. Next question I want to ask: Has the unclean spirit contacted you directly?”

Unclean spirit? I think about this one... but then I go with: “I don't think so. I mean, I've heard things. Whispers. My name, maybe.”

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm—this is quite normal.”

But then I remember the messages. I kind of stop myself, second-guessing it, but then—why the hell not?—I tell him. I tell him about the messages.

“That does sound like direct contact.” Father Albert starts writing in a Moleskine journal.

Becca looks freaked out. “What does that mean? Like, what does it mean for us, I mean Hunter, if the demon's contacted him, like, directly?”

Father Albert takes her question like target practice. “It implies that the unclean spirit—we prefer not to label them ‘demons'—is increasing in presence.”

“Like, getting more powerful?” Becca says, all confused.

Father Albert nods, not even looking at us while he writes in that stupid journal. “That is correct. The unclean spirit will begin breaking down Hunter.”

I'm already broken down, what else can happen?

Becca, she doesn't have to try so hard. Her face is flush red and she's biting her nails, “Oh no, oh no. That means... what does that mean?”

Father Albert is Mr. Cool. “Calm down, my dear. There is still plenty of time. Naturally, the parish encourages a timely exorcism. This isn't true in Hunter's case. But, well, one more question, Hunter—do you feel like you're being watched at all times?”

I shake my head. “No, only when I'm home alone.”

“In a certain room, or everywhere?”

“Mostly, um, my bedroom.”

Father Albert goes back to writing.

We sit there in silence, a real waste of time.

“I am going to expedite the next meeting. From here, I will visit your homestead and bless it.”

Becca again, all nervous: “And then what?”

“After blessing the house, we will arrange to have an evocation, or summoning. I will act as lead but Father Andrew will accompany.”

“Evocation...” I say.

“Yes, it can be an unpleasant term, but that's how Father Andrew is recognized in the parish. It is quite clear, Hunter, that you have attracted a spirit that doesn't wish to linger. Some are more aggressive than others. By the looks of it, you attracted an unclean spirit that seeks to possess you as quickly as it can. Now”—Father Albert waves a finger—“do not attempt to contact the spirit. You must ignore its advances.”

“Yeah,” I say, having trouble hiding how pissed off I am at this whole thing, “I've been doing that. Been wearing, like, two hoodies and gloves and all kinds of shit, basically staying in bed, but I'm ‘ignoring' it.”

“Excellent.” Father Albert doesn't even seem to notice how angry I am. “The spirit will soon commence with expending more energy.”

Before Becca can even ask, Father Albert has an explanation.

“The spirit will become more aggressive. We must push up the exorcism to a week from today.”

I lean forward. “So that's like...”

“Next Wednesday.”

Becca's happy all of a sudden. “Oh wow, that's, like, perfect!”

Is it? I don't know why but I feel weirded out by how soon it is. And also how Father Albert's all casual about something that's so serious. I don't know if I can trust him. And even after we shake hands and go back to the car, Becca filling in Jon-Jon with the details, I still can't shake the feeling that I can't trust him.

I realize that it's because of the one thing he said, the one thing he saved for me, whispering it in my ear when we shook hands:

“Your anger isn't your own. Be vigilant with your emotions. You are the only one capable of understanding the difference between direct feeling and conjured, manipulated senses.”

I'm angry because he told me that and then just let me go. I didn't get to ask why or what he meant.

Jon-Jon looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Why are you so moody? Everything's rolling well.”

I don't say anything. I don't trust Father Albert.

I don't like that I might not be acting like myself. I don't like the idea he put in my head that this anger, and pretty much anything that happens, can be something doubtful. He's making me doubt everything now.

What is real and what isn't?

Are these emotions the demon's manipulations?

Becca and Jon-Jon are getting along all of a sudden.

What the hell just happened? Not a half hour ago, Becca loathed the guy. Okay, maybe not loathed, but she definitely felt the same way about him that I do. Now she's laughing and making plans. I hear the words “haunter party” and it's Jon-Jon's wise idea to make more money off me. It's also Becca's idea because she wants to probably piggyback on all the popularity I'm experiencing.

Jon-Jon says, “Forget what we had planned with Brad, we've got to have it at Hunter's place.”

“No,” I tell them, “no fucking way, guys.”

But I've been vetoed. Some friends I've got.

The entire car ride back to my place, I can't concentrate on what
Becca or Jon-Jon talk about. All I know is by the time I'm alone again in my house, there's a party and there's a price. There's a bunch of people involved, and I'm losing whatever little faith I had in these friends of mine.

I've lost faith in being sure of anything.

I say I want to fit in, but why do I just want to curl up in bed and forget that all of this is happening. But my bed is in that room, and you're there. I know you are...

I go into the family room, turn on the TV, and watch some sitcom. I grab one of the blankets left draped on the side of the couch. I fall asleep here, I think. Either way time passes. When I wake up it's night and Mom's there, hovering over me all creepily. She says she's made dinner and that she's sorry she hasn't been around.

Yeah, what else is new? At least I can count on my parents being clueless 100 percent of the time.

I think about ripping up the note Father Albert gave me. It's not even a thing until I see it gripped in my hands. This one note is a big deal. If I don't have it, I don't go back to school. If I don't have it, I'm free. Still, I think about the possibilities. Could I? Should I? I'm not. There's no way; I won't. I'll just put it back in my pocket. It'll never leave my side. Just like my laptop.

But for one flicker of an instant, I feel like I actually still have complete control over what's happening. And then I go back to watching TV and listening to my mom try to do everything for me.

This is the night that proves a real turning point. It's the night that puts the “m” in “man,” or whatever that means. I'm just trying to get excited about the date. I'm just trying to feel something other than nothing. I'm trying to get out of bed, because I'm still wrapped in these bedsheets and I'm supposed to be in that shower, getting ready. That's the problem though. I don't want to step inside that bathroom. Not after what happened.

But I'll have to. I know I will. I mean, I could use my parents' bathroom.
Yeah, I could do that. But that'll mean having to talk to Mom. It'll mean she'll find out somehow. She'll find out about the date. And then she'll try to help, which won't help at all.

It'll just make things worse.

So it's either the bathroom or getting Mom involved.

Guess there's no choice. Well, I could stay in bed. I could blow off the date.

I could, but I'll have to kill myself if I did. Leave Nikki Dillon hanging? How would I be able to live with myself? Actually, I don't even want to think about it. Okay, out of bed. Got to get out of bed. One foot after the other, walk into the stupid bathroom and get this over with.

I guess I'm just annoyed that I'm not actually excited. I should be nervous but I'm not. Probably a good thing, sure, but I kind of feel like something like this should really have me on edge. I should be thinking of all sorts of things I'll say, things we'll do, and pretty much be at that point where I'm creating all kinds of backup scenarios if the typical dinner and then a show falls through. There's a lot that can go wrong tonight but I'm not even thinking about it. See, that's what kind of makes me feel strange.

I really do feel like it's true: I'm not myself.

Something about how I feel...

It feels like any other night.

It feels like I'm being forced into this date.

Big moments like these ruined because of not feeling into it, not really being myself... now that is the biggest bummer.

At the bathroom door, I breathe in and then out.

Kind of have to just say:
Fuck it. Do it.

Open the door and it's as cold as my bedroom, maybe a little colder. Showering when it's cold, ugh. This is going to suck. But this time I keep my clothes on until I get the hot water running well.

It's easier tonight, but I'm not going to count on it. Not even going to think about it. Anything can go wrong in a single instant.

In the shower, the water's warm the entire time. I start to calm
down, maybe getting a little excited about the date, but then when I dry my hair, I see that my hair spray is gone.

And it's always where I leave it.

I don't know what to do except to not acknowledge it, so I sit down to use the toilet and think about ways to make my hair not puffy and stupid looking without hair spray. It's all I've ever used so I'm kind of lost.

Here's what really messes with me. The hair spray, sure, okay, it's missing; I'll figure something out. But this...

I finish and reach for toilet paper and there's nothing left. Like one little sliver hanging to the cardboard roll. No one uses this damn bathroom but me and I replaced the thing last time I used it.

I know it's you.

I know it. It has to be, and it's trying to ruin everything.

I'm not going to say what I did to make do with the fact that there was no toilet paper, but I'll say that it wasn't pretty and that towel is now in the garbage outside. I go back to my room to get dressed.