Possession (7 page)

The hallways were deserted, all the patients
locked away. We weren’t supposed to be out. If someone saw us, there would be
no talking our way out of it. But Mildred knew every closet, every supply
cupboard, every nook and cranny we could hide in if someone from the night
staff appeared.

That is,
if
we heard them coming and
if
they
didn’t spot us before we had a chance to dive for cover.

She looked back and whispered. “If they catch us
out here, you know they’ll make us pay. The night crew is more sadistic than
the day staff. They’re mean…mean like snakes, I say.” She started to hum to
herself, then stopped abruptly. Her eyes filled with sadness. “I don’t know if
I ever told you, but I did a stretch in solitary once. I almost lost my mind.”

A chill ran down my back at her words.
Solitary.
Another padded room. Maybe
restraints. I wanted no part of it.

We turned a corner, slowly, as Mildred peeked
around to make sure the coast was clear.

We’d barely cleared the corner when I heard loud
footsteps behind us. I grabbed Mildred’s shoulder, spinning her around and
gesturing wildly behind me.

She grabbed my arm, pulling me quickly down the
hallway and around another corner to a closed door. She took out her keys, found
the master key, opened the door, and shoved me inside before stepping in and
then gently closing the door behind her.

We stood in the dark of what appeared to be a janitor’s
closet, huddled together. I could see the light from the hallway peeking under
the door. The footsteps got louder. Heavy boots hit the floor. A large shadow
passed by, blocking out the light for a moment. I held my breath.

No one came in. The person kept moving.

I let my breath out in a loud gush. Relief flooded
through me. I put my hand on the knob and Mildred smacked it back. Before I
could ask what she was doing, she reached up and put her finger up to my lips. Then
I heard it—more boots. Heavier thumping. A bigger shadow passed by this
time.

Mildred whispered in my ear. “They always travel
in pairs at night.”

Minutes passed by. When I didn’t think I could
take being cooped up in the dark, small space any longer, Mildred turned the
handle and opened the door. The hallway light spilled into the closet.

She gestured with her hand. “Come, child, we have
to sprint the rest of the way. They’ll be back before long.”

For a woman her age, she was surprisingly fast. I
had a hard time keeping up with her as we raced down the hall and then down
some stairs. My newly returned memories gave me at least a general idea of where
we were and where we were going, but it still seemed like the old building was
trying to trap us. Hallways that I could have sworn would take us back to our
rooms dead-ended in dark walls. Pathways I didn’t recognize appeared in areas where
I remembered none existing before. When faced with one of these, Mildred would
shake her head and mumble to herself for a second before jogging on with a
surety I didn’t share. To my surprise, we suddenly found ourselves in front of
my room.

“Here we are, safe and sound. I doubt they’ll come
this far tonight. I smelled coffee brewing when I passed the cafeteria
earlier.” She patted my arm. “Get some sleep. Nighty night. Don’t let the
bedbugs bite.”

I stood there in the doorway, watching her walk
away.
Don’t let the bedbugs bite.
It
was something my brother James used to say to me when we were both kids. A sob
escaped my mouth.
James
. I raised a
trembling hand to my head as the memory came rushing back, fresh as ever. My
brother was worse than lost to me.

A demon had taken his soul.

A demon I had freed.

* * *

Morning came too soon. Caroline, a young nurse, only a few
years older than me, woke me and told me she was there to escort me to
breakfast. I got ready and followed her out of the room. Apparently I was going
to have a personal escort with me wherever I went. I wondered for how long.
They left most of the areas around the asylum unlocked during the day,
especially the well-traveled paths. It was only at night that the place went
into lockdown. They packed our schedules, but we were free to move from place
to place on our own in the daytime—at least, those of us not considered
violent. The staff escorted some of the more erratic patients for their own
safety and the safety of others.

And now they considered me one of the more violent
and erratic ones, thanks to Morgana.

We pushed through the cafeteria doors, and as
usual, the place was packed. I saw a nurse feeding Dean on the other side of
the room. I spotted the nervous reader, Andrew, at one of the tables, shifting
his milk carton back and forth across his tray. I grabbed a red tray and stood
in line. When it was my turn, I dutifully passed it to the women serving food,
and they spooned out generous helpings of scrambled eggs and bacon. I grabbed a
carton of milk and plastic cutlery and made my way to a table by the nearest
window.

It was a beautiful day outside. I looked out at
the cloudless blue sky, and for the zillionth time wished I wasn’t in here. I
didn’t want to hear the low murmurs of the other patients sitting at the tables
around me. I wanted to be out
there
,
free. More than anything, I wanted to be there with Luke.

I ate until I was full and slipped a packet of
salt into my pocket. I got up and piled my tray with the others on a metal cart
sitting against the wall.

Today, like every day I spent in here, would be
filled with extreme boredom. Nurse Caroline was waiting for me outside the
cafeteria. She followed me into the common room. Thankfully, my shadow didn’t
follow me across the room, but instead sat at a table by the door.

Apparently I was free to roam around the room, as
long as I was under her watchful eye. I spotted Dean in his wheelchair over by
a window. Dressed in a hospital gown, he had a blanket across his legs. I
walked over to him and sat down in a nearby chair.

No one was within earshot. I leaned in and
whispered. “Luke, I miss you.” I knew from our nightly visits that he hadn’t
been able to hear me during the day, but he’d been growing in strength. Part of
me hoped he would hear me
this
time. I
wrapped my arms around myself. “I wish you were here with me right now.”

I watched his face, looking for a sign—any
sign—of understanding. There was none. Dean’s eyes were wide, and he staring
off into space. His mouth was slack. Although it didn’t look like it, I knew Luke
was in there, waiting to come out.

There has to be a way to free him. The rest of our
lives together can’t be spent in three-hour intervals.

A sudden rush of anger swept through me. I could
feel it pounding through my blood. I took a deep breath and forced it back,
remembering once again that the rituals had changed me. They made me darker and
more violent. Because of the darkness now inside me, I’d killed without a
second thought. I’d become a murderer and a fool. Rushing in, so full of hatred
and the need for revenge, not caring about my life or anyone else’s…

Luke died trying to keep me alive.

What I had become scared me, and now I was doing
my best to try and keep those dark and violent feelings at bay. I wouldn’t let
them master me anymore. I had to try and remember who I used to be. I swore I
would never be so reckless again.

It was only after losing Luke that I realized how
much I cared about him. I had tried to deny it, to him and to myself, but I was
in love with him.

Luke had always known how he felt. He told me he
wanted me to stay with him after I’d complete the rituals, but I’d been unsure
of my feelings for him. I’d guarded my heart, trying to keep myself from
getting hurt. But when I saw him lying there on the ground, the spark of life
gone from his eyes… Only then had I realized how much I truly cared for him.

I reached out and put my hand on Dean’s arm. Luke
is
here with me. He was back in the
world of the living, and I thanked the Goddess for it every day.

A sudden argument across the room interrupted my
thoughts, but the orderlies quickly broke it up. The patients seemed unusually
twitchy today.

Caroline motioned to her watch. “You have therapy
in an hour.”

Therapy. An unpleasant office visit with the psych
doctor would be happening today. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Being forced
to sit across from a psychologist—one who expected you to spill all your
deepest, darkest secrets and fears—was, at least for me, a form of
torture. At each session, Dr. Barton stared across his desk at me, pad and pen
in hand, expecting me to tell him something. But my secrets, my fears, the
awful things that happened to my family, going through the horrendous death
dealer rituals—these were not things I wanted to talk to anyone about.
How could I explain to this man how I had changed? That after each ritual it
felt as if part of me was torn away and something darker had crept in? I wasn’t
even sure myself how to face down the violence that now raced through my blood.

In every session I’d been to so far, I had just
sat staring at the doctor in silence. I was not looking forward to another half
hour of trying to avoid those eyes boring into me as he patiently waited for me
to spill my guts. It felt like a mental tug of war, an uncomfortable battle of
wills.

When I had first come here, I had claimed anger
and depression. Since the awakening, I had been feeling both in spades, so they
seemed the easiest symptoms to fake, but in order to get checked into an
in-patient facility, I needed to have something more serious going on. After
some deliberation, Walter and I crafted a backstory. He called ahead before
leaving me here, claiming that he was my grandfather and that I said I had
attempted suicide, despondent over my family’s death. That should have been
worth a seventy-two-hour mandatory stay, which was long enough, I thought, to
get in, do my spell, and get back out.

But almost immediately things had gone wrong.
First, the spell fell short of expectations. Then, I found out that Dean’s body
was too weak to move after so long in a wheelchair. I needed more time. I
needed to stay here and show as little progress as possible if I hoped to bring
Luke out with me, so standing mute had seemed the safest route. An occasional
outburst of anger helped make my case.

To my surprise, the anger came a little
too
easily. As soon as I loosened the
reins on the monster that lived inside of me, I found it hard to get it back
under control. I doubted that Barton could have been much help, even if I was
willing to come clean with him. But lying to him made it harder to lie to
myself. I wasn’t in control of my anger, and until I was, I was a danger to
those I loved. And
then
Morgana
played patty-finger in my mind, removing all illusion of control.

The longer I faked being crazy, the crazier I
felt. If I was ever going to have a true balance within myself again, I needed
to make peace with the monster.

I needed to somehow make it a part of me.

* * *

Dr. Barton did not look happy to see me. A three-inch jagged
set of cuts ran along his eyebrow—the marks my fingernails made when I
scratched him. Until just a few moments ago, I’d forgotten about the incident
when I first regained consciousness. But by the look on his face, I could tell
he was not about to let it go. Gone was the patient, kind expression he usually
wore. In its place was disdain; I could see it simmering just below the surface
of his eyes.

He motioned to a nearby chair and I obediently took
a seat.

If I’d thought sitting across from him before was
uncomfortable, now there was a whole new level of animosity swimming in the air
between us. I’d been in a panic when he grabbed me, but it wasn’t my fault. I
hadn’t remembered who I was or what was going on at the time. I’d reacted like
a scared, caged animal. He couldn’t hold me responsible for what I’d done, could
he?

But I knew that he would.

In the weeks I had been in this place I’d come to
realize that there weren’t many kind souls on the staff. Most of the employees
were sadistic. Did they all start out that way? Was it something about being
around the insane that tainted them? Or was it this place itself? There was, at
times, a sort of eerie, angry vibe radiating in the air around here; an almost
tangible feeling of hate and evil permeated the walls.

I shook my head and took a deep breath. It was a
crazy thought, thinking that the environment of this place or the property itself
had somehow morphed these people. A more reasonable explanation was that the
person in charge of hiring wasn’t too particular about the type of people they
took on. Maybe management liked a staff that was underqualified, cheap, and a
bit on the mean side.

I’d thought, up until now, that Dr. Barton was a
kind man. He’d never shown any type of aggression toward me, until the other
day when he restrained me and I attacked him. But then, I
had
seen a hint of darkness in those eyes—a tinge of
uncontrolled violence that he’d masked quickly. It was there after I scratched
him. I didn’t imagine it. It was a look I now recognized. One that stared back
at me daily from my own reflection in the mirror.

It was there now in his expression as he sat
across from me, tapping his pencil against his yellow notepad. I reminded
myself that this man had the power to give me electroshock therapy. He had done
it once. He could do it again. He had the ability to force medications down my
throat. He could, with just one word, get me thrown into solitary confinement
and a straitjacket.

He was not someone I wanted as an enemy.