INDELICATE INCIDENTS: 20-21
Dreams, disasters, and waking the dead.
20.
‘Basically I read this chant it took me about three months to find because nobody in the Vatican library knows how to file anything, which is pretty concerning given the power of some of the books and scrolls they have in there, while the computer runs this frankly brilliant program I designed, and we’ll be able to summon the demon-’
‘You’re not supposed to call it a demon,’ I say. ‘Nescio said.’ Grady’s eyebrows shoot down and he gives a small shake of his head.
Demon,’ he repeats loudly. ‘The computer does the calculations and syncs up with the binding and summoning aspects, based on the parameters I’ve outlined, and lo and behold we end up with a demonically possessed corpse.’
‘Try not to sound so excited,’ I say.
Grady types on his laptop. Sounds like the clattering of horses.
I pace the basement of our apartment building. It’s a big cement room with a handful of washers and dryers older than I am. A plastic table for folding laundry. A few chairs to sit on while you wait for your laundry. Big water stain on the floor.
I assume it’s a water stain.
Sometimes it looks like the face of someone screaming.
Sometimes it looks like a shapeless monstrosity getting big and bigger with each breath.
Sometimes it looks like a pretty butterfly.
I hope it’s a water stain.
I’ve locked the door leading downstairs. Keep checking through the small window for cars passing by on the street. Keep an eye out for anyone who might notice us. Might call the authorities.
I don’t mind adding to my record, but I would hate to ruin Grady’s.
‘Nobody here but us humans,’ I murmur. Wishful thinking made reality.
‘What?’ asks Grady, distracted.
‘It would have been safer to do this in the apartment,’ I say. Grady’s typing gets aggressive for a second before he responds.
‘I am not doing shit like this where I live,’ he says. ‘I don’t want this sort of energy where we sleep. Plus I really don’t want a dead body in there.’ He shrugs. ‘Sue me.’
‘Fair,’ I say. Jiggle from foot to foot. Do my best not to look at the body on the table.
Pretend it’s just another piece of Grady’s equipment. Not something that used to be a person. Used to have a family.
Maybe brothers.
‘We still don’t have to go through with this,’ says Grady. Startled, I turn to him. He’s sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. His eyes are huge behind his glasses as they dart across the screen. Flick back to me as he types.
‘I do,’ I say. He shakes his head. Won’t meet my eyes.
I crouch down in front of him. Put my hands on his knees. He stops typing. Finally raises his eyes to mine.
‘If you want out, I understand-’ I begin.
‘Oh fuck you.’ Grady slams the laptop shut and scrubs at his messy hair. ‘You think I’m backing out now? After everything? Fuck you.’ I lean back on my heels, shocked. Grady looks angry. More than that, he looks hurt.
‘Didn’t mean it like that,’ I say. Grady’s face goes flat and expressionless. Makes him seem like a stranger every time. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does I feel cold. Exposed. Cockroach pinned to a board for examination.
Been happening more and more lately.
‘Yes you did,’ he says. There’s no anger in his voice. Silence. He’s right.
‘What if it doesn’t work?’ I ask. Grady breathes out through his nose.
‘If it doesn’t work nothing will happen,’ he says. ‘Probably. Hopefully.’ Groans at my expression. ‘I’m mostly kidding.’
I sit down next to him on the floor.
‘I know,’ I say. The cement is cold against my back, but Grady is a warm, solid presence at my side. I shift closer to him. Put my chin on his shoulder.
Grady’s silence is loud. Screaming. The shadows in the corner are nothing to the darkness between us right now.
Sense memory of Grady holding me while I shook and sweat and barfed my way through detox.
I bite his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. Gentle. His mouth quirks into a tired smile. Darkness recedes.
‘You ready?’ he asks in a low voice. I shake my head.
‘No,’ I say. ‘But let’s do it anyway.’
21.
And I beheld a strange and beautiful thing. Terrible and enormous. Hunting and seeking and finding. There’s hunger in hatred and solitude in suicide.
Nothing breaks beneath my fingers but I shatter them and they crumble like sandcastles made of knives.
Somewhere I can hear my brothers breathing. Maybe I’m dead. Trading places. I was born into pieces that didn’t quite fit together. Or they did, until my parents hammered me like sheet metal.
There’s someone in this body but it’s not me. I can’t see my face. I’m afraid and I’m lost but I know I know I fucking know what’s going to happen what’s going to tear through the front door knock over the ugly vase my mother loved crash across the kitchen.
They’re going to die again and again and I can’t stop it. Screaming bleeding sobbing. Weeping and soaked in sweat and I didn’t mean any of it, I swear.
My parents and I share a face and I can’t look at it anymore.
There’s an end and a beginning and I’m somewhere lost in the middle. Nightmares and revelations.
I miss my brothers.
Spiderwebs all over my body, cutting into my skin. I’m in broken pieces in new shapes.
A thing with no eyes and too many tongues wears Grady’s glasses.
There’s a walkway made of cancer and my feet are black and the air tastes of ash.
This is how I’m going to die.
I wake up screaming into my pillow. Wet with sweat or tears or both. I roll to the side for Grady. Remind myself I’m alive and safe and real. The bed beside me is empty. The sheets are cool.
Blind blazing blank panic. Did he leave was he ever here is he coming back. Is he real or have I been babbling alone in our home all this time.
No. Grady’s real. I couldn’t afford to live here otherwise.
The apartment is dark except for a light in the hallway. My brain comes online.
Right. Grady’s at a work conference.
I focus on breathing and debate whether I want to stay in my soaking wet bed or sleep on the couch.
Something moves along the floor in my room. Scurries out on too many legs like a centipede made of permanent midnight. I hold back a scream. Grab the baseball bat by the bed. It’s a better type of security blanket.
There’s scurrying in the hallway, tippity tap of feet against the floor. It’s back in my room it’s here it’s coming.
I switch on the light. The room is empty. The hallway light is still on. There are no sounds save for the air conditioner complaining.
The door to the apartment slams shut.
For a wild second I think Grady has come back early. He’ll laugh at my fears and make me warm milk and honey and fuck up the milk. I’ll drink it anyway and we’ll go to bed and have sex and sleep.
Then I remember the chain is on the front door.
I don’t sleep anywhere that night.
In the morning I search the entire apartment in the sunlight, bat in hand.
There’s no one here but me.