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.