It kind of makes sense that Nikki got the longest death spell, or whatever you want to call it. I’ll go with that. But yeah…
I’d say that it’s sad, how her life will fall in line only to kind of fall to ashes, but I have to believe that she made it that way. It’s all based on choices, trusting your instincts, you know? And it’s kind of the same as anyone else — they’re so afraid of and fascinated by “demons” that they forget that we can create a darker and more disturbing demon just by running away from our problems. Hmm…
Yeah. It’s really like that for most people.
We’re all going to die.
But we don’t have to die alone.
Father Albert and Becca hold hands in prayer, while Father Andrew explains to Dad how I had been terrorizing others. “It’s an indication of severity,” Father Albert says. But that doesn’t really say anything.
They’ve strapped me down to my bed.
Dad still can’t get past the fact that my room has been stripped clean. Father Andrew doesn’t have any real answers. And I’m not going to say anything. You won’t either, because by now, I’m beginning to see that there is no “plural” version. We are the same. And I mean that in the best possible way.
Never have to be alone again, unless I want to.
Dad shakes his head. “I don’t understand how even half of this is possible!”
Father Andrew explains, “Your son is in the latter stages of possession. There are three stages: infestation, oppression, and possession. Your son’s condition has quickly risen from oppression to possession.”
Father Albert and Becca chant prayers.
Dad asks, “Have you seen anything like this?”
Father Andrew nods. “Not exactly, but something similar, yes. I have witnessed full demonic possession. Typically, the human host falls into a coma and the demon assumes the role.”
Dad says, “He… he was in school days ago, healthy as usual. He’s going to graduate soon. I… oh my god.”
“But what’s incredibly puzzling about your son’s case has to do with the fact that the body itself should be in tatters. In all accounts, your son should not be of the living.”
“Jesus.” Dad buries his face in his hands.
“I’ve never witnessed this before. However, if I do say so myself, it is more encouraging than tragic. Perhaps your son is still trapped in this body.”
“I hope. I hope so.”
Father Andrew gestures toward the far side of the room, where the other two remain standing, praying and chanting. “Please, join them. We need as many prayers as possible.”
Dad joins them.
You join me.
Be strong.
Wait, what are you implying? I’m sensing that you’re hesitating…
Father Andrew, he knows not what he’s summoning. He needs to stop. Be strong.
He…
Hold on to the clearest image you can see. What do you see?
I see a field… at dawn. A car parked by itself. Someone… sitting on the hood of the car, looking at something in the distance, can’t see what.
Hold on to that image. It will help.
Okay.
Do not let go of the image.
Father Andrew approaches the bed.
Keep your eyes closed. Do not open them.
Father Andrew places a hand on my forehead. It stings, scalding to the touch.
Be vigilant. Be strong.
Father Andrew blesses the bed, my body, holding a rosary in his right hand. He opens up his copy of the Bible but doesn’t read from its pages. Instead, Father Andrew recites prose of his own, what I guess he wrote for this exorcism. It goes on for whole paragraphs, recited in weird intonations, like he’s traded in his voice for someone else’s.
Be strong.
But there won’t be any party. No one is in attendance. No one cares about me anymore. No one will be toasting to my newfound “health.” If anything, I’ll be drinking to drown a new loss. I can’t lose a friend, and they can’t make me.
Be strong. Be vigilant.
Father Andrew begins with the guttural commands.
“The power of Christ compels you!”
Becca and Dad and Father Albert in the corner praying.
Be strong.
I can feel the skin on my face beginning to boil.
“The power of Christ compels you!”
The prayers continue. They don’t stop.
I feel the room around me turning, stretching thin.
“The power of Christ compels you!”
The room gets warmer, the cold starting to leave. The warm cuts through my skin, making it feel like my skin has grown thin. I think I’m bleeding, but I can’t be sure.
Be strong. Be vigilant. Hold on to the image.
I am. I am holding on.
You mustn’t speak.
My mouth is stitched closed. I can’t say anything.
“The power of Christ compels you!”
I can feel my body start to separate at the joints.
Be strong. Be vigilant.
I know that it’s imagined. It’s an inner force that tries to take back as much of this body as possible. But it makes me think about Becca. Like I can see her for who she really is, and I maybe start to think that I was wrong to break up with her. Maybe I was wrong to haunt her. Maybe it was all wrong… She actually does care for me and just tries really hard to make the best decision for me.
Hold on to the image. Be strong. Push all inflicted emotions away.
I am.
“The power of Christ compels you!”
It makes me think about Mom and Dad.
They live separate lives and maybe that’s okay. I’m their son. I’m still their son, no matter what. Even if they aren’t really there, they still put a roof over my head. They still get me the things that I need. I never needed a job, you know, because I got some kind of allowance. It’s embarrassing, but maybe they really work all the time to pay for the things they actually give me. Maybe I was wrong…
Keep to the image. Hold on to it. Be strong. Push all inflicted emotions away.
I am…
“The power of Christ compels you!”
It makes me think about Brad and Jon-Jon and Nikki.
Maybe I’m the one who’s been fake and too hard on Brad. He’s just a guy who really wants to get along with the people around him. Maybe I was wrong… maybe he really does care and just has a weird way of showing it. Maybe he’s just depressed, really depressed. Maybe…
And Jon-Jon’s just a fickle person; he’s worse off than most. Maybe he acts all like a gangster because he doesn’t know what else to do. Maybe I was wrong to think that he’s horrible…
Like Nikki, they’re just as confused and lost in their relationships. They’re, like, confused about how to meet people and they are more confused about how it seems more impossible the older they get. And they’re young. We’re all young. But already it feels like meeting and making real, true friends is as crazy as thinking we can figure people out with one look.
Maybe I’m getting it all wrong…
Push all inflicted emotions away. Hold on. Be strong.
. .
“The power of Christ compels you!”
It makes me think about Blaire.
How she was always there, standing to the side, watching. She’s always been there, ever since we were kids confused by how we couldn’t just play kickball with the other during recess. They didn’t let us, so we sat on the side, watching. Not a part of things. Just people on the side, not really there, the real attention on the kids in the game… What happens to the people who never get looked at? I can barely see Blaire, but she’s been around longer than almost everyone else I know. She’s been there more than my mom and dad. Maybe I wasn’t looking in the right direction…