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Quickly I type Nathan’s name into a search engine. A news item comes up, dated this morning.
THE DEVIL MADE HIM DO IT
Local boy, pulled over by police,
claims demonic possession
When police officers found Nathan Daldry, 16, of 22 Arden Lane, sleeping in his vehicle along the side of Route 23 early Sunday morning, they had no idea the story he would tell. Most teenagers would blame their condition on alcohol use, but not Daldry. He claimed no knowledge of how he had gotten where he was. The answer, he said, was that he must have been possessed by a demon.
“It was like I was sleepwalking,” Daldry tells the Crier. “The whole day, this thing was in charge of my body. It made me lie to my parents and drive to a party in a town I’ve never been to. I don’t really remember the details. I only know it wasn’t me.”
To make matters
more mysterious, Daldry says that when he returned home, someone else’s email was on his computer.
“I wasn’t myself,” he says.
Officer Lance Houston of the state police says that because there was no sign of alcohol use and because the car wasn’t reported stolen, Daldry was not being charged with any offense.
“Look, I’m sure he has reasons for saying what he’s saying. All I can tell you is that he didn’t do anything illegal,” says Houston.
But that’s not enough for Daldry.
“If anyone else has experienced this, I want them to come forward,” he says. “I can’t be the only one.”
It’s a local paper’s website, nothing to worry too much about. And the police don’t seem to feel it’s a particularly pressing case. But still, I’m worried. In all my years, I’ve never had someone do this to me before.
It’s not that I can’t imagine how it happened: Nathan is woken up on the side of the road by a police officer tapping on his window. Maybe there are even flashing lights bathing the darkness in red and blue. Within seconds, Nathan realizes what kind of trouble he’s in—it’s well past midnight, and his parents are going to kill him. His clothes smell like cigarettes and alcohol, and he has no way of remembering whether or not he was drunk or high. He is a blank—a sleepwalker waking up. Only … he has a sense of me. Some lone memory of not being himself. When the officer asks him what’s going on, he says he doesn’t know. When the officer asks him where he’s been, he says he doesn’t know. The officer gets him out of the car, makes him take a Breathalyzer test. Nathan proves to be stone-cold sober. But the officer still wants answers, so Nathan tells him the truth—that his body was taken over. Only, he can’t imagine anyone who takes over bodies except for the devil. This is going to be his story. He is a good kid—he knows that everybody will back him up on that. They’re going to believe him.
The officer just wants him to get home safely. Maybe he even escorts Nathan home, calling ahead to his parents. They’re awake when Nathan gets there. They’re angry and concerned. He repeats his story to them. They don’t know what to believe. Meanwhile, some reporter hears the officer talking about it on the shortwave, or maybe it gets around the station. The teenager who snuck off to a party and then tried to blame it on the devil. The reporter calls the Daldry home on Sunday, and Nathan decides to talk. Because that will make it more real, won’t it?
I feel both guilty and defensive. Guilty because I did this to Nathan, whatever my intentions. Defensive because I certainly didn’t force him to react in this way, which will only make it worse for him, if not me.
In the one-in-a-million chance that Nathan can persuade someone to trace my emails, I realize I can’t check this account from people’s homes anymore. Because if he can do that, he’ll be able to chart most of the houses I’ve been in over the past two or three years … which will lead to a lot of confusing conversations.
Part of me wants to write back to him, to explain. But I’m not sure any explanation will be enough. Especially because I don’t have most of the answers. I gave up on figuring out why a long time ago. I am guessing Nathan won’t give up as easily.
Margaret Weiss’s boyfriend, Sam, likes to kiss her. A lot. Public, private—it doesn’t matter. If he gets a chance to make a move, he does.
I am not in the mood.
Margaret quickly comes down with a cold. The kissing stops, and the doting begins. Sam is rather smitten, and he surrounds Margaret with the sweet quicksand of his love. From recent memories, I can tell that Margaret is usually just as willing to do the same. Everything comes second to being with Sam. It’s a miracle that she still has friends.
There’s a quiz in science. Judging from my accessing, it appears that I know more about the subject than Margaret does. It’s her lucky day.
I am dying to get on one of the school computers, but I have to get rid of Sam first. Even though I’ve separated them at the lips, I can’t seem to get Sam and Margaret separated at the hips. At lunch, he puts one of his hands in her back pocket while he eats, and then pouts when Margaret doesn’t do the same thing. They then have study hall together, and he spends all of it stroking her and talking to her about the movie they saw last night.
Eighth period is the only class they don’t have together, so I decide to run with it. As soon as Sam drops her off at the classroom door, I have her go to the teacher, say she’s going to the nurse, and head straight to the library.
First, I finish forwarding all my emails from my old account. All that remains are the two emails from Nathan; I can’t bring myself to delete them, just as I can’t bring myself to delete the account. For some reason, I want him to be able to contact me. I feel that much responsibility.
I load up the new email account, with the intention of writing Rhiannon back. Much to my surprise, there’s already another email from her. Giddy, I open it.
Nathan,
Apparently, Steve doesn’t have a cousin Nathan, and none of his cousins were at his party. Care to explain?
Rhiannon
