Yes, it remembered.
Rayo had not warned him that such beings existed in the modern city of monuments. It should feast on his sloppy human, make him suffer. Yet the shadow had made a pledge. It would not revoke that which it had promised.
The pain.
The pain… was driving it mad…
Therage.
It could not think. Better to make itself tiny and hide than bear agony again.
Dispersal was unfamiliar. Manifestation was meant for delight andconsumption, not pain. It had materialized after all these years, had communed with its human and partaken of flesh only to be dispersed. An affront. Humiliation.
It tried to focus…
It would not be hurt again. The woman could not be allowed to live.
The entity’s fury left and came back and then left again. Focus was too hard…
The woman had touched its mind, created a thread that it could follow. The thread was luminous, impossible to miss. The shadow would regain its strength and find her. It would strike down the witch and feast again.
Thoughts of vengeance fortified its form. Focus returned. The shadow became large and wispy, solid and sharp. Manifestation was its destiny without pain or debasement.
Oh yes, she would pay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EVELYN
A cluster of the Afflicted have been discovered in the advertising firm Mtume Visions. Two employees were escorted off the premises by authorities…”
Evelyn turned off the TV. The last thing she saw was Kent being carted off on a stretcher. He thrashed against his restraints, mouth foaming, eyes aglow, flat top misshapen. She was too tired and numb to absorb what was happening. She had a sense this was really the end. Nebulous, evil things were consuming what she once cherished. Since taking a car from Trevor’s place, she had cried all last night, all morning, and most of the afternoon. She would’ve once thought herself lucky, to have managed to leave Mtume before the affliction hit the company. But didn’t matter—it seemed like the demon eyes were following her.
When Trevor had stumbled out his bathroom with eyes on fire, after Evelyn had recovered from her initial shock and dismay, she kneeled with him on the hallway floor and cradled his body. His skin was so hot that it was uncomfortable to have him close. Her sweat slid down her face and arms, joining his own. “It’ll be okay, Trevor,” she said softly as he wept, ashe trembled though his body was burning up. As she began to cry herself. “Trevor, we’ll get help. Okay, Trevor? Stay calm…”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay…” His voice was a whimper, a small sound that belonged to a child. She kept on saying his name. She remembered that memory loss was a symptom for the Afflicted, that they often couldn’t recall who they were.
Evelyn continued to hold her man as anxiety crept into her frame. What if he totally forgot who he was, who she was? What if he got violent and tried to hurt her? She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she decided to call 911. She slowly got up. Trevor clung to her as best he could but sank back down to the floor in a crumpled heap once he realized she was determined to rise. Evelyn saw the glow of his eyes reflected off the top of his thighs, saw how his skin continued to blister. She had to get help.
After she’d made the call, Evelyn had the foresight to throw a sheet over Trevor, though she knew he might be uncomfortable being covered if he was overheated. She couldn’t bear the thought of law enforcement coming in and seeing him in such a state, wanting to do nothing more than take him somewhere and hide him away until he got better.
Evelyn grabbed a shopping bag from the stash that she remembered Trevor kept under the sink and ran around the apartment. She threw into the bag whatever she could find that he might need. A shirt, sweater, couple of pants, underwear, socks… toiletries… little trinkets on his coffee table. The authorities arrived within minutes: a pair of EMT workers who came barreling into the apartment accompanied by two military personnel in fatigues—National Guardsmen, she assumed. One of the EMTs looked at Trevor crouched on the floor and muttered, “Not again.”
She accompanied them downstairs. Even though it was early morning, a few neighbors had gathered to see what the commotion was about. Onescreeched like a fool when she peeped Trevor’s eyes and ran back inside. Another made the sign of the cross.
Evelyn was suddenly aware of what she looked like. She was streaked in sweat and blood, her slip barely covered by a denim jacket of his she’d managed to put on before the authorities arrived. When she attempted to get in the back of the ambulance, one of the soldiers barred her from entering. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you won’t be able to accompany us,” the woman said with a sorrowful look. “Unless you opt to be detained as well. I’m very, very sorry. Please take care.”
Evelyn nodded, numb, and remembered to give the guardsperson Trevor’s phone, which she’d held in her hand the entire time since their arrival. The soldier gave her a card with the hotline number and email dedicated to providing updates about the Afflicted for family members. Evelyn couldn’t find the language to explain that she was Trevor’s girlfriend, wasn’t even sure she should describe herself that way. She walked back upstairs, ignored the stares from Trevor’s neighbors, and entered his apartment only to curse under her breath. She’d forgotten to give the EMT workers the bag with his belongings.
Evelyn now glanced over at the shopping bag she’d placed at the corner of her couch in her studio. The truth was that she’d been gathering Trevor’s things for herself. Because she needed to hold close what belonged to him. To remember his smell, which she searched for in his sweater and cap. She’d laid out a couple of shirts and jeans on the couch, as if she could conjure him up. A couple of his books, his anime key chains, the sun amulet she had to admit was pretty, even though it still gave her the creeps… all there to keep him close.
She’d presumed that the authorities had contacted his family and hoped against hope that one of his sisters would find a way to reach out. Evelyn didn’t bother to let Deirdre know what had happened, ignored her texts. She knew it would freak her out, that it might be the last strawfor her friend staying in DC, which maybe wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.
Evelyn began to wonder if perhaps she should leave town as well. With Trevor and her job… gone… what did she have to stay for? Wasn’t even a sentimental decision. Evelyn began to realize that this thing with the Afflicted might end up consuming the entire district. She’d tried to be brave, to take a stand for her dude, and look where it had gotten her.
She swayed to Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You” as she held Trevor’s sweater in her hand and draped it against her bosom. She imagined he was right there swaying with her. He had a serene look on his face, so content. A rage built in her chest over his absence, like he’d somehow abandoned her.
More tears came, even though she believed herself all cried out. Evelyn swayed with Phantom Trevor and drank a full bottle of Malbec as she listened to more Marvin and D’Angelo and Gladys and Stevie, his type of music, and then put on some H.E.R. and SiR and Jazmine and Summer, her type of music. She swayed and swayed some more, realizing, even in her inebriated state, that she would soon topple over if she didn’t stop.
