Page 7 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

Driving in shock is not an option, but neither is driving in the dark. After convincing myself I’m totally fine, I white-knuckle the entirety of the short commute to my apartment.

• • •

For the record, I try really hard not to think about Luke. Or Demon Debra. Or the fact that, apparently, demons are real.

I’ve said that sentence over and over through the weekend, but it has yet to ring true. Yes, I saw Demon Debra with my own two eyeballs. Yes, I saw Luke exorcising the fuck out of her. No, I don’t believe it. Demons are in movies and books and video games. They aren’t making me look bad by procrastinating on sending weekly reports on a Friday afternoon.

The internet states otherwise.

I finally crack by Saturday after watching enough Selling Sunset to confirm that if demons are real, their corporeal form must be luxury real estate agents. The rest of the weekend is a rabbit hole of Reddit threads and glitchy lore websites and doomscrolling social media. My algorithm spoon-feeds me content like “Real Demon Spotting at Brooklyn Bridge” and “Eldritch Monster in Pisgah National Forest.”

I stay up so late watching conspiracy-theory videos—but are they really just conspiracy theories?—that come Monday, it’s nearly impossible to keep my eyes open. By lunch, I’m ready to run to the nearest convenience mart to get a Monster Energy drink to chug when Krystal sidles up to my desk.

“You okay, angel?” She smacks her gum in a way that should be obnoxious but isn’t because she is the living embodiment of a bisexual ray of sunshine. “Your vibes are off. Rough weekend?”

I busy myself stacking envelopes so I don’t need to look her in the eye. “A bit.”

“Can’t be as rough as the Parkers’ was.” Ted sighs, inserting himself into the conversation. A full cup of water is in his hand thanks to yours truly. “Did you hear the news?”

“Oh, Amelia told me about it,” Krystal says with a frown. “Just terrible.”

“What happened?” I ask. “Who are the Parkers?”

Carol, our HR manager, who I ideally would have filed several complaints about Debra and Luke’s misconduct with this morning if each one didn’t start with so, demons are, apparently, real, rolls over from her cubicle. “The Parkers are Debra’s neighbors. That’s probably why she’s out today.”

I can’t help the jolt that goes through me at Debra’s name. “Why?” I ask, chest tight.

Carol’s milky blue eyes grow huge, the prospect of dishing office gossip too delectable an opportunity to pass up. “The Parkers have a daughter, Poppi. She’s around your age and has had some run-ins with the police, thanks to drugs and things like that. But she got back on track after a junkie friend of hers died. Nothing like a fatal overdose to scare you into rehab.”

Krystal bristles, her grip around the stapler I bashed against Debra’s head tightening.

“She was on a real rough road but had been doing better. Certainly was looking better,” Ted says to me with a wink.

I politely ignore it. “So what happened to her?”

“She’s missing,” Krystal says curtly.

“Has been since Friday night,” Ted adds. “It was all over the news. Didn’t you see?”

Sorry, Ted, I was too busy scouring the internet for everything to know about demonic possessions. “I stick to streaming services.”

“My guess is a relapse.” Carol sighs, lifting her bedazzled glasses from where they hang on a beaded chain around her neck. If Debra gives deceivingly sweet granny vibes, Carol is more of a quirky great-aunt who spends her weekends at craft shows. “Hope she shows up soon. Alive.”

With that cryptic sentiment, Carol rolls back to her cubicle. Ted knocks on the top of my desk. “News like this really rocks a small town like ours. Devastating, really. By the way, did you fax the report on Friday?”

“Fuck,” I blurt out. Ted’s eyes widen, and even Krystal shoots me a warning look, gaze darting to Luke’s closed office door. A door that I seem to be the only one to have noticed has a different grain, just like the blinds are more eggshell than white and the glass is suspiciously smudge-free. Luke must have spent the whole weekend cleaning everything up, and he did an unnervingly good job.

“I meant to, but—” I scramble for an excuse.

“Brie, can I see you in my office?” Luke asks, leaning against his doorway.

Krystal gives me wide, excited eyes, as if Luke is handing me a personal invitation to live out the scene in one of her office-romance books where the main character gets eaten out on a desk. I can’t say it’s any fantasy of mine, especially knowing Luke’s desk is sitting on a has-been exorcism site.

Ted, on the other hand, looks let down at being interrupted. “Fax it today?”

“Absolutely,” I promise.

I pass Luke on my way into his office, getting a full whiff of his cologne. A mix of cloves and something sweet, like honey.