Page 128 of Play Nice

“Hey!” Leda says, shoving her back.

Daphne’s hip collides with the kitchen island. She groans in pain. “What’s your problem?”

“I didn’t even want to come here!” Leda shouts. “You made me.”

“I asked you! And not because I wanted to. Because if I didn’t, you’d bitch about how you were left out because you’re so deeply insecure about being the least favorite sister. Because you are!”

Leda lunges forward, grabbing Daphne’s hair. Daphne tries to wriggle free, untangle Leda’s fingers from her curls, but Leda’s relentless. Daphne kicks her shin, and still Leda doesn’t let go.

It’s shocking to watch. We’ve never gotten physical with each other like this before. Not even when we were little.

“Let go of me!” Now Daphne’s got Leda’s hair. Clumps are coming away in her hands. “Stop!”

I hear the laughter. It’s so loud it shakes the house. But Daphne and Leda don’t notice, and a sudden understanding cuts into me.

The demon isn’t doing this for my benefit, isn’t revealing its presence to my sisters to vindicate me and Mom. It hasn’t been communicating with me because it likes me, wants to engage with me, get my attention and give it in return.

It’s doing it because it wants to. Because it’s bored. Because it enjoys watching us suffer.

Our suffering is entertainment.

I’m only its favorite because I’m game, down to play. Because I’m a good pawn. The easiest. The most fun.

“Okay, yeah. Enough,” I say, hurrying into the kitchen to break them up. I wedge myself between them. “Enough.”

I catch a stray elbow to the side of the head, and everything disappears.

34

After the disastrous initial exorcism, more attempts were made to rid the house of the demon. Paranormal experts were brought in from overseas. Priests from Vatican City. The demon resisted.

Roy left satchels of lavender and thyme and cloves of garlic in Cici’s closet. He sprinkled salt in the attic. We had a witch come and cast spells of protection. None of it made a difference. None of it mattered.

It fed off my energy. Feasted on my anguish. My pain kept it occupied. Kept it happy. I wanted to defeat it. I wanted it gone. It cost me my daughters. But I had nothing left in me then. I spent less and less time at the house, often visiting with Roy in Connecticut and eventually moving in with him there.

Days turned to weeks turned to months, and I crawled toward healing, wanting more than anything just a moment of peace, a moment to forget all the pain and terror of the past. I was no longer there physically, but mentally, it would not let me leave. It would not let me go. The demon found me in my dreams. My nightmares. It leached the colors from my world, from my view. I understood then that there was no escape.

When I finally returned to the house, I went slowly up the stairs and stood in the living room, perfectly still, listening. It was quiet, and in the quiet I allowed myself that moment of peace I so craved.

—

When I come to, it’s on the kitchen floor, on my side, in a pool of blood.

It’s to Daphne’s voice.

“ ‘But then I heard it. The cruel, soul-curdling sound of its laughter, and I felt a chill, a brutal cold that I knew was of death itself. The evil was not gone. It would never be gone. But it could be kept at bay.’ ”

“Daffy…” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Daphne…”

She sits on the floor, her back against the wall, knees to her chest. Book hiding her face. “ ‘My daughters are no longer in the house, but they are out in the world. A world that’s unforgiving, that’s brimming with unspeakable evil. I’ve devoted the rest of my life to fighting that evil. I have seen the face of it. It has slept under my roof. It is real. Denial will not—’ ”

“Shut up,” Leda whines. I can’t see her. I don’t know where she is. I can’t lift my head.

“ ‘Denial will not save you. Skepticism will only buy you time. My hope is that my story gives a voice to everyone who has been haunted by evil, both of this world and the supernatural. Who has been met with doubt and ridicule. Who has been called crazy. Who, despite the adversity, hasn’t abandoned the truth, or their fight against what works in shadow. May it all come to the light.’ ” Daphne smacks the book shut. She’s got a black eye and a bloody lip.

“What’s going on?” I ask. The bulb in the kitchen is searingly bright.

“Tell her,” Daphne says.