Page 99 of Play Nice

“He’s hurt!” I tasted blood in the air. I smelled sulfur. “This is a disaster.”

“It’s disrupting,” he said.

I pulled free of Roy’s grip. “Disrupting what?”

“It won’t go,” Ruth said, her voice raspy. Not her own.

“Don’t let it in, Ruth,” Roy said. “Don’t listen to it!”

“Too…” Her eyes rolled to the front. She looked at us. Looked at me. “Too late.”

Her head flew forward, bashing into the table. There was no time to react before it happened again. And again. And again.

Father Bernard held out his Bible, a crucifix. “In the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, be gone! Leave us! You have no power here!”

Again. Again. I heard a crack that I thought was the table, but it wasn’t. It was Ruth’s nose. Her teeth. Her pretty face now gore, a Halloween mask.

“In the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ—”

“I don’t want to see it anymore!” Ruth cried. Her hands shot to her face. Fingers climbing up her cheeks. Nails digging into her eyes. She was clawing out her eyes right in front of us. The violence of it was quick. The noise was terrible. Ripping. Wet.

I grabbed her forearms, and she struggled against me. She was strong.

“Help me!” I called to Roy.

He finally relented, coming to my aid. We pinned Ruth down on the floor. Roy held her while I called 911.

They sent two ambulances that arrived, mercifully, within five minutes.

Still, it was the longest five minutes of my life. Ruth and Jed bleeding on the salty carpet, their bodies eerily still, breath shallow.

Father Bernard continued to pray but without his former gusto.

We were defeated. Handily.

My daughters cried outside on the deck. Hugged each other.

At least, Elle and Dee cried. Cici allowed them to embrace her, but she didn’t turn away from the violent scene. Didn’t cry. She showed no emotion.

Father Bernard went to the hospital with Jed and Ruth. Roy refused to leave me and the girls alone in the house.

He cleaned blood and salt from the carpets. He escorted me downstairs to show me the hoofprints in the baby powder, more proof I didn’t need.

Elle and Dee locked themselves in their bedroom. They refused to see me, and I didn’t press.

Cici sat on the couch with her sketchpad and the big barrel of animal crackers.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yeah. Are you?”

I would later find out that I had a concussion and two bruised ribs from my fall. “No. I don’t think I am.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

“What?” I asked.

She repeated herself, speaking slowly this time, enunciating each word. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”