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Rei
The day is exhausting, and by the time we’re done, we have no answers. Tom is still very sick, things don’t seem to be getting better, and he’s not resistant to prayer, exactly, but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything.
My head pounds when we get back to the hotel, and as I sift through my notes at the hotel bar, drinking nothing but seltzers and picking at a plate of nachos, I have no answers.
I don’t know if Tom is possessed.
I don’t know if we can save him.
I don’t know why we’re here at all.
There’s a game on the TV that everyone but me seems to be watching, my eyes glued to the notepad app on my phone. This isn’t great. We’ve handled cases that felt like brick walls before this one, but something about this particular one feels difficult, almost unworkable. We’re at a dead end already and we’ve barely even started.
Luke sits next to me, on one of the only empty stools at the bar. "Wine. White," he tells the bartender.
"Coming right up," the bartender says, flashing Luke a smile.
Luke nods. He’s out of uniform—he never wears the collar after six o’clock at night if he can help it because he doesn’t appreciate people trying to come up to him with confessions when they’re drunk, and it’s happened more than once before. He turns a little to look at me. "So," he says. "How are you holding up?"
I shake my head. "This one's a mystery," I say, tapping my stylus against the screen. "I have no idea about it. I’m not House."
"You think it’s medical?"
I smile at him. "Yeah, but I always think it’s medical," I say. "Do you think it’s something else?"
He narrows his eyes. "Something about it is bothering me."
I wait for him to continue. The bartender brings his glass of wine, places it in front of him. He notices we’re having an intense conversation so immediately makes himself scarce, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth when he does. "What?" I ask.
"When it’s medical or psychological, the subject always seems to insist that they’re possessed," he says, dropping his voice. "It’s something most of the people we’ve ruled out have shared, is it not?"
I don’t need to check my notes for that. "Yes."
"But Tom doesn’t do any of that," he says. "He just seems resigned; almost like he’s humoring his mother. You got that, right?"
I nod. "Yeah, I got that."
"It makes sense to me that demons wouldn’t want to reveal themselves immediately," he says. "That they would try to hide, that they would want to make it seem like it’s nothing more than mental illness."
"Nothing more?" I ask under my breath.
"Figure of speech," he says. "We need to decide if we’re dealing with something on the spiritual plane."
I nod. "You could do it," I say. "An exorcism. See if it helps."
"It might be counterproductive."
"Even if he is not possessed, the process might be a placebo to help him seek the help he clearly needs," I say. "He needs talk therapy, and maybe a pharmacological approach, but…"
"What? You don’t think throwing a bit of holy water on him and telling him the power of Christ compels him is going to work?" he says, a smile in his voice.
I smile, shaking my head. "I mean, I’m open to any approach. Whatever might work."
"I know, but…" he’s definitely going to say something else when he trails off, focusing on something by the door instead. I follow his gaze, my breath catching in my throat when I see Trine walk in.
She looks different than she did last night, her hair up in a messy bun, wearing light distressed blue jeans and a low-cut black top. Misha has his hand on her shoulder, and they both spot me at the same time. He says something quietly to her and she turns to look at him, her eyes narrowing. She nods as she meets his gaze and he says something else. It makes her smile.
I’m not going over there.
