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He smiles at her. “I don’t know,“ he says. “Business as usual, probably.“
TRINE
Idon’t know where to find Malon.
I don’t know if he’d answer my questions if I fell asleep and asked him where we might be able to talk to him. Misha’s business card literally says he hunts demons. I don’t know if I want to stop that fight.
My head throbs as we drive to my mom’s house. I can’t help but think that coming here was a terrible idea, that I shouldn’t have dragged them into this with me.
It would be so much easier if I could go back to my life; my apartment, my band, my friends. But when Rei said that they would go back home-–because that was clearly what he meant when he said business as usual—I could feel my stomach twisting, the idea that these three men aren’t going to be around me anymore enough to make me feel queasy.
It feels silly to be worried about a breakup in the middle of a serious demonic possession, but here we are.
I don’t want to talk about it. I still need to process everything that has happened over the last few days. I lean my head against the window and feel it rattle against the top of my head. It’s dull and annoying and absolutely real.
Misha, who is driving, doesn’t turn the radio on. We drive in silence to my mother’s yellow house in her perfect little suburb, and by the time we get there, my stomach churns with dread. I don’t even know what I can say to her.
I came here for her help and all I learned was that she did her best. Turns out fucking up is my family’s generational curse.
I close my eyes and feel the cool air conditioner’s soft breeze, the hair on my forehead tickling my skin. “We’re here,“ Misha says, turning off the ignition when he pulls into the driveway. I straighten up as his hand goes on my shoulder. “What do you want us to do?“
I turn to look at him. They could all come with me and give me moral support. That would be nice. But then I don’t know if I’d be okay with saying everything I need to say to my mom and I’ve probably offended her enough. Our relationship might not be healed, but she’s the only one who understands what I’m going through. It would be dumb not to keep her close, at least for the information she has.
“Stay here,“ I say.
I look down at myself and I have no idea how the fuck I’m going to explain the multiple cuts on my skin. I don’t have to see my reflection to know that there are bags under my eyes and that my mom will immediately pick up on how exhausted I feel.
She’s always been good at reading me.
I grab the handle of the door, looking back at all of them. When I come back, they’ll drop me off at my apartment and everything will go back to the way it was. There’s nothing left for them to do for me. So all I can do is take in this moment, as they all sit there, all of them clearly concerned about me.
Is it weird to tell your exorcists you’re going to miss them? Fuck it. I guess we’re well past the point of that.
“It’s really gonna suck when you guys go back to Boston,“ I say.
Before any of them can answer me, before a conversation starts, I leave the car and walk toward my mother’s wraparound porch. She’s already outside, waiting for me with a drink in her hands.
“You look terrible,“ she says.
I flash her a smile. She doesn’t look that much better herself. Her hair is slicked back in a ponytail and the whites in her eyes are red. I can tell she’s been crying.
“You don’t look much better yourself,“ I reply, standing next to her.
“I brought you one,“ she points toward a large white mug next to me. I bring it to my lips. It’s wine. Something sweet and dry.
“Thank you,“ I say. I take a sip and it settles my nerves a little. I close my eyes as I drink the rest of the wine, the sound of rain tapping against the roof calming me down a little.
I’ve always loved rain. It reminds me of home, my dad strumming his guitar as my mom typed on her computer, the sky darkening and the trees swaying with the wind. There’s something gratifying about clouds covering the tiresome, constant sunlight. But the rain seems to be worse than I expected and when I open my eyes, the sound is so loud I can’t hear anything but the giant raindrops on the roof of the house.
The sky doesn’t just turn grey, it turns red and yellow, and it happens so quickly my mom and I exchange glances. The air pressure feels like it drops while the humidity ramps up. It’s often hard to breathe here, but now at this moment, it feels impossible to catch a full breath.
The rain is so fucking loud–it’s deafening. But before we can go inside, before I can even talk to my mom about it, my breath catches in my throat as I realize that this isn't rain.
The sound is so loud, it’s almost piercing. And my mom’s front yard fills with fish. It takes me a few seconds to process that the silvery things that are getting in my mom’s long grass is fish, chrome and sparkling in the tiny bit of sunlight that the clouds are still letting through.
And the water runs red with blood toward the gutters, debris and leaves moving slowly toward the street. “What the fuck is this?“ my mom asks, her voice shaking.
I watch, my jaw open as the fish bounce on the grass, on the banister of the porch, bouncing against our feet. I feel wetness and slime against my ankle and a tiny scaly fish bounces on my toes and against the front of my ankle.
