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Levi pulls down a bottle and lifts some glasses from beneath the bar, his eyes connecting with mine. “Witch?”
I sneer at him, “Whatever, sure.”
I sit down on a couch in one of the back rows, sticking my backpack on the side of the couch and plopping the folder in my lap. Glancing around, I see a lever on the side, and I pull it, the footrest instantly gliding up.
Oh, fuck yes.
I swallow down a groan as I lean back.
“Here, witch,” Levi says, handing me a short glass with amber-colored liquid sloshing around on the inside.
I glare up at him. “You can stop that, you know.”
He blinks at me. “Stop what?”
“Calling me a witch. I’m not a fucking witch,” I snap.
He laughs, a smile curling his lips. He shakes his hair out of his face. “Okay, whatever you say, witch.”
I grind my teeth together as he saunters away, plopping down in a seat next to Piper.
Blaire sits up front, and she grabs a remote from a table near the TV, pressing a few buttons before the screen lights up, all the streaming services popping up in different tiles.
I glance down at my folder, lifting the glass to my lips as I take a sip. I instantly wince, glaring at Levi, who doesn’t spare me a glance.
This dick put, like, pure liquor in here.
I sigh, taking one more sip before setting it in the cup holder next to the couch.
Opening the folder, I see the name printed in thin, swirly calligraphy.
Agnes Alastair.
Who are you, Agnes? And why do you seem so important?
I run my fingers over the dried, crinkly paper as I read her date of birth.
March 3rd, 1945
Agnes Alastair, twenty-two years old.
Signs of schizophrenia.
Hallucinations. Delusions. Aggressive with staff and other patients. Anger. History of ritualistic tendencies which lean toward dark witchcraft.
I frown at the paper, flipping to the next page, my eyes squinting as I attempt to read the doctor’s note.
March 28th, 1967
Agnes has been speaking of the darkness invading her chest again. She says it is difficult to breathe, and she sees many shadows in her room at night. This afternoon in the rec room, she became aggressive with one of the other patients, holding her fork to her neck as she screamed that a sacrifice needed to be made. When asking Agnes about this, she told her,“Baal made me do it, Baal made me do it.”When asking her who Baal is, her body tensed in place and her eyes rolled back in her head. Medics were called into the room, and it was determined she was not seizing, as I had anticipated. She was sedated by medical staff and quickly removed. Once she was situated back in her room, the name Baal Berith was torn from her throat in a voice that did not sound like Agnes.
After doing some research, I’ve come to find Baal Berith is a demon within the Christian demonology. I don’t know much about this particular demon, but I do have to say, the way in which she spoke that name made everyone in the room freeze with tension.
Is this another one of Agnes’s delusions, or does she really seem to be possessed by this Baal Berith?
I guess only time will tell.
Dr. Doulane
