by Aly Noble
“She’ll be okay,” Jonah murmured nearby, and I looked over to find him standing on the stairs. “Unfortunately, I do need your help. Otherwise, I’d send you with her.”
I slowly closed the door. It felt like a sentencing. “What do I need to do?”
“I’m going to do my best to get us up there,” he said quietly. “When we find Bethaline, we’ll find the entity. I’ll need to focus all my full attention on it, so I need you to get Bethaline out as fast as you can. And the other two as well if it’s manageable.”
“All right,” I said, some of the anxiety I felt creeping into my voice.
Jonah looked down at me and seemed like he had some anxiety working his nerves as well. “I don’t know what we’ll find up there,” he admitted. “The only thing I’m certain of is that Bethaline is still alive. I can imagine what it wants with me—it’s a matter of finishing a job. I don’t know what it wants with you. Be ready for anything and don’t surrender to it, no matter what. Understand?”
I nodded.
Once that was cleared up, he glanced toward the top of the stairs and began climbing. I followed behind, wishing I had a weapon that would work against what we were about to face. What a fucking shitshow.
The sight at the top of the staircase was from a nightmare. Lancer and Rose were both there. Lancer—disfigured like Carla and clearly dead—was slumped against the wall where the banister ended, just out of sight. Rose was leaning against the wall as well, but opposite to where Lancer was propped and closer to where my bedroom door hung open.
“Rose?” I whispered as we drew closer, thinking she was maybe in shock. If she’d seen the process of whatever happened to Lancer, she was definitely in shock. It was only when I was barely three feet from her, my arm half-raised to touch her shoulder and get her attention, that I realized she was dead, too.
In the exact instant I came to realize this, her body shuddered with a sickening crunch. And then another. And then, in a matter of seconds, she’d been pulled through a small opening in the wall, her skeletal structure contorting and shattering to accommodate the space and the stronger force dragging her in.
Half of a sob escaped me and my hands went to my mouth as Jonah put a hand on the back of my neck to steady me. “This is exactly what it wants,” he murmured, tense but trying to help. “There’s no way to make that go away, but her daughter needs us. Both of us.”
I desperately tried to erase the image from my mind, but it kept playing over and over and over again. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said softly. “I’m going to. I have to. But I don’t know if I can.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he reasoned bluntly. Inexplicably, I remembered him watching The Little Mermaid with Bethaline in the living room downstairs. My chest felt tight at thinking about how he must feel now, at seeing what had become of Rose and at the thought of what may become of Bethaline. “But we’re both going to have to try.”
I felt rattled, but I knew that every moment I allowed to slide meant another moment Bethaline could die. For all I knew, she was hurt or terrified or both. Maybe—no, I couldn’t do maybe’s. I just had to go.
I kept Bethaline in the forefront of my mind and nodded once. Jonah adjusted his grip to my shoulder and held it as we walked to the bedroom doorway and looked inside.
I didn’t know much about demons or entities, but the appearance of the room—of my room—looked like a being on its last leg. The walls were slathered with a black, tar-like substance that had rotted the area around the muck trails. The floor was coated with black debris and snow near the window Price had shattered in his escape weeks back. Bethaline was lying prone across the foot of my bed in her pajamas, and her lips were tinted blue. I couldn’t help it—I lurched forward to get to her. Jonah followed close behind, but remained on guard for the trap to spring.
It didn’t take long. The door slammed shut behind us and, now that I was in the room, I saw that the wall beside the door had become what looked like a decaying, craggy opening, more of the ashen motes hovering within the pull of the maw—where it went, I wasn’t sure.
“What the fuck is that?” I asked Jonah.
“It’s made itself a nest,” he mumbled. “I imagine Price had something like this in the basement when they were still fused… Demonic entities don’t do this unless they’ve been bonded with a living creature. There’s no existing instinct in an entity to nest unless it’s tasted the survival ploys of an earthly being.”
“What does that mean for us?” I asked, feeling Bethaline’s neck and sighing with immeasurable relief to find a pulse.
“That it’s weakened,” he said softly. “It’s half of what it used to be, and the rift would have taken a lot out of what’s left of it. Is she all right?”
“She’s just cold, I think,” I murmured, stuffing the gun in the back of my pants, so I could wrap her in my jacket. “Is it in there?”
“No,” he said softly. “It was. It’s in the room now.”
I stiffened and gathered Bethaline up in my arms. “Then…”
I felt the words trail off my lips as the tension in my body seemed to drop ever so slightly. I was in a daze—my head felt muddled, but not unpleasantly. It was a coaxing sensation that focused into something like light, probing fingers pulling at the back of my head. My scab stung, but it gave like a spring bud, and I felt…
Well. I felt new.
I didn’t move. Why would I bother? Things felt so different, but it was a beautiful “different.” Stronger. I also felt like maybe I didn’t need to be so bossy with my own body for a while. There was something else, a greater part of my new self, that could take care of that.
The girl would be fine. She would live through Me. There was no reason to keep worrying for her. But the Reaper—no, the Reaper would need to go. He could not be allowed to live.
My thoughts didn’t feel like my thoughts. My thoughts were strange. Hateful. They were hungry and feral and cold. It wasn’t the me I knew. Instead, it was a different Me.
Something was inside my head. Inside my skin. It felt like the reverse of being in the same body as Becca Price, but I was still the puppet. I was toted around in her form, but this—whatever this was—was wearing me. Becoming Me. And yet unbecoming me all at once.
I began straining for control. Flexing every muscle, moving every joint, trying to find something I could still hold onto. I tried clenching my jaw, and I felt my face twitch. I heard Jonah saying something. I heard my name somewhere in the mix. And My name, too.
How did the Reaper know My name?
My head turned toward him when he repeated it. I forced my jaw to clench again and, from that point, I found a way to feel the otherness inside me. To find the seam where we separated by breaths. It was an otherness I wouldn’t name because it’d scare me too much to fight back.
I started pushing it from that one tiny pocket of control, forcing it away with everything I had left. It was easier when I could feel my arms again—Bethaline’s weight grounded me. I remembered what it did to Rose and Lancer. What it had put Estelle through. What it’d put me through.
I became angry.
Seconds passed before I felt my neck twitch slightly at my command. I could see and hear properly again. My breath fell from my mouth in huffs, and they turned to fog in the icy room. I felt starved for air. My pulse was pounding in my temple.
I looked at Jonah, and he was staring at something over the top of my head. A familiar guttural screech erupted from behind me and, before I could turn toward it, Jonah had shoved me roughly toward the broken window. My foot caught in the snow on the floor, but I took the hint and barreled toward the pane, curling my body around Bethaline and lunging out onto the roof.
Catching the soles of my shoes on the shingles, I managed to skid to a stop at the edge of the roof, hop over the gutter, and finally drop into the yard. My ankle gave when I hit the ground, and I half-fell into the snow, trying to keep Bethaline from taking any part of the impact. I sw
ore under my breath and turned to look back up at the window, scrambling back from the house.
I heard my name called, and I twisted around to look. Estelle was sprinting toward me to help us up. “Shit, is she—?”
“She’s fine, I think. Jonah’s still in there,” I rasped, letting her pull me up so we could get Bethaline away from the house.
“Are you good to walk? Jesus, she’s cold. I’m going to run ahead and remote-start my car so she can warm up. Where’s Lancer?”
“Dead,” I croaked.
Estelle paused in her dash toward the driveway. “Where’s Rose?” I didn’t answer immediately, and Estelle’s brow crumpled. “Miri, where’s her mom?”
A lump formed in my throat and I just shook my head.
“Fuck,” Estelle whispered, her voice edging on a sob. She quickly shook her head as she grappled with what to do with the news and ultimately continued to run to get in range of her car.
As I followed at a slower pace, I looked down at Bethaline, who was still passed out in my arms. I finally felt the weight of what had happened crash in on me. I allowed it to. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered to her unconscious form, adjusting my jacket around her and holding her close against the wind.
I was cresting the driveway when an enormous BOOM shook the ground under my feet. A blast of heat hit my back, and I fell to one knee, my body bowed over the child in my arms.
I turned around as Estelle ran back up the hill, both of us still as we observed 1 Red Heather Road light up in a bouquet of angry orange flames.
Epilogue
“Well, I never figured I’d be involved in one of my own articles,” Estelle reasoned, looking at the latest issue of the Willow she was holding. It had been the first one to run out of printed issues in months. Everyone wanted to know what had happened at 1 Red Heather Road days before—and in a small town, that didn’t take long to accomplish.
“Wish it was something better,” I said, and she made a murmur of agreement beside me. My eyes caught on Carla’s vacant desk adjacent from mine and I felt a little sick, even a little angry, that no one would really ever know what had happened to her. Or Lancer and Rose, for that matter.
The others, we were working on. The house had been an ash heap by the time trucks had gotten to it, but the basement level had remained mostly intact. I let the investigators dig up Price’s trophy room and played dumb while they connected the dots. Now we were charged with writing the exposé that would paint him as the monster he’d truly been. Well, Willow Press was—I’d just act as Estelle’s contact for quotes and extra history on the house. I was still just a freelancer, after all, and now on my way out of Grendling for good.
The scratches on her face were healing nicely. We’d both grown progressively less and less shaken up as the days wore on and it became apparent that this was all finally as over as it ever could be. Just as I had that fleeting thought, the window behind me cracked with a pressure change outside and caused me to jump. Maybe I wasn’t progressing as well as I’d thought.
Going back to feeling normal was hard. To feel like I wasn’t in danger all the time. Estelle and I had put her couch back after my house had blown up due to a “gas leak” and we’d been sleeplessly bunking in her king-sized bed ever since. I finally got my first dose of good sleep last night, and it still didn’t feel like the renewed security could be real. How had I ever taken that feeling for granted?
“I’m going to send the Price draft to you once I go over it a little more. You’ll probably get it while you’re on the road, but it’ll be in your inbox by the time you hit Corolla at least.”
“Great,” I said, glancing at her computer screen and grimacing when I saw the picture of Price she had formatted into the document.
She saw my expression and smirked. “I know, right?” she murmured before doing a double-take at me. “God, your eye is still throwing me off. Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s cool and not super noticeable… But it’s just different enough that it’s making me think twice.”
“Must be painful for you,” I joked with a wink of my “different” eye. Ever since the run-in with the demon upstairs, the iris of my right eye had been a half-shade darker than my left. It was strange and I couldn’t explain it, but I figured that it was an easy scar to bear if I had to bear one. I’d hoped to ask Jonah about it, but I hadn’t seen him since Red Heather House lit up in flames. I wasn’t even confident he was still around. “To think twice, I mean.”
“I got what you meant, asshole,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She sobered a little as something occurred to her. “Are you going to Rose’s service later?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And then I’m saying goodbye to Bethaline and Steve and getting out of dodge,” I said.
“I don’t blame you,” she admitted. “But it’s going to suck when you go.”
“There’s room in my Jeep, you know,” I offered for the third time since my move had become official. “Especially since all my shit burned to a crisp.”
“Yeah, that bites,” Estelle agreed.
I shrugged. “I got the Patch illustrations sent in pre-boss battle… That’s really the only thing in there I couldn’t live without or easily replace. Especially since Trevor sent me the check for what he got from insurance—I assume it’s his generous apology for getting me into this. Or a bribe to keep my mouth shut about him and Price.”
“Sounds about right,” Estelle said. “And I’d so go… But I feel like I need to try and dig up more of this kind of shit around town. Stir things up and make people see the weirdness a little more clearly. Then maybe I’ll retire in style.”
“Well, when you make your lavish retirement from Willow Press…,” I said loftily, “hit me up.”
“Will do,” she said. “Although I think hanging out with you has done horrible things to my blood pressure.”
“I keep you young,” I remarked, which almost got me shoved off my chair.
Catherine walked in then and came over to our desks. “Miri, it’s been lovely having you working with us. I’m just sorry it was for such a short time.”
“I am, too,” I said sincerely. “And I’m sorry for the short notice. I just need to find somewhere to live other than Estelle’s spare room, you know?”
“Of course, it’s no trouble. You’ve helped us out a lot even in just a few months. Stay in touch, okay?”
I nodded. “I will. Oh, hold on,” I said, pulling my bag into my lap and extracting a package that I then handed to her. “Here are those books for your kids. In the nick of time for Christmas.”
Catherine grinned. “They’ll love them. Thanks again. And travel safely.”
“Will do—thanks, Catherine,” I said as she walked back to her office. I checked my watch. “Are you coming to the service?”
Estelle thought about it before shaking her head. “I don’t think so,” she admitted. “I didn’t know her very well and after what happened…”
“I understand.” My heart fell a little as I realized this would be the last time I’d see Estelle in a while. “Well, get up and hug me then.”
She smiled and got up, pulling me into a tight hug. “Stay in touch. And not just Facebook or whatever. I’m going to call you, and you’re going to talk to me every once in a while. Tell me about that beach life while I freeze my ass off up here.”
I smiled a little. “I will.” I stepped back and picked up my bag, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me until I was driving away. “I’m serious about your retirement plan. You deserve to throw up the middle finger years in advance after all this.”
“I’d say we both do,” she figured. “Talk to you soon, Miri.”
I nodded and gave her a little wave as I headed down the hall to the front entrance. “Talk soon.”
• • •
I entered the church amongst droves of other attendees—coworkers, former patients, neighbors, people she may have run into at the grocery store one time (who were inexplicably the most openl
y upset), former classmates, the whole lot.
I walked in and automatically took a seat at the back, settling in and looking over the service pamphlet in my hands, opening it but not really seeing it as I mulled over what I was going to say to Steve and Bethaline. I’d spent a fair amount of time at their house—especially the day after the incident at Red Heather took place. It had felt wrong to infringe on their space in their time of grief, but the authorities brought in over the course of that day had insisted we stay in one spot for health concerns and their convenience if possible.
When fidgeting with the pamphlet didn’t do the trick, I took out my phone and looked up the police report, reading it for the sixth time since it had gone live.
A “gas leak.” That’s what they were calling it. And no one knew the truth but Estelle and me. Maybe Bethaline, but she’d been painfully quiet since she woke up two hours after the house went up in smoke. I hoped she didn’t remember any of it.
Perhaps the worst part of it all was that I had no idea what had happened with Jonah and the entity in the house—whether the fire was the defeat of one or the other, the clash of the two, or something else entirely. Hell, maybe on top of everything else there really had been a gas leak.
Someone edged past me, and I drew my legs close to give them room. I read the rest of the report and shook my head, sitting back and looking at everyone settling in and chattering about the soon-to-start service. A few glances were cast my way by those who noticed and recognized me, but they were mostly furtive or sympathetic. I didn’t exactly like it, but they were better than the alternatives.
I made an effort to appear casual as I glanced over at whoever had decided they just had to sit so close to me in the otherwise empty row. Any essence of casualness was dashed when my next reaction was to balk.
Jonah glanced at me in turn and seemed humored when he saw the look on my face.
“You’re—” I paused and really considered my words. “This is weird.”
