He picked up a sprinkler, and, whipping it forward, he hurled a spray of holy water at her head.
She raised her hands in front of her face to block the spray, but some of it hit her forehead and dripped down her nose.
“Drive him into banishment, commanding him to depart hence, so that no harm might be worked against Your sealed Image.” He raised his arm.
She shielded her face. Her hands and arms were wetted this time.
“And, as You have commanded, let those who are sealed receive the strength to tread upon serpents and scorpions, and upon all power of the Enemy. For manifested, hymned, and glorified with fear, by everything that has breath is Your most holy Name: of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, now and ever and into ages of ages. Amen.”
The “Amen” lulled her into a false sense of security, and she didn’t raise her arms. Father whipped the holy water at her, hitting her in the eyes. The water rolled down her face like tears, and a drop had gotten into her right eye, blurring her vision. She rubbed her eye and wiped her arm across her face to dry it.
A heavy hand on her shoulder startled her. She uncovered her eyes to see his dark beard and probing eyes close to her face.
He leaned closer to whisper into her ear. “You’ll do well, my child, to keep silent, lest God cast your soul into the fires of hell,” he whispered.
She believed that even Father Dmitriev had the power to cast her soul into hell.
With her lips pressed shut, she nodded. Her body had knotted up tighter than a bead on a prayer rope. She had wanted to go home and never ever come back to church again, for fear she’d evoke the wrath of God and the wrath of Father Dmitriev.
Jackie slid down in the tub until the water’s surface tickled her nose, and she took a deep breath and slipped under the water. Silence was magnified. It quieted her memories, calmed her emotions. She wanted to stay there forever, immersed in silence, but her lungs pushed outward, begging for air. She tried to ignore their plea, but they pressed hard against her chest.
Just as she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she emerged from the water. Gasping for air, she sucked in the water around her lips and nostrils and coughed until her mouth and throat went dry. With her hands, she squeegeed the water from her face. She let out a hard, final cough and stood up, her heart pounding.
She patted her face dry with a white, fluffy bath towel and put on her black pajamas. Besides being extremely comfortable, they made her feel invisible.
In bed, she pulled the covers to her nose. I’ll never call you, David Davidovich. As far as I’m concerned, the Jackie you are looking for doesn’t exist.
Chapter 9
The next day in American Lit, Jason didn’t show. Jackie could see him being sick, but why didn’t he call? He always called if he wasn’t going to be at school.
At lunch, she called him, but he didn’t answer. For the rest of the school day, she watched the clock. At the end of the day, she practically ran home to get to her car, and then she drove to Jason’s. His truck was parked in front of his dad’s. Wet leaves plastered the hood and windshield as if his vehicle hadn’t moved in days.
On the stairs, she caught herself doing the Jason thing, taking one step at a time. She poked the doorbell button. A timbre as rich as a pipe organ resounded through the house. A minute passed, but no one answered.
Finally, the door opened. Jason’s dad was in a pair of gray sweat pants and a white T-shirt. A half inch of stubble covered his face. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days. Shouldn’t he be at work? What? Was the whole family on a quarantine holiday?
“Is Jas here?” she asked.
He stared at her and then craned his head to the side. “Ja-son,” he yelled and walked away, leaving her outside.
After about five minutes, Jason came to the door, his hair draped over the side of his face. For some reason, he looked different. He had parted his hair in the other direction.
“Hi,” he said, sleepily.
“Hey, Jas. You guys don’t have the flu or anything, do you?”
“No,” he said, the one eye she could see, lowered. Of all the times she wanted Jason to look her in the eyes it was now.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s go to my room. It’s… safer.”
Safer? What the heck was going on?
She followed him, even though she knew he wasn’t allowed to have girls in his room. How safe was it going to be when his mom and dad found out?
Jason closed the bedroom door and then plopped down on his bed. Elbows on his spread knees, his chin tucked to his neck.
She plopped down beside him. “Are you mad at me?”
Jason shook his head.
Why wouldn’t he look at her? He was hurting. She felt it. Her throat tightened, and her chest became sore, like she had been crying for hours. She touched his face.
He jerked his head away. “Don’t.”
She managed to see a tinge of purple through some of the parted strands of hair.
Her cheek stung and then burned as if someone slapped it. “Who did this to you?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.
Jason was silent.
She reached out again to part the veil of hair covering his eye, but he pushed her hand away.
“I’m all right,” he snapped.
A faint nervous energy occupied the room. “What’s going on?”
“My dad’s not feeling good lately.”
“You know, this is child abuse.”
He dropped his head into his hands. “He just lost it for a second. That’s all. Don’t tell anybody. Okay? The school thinks I got the flu.”
“You can’t let your dad abuse you like this. You need to report him.” Or she would.
Jason’s dad’s voice rose from downstairs. “Don’t start,” he yelled.
A weak, trembling voice flailed in the background—Jason’s mom.
The nervous energy in the room intensified. Her stomach quivered. “It’s not safe here, Jas. You have to get help or get out.”
Jason’s face was as white as his socks. “If I told anyone, he’d kill me. He’d hurt Mom too.”
“Come home with me then. You can sleep over until this thing cools.”
“There’s no way—”
“You can’t leave the house?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t ask, but he’s on my ass about everything. And there’s no way he’s going to let me spend the night.”
“Tell him we have to work on a project for school. Then later, at my house, we can make up some excuse why you can’t come home. My mom will vouch for us. I know she will. She doesn’t think much of your—” She decided not to go there. Jason didn’t need to develop any more of an inferiority complex because of his family.
Jason grimaced. Too late. He knew where she was going with that.
“He’ll know I’m lying,” he said.
“Then I’ll lie. I’m sure I’ll be good at it,” she muttered. “You got to get out of here.” She stood up. “Pack your things.”
He jumped up. “No, Jackie. Don’t.”
“Jason, you can’t—”
“What about Mom?”
“She’s a big girl. She can protect herself.”
She left Jason standing in protest, and she followed the sound of the TV, which was coming from below.
In the basement, violent, nervous energy crackled. Jason’s dad was sitting in a recliner, his fingers burrowing into the worn fabric of the chair’s arms, staring at the flat-screen TV by the fireplace.
Her stomach was jumping like it wanted to get the hell out of there. The hair on her arms rose.
What if he went ballistic on her?
She’d call the police. Press charges.
Her hands locked into fists.
She hoped he’d snap.
He was staring at the TV, dazed, like he wasn’t really watching it.
“Mr
. C.?” she said to get his attention.
He slowly turned his head to look at her. She wondered what he was thinking. He hated her, she knew it. He thought she was a fake, a slut, pond scum. He had never liked her. He was going to like her even less now. “Would it be all right if Jason came over my house?” Her voice trembled. “We need to get moving on a project that’s due, like, Monday. We’ve kinda been putting it off, so we don’t have much time.”
“Jason’s not leaving this house. He’s got chores to do.”
“Yeah, but, he’s a student too. He can’t keep missing school. I can help him catch up with his homework.”
“You deaf?” he bellowed.
Jason was right. He wasn’t going to let him leave the house.
She walked away, but stopped at the foot of the stairs. What if he took his anger about her asking out on Jason? What if, when she left, he beat the holy hell out of him? She couldn’t let that happen. She’d die if something terrible like that happened to Jason, especially if it was her fault.
She turned around and headed back to Mr. C., her heart pounding. Nearest him, the violent energy was strongest. What little courage she had became brazen. “You’re not keeping Jason here so you can abuse him,” she spouted. “I know what you did. If Jason and Mrs. C. won’t report you, I will. Jason’s coming home with me. You’ve got three days to get your act together.” Wow. Go, Jackie.
He flew up and swung an open hand at her.
She ducked and then straightened up.
Doh! She missed her opportunity. Stand up to him. Let him hit you. You can call the police right now and get him the hell out of here.
She looked him straight in the eyes, trying not to blink.
His fingers curled into a fist.
“Do it,” she said.
His shoulder and arm made small jerky movements as if he was caught between restraint and the forces of kinetic energy.
She met him eyeball to eyeball. “Do it.” There was no calling bluff because she wasn’t bluffing. “Come on, Mr. C. Show me what you got.”
His fist slowly unfolded, finger by finger as if he was taking great effort to do so. He stood there, tight-shouldered, his open hand slightly curved, his fingers rigid, the vein near his wrist jumping.
“Three days,” she said.
If looks could kill, she would have been dead right then.
With an open hand and a sour look on his face, he nodded.
She exhaled, which surprised her because she didn’t recall breathing at all during the whole ordeal.
Walking toward the stairs, she could feel his eyes boring holes in her back. “Jas,” she yelled as she ran up.
Jason was at the top, hiding behind the partially-closed basement door.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Jason stared at her wide-eyed. “You stood up to him?”
“Yeah. I can’t believe it myself.”
Chapter 10
It didn’t take much of an argument to convince Mom to let Jason spend the night. At first, Jackie told her that Jason needed to stay so she could help him catch up with homework. But when Mom, having suspicions about what they really intended to do, didn’t buy it, she told Mom the truth, that Mr. C. was abusing Jason and his mother. Something in Mom clicked. She went to school with Mr. C. She knew what a hothead—not the word she used—he could be. If there was ever a fight at school, Mr. C. was involved. He had even beaten up a boyfriend of hers. This last note was TMI for Jackie, but she was glad Mom finally agreed.
Mom wasn’t much of a homemaker. She was more of a slapdash kind of housekeeper, but she had actually made the effort to wipe the dust off the dresser and nightstands in the spare bedroom and started the space heater. Jackie could only imagine how cold and dusty those sheets were, but maybe Jason would be too depressed to notice.
Babu was in the front room watching Wheel of Fortune while Jackie sat with Jason at the dining room table and helped him catch up in American Lit. In the last two days, while Jason was absent, Mr. Davis had jumped from the Realistic Period to Transcendentalism, mixing things up a bit.
“You’re supposed to have read the excerpt from Walden and write an essay on how Thoreau conveys the movement of Transcendentalism,” she said to Jason.
“Trans what?” Jason asked.
“Transcendentalism. It was an artistic movement that diverged from Romanticism. Its followers believed a person can find truth within themselves instead of from God.”
“Sounds sacrilegious.”
“Sounds like inner happiness.”
“So were they doing yoga and shit?”
She smiled deviously. “Actually, they were watching naked, young men bathe in ponds. Like Walt Whitman… The Leaves of Grass?”
Jason blushed and dropped his eyes toward his open book.
The doorbell rang, startling her. “I’ll get it.”
Babu lowered the volume on the TV, which reminded Jackie that, this Christmas, she planned to get Babu the wireless headphone set so she could listen in private.
Jackie peeped through the etched glass of the front door window and saw the same dark fragments she saw the other day. Great. She would have to lie again. She opened the door, hesitantly.
David Davidovich smiled half-heartedly, dimpling only one corner of his mouth, as if he knew he wasn’t welcome. “I was passing your house.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Da,” he said. “I went little out of the way. Thought I would check if Jackie was home. She did not call. You gave her my message? Yes?”
“Yes, she got the message, and no, she’s not home.”
“Please. It is very important I talk to her. All I want is that she come to church and look at something. Give her—uh—impression.”
“Impression? Sounds like a job for Madam Sophie.”
He smiled, sheepishly. “Madam Sophie is fortune-teller, which is against the teachings of church. You are—”
Busted!
“I mean,” he said, “Jackie is special because her vision came from Holy Mother. Maybe Holy Mother can help her again?”
She scrunched her shoulders.
“For the church?” he added.
“Okay. I confess. I’m Jackie.”
He smiled. “So you will come?”
“No.”
His smile faded, and a pensive look washed over his face. “I hear it has been a long time since you came to church.”
“What exactly would I be giving my impression of?”
“You have to see for yourself.”
“In the church?”
“Yes.”
“No. Can’t. Sorry.”
“Please, Jackie.”
“No. Absolutely not. I have stuff to do. So, if you don’t mind.” She closed the door slowly, hoping he’d go so she wouldn’t have to close it in his face.
He pressed his hand against the closing door. “All right, but please, tell me Jackie, why the change of heart? I do not understand.”
For some reason, her name coming from his mouth made her heart pound. The sound of it was—too personal. Yes, he was just getting too personal. He was stepping on sensitive territory here. How dare he come to her door and confront her about her spirituality? Who did he think he was? A Jehovah’s Witness or some Bible-thumping Baptist? She opened the door wide enough to see his face and looked him in the eyes. “It’s really none of your business.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Bye.” She closed the door and hooked the chain. Through the etched glass, she watched the dark mass of him disappear down the stairs. She felt horrible. She didn’t like hurting people.
“Kto byl?” Babu asked.
“Jehovah’s Witness.” She rejoined Jason at the dining room table and slid her trig book in front of her.
“Was that guy a priest?” Jason asked.
“Seminarian.” She flipped open her textbook to the page marked with a torn piece of loose-leaf paper.
“Wha
t did he want you to come to church for?”
“He wanted my impression of something. So, did you read Walden?”
“I’m not a fast reader.”
“Well, read it. I’ll work on my trig homework. When you’re done, I’ll help you plan your essay.”
Jason leaned into his American Literature anthology and rolled the outer corner with his fingers, curling the pages. “So why don’t you go?”
“Just forget it, okay?”
“Why are you so put off from church? Not that I want to go or anything, but you—I mean—shit, if I saw the Virgin Mary, or even an angel, I’d probably commit to celibacy.”
“You kind of are celibate,” she said, hoping to put an end to this conversation.
He wrinkled the corner of his mouth. “Not intentionally.”
Ignoring him, she opened her trig book and searched for her homework exercises. Jason’s gaze was on her. She felt him staring.
“What?” she said.
His innocent eyes stared into hers. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. “I love you, Jackie.”
The words hit her like a torpedo, totally knocking her off guard. She swallowed. “I… I care about you too.”
He grimaced.
“I don’t know what else to say. You kind of took me by surprise.”
He slouched over his book and cupped his hand over his bruised cheek.
Ugh. Not what he wanted to hear. “Where is this coming from?” Wrong words. She burrowed her forehead into her hand. “It’s just that I never thought of us… uh… like, you know, boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Whatever,” he said.
Now you did it. You hurt him again. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
“S’okay.”
She tried to get her mind on her homework, but the mood was awkward.
“Jason,” she said.
He didn’t look up.
Great. He’ll sulk all night, like Trish. She couldn’t handle that emotionally; it would make her sick. She wondered how she could get him back from the dark, sullen corner inside himself.
She opened up to the energy around him. She got inside his head and put herself in his place. Her intuition told her he needed to know that she was vulnerable too. She needed to tell him something embarrassing that happened to her. Jeez, where to start? He knew she was teased in junior high for wearing Orthodox clothes. He went to the same school. He also knew about the vigils held on her front lawn and how people used to grab her hands or her clothes just so she would bless them. She had talked about that a zillion times with him. Although, he never ever got why that bothered her. He knew picking up everyone’s emotions and experiencing their maladies made her sick, but he didn’t know that what really bothered her was deeper than that. She hadn’t told a soul. If she told him, maybe he would understand why she was so “put off” with church. And maybe he’d quit sulking.
Possessed (Pagan Light Book 1) Page 5
