Possessed (Pagan Light Book 1)

by JoAnne Keltner

  “Does it?”

  “Not really. Only gin does that. If you can, it’d be a good idea if you went downstairs to see Babu. She keeps babbling to me about something. I think it kills her that she can’t get up the stairs. Sounded like she was cursing them.”

  She laughed. “Sure, Mom.”

  Jackie placed a spoonful of Babu’s soup in her mouth. Wide egg noodles, round pieces of carrots, chunks of celery, and slivers of chicken breast comforted her taste buds and warmed her soul. When she bit into a stray peppercorn, her mouth caught fire and radiated through her entire body, melting her shivers away.

  Done, she placed the tray to the side, laid her head back onto the pillow, and closed her eyes, letting the soup continue the healing process.

  It all seemed so crazy now, that Jason and Trish would be mad at her. And who cared anymore what she saw or didn’t see when she was twelve? She was almost eighteen now and a different person than she was back then.

  Or was she?

  Maybe she wasn’t that different at all. If she did change, it was because she was more closed off.

  Sandra calling her a freak was just like when they were in seventh grade, after the whole Holy Resurrection incident—the vision, the fire, and the vigils.

  “Hey, freak. I’m talking to you,” Sandra had said to her.

  Jackie had kept her back turned to her as she rifled through her locker pretending to look for something. A hand shoved her back, and she nearly fell into the narrow opening. She grabbed the sides of the locker to steady herself and then turned around. Sandra was standing there with her two friends. Sandra’s hair was shorter then, and she wore it in pigtails. She was wearing a pink shirt with a huge sequined heart on her chest and a pair of designer jeans that had been artistically shredded at the thighs and knees.

  “Where’d you get that skirt, Goodwill?” Sandra taunted.

  The other girls giggled.

  Jackie figured that if she didn’t answer, they’d go away.

  “Look at her knee-highs,” the girl with acne said. “Who wears knee-highs?”

  “Look at her blouse,” the one with the sharp nose said. “It’s buttoned to her neck.”

  “She’s the miracle girl,” Sandra said.

  “Who?” asked Acne Face.

  “The one who saw the Virgin Mary, or something, at that church on Main Street. You think you’re so special, don’t you?”

  Jackie’s mouth wouldn’t move. She couldn’t even form words of prayer in her head. Her heart was empty; her head was empty. Feeling abandoned, she pictured God with his back turned to her.

  “Say something, freak,” Sandra said.

  Jackie wanted to say a lot of things, like “What have I ever done to you?” and “Just leave me alone,” but her was mouth dry and no words would come out of it. She darted passed them and walked as fast as she could toward her next class.

  “Loser,” Sandra shouted down the hall.

  The next morning, before school, Jackie looked at herself in the mirror. Her white knee-highs disappeared beneath her long jean skirt, and yes, she had buttoned her dorky print blouse to her neck. She looked at herself as if with a stranger’s eyes and was ashamed of what she saw. Up until the seventh grade, she was best friends with Samantha, and they dressed pretty much the same. She guessed they may have looked like their own clique. But Samantha had moved to Pennsylvania, leaving Jackie friendless and looking oddly unique.

  Jackie unbuttoned the top button so that her shirt made a tiny V at her throat. Then, she dug through her bottom drawer for her work jeans, the ones she wore when doing yard work and helping Mom clean the house. In front of the mirror, she dropped her skirt. It formed a circle around her feet. She stepped into her jeans. The button was snug at her waist, and as she pulled the zipper up, the material at her hips drew tight against her skin. Going up a size this year, she had been in desperate need of a new pair. They were as close to her body as her own skin. But when she looked in the mirror, she saw an average girl, like every other girl who attended Ravenwood Junior High.

  “Oh, my God,” Mom had said. She had been standing in the doorway, purse slung over her shoulder, dressed in her postal outfit. “Grandma’s going to shit.”

  Jackie’s eyes snapped open. She needed to visit Babu.

  ***

  Downstairs, Jackie peeked into Babu’s room. Babu was standing by her dresser, lighting a candle in front of the icon of the Virgin of Vladimir.

  “Spasibo za sup,” she said to Babu, thanking her for the soup. It was one of the few Russian phrases she knew. Maybe that’s why she always made it for her.

  Babu motioned for Jackie to come to her. “Idi syuda.”

  Jackie let Babu smother her in her bosom.

  Babu released her from the bear hug and then pressed her hand to Jackie’s forehead. She clucked her tongue. “Sadis,” she said, indicating Jackie should sit down on the bed.

  Babu opened the bottom drawer on her dresser and took out a dusty photo album. She sat beside Jackie on the bed and opened the album. The photo album cover rested on Jackie’s knee as Babu flipped through pages filled with a mix of color and black-and-white photos. She pointed out a worn photo of three young women dressed in long, black dresses and black headscarves standing in front of a wooden building. Their austere expressions made it look like they had been gathered there for execution. Babu pointed to the second woman and then tapped her chest. “Eto ya.”

  Jackie pointed to the picture and then to Babu. “That’s you, Babu?”

  Babu nodded and then babbled to her in Russian. Jackie didn’t have a clue what she was telling her. Babu, looking terribly concerned, sandwiched Jackie’s hand between hers. Her hands were unusually cold, and a chill ran through Jackie’s body.

  She was making Babu sick. “I’ll be fine, Babu. Don’t worry about me. Please.”

  Babu’s round eyes looked at her with pity.

  ***

  In her room, Jackie checked her phone for text messages and missed calls. Nothing. She lay down but couldn’t sleep. Feelings of doom wrestled with her reasoning that things would be back to normal when she returned to school on Monday.

  Chapter 13

  Trish made a surprise visit to Jason’s house. After all, he couldn’t refuse to let her in after she came all this way.

  Just as she had hoped, Jason opened the door.

  “Trish,” he said, looking sulky and scruffy, his bangs hanging over that black eye of his.

  “Hey,” she said. “Thought you could use some company.”

  Jason grimaced.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, even though she knew.

  “Why’d you do it? Tell on Jackie like that?”

  She puffed hot air out her nose and placed her hands on her hips. “The other day, you were all gung-ho about getting even with her.”

  “I didn’t mean like that.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “I guess. We need to talk.”

  Jason led Trish through the kitchen, past his mother who was sitting at the kitchen table writing on a notepad. His mother, a tiny wild-haired woman, eyed her disapprovingly and then looked to Jason. “You two stay where I can see you.”

  “We’ll be two minutes,” Jason said to his mom. “Please, we need to talk. Privately. We’ll be in the basement.” As he led Trish down the stairs, he said, “My dad went to the bar, so it’ll be safe down here.”

  “We could go to your room.”

  “No!”

  In the basement, Jason made Trish sit down, but she leaned forward, her clasped hands just inches away from him. She wanted to reach out, pull him to her, but he was angry, and before she could reclaim his love, she had to bring him back to his senses.

  “I don’t know why you’re so worried about Jackie. She made her bed. Let her lie in it.”

  “Why do you hate her so much?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never really liked her. She always acts like the mature one, the voice of reason, when she’
s more f’d up than all of us.” With her gaze pinned on Jason, she rose from the chair and put her hands on his tense shoulders. “She even thinks she owns you. How dare she try to keep you away from me, when she doesn’t love you like I do?”

  Jason slunk away from her. “But, Jackie and I are…”

  “Best friends? Is that what you really want? How long are you going to wait for her to come around?” She touched his soft cheek and brushed back his angled bang. “You and I belong together. You and I are birds of a feather. Through thick and thin and stormy weather. You are mine forever.” She pressed her lips against his.

  Jason squeezed her shoulders and pressed his lips against hers. Yes! The spell the demon taught her worked, again.

  “Jason,” his mom called. “What are you two doing down there? Come on up where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Jason pulled away.

  Damn her. “No, don’t,” Trish said.

  “We have to.”

  Behind Jason, electric arcs jumped from the fireplace hearth to the floor, from the floor to the recliner. Trish wasn’t sure what it meant, but she figured it must be part of the demon’s plan to help her win Jason.

  Chapter 14

  In the morning, Jackie checked her phone. Not one message from Jason. It was going to be another shitty day.

  Mom poked her head into Jackie’s room and knocked on the doorframe. She was already dressed in her postal uniform, her hair pinned up, and the ends of her hair—curled?

  “Happy Saturday,” she said.

  Jackie squinted, examining her. “Is that blue eye shadow you’re wearing?”

  She touched her cheek. “Yeah. Does it look bad? I wanted to use something that would make me look perky, but something that matched the uniform.”

  “It’s fine, Mom. I mean you look, uh, perky.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. So, how do you feel today?”

  Jackie shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  Mom sat down at the edge of the bed and felt Jackie’s forehead. Jackie picked up this weird feeling from Mom. Her energy level was super high. It was almost like she was—

  “I think you should take the day off from work,” Mom said. “It’s not like you ever miss. Lean forward.”

  She cautiously leaned forward.

  Mom worked the pillow like Babu kneading dough. “You need a good mental health day. We all need them from time to time. And today, you deserve one. Lean back.”

  She leaned back. The plump pillow snuggled her head.

  Mom caressed Jackie’s hand. “I love you, Jackie. I really do.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, but there was a smile on her face, and her face was glowing. “You have a good day.”

  Jackie was stunned. It wasn’t until Mom was leaving the room that Jackie said, “Yeah, you too.”

  Since Jackie’s incident at school, Mom had been overly motherly. Well, not overly. Just motherly. But since, typically, Jackie was the mother and Mom was the child, Mom taking her rightful role back seemed kind of odd. Not that their roles had always been reversed like this. Their roles didn’t switch until a little before Mom and Dad split. Before that, Mom was the quintessential mom, and she had that all-seeing, all-knowing mom sense—especially that day Jackie had the vision.

  Mom had been in the front yard raking leaves. When Grandma had stepped out of the car, there was a look on Mom’s face like she knew something was wrong. She leaned onto the rake handle. “What? No lunch today?” she asked Grandma.

  Grandma opened the car door for Jackie to get out. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to Jackie. “Can you walk?”

  Jackie nodded.

  Before Jackie could get out of the car, Mom dropped her rake and came running. “What happened?”

  “She doesn’t feel well,” Grandma said. “Flu, maybe.” Grandma took her hand as she climbed from the backseat.

  “Oh, my God.” Mom cupped her hand under Jackie’s chin. “You look pale. Honey, are you all right? What’s wrong?”

  Jackie had never been so glad to see her mother. She threw her arms around her neck. “I don’t feel good.” Embarrassed, she didn’t want Mom to know what happened.

  “She was fine this morning,” Mom said to Grandma.

  “Well, sometimes these things just come on,” Grandma said.

  “Mom, what happened? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “It’s nothing. She just had a little traumatic experience. She’ll be fine.”

  “What kind of traumatic experience?”

  “She was sick and she… She threw up the Eucharist.”

  Mom squeezed Jackie to her side. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Come on. We’ll take your temperature.”

  She wanted to tell Mom vomiting wasn’t all that had happened, but she couldn’t. If Grandma wouldn’t tell Mom, she wouldn’t either.

  In her bedroom, Mom pulled the thermometer from Jackie’s mouth and read the digital display. “Ninety-eight point nine.”

  Dad leaned into the room. There were bits of sawdust on his arms and pant legs. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Sick, I guess,” Mom said.

  Dad laughed. “Of what? Church?”

  Mom rolled her eyes and then shook her head.

  Dad left the room.

  “Mom, I don’t want to go any more.”

  “Where? To church?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh, honey. I know you had a traumatic experience. You’re going to have a lot of traumatic experiences in your life. Believe me. You just can’t quit and hide. Besides, Gram and Babu want you to go. It’s important to them.” She laughed. “They couldn’t do anything with me. You’re their only hope, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” She rubbed the top of Jackie’s head.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Before your time. Get some rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow. You’ll see.”

  Mom walked toward the door.

  “Mom.”

  She turned.

  “Yes, honey.”

  “What’s ‘The Force’?”

  Mom stared at her, a bewildered look on her face. But Mom didn’t come to fully realize what was going on until the church caught fire and the vigils began.

  Two days after the fire, a group of people from Holy Resurrection and other people Jackie didn’t recognize gathered on their front lawn. They set up a shrine consisting of a large icon of the Virgin of Vladimir, flowers, and candles. She suspected that some of the people were Roman Catholics from Sacred Heart because of the tiny statues of the Virgin and saints that were set before the Orthodox icon.

  From a slightly parted curtain in her bedroom, she watched them. As the evening grew on, it looked like a sea of flames flowed from her front yard out into the street. They prayed. They sang. They called for her to come outside to pray for them, heal them.

  Mom and Dad were downstairs arguing. Mom was trying to keep Dad from going outside and telling everyone to get the hell off his lawn. Dad was never as kind and accommodating as Mom. Mom wasn’t religious, but she respected those who were. She was more than tolerant. She lived by the motto, “Live and let live.”

  Jackie stood in the middle of her room, prayer book in hand, and recited the Prayer of Saint Basil, trying to expel her demons, trying to set everything right.

  In the morning, nothing had changed. Mom followed behind Dad as he dragged a lawn debris bag across the front yard and tossed flowers, statues, and stuffed animals into it.

  “Stop it,” Mom said. “This stuff doesn’t belong to you.”

  “It’s in my yard. What am I supposed to do? Mow over it?”

  Mom stood there, her hair up in a ponytail, her arms limp at her sides, and her hands clenched in fists. She looked much younger than Dad, like a little girl who wasn’t getting her way.

  “You think the neighbors like seeing this?” Dad rubbed his hand over his forehead and clenched his hair. “Why can’t she just be normal like every other little girl?”

  His words slid down Jackie’s throa
t like a handful of nails. In her room, she knelt in front of an icon of the Virgin and prayed that Mom and Dad would stop fighting. Then, she prayed for God to take her keen awareness of emotions away.

  She prayed the Prayer of Saint Basil often, dousing herself with the Holy Water Grandma had given her the previous Easter, but her senses grew keener to the point where she was getting sick when exposed to too much emotion. It was like becoming nauseated from too much wind and sun.

  She was withdrawing too and was too sick to go to school. She could tell that Mom was feeling helpless. Fighting with Dad every day had drained her. Mom seemed to be losing her capacity to think straight. She didn’t know how to help Jackie. Dad had told Mom that she could help her by keeping her away from Grandma, Babu, and church. Mom went along with him. But still, Jackie was withdrawn. She didn’t want to go to school. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She just wanted to hide in her room.

  One day, Mom insisted she go to the grocery store with her. When they entered, the cashier and manager stared at her as if they were afraid the ceiling would fall in or some other disaster would occur. At the meat counter, Mom picked through packages of ground beef.

  Something lightly touched Jackie’s arm, and she swatted it thinking it was a bug. A woman stood beside her, a scarf tied around her shaved head and her clothes hanging on her like they were two sizes too big.

  “You’re the Holy Resurrection girl, aren’t you?” the woman asked.

  Jackie shook her head and stepped closer to Mom.

  “Yes, you are,” the woman said. “I saw your face on the local news.”

  Jackie looked at Mom for help.

  Mom brushed the back of Jackie’s hair. “Yes, she is,” Mom said, “but she’s tired. She’s been through a lot.”

  “Could you please lay your hands on me and pray that I’ll get well?”

  Jackie was pinned between the woman and the meat counter.

  “Please?” The woman knelt before her and grabbed her hand.

  Mom stepped toward the woman, but the woman wouldn’t budge.

  “Please help me,” she said.