Bedfellow

by Jeremy C. Shipp

  “Uh-huh.” Hendrick does appreciate everything the imp’s doing for him, but at the same time he wishes the creature wouldn’t talk so much. If Hendrick wanted to talk to a Marvin-like person, he’d chat with his actual brother instead of one of these half-assed facsimiles.

  About ten minutes later than she promised, Cupcake arrives in a little black dress and high heels.

  “Hi there,” she says. “This is a nice place.”

  Her voice sounds less raspy than she did on the phone. Hendrick feels a tinge of anger about that, but he decides to move on and hope for the best. He glances over at the imp, who’s standing perfectly still on top of a bookshelf, not even blinking his eyes. What must be a hunk of balogna dangles from his chin.

  Cupcake brushes her fingers against Hendrick’s arm and says, “What do you say we finish the business side of things first. Then we can focus all our attention on all the good parts.”

  “Sure,” Hendrick says. Cold sweat dribbles down his back while he retrieves the envelope of hundreds from his messenger bag.

  She takes the envelope that Hendrick took from Imani’s stationery drawer early in the morning. “Let me go freshen up,” she says. “And then we can discuss exactly what you want from our time together.”

  As soon as Cupcake disappears into the bathroom, Hendrick turns to the imp and says, “You said you could change her.”

  “Give me a fucking minute,” the creature says, peeling the bologna from his chin.

  Hendrick supposes that Cupcake only went into the bathroom to count the money, because she doesn’t even flush the toilet before coming back.

  “Okay, tell me what you want,” she says.

  Sitting next to her on the bed, Hendrick explains the scenario he desires. Eventually, her face becomes shrouded by a smear of soft colors. And then Morgaine’s sitting there across from him in a black velvet dress. She gazes into him with dark emerald eyes. He can see the slit of her pink tongue between her barely open lips.

  Only moments ago, Hendrick asked her to strip for him before ever touching his body, but he changes his mind. He crawls closer to her. He holds her and kisses her, and even though sweat’s running down his back, he feels more excited than anything else. He can do this.

  “You’re in my complete control,” she says, the way he told her. “You have to do everything I say.”

  Soon after he removes her dress, one of her eyes changes from green to brown and her mouth becomes a jagged line of crimson red. Her nose blurs and then disappears completely.

  “Shit,” Hendrick says. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” she says, and one of her eyes flips upside-down.

  After snatching the imp from off the bookshelf, he storms into the bathroom. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he says, squeezing the monster in his hand. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “I’m not,” the creature says, trying to squirm himself free. “I swear to fucking God I’m not. Can you stop crushing me and let me explain? Jeez.”

  Hendrick loosens his grip, but only a little.

  “Everything was going fine,” the creature says. “But then, all of a sudden, Marv left. His presence, I mean. His energy. And the thing is, I can’t handle this level of glamour by myself. I need Marv’s power to flow through me. So, if we just wait a minute, I’m sure Marv’s energy will come back, and then we can finish up here.”

  Hendrick doesn’t understand what the fuck the monster’s talking about, and he doesn’t particularly care to find out.

  After what feels like an eternity, the imp says, “Okay, he’s back. She’s Morgaine again.”

  “If you fuck this up again, I might crush you for real next time.”

  “Marv won’t like you threatening me like that.”

  Hendrick snickers and returns the creature to the top of the bookshelf.

  Back in bed, Hendrick says, “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” Morgaine says, her face whole and perfect. “Now you’re under my command. I need you to obey me.”

  And Hendrick obeys. At first, he feels somewhat shy and awkward, but never once does he suffer any unbearable guilt. In fact, he hardly thinks of Imani at all. Whatever he used to feel for Imani seems to be blurred over, thanks to the imp.

  Last night, the creature said that all those favorite memories he wrote down could be returned to Hendrick whenever he’s ready, but he thinks perhaps he’ll leave them buried after all. He doesn’t want those ancient, barren feelings to hold him back anymore. Morgaine, he’s decided, is only the beginning.

  Kennedy

  Kennedy wants to pay attention to Ms. Withers’s lecture on the Salem Witch Trials, but how are you supposed to concentrate with an i forgive u text on your phone. Alejandra even punctuated the sentence with six daisy emojis and a heart. Every so often, Kennedy can’t help glancing down at the screen on her lap.

  “The trials left twenty-four innocent people dead,” Ms. Withers says, writing a large 24 on the marker board in green letters. “Two dogs were hanged as well.”

  Sitting near Kennedy, Alika gasps at the mention of the dogs and then raises her hand. When she’s called on, Alika says, “Why did they kill the dogs?”

  “I don’t know the specifics,” Ms. Withers says. “But I believe they were executed as suspected accomplices of the so-called witches.”

  “Dogs would never do that,” Alika says, quietly.

  At this point, Kennedy hears Fantastico whispering incomprehensibly from under her desk. The two of them aren’t supposed to speak in a crowded room like this, so the teenager assumes this must be some sort of emergency. She drops her penguin pen onto the floor and when she leans down, she listens carefully.

  “Ask to go to the bathroom,” Fantastico whispers. “Hurry.”

  Once Kennedy retrieves the bathroom key attached to a miniature toilet seat, she heads outside. A surge of wind blows the raindrops slantwise, into the sanctuary of the overhang. Kennedy’s never minded getting wet, though.

  Before they even reach the bathroom, Fantastico says, “I don’t know how much time we have, Ken, so I need you to just listen to me, and then do what I tell you.” His voice sounds higher than usual, and his words sometimes crack in the middle. “Marv, he . . . he’s not your uncle. He’s not your spiritual guru. He’s only been in your life for a few days.”

  Kennedy laughs.

  “I’m not kidding around here!” Fantastico says. “He’s observed and fucked with your short-term memories constantly, and at the same time he’s pushed himself backwards through your long-term, tweaking shit, implanting himself all over the place. He still hasn’t rooted himself deeply in the beginning moments of your existence. And once he does, well, I don’t even want to say how he could mold you then. I mean, I get that none of this makes any sense to you. But the point is, Marvin is not your friend. I’m not your friend. You and your family, you’re going to end up imprisoned or dead or worse, like all the others.”

  Sitting in the bathroom stall, Kennedy removes Fantastico from her backpack and places him on the boxy toilet-roll holder. He taps at his chin, again and again.

  “You have to squish me,” he says, and he vomits a little. “Or twist my head off, or whatever you want.”

  “I can’t do that,” Kennedy says. “I would never—”

  “I get that you’re a nice person and all, and you don’t want to kill anyone. But seriously, I’m barely alive. I’m random bits and pieces of Marv’s personality all mashed together into a carbon-based antenna. I’m just a conduit of his power. And you need to crush me now and stay the fuck away from Marv and all the other little Marvs. You can’t let them find you. Otherwise, they’ll suck you back into all this.”

  Using a square of toilet paper, Kennedy wipes the vomit off her helper’s flaming-skull shirt. She can feel hot tears building up inside her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she says.

  Fantastico rubs at his temples with both index fingers. “There’s
no time to argue about this. Usually, when Marvin’s energy is inside me, I have to act in ways that would benefit him somehow. But right now, he’s passed out or something, and he can’t define the trajectory of my existence. What I’m saying is, this is my chance to help you. Probably my one and only. If Marvin comes back, he’ll have control of me again and you’ll forget all of this. Please, Kennedy. You have to do it.”

  The teenager shakes her head. “I won’t.”

  “Well, fuck. I don’t know what else to do. Sorry I didn’t come up with a better plan. I really didn’t want you to . . . to end up like the others.”

  The teenager wipes a tear from off her cheek. “I don’t really understand what you said or anything, but maybe you could tell my mom. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Yeah,” he says, slowly. “I shouldn’t have put this on you. Sometimes, I forget you’re just a kid. I need to talk to your mom.” Fantastico closes his eyes then and taps at his chin, fast. He mouths a few words silently, but she can’t read his lips. When he opens his eyes again, he says, “Shit, he’s back.”

  For a moment, the world whirls around Kennedy, as if she’s spinning fast on a roundabout, the way she did when she was younger. When reality rights itself again, she says, “What did you want to talk with me about?”

  Fantastico sighs and says, “Nothing. Go back to class.”

  The teenager doesn’t understand why her helper seemed so adamant about getting her out here if he didn’t have anything to say. Then again, she’s in too good a mood to waste her time chastising a celestial being. So, she lets the subject go.

  Back in the classroom, Kennedy lets herself look at Alejandra’s text once every ten minutes, and she only breaks her rule a couple times.

  Her good mood follows her throughout the day. By the time she steps inside her house, she’s once again fully confident that she and Alejandra will move to Los Angeles someday and become a singer-songwriter duo and open a sanctuary for orphaned kittens.

  Despite the warm temperature in the house, Kennedy shivers a little walking up the stairs. Right as she enters the hallway, Uncle Marv says, “Hey, Kennedy! Can you come in here? Oh, and can you get your brother first? Bring both your helpers.”

  “Here we go,” Fantastico says, inside her backpack.

  Kennedy expects Uncle Marv to lead her and her brother in another meditation session, but this time, he doesn’t tell her to get comfortable on the rug. This time, he sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at the curled hands on his lap.

  “I need your helpers for a minute,” he says, quietly.

  Kennedy and Tomas hand over the celestial beings and then sit together on the rug.

  “Fantastico,” he says, staring at the helper in his right hand. “You tried to fuck me over, but hey, I get it. You care about the girl and you were being protective. I wasn’t inside you at the time, so of course you’re going to rebel a little when you get the chance.” Uncle Marv tilts his head to the side, and Fantastico mimics the action. “I’m going to forgive you for all the crap you pulled, but you need to tell me if you tinkered with anyone’s memories while I was out of you. At the end of your conversation with Ken, you said you should talk to her mom. Did you mess with Imani at all?”

  “I don’t know,” Fantastico says, his voice cracking. “If I did mess with her brain, I made myself forget what I did, so that I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Agh,” Uncle Marv says. “Well, could you search her mind for a while and let me know if you find any abnormalities I didn’t create myself?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Kennedy knows that she heard her Fantastico and her uncle speaking, but now she can’t remember a single word that was said. When she opens her mouth to ask Uncle Marv a question, she can’t recall what it is she wanted to say.

  “As for you,” Uncle Marv says, lifting up Tomas’s helper now. “You showed yourself to an entire classroom. That kind of spectacle is against the rules for a reason, you know? We had to rewrite all their memories all at once, and you sapped my energy dry. I passed the fuck out.”

  Tomas’s helper spits up and says, “I was trying to help you, Marvin. And how was I supposed to know you couldn’t handle a room full of kids? You used to be stronger than this.”

  “You’re careless,” Uncle Marv says. “And you’re cruel. Tomas is one of my people, but you bashed his teacher’s head against the desk. You scared him half to death. I get that you were trying to act in my best interests, but I think you’re defective.”

  “Oh, fuck you.” Tomas’s helper squirms in the man’s hand. “I’m as much a part of you as all the others. I’m only cruel because you—”

  The helper’s small head pops in an eruption of clear liquid that runs down Uncle Marv’s hand. Marv tosses the dead helper onto the rug and says, “Hey, don’t worry, Tomas. We have a couple spare.”

  Kennedy turns to her brother, but she only sees his wide eyes for a moment before darkness closes in on her from all sides. When she wakes up again, she doesn’t feel quite as refreshed as she usually does after a meditation session. She stands up and notices that her brother’s already gone. As for Uncle Marv, he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, his hand inside the Amazon box again. Fantastico’s sitting on the pillow beside him, his eyes only half-open.

  “I fell asleep,” she says, stretching.

  “Yeah,” Uncle Marv says, not looking in her direction. “Well, that’s enough spiritual advancement for the day. You have a lot of homework to do, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Kennedy picks up Fantastico and carries him carefully to her room. Despite her slow movements, he still vomits after she places him on her desk. He won’t take his eyes off his hands.

  “Are you all right?” Kennedy says.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I’m good.”

  But he doesn’t sound good. He sounds as if the world’s about to end. Kennedy doesn’t have any time to deal with apocalypses right now, though, because she needs to finish a couple hours of work before dinner.

  Working on Ms. Withers’s assignment, Kennedy thinks about how all the women who lied and said they were witches were allowed to live, and all the women who told the truth and said they weren’t witches were killed. Kennedy pictures herself wearing a gray gown and long woolen stockings and a close-fitting coif to cover her hair. She imagines someone stripping off her layers of petticoats to see if she has any moles or birthmarks or third nipples. She supposes, if Tomas were alive during the trials, he would have been considered a witch because of his vitiligo. They probably would have killed him.

  “Do you know about the Salem Witch Trials?” Kennedy says.

  “Yeah,” Fantastico says, lying on his marble coaster, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, I watched that Crucible movie a few years ago. A little too serious for my tastes.”

  “I just don’t get why stuff like that happens. There’s the witch trials and the Spanish Inquisition and all of that. They keep killing people for such stupid reasons. Why do people do that?”

  “Hmm.” Fantastico sits up and looks into her eyes. “I can read that textbook of yours through your memories, and the author talks a lot about the hysteria and the fear and the religious zealotry. But that’s overcomplicating everything, you know? What he really needs to write about are those judges, those men who liked killing people. They gave all sorts of excuses for their killing and torturing and transgressing, but that’s all they were. Excuses. When you’re dealing with people who like to kill, things will eventually go to shit.”

  Fantastico lies back on his coaster again and closes his eyes. After considering his answer to her question, Kennedy decides to change the last couple paragraphs in her assignment. She writes about the judges and their bloodlust, and partway through a sentence, she feels as if someone’s staring at her back. She trembles in her chair, and she feels stupid for doing so. There’s no one there. There’s no Puritanical judge back from the dead, out to hang her for the moles on her back. She glances on
ce behind her, just to make sure. And, of course, there’s no one there, but despite the silly relief she should be feeling, she doesn’t feel any less afraid.

  Imani

  Hendrick was supposed to be home an hour and fifteen minutes ago, and he’s not responding to any of her texts. On the one hand, Imani’s afraid that a speeding Silverado smashed into her husband while he was trying to cross the street. She can see his mangled body with an arm twisted backward, and cracked bones poking out of his skin.

  On the other hand, she’s furious that tonight is Hendrick’s turn to cook, and yet she’s the one dumping dinosaur macaroni into the boiling water. In truth, she knows Hendrick’s probably not dead or dying. He’s probably working late again, and he hasn’t once thought to check his phone for texts.

  To decorate the table for Dino Din, Imani searches a high cabinet for a few pterodactyl eggs (which are actually hollowed-out ostrich eggs she found at an antique mall) and displays them inside a dinosaur-themed salad bowl. She wonders how long her kids will put up with her themed dinners. She hopes she has a few years left, at least.

  Sitting on Imani’s place mat, her helper says, “Hey, Im, I don’t mean to worry you, but some guy tried to grab Kennedy on the street recently.”

  “What?” Imani says, freezing with a pan in her hand.

  “Don’t worry; her helper protected her. But I’m a little concerned about the guy. I’m afraid he’ll go after Kennedy again, or someone like her. Now, I’m not a hundred percent sure or anything, but I think with your help, we could stop him.”

  “What do you mean?” Imani says.

  Her helper picks at a loose string coming out of his sleeveless denim shirt. “Well, what we need to do is get the guy here. That way, the main Marv can help him reach a state of enlightenment, and then he won’t be any trouble to anybody. The difficult part will be finding the guy. Kennedy’s helper didn’t get a super deep look inside his mind, but the helper did manage to suss out that the guy seems to be a creature of routine. I’m guessing if we go out there at the same time of day he tried to grab Kennedy, there’s a good chance we’ll see him. Then it’s only a matter of convincing him to come over.”