by B Branin
* * * * *
I was taking a nice, long hard look at myself.
Literally.
Laying flat out on the floor was…well, me. Or at least the amazing package of manliness and rugged good looks that was my body. After the Soul Scream had forced its way into my bloodstream, my body had fallen out of its chair and landed in a rather undignified position. Embarrassingly enough my face was against the floor and my ass was high in the air.
Since I was no longer inhabiting my body, I concluded I was dead and let me tell you it’s a big disappointment.
Being dead was surreal, no doubt about that but it wasn’t what you’d expect. I was standing three feet away from my body, not floating or hovering. Just standing. When I patted myself down I could feel my body…sort of. All my senses were suffering from some strange form of vertigo or distortion. Every sound echoed like distant thunder. Colors seemed to pulse chaotically, painfully bright then nearly invisible in random intervals. The only scent I could pick up was that of ozone, which tickled the back of my tongue. Of course touch was the worst. I felt weightless but if I strayed too far from my body (I had panicked when I first saw my body and attempted to leave the room to get help) I was nearly crushed under some immense force.
By the time I reached the door, only a few feet from my body, I felt as if I were shouldering a bus. That incredible amount of pressure was coupled with extreme anxiety that consumed me irrationally. The only way to free myself of these inflictions was to get closer to my body.
Obviously I wasn’t meant to stray too far from my physical form.
Luckily I didn’t have to wait long for Father O’Brawley and Fiona to return. My only hope of revival rested on their shoulders. After the initial shock of finding me face down, ass up, they sprang into action. I tried to shout to get their attention but I couldn’t make a single sound. I even tried clapping my hands together but that too, was strangely mute.
Of course while clapping, I noticed that my hands were giving off a pale glow. Without a mirror, I just assumed whatever I was (spirit, ghost, specter) looked identical to my physical body but upon further inspection I discovered my entire form was bathed in pale blue light. It was such a distinct color but I couldn’t quite place it…
Forcing myself to remain calm, I began to take stock of what was happening to me. After several minutes of deep contemplation I realized I had no idea what the hell was happening. Had I actually been kicked out of my body? Was this just some massive hallucination thanks to the drug?
Was I really dead?!
I didn’t know the immediate answer to any of these questions. What I did know was simple: This had to be the worst out of body experience ever! Well, if this was an out of body experience and not something more…permanent. Who knows? Maybe the afterlife came in flavors and I was just unlucky enough to get stuck with a lame one.
Distantly, I heard echoes seep into the field of my distorted hearing. Father O’Brawley and Fiona were shouting my name as they laid my body on its back. My body was as responsive as a rag doll on the account that it didn’t have me piloting it. Ignorant of my situation, the old priest checked my body’s pulse and the grim expression on his face did nothing to reassure me.
I thought long and hard on how to remedy the predicament I was in (refusing to believe for a second I was actually dead!). Finally, I decided to do what any red blooded American like myself would do: I mimicked what I’ve seen in movies. With Hollywood and several cartoons as inspiration, I decided that I might as well try to dive back into my body as if it were a convertible just waiting for someone to slip behind the wheel.
Yeah, I realize how stupid it was but what the hell else was I gonna do? I couldn’t even haunt anyone (though several centerfolds crossed my mind) since I was apparently bound to my body. With as much optimism as possible, I got a running start and leapt into the air and cannonballed onto my own torso.
The result was far from satisfactory.
The moment my…what was I anyway? Ethereal? Incorporeal? Spiritual? Ectoplasmic? Anyway, whatever I was, the moment my not-physical manifestation made contact with my actual body, something negative happened. Now what qualifies as negative? Well let’s start with my already whacked senses going even wilder.
What a treat that was.
One second I was blind, the next I was looking across space and time, gazing at things so bizarre that my feeble mind couldn’t fully comprehend them. Then one of my ears seemed able to pick up every conversation happening on earth all at once while the other one went deaf in self-defense. My sense of smell and taste joined forces and I relived every meal I had ever consumed, starting with baby mush and ending with the reek/burn of bourbon.
Last but not least was my sense of touch. My weightless sensation hadn’t left me which was probably why I was hurled across the room. I didn’t feel any pain but then again I didn’t feel anything…until I landed just far enough away from my body to feel that immense force press down on every inch of my being.
Getting back to my feet was a chore with the invisible weight and anxiety hitting me in rapid succession. At least being thrown from my body had cleared my other senses somewhat as they became manageable enough for me to notice the old priest and my client growing desperate, trying to revive me.
“Lad!” Father O’Brawley was shouting, his voice bouncing off angles that no earthly acoustics could manage, “Wake up!”
“Is he breathing?!” Fiona was crying, the concern in her voice was very touching, but not very reassuring.
For whatever reason, I tried answering them as if my voice would be able to reach across the realities that separated us. Cupping my hands around my mouth I shouted as loud as I could but my cries for help came out mute. Fear gave way to frustration and I began to string along profanity after profanity against the Daughters of All.
That’s when the stress-frayed synapses of my mind sparked in recognition. My body looked alive (for the love of God please let it be alive!) but there were no real signs of life or death. It was as if my body was in some sort of stasis or trance. Not so different from the bodies we found stashed away in the lounge at Hell Scratch!
Was this the existence those poor girls were experiencing? My God! Were they trapped outside their bodies like I am? Had their souls been screaming for help while we were in that damned lounge, desperately trying to get us to help them?!
It was that god-forsaken drug Soul Scream! I was sure of it! If it had been my ticket to this hell, then how many others were suffering like me? When you considered Zotkin’s boys claimed the Daughters of All were giving out Soul Scream like it was penny candy…good lord!
“What should we do?” Cried Fiona, her voice sounding farther and farther away like she was speaking in a tunnel.
“Ambulance an call!” The old priest ordered, my ears playing tricks again since I heard his sentences reversed, “Him wake to trying keep I’ll!”
Father O’Brawley had already checked my pulse and found it nonexistent. Believing my heart had gave out, the old priest threw open my jacket and started doing chest compressions.
My body, of course, did not respond.
Pacing frantically around my body, I watched in worry and frustration as Fiona grabbed her cell phone and started dialing 911. As I watched, helpless, I saw both Father O’Brawely and Fiona shiver in unison, as if the room had suddenly become freezing.
Something unnatural was at work.
The reality I was trapped in was affected much more drastically than a simple drop in temperature. The entire room began to ripple as if the walls were sheets of water that had been disturbed. Not having been in an ethereal reality before (another term Dr. Spriggan had bestowed on me after one of our later chats), I had no idea whether this constituted as normal or not. The ceiling heaved madly before eventually splitting down the middle, like this reality had split a seam or something.
I decided it wasn’t normal when I saw the hand.
It wasn’t just any hand, mind
you. It was the hand. Enormous. Massive. Gargantuan. Fucking huge! Hell, the palm could have held a bookcase comfortably inside its grasp and each finger was the length and width of my leg with a black, hubcap-sized triangle serving as its fingernail.
While the size of the hand was impressive that was far from its grandest feature. That distinction belonged to the maddening, interwoven patterns that seemed branded into its colorless flesh. Twisting, weaving, crawling patterns covered every inch of the hand. Each detail was so unnaturally perfect that they stung my eyes. They would have made me queasy even if the markings didn’t pulsate with a bloody crimson light that bathed the entire hand with a faint, reddish glow.
While quite concerned to be in the presence of the mammoth hand, I only truly began to freak out when it reached out and coiled its fingers around my body like it was picking up a toy soldier.
Though I was privy to the huge hand whose very presence seemed to be tearing this reality apart, Father O’Brawley and Fiona seemed blissfully ignorant in the dimension they were in. In fact, Father O’Brawley was even brushed by one of those massive digits as he continued the chest compressions. The enormous finger glided through the old priest as if he were shadow.
It seemed the only negative effect the disembodied hand was having in the real world (according to Dr. Spriggan, the reality that you and I dwell in shouldn’t be called the “real world” because reality is all about perception but since I’m not a pompous jackass, I will continue to refer to it as such) was on my physical body. As the disembodied hand wrapped its massive fingers around me, the bloody light of the runes along its flesh began to flare. My vacant body responded with a series of convulsions, almost like a seizure.
“Lass!” Father O’Brawley shouted, nearly being thrown to the side as my body began to shudder, “Grab his arms!”
Before Fiona could even get a step closer towards my body, things went from bad to worse. The disembodied hand tightened its grip, making a stern fist. As my vacant body was squeezed, a massive shockwave rocked the room, transcending both realities as far as I could tell.
All around me this reality seemed on the verge of shattering. The walls twisted and bent, the floor dipped and rolled. My senses went wild once again, making me feel such an acute sense of sickness that I was beginning to think I was in hell. Trying my best to look through the kaleidoscope of motion that this dimension had become, I was barely able to make out the murky forms of Father O’Brawley and Fiona being launched away from my body as if they were leaves caught by a gust.
Then, just as abruptly as it started, things calmed down. The floor, walls and ceiling of this reality ceased their frantic movements, becoming normal. Or at least, normal for here. Thankfully my over-loaded senses were soothed along with my surroundings, which in turn eased my nausea. After returning to my comfortably numb state, I noticed the shockwave had done a number in the real world as well. For starters, the shockwave had knocked both Father O’Brawley and Fiona off their feet. On top of that plaques and inspirational quotes had been torn off the walls and many lay broken on the floor. The desk and chairs hadn’t been spared either, having been flipped over and tossed about.
The good news was that in the wake of the shockwave, the giant disembodied hand had vanished.
The bad news was my vacant body was now hovering a good three feet off the ground.
“Dear God…” Father O’Brawley gasped, looking up at my levitating body that hung in the air like a puppet.
I know it sounds strange but at that moment, hearing Father O’Brawley utter the good Lord’s name outside a prayer was more startling to me than anything that had happened so far. Sure, realities twist and shift (apparently) but this old priest was as stubborn and as constant as time itself. I didn’t even need to glance in Fiona’s direction to know that fear was painted on her pretty features.
It tore me up inside when I saw Fiona flinch when my body moved.
In stiff, jerky movements my body forced itself into motion. Just like the junkie at the Hell Scratch, my body raised its hands and quickly tore at my shirt. I didn’t want to look but I needed to confirm my fears about what might be found underneath the cloth. As the fabric gave way, puckered red scar tissue was revealed. Lots of it. Thin worms of enflamed fleshed were woven together tightly, making a natural tattoo of an inhuman design across my chest.
“This is a house of God!” Barked Father O’Brawley, pointing an accusatory finger at my levitating body, “I don’t know yer name demon but you are not welcome here!”
Guilt trips? Did the old priest really think that’d work against a demon?! I stared at Father O’Brawley amazed that he could actually formulate such a ridiculous plan. Leave it to this particular priest to try and force even the unfathomable into cooperation with a stern glare and a gruff command.
In response, my body raised a limp hand. Both the air in this reality and the real world began to shimmer as the arcane went to work.
“What…?” Father O’Brawley sputtered as he was lifted off the ground, kicking and clawing at the air as if that would anchor him.
Not good. If the experience at the Hell Scratch was any indication, what came after being lifted off the ground by some unseen force was potentially dangerous. The rope burn I had on my neck was proof enough of that. Desperate, I flung myself at my physical body only to be knocked back once again by some barrier. I screamed in frustration knowing that if any harm came to the old priest on my account there wasn’t enough booze on this planet that’d drown my remorse.
“Mr. Broker!” Fiona screamed, apparently coming to the same conclusion that I had, “Stop this!”
If I could I would have but whatever paranormal entity was currently in control of my body had other plans. My body’s free hand slowly formed a fist, sending another shockwave distorting this limbo. I was beginning to see a pattern, slowly but surely…the bigger the ripple in this dimension, the bigger the effect in the real world.
More paranormal power flared up and one of the fallen plaques began to rattle on the floor. It shook and bounced once or twice. Not too impressive. It seemed whatever forces were at work here was having a harder time with my possession than the flying freak we executed at the club.
Was it a good or bad thing that I was lower on the spiritual domination food chain than some greasy, wild eyed junkie?
My body, apparently more determined than I gave it credit for, opened its hand and crushed it into a fist once more. Another shockwave rippled through this dimension. This time the effect was much more impressive. The marble plaque rattled before exploding into large chunks. Razor sharp, jagged pieces of marble slowly lifted off the ground and floated towards the suspended priest.
“That was a gift from a patient!” Father O’Brawley scowled, not even battering an eyelash as the dagger-like pieces of marble formed a circle around him, “Put me down and I’ll put the fear o’ God in yer hide with me own two hands, demon!”
Immobilized by the mysterious force keeping both my body and himself a float, Father O’Brawley really couldn’t do much to protect himself. So naturally, he did the one thing that no force in heaven or hell could strip him of.
Father O’Brawley began to pray.
Crossing himself, the old priest went to work, mumbling a prayer. Not the slightest bit of fear showed in that gruff, leathery old face. Father O’Brawley, the only son of God who could view death by the hands of a possessed conman as calmly as he could view grass growing. Even as the daggers made from shattered marble closed in on him, Father O’Brawley didn’t stumble over his litany.
Helpless, I watched impending death inch closer and closer to the one man who had always been there to offer me salvation.
But hope came in all sizes and shapes. In this particular case, hope came in a very shapely package. Drawing upon courage that her petite frame and mild attitude hid, Fiona dashed across the room and leapt at me…er…my body. Whatever. She aimed at the markings on my chest, just like the Twins had done with the flyi
ng freak. A good strategy considering those markings was the “focal point” to my otherworldly possession.
Given my body’s three feet boost of levitation, Fiona didn’t really make it to my chest. She jumped anyway, scratching wildly and breaking a nail on my gut. My body didn’t even respond to her attack, entirely focused on keeping Father O’Brawley afloat and trying to guide the marble shards towards him.
If the possessed junkie we had encountered could take a bullet without so much as battering an eyelash, what hope did my client have of stopping my runaway body?
Fiona jumped three more times, doing her best to reach the scar tissue tattoo on my chest as if it were some magical off-switch. I shouldn’t be so harsh. For all I knew, that damn thing on my body was a magical off-switch. It’d make as much sense as anything else going on.
“Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam, et insidias diaboli,” Father O’Brawley spoke in Latin, his prayer cutting through the distorting effects of this reality and reaching my ears as clearly as if we were chatting on our favorite bench outside, “esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur inmundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrud!”
I hadn’t used Latin since…well, I’ve never used Latin to be honest, so I didn’t know which prayer Father O’Brawley was using. But that didn’t matter because the effects were immediate. The old priest’s voice shook the air and the plaque-shanks fell from orbit as if the words were swatting them away.
Now I can’t be certain but at that moment I think I did a little jig of joy and relief.
But that wasn’t the end of the good news. Though the prayer didn’t affect my body as horrendously as the hymns had affected the phantom of Dr. Livingstone, the holy words took a little wind from my possessed body’s sails.
My body’s levitation wavered a bit and I…it…dropped until my toes scraped the ground. Not that impressive but my body did just so happen to drop as Fiona leapt at me once more. Now I wish I could say she struck the scar tissue rune on my chest but no such luck.
Unable to stop her momentum as my body dipped down, she missed her mark completely. Instead, Fiona’s hand slipped past my ribs just far enough to get caught on the inside pocket of my jacket. Just as gravity was drawing her back to earth, my body decided to shoot back up into the air.
There was a tearing sound and Fiona fell back a step, a torn piece of my jacket in her hand.
The measly contents of my ruined pocket fell to the ground. A few pieces of lint, my flask and the slip of paper I had found hidden inside that CD player. The very piece of paper that sported the same tattoo design as those comatose girls had on their shoulders…
“Ooof!”
The weightless feeling left me suddenly as I landed hard on my back. Physical perception came back with a vengeance. Pain from previous injuries like a bruised femur shot through me all at once. I let out a wheezing curse as I once more felt sensations like breathing, gravity, heat, solidity…
…Fiona trying to free herself from underneath my legs.
“That didn’t do me old bones any good.” Came a gruff murmur from across the room.
No sound distortions. No shimmering walls. Scent and taste were only acute enough to remind me that I needed to shower and could use a breath mint. I held my hands up before my eyes. No faint blue glow. Just my hands, that’s all. I was back in my own body once more! Freed from that nightmare Soul Scream had sent me to! A sigh of relief flooded past my lips as I quickly patted myself down, hoping that I had re-entered my body intact and that everything was in working order.
Celebrations were cut short as my fingers touched my bare chest.
“Gah!” I gave a shout of alarm, feeling the thick red scar tissue underneath my hands.
Shooting up into a sitting position, I allowed Fiona to wiggle free from underneath me. She slowly got to her feet, cautiously eyeing me as she went to help Father O’Brawley. It seemed we both had lost our ability to levitate at the same time and the old priest was laying on his back surrounded by jagged pieces of plaque.
“Lad.” Father O’Brawley asked once on his feet, “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I managed to mumble as I looked down at my chest, the angry red scars a haunting reminder of the unnatural powers at work, “It’s me…and hopefully nothing else…”
