Kerry tapped lightly at the old wooden door and smiled at Rion over her shoulder. “Don't let the mysticism and candles put you off.”
“OK.” Rion scanned the street as if checking to make sure no one was there to witness her doing something as foolish as visiting a psychic.
There were the sounds of locks being undone on the other side of the door. Rion expected to find a woman in shawls, covered in glittering necklaces, and maybe even a scarf tied over her head. Instead, the woman on the other side looked like the grandmother of a suburban soccer mom. She had long dark brown hair with coarse grey strands that stood out from the rest. Her dark eyes were huge and watery, but kind.
“Hi, Maggie?” Kerry beamed at the woman.
“Hi, dear,” Maggie smiled back. "You must be Kerry." She turned to Rion and the smile melted from her face. “Oh!”
“What?” Kerry turned to look at Rion.
Rion raised her brows. “Hi,” she offered in a small croak.
“Oh, dear,” Maggie’s face fell.
“What?” Kerry asked again.
“You should come inside,” Maggie spoke only to Rion as she stepped back.
Shit! Rion took a deep breath. This is going to be weird.
If the woman’s appearance surprised Rion, so did the store. There were no bedazzled pillows, no crystal balls and no door tassels. Instead, the store was decorated at a living space would be. The only difference was a small dining table set up in the middle of what would have been the front room. It was round, with four chairs spaced evenly around it. Made of dark wood, it was old and well worn, but cared for. The chairs were mismatched and clearly newer with padded seats. The one thing that lived up to expectations was the cloying scent of incense that hung in the air.
“Please, have a seat,” Maggie held her hand out towards the table. Rion couldn’t get over the intensity with which the woman stared at her. It was unsettling and nerve wracking.
“Thank you so much for seeing us,” Kerry gushed in a lowered voice.
“Of course,” Maggie looked away from Rion long enough to smile at Kerry.
“Like I was telling you, we didn’t know who else to go to.”
Maggie held up a hand, stopping Kerry. “I need to hear it from Rion.”
Did Kerry tell her my name? Rion wondered stupidly. “What-what do you need to hear exactly?”
“All of it.”
“Uh, well, OK.” Rion wet her lips.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude,” Maggie cringed. “Would you like some tea? Water?”
“Uh, water would be great, actually.” Rion hoped that Maggie would leave the room so she could ask Kerry if psychics always acted like this. But, instead, the woman retrieved a bottle of water from a small fridge in the corner she hadn’t noticed before. Rion opened the bottle as Maggie joined them at the table. “Well…” Rion began. She told the woman the whole story, doing her best to not be judgmental or presumptuous.
She told her how the social worker had called her in to tell her that, not only was her father and stepmother dead, but she had a young sister who needed a place to live. How she had taken the child in and strange things began to happen. How they had all culminated in Beckett killing a bird and experiencing some kind of break. How, since then, her behavior had become scary, dangerous, and downright bizarre. She explained that they were at their wits end and feared for Beckett’s safety, their own, and anyone else she encountered. When she told Maggie of the twisted silhouette that both she and Kerry had seen at their dad’s house, the woman’s eyes narrowed in concern.
When she was done talking, Maggie only nodded. The woman was silent for a while. Rion wasn’t sure how to respond. The psychic was supposed to say things like “Ah, I see…” and “I see a dark stranger in your future…” On second thought, Rion realized, I don’t want to hear anything about dark strangers in my future.
“Have you ever seen a psychic before?” she asked Rion. Her voice was gentle and confident.
“No.”
“As you might have guessed, I don’t look into crystal balls,” she waved her hands over the empty table. “I can’t see the future—at least not in defined images. I have a sensitivity—a connection—with the metaphysical. You don’t know what that is, do you?” Maggie smiled, seeing the look on Rion’s face.
“Not really,” she shook her head.
“The world isn’t as simple as we see it. It’s more like a Russian nesting doll. Many layers. All a little different than the others. The first two might not be any more different than a slight change in size. From a distance, you might not even notice a change. But, by the time you get to the last doll, the sizes are so different you are looking at two different figures. Our world is very similar. There are many layers. Some are so close, you barely notice a difference. Your subconscious does though. Déjà vu, or the feeling of being watched even though no one is around—that is where those feelings come from. A plane of existence that is so close, it is almost undistinguishable from ours.”
Rion found herself nodding. What Maggie was saying, seemed plausible. “OK.”
“But, when you go deeper, there are levels that are so different, our minds can’t process what we are seeing. Ghosts, demons, alien encounters. These experiences, they are brains trying to make sense of what we are seeing. But, people like me…our brains can look beyond the initial alarm and confusion. We can sense—see, if you will—the different layers.”
“OK.”
“Once you have touched—or been touched—by these other layers, a mark is left on you.”
Rion swallowed and found a lump in her throat that nearly choked her. “What kind of mark?” she croaked.
Maggie continued at her own pace. “The mark is darkness. I don’t see you surrounded by shadows or anything so obvious. It is just a feeling I get when I look at you.”
Rion’s hair stood on end. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“Do I have it?” Kerry whispered.
Maggie turned to her. “Oh yes. You have lived more than your fair share. But, your darkness—it’s different. It is your own.”
“But I’ve been around Beckett too.”
Kerry didn’t seem to need to ask for clarification about her darkness. Rion knew—or could at least guess—what she had been through. She had seen it for herself. No one showed up from a date beaten and came away unscathed. It barely registered on the list of things Kerry was bothered about.
“The darkness doesn’t mark you just witnessing it.”
Rion shuddered involuntarily. “How does it mark you?”
“You have to have been touched by it.”
“How was I touched?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m not sure. I can’t see something so specific.”
“What is this ‘darkness’?”
“It’s a cloud. An invisible shadow. It won’t hurt you—in and of itself. But, it will attract more darkness to you.”
“What does that do?” Rion knew her voice was shaking, but she couldn’t stop it.
“It will influence the things around you. Not overtly. More like, if a person is looking for someone to mug—they will find you to be a prime target. If car is going to miss seeing another vehicle and crash into it, it will be your car.”
Rion’s heart sunk. That explains things.
Kerry gave Rion a knowing look. “You think that explains your childhood?”
“Possibly?” Rion sighed.
“What about it?” Maggie asked.
Rion’s stomach swirled. “How far back could this go?” Her skin prickled with dread.
Maggie raised a brow. “I really don’t know.”
“I've encountered a lot of terrible people in my life. Especially when I was a kid."
Maggie cringed sympathetically. "It's possible it could be the reason."
"What about me?" Kerry asked. "I didn't have it all that great growing up either. Lots of people don't. Does that mean we are all marked?"
> "Unfortunately, there are just some very bad people in the world. Not all evil and chaos is the result of other-worldly influence."
“Well, how did it attach to me—or whatever you want to call it?" Rion asked.
“There are many ways, I think,” Maggie shrugged. “There has to been something that breaks—or transcends—the barrier.”
“What will do it?”
Maggie shrugged again. “Many things can. Deaths. Trauma. I’ve seen it on people who have severe mental illness.” She thought for a moment. “Darkness seems to be attracted to other darkness. When there is something bad enough in this world, it can draw the bad—the dark—from the other worlds.”
“How do you get rid of it?” Rion could feel her anger and frustration and fear bubbling at the back of her throat.
Maggie looked sad. “I wish I could give you a definitive answer.” She took a deep breath. “I haven't seen many people with this darkness on them. But, I have known more than a few. And not many of those were able to shake it off.”
“The ones who did. What did they do?”
“They found something to counteract it.”
“What does that mean?”
The woman’s frustration was evident. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“But, you have an idea?” Kerry asked.
“Yes. I think—and this is mostly a guess—that something opposite of the darkness—something so different to it—can drive it off.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. I think it is different for everyone.” Maggie thought for a moment. “I think, often, people who are supposedly possessed, are actually shrouded in this darkness. I’ve never met anyone who was genuinely claiming to be possessed—keep in mind. But, I think these people are covered in this darkness. Maybe a specific darkness.”
“A what?” Rion grunted.
“I think, sometimes, the darkness is more than just a feeling—a shadow. I think—sometimes—it is a…life force. An entity. Maybe what some people think of as a demon.”
“OK.” Rion found some logic in that—strangely enough. It would explain why Beckett seemed like someone—something—else.
“For religious people—Catholics specifically, I guess—they will try an exorcism. For true believers, this can be a traumatic experience in and of itself. The expression of faith in such a strong, catastrophic manner—can drive the darkness away. The person’s religious faith is so powerful to the core of their identify—they believe so strongly—this can drive out the darkness.”
Kerry and Rion were both silent for a while. Then Rion finally spoke. “So, we need to perform an exorcism on Beckett?”
Maggie shook her head slightly. “Is she religious?”
“I don’t think so. She’s only seven.”
“Then, I don’t think it will make any difference if you did. It would have to be something that is rooted in her identify—her soul. If it’s not religion, it’s not going to mean enough to her to make a difference.”
“Then what can help her?”
Maggie’s large brown eyes grew more sodden. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It will have to be something powerful to her. If it works at all. I could be wrong entirely.”
Despite knowing more now than she had an hour ago, Rion was still frustrated and angry. “What does this thing want?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I get the impression they are in pain. They are confused. Lost. For creatures that twisted, ones that love pain and hurt that much, it inspires them to do more.”
“So, what are you saying will happen to Beckett? If we don’t stop this thing?”
“More pain and suffering? She will try to cause more for others. Maybe the creature will try to bring more of its kind here?”
She wanted to yell at Maggie for telling them enough to cause more problems—but not enough to actually solve them. But, Rion took several deep breaths to calm herself. She knew it wasn’t the woman she was really angry with. She was angry with her father. She knew, on a primal level, this was all his fault.
Something else had occurred to Rion. Where did her mother play into this? “Could…” Rion trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to ask the question. “Could Beckett have caused this darkness on me?”
Maggie stared at her for a moment—reading her. Her eyes didn’t just look at Rion—but through her. “It doesn’t seem like it. You have been through a lot with her already. But, I don’t think there has been anything…heavy enough to attach this darkness to you. I do believe it is attached to your sister. And you could get caught as…collateral damage? But, I don’t think it would find you that easily.”
“What are you thinking?” Kerry asked her.
Rion swallowed the bile that was teasing the back of her throat. “My mom.”
“Oh,” Kerry breathed.
“What?” Maggie asked, her pale face twisted in a look of concern.
Rion put a hand over her mouth. She desperately dug through the memories of her father. All she could recall was being afraid of him. But, why? What did he do to her to make her fear him so much? Had he hit her? It was documented that he had been violent with her mother. But, had he also hurt her? Physically? Her brain began filling in images and events that she couldn’t be sure were real.
Rion couldn’t even actually recall what he looked like. The man she pictured looked vaguely like Beckett. But, Rion couldn’t trust her memories. And, a part of her wanted to not believe them. She wanted her theory to be wrong. She had been violated so many ways in her life, she didn’t want to add another to it. She had blamed her mom, for so many years, for everything that she had been through. And, while she wasn’t wrong, what if Annie wasn’t soley responsible for Rion’s childhood. What if Frank was the beginning of everything?
“What?” Kerry asked again, her voice rising an octave in concern.
Rion’s voice was thin when she answered. “Frank did this to Beckett. Somehow. I just know he did.” It took her a moment to continue. “But, what if he did it to me too?”
***
Both Rion and Kerry were silent until they made it onto the train. They sat close enough that their arms touched, and the warmth between them reminded Rion she wasn't alone. She had to clench her fists to stop her hands from shaking.
"You don’t remember anything about your dad?" Kerry asked softly.
Rion cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "Not really. I just remember he was scary. I can't even be entirely sure what he looked like."
"You haven't googled him? Since he died?"
"No. I didn't have any desire to see him. Never really occurred to me." She knew the lie was as obvious to Kerry as it was to her. She had been afraid to look him up. Afraid of seeing he was a normal, unremarkable asshole.
"Well, maybe Shep will have come across a picture. That might help."
Rion shuddered. "Maybe." She considered the possibility of putting a picture to her father's memory. Knowing what he looked like would make him real. He wouldn't just be a memory any more. She had never had any desire to know much about her father. Or, at least, she had fought against her own curiosity. Between the vague memories she had of him and the fact that he never rescued her from her mother, she didn't have much use for him. She had asked the social worker, once, if she could stay with him. Joan had told her she would check. Then, when Rion asked again, she had only shook her head. She never bothered to inquire about him again, or seek him out after that. She had done her best to not remember him at all. However, if it meant helping Beckett she would at least find out what he looked like.
"Maggie was pretty helpful," Kerry changed subjects.
Rion looked at her skeptically. "If she's right—and that's a big if—she just gave us more problems."
"But, at least we have somewhere to start."
"Yeah, something that is the opposite of whatever trauma Beckett experienced."
Kerry shrugged helplessly. "At least it's a start," she repeated
"I know. Sorry, I
don't mean to be hateful. I'm just frustrated."
"And scared."
"That too."
"I think," Kerry said. "Our first step is to try to figure out exactly what happened."
"And, how do we do that? Our only witness is a traumatized, possibly possessed kid."
"I don't know. Maybe Shep will have found something that can help?"
"I hope."
Rion's feet felt heavy as they walked towards their building. She had worried about her sister being alone with Shep, but she hadn't realized it was also a relief being without her for half a day. The tension that Beckett caused was an iron yoke weighing her down that she only missed when it was gone. It was easier to breathe when she wasn't with the kid. The realization made her feel terrible person. But, despite everything, Rion knew she would never give up trying to help her sister.
At the top of the stairs, Rion listened, unsure of what she was trying to hear. Shep screaming? Beckett snarling? Nothing sounded amiss, but Rion didn't stop worrying until she opened the door. Shep looked up, startled. He had been leaning over a laptop and had, apparently, been dragging his hands through his hair because it was even more tousled than usual. Rion surveyed the rest of the apartment, and not finding dead bodies, or general chaos, she sighed, relieved.
"Hey!" Shep called. "How did it go?"
"Long story. How's Beckett?" Rion asked, dropping her purse on the couch.
"Very quiet. I checked on her a couple of times. Other than hissing at me, she didn't really pay any attention to me."
"What has she been doing?"
Shep looked uneasy. "She just sits with her bear. When I've gone in she's just staring at it. She's been drawing a lot too."
Rion's brows shot up. "Drawing what?"
"I don't know. She won't let me get close enough to find out. That's when she starts hissing."
"Hissing?" Rion asked in dismay. "That's new."
Shep sighed and shrugged. "I've only heard her do it today."
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