Falter Kingdom (21 page)

I apologize.

It's okay. I mean, I guess it'll be hard for Dad, but he kind of ran away from things.

Indeed.

Dad's shouting at Mom right now. He's telling her that I'm in need of help and that this can't wait. Mom's not saying anything though. I don't know what's going on. See, they are the ones who are crazy.

Perfect example of hysterical.

That's probably it, but they're doing it to themselves.

Becca agrees with my dad. “He needs help. Like right now.”

Oh, is that so? And she's the one who's going to do that? After years of being treated like a child, she's trying to get back in and stay. You know what? I'll run with it. I'll say,
Fine, then make it happen. Fix me.
I apparently need a lot of fixing.

“Then help me.” Just... help me.

Dad shakes his head. “I'm trying to but you have to let us.”

“I just did. Help me. Right now.
Help me
.”

What can they really do?

Mom in tears, Becca pretending to be concerned and afraid, Dad being suddenly a caring, loving father... it's all so ridiculous.

They can't do anything, you know? They are all just afraid.

“You're going to what, call a priest?”

Becca says, “We've called Father Albert who told us to call Father Andrew. We left a message.”

“Left a message.”

Hope they caught the sarcasm.

Becca frowns. “Hunter...” It's how she says my name that makes it sound like she's really saying something like,
Don't be stupid.

I'm really not. It's just the situation, you know?

Would you like me to step in?

Actually, no, I think I have this.

Perhaps then you'd like to know how Becca dies.

Tell me. Does she drop dead right now?

Rebecca Mazarin will graduate with honors and pursue a second degree in literature. Mazarin will spend most of her twenties single and focused on her work. She will meet a man she will marry. Three months after their engagement, Mazarin and her fiancé will drive home from a party drunk and will be involved in a car accident. Though not fatal, Mazarin had been in the front passenger seat without a fastened seat belt. The collision will result in her falling into a coma. The fiancé and Mazarin's relatives will choose to pull the plug after failing to regain consciousness for ten months. Mazarin will have been thirty-five that year.

So you know all this how?

It is information. Information can be procured without too much trouble.

I guess. It's crazy and wild that you can know the future.

It isn't the future. It is a person's life.

Okay. Then tell me if Father Andrew's actually going to call back.

Indeed he will.

Dad starts crying too. “Son, I can't believe you didn't turn to us...”

Becca says, “He's going through a lot. He is being influenced by the demon. That's what Father Albert told me.”

Mother chimes in: “What happens if we can't help him?”

Becca shrugs. “I... don't know.”

Everyone looks at me.

They're afraid.

Yes. They assume you'll become a danger to them.

I'm just going to nod and smile.

Mom starts bawling again.

I say something like, “Tell her to stop crying. It won't fix anything.”

But they react in a way that makes it sound like I told Mom to drop dead or something. It's like what I'm doing doesn't match what they see.

Dad sighs. “You play with fire and then you get burned.”

I'm like, “You're not a poet, Dad.”

Man, this is going nowhere. What's keeping me from leaving?

You. You haven't yet left.

Well, let's leave now.

Yes. Let us.

I need to get the hell out of here.

Let us go.

Where?

Let me lead and you will discover one of the few wonders I am privileged to experience.

I need to start carrying around a dictionary so I can talk better than you.

If I speak, I am using your voice. You are deemed the one that speaks. Therefore, you shouldn't need a dictionary. I am your dictionary.

You're right.

I get up and walk right out the door. It's as easy as that and I don't know why I never thought about it. They yell after me. Dad tries to grab hold of me like I'm about to do something really bad. But pushing him aside is actually easy. I guess you helped with that.

He fell down. He's probably fine. Either way...

This time we're driving. No walking a billion miles.

I mean, I don't even really need to go back home. There's nothing left for me there. I don't need to, but at the same time, home calls to me. It's something that tends to spiral around like a command: Go home, you're drunk. You know? That kind of thing.

Indeed.

So you're telling me to park two blocks away?

You do not want anyone to notice your vehicle.

Yeah, but this is actually kind of crazy, what we're doing. Even if it's someone we know; it's still out of this world.

This is what I do. Yet now I have you. It affords some new possibilities.

Can't believe I'm about to haunt Blaire.

Blaire is an interesting individual.

I've known her since grade school. We go way back. Like everyone else, she's the one that stuck around. I definitely didn't make a point to keep in touch. But even so, she's a friend, I think. She definitely cares about what's happening to me. If she's really a friend, she'll know that you're here.

Would you allow me to be the one that speaks?

Yeah, that's cool. How are we going to, you know?

It will begin by maintaining distance. Look to see whether a back door is capable of being opened. Typically I muster up the courage by simply manifesting near where I've been wanted.

You can't just go somewhere?

It does not exist without there being first a phrase, a notice of some sort.

Yeah, we can get in through the back patio door.

Listen carefully. You make a sound, then you must be quiet.

I am.

Upstairs, second door on the left.

I thought we were going to haunt the place up.

I would like to speak to Blaire first.

Okay.

I knock on the door.

Okay. The door's opening...

“Hunter, what are you doing here?”

Let me talk.

Yeah, then talk... you're not talking. She's looking at me weird!

“Hey, I needed to get away from things.”

Blaire bites her lower lip. “And you chose me?”

“We're friends. Where else would I go?”

Blaire opens the door all the way, and I notice that she's in a nightgown. What time is it, anyway? It's all the same day since this really started. It's like I don't even sleep anymore.

You do, but when you are asleep I am awake. Thus, we are constantly in motion.

“I don't know. I figured Brad's or Jon-Jon's.”

“You are my only real friend.”

She blushes a little.

There's always been some history between us. If it weren't for Becca, we'd probably have ended up together.

It is never too late.

You're right.

Blaire walks back into her room, sitting on her bed.

Where do you want to sit?

Let's remain standing. For full effect.

Blaire starts brushing her hair. “How far along are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can't be alone at this point. It's probably with you right now.”

“Not an issue.”

“I didn't say it was. Based on how you look, yeah, the demon's definitely progressed and wearing you down.”

“If that were true, then why do I feel better than ever?”

Blaire yawns. “It just seems that way.”

“I simply need to know that I can come here if I need to hide.”

Blaire sets her brush down. “What are you hiding from?”

“I want to know that I can count on you.”

Blaire checks her phone. “Of course. You shouldn't have to ask.”

“Oh, but I do.”

What are you getting at?

In time, friend, in time. We must be aware of whom we can trust.

Blaire lies down, pulling the covers over her body.

She's not even a little bit afraid. Yeah, when everyone's saying I'm possessed and going to die, seeing her act like I'm normal makes all the difference. It weirds me out, actually. I guess I got used to everyone just saying I'm messed up, you know?

Indeed.

Blaire says, “You can stick around if you want. There's a guest bedroom that my parents never ever check.”

“That's very kind of you to offer, but I've decided it would be best to leave. I simply wanted to stop by to see you.”
To meet you.

“I bet. You came here to haunt me, right?”

Um...

She waves at something.

She's waving at you.

Perhaps. No, she is.

“You... both can trust me. I already told you before, everyone deals with the possession differently. It's not just about taking it as far as you can; everyone deals with change their own way.”

“I understand.”

“No”—Blaire closes her eyes—“I know you get it. But, well, I guess I'm just a little jealous.”

Another yawn.

“I just don't really know if I can start from scratch. Friends and everything. It seems like an impossible thing, you know? Making a true connection. Everyone's everywhere but you can't really count on anyone.”

“You can always count on me.”

“Same here, but, um, that's why I acted that way.” She shuts off the lights, turns on her side, facing away from me. Then she says, “Oh, and sorry I ditched you on the homework. Hope you didn't fail.”

At this point, graduation will come and go without a hitch. A C-average will do nothing to prevent the future from happening.

“Good night.”

Blaire returns the greeting. “Night. Maybe I'll see you in the morning?”

Perhaps we will return later, but for now let us leave.

Yeah.

We have remained here long enough.

I want to haunt someone, and I know who that someone is.

Becca is a totally different person when she's by herself. She locks her bedroom door and keeps the music turned way high up, so that her parents hate her just a little bit more. I'm like, “Yeah, I totally feel you. I can't stand her either.” Becca paces back and forth in her room and can't sit still. She's on her phone when she's not on her computer.
She doesn't pick up after anything so clothes, old and new, go all over the floor. She steps on books and other things as she paces, which breaks most, but she can always get a replacement if she really cared about it. This is the person I know, the one that few do. She's selfish and spends most of her time trying to make sure that she feels popular.

This is the person that people don't see. I saw it before now. Now you see it too.

Would you like to perform the haunting or would you allow me?

I'm up for both, for whatever.

From up here, this balcony, I can see everything.

First it starts with a cold spot or something, nothing special. I tap on the window too, loud enough that she looks up and tries to figure out what it is. She doesn't so I tap again, harder this time.

It's starting to get cold in there.

Becca stops texting whoever it is she's texting and goes to her computer. She searches for causes of cold spots. Really?

Another text message. She's been texting people, talking about me, saying things like, “I really don't know, like, if he can be helped,” and “No, he's not doing so well,” and “You can see it in his eyes, they've changed color.” Maybe some of that is true, but what's even truer than that is the fact that she's going to freak out when she notices that her room's been cleaned.

I'm still amazed that you can do all this.

If it can be visualized, it can be moved, marked, erased.

Becca looks up from the screen and then sees it. She shrieks, trembling like something out of a typical horror movie. She grabs for her phone like it's going to help her.

She dials a number.

It's her mom.

Her mom is downstairs.

How is this reasonable?

“Mom, I need help.”

The mom says something and then Becca's teeth begin to rattle. It's getting real cold in there.

The mom's not going to be able to open the door. It's locked and it'll stay locked.

The mom's like, “Honey, open the door.”

“I can't.”

“Honey, I can't help you if you don't open the door.”

Becca shouts, “I
can't
!”

I think about doing this thing where she finds out that it's me.

More tapping on the glass.

If I tap hard enough, the glass could shatter. Maybe she can catch a glimpse of me right before it happens. I think it's a good idea. So when it happens, I know that she knows, and I know that you think I should be subtle, would maybe be better if it was. But it's cool, right?

It is yours to choose.

Yeah, but now she's not as scared. She's saying my name.

Becca shivers and stands at the broken window, looking for me. I'm not there, not anymore. How about a little knocking on the door from the other side, but when Becca finally opens the door, no one is there? Yeah, that works.

By now she's really shouting my name. She's really pissed.

“Hunter!”

The mom didn't notice that she never got that call from Becca. That didn't happen; it was erased from the way this all happens.

I'm having a hard time trying to figure out what I want to do. It's like I can do anything I want, but at the same time there's only a few options.

You can do precisely what feels right. If the moment passes, you run the risk of never being able to think of the idea again. Hence the reason for opening and closing doors, cold spots, and other means. It is the bare minimum of what can be performed. Yet it is often that the different performances are lost before they can be used.