Goetic Justice

Author's note:

This story has been updated with expanded scenes and technical improvements to bring it up to my current standards in preparation for an audiobook project.

CHAPTER 1: ROCK BOTTOM

Ryan mounted the steps, fumbling with his keys as he made his way down the carpeted corridor towards his apartment. When he arrived at the door, he found that it was already open.

Becky must be home

, he thought to himself, stepping through into their tiny living room to see her sitting on the couch.

She put her phone down, looking up at him and smiling. She was wearing her pajamas, and her raven hair was unkempt. She must have just gotten out of the shower.

"Sorry I'm late, Becky," he said as he fumbled with his tie. He removed the stifling garment, then leaned down to kiss her. She gave him a curt peck on the cheek, then retrieved her phone, resuming whatever it was that she had been doing as Ryan headed into the adjoining kitchen.

"I'm famished," he complained, crouching to open the fridge. It bathed him in its yellow glow as he rummaged for leftovers, selecting a sandwich and a can of beer. "They kept us in late at the office. I got overtime pay, though. Williams seems really pleased with my performance lately. I think I might actually have a chance to move up in this company if I keep my head on straight."

He flopped down heavily beside her, cracking open his beverage with a hiss and taking a draw, the cold liquid soothing his empty stomach. Becky was still glued to her phone, but he was too absorbed by his sandwich to pay much attention.

"We might actually be able to take that vacation you keep asking for at this rate, assuming I can save up enough sick days," he said as he swallowed a mouthful of tuna and tomato. It was store-bought, not very appetizing, but hunger was a seasoning that made any meal palatable. "What do you think of that? Becky?"

He reached over and placed a hand on her phone, lowering it to get her attention, Becky turning off the screen as she glanced up at him. She seemed distant, disinterested, but she couldn't have gotten back from her barista job more than a couple of hours ago. She must be tired. She looked as if she had been about to get into bed when he had arrived.

Ryan shuffled closer to her and curled an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him, the familiar scent of her shampoo rising to his nose. It smelled artificial to him, but while he didn't understand her taste in soaps and perfumes, he associated them with her all the same. That alone was enough to make them inviting.

"Hey, don't be mad with me, okay? I know I've been working a lot lately, but I'll make it up to you this weekend. We'll spend all Saturday binging on TV shows, how about that? I'll get us some takeout, and we can watch whatever you want until the sun comes up, no pants necessary."

"I dunno, Ryan," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "I kind of had plans this weekend. I'm going to a concert with my friends, and we probably won't be back until Monday morning."

"Anything I might like?" Ryan asked, but his smile was met with a frown.

"Ryan, you know how my friends feel about you, and it isn't anything you'd enjoy anyway. You

hate

live music."

That put a damper on his good mood, and he shook his head in annoyance, releasing her from his one-armed hug.

"Come on, Becky, it's been months since I moved here. I can't believe they still hate me so much. I can't even remember the last time I saw any of them. We're not teenagers anymore -- we all have jobs and lives, so why do they still treat me like I'm trying to steal you away from them? I feel like any time we're both free, they just come between us and-"

"Hey," Becky interrupted with a stern wag of her finger. "Remember the promise that you made when you came out here."

"I know, I know," he sighed as he raised his hands defensively. "You have your own life, and I'm not going to try to interfere with it. I'm not saying

don't go to the concert

, I just wish that you'd keep me in the loop, is all. It's hard for us to make plans together when you're always springing these things on me at the last minute."

"Maybe you need to make some friends of your own," she said dismissively. He gave her a sideways glance, trying to determine if she was being intentionally hurtful. She had turned her attention back to her phone, so he assumed that she was just tired and grouchy. He took another bite of his sandwich, mulling over his reply for a moment.

"You know that I had to leave all of my friends behind to move here. This city is your home, but it's been a big adjustment for me. It was a downright miracle that I was able to find a position that would allow me to live here, so just try to be supportive."

"I'm going to bed," she replied tersely. "I'll see you in the morning."

***

"How am I being controlling?" Ryan exclaimed, brandishing the phone as if it was proof in itself of her misdeeds. He was seeing red, anger and hurt tying a knot in his belly, and her reaction to his outrage just made everything worse. She was furious with him. Rather than the guilty apology that he had anticipated when he had confronted her, she was angry at being discovered. It didn't make any sense -- it followed no discernible logic. He had violated her privacy, but in doing so, he had uncovered wrongdoing of far greater proportions.

"You went through my fucking phone, you asshole!" Becky snapped.

"You thought I wouldn't notice how distant you've been lately?" he demanded as he pointed an accusing finger at her. "How you've been taking every opportunity to get away from me, how you've been hiding your phone whenever I walk into the room? Do you think I'm some kind of idiot?"

"That doesn't give you the right to go through my shit and snoop on my private conversations like some kind of fucking

stalker

!"

Becky was indignant, even after being presented with her own chat logs. She was trying to twist the whole situation around so that

he

was the villain for uncovering her cheating. Even in his outrage, he couldn't help but be amazed by her mental gymnastics.

He wasn't proud of what he had done, but his suspicions had only been confirmed. Whatever trust that existed between them had been violated long before he had taken her phone. It had been going on for months. Those sudden changes in her mood, those new clothes, the new attention to her appearance -- none of it had been for his benefit. She had been seeing someone else the entire time, living in his apartment and sleeping in his bed while she had an affair. She had been sending this person dirty text messages while they were in the same damned room. There was no concert, she wasn't seeing her friends on the weekend, she was planning to spend it with someone else.

"Three years of my life, Becky," he hissed as he glared at her from across the tiny apartment. "Three fucking years, and you flush it all down the toilet on a whim. I was going to marry you -- I wanted to have kids with you one day, and for what? A cheap thrill?"

"You're boring, Ryan!" she snapped. There was more fury in her eyes than he had ever seen, like he was being exposed to this side of her for the first time. "You never take me out, you never do anything that includes me. All you ever do is work and sit at that fucking computer like a zombie. I don't want to just watch movies and play video games. Those are

your

hobbies, not

mine

. Paul takes me out. We go dancing, we eat at upscale restaurants, we hang out with his friends and talk about life. What's there to talk about in your life, Ryan? Where are your friends?"

"Hundreds of miles away," he snapped, balling his fists to stop the shaking in his hands. "I left them behind to move here with you!"

"You know what your problem is?" she continued, seeming almost glad of the opportunity to let her true feelings be known. "When we started dating, you were so eager to please, but you became complacent when we moved in together. You acted like it was a done deal, that our fates were sealed, like some kind of checkbox in one of your fucking games. You had me, so you stopped trying to keep me. That's not how relationships work, Ryan! I'm not a car that you get to keep once the loan is paid off. You can't just neglect me and expect me to stay interested. Honestly, I'm amazed I stuck around for as long as I did."

"How does that make it okay for you to cheat on me?" he demanded, spreading his hands in exasperation. "Why did you never say anything? Why didn't you make any attempt to fix it? We're supposed to be a team, but you decided all of this on your own. You could have just broken up with me and ripped off the bandaid if that was really how you felt, but you went behind my back."

"Whatever," she replied with a dismissive flick of her dark hair. "I'm actually glad you found the chat logs, because seeing what a jealous asshole you are has given me the push I need to move on with my life. We're through, Ryan. I'm taking my shit, and I'm leaving."

She stormed off into their bedroom, flinging an empty duffel bag onto the twin bed that they shared. Ryan watched from the doorway as she began to cram her clothes into it, throwing empty drawers to the carpet, clearing her belongings out. Ryan couldn't think straight, he couldn't parse what was happening, as if the universe had just switched to a foreign language that he didn't speak. Yesterday, everything had been fine, and today his life was in tatters. It was all happening so quickly. He paced around the small kitchen, wringing his hands impotently. He wanted to shout and upend furniture, but as angry as he was, he felt as if all of the strength had been drained from his body. He felt ill, weak, like he had caught some terrible flu. He wanted to insult her, to say something cutting that would bring her to tears -- make her feel as bad as he did. Nothing came to mind as she slammed the bedroom door and made for the exit.

"You won't even

try

to fix this?" Ryan asked in disbelief as she turned in the hallway to glare at him, the bulging duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "Just like that, you're cutting me loose like a turd?"

"I don't owe you any explanation," she hissed, her voice full of malice and venom the likes of which he had never heard from her before. It was like some demon had possessed her or some doppelganger had replaced her, and for a moment, he wondered how he could ever have loved her the way that he had. "Now, give me my fucking phone back."

He threw it at the wall behind her, the blocky device chipping the plaster and falling to the floor, its screen cracked. Becky stooped to pick it up, her green eyes flashing with rage. For a moment, he feared that she might turn and run at him.

"Real mature. I'll send you the fucking bill," she spat as she vanished into the corridor outside, leaving the door ajar. Ryan stared at the space where she had been standing for a few moments before the realization of what had just happened hit him like a ton of bricks. He leaned back against the wall, sinking down to sit on the carpet, his face cradled in his hands as he choked back stinging tears. Whether they were born of anger or sadness, he couldn't tell.

***

"I'm sorry, Ryan, but there's nothing more I can do. You were warned that if your performance kept suffering, you'd be let go. You've been warned, and you've been disciplined, but you keep showing up late. Your quarterly figures are down nearly forty percent. I don't know what's going on with you, but this is a business, not a charity. We can't afford to keep you on any longer. You'll be getting your final paycheck at the end of the month."

Ryan leaned across the desk, pleading with his employer, the bustle of the office almost inaudible beyond the glass walls of the cubicle. The man watched him disdainfully from behind a computer monitor, his desk surrounded by plastic ferns and metal filing cabinets.

"Please, you can't do this to me, Mister Williams! I'm going through some stuff right now, but I can do better! I

need

this job. I'm barely keeping up with my rent as it is. I'll never be able to find work in this city on such short notice."

"I realize that you moved here to take advantage of this position, but company policy is clear on this," Williams replied as he adjusted his spectacles. "You've been given second and third chances, but you've become a liability. This has already been decided, and the paperwork has already been filled out. There's nothing more I can do for you besides wishing you the best of luck in finding gainful employment elsewhere."

Ryan began to speak again, but Williams cut him off with a wave of his hand, so he sank back into the uncomfortable office chair with a look of resignation on his face.

"We're legally required to give you a month's notice, but I'd like to ask you -- as a personal favor -- not to return to the premises again."

Ryan nodded, then stood, defeated. He began to make his way out of the cubicle, but as he opened the glass door, Williams cleared his throat to get his attention.

"You'll still be covered by our health insurer until your contract is officially terminated. If you want my advice -- use it to get some help. You're a mess, Ryan. Your shirt isn't even buttoned properly, and I'm pretty sure you've been drinking. Go see a shrink while it's still covered by our plan. Maybe they can help you work this out."

Ryan hesitated at the door, then left without comment, Williams shaking his head in exasperation as he returned to his work.

***

As he sat in the dark, staring vacantly at the flickering of his computer monitor, Ryan realized that there was nobody else. He had left all of his friends behind to be with Becky, left his family to accept the job offering in the city, and she was the only person that he ever confided in. Without her, he had nobody to talk to. He had neglected every other aspect of his social life. For the first time in his life, he was completely alone.

It had been weeks since their breakup, but he couldn't drum up the courage to date again. The wound that Becky had opened with her betrayal still festered. He felt as if he couldn't trust anyone anymore. In accusing him of being jealous and controlling, she had inspired those very instincts within him. Now, every time a future partner answered a phone call or checked their emails, he would assume the worst.

He had no job, no family or friends, and he was on track to lose his apartment. Living in the city was expensive -- there was no way he could afford to pay his rent, and his meager savings wouldn't see him through the next two months. He had been so secure, so confident, but he now realized that his entire life had been a house of cards that had come crashing down around him at the slightest gust of wind.

There was no doubt about what he should do next. He had to suck it up and get back out there. He should start looking for a new job immediately -- take the one suit that he owned to the dry cleaner and go to as many interviews as it took. When he had secured a new job, he would start dating again. He'd find someone better than Becky, someone who would make him question if he had ever truly loved her to begin with.

But another, more destructive facet of his personality kept asking the same question.

Why?

He had done everything that he was supposed to do, everything that he had been told would ensure his success. He had worked hard to earn his degree, and he had secured a steady job at a good company. It hadn't been the most exciting or the most intellectually stimulating work, but it had allowed him to live a modest lifestyle, and it had given him the money that he needed to move in with his girlfriend. He had treated her as well as he knew how, but all of those nights that they had spent together on the couch binging movies -- all of the time that he had spent trying to involve her in his hobbies -- had all been for nothing. She had been bored out of her mind, stewing in her silent resentment until she had finally sought excitement and romance elsewhere without ever having expressed her displeasure.

So, what was the point? Why start over from scratch when the first attempt at creating a life for himself had gone so badly? How could he be certain that the same thing wouldn't just happen again?

***

Another month passed, and Ryan received his final paycheck, using the money to pay his bills and to buy enough food to last him a while longer. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do now. The defeatist in him wanted to just sit in his apartment, distracting himself with meaningless entertainment and drink until someone came to forcibly remove him. An even darker facet of his psyche considered the final relief of a bottle of pills downed with bourbon, but he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. He wasn't quite destitute just yet.

This rabbit hole had taken him too deep. He had allowed his depression and his defeatism to get the better of him, and now, he felt like he had dug a trench that he couldn't climb out of under his own power. Maybe he should have taken what Williams had said to heart. Perhaps a psychologist could have set him back on the straight path, but it was too late for that now that his insurance had run out.

Ryan took another swig of amber liquid from his bottle, shooting at demonic enemies on his computer screen, playing the game on autopilot as he mulled over his sorry situation. Skulls and sigils flashed, the screeching hordes of the damned throwing fireballs in his direction, everything blurring together. As he watched the flickering display, he started to get an idea. It was a stupid, drunken impulse, but an idea nonetheless.

The internet chat rooms and the forums that he frequented were rife with it. Ryan had always dismissed those people as roleplayers or trolls, but the subject matter remained strangely alluring to him. He had been fond of the occult for as long as he could remember, wiling away his free time watching trashy documentaries about the supernatural and horror movies filled to the brim with cheap jump scares and bad special effects. There was a fascination there, and now that he was at rock bottom, what did he have to lose by exploring it further? Becky was no longer around to tell him how stupid he was being.

He closed the game, turning his attention to his web browser instead, typing frantically as he navigated to his forum of choice. The people here were mostly nuts, obsessed with Bigfoot and UFOs, sharing stories of ghost sightings or demonic possessions. But, amongst all the paranormal bullshit, there occasionally surfaced a conversation that seemed too genuine -- too detailed and researched to be fake. Sure, some people were just crazy, but it would have taken real time and real work to fabricate such a convincing lie. What would be the point? Why take it so far?

He scrolled through pages of blurry photos featuring alleged angels and sasquatches, schizophrenics talking about the voices that they heard in their heads, and sufferers of sleep paralysis who were convinced that they were being abducted by aliens. Finally, he came across the thread that he had been searching for. Demonology and summoning. There was a lot of garbage here, cartoonish depictions of horned, cloven-hoofed monsters with red skin being invoked by human sacrifices, pentagrams, upturned crucifixes -- nothing of any use.

Boy, he must have been drunker than he had thought to consider this. It couldn't possibly be real. But again, he heard that nagging voice in the back of his mind.

What do you have to lose by trying?