Part 1
My guts grinding, the more I thought of what had happened at
Tim's
, the more upset I got. While cutting through King Square on my way home, I leaned against a tree and threw up, my entire body heaving and shaking, thinking of my freakish grandmother and how I would probably end up like that some day. It made our financial problems seem like so much nothing and, thinking of how much further along than me my mother must have been, I threw up again until I got the dry heaves. Finally, I staggered to a bench and dropped down on it, hanging my head low in fear and despair.
"Ohhh, you're fucked," I miserably informed myself. "Well and truly
fucked
."
I didn't reply, instead just sat there trying to wrap my mind around the facts, the new reality, the acceptance of the ultimate truth that I'd been avoiding in my mind as the proper detective should. The Jedi theory was no longer just a theory, but awful fact, and I had to find some way to save my mother and myself from it. It was imperative that a solution be found somehow and I knew that time was wearing thin, a clock tick-tick-ticking down to some future, personal D day that I was now grimly aware of.
I changed my mind about home, getting up and heading in the opposite direction through the Square and down King St. to eventually find myself in back of the hotel, standing on the once again darkened and deserted boardwalk to stare out at the mirror like water of the harbour, the colourful city lights reflecting from its surface.
"What am I gonna do?" I desperately plead of myself.
The merriment and frivolities of the slip around the corner reached my ears, an outdoor, live band playing
It's My Life
almost as well as Bon Jovi.
I wanted to cry. I felt so helpless in the face of the mysterious thing that I'd been unknowingly hosting my entire life, some parasite that had been growing inside me like a tapeworm, eating up more and more of my self as I got older, living off me and my life. If it was a physical part of me, such as an arm or a leg, I could have at least removed it, but that wasn't the case. Whatever it was, it was attached way down deep, grafted to my awareness, my very personality and no antipsychotics or amputations would help me. Or Mum.
"And that brings us to our little moment with her, doesn't it?" I asked. "What in hell was that? What in hell happened there just before she destroyed Joe?"
"I don't know, I replied back to myself. "It was like being the wind, or being borne on it as it moved... over the Earth. Just moving... looking... apart from all. And she was there. Mum was... there. A part of me."
"No words, no thoughts, just..."
"An idea. An intention."
"A single, driving, eternal motivation. ... Maybe she's just that good?"
"She's good alright, but no woman is
that
good. Not even her and it's not as if some cosmic experience is out of the question at this point, is it? No, something happened and, if you ask me, it's pointless to try to identify or even think about it now. We'll be discussing it with her soon enough and I have a funny feeling more information will open up once she relates her side of it."
" ... Yeah. You're right. (sigh) Moving right along..."
"Three things. One: What is this thing, where does it come from and how do we get rid of it? Two: How do we deal with Marie? Three, and most importantly: How do we make sure Mum is safe from her?"
"As for question one... Well, it may be time to come clean with Mum about our little investigation."
"No. That's not the way we operate. We have to keep her in the dark until it's time to act, time to keep our promise. Information is power and, in this situation, we'll need all the power we can get when it comes time. I don't think tipping our hand will help."
"But, she might have information we can't get anywhere else at this point. She obviously knows about the Jedi spell, she purposefully used it on Joe, even insisted he look her in the eyes... Maybe we can get it out of her without her realizing."
"I doubt there's much of anything she doesn't realize when it comes to dealing with others, and she wouldn't be too impressed if she caught us soft handling her. She'd want to know why, then we'd have to tell her because we can't lie to her. She'd know; she always has."
"You've soft handled her. And you've lied to her and gotten away with it."
"Maybe. Remember all those times she caught us lying but didn't say anything right away? Don't forget who we learned not to tip our hand from, bright-boy. Anyway, even if we did get away with it, those were white lies and so far, the things we got out of her have been pretty easy. The things we want to pick her brain for now would require some pretty skillful dancing. She'd see through us. She would and you know it."
"Yeah... but again, our upcoming conversation might just be the perfect opportunity. Except for how I raped her. Oh my god..."
" ... She seemed to take it pretty well. Besides, you've already established that sex with Mum is the least of our worries. Forget that and concentrate on the real problem, such as how much I hate being sneaky with her, how it always feels like betrayal. Now that we love her like we do, it's even worse and I don't like that kind of guilt. Neither do you."
"In case you haven't noticed, we've been doing a lot of things we don't like out of necessity. Remember that it's for her ultimate good. It's because we
do
love her that we're doing these things."
"And that brings us to Audrey."
" ... Fuck."
"You said it."
"Let's not get into that. I still don't like the idea that I'm talking to you."
"You've got nobody else. Now, what about Audrey? What are we supposed to do to help her?"
"(sigh) Fuck me... What in hell
are
we going to do? ... If only we could tell Mum."
"(ahem)"
I should have known better. In my agitation and stress, I wasn't even talking under my breath, but in a low voice and, as I turned around to see Pastor Marx standing about fifteen feet away, my face flushed with heat. Caught again.
"They say it's not so much talking to yourself you have to watch, but answering back," she said as she approached.
She said it casually, like a joke, but I could see the underlying, unsure curiosity in her face as she did.
"Uhh... heh, yeah, I've heard that," I nervously replied, once again wondering how much she'd heard and cursing myself for being so wrapped up in my problems that I'd totally forget the rest of the world and all the people in it. "It's uhh... just this little thing I've always done when I needed to work stuff out. It helps."
"Ah," she replied, coming to stand next to me and looking at me closely, her curiosity diminishing somewhat. "Well... I didn't hear anything that you said. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or invade your privacy."
"Okay," I answered, believing her and feeling a bit better, but also turning my face to the harbour. The last thing I wanted was for her to fall under the Jedi spell.
" ... Everything okay? Anything you'd like to talk to someone
else
about?"
"Uhh... well it's pretty messed up, Pastor. I'd really rather not."
" ... Call me Marci. I know, Marci Marx, 'ha, ha'. I swear, my parents must have been on drugs when they named me."
"I like it," I commented with a careful smile.
"Thanks. You know, Steven, I knew from the first time I saw you that there was something... That something's bothering you. Something big and you don't know where to turn for help. I'm a good listener, you know."
"I know. It's just that... I'm sorry, I don't mean to put you down or anything, but you just wouldn't understand. You probably wouldn't even believe me.
I'm
having a hard time believing it. I don't even want to."
"I'll try," she offered. "I'd really like to help if I can."
" ... Well... You believe in evil, right? I mean you believe it exists?"
"Yes."
"Here on Earth?"
"Yes. Satan tempts us every day to do his work. He makes it so appealing and the next thing we know..."
"Okay, but... what about people? Do you think there are evil people?"
" ... No. Not really. I mean, it's just my opinion, but I don't believe anybody is any better or any worse than anyone else in that respect."
"What about people like Hitler?"
"Hitler was crazy. It's possible Satan capitalized on that, making him, or encouraging... pushing him that extra foot to do evil things, but no, I don't believe anyone is evil. Salvation is offered to all, it says so right in here," she said, raising her bible for a moment, "but it's not offered to Satan or his minions so, as far as I see it, that separates us from him and what's thought of as 'evil'."
"What about Satan worshipers?"
"Poor, short sighted fools. People who feel insignificant, inferior and will do anything to feel strong and powerful. They aren't evil, just pathetic."
"What about... stuff like possession?"
"Demonic possession?"
I nodded, still not looking her in the eye.
" ... It's like an affliction. The affliction itself is evil, but not the poor individual it attaches itself to."
"Like a parasite?"
"Ummm... Not exactly. A demonic possession, the purpose of the demon itself, is to sew fear and revulsion, to destroy hope and pervert the beauty of God's creation in our eyes. It doesn't need the afflicted person for its own survival, whereas a parasite lives and thrives off its host and does depend on the host for its survival, even if it's slowly killing its host."
"Would you know evil if you saw it?"
" ... I'm not sure. Evil often hides behind a cloak of good and beauty. I'd like to think I could, but I really can't say."
"So, you've never seen a victim of demonic possession," I assumed.
"Not that I'm aware, no. But, like I say, I might not necessarily recognize it as such if I did, unless the person was doing a Linda Blair with head spinning around while crawling on the ceiling and hoarking up green goo in my face," she said with a smile.
I couldn't help but smile in return at her levity.
"Oh, that's nice."
"What?"
"Your smile."
I allowed it to remain while I looked out over the water, actually feeling a little better for some unknown reason.
After a pause, she said, "I think about you off and on."
I looked at her, a bit surprised at this and asked, "Really? Why?"
"I'm not sure. You're like... different. Special. Like you could really be something."
"Well, Pas- Marci... I'll be happy to just reach retirement age with all my marbles."
"Retirement isn't something an eighteen year old should be thinking about."
I smiled ruefully while thinking of my grandmother and vaguely wondering how the parasite could have come along so suddenly within me. Was it the booze Mum gave me?
" ... Steven... What's wrong?"
I wanted to tell her. Maybe not the whole story, at least not the part about how I'd been completely and hopelessly seduced by my own mother, but enough that she'd understand and possibly even be able to help in some way. But how could I do this without having her think I was crazy? She'd never believe it and, if she did, she'd probably turn and run. There was also the fact that I wasn't supposed to have any friends, by order of Mum, and telling Marci about this problem would only serve to further defy that order. But then, I had to help Mum somehow, didn't I? Didn't Mum's and my ultimate wellbeing trump even her very clear instructions? Maybe she
