I kept my ears perked the whole way back to the graveyard, but I didn’t hear any more pippirets saying my name or Joanna’s name or what I did to her. While it doesn’t prove those birds don’t exist - there’s no way to actually prove that, really - it’s still better than the alternative.
I also realized that carving the word ‘exorcism’ into my hand would cause it to bleed. I didn’t think about that downside when I did it because I was a bit busy trying to keep Joanna from blocking the word from my mind again, but what’s done is done. Either way, I stopped by the forest stream and cleaned off the excess blood as best as I could, hoping dearly the water was clean enough not to cause an infection. More blood did surface from the wounds, but they were only little beads, not something that would run down and drip off my hand and cause a public disturbance. The coldness of the water might have helped with that. I briefly considered using the bandages from my forearm to cover them up, but that would have defeated the point of carving my skin in the first place. I might have forgotten the cuts were deliberate instead of just being the result of some random injury.
The hand now tucked in my pocket, I arrive at the edge of the graveyard. Before I step out of the woods and into the open, though, I recap my plan.
I’m going to take the regular route to the library. It may be open, but it’s the fastest path, and taking any other would increase the risk of forgetting what I’m doing. I just have to walk at a brisk pace without doing anything strange to arouse suspicion or draw attention in general. The better I blend in, the less likely it is for the cops - who may or may not be after me - to find out where I am.
Alright. I take a moment to check no one’s around, then leave the shelter of the trees. I make it past the graves and out of the gate without anyone arriving. Good. The best I could hope for, really. I hold on to that positivity as I begin my treacherous journey to the library.
The spruces and pines flanking the gravelly road seem to be my only company for the next minute or so. I begin to wonder if I could actually sprint while no one's around - until someone, a local woman, emerges from a little side-path and turns my way.
I try not to let the surge of my heartbeat show and continue walking, but the organ pounds against my ribs like a gorilla in a cage. Still, I force my eyes to stare directly ahead. I can't let my gaze stray and meet hers. She'd only pay more attention to me that way.
And don’t forget about the illusions, oh Gods, the illusions. Joanna might try to trick me with something again. She might create an illusion of that woman attacking me to get me to attack her in return, which would get me in an even worse position than before. Or Joanna could just make some kind of loud noise to make me jump and get the woman to notice something’s off about me. Whatever the case, I need to stay calm and always think before I act.
The woman’s getting closer. In just a few seconds, we’ll pass each other. Oh Gods. I prepare myself for anything while still attempting to appear casual. Time seems to slow down. Oh, Gods, just go. Go past me already. Please…
She does.
She passed me. She did nothing. Joanna did nothing.
I nearly stop and look behind me to see if this really happened, but I know I shouldn’t take that chance. I have to settle for the sound of her footsteps gradually fading until the ambient winds and traffic drown them out.
I catch my breath. I’d been holding it, it seems. I shouldn’t do that. Oh, great, another thing to worry about…
No, don’t get discouraged. Things will only get worse if you let your anxieties take hold. I take a deep breath and force my mind to move on. The road’s about to open up, after all. The need to stay cool will only become more dire.
I reach the end of the gravelly path, transitioning to an asphalt street. With the trees gone, I can already spot three new people in the area. The two of them coming my way, an older man and a woman with a baby stroller - fine, I guess that’s technically three people - come closer and closer. I prepare myself again, but despite my worries, they pass me by without any trouble. I notice nothing wrong about my surroundings before, during or after. In other words, Joanna stays in line. Whether that means I’m in control or that it’s part of some great insidious plan of hers, I don’t know. I just have to take the win and go with it.
Some time later, I reach the hospital. There are more people around now. It could be a good thing or it could be a bad thing. Good thing: blending into a crowd. Bad thing: if even one recognizes me, they can tell all the others and then they'll all come after me. And I can't kill that many people that fast.
Though there are more buildings around now, too. Buildings you're free to enter, like stores. If I spot any cops around, I can slip into one and hide. Whether they'd let me stay as long as I needed, though, that's another question…
I calmly look around, surveying the area for any blue uniforms yet again, but none are there. Only civilians. Somebody’s walking a dog. Could the dog smell my bleeding hand and cause a scene? No, that’s absurd. You shouldn’t stray into those thoughts, anyway. Keep your focus. You're not that far away from the library…
That's right, I'm really not! I can already see the flat black roof of the library peeking over the buildings. Gods, I'm happy, but I've never felt so slow. It's right there, and my steps are so slow, so slow. But I'm getting closer. Every step taken means less time to spend out on the street.
Okay. One more corner to pass. I can see the yard of the library, more and more of it coming into view as I get closer. There's a person. There's another person. There's a group of people. There's a stand by the doors.
Fuck.
Over a dozen people have gathered in the yard, a few of them wearing matching blue scarves. They must be members of some organization doing some kind of promotion or rally - a theory that’s supported by the fact that they seem to be passing out fliers. More importantly, they’re gathered right by the doors, on both sides, which means I can’t get to the library without drawing their attention. Oh, what the hell do these people even want?
No, no, it doesn't matter what they're doing as long as it's not passing out posters of my face with 'dead or alive' written underneath. I just need to get past them the same way I’ve gotten past everyone else I’ve met on the way here.
I take one last look around in case of any cops, which I can’t spot, and begin heading for the front doors. I walk past the first group of people. The one with the blue scarf shoots me a look as I go by, but she’s too busy explaining something to the others to pay me any further mind. Fantastic, beautiful, yes. Another group to my right, quickly cleared with similar ease. Alright, just don’t get overconfident. Remember to be alert for illusions.
Now approaching the main congregation. Slowing down walking speed. I catch words of their conversations - foundation, help, concert, children, fundraiser - but I throw them out of my conscious mind as soon as they arrive and steer my focus back to the people themselves, watching for any intent to talk to me so that I can shoot it down fast and clean with a classic ‘sorry, I’m busy’.
People begin to notice me, stepping back to give me space. No strange expressions on anyone’s face, no imminent sales pitches. Nothing looks illusory, not that I have enough time for a proper analysis of anything. My way is now clear. The doors wait ahead of me. Yes --
Something catches my foot, the world tilts, asphalt comes at my face. I barely get my arms in front of me in time to break my fall. Left palm hits ground, stings! Fuck! The cuts, right…
Whispers arise from the crowd. Shit, now I'm the center of attention. I need to get up quickly…
"You alright?" someone asks behind me. I turn my head to see --
Oh, fuck. I can't believe this.
The burly blond Arukeist - in other words, Samson - recognizes me, too, judging by his widened eyes. Gods, of all the people to bump into…
He offers a hand. Fuck no, I think, but I can't turn down his offer for help now that I've clearly seen it - that would be rude, and rude people are not liked. Suppressing a grimace, I take Samson’s hand.
He grasps it firmly and pulls me up - he really pulls me up, goddamn, he's stronger than he looks - and I thank him as I'm required to. I try to move on, but he circles in front of me, blocking the doors. What the fuck does he want?
"Hey, before you go, um…" he begins, tone infuriatingly polite as if it made up for his little one-man blockade stunt. "I just wanted to apologize about that thing at the beach. Clearly, I was interrupting --”
I wanna tell him to go fuck himself and that goatly god of his while he’s at it, but I know better. “Look, it’s alright,” I say, raising my hands. “I’m sorry about what I said, too. Can we just for-”
I raised my hands.
I close them immediately and take them behind my back, but it’s too late.
He saw my left palm. He saw the wounds. He might have even read the writing. And now he’s staring at me in shock.
This is Joanna’s fault, isn’t it? She made me forget I needed to keep that hand hidden!
“Wh-what was that on your hand?” he says, stepping forward. “Are you hurt?”
No. No. I have to get away now. “It’s nothing. Leave me alone,” I spit as I lunge past him, lucky that he didn’t stop me. I tear open the library’s door and slip through, catching a glimpse of the red stain left behind on the metal bar. Fuck, fuck. Just keep going.
I draw in a sharp breath -- and cough and cough immediately after, cough to get the stench of spices and rubber and paint out of my lungs, but it comes back with every inhalation. Gods, I wanna stab whoever’s responsible for this renovation, but now’s not the time…
I hurry deeper into the building, into the array of shelves, to the Fact section. I weave towards Spectrology, brushing past the myriad of books held up by the twisted metal squiggles they consider shelves. The black rug beneath gives a spongy squeak for each of my steps. Disgusting. I’ll destroy it all once ascension comes.
Okay. Spectrology. I’m here. One shelf, books in purple, black and blue. I need to find a book on… on what? I check my hand again. EXORCISM. It was some ghost thing. It was gonna help me get rid of Joanna. Is that word in the title of any of these books? Not here, not there…
Creeee-eee-eeaak…
What was that?
I glance in the direction of the noise, but nothing’s out of place. There’s nothing that would have made that metallic creaking… unless, of course, these shelves are so shitty that they’re buckling under the weight of the --
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I need to focus on my task.
I finish going through the books’ titles. None contained the word ‘exorcism’, so I choose some generic-looking book instead - I think I skimmed this one the last time I was here. I open the glossary and look for E. There. I skip to the end of the block and there it is, ‘exorcism’, as the last entry. Lots of different page numbers are mentioned, but there’s only one range, 182-192. That sound like the best place to head. What page is this? 240. Alright. I place my index finger on the current page so that I don’t lose it in case I forget where I’m supposed to go - or, more precisely, in case Joanna blocks the memory…
Creee-eeeeee-eeaaak…
There’s that creaking again! But no, no, just ignore that, get back to…
Thump, thump, thu-thump thu-thu-thu-thu-thump thu-thump thu-thu-
Okay, that’s it!
I shut the book, finger still as bookmark, and turn around to see what the fuck is making all this --
I freeze.
Dozens of books lie scattered on the floor, piled around the shelf they’ve fallen from - or what’s become of that shelf.
The bicolor sheet of metal that used to coil around the rows of books has twisted into a strange, irregular shape. Its many-jointed form looks even more serpentine than before.
A sharp screech splits the air as the final joint bends towards me, twisted sideways. Another screech, and the segment tears itself in half, leaving serrated edges. It looks like the jaws of a very thin snake.
Another horrible screech comes as the halves snap together in a bite.
It is a snake.
Oh.
Oh, okay!
Despite the chill in my blood, my lips pull back in a grin.
Are you stupid, Joanna? Did you think I was going to fall for this? Did you think this was going to scare me? Make me throw down this book and scamper away with my tail between my legs?
What a sad attempt at an illusion. She must be getting desperate. Which, in turn, means that I’m getting closer.
I turn my back on the metallic serpent and return my attention to the book even if my primal instincts think it’s a poor idea. The creature makes more screeches, but I force myself to ignore them. I open the book in the middle and start searching for page… I check the glossary again. Page 182. Okay. I opened the book at 123. I skip ahead. 134, 156, 168, 172 --
“Uh, excuse me --”
“Fucking hell!” I spit, jerking my head towards the left. Unfortunately, I see someone I already saw not too long ago. The Arukeist.
“What do you want from me?” I hiss at his stupid face.
He steps back, holding his palms up. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here to help.”
“Help?” I scoff. “I don’t want any! Get away from me!”
He’s not leaving, he’s not moving, he keeps those hands up and that fucking infuriating look of innocence on his face. “It’s alright,” he says, “I figured out your problem.”
“What proble-”
Shit, wait, no! If he knows something about me, he really shouldn't say it aloud!
I cower back, signalling submission. The sudden shift in my behavior makes him flinch, giving me another chance to speak, yes.
“H-hold on,” I say. “Can you just, uh, wait a moment?”
He blinks, still confused. “I… sure.”
That shut him up for now. I return to the book. 172. 176. 178, 180, one eighty tw-
It’s blank.
I flip a page. The next opening is also blank. No 183, no 184. Only white.
I pinch the rest of the pages and run my thumb upwards. Corners upon corners flash by, all empty.
I take a deep breath in, then let it out.
“Actually…” I say, turning back to the Arukeist. “There is something you can help me with.”
His blue eyes light up - of course they do. “What’s that?”
I step closer to him and show the open book. “Do these pages look blank to you?”
“...No?” he answers, confused.
“Okay, thanks.” I transfer the book to my left hand and reach inside my jacket with the right, grabbing the knife in the pocket. “Now, I need to write something down,” I say. “Do you have a pen on you?”
He looks down, digging into his pockets. “Uh, let’s s-”
I let go of the book. While it falls to the ground, I throw my arm around Samson’s shoulders, draw out the knife and bring the blade to his throat.
He freezes at the sight of the weapon. “Wh-”
“Don't fucking move!” I growl, and I can feel him flinch. “Understand?”
“Y-yes,” he manages to get out.
I shuffle closer to get a better hold of him. It’s still not great given our height difference, but it seems to be working well enough.
“Alright. I wanna turn around now,” I tell Samson. “Follow me as I move. Got that?”
“Yes.”
We turn together to face the way I came. The shelf-serpent is still there. For fuck’s sake.
“There’s no point in showing that anymore,” I spit. “I already know it isn’t real.”
“What?”
I flinch. Right, the guy can hear me. And so can everyone else. I shouldn’t be speaking aloud, I should be…
But can I really count on Joanna listening to my thoughts? It’s very, very important that she understands me exactly as intended, but my mind’s going a mile a minute. If I speak aloud, she’ll hear me clearly. And, really, what the fuck kinda harm is speaking aloud gonna do to me now? I already have a knife to someone’s throat. As long as I don’t mention Joanna’s name or anything else related to my past crimes, I won’t be making things any worse for myself.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Samson,” I say. “It was Samson, right?”
“Samson, yes,” he breathes.
“Alright.” I pause to think. “Okay, Samson, listen up. Whenever I say your name, it means I’m talking to you. Otherwise, ignore it. Do you understand?”
“I… yes.”
“Good. Now…” I look down at the book on the floor. “I wanna pick up that book, Samson. For that, we need to crouch. Just follow my lead. Got that?”
“Y-yes.”
Slowly but surely, we squat down. I notice a problem, but come up with the solution rather quickly. I transfer the knife to my left hand, keeping the blade against Samson’s throat, and pick up the book with my right hand. I’ve lost the page I was on, but I’d already accepted that as a likely outcome when I dropped the book.
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“Alright,” I sigh. I notice I’m a bit out of breath. Can’t really blame myself. Either way, I make myself take deeper breaths until I feel like I’m good to go again.
“Samson, back up,” I then order, and he obeys. We rise as slowly as we descended, both cautious for different reasons - I want to make sure he gets no window to escape, and he wants to make sure I don’t slit his throat.
At last, we’re upright again. I realize that one hand isn’t enough to browse the book… but I actually have more than one hand, don’t I?
“Samson,” I begin, and the Arukeist tenses up again. I offer him the book. “Grab this book.”
“Right.” He does as instructed, though his hold is trembling. Whatever. It’s not a problem yet. Right hand now free, I transfer the knife back to it. Much better for keeping a hostage on my left.
“Now, go to page…” I stretch my memory. “182.”
Without protest, he opens the book and begins to browse. I start to wonder if there's anyone that can see us. Should I look behind me? No, it’ll only get harder to concentrate if I see someone there. And Samson’s already getting close to the page I need…
At 180, he flips the last page. The next opening… is still blank.
I clench my teeth. Yeah, didn’t think it would be so easy.
“Is… is this good?” Samson asks, voice quiet and wavering.
“Good enough,” I mutter, then sigh. “Okay, Samson, the next few things I’m gonna say don’t concern you. Ignore them.”
“A-alright.”
I pin my eyes on the blank pages and think of Joanna. “Show them.”
I wait, but there’s no change. Gods. She’s really making me spell it out.
“Show them,” I press, “or I’m gonna kill him.”
Samson flinches. “What?”
“What did I just tell you?” I spit, and he shrinks under my arms. Hopefully he got the message for good this time.
I return my gaze to the book. Still blank. Fine.
“I know you can hear me,” I say. “Don’t pretend like you can’t. This guy’s life is in your hands, and you know it. Now…” I take a shaky breath in. “I’m gonna do what I did the last time you didn’t want to cooperate. I’m gonna count down from ten. If, by the time I hit zero, I don’t see any ink on these pages…” I squeeze Samson closer to me. “I’m gonna slit his throat. Okay?”
No response, not that I expected one. Though Samson’s trembling is getting worse.
“Right.” I get into position, moving the blade against the Arukeist’s neck. He winces at the touch of the cold metal. An urge comes to slash it open right now, but no, no, not yet. Not ever, actually. Because Joanna’s gonna budge, just like last time, and I’m gonna get my way.
“Ten,” I begin. “Nine. Eight. Seven…”
Sudden sounds catch my ears. Steps, many of them, hurried, coming my way. Then they stop.
"Stay where you are," commands a voice. Male, authoritative. "This is the police."
The police.
My body freezes over. My arms, my legs, my face, my eyes - all but my heart which thrashes wildly instead, threatening to shatter the icy shell around it.
Then it all thaws.
The grin, closer now to a snarl, returns to my face.
"You're getting desperate," I sneer. "I can tell…"
How very convenient it would be for the cops to show up now, right here, in the nick of time.
“Turn around,” the voice continues.
I grimace. “You’re insulting me.” The grin returns. “But that doesn’t matter. The countdown will continue. Where was I… oh, right. Seven.”
“Turn around!”
Is she even listening to me? I count down louder. “Six. Five. Four.”
“Turn around, or we will shoot!”
She’s not listening. She’s not fucking listening. She’s not stopping the illusion. She’s not showing the pages. Does she not believe I’ll do it? Does she not care? Should I stop and find another approach?
No, that may be what she’s counting on. I need to stick to this. I need to stand my ground.
“Three!” I shout. There’s a waver in the voice. I squeeze the knife tighter, palm swimming in sweat. It will slash that skin, Joanna, it will kill poor Samson. Do you really want that?
“Final warning!” shouts the cop.
“Two!” I shout back. Two. Two. We’re at two. That’s so close. Why hasn’t she given up yet? Is she not gonna give up? Will I really, really have to kill this guy and deal with the consequences? Am I prepared to do that? Is this an edge I can afford to lose?
No. No, no doubting. That’s what she wants. No doubting. I will bring this to completion.
I breathe in. The next word repeats in my mind. My throat and tongue stand at attention, ready to launch. The time comes, and I shout --
“Stop.”
I’m paralyzed.
That voice…
That was her voice.
“Please,” she breathes. “Please, no more of this.”
That voice I have not heard in months. The last time was… it wasn’t even on the day that I killed her. I didn’t let her say anything before I attacked her, and after that, she was gagged…
“I wanna talk to you.”
Surprise begins to make way for relief. She's finally talking to me.
Although… that's not what I asked for. I asked her to show the pages. They're still blank. But I guess it's still better than her not reacting to me at all…
I clear my throat. “I’m listening.”
“Face to face.”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“Just that I’m gonna appear in front of you,” she explains. “Don’t be alarmed.”
“And it’s not a trick?” I ask, tensing up.
“It’s not. I… I don’t want that man to get hurt.”
I glance at Samson. His face is deathly pale. His eyes unfocused and his mouth ajar, he’s giving his best impression of a dead fish.
I grab him a bit more tightly, sending a jolt through his body. I focus on the touch - the fabric of his t-shirt, the bone and muscle of his shoulder. It feels real. So does the knife in my hand. She hasn’t tampered with anything. I really do have a hostage.
“Alright,” I breathe. “Do it.”
I look ahead. At first, it seems like nothing's happening, but then I realize the air directly ahead has begun to darken. It condenses, darkens further, takes shape - the shape of a face-bearer.
Two red eyes open on its face, leaking as always. A glint of golden light, and a mask materializes into the grasp of its hands. Joanna's face. Melancholic.
After days of hiding in the recesses of my psyche, tormenting me from where I can't see her… she's here, right in front of me, in her true form.
"...Hey."
I frown. “Get to the point. You’re on limited time.”
She sighs, tense. “Right.”
She takes one hand off the mask to hold it at her side instead, but changes her mind and brings the mask back in front of her chest again. She squeezes her eyes shut and forces out the words on her mind. “I’m offering you a way out.”
“A way out?”
She opens her eyes, but can’t bring herself to look at me. Her fingers grasp the edge of her mask harder. “I’m… I’m allowing you to kill me.”
Kill… her?
“This…” She pries one hand off the mask to gesture to herself, shaking. “This isn’t an illusion. This is really me. A-and that means that if you…”
Recognition flashes in my mind as I remember what I read all those days ago. That if a face-bearer appeared to the one they possessed in their real form, they would actually be vulnerable to physical attacks.
Of course, last time I tried that, she tricked me - it wasn’t really her, but a show and dance she put on to deceive me, to make me think she was dead while she kept hiding in my mind.
So why would this time be any different?
“I know,” she says - I forgot she could read my mind to an extent - “I know what you’re thinking, but… hear me out. If you stab me now, you won’t lose anything. You can do it quickly enough for your hostage not to escape. And when I d-die, those pages are gonna become visible. You can still perform an exorcism. You can even get some other guy to perform that exorcism so you know the text can’t have been tampered with. So…” She winces. “It’s in your benefit to try.”
Well… she does make a good point. All of that makes sense. Except for one crucial detail.
“What made you change your mind?” I ask. “What makes you just… want to give up now, after everything you’ve done? And most importantly…” My look turns into a glare. “Why would you want to die?”
She lowers one hand to form a fist. She still can't look at me.
"It's not that I want to die," she says, voice wavering. "It's that I just think it's for the better."
I raise a brow. "How come?" The last time she spoke to me, she seemed pretty hell-bent on getting me caught…
"Oh, I have no doubt you're gonna get caught," she spits, catching me off guard, but her venom dilutes from there. "You're clearly unstable enough without my help. It's… myself that I'm worried about."
"You?"
Her fist tightens. "Ever since I entered your mind… I feel like I've been changing. Changing… to become more like you."
"What do you mean?" Has she started to see things from my perspective?
She shuddered. "No. I'll never want to be on your side. That much I know."
I roll my eyes. Fine.
"What I mean," she continues, "is that I've… I've found myself thinking like you. Coldly. Selfishly. Treating people like tools, making these schemes with less and less regard for the people involved. Even now, I… I took so long to stop you from counting. I thought I could take the gamble. The gamble on that man's life." She hugs her mask. "I'd been convincing myself that everything I did was for the greater good, to get you locked up, and that I could afford to be tied to you for as long as that took, but… I-I don't think that's true anymore."
That's stupid, I find myself thinking, but I shouldn't think that - I should encourage her to think whatever benefits me. But I guess I also just thought that, so that edge is gone.
She clenches a fist again. "Of course to you that'd be stupid. You don't give a shit what happens to anyone else as long as you get something out of it. You don't understand what it's like to actually have moral responsibility. If you were in my place, you'd just let yourself become more twisted. You'd let your family, whoever they were, see their daughter turned into a monster."
Being selfish is all it takes to be a monster?
"It's not just selfishness!" she snaps, fist trembling. "It's… it's…"
A barrage of maroon droplets leaks from her eyes. Even with her limited features, I see pure disgust radiate off her face.
"The sick fantasies you have!" she shouts, gagging on her voice. "They've started to… feel good! What kind of person do you think I'm gonna become when I lose my morals and take pleasure in violence?"
She'd become like me.
There'd be someone else like me?
She hears that thought, and she looks like she's about to puke.
"I never want to be like you!" she cries. "I can't let myself bring a person like that into the world! Even if…" A sob cuts her speech. "Even if it means I have to die!"
She covers her face with a shaky hand. "S…so," she says, "I have to do it. Before I don't want to do it anymore."
She falls silent after that, save for her patchy breathing. I guess that's it for her little manifesto.
I take some time to think.
She claims that she wants me to end her life before she can become any more like me. To me, that logic would be invalid for two reasons - I don't think there's anything wrong with the way I am, and I really, really, really don't want to die.
But there was a time a few years ago when I did.
When the other kids at school were ragging on me the hardest, when I was desperate enough to try and tell Mom, when she only laughed with spite and told me to stop playing the victim, when I kept trying and she only got angry and angrier until she…
The world didn’t seem like it had a place for me anymore.
Then I met HIM. HE told me HE could give me power, the power to change things. HE also taught me death was incomprehensible to my human mind, something far worse than my life could ever be.
But Joanna doesn't know that. She's seen me think that, but she doesn't believe it. She doesn't believe HIM. She probably doesn't even believe HE is real. She probably thinks I'm just crazy. What irony. From my perspective, she's the crazy one.
She does make a good point about the attack, though. There's no way Samson will escape during the little time it takes for me to swing at her. He's a complete wimp. He'll freeze in shock, and before he knows it, my knife will be right back in front of his throat.
I can only win here.
I draw in a deep breath and sigh it out. “Okay.”
She slides her hand down her face to see me, but keeps it on her mouth, or where her mouth would be. She seems relieved, though still very anxious. Makes sense for what’s to come.
I consider my surroundings. It’s a bit cramped here with all the shelves. I better move a bit more out into the open so I have space to strike at her.
“Samson,” I say. His flinch tells me that he’s paying attention. “I wanna move backwards a bit. Away from the shelves. Just follow my lead, okay?”
“Okay.” Obedient as ever. This guy doesn’t even seem like the type that would try to escape. I just have to hope my impression isn’t wrong.
Slowly but steadily, I back us up out of the aisle and into the reading area, which consists of tables and chairs spaced well apart. I also make us turn around to face the rest of the space rather than the corner. This is the direction I heard the cops shouting from, but there’s no one here. Of course there isn’t. The cops were fake.
Joanna floats in front of me. The motion is jittery. Can I be sure she won’t dodge?
“I… I’ll close my eyes,” she says, eyes flicking to me between longer looks at the floor. “That way I can’t see it coming.”
“I guess that works,” I mumble. “Or… won’t you hear it from my thoughts when I’m doing it?”
“Uh…” Her shoulders slump. “Maybe. But --” She raises a hand. “I-in the case I do dodge… please don’t make any hasty decisions. It’ll just have been a mistake.” She lowers her hand and gaze. “I really don’t want that man to die, I just haven’t… ever done this before, you know. Obviously.”
I roll my eyes again, but I get it. Self-preservation instincts can’t exactly be turned off at will. “If it ends up not working, I’m going back to the original plan,” I say. “You’ll just have to stay there while I perform the exorcism.”
She pauses - oh, come on, are you thinking about switching now?
“L-let’s at least try this first,” she says. “I doubt exorcisms are very fast, and if they’re painful…”
Okay, okay, I don’t care. Just get ready already.
She sighs. “Right.” She floats up to position. “Is this a good spot?”
Yeah… yeah, I think so.
She nods, defeated. “Okay. I-I’m gonna close my eyes now.”
Finally.
She looks like she wants to say something else, but does the smart thing and closes her eyes instead. She remembers her mask and brings it to her side, exposing her body. Is it still hard and metallic now that she’s inside my mind? I guess it doesn’t matter as long as she keeps it out of the way.
Okay. Everything’s ready now. Am I ready? No, my knife’s pointing the wrong way. I flip it over, hoping Samson won’t notice. It doesn’t seem like he does. Good. I picture the trajectory of my strike. It cuts through her throat. Gods, yes, I get to slit her throat. Compensation for all the trouble she’s given me.
I stabilize my breath and with it, my hand. I sense the right moment come.
I slash across the air. The blade catches her neck and tears through it like drenched paper. Her eyes open in an instant, bugging in terror and pain. Droplets of that red fluid go flying. White fire ignites at the edges of her wound, then flares almost faster than I can follow, swallowing up her body and her mask - and she’s gone.
I did it. I did it! I actually --
Someone grabs my wrist.
Startled, I lose my grip on the knife. It falls to the floor.
I turn my head to see a cop behind me.
Someone - Samson - grabs my other wrist and wrenches himself free. He runs away. The cop grabs my other wrist and brings it behind my back.
“I got him!” he shouts. Another cop, who’s suddenly appeared at the end of the reading area, lowers his gun, holstering it before running to me.
An instinct tells me to fight, but another instinct is stronger, keeping me frozen as the other cop reaches me, as he takes out his handcuffs, as he locks them around my wrists.
They’ve got me.
A dark haze appears in front of me. Solidifies. To the shape of a face-bearer. The mask hangs off one hand, relaxed as can be, while another covers the mouth - or where the mouth would be. The eyes are mocking.
She laughs.
No. No. No. No!
“Yes,” she says, a smile in her voice. It cuts like a razor.
The cops grab my arms. One of them says something. I don’t respond. I can’t respond. After trying a few more times, he puts his arm underneath mine, and I finally thaw.
I tear away like a crazed animal. I don’t get anywhere, of course I don’t get anywhere, they’ve got their arms hooked under mine and my wrists are chained together, but I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to stop it. The policeman yells - tells me to calm down, I think - and my arm feels like it’s gonna rip, but I can’t stop. I have to get away, even if I know I can’t. I can’t let them take me. I can’t --
“That’s not gonna work,” Joanna mocks. I make one lunge towards her, but she doesn’t even blink. She knows I can’t do anything to her. I’m handcuffed, and even if I wasn’t, there’s no way she’s actually tangible.
She lied about that. She lied about everything.
“And you bought it.”
The cops start to drag me away. They start to drag me away, no, no, I don’t wanna go. I try to regain my footing so I could try to jerk away again, but they don’t hold me high enough and I’m at an awkward angle, I just can’t make it work. I’m reduced to wriggling like a madman, shoes screeching against the floor. Just like… just like in my nightmares.
Nightmare, nightmare. Nightmares I get to wake up from and realize they aren’t real, but this… this is real. This is actually real. This is really happening. This…
Oh, no, no, no.
I stop my flailing, letting out something like a sigh mixed with a laugh. No, this isn’t real. This is another one of Joanna’s tricks, and I fell for it because I freaked out and forgot to be skeptical.
“Nice try,” I wheeze, staring at the face-bearer with a triumphant grin.
But she laughs. “Oh, you’re pathetic!”
The grin twists into a grimace, but don’t give up, don’t let her words get to you. She’s just trying to throw you off. If you really focus, you can see this is all fake, and then that attitude of hers will fly right out the window. She’ll be begging for mercy. She’ll fear you, as she should.
Okay, concentrate. Concentrate on the cops. I turn my head to analyze the one to my right. He looks back at me, asks if I’m alright, which he’s probably doing because he thinks it’ll calm me down or he’s legally required to, he doesn’t actually care, I’m just some deranged maniac to him. I study his face, his eyes, they’re brown, his eyelashes, eyebrows, wrinkles, nose, lips, chin, hair and ears, all little hairs and pores on his skin - no, that’s bad proof, humans are hardwired to expect natural features on a human face. I look down at his uniform. The blue fabric, its texture, the threads interweaving… then the wrinkles of the cloth, how they change as the policeman moves, then the buttons, how they shine in the lights…
Then the badge, its engraving of the Hojo coat of arms - the three feathers - and beneath it, the words ‘Hojo Police’.
Nothing’s out of place.
But that’s just because I haven’t focused enough! I need more time, more effort. This is fake, I know it. It has to be. I can’t really have been caught. That just can’t happen. My life can’t be over. They can’t really be…
The metal threshold of the front door knocks against my heels. The cool outside air pours in. The people outside, the fundraiser people, stare at me from both sides of the entrance. Scared. Backing away. Whispering.
This is real.
“Yep,” Joanna says, floating up closer. “They’ve got you now.”
They’ve got me. Do they…
“They know what you did,” she says, “thanks to all the clues I left them when you weren’t looking.”
No. It can’t be. They can’t know. There can’t be that much proof. They can’t know for sure. I-I still have a chance if I just --
“Please!” I yell, turning my head to try and see ahead. “This is a mistake! I haven’t done anything!”
But they ignore me. They just keep dragging me. They’re dragging me towards a white police van. Another cop opens the back doors. I know her. It’s the stocky woman with short blond hair from the beach. Her eyes lock onto me, vigilantly watching as I’m dragged closer and closer to the vehicle.
Joanna laughs again. I hate that sound!
“You just kept a man hostage right in front of them!” she says. “Do you think they’re gonna believe you?”
The female cop reaches into the back and pulls out a ramp, which she then positions on the edge. Yep, they want to put me in there. I need to get the fuck away. But I already know I can’t. But it doesn’t stop me. I jerk and twist and flail and try to bite one of the arms holding me but I can’t reach it with my stupid short human neck and flat human face. My arms, sore from the constant attempts to tear away, start to weaken, and it seems like the cops are holding on even tighter - fuck, fuck.
“This is all a misunderstanding!” I yell, words as my last weapon, but no one listens, no one listens. The back of the van awaits straight ahead, doors fully open like the maw of a monster about to swallow me whole. I can’t go in there, I can’t go in there, no, no, no, but I can’t get away, their arms won’t budge. They reach the ramp and haul me in, the female cop following in my wake. They pull me against the right wall, or left wall from their perspective, and plant me down on the wooden bench. They let go of me -- they let go of me!
I jump right back up, but they just grab me again and shove me down and keep me there.
“Wamiko!” one of them yells, and the female cop comes to be the one to hold me down while the other two leave. Fuck! Let go of me! No, she’s too strong… how can a woman be that strong? Am I not stronger? Am I not an apex predator?
The other cops slide the ramp back in and shut the doors. No!
I manage to shove the female cop away. I slam into the doors with my shoulder, but nothing happens, of course, they’re locked. I try again, as if it would make a difference, and it predictably doesn’t. Then the cop catches me again and presses me back onto the bench. She says something. I don’t process it. Instead, I stare out of the gridded windows. Joanna is outside.
“It’s over,” she says, no ire in her tone this time. “I’ve won. And now...”
The van begins to rumble. Seconds later, it nudges into motion.
“You’re going to face the consequences of your actions.”