Adelaide Upset (10 page)

It is said that before
the conception of Earth there was a war in Heaven. Two factions in
opposition of opinion led to the creation of demonkind. The larger
group accepted the plan chosen by the Creator, but a third of the
host broke apart, leaving to follow their alluring leader. They
were content to reside in a realm apart, for a time. I was never a
religious man. And while my own abilities give proof of something
more, they also made me question everything with a cynical twist. I
tend to wonder at the point of it all? I still do not know, but
this theory of demonkind is supported in truth. For their very
origin shows itself in their inherent nature. Unlike those who
stayed in Heaven, demons never received a body, and they have no
tie to the physical world. As the Earth turns, demonkind does
watch, no longer resigned to their realm, but trapped, unable to
experience life and the simple pleasure of sensation that it
offers. The lack of it drives them, their one deepest desire. I
knew nothing of this for a time, only what little Raulriechmydl
chose to share, those half-truths and clever implied lies. He came
to me after I cast a door through the veil. Days had passed, each
weighing heavier than the last. I knew I had done something
irrevocable, and I waited to learn of it, growing fearful, and
perhaps even a little obsessed. But in the end it was my impatience
that betrayed me, until at last I called his name again, letting it
tip off my tongue. He arrived in pomp, a chimera of human parts,
trying to shape his spirit into a familiar form to which I might
relate. But he’d never had a body, his spirit not bound to eyes,
ears, nose and mouth, nor feet or hands, and his imitation was
ghastly. It quivered, new, and changing as Raulriechmydl created
the image of his spirit’s projection. His eyes bulged outward,
barely contained by straining, taut lids before they sank back
again, two pits in his malformed face to watch me from. He came and
went for some time, imbedding himself in my life and routine,
appearing when it pleased him and disappearing when it did not. I
was still suffering the loss of my mother, young, at the brink of
adulthood, and I was far too trusting. He controlled me through my
ignorance, manipulating me with ease, ruling my fears and in doing
so, my actions. But he pushed too far, frightening me until I went
searching for answers of my own. That is how I came to learn of
Luitger Fuerst. I looked for someone like me, someone cursed. At
first I searched the world, and when that failed I searched its
history. Saints offered little insight, and though many were to
have seen demons I found no knowledge from those encounters with
which to arm myself. Was it providence that made me stumble upon
Luitger Fuerst? I couldn’t say. He was just a man with a troubled
past, a German whose life spanned the first half of the twentieth
century. His history was well kept by his descendants, genealogists
who cultivated their family tree. His grandson shared his pictures
and journals, placing them into my hands like they were treasure.
In one afternoon I learned more about demons than in the years I
spent with Raulriechmydl as my forced companion. Like me Luitger
Fuerst had been singled out, cursed with the ability to hear a
demon’s call through his dreams. We had tread the same path,
speaking a name, issuing an invitation, opening a hole, a doorway
through the veil. But he’d been older than I, and not as easily
deceived. He’d dismissed his demon at once, calling it by name
before he sent it off. The demon was at its caster’s whim, an
apparition unable to inflict harm on its surroundings. But it
wasn’t entirely powerless, it had knowledge, knowledge of the ages,
and it cut deals, made promises, and whispered soft temptations to
get what it wanted—sensation. Having watched us through the veil
since the beginning of time, together the demons knew all of our
secrets. They knew how to cultivate wealth and success; they’d
watched men grow rich in every time and culture. They knew how to
seduce and exploit, having learned the frailty of human nature.
They cut to the heart of one’s soul, offering up the secret desire
within, but always at a price. Entering into a covenant with a
demon was to be bound, though only the demon was forced to follow
through with its promise. A man could break his word, but in doing
so he gave the demon power to collect back what it’d given. If the
demon had given knowledge, then it could take it back, choosing to
erase the memory, or if it was the demon’s desire, cut off the
man’s head instead. The means were open to interpretation, and
therefore, deadly. After reading the journals of Luitger Fuerst,
the first thing I did was seek out a private space, calling
Raulriechmydl’s name. He was angry, never had I summoned him to me,
and he knew instantly that I’d had learned the truth. I dismissed
him, intending to never speak his name again. But Luitger made me
curious. Word of his visions had eventually spread and he had been
admitted to an asylum for the greater part of his life. He never
stopped dealing with demons in all of that time, not even when he
was later considered an ‘undesirable’ and shipped off. His grandson
believed he was crazy, his writing mad, thinking Luitger’s mind
simply broke after his early traumatic experience. I thought he
might be right. I believed that Luitger spoke with demons, but I
thought he was crazy to continue with it for all those years. The
irony was that I would follow in his footsteps.

I was on my back, legs
tucked up to the side, my body broken but relaxed. Numb. Things
were muffled down here, the bird’s song a distant trill, the light
filtering below, barely a trickle. It felt like a womb, the earth’s
womb. From down here I watched the circle of sky, bright blue with
trees sprinkled around the edges, their leaves waving down at
me.

Eventually my eyes began
to wander, drifting around the cylinder of dirt from where I lay
trapped at the bottom. Roots crept out, looking like little clumps
of tangled hair. I could still see my finger marks, slashed lines
in the moist red clay. I’d gone rabid, flinging myself up, clawing
at the walls around me. Dirt had rained down, dry crumbs of it,
ripped roots, chunks of slippery wet clay, handfuls pulled from my
prison. I couldn’t get a grip, and all the while I’d screamed
myself silent, voice reduced to a sandpaper whisper. I should have
waited, waited for my family. They came, trucking through, calling
for me, but I’d used myself up. I couldn’t move and the only sound
that issued forth was a dry, muffled hiss.

I was still numb after
they were long gone. I’d spent all my anger, and couldn’t even
spare a little of my earlier bitterness at how close I’d come to
rescue. Just numb. But as I watched the clouds drift by over my
portal of light, I let my mind flow away with them, thoughts
pouring over sentimental memories.

My family owned a large
parcel of land in Alabama and it stretched over a hundred acres.
The Graves’ property had been passed down through my father’s side,
at one time a farm, though now the only crops it contained grew in
a modest garden. My great-grandfather Graves had lived in a white
manor-style home, with hip roof and thick chimneys. The house had
long since been condemned, doors and windows boarded over,
seemingly lost in the vast property, just one among the numerous
forgotten out buildings from long ago. My siblings and I loved to
explore these places, finding little treasures along the way. I
liked to collect the chipped pottery with patterns, sometimes
colored glass.

My mother was always
harping at us for sneaking around the old properties, warning of
asbestos and ironically, rotten boards, though it hadn’t been the
floor that got me. Who could have guessed the old manor had a well?
I must have walked around that house a hundred times, a thousand...
but one too many.

With my body numb to the pain, my anger
stayed away. I thought of happy times, my large family, my even
larger extended family, reciting names in my brain, picturing
faces.

“
Adelaide,” someone hissed.

My knee involuntarily
twitched at the sound, my eyes skirting around the dark.

“
You’re covered in dirt, my little peach.
Dirt and my essence. Did Anastas give you that? Clever fellow,
you’re wearing him too.”

The sound was wrong, like
an echo, like it drifted down to me in waves, carried in by static.
My body continued to twitch in response, with fear? Adrenaline? I
studied the dirt, the darkness, but there was nothing in it with
me.

“
I warned you. You
can’t escape me. But don’t be frightened, I’ll take on the face of
your brother when we meet, then you won’t miss him.”

Slap.

I woke up with a stinging
face. Disoriented in the dark, it took a moment for the nightmare
to fade. “Smith, you asshole,” I muttered, still groggy as I
switched on the light. The lamp was bright; I had to squint through
its assault to find my ghost. He looked awful. Sunk low, hovering
just over the floor he was a cheerless puddle of white that faded
in and out as if he were about to disappear. He’d used up all his
remaining strength to slap me awake, and after rescuing me the day
before he hadn’t much to spare. The remnants of my anger fizzled
away. “We’ll do a séance tomorrow to fatten you up. Meet me in the
office after Stephen leaves to do rounds.”

I quickly forgot about
Smith after that, immersed in my search for footwear. “Where the
hell are my shoes?” I shouted. “I just need one pair!” Eventually I
gave up and stomped down the stairs. It was the middle of the
night, I was tired, and that nightmare had done a number on me. I
would never have read the diary this morning if I’d known that
Lucas was going to stay late at the garage. But he’d be home by
now, he had to be. I was so desperate to see him that I’d given up
on shoes altogether and was walking over barefoot.

I shut the backdoor to
Luke’s kitchen quietly, thinking he would be asleep. But as I
padded silently down the hall I saw him pacing in the living room,
bathed in flickering blue from the muted TV. The phone was pressed
to his ear and he was listening as he prowled around restlessly.
“What else is there to try?” A pause. “No, I’m not giving up, but
it seems pointless now.”

I’d meant to wave and
catch his attention, but he was speaking forcefully, in a way I’d
never heard before, so I let my hand drop, staying in the shadowed
hall.

“
Hope?” he asked. “Is that
a joke?” Another pause. “Fine. Yes, alright.” He hung up, lightly
tossing the phone onto the coffee table where it clattered across
the surface. He seemed tired as he sank into the couch, drained,
but still emotionally silent. He’d been agitated though, and I was
a bit jealous that something or
someone
could get him that
worked up. If anyone provoked an emotion it should be
me.

“What was that?” I asked, stepping into the
room with him.

His eyes sought mine,
finding me easily in the dim swirl of color.

“
I didn’t intend to
eavesdrop, but the conversation sounded so interesting I went ahead
and did it anyway.”

“
Come here,” he said,
slapping the cushion next to him.

I didn’t hesitate, and
once I was seated beside him he moved, leaning forward as his hand
snaked out to grab my ankle off the floor. I had no choice but to
pivot, turning to face his profile as he dragged my foot into his
lap.

They were still damp from
walking over the dew covered grass, little flecks of green pasted
to my skin from the recently mowed lawn. “What?” I asked, jiggling
my leg to get his attention. He was staring at my foot with
curiosity, though I had no idea why, it wasn’t half as mysterious
as his phone call had been.

“
Where are your shoes?” he
finally asked.

I shrugged. “Couldn’t find any.”

“There’s some upstairs.”

“
Mystery solved. I left
them all at your place.” Nudging his hard stomach with my toes I
forced him back on track. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you
were changing the subject.” Unrelenting, I pressed, “What was that
phone call about?”

He grunted, settling
further into the couch as he thumbed circles into my instep. “I
have to go out of town.”

“
Already? But it feels
like you just got back.” I winced at the sound of my own dismay.
Clearing my throat, I did my best not to sound like such a needy
cow as I continued with pretended nonchalance. “So where are you
headed next?”

“
Asheville, North
Carolina.”

I slipped my free foot off
the floor and into Luke’s lap, hoping for a continued massage. “You
looking for some sex before you have to ship off?” Between the
phone call and his looming departure I wasn’t feeling particularly
amorous, but I figured I should nag him a bit for form’s sake.
Eventually he’d crack.

He stared at me, an unblinking wall in more
ways than one.

I sighed, reaching for the remote. “What’s
on TV?”

“
Star
Wars
.”

“
Perfect,” I said, turning
on the sound.

“Don’t waste my time,” I griped. “You’re not
even trying.”

It was a Monday afternoon
at Sterling’s, and therefore, dead as a doornail. Since it was the
summer season I might expect a few rooms to fill up during the
evening, but until then the office was all mine. I’d already sent
Stephen off, ushering him out the door so I could focus on his
father’s spectral image, or lack thereof.