Possession (10 page)

A
creak
sounded overhead.
It’s an old building,
there’s always moaning and creaking going on… It’s just the building settling,
probably just an old floorboard being walked on. The choking ghost won’t bother
me if I stay awake.

I pulled the covers tighter around me. It was
going to be a very long couple of hours until daybreak.

And then something changed in my mind, like a
switch going off with an audible
click
.
What am I doing? I’m not a victim—I
am a death dealer.
I had magic that I could wield against the dead. I had powers
that not even other death dealers could claim. A simple choking ghost would
not
make me quake through the night.

Closing my eyes, I reached down
into
myself, to the place where I kept my magic.
Almost immediately, rage washed over me. Before the
trials,
it would have been a peaceful glow, the calm assurance that
helped a healer focus their energies. But now a red blanket of anger pushed
away my reason, making focus and control impossible. I struggled against it,
trying to form the anger to my will, to make it a tool I could use rather than
it using me. Slowly, the anger cooled, becoming 
icy,
controlled rage.

A presence became visible with my broadened
senses, a collection of outrage and pain. The choking ghost—an evil soul
suffering from an evil death. Why did it suddenly appear? Had the anger inside
me, the rage, somehow called out to it? The spirits roaming these halls were
full of a dark wrath similar to my own. Maybe they could sense it in others and
were drawn to it like a moth to flame.

However it had appeared, I could force it away
once and for all.

I might not be able to stop the orderlies from
messing with me, but I had power over ghosts. I focused on the spirit, pulling it
forward with the force of my mind. It came, screaming with rage and fighting
the entire way, until it hovered in the air before me, a prisoner to my will.
It was a dark ball of energy with gray tentacles flowing around it. Scary to
look at, but as I reached out deeper with my mind, I realized it was actually a
weak and disorganized spirit, only held together by its fear and hate.

I focused on a spot by the wall. A small area the
size of my fist blurred and then widened. I focused harder on the spot and it
got bigger, stretching out into an oval shape. As it grew, it began to glow.
Streaks of energy, like small beads of water, began to flow down its surface.
The hole opened up without much nudging.

It’s never been that easy to open a portal. With the
angry, violent ghosts I dealt with for Walter, it usually took several tries,
each one leaving me feeling drained of all my energy. The quiet time that came
after the shock therapy seemed to have let me rediscover myself amongst the
anger and chaos swirling inside me since the rituals. I was finding clarity,
gaining control, and it was easier than it had ever been before to tear a hole
in the veil. By remaining calm and channeling the anger and aggression, I was
keeping a hold on myself, finding a bit of the healer’s tranquility again
within my new dark powers.

I opened a portal to the other side and pushed
with every bit of strength I had left in me, and ever so slowly the choking
ghost moved toward the tear. Dark flames shot out. They swirled and
grabbed at the spirit, wrapping it in a black cloud. Whatever the spirit had
done in its human life would determine where it would end up—heaven or
hell—and the darkness signified hell for the choking ghost. The dark
flames seemed to wipe away the fictions the spirit used to cloak itself. Now
only a mousy, gray little man with an angry expression floated before me. He
screamed as the flames consumed him. I mentally shoved him through, and then
with the strength I had left, I closed the hole, blocking off the hideous non-human
sounds of growling and gnashing.

Exhausted, I settled myself onto the bed and felt
myself slipping away as soon as I closed my eyes.

* * *

My mother was floating
through a field. I could barely make her out in the darkness. She was a
shimmering light that seemed to fade in and out of the night. She was crying.
Wailing. I tried to reach her, but every time I thought I was close she would
float away. My heart broke each time she cried out. My family was gone, and my
mother would forever walk the in between, mourning their loss unless I could
get close enough to her spirit to coax her into the light.

Abruptly, the dream changed. There was a swirl of
black and I felt myself falling. I landed before a great crater of darkness. I
saw my father approaching from within a gray mist. He walked toward me, a smile
on his face.

Then his expression morphed.

His eyes suddenly changed. They turned red and
evil shone through them. His smile was now an unnatural, unearthly grin. And
then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the evil vanished and it was my father
again. He raised his hands and called out to me. I yelled his name, frightened
he would change again. I tried to run to him, but I couldn’t—I was frozen
in place.

Then he left, taking the blackness with him.

The dream changed once more. I was in a room. In
the center of the space, there were black-lit candles arranged in a large
circle. Spread across the floor were paintings—

drawings of animals. And
on the walls were two-dozen red symbols.
What
are those
? As I moved closer to the symbols on the wall, a strong metallic
smell filled the air. I reached out and touched a red circle—it was newly
drawn, shining against the white surface. Red drops of fresh paint ran down the
wall. I touched the circle’s line, then lifted my finger to my face. It was
covered in red, and it didn’t feel like paint.

I touched a fingertip to my tongue and tasted
copper. Metallic smell, copper taste, the feel of it as I rubbed my
fingers together—it wasn’t paint.

Blood.

I heard a noise and turned. In the center of the
circle of candles stood a figure cloaked in shadow with its hands raised toward
the ceiling. The fingers were wrapped around something. Then the hands opened
up and the figure raised the item resting in its palms higher. My stomach
coiled in disgust and disbelief.

A beating heart was cradled between the fingers.
Blood dripped down the person’s hands and arms.

A heart. Each time it beat, I could hear a loud
scream.

* * *

Nurse Harrington came into
my room in the morning. She was a middle-aged, mousy woman with a brisk,
efficient personality. She was dressed in bright, cheerful scrubs that didn’t
seem to match her matronly air. She didn’t comment when she saw the dripping
clothes on the bathroom floor or the cracked mirror. She just pulled out
another gown from one of the drawers and handed it to me. I moved off the bed
slowly, my body sore. A long black-and-blue bruise now ran from my rib cage to
my thigh from where I’d been tossed on the floor. I took the robe off and put
the gown on.

The nurse motioned toward my hand and its
makeshift dressing, crusted with blood. “After you clean up, we’ll get
a bandage on that.”

She didn’t ask what happened and I didn’t offer an
explanation. I followed the nurse down the hallway and into a bathroom. This
wasn’t like the bathrooms in the old, rundown area of the hospital. This was a
modern facility only one hallway over from my room. The nurse handed me a towel
and a bar of soap, and asked me if I wanted to take a bath or a shower. My
hands began to tremble as I took a step away from the closest tub. I don’t think
I’ll ever take another bath
.
I could
still feel the pressure of Larry’s hand on my head, forcing me under the icy
water. I told her I preferred a shower, and she asked if I needed any help.
When I assured her I could manage on my own, she told me she would be back for
me in twenty minutes.

I got undressed and stepped into the shower. I
stood under the water, enjoying the feeling of the heat on my skin. It was
lovely to be warm again after last night. As usual, there was no shampoo or
conditioner. I was no longer surprised by the lack of amenities in this place,
so I did the best I could, washing my hair with a bar of soap. I toweled off
and got dressed, then waited for the nurse to come back.

All the while I thought of the medallion. I’d lost
it somewhere last night, and I was desperate to get it back. If we did find a
spell to help Luke fully take over Dean’s body, there was no way I could power
it on my own. But that wasn’t the only problem. Luke was back, and now in the
body of someone who had never finished the rituals. Dean had never gained the
full power and training of a death dealer. That meant Luke, for the time being,
did not have any powers. Luke had tried to summon banshees the second night he
was in possession of Dean, but it hadn’t worked. The look of frustration on his
face when he failed had almost broken my heart. Luke’s mind had the knowledge
he needed to do the spells, but Dean’s body didn’t. Until Luke was able to
successfully go through the second ritual again, he wouldn’t have any power.

Can Luke even attempt the second ritual? What
happens when the body is already possessed by a spirit? Would another spirit
jump in and force Luke out forever?

To me it wasn’t worth the risk for him to even
try, not until we could get some answers.
We
could ask Walter
, I thought, but changed my mind immediately. Would he even
know what to do? He had no clue how my powers worked. He gave me this spell that
proved to be a dud. If we ever got out of this place, we could try and find
someone
to help Luke restore his
powers.

I pressed my forehead against the closest wall and
sighed, turning my thoughts back to the real problem at hand: the medallion. It
had to be in Dr. Barton’s office, or in the hallway between here and there. I
knew I had it in my hand when the orderlies grabbed me. I have to find it
before someone else does. I walked to the door, opened it, and looked up and
down the hallway. No sign of Nurse Harrington. The coast was clear for the
moment. This might be my only chance to search
.
I made my way down the hallway and through the doors. My eyes
scanned the floor as I went.

No medallion.

When I was finally in front of Barton’s office, I
tried the handle, only to find it locked. No luck. There was one other place I
could have dropped it: the old bathroom in the vacant part of the hospital. I
wasn’t keen on going back there and reliving last night’s adventures, but if
the medallion
was
there, this might
be my only chance of finding it before someone else.

I made my way through the hallways and down the
stairs. I passed a couple of nurses and patients as I went, but I kept my
expression calm and my gait slow. As long as I looked like I belonged, I
doubted anyone would stop me, not in the daytime. The hospital, for once,
didn’t seem to fight me, and the path in front of me made more sense than it
usually did. I only got lost twice before I made it to my destination.

I walked through the swinging doors and into the
old bathroom. Oddly, a wheelchair rested upside down on the side of one of the
tubs—the same tub Hector and Larry tortured me in.
What’s that wheelchair doing here?
I walked over to the tub and
looked down into it. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing.

The tub was still full of water. A few small
pieces of ice floated across the murky surface. Dean lie at the bottom. His
lifeless eyes were wide open, staring up at me.

The medallion lay next to his head, sparkling
brightly under the water.

I stood paralyzed. Memories whipped across my mind: people
in black robes rushing around the ballroom, screaming in fear and pain; Luke,
his body crushed under the stone alter, his face ashen, his open eyes staring
at me, lifeless. I remember trying to reach him, to heal him, but hands had
grabbed at me and pulled me back.

Voices screamed,
“Help us!”

Spirits in the here and now were screaming at me,
startling me out of my memories. I was back in the present, staring down at
Dean’s motionless body in the water.
He’s
drowning… I have to get him out!

“Luke!” I threw my hands into the tub, grabbing
around his waist and trying to pull him up. He was too heavy. “No!” I cried out
in frustration and changed position. I reached under the water again, and this
time grabbed his right arm. I braced my feet against the tub and pulled. I
strained with every bit of strength and, ever so slowly, his body began to
move. I dragged him out of the water, inch by painful inch, until his upper
half tilted over the edge of the tub and his weight carried him over and down
onto the floor.

I knelt over him. His eyes looked glazed and dead.
There was no breath coming from his lips. I was once again frozen by fear,
trying desperately to remember what I should do.

A cool breeze brushed across my cheek.
“CPR…”
a voice whispered in my ear.

I leaned forward and put my lips on his. I
breathed once, twice. His lungs inflated with each of my breaths. I put my head
down against his chest. There was no heartbeat. “Come on, Luke! Come back!” I
crossed my hands one on top of the other and brought them down hard against his
chest. I pushed again and again.
I can’t remember
how many times to push before breathing into him again
. I stopped my
frantic compressions and took a deep breath, put my lips against his, and blew.

I don’t know how long it went on. Every ounce of
my being concentrated on doing this one task. My life narrowed and became nothing
but pushing and breathing.

Walter had warned me—I had one shot at
bringing Luke back. He’d told me that if I used this spell, if I forced Luke’s
spirit into the comatose boy, I was messing with the very laws of nature. To do
it once was taking a risk. Who knew if Luke would be the same when he came back?
The time spent in between, the pain spirits felt over the loss of life, the
loss of loved ones, the suffering they took with them, unresolved issues from
their lives, tasks left undone, regrets—all these things could change a
person, turn them, make them different.

But Luke came back the same. He’s the same guy I
fell for.

Walter warned me that if for some reason Luke
couldn’t stay inside Dean—if Dean forced his spirit out and I tried the
spell again—there was a chance Luke’s spirit wouldn’t come back, at least
not the same. Not the second time.

I pushed the thought away. I refused to give up. I
pushed, I breathed. Time stood still.

And then suddenly, he coughed. It was a beautiful
sound. I knelt back, and tears of joy streamed down my face. He’s alive. Luke is
still here, with me.

“Luke!”

His eyes opened. He was alive and breathing, but
then he moaned and turned his head, reaching out to me. I fell back in shock.

It wasn’t Luke I saw in the eyes that were now open
and looking directly at me.

Blue
eyes stared at me as his mouth opened and a voice croaked out. “Colina? Where
am I?”

It wasn’t Luke’s voice.

“Who are you?” I whispered, afraid to hear the
answer.

“Dean. My name is Dean.”

And with those words, my world came crashing down.
If Dean is back in his body…that means Luke is gone. Luke was thrown back into
the spirit world. He was once again in between.

I heard someone screaming. Only later would I
realize that it had been me. Hands grabbed me from behind. There was a
commotion.

I heard someone yell. “She tried to kill him!”

I felt the jab of a needle in my arm. The world
around me went dark.

* * *

When I woke, I found myself in a small room. This room
didn’t have a bed. There was no furniture—only four padded walls. I tried
to focus, but my eyes were blurry. My mind felt slow, foggy. I couldn’t move my
arms. I looked down and realized in horror that they were crossed in front of
me, bound.

I’m in a
straitjacket.

I twisted right and then left, looking for the
buckles. The straps were fastened behind me. I had seen other patients escorted
down the halls in straitjackets.

A rush of panic and adrenaline helped clear some
of the fog from my mind. I forced myself to my feet. I walked over to the door
and yelled out. “Hello?”

No one answered.

I tried again. “Hello! Is anyone there?”

Only silence answered me. I was in one of the
solitary confinement rooms—the rooms where they put the most violent
patients, usually ones in the midst of a psychotic break or episode.

Why am I in
here?
I shook my head, trying to remember what happened.
I went looking for the medallion. Dean was
at the bottom of the tub. I pulled him out and saved him. But that’s not what
the orderlies saw. They came into the room, and they thought I was trying to
hurt Dean.

When Morgana possessed me, I’d acted violently.
I’d bitten, fought, and spit at the staff. It wouldn’t be much of a leap for
them to think I was back in that mental state again, or that the shock
treatment had only worked for a short time and now I was becoming violent again.
They thought I had somehow rolled Dean into the old bathroom and was trying to
hurt him.

I felt dizzy. Whatever drugs they’d pumped into me
were still swirling through my system. I fell straight down onto my knees. How
long had I been in here? I struggled against the straitjacket again. The
material bound and wrapped my arms tightly, restricting every movement. I began
whimpering. “No, I can’t breathe—let me out!” The confinement was
starting to seriously freak me out.

I felt a breeze cross my cheek. The fluorescent
lights overhead began to flicker on and off. Something banged against the wall.
I twisted around. I knew in no uncertain terms that I was no longer alone.
Something unnatural was here with me; there was a spirit in the room. The
lights flickered on and then off again. I felt another breeze. This time ghostly
fingers brushed against my face.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

I fought again with the jacket, twisting myself
back and forth. There’s no way I’m getting out of this thing on my own.

Another
bang,
this time closer.

“Tell me what you want,” I cried out.

The lights began to flicker again and then went
out.

I was in the dark. Only a thin line of light shone
from under the door. Another
bang
—this
time behind me. I spun around. In the dark, a light began to shimmer. It slowly
got brighter, forming a shape. A face appeared before me. The eyes were full of
pain, the face itself contorted in an expression of agony.

Sabrina.
The young girl who once roomed only a few doors down from me. Her mouth opened
and a high-pitched scream pierced the air.

Footsteps shuffled outside my door. A shadow
passed across the line of light. A loud
bang
came against the door, this time from outside the room. A male voice yelled out.
“Quiet down in there!”

One of the orderlies passing by—he thought
the scream was coming from me.

I opened my mouth to yell back at him, to plead
with him to let me out, but before I could, more lights started shimmering
before me. Forms began to appear in the dark. First one, then another. Two more…three
more.

The room was full of spirits, and they were
surrounding me.

“Help us,”
they cried out in a chorus of agony.
“Free
us,”
they pleaded. More screams filled the air.

The banging on the door outside started again. “Keep
it down in there!”

I looked around at the sea of glimmering faces.
How many had been killed in this place? How many now lingered around the asylum,
bound to it, floating in between, unable to go into the light?
I can help them. I can make them move on.

But I’ve only crossed over one spirit at a time
…
There were so many of them, all
crowding in on me. Every eye focused on me, every mouth opened, and another
series of screams ripped through the air.

And then they rushed forward.

They swirled around me. My hair lifted in the
unnatural breeze, and ghostly fingers brushed across my skin. The room got
cold.
No, no, not again!
I focused
all of my energy on keeping them out. I wouldn’t be possessed, not again. I
could hear my heart beating loudly in my ears as I held my ground.

The temperature in the room dropped even further.
I felt them pressing against me, trying desperately to gain entrance. I used
every bit of strength I had to push them back. The pounding in my ears was
louder now, and I realized I wasn’t hearing just
my
heartbeat. I could hear the beating of a dozen hearts, the sound
vibrating in the air around me. A scream accompanied each beat. These screams
were worse than the banshees’ cries. Fear, pain, agony—all entwined
together.

“I told you to shut up!” The door opened and light
spilled into the room. And with the light came silence. The spirits had
disappeared.

Two orderlies rushed in. They forced me to my feet
and then pushed me against the wall. Back down to my knees I went. My head
jerked back, and I felt fingers pry open my mouth. They crammed two pills down
my throat, choking me. They followed the pills with a waterfall of liquid. I
gagged, desperately trying to catch my breath. There was a brief moment of
reprieve—I sucked in a lungful of air, and then more water.
They’re drowning me, but this time on land.

When it finally stopped I was shoved forward. I
landed hard on my right shoulder. I sputtered out a mouthful of water and took
in a deep, desperate breath.

The men left the room, slamming the door behind
them, and with them went the light. I lie on the floor in the dark. I could sense
the spirits surround me again, but this time I didn’t have the strength to
fight them. I could feel the medication they’d given me start to pump through
my body. My heartbeat slowed down, and the world around me began to fade as the
spirits rushed forward.

* * *

I was outside. I could
feel the cool, soft grass under my bare feet. I tucked a piece of short black
hair behind my ears. I looked up into the night sky—there was a bright,
full moon. I loved being outside when everyone else was asleep. My sister and I
used to sneak out every chance we got on hot summer nights when we were little.
I looked back at the door I had just come out of. No one saw me. I’d snuck out
again without getting caught. Two years here and escaping the prison each night
made my nighttime walks that much sweeter.

I walked over to the garden, bent down, and pulled
a peapod from its stem. My fingernails slid along the top of it. I put it to my
mouth and sucked in sweet peas. I never had a garden growing up. I had always
lived in the city, had always been surrounded by tall buildings and a sea of
concrete. It wasn’t until I came here that I learned to appreciate nature. I
walked along the garden, my hands trailing and touching the tops of the plants
as I went. It was a beautiful night. I had an hour, maybe two, before the
nighttime staff would start to make their rounds.

There was a sound behind me, but before I could
turn a hand came down hard against my mouth. An arm grabbed me around the waist
and pulled me across the grass, toward the trees.

I had always been small, weak, and now strong arms
wrapped around me, holding me hostage. I struggled to get free, and then the
hand on my mouth fell away. I tried to scream, but something soft immediately
replaced the hand. Foul-smelling fabric covered my mouth and nose. I took in one
panicked breath, then another, and a wave of dizziness hit me.

Half conscious, I was dragged along the grass. I
no longer struggled. And then I was on the ground, looking up at the moon. I
blinked and tried to clear the fog from my mind. What’s going on? I turned my
head and saw a row of candles flickering around me. Without warning, the shadow
of a figure fell over me, blocking the moon. Whispered words floated on the
wind, words I didn’t understand, and with the words the shadow standing over me
began to move, to dance. Hands waved in the air. I saw a white skull crowned in
feathers gleam in the moonlight. The air around me became thick. I could feel
it sliding across my skin like water. Something brushed against my face. I
opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Feathers tickled my face and
slid across my throat.

There was pain—a hot, white, blinding pain
that shot through my whole body. My heart started to pound in my chest, racing fast,
and then faster still. The pain shot through me again. My body felt as though
it was on fire. Unexpectedly, I felt an awful pressure on my chest, like
someone was sitting on me. But it wasn’t the figure still dancing a few feet
away in the moonlight.

The invisible pressure worsened, crushing me hard
enough that I couldn’t catch my breath. And then the figure stepped toward me.
It hovered over me and the pain worsened—so much pain I could no longer
think, could no longer function—

The figure moved away and the pressure lifted. I
took in a gulp of breath, watching it raise something in the air, holding it
with both hands—something that was quivering…pulsing. The sound of hearts
beating filled the night.