8. Chapter Seven

The clouds overhead are dark and heavy, threatening to drench the city in a cold rainstorm on this dreary October morning. I pull my thick black cardigan tightly around me as I pass under the arches of the walkway leading up to the funeral home doors.

A few people are filtering in and out as another end of life service finishes, and I manage to slip inside the somber, old building while a teary eyed mother and her two children leave.

The interior is lit by incandescent bulbs, casting a warm light that is easy on the eyes. The walls are beige, trimmed with white, and the ceramic floor tiles are a warm tan hue. For a funeral home, it is clean and cozy inside.

The part I hate the most is the abundance of flowers. I can't get over the idea that all these flowers are meant to cover up the smell of the dead.

They are beautiful and the intention behind them is sweet, but the smell is something that does not remind me of peaceful summer gardens. Here, in the funeral home, the scents are an amalgamation of every variety of flower you can think of, concentrated and missing the sweet summer breeze.

The smell reminds me of death and mourning, and I can't help it.

I sigh deeply, dreading what comes next, and make my way through the foyer. I glance briefly at each photo board that showcases which loved one is in which room. I stop when my uncle's face comes into view, his full name written in cursive below a recent photo of him at a barbecue from this past summer.

As I stare at his face, my stomach does a little flip and a wave of nausea comes and goes. Squeezing my eyes shut, I talk myself through this quietly in my head.

He's dead, he can't hurt me, the only thing left are the memories.

I open my eyes and straighten my spine, stepping forward to gently push open the two doors leading into the room the service is being held in. I slip in quietly, and stand just inside the doors and off to the side.

The priest is up front next to the open casket, reciting a lengthy prayer to the people sitting scattered in groups around the room. My mom is sitting in the front pew next to my dad, my grandma and my brothers.

Mom and Grandma Rose are holding each other, listening to the priest as he shares verses from the well-loved bible in his hands.

I keep my eyes away from the casket, unwilling to look at him just yet. There are massive bouquets of flowers around the room, as well as small clusters of people. Extended family is scattered here and there, as well as Jake's friends, and his coworkers.

I stay standing along the back wall, off to the side of the doors. I listen to the priest, his calming words intermingling with the soft cries and sniffles from the people gathered before him.

People loved my uncle, it seems. I imagine I'm the only one who ever had to face the evil he harbored secretly within him.

Evil people are good at hiding, good at manipulating the people around them. You often hear people who were friends with murderers, rapists and abusers talk about how they would have never known. The person in question seemed so gentle, so kind. They never acted like monsters before.

How can you tell that the beautiful fish you just caught in the crystal clear lake is full of deadly parasites until you cut it open and expose the corruption to the light of day?

The priest pauses, and a short Catholic hymn plays as he sets his book aside and prays over the casket. My eyes wander to Jake, his body laying among the off-white satin of the coffin's interior.

He looks like Jake, but his face doesn't look quite right. There is a heavy smattering of make up, likely to hide the bruising Mom mentioned he had all over his body. He doesn't even really look peaceful, the way you imagine every dead person is supposed to look. It's almost as though the muscles in his face froze in agony at his moment of death and never fully relaxed… like the mortician couldn't make the muscles cooperate.

It's strange and unsettling. I glance down at my hands, fidgeting in front of me. I pick at some dry skin around my nails, waiting for the hymn to finish and the priest to resume.

"Family and friends," the priest begins, and I lift my gaze to watch him. "Our God has called Jake home to him."

That's when I hear it. Laughter, so low and deep and distant—as though it is coming from somewhere far away—that I don't think I actually hear it at first. When I slowly turn my head towards the door, I startle when I see the man standing there, staring at the priest with an empty look on his face. His face contorts rapidly, like the man is in silent agony, before fully relaxing again.

"God doesn't care about Jake, priest," the man says, his voice distorted. The tone is totally wrong, his naturally deep voice laced with some unnatural higher pitches. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I instantly recognize that whoever this poor man is, there is a demonic entity possessing him right now. Right here in the funeral home, standing next to me in a room full of people.

I force my eyes to the front of the room, but the priest just continues with his service. He doesn't seem to hear us, nor recognize we are even here. I look back to the man next to me, terrified to move or speak.

The stranger's head turns slowly until his empty gaze meets mine. His pupils expand until his eyes are entirely consumed in black, like two unnatural voids set in his human face. "Jake is drowning in the fires of Hell, his screams so loud that his vocal cords keep breaking."

The man shrugs as if that confession doesn't bother him, like Jake's suffering is just another day at the office.

I swallow back against the knot of fear that forms in my throat, and take two steps back, away from the possessed man. I want to scream, but it gets caught in my throat. No matter how much paranormal activity I've been exposed to lately, this hasn't gotten easier to witness.

A dark wave of soothing energy hits me, settling along the surface of my skin. I know that power, I remember its influence like it was yesterday.

"Daemon," I choke out, my voice a trembling whisper.

His hand lifts and reaches towards my face to trail softly down along my jawline. His mouth slowly spreads into a wicked grin, and he just watches me for a moment.

"My little witch," he whispers to me, his voice so unsettling my brain just can't recognize it as regular human speech.

His face contorts yet again, as though Daemon's arrival and departure within the innocent man's body is torture to his very soul.

I watch the black recede into his pupils, and the man's face relaxes. He jolts silently, as though snapping out of a stupor. Confusion pulls his features tight, and he pulls his hand away from me. I can't stop myself from flinching, and he suddenly looks ashamed. As though he didn't mean to touch me.

I don't think he knows what just happened to him.

"I-I… I'm s-sorry," he stammers quietly, pulling his attention away from me to figure out where he is. He shakes his head and quickly exits the room, but the heavy weight of Daemon's presence lingers.

I feel him in the space around me, like a shield enveloping me. It is still so hard to come to terms with the stark juxtaposition that is the innate fear of this demon, and the comfort his attention and protection grants me.

As the priest finishes, my eyes wander to Jake's resting place. I can't pull my eyes away from him, imagining him in hell. Suffering in damnation for what he's done to me, all because I accidentally formed the beginning of a bond with a powerful demon. Strong roots woven into my very soul, and something I cannot break, let alone take back.

Daemon killed him as a gift to me. There is no going back from that.

Lost in my dark thoughts, I startle when a gentle hand rests on my arm. My eyes snap to my mother, her glossy hazel eyes full of a harsh combination of grief and exhaustion.

"Honeybee, why didn't you come sit with us?"

I lean in and give Mom a gentle hug, "I didn't want to interrupt. I saw the whole service, though," I reassure her, and she places a kiss on my cheek.

"Okay, darling. We're going to the reception room next for coffee," she places her hand lightly on my back, and I allow her to guide me through the doors.

All of the guests slowly make their way to our reception space, and I watch them sit around the tables and chat quietly while I sip a hot cup of tea.

After about forty minutes of visiting with my family, I pull my mom aside and tell her I've got a headache and need to head home. I say my goodbyes, toss away my empty cup, and leave the building as quickly as I can without making much noise or drawing any attention to myself.

As I exit, I am greeted by the caws of several ravens where they sit perched around the building and the surrounding trees. The rain has already started to fall, darkening the pavement, but it isn't too heavy yet.

I decide to hail a cab, which emerges from traffic before the consideration even finishes as a complete thought in my mind, and it pulls up along the curb so I can get in out of the rain.

I buckle myself in and give the driver my address, which is only about 10 minutes from here. When he confirms my address and plugs it into his GPS, then doesn't make any attempt at further conversation, I relax into my seat and stare out the window.

The sun is setting now, I can see the dark pink and orange hues breaking through bits of the heavy cloud cover. A few wayward rays of sunset's light hit the car's window, making the droplets in their path look like golden beads as they glide across the glass. I'm mesmerized by it, and before I realize it, we've pulled up along the curb in front of my triplex building.

I grab my bag from across the seat and glance at the meter above the dashboard, pulling what I owe from my wallet and holding it out for the driver. When he makes no move to take it, I frown.

"Sir?"

"He's suffering so much."

The driver's voice is monotone and empty, and every muscle in my body tenses in response. "Excuse me?"

The driver doesn't turn to face me, but I catch his gaze in the mirror.

Black eyes. A demon's stare.

This doesn't feel like Daemon, though. The energy is all wrong. Nothing about this encounter makes me feel safe, or protected.

I reach for the door handle, but it doesn't budge. I hold his gaze, trembling lightly.

"He's been screaming endlessly ever since your Great Prince dragged him down through the earth," the driver says it with an unnaturally wide smile, though his voice is still completely monotone.

Who the fuck is in this car with me?

I'm shaking more now, but I don't know what to say. I'm too scared to open my mouth.

"There's a golden statue of you, you know. Down in Hell. So uncle dearest never forgets why he's there," the driver explains, turning his head finally to look at me. There is something so insanely unsettling about the face of a possessed man. I will never grow accustomed to it. "He rips out his guts over and over again, and feeds them back to him. Your uncle just cries and screams and begs for God to save him." The last sentence is spoken in a singsong voice, the change unexpected and disturbing.

"Let me out!" I shout into the confined space of the sedan, pulling on the door handle in a desperate attempt to exit the vehicle.

The driver begins to laugh, an awful sound that grates on my already frayed nerves. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes, because I don't know what entity this is and what it plans to do with me.

Just when the panic starts to completely overwhelm me, a shadow descends on the car and the driver's body is pulled upwards towards the roof. He contorts and smashes up into it, before falling like a rag doll back into his seat.

I startle, but the darkness pulls up and away just as quickly as it came. It's like the entity possessing the man was ripped right out of his body by something else, and now the poor taxi driver sits crumpled in the driver's seat, unconscious and unaware.

The sound of the car doors unlocking startles me again. With a hand that is shaking violently, I toss the money I owe the driver into the passenger side seat and exit the car as fast as I can. I don't even look back as I pull my keys from my pocket, unlock the door, and rush inside.

Breathing heavily, I let the tears fall. This is too fucking much.

I pull off my cardigan, drop my bag, slip off my shoes and head directly for my reading chair. I slide into it, still shaking and quietly crying, before pulling my large blanket up over my head and silently willing the world to just stop and give me a chance to catch my breath.

I can only assume Daemon pulled the errant demon from the man's body and let me out of the car, and part of me is thankful for it. I don't know what would have happened to me if he didn't show up to save me from the unknown entity.

A thought enters my mind: If I bind myself to Daemon, will that stop other demons from bothering me? Can he protect me from these beings that I know so little about?

Pulling the blanket down from over my head, I let my still blurry eyes roam my apartment. It's empty, and quiet. There's a light on above my stove in the kitchen, one I often forget to turn off. It provides just enough light to keep the darkness at bay as the sun continues to set in a sky already dark from the rain.

I will my reluctant voice to leave my lips, although it sounds weak in the quiet that fills my apartment. "Daemon, I know you can hear me. Please… leave me alone for the night. I can't give you anything else. I need sleep."

As I expected, there is no direct answer to my request. Just a gentle quiet that doesn't feel oppressive, and no presence of a demonic entity to be felt.

I close my eyes, and sleep comes hard and fast. Exhaustion pulls me under so deeply, that my eyes don't open until the morning light arrives.