* * *
The drive home, now early evening, was a slow one.
I took my time, keeping well under the speed limit and doing my best to catch every traffic light when it was red.
As I neared the Clarence household anxiety began to return in spades. I had managed to distract myself with the poker training, put the demon from my mind and pretend it didn’t exist, but now it was back. In full force.
The closer I got, the more the tension mounted. At one point the moon even retired behind a wall of clouds, plunging the already dark night into a deeper level of gloom and shadows.
Eventually I pulled my car into the driveway and killed the engine, then sat and pondered my situation, weighing-up options and wondering if I could just spend the night roaming the streets.
Around me the world was silent. There was not a barking dog or even the wailing of a distant police siren to be heard.
I waited, wrestling with thoughts.
A glow was emanating from one of the house windows. It occurred to me that I had not faced my mother since knocking Clinton over the kitchen table. For that matter, I had not faced Clinton after knocking his ass over the kitchen table. That, however, seemed rather like a side note to my current predicament.
Eventually I took a deep breath, threw open the car door and headed for the house. My hand reached for the doorknob, but before it even made contact the door was springing open. My mother stepped out, her face a mask of maternal concern.
“Jet?! Where have you been!?”
I shrugged helplessly and looked at her. In the low, yellow glow of the outdoor entrance light, her face seemed to be a strange foreign colour. A pale gold.
“I was worried, Jet. Why did you just leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should have spoken to me. I’ve been worried sick!”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t…” My words trailed off.
She stepped back and allowed me into the house, then led the way to the kitchen table. Thankfully, Clinton was nowhere to be seen and no sign remained of my cupboard exploding shenanigans. A clean, shiny new cupboard door sat in place of the victim.
I sat. My mother took the seat across from me.
“Do you want some tea?”
“No mom. Thanks.” I couldn’t meet her eyes, choosing instead to stare at a wall. Her anguish was only making me feel worse. Although the idea of being alone in my room with a demon was severely unappealing, the idea of having to explain the situation to my mother was somehow worse.
She hesitated, then reached out and turned my face towards her.
“Tell me, Jet.”
“Some big things are happening to me,” I said softly.
“I know that. Are you forgetting I went through the same thing? Why didn’t you come to me for help?”
“I’m not sure it’s the same thing,” I muttered.
My mother had never faced a demon. Her Spirit had always been naturally high. I was pretty certain that she, like most other people, had heard the word “demon” only in point three of “Symptoms of an Above Average Spirit Level” on the High School brochure.
“Then explain it to me.”
“I’m not really in the mood, mother.”
“Jet!” The word was sharp, verging on a threat, and I flinched. Her face had lost its gentle concern and hardened into a demanding frown. “Tell me.”
All at once I was a little boy again being scolded by his mommy. My resistance melted and I decided she deserved an explanation.
I opened my mouth to speak but a realisation struck me suddenly dumb. I froze, reeling in shock.
“Mother…”
“What?”
“Did you just… manipulate me?”
Her eyes widened. Then her mouth popped open, making a little “O” of surprise. She fought with words, taking on the role of a child caught with a handful of cookies.
“You did, I know you did.” I was talking slowly, dealing with yet another world shattering revelation. “Just how often do you do it, mother?”
It may seem bizarre to you that I had never realised my mother might manipulate me, especially after being specifically warned. She is, after all, a registered magic user. What else would she be doing? The truth is that I had never even considered it until that exact moment. Why I had never considered it was, just now, becoming a bit of a mystery.
“How often do you do it?” I repeated, my voice rising.
“Jet…”
“Tell me, mother.”
She calmed, leaned back in the chair and her posture changed. There was a subtle shift of the kitchen’s ambience as I was released from a spell I had never been aware of.
“You’re my son, Jet,” she said softly, “And you know I care for you very much.” I knew she was consciously changing to a position of hurt indignation, but somehow I was helpless to resist the effect.
“Of course I know that.”
“Then why would you accuse me of such a thing?”
“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” I said, attempting to be firm, but already my justified anger was draining away.
“You’re hurting my feelings, Jet.”
“I’m sorry.” All at once I was apologetic; the mere thought that my mother could have been manipulating me seemed ridiculous and began to fade. She was my mother, what had I been thinking?
“You look very tired. Perhaps you should go up to bed and have a nice rest?” Her tone was kind now, dripping with absolutely genuine maternal affection.
“Yes, I think I might just do that,” I agreed.
“Would you like me to bring you up some supper? You haven’t been eating and you’re looking awfully thin.”
“Yes, I am rather hungry. That would be nice, thank you mother.”
She gave me a smile and patted my hand gently. I stood, with every intention of going up to my room and having a nice sleep, but stopped in my tracks, a frown creasing my brow. There was a buzzing in my head, alerting me to the presence of danger.
Something had seemed very important a moment ago. What had it been?
A burning, roaring idea was suddenly hovering just beyond the range of conscious thought, demanding to be acknowledged. But it seemed vague and fleeting, an obscure image from a dream half remembered. I strained, reaching for the elusive idea, but it fluttered from my grasp like a bashful butterfly…
“Is something the matter, Jet?”
I looked over at her and she looked back, her face glowing with a disarming smile. The buzzing continued.
“I feel I’m forgetting something very important.”
“Never mind, scoot up to bed now and I’ll bring up a sandwich.”
“Okay, mother.”
I turned and took a step to the door, but there it was again; a thought, the shape of an idea, screaming at me for attention, pleading for me to understand it. The buzzing was intensifying.
I stopped again and closed my eyes, focusing so hard my jaw clenched in effort.
All at once, the idea was released and came rushing forth, flooding back into my mind as easily as it had been cast out. My eyes popped open and I turned on my mother, fists clenched.
“How dare you? How dare you!?”
“Jet…?”
No, I would not allow it this time. I would not allow her entrance.
“What are you doing mother?! What are you doing up here?!” I tapped a finger to my temple, the words escaping me in a furious snarl. “How long have you been screwing with my mind?!”
She returned to a look of confused surprise, an almost identical expression to the first. The whole affair was starting to take on an overwhelmingly eerie feeling of artificiality.
A crazed thought flashed across my mind. Somehow, this woman was not my mother. It was an impostor, some kind of twisted doppelganger. But at the same instant I knew this to be untrue. It was my mother. Only, I was just seeing her for the first time in my life.
My anger was bubbling, looking to overfl
ow and release in a confrontation. But, simultaneously, the buzzing sensation was sending me a clear and concise message; Get out. It said. Get out now, you’re in terrible danger...
I made my decision, closed my mouth and walked from the room.
I mounted the steps, two at a time, entered my room and closed the door behind me.
For a long moment I stood staring blindly at the floor, trying to understand what had just happened. Although the buzzing had faded, half of me was scared, terrified, she would follow me up the stairs.
I registered that my mind was still reeling, slowly gathering itself after being attacked and dominated for who knew how long. An intense disorientation set in.
Another pause, then I sat on my bed, leaned back and put my head on the pillow.
My mind was chaos. Memories flew in, hovered around, then drifted off again. A feeling somewhat similar to a drug trip I had experienced in college. It was as if the filing cabinets of my thoughts and memories had been shattered and needed to reorganise themselves.
Apparently at random a thought took centre stage in my mind’s eye.
I was under the table. Above me, I heard the voices of my mother and grandmother talking. I was young. Six? Eight? Maybe a little older?
The memory expanded, clarified and then engulfed me as I gave it my full attention.
I was there again. Back in our old house, the one with the red brick exterior and swimming pool in the back yard. That place, that house with which I associated a joyful childhood.
Above me, my mother and grandmother were talking. The loud, animated dialogue that I had at first thought was fighting, but later learned to be the communication of two very close individuals.
There, at that moment under the table, I was safe. As safe as a person could be. I was home.
In the real world, a smile was creeping across my face and a tear rolled down my cheek. I knew I had found my place of calm. And it was beautiful.