***
My drive home was one of severe mixed emotions.
Having used magic spontaneously twice in one day had left me with an artificial high that can only be described as nearing ecstasy. Yes it was part of the juvenile thrill that came with breaking the law, but there was also a kind of residue that seemed to remain after extending ones Spirit. A glowing after-effect that temporarily heightened senses and loaded me with energy.
And yes of course there was the constantly escalating feeling of power as I learned the feats of which I was capable.
This ecstasy, however, was grossly contrasted by another feeling. Guilt.
Claudia’s image floated into my head. The haunted look in her eyes, like a person discovering they had woken up in a foreign country, seemed to be burned into my mind’s eye like a photograph. I had done that, I had put her in that situation, and let me assure you, it was a tough realisation you were capable of putting that expression on a person’s face.
The way she had drawn her knees up and pulled her blouse tightly around her body, the same as, yes; a rape victim. You needed only add a running shower to complete the scene.
“Never again,” I told myself. Never again would I subject a person to that kind of mental domination. Never again.
And what about the poker game…?
I arrived home as the sun was starting its descent towards the horizon. My intention had been to head upstairs and practice finding my place of calm before turning in early, aware that facing a demon was on tomorrow’s agenda. But as I opened the front door a voice sounded from the kitchen.
“Jet.” Clinton’s voice.
I paused, considered ignoring it, but knew I couldn’t. Not anymore.
I changed direction and headed for the kitchen, finding Clinton as expected; alone at the table. He had decided to start building a miniature pyramid in the table’s centre out of empty beer cans, making a little adventure out of getting drunk. I did note he was doing a rather admirable job on the pyramid design; a solid base, three stories high and even a “capping stone” that consisted of two carefully balanced, crushed cans. The beer currently in his hand I estimated to be his ninth.
“Hello, Clinton,” I said calmly, meeting his unsteady gaze past the pyramid’s flank.
“Hello, Jet,” he responded with a half-baked grin, “Have a seat.”
I did so, slipping rigidly into the chair across from him. Despite the fact I knew him to be a mental slave, under the influence of who knew how many spells, I still didn’t much care for the company of a man who was flat out drunk with the sun still in the sky. Though I had to admit I now had a very deep sympathy for the man. Linda and Claudia were proof positive of the extended effects of these spells, and it was no exaggeration to say I would have been a drunk myself in his position.
Somehow the fact that the beer pyramid partially obscured him from view made the situation more bearable. Something to do with personal barriers, I guessed.
“Nice pyramid,” I commented.
“You like it?” he said brightly, a slur becoming apparent.
“Sure. I like the capping stone.”
“Yes, I thought it was quiet the unique innovation.”
I nodded sagely, as if admiring a sculpture of fine craftsmanship. The moment drifted off into silence, both of us knowing the issues, neither wanting to be the first to bring it up.
“Did you really kill Critter?” he asked at last.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was an accident.”
“I loved that cat. He was all I had.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He sighed and trailed back into silence. When he spoke again his voice was softer. “It becomes a thing you just come to accept after a while.” His gaze slowly lowered and fixed on the beer in his hand.
“The domination?” I asked, perhaps a bit tactlessly. He nodded. “Most people don’t know, as far as I understand.”
“I knew,” he continued, “Well, I had an idea at first. I noticed strange things. Couldn’t understand decisions I was making.” A distant look was coming to his eyes. He was vocalising thoughts that had been kept secret for a long time. “Then I heard someone mention it. Someone mentioned she was a magic user, and I sort of knew. But even though I knew, I didn’t do anything. I just kept going with it. I’m not sure why.”
“I think maybe that’s the way it works,” I muttered softly, fascinated to hear how Clinton experienced the domination.
“She doesn’t want me to get a job,” he declared, looking up and meeting my eyes with a weak grin. “She likes me the way I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t want me to get a job!” he repeat, like delivering the punch line of a classic joke. I squinted, not fully understanding. “Independence! She doesn’t want me to have independence! She needs me this way, relying on her, living off her. It makes her feel… needed. Important.” His eyes glazed again. “I’m a pet. Something she can come home to that makes her feel vindicated.”
I reflected on the interaction between my mother and Linda, the little look they had shared. I had thought then how Linda was a sort of pet, and guessed it was a similar relationship between my mother and Clinton.
“How is she getting away with this?” I asked, “The whole restaurant, the whole Sushi Palace, you, surely someone noticed. Her Enforcer?”
“Not sure,” he muttered, “Not sure.”
“Clinton, look at me.” He took a sip of beer and did as he was told. “Why don’t you just leave?”
“Leave? To what, Jet? I have nothing. I’m exactly where she wants me. I have nothing.” His head hung on his shoulders and he slipped back into silence, seeming to retreat into a mental safe zone. I watched, waiting for him to speak again, but he remained quiet. I leaned to the right for a clear view of him past the pyramid’s flank.
“Clinton,” I said sharply. His head lifted, revealing an expression that seemed to say he had forgotten I was present. This was either an indicator he was reaching a deep, stupid level of drunkenness, or that a spell was starting to kick in, triggered by his open speaking of the situation. “I’ll help you leave,” I said firmly.
“You’ll help me leave?” His slurring had increased.
I nodded. “Yes. I can get you out. I’ll help you. I’ll find you a place to stay, get you a job.”
He considered this, his eyelids now drooping. “Wasting your time, Jet. Forget it.”
With that he laid his head on the table and closed his eyes. I watched, wondering if I should try again, but guttural snoring soon followed. I stood, grabbed a sandwich and headed upstairs.
Upon entering my room I felt an immediate pang of fear begin to claw its way into my mind. My demon would not be put to rest so easily.
I had felt relatively at ease throughout the day, confident that my established place of calm would be a sure fire defence against any invasions. But now that I found myself faced with the familiar environment, that confidence was starting to wane.
Determined to convince myself of control I sat cross legged on my bed and zoned in on the memory. It took only moments before my body was bathed in a satisfying calm.
I decided to see how long the state of mind could be held, and amazingly managed to stay completely focused for over an hour. Then the first interruption
This interruption, which at first I did not realise to be my demon, came in the form of a scratching noise, emanating from the direction of my closed curtains. Soft at first, I assumed it to be a branch brushing against the window in a breeze, but the more I noticed it the louder it became.
Scratch scratch scratch… like a fingernail being dragged over a rough surface.
By that time the buzzing in my head started to make itself very clear; “Beware! Beware!”
Well aren’t demons resourceful little creatures?
I reasoned that opening my eyes and investigating behind the curtain would equate to com
plete failure. There was not a doubt in my mind that even if I did look there would be nothing to see, but that dedicating that much energy to investigation was exactly what my little tuxedo wearing friend was aiming for. Opening a door. If I looked, I was allowing the creature back into my mind. I simply had to keep focused and ignore the intrusion.
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch… the sound persisted, increasing in frequency and growing louder. My eyes remained closed and I refocused on the memory, trying to bar out the festering panic that was taking root in my stomach.
The table, I’m under the table. Above me, I can hear the voices of my mother and grandmother. Safe. I feel completely, undeniably safe…
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch … louder and louder, so loud that it started to feel as if the scratching was inside my head, rattling my teeth and shaking my skull like a pot filled with pennies. My focus was slipping.
I’m under the table. Above me, I can hear the voices of my mother and grandmother. Beneath me, I can feel the texture of the carpet; that old, shaggy brown carpet that I spent so much time being acquainted with. I’m safe, absolutely, undeniably safe. I can hear the clicking now of dominoes being placed sharply on the table. A reassuring sound, a calming sound, indicating that all was right with the world.
The memory consumed me. All at once the scratching stopped and I was once again alone in my room.
Silence.
When I opened my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, it was only marginally surprising to see my room bathed in darkness. A glance at my watch revealed that it was nearing 11pm; I had been sitting cross legged on my bed for almost six hours.
Clinging to my feeling of tenuous victory, I lay down and let sleep embrace me.