Page 153 of Devil Inside

“Yeah... I don’t know if that’s how it actually works.”

For real? Bummer. Oh, well... Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way, then...

His fingers find my lips. This time, when I struggle, I feel the full brunt of his body bearing down. He forces his weight upon my head, pinning me in place.

His fingernails skitter across my teeth before slipping in, curling over and pressing against the roof of my mouth. He’s tapping at the soft palate. He grips hold of my lower jaw and yanks, cracking open my mouth as wide as it’ll go, my own tongue lashing out at the air.

Hang on to your hats...

In he goes.

A double rainbow. How rare are those?

Imagine a double dream. I just had a nested doll of nightmares.

Waking up the second time isn’t any easier than the first, only now, I’ve got to crawl out from under my own panic that this is never going to fucking end. I’m just going to keep waking up from dream after dream after dream... I’m never finding the surface of my sleep. Break through. Who knows? Maybe I’m still dreaming now. I’m never going to wake up, am I?

If only Lilith was here, sleeping next to me.

I’m covered in sweat, soaking straight through the sheets. There’s salt all over the place. Yesterday’s summoning circle is still on the living room floor.

There’s a smell in the air. Burnt hair. Brimstone. Something sulfurous.

I need to get out. Get some fresh air. Get out of my goddamn skull.

A man drills a hole in his head in hopes of releasing the demons trapped within, whispering inside.

A father straps his son to a chair with bungee cords and for three days straight performs some ham-fisted exorcism, no food, no water, no trips to the bathroom, only for the thirteen-year-old boy to end up dying of dehydration.

A mother is convinced her children are possessed and drowns all three of them in the bathtub, ages six, seven, and nine, every last expelled air bubble another demon released from the depths of their tiny chests.

A husband shoots his wife after she suggests she’s been overtaken by a demonic presence, then takes his own life when he fears the demon has transferred over to him.

When bleach doesn’t clean a housewife’s body of its infestation, she douses herself in kerosene and lights herself on fire, burning her house and her family in the process.

Whenever I used to read stories like these, I always chalked it up to PTSD. Bipolar disorder. Postpartum depression. Possessionis everywhere. We just call it something else. These are the real demons. Just people, broken people. Hurting. In need of help.

Now I’m not so sure. Now I know otherwise. Now I know Lilith.

There was never just one.

It’s in her absence that I feel possessed. I can’t stop thinking about her. See what she’s done to me? Before I met her, I felt empty. Then she filled me in, filled me up, all the fissures and cracks. She completed me. It’s only without her that I feel hollow again.

It’s happening again, this receding into myself.

I came out to Belle Isle to clear my mind. To ride. Try, at least. The James River splits and runs around this tiny island. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Belle Isle housed the Old Dominion Iron and Nail Works, producing—you guessed it—nails. Once the Civil War kicked in, the island became an internment camp for captured Union soldiers. Most didn’t survive, buried here.

Now the island is open to everyone. Bike trails and hiking paths lace the land, like veins branching out from its body, well out of the hectic intensity of the streets.

I can’t even hear the traffic. The rest of Richmond simply melts away. Perfect place to reconnect with my wheels, where nobody’s watching. I’ll pass an occasional jogger, but at this time of day, the island feels empty. I’ve got the whole place to myself. The sun is barricaded behind a latticework of branches overhead.

Lilith’s gift—this bike—feels strange. We have to sync up, me and the wheels. Get a feel for each other. Everything I do on my own feels like an echo of a gesture. I’m just going through the motions, aren’t I? I’m slowly getting into a rhythm. I feel the wheels propel me forward. There’s a pulse beneath me. A vein. I feel it spread, branching out and connecting me to the bike, wrapping around the metal, and all I can think about is riding with Lilith.

I wish she was here, riding with me. When we were together,I felt connected. We shared oxygen, shared blood, shared metal, shared momentum.

We were one.

I spot a jogger up ahead. So much for having the island all to myself. They’re kneeling on the path. Are they tying their shoe? They look like they are praying.