Thomas Sniegoski: In the House of the Wicked

Remy opened the door and stepped into the apartment, closing the door gently behind him. He noticed that every bit of lighting had been turned on, making the barren walls of the empty apartment seem to glow. Ashley was sitting at the far end of the living room, up against the wall, beneath the open window. It was raining softly outside, and a gentle breeze that carried the smell of fire and magick wafted into the apartment.

He left the door to stand on the border of the hallway and living room, not wanting to get any closer to her. Ashley tensed as he stood there, pulling her legs up closer to her body and refusing to look at him.

“Are you all right?” he asked her. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

She shook her head no, sniffling, a wad of toilet paper appearing in her hand to wipe at swollen, teary eyes and a running nose.

“The first thing I want to say to you is how sorry I am,” Remy told her.

“For what?” she asked, still refusing to look at him.

“This never would have happened if it wasn’t for me and what I am.”

“What are you?” The question was quick, harsh, as if she’d been waiting for the opportunity to present itself.

“I’m an angel…a Seraphim.”

“Like, from Heaven and stuff?” Ashley asked, sniffing again.

“Yeah, like that.”

“That’s pretty nuts,” she said, and started to laugh, but she was soon crying again.

“It is pretty nuts, and it’s why I’ve kept it a secret from you all these years.”

“Does anybody know?”

“Mulvehill found out by accident. Francis, who’s got issues of his own. Marlowe…”

“Marlowe understands that you’re an angel?” she asked. It was the first time she’d looked at him.

“Yeah, I can talk to him just like I’m talking to you. I can speak and understand any language. It’s one of the angel perks.”

“You can speak dog?”

“Dog…cat…wombat…yeah, anything that has any kind of language.”

“Did Madeline know?” Ashley asked.

“Yeah, about that-”

“Wait-if you’re an angel, how could you have a mother?” she wanted to know.

“She wasn’t my mother,” Remy admitted with a sigh. “She was my wife.”

There was silence as the answer slowly permeated.

“I knew it,” Ashley said finally. “I knew there was something different about you guys…about your relationship. Mom said that she thought you might be one of those gay guys who’s really close to their mothers, but I knew you weren’t gay.”

“Your mother thinks I’m gay?” Remy asked, finding out more than he cared to.

“Yeah, she did at first,” Ashley said. “Now she doesn’t know what you are.”

“I can’t believe your mother thought I was gay,” he said.

“What would you think?” she asked. “Good-looking guy, lived with his mother, now lives alone with his dog.”

“You think I’m good-looking?”

She laughed softly. “Is also very neat and tidy.”

“Neat and tidy? I’m a slob.”

“I’ve never seen a dirty dish in your sink…ever, and I’ve known you for, like, a hundred years.”

“That’s because I seldom eat at home.”

“Not even a dirty glass or cup. It’s freaky.”

“But you didn’t think I was gay,” he said to her.

She shook her head. “I just thought you were…eccentric.”

“You and your mother didn’t have any kind of bet, did you?” Remy asked, trying not to smile but completely powerless not to.

Ashley was smiling back, and he saw her old self finally breaking through the darkness he had caused.

“With my dad,” she said, and started to laugh. She looked at him then and the fear was gone.

“Your dad? I think I need to sit down.”

Remy came into the room, lowered himself to the floor, and leaned back against the living room wall, no more than three feet from her.

“So no money has exchanged hands yet, I gather?”

“Nope,” Ashley said. “There’s been nothing definitive yet to say who’s won.”

“How’s it feel to be right?” Remy asked.

A shadow passed over her pretty face, and she studied something underneath one of her fingernails.

“You’re probably wishing I was gay.”

“That would have been normal,” she said. “Easier to understand.”

“Is there anything that I can say or do to make it easier for you?” he asked.

He could see her thinking. It looked as though it might’ve hurt.

“There’s still a part of me that hopes I’m having hallucinations or something, that the crap I’ve just gone through has all been in my head.”

She looked at him, eyes hard.

“It’s all been real, hasn’t it?”

Remy just nodded, feeling ashamed. He was about to tell her how sorry he was again, but knew that it would have little impact.

“You have no idea how hard it is for me to be sitting here and not crying or screaming or curled into a ball with my eyes closed, but no matter what I do I can’t escape what I’ve seen…what I’ve done.”

The fear was back, swirling behind her eyes, and he could see that she was doing everything in her power to hold it together.

“The world isn’t the same anymore, Remy,” she said, looking at him, swollen tears dribbling from her eyes, down a face that somehow appeared older to him.

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

“I’m not the same anymore,” she added.

It was then that he remembered that Francis was standing outside in the hallway, and what they had discussed.

“What if there was a way that I could make you the same?” Remy asked.

Ashley looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, how would you feel if there was a way that you could be made to…forget.”

He wasn’t sure if it was more fear or excitement he saw in her gaze then.

“That isn’t possible,” she said in a whisper.

“Do you remember that you’re talking to an angel?”

“How? How could you make me forget?”

“Francis…”

“Francis can make me forget?”

“He’s acquired this…instrument,” Remy started to explain. “It’s a scalpel of supernatural origin.”

Ashley was just staring at him.

“A scalpel so precise that…” Remy paused, even the thought of using the instrument on the girl making him feel sick to his stomach.

“A scalpel to cut out my memory?” Ashley finished for him.

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“How could…How would you…?”

“Francis would go in and cut the bad stuff away,” Remy explained. “Like cutting away an infection. He’d likely start just before you were taken and stop not too long after now…just before you get home.”

“And I wouldn’t remember any of it?” she asked.

“It would be gone,” Remy said.

He could see that she was thinking…thinking hard.

“It would be so easy to say yes,” she said to him. “To let Francis take away all the scary stuff, but that’s the stuff that has changed me… And no matter what I can and can’t remember, I’m still changed. I’m still that new person now, whether I can remember what happened or not.”

She paused for a second.

“Does that make any sense at all?” she asked.

“Yeah, it does,” he told her. “It would be like having a scar and having no idea where it came from.”

“The experience, no matter how bad or painful, it teaches you something…forces you to grow.”

Remy nodded, understanding exactly where her head was. He could not help but be pleased at her decision.

“So I’m guessing that Francis and his scalpel will not be required,” Remy said.

“No,” she said firmly. “I think I need to remember what’s happened.”