Stacia Kane: Demon Possessed

“Come on in, Ted.” Megan stepped back. Usually he practically knocked her over in his haste to enter the room. Not a surprise, really. Ted’s wife ignored him. So did his children. Those years of neglect seemed to have erased him somehow. Sad. But it was something Megan usually felt she was doing a decent job of counteracting, encouraging Ted to speak up at home, to get out into the world more.

Today, however, he didn’t move from the doorway. “Dr. Chase, I just . . . I just came to tell you I won’t be coming anymore. I thought I owed you letting you know in person.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. First the FBI showed up and made vague little threats and offered vague little deals, and now this. Losing a patient wasn’t exactly a joy. “Ted, I . . . Is something the matter? Please, at least come in and sit down.”

He hesitated.

“Come in, please. Whatever decision you’ve made is your decision, and I respect that. I won’t try to talk you out of anything. But if you wanted to tell me in person, you obviously thought there was an explanation to be made, right?”

Still he waited, like a golf ball teetering on the edge of a hole. Finally he nodded and edged past her.

“Okay.” She sat back in her chair and plastered what she hoped was an understanding smile on her face. “What’s up?”

“You can’t help me anymore,” he mumbled. A piece of paper she hadn’t noticed before tumbled in his hands; he folded and unfolded it as though performing the motions incorrectly would result in the destruction of the universe. “What’s wrong with me . . . it’s not something you can fix.”

“It’s not a matter of ‘fixing.’ I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, or that you’re broken in some way. You shouldn’t feel—”

“I’m possessed.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, before she thought, Okay, double what-the-fuck. Possessed? Where the hell would Ted get an idea like that?

Especially since it wasn’t true. Not remotely. She could still read him; had he been possessed, she couldn’t have.

He glared at her. It surprised her almost as much as his previous utterance had. “That’s what he said you’d say.”

“He?”

“Reverend Walther. He said you’d say that. You people are just desperate to keep us on a string, to keep taking our money.”

“Where in the world—”

“All these years I’ve been coming here, thinking something was wrong with me, and it wasn’t me. It was these demons.”

“Ted. You are not possessed by demons.” And she should know. She was, in fact, probably the only human being in the world who could tell him definitively that his problems had nothing to do with demons. Or at least very little to do with them. Ted’s personal demons—his little Yezer Ha-Ra, that was—numbered only two, and they were fairly content with that.

At least they were now. Since Megan had assumed the leadership of the local Yezer “family,” there’d been a few sticky moments. At one point she’d almost lost them completely, along with her life.

But that had been months before. Now her relationship to and rules for the Yezer had reached a level of equilibrium, and if the Yezer weren’t growing fat off the misery of humans, they weren’t starving either.

But none of that was the issue at the moment. She seriously doubted Ted was talking about Yezer, especially since Yezer didn’t actually possess people. They merely sat on people’s shoulders and tried to persuade them to commit . . . well, if not evil acts, then certainly not good ones. Selfish acts. Mildly cruel acts. Depending on the person, of course.

“I don’t expect you to believe it, Dr. Chase. But all this therapy, psychology . . . what you do . . . it can’t help people. It’s demons making people unhappy and demons making us do wrong, and Reverend Walther can help me. So I won’t be coming back here. Just thought I should tell you.”

Eep. He’d never know how right he was about demons making people unhappy, even if he was wrong about how it actually worked. Possession . . . Walther . . . A bell rang somewhere in the back of Megan’s head. Yes, she’d heard of him, hadn’t she? Seen something recently on one of those newsmagazine shows. Her memory of it was rather vague but clear enough for one thing, at least.

“Are you talking about an exorcism?”

Ted nodded. Shit.

“Ted, please. I really have to strongly advise you against this. It could be dangerous, I don’t know—”

Ted stood up. Megan could say one thing for whoever Reverend Walther was, he’d given Ted more strength than she’d ever seen from him.

Of course, that strength was based on falsehoods and the promise of a quick fix and so was more akin to zealotry than any actual strength, but why quibble? There didn’t appear to be much she could do about it either way.

“The only dangerous thing is to go on living the way I am,” he said. “To let these demons grow and take over. No, thank you, Dr. Chase. I know there’s a solution to my problems, but it requires faith. And faith I’ve got.”

“You need to have faith in yourself, Ted, you don’t need an exorcism, you just need—”

“Thanks, Dr. Chase, but I have to go. Lily’s waiting for me in the car, and we’re about to head over to see the reverend.” He stood up and held out his hand.

Megan took it and, with it, the visions that came when she lowered her shields: Ted’s wife, Lily, convincing Ted this exorcism thing was the answer to their problems. Why had Ted never told her how deeply religious Lily was becoming over the last six months? The shadowy face of a man—Reverend Walther, she assumed. A face she instinctively disliked, but whether that was because she thought he was a charlatan, because he was lying to one of her patients, or because of some other reason, she didn’t know.

And at that moment she didn’t particularly care. It was barely quarter past two on a beautiful July day, and all she wanted to do was go home, crawl under the covers, and stay there.

“If you ever need anything . . . you can always give me a call.” She dropped his hand. “I’ll still be here.”

“Well, thanks again,” he said.

They stood for an awkward moment, unsure how long to keep shaking hands or if they should do more or what. Rather like greeting a long-lost cousin you’d never really liked. Should you forget the time he locked you in the basement and kiss him anyway because he was family, or did you treat him like any other stranger? How thick was that blood anyway?

Not so thick in this case or, rather, nonexistent. Ted let go of her hand, nodded, and let himself out the little exit door, leaving Megan with an open forty-minute window and plenty to think about during it. Including the FBI.

Her first instinct was to reach for the phone, but she stopped herself before her fingers closed over the receiver and slumped back in her desk chair instead. Greyson wasn’t available today anyway, right? In meetings all day.

Sure, he’d still answer if she called or if she texted and said it was an emergency. But it wasn’t an emergency. Having a shitty day—or a decent day that had suddenly plummeted into the depths of shittiness—wasn’t an emergency. Neither was the FBI agent, although the “We have a deal for you” angle was new.

The information about the Bellreive . . . now, that might be important. Extremely important. Contrary to what she’d told Agent Reid, there was indeed a meeting there the following week, one which Megan was absolutely attending.

She had to. All of the Gretnegs were attending, and that meant her. Taking over the Yezer Ha-Ra family—more technically known as a Meegra in the demon tongue—meant more than simply an unusual and sometimes awkward situation for a psychological counselor to find herself in. It meant learning to work with the other Gretnegs, trying to balance friendly relations with them against the desire to keep herself removed from some of their . . . well, more interesting activities.