Jenna Black - The Devil You Know

The first thing of interest I found was the record of the paternity test, which was conducted when I was about a month old. I saw in black and white that Dad and I were not related. I swallowed hard and shoved the folder back in the drawer.

My files, being much duller than Andy’s, were organized by year rather than subject matter. I skipped forward to the year of my possibly mysterious hospitalization. I laid the file open on my lap and started flip-ping through it, looking more carefully than I had at anything previously. My hand—and my heart—came to a stop when I found a letter with the Spirit Society’s logo emblazoned at the top. It was from Bradley Cooper, although he hadn’t risen to his exalted rank of Regional Director yet and was merely a Team Leader.

Dear Mr. Kingsley,

We are sorry to hear about the difficulties you and your wife are experiencing with the child. We understand your frustration, and thank you again for the heroic efforts you have made for the Cause.

Our suggestion is that you have the child speak with one of our psychiatrists. He will examine her and make a determination as to the likelihood that she can be turned at this late age. It is possible that the resistance you are experiencing is nothing more than the rebellion of a normal teenager. If so, we would ask that you continue on as you have at least for the next couple of years until we can make a determination as to whether she will join with us of her own free will.

If our doctor determines that she is, in fact, intractable, then other, more desperate measures may be needed. We will discuss those measures when and if they become necessary so that we may come to a mutually acceptable arrangement.

Once again, I thank you on the behalf of the entire Society for your loyalty to our Cause, and for service above and beyond the call of duty. If you are amenable to our suggestion, please give me a call and we will set up an appointment.

My stomach flopped like a fish out of water. I could only assume this “teenage rebellion” of which Cooper spoke was my insistence that I would never, ever host a demon.

My parents had begun the recruitment effort on my twelfth birthday—the same age that they’d started working on Andy. But while Andy had immediately succumbed to the allure of becoming an all-powerful hero, I had balked. And more than a year of dragging me to Society meetings and shoving Society propaganda in my face had only made me dig my heels in deeper.

I remembered that trip to the psychiatrist. It had been the first of many. With trembling fingers, I turned to the next page, and saw the psychiatrist’s report. I was still reading through it, simultaneously fascinated and appalled to read this stranger’s impressions of me, most of which seemed surprisingly accurate, when the study door opened and my dad walked in.

For a long, breathless moment, we were both too shocked to move or speak. Inwardly, I cursed myself for getting so absorbed in my reading that I hadn’t heard him coming. If I’d heard him, maybe I could have stuffed some of the more interesting pages into my pockets for later perusal.

Dad snapped out of it first, stepping fully into the room and slamming the door behind him. I winced at the sound, then reminded myself that I was an adult, not a six-year-old girl.

With what I hoped was cool aplomb, I closed the folder and tucked it back into the drawer, then stood. I was a full head taller than my dad, and we looked nothing alike. When I’d been a kid, people had always commented to my mom that I was her spitting image in everything but height. No one had ever said I looked like my dad, but I’d always assumed that was merely a gender thing. Now I realized the true reason. Even so, as I stood there and watched him trying to absorb the indignity of my intrusion upon his sanctum sanctorum, he still felt like my father to me. The little girl in my core wanted to apologize, to finally see a hint of approval on his face, but it wasn’t going to happen.

“You have some nerve,” he said when he recovered enough to talk. His voice was highly controlled, but I could hear the fury in it anyway.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the cabinets behind me, pretending to be a hell of a lot more relaxed than I was. “Nice to see you, too, Pops,” I said.

I think I saw a wisp of steam rise from his ears. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, and the look on his face said he was seriously considering taking me over his knee again.

I managed to swallow the laugh the mental image conjured and just shook my head at him. “You know the meaning as well as I do, assuming you spoke to Mom before you came in here. And if you’re planning to go the denial route, don’t bother. You conveniently kept the results of the paternity test filed for me to find.”

His face turned red with anger, but it seemed he wasn’t in the mood for a good knock-down, drag-out. “Get out” was all he said.

“What else is in those files?” I asked, not about to budge. “I saw Cooper’s letter about the ‘desperate measures’ the Society would take if you decided the brainwashing wasn’t working. And I can’t help connecting those desperate measures to my stay at The Healing Circle that very same year.”

“I said get out!”

“I heard you. But like I told Mom, I’m not leaving until I get the answers I came for. So you’re either going to answer my questions, or I’ll help myself to the contents of my file.” Or both, actually. It wasn’t like I’d trust anything he told me under the circumstances. Still, I wouldn’t mind getting the Cliffs Notes before I got started on the heavy reading.

When he didn’t start talking, I began to bend down for the drawer. He grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

“You’re leaving now,” he informed me, and tried to pull me toward the door.

“The hell I am.” I spread my legs and flexed my knees to give myself more leverage, and he couldn’t budge me.

Anger still flashed in his eyes, but the expression on his face turned to stern paternal disapproval. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. You have no right to paw through my personal records.”

“They’re my personal records, from what I could see. And yes, I definitely do have a right to see them. Now let go of my arm before I show you how difficult I’m capable of being.”

His grip tightened to painful proportions. “There’s nothing in there you need to see. Let the past stay in the past, where it belongs.”

Was that a hint of desperation I saw in his eyes? I didn’t much care. With a twist and a hard yank, I freed my arm from his grip and once more bent for the drawer.

“Morgan, stop it!” he said in his most commanding voice, but I ignored him.

My fingers had just closed on the folder when my dad grabbed my arm again. I whirled on him with a snarl.

And turned my head right into the fist that was coming for my face.

I doubt I was out very long, but apparently it was just long enough for my dad—possibly with my mom’s help—to drag my unconscious body out onto the front stoop. I was just struggling back up through the blackness when the door slammed loudly, followed by the sound of locks clicking shut.

A couple of passersby in the street gave me curious looks, but this being the city, they kept on walking. A sweet little old lady stopped to ask if I was all right and offered to dial 911, but I managed a smile and declined her offer. Behind the closed door, I could hear my parents’ voices raised in argument, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Just as well, no doubt.

Feeling disconnected with reality, I fingered the bruise that was forming on my jaw as I walked. Who knew my dad packed such a punch? Other than the occasional spanking when Andy and I were growing up, I’d never seen my dad hit anyone before. Never even seen any sign that he might be capable of hitting someone, even when he was madder than hell. My feelings might have been hurt if I hadn’t remembered the sound of desperation in his voice. He’d tried everything he could think of to keep me from delving into those files, until he’d realized he wasn’t getting me out of that room without resorting to violence.