the first time after he woke up from his coma.”
I remembered Eric bringing his laptop into Lucas’s sick room and the two of them watching a western. I couldn’t have come up with the name of the movie for any amount of money, though. It wasn’t the kind of thing Lucas and I would normally be interested in.
He continued. “He quoted from it three times tonight. When he said, ‘Your concern is noted and appreciated.’ And then when he said, ‘It’s important to know who to blame.’ That’s straight from the movie.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence?” I asked, glancing at the rearview mirror to see Lucas looking out the window. “The movie was still on his mind, probably.”
“Yeah, well how about when he said, ‘Given the choice, I’d rather be living than dying’? A direct quote from the movie.” His eyes got large. “When he said that, I just about fell over. That was when I knew for sure. Normally, Lucas would never talk like that.”
“So what conclusion are you drawing here?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know, but it’s like he’s not Lucas. It’s like he’s trying to be Lucas, but he’s having some trouble getting it right so he’s copying what we say and picking up lines from TV and movies.”
My mind reeled. As much as I’d been the one to say Lucas wasn’t himself, I hadn’t thought he was literally a different person. “So what are you saying? He’s possessed by a demon or what?” Now I was speaking through clenched teeth, although there was no indication that Lucas was listening or even cared about what we were talking about.
“I don’t know,” Eric admitted. “All I know is he’s not acting like my brother.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the backseat.
And he thought girls were melodramatic. I said, “Maybe he has amnesia and he’s relearning how to be himself. Or maybe he had a stroke or some kind of brain explosion or something and it completely changed his personality.” I’d heard of this happening. People who had strokes and had to relearn how to read, or woke up from comas only able to remember recent events but nothing from the past. I’d read about one woman in England who was knocked unconscious and woke up speaking with a French accent. All these things came about as a result of mixed-up, crazy brain injuries. Sometimes even the doctors didn’t understand why they happened. There had to be a sensible explanation.
Eric said, “Yeah, but then how do you explain that he knew about the thing you found in the field?”
I shrugged. “He was mistaken. Confused.” Our voices were getting louder, but if Lucas knew we were talking about him, he didn’t show it.
“No. He definitely recognized it. This is what I think—something else is inside of Lucas and that something is wearing him like a costume, making him walk and talk and eat and everything else.”
I had to remind myself that Eric was fourteen and watched a lot of the Syfy channel. “Okay,” I said, humoring him. “Let’s just say you’re right. What do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you, I think. You were the one who brought him back in the first place.”
The rest of the way home, I drove without speaking, the music filling the void. I tried to make sense of what had happened: a magic potion, a fallen object from another world or dimension, a dying boy brought back by true love’s kiss. The stuff of storybooks or movies. But now Eric was suggesting that what I’d done out of love had resulted in something sinister. What if he was right?
Oh, Lucas, what did I do? And how can I fix it?
When we were just down the road from the farmhouse, Eric turned around and explained to Lucas that he had to hide the object in the barn. “We can’t let our parents see it or they’ll turn it over to the authorities and those agents will be back.”
“Someone will take it?” Lucas said.
“Yes.” Eric nodded emphatically. “I’ll keep it
I remembered Eric bringing his laptop into Lucas’s sick room and the two of them watching a western. I couldn’t have come up with the name of the movie for any amount of money, though. It wasn’t the kind of thing Lucas and I would normally be interested in.
He continued. “He quoted from it three times tonight. When he said, ‘Your concern is noted and appreciated.’ And then when he said, ‘It’s important to know who to blame.’ That’s straight from the movie.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence?” I asked, glancing at the rearview mirror to see Lucas looking out the window. “The movie was still on his mind, probably.”
“Yeah, well how about when he said, ‘Given the choice, I’d rather be living than dying’? A direct quote from the movie.” His eyes got large. “When he said that, I just about fell over. That was when I knew for sure. Normally, Lucas would never talk like that.”
“So what conclusion are you drawing here?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know, but it’s like he’s not Lucas. It’s like he’s trying to be Lucas, but he’s having some trouble getting it right so he’s copying what we say and picking up lines from TV and movies.”
My mind reeled. As much as I’d been the one to say Lucas wasn’t himself, I hadn’t thought he was literally a different person. “So what are you saying? He’s possessed by a demon or what?” Now I was speaking through clenched teeth, although there was no indication that Lucas was listening or even cared about what we were talking about.
“I don’t know,” Eric admitted. “All I know is he’s not acting like my brother.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the backseat.
And he thought girls were melodramatic. I said, “Maybe he has amnesia and he’s relearning how to be himself. Or maybe he had a stroke or some kind of brain explosion or something and it completely changed his personality.” I’d heard of this happening. People who had strokes and had to relearn how to read, or woke up from comas only able to remember recent events but nothing from the past. I’d read about one woman in England who was knocked unconscious and woke up speaking with a French accent. All these things came about as a result of mixed-up, crazy brain injuries. Sometimes even the doctors didn’t understand why they happened. There had to be a sensible explanation.
Eric said, “Yeah, but then how do you explain that he knew about the thing you found in the field?”
I shrugged. “He was mistaken. Confused.” Our voices were getting louder, but if Lucas knew we were talking about him, he didn’t show it.
“No. He definitely recognized it. This is what I think—something else is inside of Lucas and that something is wearing him like a costume, making him walk and talk and eat and everything else.”
I had to remind myself that Eric was fourteen and watched a lot of the Syfy channel. “Okay,” I said, humoring him. “Let’s just say you’re right. What do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you, I think. You were the one who brought him back in the first place.”
The rest of the way home, I drove without speaking, the music filling the void. I tried to make sense of what had happened: a magic potion, a fallen object from another world or dimension, a dying boy brought back by true love’s kiss. The stuff of storybooks or movies. But now Eric was suggesting that what I’d done out of love had resulted in something sinister. What if he was right?
Oh, Lucas, what did I do? And how can I fix it?
When we were just down the road from the farmhouse, Eric turned around and explained to Lucas that he had to hide the object in the barn. “We can’t let our parents see it or they’ll turn it over to the authorities and those agents will be back.”
“Someone will take it?” Lucas said.
“Yes.” Eric nodded emphatically. “I’ll keep it
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