me. Ever. Demon, yes. Possession? I guess I never wanted to think about it.
"You? No, Gracen. He can't possess you. No demon… well, nothing can. You are… you have no idea what you are."
"That's what Hart said." My voice sounds weak. I can't…
"He's right. He knows more than anybody what you're capable of"
"What am I?" I don't want to know, but I have to know. Two things have told me how special I am. I'm not special. Not in the least. I think my brain is finally cracking. This is it. I'm done.
"I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"I have my orders." He leans back and his jaw tightens. Lucien, a good little soldier.
"Orders from who? From God? From—" I glance around the room "—the Devil?"
He flinches ever so slightly, and that's it. The only response I get.
Fine, I'll go with another tactic.
"What are you?" I ask because I can't stop myself.
A guy who I've seen people talk to in history class, or at least I think I have. Who the heck knows? He's sitting right in front of me in a diner, but the waitress can't see him. And he says I'm sane. Yeah… I feel totally and completely sane. I just love how I'm having these visions or hallucinations, or whatever the stupid things are, when I'm awake. Because that's fun.
"I can't tell you. I wish I could. I'm sorry, but know that you aren't crazy. I promise you aren't crazy. If you think you are, then Hart's doing his job well."
"What the hell does that mean?" The very few people in the diner turn very slowly around and look at me. "See," I whisper. "All these fine folks think I'm crazy. I must be crazy."
"You get your mental health diagnosis from the patrons at a rundown diner at two in the morning?"
I can't tell if he's being serious or extremely sarcastic. I choose sarcasm because that's something I can get behind.
"Hey, if the shoe fits…"
"If the shoe fits, great. If you hate it, find something in the same size."
I stare at him. "That makes no sense." Except it did. Darn it.
I take a deep breath, wiggle my fingers in a bit of a wave at everyone else in the diner and slide over toward the window with my coffee in one hand and my dignity in the other. Why me?
"Answer the question. If you won't tell me what I am, tell me about you. What are you? Who are you really?" I sound so tired in my own ears. I just want to rest. Rest without being killed every night would be epic.
"You know my name."
"Yeah, because the imaginary torturing machine in my head told me after he stabbed me. And I woke up in the office. And you saw the blood. And you fixed me. Tell me that was a dream too."
Lucien looks down. He seems to do that when he doesn't know what to say.
"And no one else in this place can see you except me. Right?" I whisper. I think I've been a tad too loud. They'll call the cops for a girl spazzed out on drugs in a minute if I'm not careful. "So that leads me to believe you're inside my head just like Hart. And it means the medicine isn't working anymore. It means I'm either going to be in a rubber room or worse before long." A tear escapes down my cheek, and I swat it away. I don't want to cry. Not here. Not now. Not with him.
"You aren't crazy." He says again. I can tell he's frustrated with me. Good. I feel the same way about him. "But something is happening to you. From what I can gather, it has been for a very long time if Hart already has his hold on you this much. The signs are all there. The full moon. The planets aligning. It's going to happen very soon."
"What?" I don't even care when Old Man McGee turns around to see what's going on. "What's happening?"
Like there's even a reason for me to ask. Lucien doesn't answer anything anyway. "Who does he tell you he is? In your nightmares. Who is he?"
Why should I answer? He sure doesn't answer me. I shouldn't tell him. This is something I've only ever told my mother. That's when she took me to the doctor. If I tell Lucien, it won't end well for me. I can already see it. He'll either walk away or worse…
"You? No, Gracen. He can't possess you. No demon… well, nothing can. You are… you have no idea what you are."
"That's what Hart said." My voice sounds weak. I can't…
"He's right. He knows more than anybody what you're capable of"
"What am I?" I don't want to know, but I have to know. Two things have told me how special I am. I'm not special. Not in the least. I think my brain is finally cracking. This is it. I'm done.
"I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"I have my orders." He leans back and his jaw tightens. Lucien, a good little soldier.
"Orders from who? From God? From—" I glance around the room "—the Devil?"
He flinches ever so slightly, and that's it. The only response I get.
Fine, I'll go with another tactic.
"What are you?" I ask because I can't stop myself.
A guy who I've seen people talk to in history class, or at least I think I have. Who the heck knows? He's sitting right in front of me in a diner, but the waitress can't see him. And he says I'm sane. Yeah… I feel totally and completely sane. I just love how I'm having these visions or hallucinations, or whatever the stupid things are, when I'm awake. Because that's fun.
"I can't tell you. I wish I could. I'm sorry, but know that you aren't crazy. I promise you aren't crazy. If you think you are, then Hart's doing his job well."
"What the hell does that mean?" The very few people in the diner turn very slowly around and look at me. "See," I whisper. "All these fine folks think I'm crazy. I must be crazy."
"You get your mental health diagnosis from the patrons at a rundown diner at two in the morning?"
I can't tell if he's being serious or extremely sarcastic. I choose sarcasm because that's something I can get behind.
"Hey, if the shoe fits…"
"If the shoe fits, great. If you hate it, find something in the same size."
I stare at him. "That makes no sense." Except it did. Darn it.
I take a deep breath, wiggle my fingers in a bit of a wave at everyone else in the diner and slide over toward the window with my coffee in one hand and my dignity in the other. Why me?
"Answer the question. If you won't tell me what I am, tell me about you. What are you? Who are you really?" I sound so tired in my own ears. I just want to rest. Rest without being killed every night would be epic.
"You know my name."
"Yeah, because the imaginary torturing machine in my head told me after he stabbed me. And I woke up in the office. And you saw the blood. And you fixed me. Tell me that was a dream too."
Lucien looks down. He seems to do that when he doesn't know what to say.
"And no one else in this place can see you except me. Right?" I whisper. I think I've been a tad too loud. They'll call the cops for a girl spazzed out on drugs in a minute if I'm not careful. "So that leads me to believe you're inside my head just like Hart. And it means the medicine isn't working anymore. It means I'm either going to be in a rubber room or worse before long." A tear escapes down my cheek, and I swat it away. I don't want to cry. Not here. Not now. Not with him.
"You aren't crazy." He says again. I can tell he's frustrated with me. Good. I feel the same way about him. "But something is happening to you. From what I can gather, it has been for a very long time if Hart already has his hold on you this much. The signs are all there. The full moon. The planets aligning. It's going to happen very soon."
"What?" I don't even care when Old Man McGee turns around to see what's going on. "What's happening?"
Like there's even a reason for me to ask. Lucien doesn't answer anything anyway. "Who does he tell you he is? In your nightmares. Who is he?"
Why should I answer? He sure doesn't answer me. I shouldn't tell him. This is something I've only ever told my mother. That's when she took me to the doctor. If I tell Lucien, it won't end well for me. I can already see it. He'll either walk away or worse…
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