Camp Damascus(36)

There’s no question about it: this is the temptation I was warned about.

I glance over to see Pachid standing in the hallway, putrid grin wide and scraggly hair hanging from her scalp in awkward patches. Those empty white eyes are trained directly on me.

Immediately, I point my remote and turn off the television, forcing any thoughts of illicit sexual tension from my mind. Instead, I think of puppies in a field, the playful creatures bounding through brilliant green grass as they pounce on one another in a haphazard quarrel of furry canine mayhem.

My body is still yearning for those images onscreen, but I gradually manage to relax and let it all go. The ache within me slowly releases and disappears, and along with it goes the demon.

Pachid gently turns and walks around the nearby corner.

Once the demon is gone and my body has warmed back up, I take another pass at summoning her. This time, instead of turning on the television and watching the erotic scenes unfold, I simply dive deep within my own imagination.

I’m so embarrassed by the very notion of all this that I tiptoe around the carnal thoughts within my own mind, treating the ideas like caged animals that could attack at any moment. I’m anxious, not about what might happen when Pachid returns, but about the consequences for my identity once the whole truth is revealed.

You already know the truth, I remind myself.

I picture a perfect guy, the most handsome man imaginable standing before me as he delivers a grand romantic gesture with flowers in hand. He’s shirtless, and we’re on vacation in a tropical location far, far away. He surfs. We’re standing on a luxurious deck while the sunset blooms in glorious Technicolor behind us.

Objectively speaking, this imaginary man is very sexy, I guess. He looks like a hunky amalgamation of secular superstar Harry Styles and a specific painting of Jesus I like, but to be perfectly honest with myself … I don’t really care.

I curiously glance down the hospital hallway, waiting for a return from Pachid that never comes. No matter what romantic or sexual flights of fancy I imagine with my handsome suitor, there’s no reaction from the demon.

Not so much as a cold chill or a coughed-up mayfly.

Eventually, I move on, extracting myself from the imaginary bubble and continuing through the labyrinth of my mind. I know exactly where I’m headed now.

It’s not long before I arrive at a very specific thought, hesitating a moment before finally diving in.

The moment of truth.

I remember the dark-haired girl at the park, picture the way her frantic words felt hitting my ears. I remember the tone of her voice when she cried “I love you,” and how even in that moment of chaos I somehow knew she meant it.

Closing my eyes, I dive deeper.

I flash through other memories with this mysterious stranger, unsure if they are manifestations of repressed reality or some fully manufactured fantasy. Either way, I’m cautiously drawn to these romantic scenes, both attracted to the flame and terrified of getting burned.

A particular memory comes into focus.

I see the girl and me in a cozy, bohemian apartment. We’re dancing together, jumping around with large headphones strapped over our ears and two long cables snaking their way across the wood floors to an old, glowing stereo.

Her neighbors threw a fit over the loud music, so this was my solution.

It’s the middle of the night, late enough that even the nearby diner has said goodbye to its last-call regulars. We’re the only ones left to keep this party going, making each other laugh with just how silly our moves can get.

“I don’t wanna leave,” I say.

The girl just shakes her head. “What?” she calls out with an exaggerated shrug.

I pull off my headphones, prompting my host to follow suit as her apartment fills with the quiet, tinny rhythm of secular hip-hop.

She’s wearing all black still, but the harsh monochromatic style is softened by her lighthearted smile and the playful cut of her dress.

“I don’t wanna leave,” I repeat, “but I’m gonna have to. This isn’t real.”

Her expression falters, but this heart-wrenching shift doesn’t hold my attention. Instead, I find my focus drifting to the open window behind her, the glass pane slid up as frigid air spills into her place. It’s cold, really cold.

I tremble as a mighty chill permeates my bones.

“I’ll find you,” I assure her.

When I open my eyes again, Pachid is standing directly in front of me, her pallid face hovering just inches from mine.

I expected her arrival, but I didn’t know it would be this close. Startled, I take a quick breath as the demon reaches out and snatches my hand.

The second her long fingers wrap around my wrist I’m in shock, the icy temperature urging me to pull away but my body unable to do so. Pachid is incredibly strong, and my instinctual jerk barely registers as she gazes through me with those massive white eyes.

“I’m sorry” is all I can think to say, the words meekly babbling from my mouth.

In a sudden, precise movement, the pale woman reaches up and grips my pinky finger in her other hand. She wrenches it sideways with a loud, sickening crack, tearing tendon and snapping bone.

I let out a blood-curdling howl, any previous thoughts of a dark-haired lover exorcised from my body.

Pachid releases my wrist, prompting me to collapse on the hospital bed as she turns and marches toward the wall. She passes through this barrier with a faint blue shimmer and, just like that, she’s gone.