It all comes down to this, I realize, hesitating before making my approach. I’m fully aware of just how foolish this plan is, but right now it’s the best one I’ve got.
This is how I take matters into my own hands.
The demon leans down, investigating the heap of jackets and books in search of my crumpled, unconscious body. For creatures who typically move with such intention, it’s the first time I’ve seen one of them tepid in their interactions, frightened even.
Now that I’ve crept into position behind the pale man, the time for action has finally arrived. I rush forward and kick him as hard as I can in the small of his back, the pain that surges through me nothing more than an afterthought as adrenaline fortifies my frame. The demon launches forward, tumbling into the billowing car as a horrifying screech erupts from his throat. Flames engulf him.
I slam the door shut, holding it closed with my foot while struggling to put some distance between this roaring fire and the rest of my body.
The monster immediately flies into a squealing panic, slamming against the driver’s side door as its body pulses with flickering blue energy.
My eyes go wide as sparks of recognition erupt in my mind. I’ve seen this bizarre shimmer before, first when the pale woman walked through Isaiah’s bedroom wall, and even more recently when this demon phased through my vehicle.
While I’m in no position to understand the how or why, it appears these creatures can move through solid matter at will. However, a new variable has entered the equation: fire.
The demon quickly gives up and scrambles to the other side of my car, pushing against the passenger door but finding its mechanics compromised. Big thanks to the massive tree that crushed my door shut like an aluminum can. The pale man desperately attempts to phase through this door, as well, but his abilities are once again thwarted by the blaze.
Frantic, he even tries climbing into the backseat, but by now the demon’s screams are nothing more than a hissing gurgle that melts away into nothing. The creature collapses in a charred heap, his body fully engulfed by the roiling blaze.
I stumble back, thankful to put some space between myself and this astonishing heat.
“Whoa. Okay,” I sigh, the words falling awkwardly from my mouth in a series of reflexive huffs. “Alright.”
The human body contains enough fuel to burn for seven hours.
Running on metaphorical fumes, I use the last of my energy to scale the roadside embankment, then collapse at the asphalt’s edge.
After cremation, a magnet is used to separate metal objects from the remains.
I slowly breathe in and out, the stillness of my body finally revealing just how broken and bruised I really am.
Gazing out into the darkness of the forest, I spot a distinct, pulsing flash of red-and-blue lights as they slice through the trees, rocketing toward me down the long, winding road. I watch as they grow larger and larger, my vision blurring as a haze of exhaustion overwhelms my senses.
Firetrucks get to work subduing the flame and EMTs tend to my body.
At some point, I’m loaded into an ambulance.
A man and woman stand over me now, treating my injuries with expressions of deep focus while I inform them of a demon in the wreckage. They ignore this earth-shaking revelation. The man tells me everything’s gonna be fine, but he’s a terrible liar.
There’s panic in his eyes.
“They’re real,” I advise.
The man nods along, but I know he’s not listening, not actually registering what I’m saying. The implications of something like this are, after all, a little much to reckon with over the course of an ambulance ride.
The walls rattle and hum as our emergency vehicle hurtles through the night, shelves of various medical equipment creating a distinct tone that wraps around me like a warm blanket. The light hanging above is extra bright, glowing like some holy tunnel to the afterlife, and I close my eyes to escape its overpowering presence.
I feel as though I’m reclining on the world’s softest cloud, a pillow woven by angels from a golden loom.
Painkillers, I suddenly realize, noticing the intravenous drip in my hand for the first time. Probably morphine.
“We’re losing her!” the man above me cries out, prompting an unexpectedly affable smile to spread across my face.
I’m not allowed to watch medical dramas, but even I can pick up on how notorious this line is.
“Epinephrine! Now!” the man instructs, prompting his partner to rummage around in the cabinets to my left.
Epinephrine, also known as adrenaline, concentrates blood around the vital organs and is one of the first pharmaceutical lines of defense against a heart attack.
Am I having a heart attack?
Suddenly, the chaos falls away and disperses like a lowlying fog.
It’s the second time I’ve disconnected from reality this evening, but the sensation of this round is much different than my first. There is no endless abyss, no blank void of empty space stretching forever and ever around me, because this time I’m not unconscious.
I’m just really, really high.
When I open my eyes I find the ambulance has fallen away, replaced instead by a chamber of dark, wet stone. Torchlight flickers and dances across the walls around me, illuminating a circular gathering of mysterious figures in jet-black robes.
As otherworldly as this setting is, I get the distinct feeling I’ve been here before.
Large doses of epinephrine can be helpful with long term-memory loss, I inform myself.
With this in mind, I’m able to observe the scene without fear or anxiety, calmly watching as the story unfolds. I’m not really here, and the implication of this is incredibly palliative.
Or maybe it’s just the morphine.
One of the robed figures who stands behind me is reading from a book, his words authoritative and well rehearsed. I’m much better at understanding Latin than anyone my age should rightly be, and even I’m having trouble keeping up with the flowing ancient language that cascades across his lips in a powerful rhythm.
That’s the thing about Latin: no matter how good you get at reading or writing it, you’ll still have a little trouble understanding the spoken word.
My mysterious host stops abruptly, prompting the rest of the robed figures to repeat his last phrase back in unison.
Something about an “unholy union.”
The lead voice begins again as torches flicker and dance, illuminating the ring of figures. Their faces are covered, but I see their chins bouncing as they continue trading lines with their moderator.
The whole chamber is belting out a mantra now, shouting at the top of their lungs while I watch in awe. I know this is just a dream, or a memory, or a combination of both, but at this point my heart is starting to pick up speed. The choir of thundering vocalizations is simply too much to ignore.
A sharp prick on my arm causes me to flinch, and I struggle to glance over but am unable to turn my head. I can barely make out the gloved hands of someone working diligently next to me, their attire much different than the others.
They’re dressed in light blue nurse’s scrubs.
“Uh … is this a memory, or are you from the ambulance?” I find myself asking.
I’m completely ignored as the nurse continues their business, drawing a full syringe of blood from the crook of my arm as the chanting reaches a crescendo. The second my nurse finishes and extracts their needle, the sound dissipates and the torches plunge into darkness.