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.
Gradually, the warmth returns to my body, but the pain throbbing across my hand does not subside. I gaze down to find my little finger jutting perpendicular to the rest of my digits; a warning sign.
Echoing footsteps ring out from afar, a night nurse roused by my screams. The sound grows louder as I lay back and stare at the ceiling above.
It hurts, that’s for sure, but there’s a calm in my soul that no physical pain could ever dampen. I’ve followed the evidence and finally reached my conclusion, a deduction impossible to believe just a few days ago that now makes perfect sense.
It all fits.
The more I sit with this truth, the more several lifelong points of interest begin to connect like a beautiful web. This is the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle that’s been sitting right in front of me.
I may be physically battered and broken, but my soul feels complete in a way that brings tears of joy to my eyes.
Pachid is clearly following a system of rules I don’t understand, and her attachment to me is nothing short of a mystery. I still have no idea who the girl with the short dark hair is or why I can’t remember her, but there’s one thing I do know.
I’m gay, and there’s a demon out there who really doesn’t want me acknowledging it.
* * *
For someone who’s happily spent their life under the thumb of strict rules and regulations, I have an uncanny knack for crime.
“Trespassing,” I mumble under my breath as I climb over the locked entry gate, quietly dropping to the other side and hustling onward over well-manicured grass.
Of course, fresh from my extended hospital stay with my pinkie and ring finger taped together and a slight limp that might never go away, hustling isn’t exactly what it used to be, but I make it work.
And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
It’s around one in the morning and without a soul in sight, this large Kingdom of the Pine outreach center takes on a strange, solemn air in juxtaposition to its typically welcoming atmosphere.
I sneak along the building and find a dark corridor between the church wall and a row of hedges. It’s here I’ll remain hidden from anyone passing by, but this lane is not without its own challenges. Security cameras hang from either corner of the structure, and having been inside I know full well they’re recording my every move.
Fortunately, I’ve planned ahead, sporting thin black gloves and a plastic angel mask.
It’s from a church play several years prior, Paul the Apostle: The Musical. Hundreds of these plastic cherubic faces were passed out during a fourth-wall-breaking conversion scene, and have since made their way out into every Kingdom Kid’s closet. I’m also clad in nondescript sweatpants and a hoodie, the latter pulled over my hair to completely obscure my true identity.
Ordering a different but equally nondescript ski mask was considered when I planned this from my hospital bed, but I decided not to risk a package showing up for my parents to find.
They’re already suspicious enough these days.
I continue along the building, crouching low as I arrive at a very specific basement window. This is the frame I left unlocked after this morning’s session with Dr. Smith, and I can only hope some good Samaritan didn’t come along and rectify my very intentional mistake. I reach down and test the frame, praying I won’t be forced to add breaking and entering to my new criminal record.
Only 5 percent of breakins require no use of force to get inside.
Fortunately, my planning has paid off in the form of an unlocked window that can be gently wiggled up. Once the frame is high enough, I slip my good fingers below and lift with confidence, allowing myself passage within. I climb through the tiny opening and over the ledge, hanging a moment before dropping softly to the floor.