Two young brothers are possessed by demons. Unlike some demon possessions, the ones inside them know they only need to wait and allow them to use their powers before they can assume their bodies.
One, with the ability to take a person's knowledge a...
Roadie turns off the kitchen sink, the water having carried away all of his sick from moments ago. After seeing what was inside him turn like a snake coiled around small prey, the knot inside his stomach tightened. It was the kind of pain and discomfort only meant to alert one thing and he knew it. Moments later, up everything came; from the bottoms of his shoes, Roadie thought, turning him inside out in the process.
"You okay?" Veronica asked, knowing it was a hollow question.
Roadie swished a cupped handful of water into his mouth and spit before nodding. "You ever see yours?"
Shaking her head in quick little whips, "I'm not sure if it's worse, but I hear mine talking to me in my sleep instead."
Roadie shivers and feels the knot tighten again, not as much, but the thought of hearing the demon inside speak to him didn't sound appealing. At least he could choose not to stare into the mirror. The horror of dreading sleep curdled him and explained the look in Veronica's eyes most mornings. It was a post car accident kind of look, vacant and traumatized.
Roadie cups another handful of water in his mouth, gargles and spits into the sink. After washing down the waste for a second time, he opens the fridge.
"Really? After..." Veronica motions to the sink.
"It wasn't the flu or anything, just fear and surprise mixed together too quickly." Roadie smiles and proceeds to bring out the milk while reaching into the cupboard for a bowl, the groundwork for his staple diet of granola, fruit and milk. "Besides, the taste is worse than anything else."
Errol sits quietly at the table, looking at his glove, or really, what's underneath it. Roadie can see his demon if he looks deeply enough into his eye. Veronica hears her demon when she sleeps. Does he dare tell them about what he thinks his demon does?
"Errol!" Roadie cries.
"What?" Errol asks, the slightest trace of guilt in his usually superior tone.
"Would – you – like – some – cereal?" he asks slowly, as though he were teaching lip-reading for beginners.
Errol shakes away the offer. "Can I go up to my room now?" As though knowing the answer, he pushes back from the table and grabs his backpack. Still, he waits for Veronica to say something first.
"Y–" Errol is off before the syllable completes, "—es." She shakes her head and looks over to Roadie who already has a mouthful of cereal crunching around. He does his best to chew quickly.
"Just give him a bit," he says, only it comes out Chus iv im a bi with all the food in there. After he swallows, he continues. "Let him devour a couple chapters of whatever he's so anxious about and I'll go talk to him."
Veronica nods. "Are you okay?" The words were sincere, but the undertone was there, Are we okay?
Roadie doesn't feel much like lying or giving some false hope. Instead he pretends to follow Errol's movements upstairs to their room and gives a light shrug of his shoulders before continuing to get the taste out of his mouth and the flashing images out of his head of what stared back at him in the mirror.
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Errol shares a room with his older brother in a small, three bedroom house Veronica was able to obtain at the end of summer. As September is at its dusk, the nights get chillier and the days feel shorter. At only 4:00, he can see the sun touching the large hills far outside his room's only window. Sitting on his bed, heels tucked up to create a makeshift surface for his book to rest, the light hits the pages through the window brightening them to a luminous glow.
Roadie lightly raps his knuckles on the door before entering. It's his room too, but he doesn't want to barge in on Errol when the door is mostly shut. Plus, it's a way for him to prepare for what he needs to say.
"You know you can come in," Errol says.
The door is original to the old style home. It's a heavy oak, not like the inexpensive cored out versions sold in this age. The hinges are well oiled, but always let out one distinct squawk at the forty-five degree mark, which each of the brothers unconsciously wait for before entering their room.
"Whatcha reading?"
Errol turns the cover to angle it at Roadie who squints in confusion. It's a copy of Arabic Tales of Folklore and Myth, but he can't tell.
"Is that in English?"
"Arabic actually, I thought that having a copy in the original language might be better than some translated copy. Plus, I've been meaning to brush up on it for some time now." Errol toes the Arabic dictionary at the foot of his bed, waiting for its turn of use.
Roadie shakes his head. "Errol—"
"Yes, Roderick?"
Roadie's face tightens briefly, half out of irritation and half out of surprise. "Please, Errol, I know you have a thing for using people's full given name, but please stop calling me that. You know I don't like it."
"But that's your name," Errol says back without an ounce of recognition. In his mind, a given name is what people should be using. To him, it's like seeing someone wearing clothes out of their actual size.
"I know, but..." Roadie's voice trails off behind his thoughts to the last time he'd heard it spoken by someone other than his brother. "It was the name she used to call me." He emphasized she as if he were pointing to the clue in a riddle.
"Mom?"
"Not anymore," Roadie fights back another knot starting to tighten inside him only this one rests somewhere behind his throat and eyes. Even his demon eye allows him to shed tears, in some way it encourages those knots even more.
Errol closes his book, a sign that his full attention is being given. He walks to his brother and places a hand on each arm, the only resemblance of a hug Roadie has known from his brother. Errol gives a firm squeeze before releasing him as promptly as it was given.
"No matter, it affects you," Errol says as though to counteract Roadie's wild thoughts.
Keeping the knot loose, Roadie slips out of letting his emotions control him with a deep breath and a nod of thanks to Errol.
"That name rests with her, that's how I take it and that's how I'd like to keep it. So, please, promise me to just think of my new name as Roadie?"
"I promise I'll try, brother. That's the best I can offer without lying or placating you." For as young as Errol looks, there is decades of maturity inside him and decades more intelligence beyond that. Roadie knows it, Errol knows it and it's up to both of them to make sure no one else catches onto that fact.
"Today though," Roadie's tone changes into something more serious, like following a brightly colored wall framed from sunlight into the shadows of the room.
