Year of the Rat

Chapter 3

“You’re wasting your time, girl. You’ll never get rid of me, so you might as well accept your fate.”

Becca pushed the Garamanthus’s snarling demon voice out of her mind as she brushed flecks of snow off her cheek. She tightened her knitted scarf and tucked down her chin, bracing for another bitter gust.

The streets in Logan Square were like wind tunnels on cold days like this. It never mattered what she wore—even her warmest duffle coat and beanie didn’t do a thing for her. She could have worn two of each and it still would have felt like she was wearing a t-shirt. Her only saving grace was that her hair was tied up in a bandanna under her beanie. Otherwise, the wind would have blown her hair all about. Becca always thought it was some cruel joke that it was colder in Chicago than in states up north.

The wind howled again, and the demon spoke, as if on cue with the cold.

“I’m keeping score. Every step you take against me, I will return against you three-fold. One for you, one for Cyrus, and one for your dear, sweet mother…”

Keep your mind blank, she told herself. Don’t let him get to you.

Keep your mind blankDon’t let him get to you.Becca squinted as the wind drew out tears. All she could do was put one foot in front of the other. The wind pushed against her like a bouncer at a nightclub trying to stop her from getting in.

“I’ll get to you all right,” Garamanthus said. “I hear your every thought, remember?”

Becca bumped into something warm. A man in a pea coat and a plaid scarf, standing on the corner holding a paper cup of roasted coffee. The cup lunged forward and he caught it, but not before an arc of liquid spilled onto the quarter panel of a passing car.

“Watch it!” he cried.

“Sorry,” Becca said, slipping past.

Since Garamanthus started talking to her on the walk, she had stopped paying attention. She glanced up at the colorful joisted masonry on both sides of the street.

Where was she again?

She stood on a street corner with several people, staring at an orange “do not walk” pedestrian light for several seconds, trying to remember.

How long had she been walking? A few blocks, maybe. She was still in Logan Square, her neighborhood. But she had temporarily forgotten where she was going and why she was walking so quickly. The thought nagged her, like trying to remember the location of a lost item.

"Maybe if you forget where you were going, you"ll develop some sense," Garamanthus said. "Trying to accomplish your goal will only increase your score."

Becca shook her head as if the act would shake the demon quiet. She closed her eyes. A black wall of stillness washed over her eyelids. For a moment, everything was quiet. Peaceful.

Then, footsteps all around her. She opened her eyes and crossed the street, still trying to remember where the hell she had been going.

She was walking so fast. She had the sense that she needed to be somewhere, that the destination was in her mind. But the demon was playing with her memories, rearranging them to confuse her. She hated him for it.

Her confusion made her mad. Mad at the demon. Mad at herself for allowing him to possess her.

"Go back to the Wicked Cat," Garamanthus said. "Pour yourself a nice gourmet coffee—you know the one—and give your dear old mother a call. Her voice will make you feel better. c***k jokes with that little s**t of a brother you have. Round out this glorious night by chatting with your assistant manager. He"s getting quite lonely on account of being so injured and all. Be a good girl for a change, Becca.”

The insult made Becca so furious she screamed.

“Stop it!” Becca cried. A few people standing in a doorwell nearby stopped and stared.

"Oh, that"s it—I pushed your buttons."

She imagined the demon"s face, coal-blue with two mangled, curved cattle horns and gold chipped teeth, settling into a grin that reminded her of a murderous clown. The demon"s face expanded across her mind"s eye, swirled about like a balloon stuck above a vent—round and round and laughing and laughing.

You have to no right to talk about Cristián, she thought. Leave him alone.

You have to no right to talk about CristiánLeave him alone“Allow me to leave you alone,” Garamanthus said quickly. "I won"t speak to you for the rest of the night if you turn back now. Turn back, Becca. Turn back before you invite more danger. Turn back—”

youA car honked at her.

She was in the middle of another crosswalk. She jumped onto the curb just as a blue minivan sailed past. The demon snickered. Her heart raced.

“Pity,” he said. “You would have been more useful flattened on the asphalt. Then I could find another stupid human to possess.”

“Stop it, damn it!” Becca cried, putting her hands to her head. She gripped her beanie and closed her eyes.

She had spoken out loud again. Only when the demon’s voice disappeared completely did she realize what she had done.

More people on the street were staring at her. The whole city might as well have been staring. Her stomach dropped and she wanted to throw up.

A familiar blinking drew her across the street. The marquee of the historic Logan Theater glittered in the twilight. The theater’s majestic, mosaicked half-circle window on the first floor over the marquee burned like fire. An employee was changing the letters on the marquee with a long pole.

Becca found herself stumbling under the marquee, across the black and white checkered tile floor, and to the wall under a glass panel with a movie poster advertising a romantic comedy. She sat down under the poster and closed her eyes.

Since the possession—Cy had aptly called it “moment zero”—she just wasn"t herself anymore. She would be humming along at the Wicked Cat, running the coffee shop and bar with no problems. But then Garamanthus would wake up unexpectedly. She never knew when he’d come alive. Suddenly, the demon would carpet-bomb her mind with horrible thoughts. He would attack her and berate her and belittle her. And he would do it in the middle of conversations with customers, to the point where she couldn"t hear herself think. Occasionally, he would take over her body.

The takeovers were the worst. She would be doing something, like pouring a cup of coffee, and then the next thing she knew, she was in her apartment, in her bed, huddled between the sheets. To add insult to injury, Garamanthus would pick up his attacks again, telling her how worthless she was and how he could have and should have picked a better host.

The result over the six months was a complete loss of her confidence. Just when she was having a good day, he would appear. If she was having a bad day, he was sure to appear.

How many nights had she cried, wishing for her old self again?

She asked Desmond, the leader of the Regulators, first. She poured him a tall coffee as he sat at the bar, and before he could take a sip, she begged him for an exorcism.

Solemnly, he told her, "Becca, you need more than an exorcism. Demons just don"t come out like they do in the movies.”

"Then tell me what I have to do," she said. "I don"t care what it is."

Desmond had eyed her sadly. "Better to wait it out."

"I"m not waiting," she said.

"Becca, trust me," Desmond said, grabbing her wrist. He patted her hand gently. "I wouldn"t steer you wrong. You"re in for hell, but it may be over sooner than you think."

She pulled away from him. "You don"t know me very well, do you? I don"t sit around and wait for anything."

But Desmond, in his usual wisdom, was right. There was no ritual, no supernatural act, no treatment that would rid her of Garamanthus. He was forever nestled inside her mind, and there didn"t seem to be anything she could do about it.

Wait it out…No freaking way.

The wind blew again, distracting her from her thoughts. A voice called her.

“Ma"am? Are you okay?"

The theater employee arranging the letters on the marquee had stopped and was staring at her with concern.

"I"m okay," she said. "I just needed to sit down for a minute."

The theater employee took a lingering look at her and shrugged before spearing the next letter with his pole.

She wondered how she must look to that poor guy. She felt so dejected and dark. Maybe the people passing by saw it too.

Something buzzed in her pocket. Her phone. She slipped it out to see a text message from Gilberto Sanchez.

Hey. Just checking in. In case you had an attack, remember that you need to go to 264X Spaulding Ave.

Hey. Just checking in. In case you had an attack, remember that you need to go to 264X Spaulding Ave.A slight smile crept across her face at the reminder.

Thank God for Gilberto. Somehow, he had known she was going to have an attack. Along with Cyrus, her mom, and Desmond, Gilberto was one of the only ones who knew what she was really going through.

Dancing dots appeared on the screen, followed by another message.

Therapist, remember?

Therapist, remember?Quickly, Becca found a reply.

I remember. Thanks. But is the address really 264X…?

I remember. Thanks. But is the address really 264X…?Gilberto replied almost immediately.

Ye of little faith…

Ye of little faith…It was the little things that she appreciated now. It was funny how a text message from a friend could lift her up.

Then she remembered Garamanthus. She paused, waiting for him to attack her. But the demon remained quiet.

Becca stood up, smoothed out her duffle coat, and resumed her walk to the therapist’s office.