The night became silent; even the wind for the briefest of moments ceased. All that could be heard were the cries of a child. My father picked up Avi and held her tight against him.
Twenty-Six
Divers entered the freezing water at dawn. Mercifully, the rain had stopped long before that. Thomas’s parents, wrapped in blankets of grief, watched in horror as hour after hour passed and their son’s body was not recovered from the icy Atlantic. His death had occurred when his body was broken against the boulders at the base of the cliff.
I wondered now about his soul. I’d been taught the choices we make in life prepare us for the final choice, the choice made in the most instantaneous of moments—not by our minds, but by our souls. If we have spent life choosing God, our souls will choose him; if we have not, then … our soul will not. God will never force himself on anyone, no matter how badly he wants us with him. It is always our choice, even at the very end.
What was Thomas’s choice? Would the last few weeks negate the good he’d done before then? Would his death be eternal or temporary? I was sure, as I asked these questions, his parents were asking them too.
When the drones came, I escaped into the shelter of the trail. They were not police drones; they were controlled by reporters in news trucks. Aerial footage was the easiest way to show the expanse of our property, including the cliff where the well-liked yet disturbed young man had leaped to his death.
None of us spoke about it, all agreed that any mention of the box long-buried under the inn, or the demons that took it, was useless. No one would believe our tale, and if they did, it wouldn’t matter; it wouldn’t lead to an arrest or take a murderer off the streets. Demons could not be hunted—they were the hunters.
The breaking of an old woman’s nose and the beach strewn with dead fish were more than enough to convince the authorities that Thomas was not in his right mind. His parents were told he’d had a psychotic break. He must have. What else could describe such grotesque behavior? Would knowing the truth help them in their grief? We all independently must have decided “no” because none of us spoke about those things.
No one mentioned finding Luca buried alive. Only that after the fire burned down his house, he came to the beach in search of solace and for the off chance someone else could be on the property. His fears were confirmed when he found Thomas acting crazy. The rest of us eventually showed up looking for Luca. After Thomas attacked Gigi—something none of us could have expected—he ran. We tried to catch up to him and so did the police, but his body, fueled by the psychosis, provided him tremendous speed. Thomas leaped from the cliff before any of us could stop him.
Between the rain that had continued for hours and the massive amount of foot traffic, the trail to my house was nothing more than a stream of mud. I moved off the trail, into the woods. The dry blanket someone had wrapped around me was still across my shoulders. My fingers grazed tree after tree. Somehow, feeling their steady strength brought me the faintest semblance of peace.
Luca tried to stay with us at the beach, but he was far too weak. Sam was not much better. Jason had to help them both up the trail. The police had no reason to detain them, assuming they were sick or that the cold was too much for their non-native blood.
Gigi and my sisters were the next to leave. Once Gigi was interviewed, the three of them went to the house.
Avi had not wanted to leave my father, but she hadn’t wanted to stay so close to where Thomas died, either.
She would have nightmares … so many nightmares. I closed my eyes. We all would.
I slipped off my boots and entered the house as Jackson rushed to me. The air was warm and dry.
“Power came back on sometime last night,” Gigi said, the skin around her eyes completely black, her nose swollen.
How long would it take her to heal? How long would it take any of us to heal?
“He’s been worried about you,” she said, nodding to Jackson.
I rubbed his misshapen ears, grateful for his warmth and life.
“He’s been wanting to go out to find you. With all the activity, I thought it best he stay inside.”
I nodded and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.
Gigi placed a warm mug in front of me. “Hot cider,” she said, her voice thick because of her swollen nose.
I sipped the cider. The warm liquid stuck to my top lip. I wiped it off with my fingers and realized I hadn’t washed my hands. The thought of all I’d been through suddenly disgusting me, I ran to the sink and vomited the cider. Nothing else came up; I hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. I stuck my face under the faucet. The warm water helped to give me life. I squirted soap in my hands and scrubbed, water dripping from my chin and nose as I did. I used a paper towel to wipe dirt from my face and neck. I wanted to shower but didn’t have the strength. I stumbled back to the table, collapsing into the chair. I wanted to cry, but didn’t have the strength to do that, either.
Gigi placed a hand on top of mine.
We sat in silence for a long time. Jackson came to me and put his head on my leg.
“Why did he hate you so much?” I said.
“Thomas?” she questioned.
I nodded.
“I don’t know that he hated me more than anyone else,” Gigi said.
“When you came up, he said he hated you the most, or they did,” I said, realizing that though it was Thomas’s voice, it was not him speaking.
“They weren’t talking about me,” Gigi answered. “I was praying the Hail Mary. They were talking about Mary, a human child, a girl who they had no power over. She never doubted God’s complete love for her. She said yes to him and her yes changed the world, changed eternity. She gave birth to our Savior, the Savior who defeated them. Nothing is more humiliating for demons than being reminded they were beaten by a little girl,” she said with the slightest of grins.
I did not speak, only stared out the window.
Gently squeezing my hand to get my attention, Gigi said, “You should shower and sleep.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing hard against my scalp—hoping in some small way the action would make me forget.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a few days,” I said. My voice sounded almost as thick as Gigi’s, even though my nose was not broken.
My voice hitching, I said, “He said … there was little hope … for Luca?” Thomas’s last words to me had been repeating in my mind over and over again for the last few hours.
“Little hope in the demons’ minds,” Gigi said slowly, adding clarity to their vile words. “Luca’s soul wasn’t at risk. It probably never has been.”
My mind reacted as if wading through muddy water. “But there was hope for me?” I said with no emotion.
“Demons rarely give up. Their entire purpose for existing is to hurt God. They do that by destroying us, by convincing us to choose an eternity without our Creator. I imagine there have been very few souls they have lost hope in, especially at such a young age. Luca is unique, a remarkable boy,” she said, her focus drifting off.
“Thomas was remarkable in his evil,” I said, sliding my dirt-encrusted nail across the wood grain of the table.
Gigi sat up straighter. “I would not say that. Thomas, I don’t think, was any different from the rest of us. Like most of us, he underestimated how deadly evil is—or perhaps never believed in it. I can’t blame him for that. Evil has done all it can to trick us into doubting its existence. Seances, Ouija boards, these are considered party games, not openings to darkness. That’s when evil flourishes. When we pretend it doesn’t exist.”