It was another Big Book meeting. We were in the basement of the small church, about a dozen us, including me and Rachel and Phillip.
Rachel was there to check Phillip out with her psychic powers. I’d told her what the meetings were like, what to say, and what Phillip looked like. “Just don’t let him put his hands on you,” I said.
She smirked. “You say that about everyone.”
I looked her over. “Well, it’s true.”
Rachel and I arrived separately and didn’t make eye contact in the room. She read from the book haltingly, pausing a lot, and stopping after just a few paragraphs. Phillip read for a page and a half. The story was typical—someone who started drinking as a teenager, let it grow slowly out of control as an adult, tried to quit multiple times, and finally ended up in A.A. and found long-term sobriety with the help of a sponsor and the 12 Steps. Happy ending.
The leader passed a hat, and we dropped our donations in as people shared. They got to Rachel before me.
“My name is Rachel. I’m an alcoholic.” She stared at the floor. “I’ve got about a month sober. My boyfriend got really drunk last night.” She took a deep breath. “I was—I was really afraid he was going to kill himself.”
I bit my lip, telling myself to apologize again later. And maybe call my psychiatrist for an appointment.
“I got him to go to sleep, and I thought about having a drink. I mean, I really wanted a beer. But I didn’t. I was mad at him, but I know it wasn’t his fault. It’s this disease. He goes to meetings too, he’s at one tonight. I hope it helps.”
She was sitting one person away from Phillip, who nodded sympathetically. When he spoke, he mentioned that he had 11 years of sobriety, but every day was still a challenge. “I know I’ve got it inside me,” he said. “I don’t know when it could come out, so I have to watch myself every day. And keep coming to meetings.”
We continued around the room and eventually got to me. I introduced myself.
“Hi, Tom,” the group responded.
“I, uh, had a relapse last night.” I rubbed my head. My hangover was a little better, but I still felt like I’d fallen from an airplane onto a concrete bed of nails. “I don’t remember much of it. I haven’t had that much to drink in a long time. I almost got into a fight in a bar, and I almost—got really hurt. Fortunately my, uh, roommate came and got me and put me in bed. I just woke up this morning aching all over, and I knew I needed a meeting. To get back on track, you know?”
Everyone nodded. Except Rachel, who didn’t look at me. We’d agreed on that beforehand. But it still hurt a little.
We finished once again with the Serenity Prayer. Rachel said something to Phillip quickly, slipping her jacket on as she talked so he wouldn’t be able to reach out and touch her, and then she headed for the door. I helped fold and stack chairs until Phillip came over.
“How you doing?” He smiled.
“My head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.” I groaned. “I could barely eat today. Just some water.”
“Want to go out for coffee?”
“Sure. Let me just text my roommate.” I took my phone out.
Going for coffee with LL. Follow, I texted.
We finished with the chairs. My phone buzzed as I slipped my jacket on.
Careful. He’s definitely got something going on.
“Everything okay?” Phillip smiled again.
“Fine.” I put my phone away. “Let’s go.”
Coffee shops are everywhere in Chicago. We found one a block away and ordered—black coffee for me, a decaf latté for Phillip. We sat down at a small table facing each other.
I’d caught a glimpse of Rachel across the street when we left the church. She’s decent at tailing people, although she doesn’t get much practice. I hoped she was close enough to watch us through the window of the shop.
“So you relapsed last night,” Phillip said.
“Yeah.” I sipped my coffee, wondering if I should have ordered decaf myself. “It was weird. Right after I talked to you, I was passing a bar, and I got this urge to go inside. And I just started drinking.”
He nodded. “It happens. It’s happened to me more than I can say. Did you drink today?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think my stomach could take it.”
“That’s good. Not your stomach, I mean, but you didn’t cure your hangover with a drink.”
“I’m just afraid it will happen again.”
“It might.” Phillip shook his head. “I can’t promise it won’t.”
So far he hadn’t tried to put a hand on me. Could he insert the demon without physical contact? What kind of a demon was I dealing with, anyway? I’d spent part of the day trying to look up “demons” and “alcohol” on my usual internet sources without getting anywhere, although the fog of my hangover made focusing difficult.
Maybe I should try the direct approach. “What causes it? Where does it come from?”
Phillip leaned back, as if this was his favorite subject to talk about. “They say it’s a disease, or an allergy. But I think it’s something else. Something inside you. Like a parasite. And it wants to kill you.”
He reached across the table for my shoulder.
I jerked my chair back. Phillip looked at me, then let his arm drop. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m just jumpy.” I gulped more coffee. “Where does it come from? The parasite?”
Phillip shook his head. “No one knows. From hell, maybe. A demon. But you can’t get rid of it with an exorcism. It never goes away.”
“A demon.” I crossed my arms. “Is that what the Big Book says?”
He searched my face. Did he sense my skepticism? “It’s just what I’ve come to know. I can feel it. Inside me. Trying to take over.”
“Trying to get out?”
Phillip’s chair scraped on the parquet floor as he edged backward. “If it stays, it’ll kill me.”
“So you let it out? Is that it? Is that what you did to me last night?”
He stared at me, his eyes suddenly sharp and wary. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night. And the night before. And four years ago.”
He shot up, knocking his chair over. Two women at a nearby table looked over, then quickly looked away.
“I’m . . . powerless.” He blinked. “But God won’t take it away.”
“Have you asked? Isn’t that one of the steps? Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings—”
“Fuck you!” Phillip pounded a fist on the table, spilling coffee. Now everyone was looking at us. He leaned down, arms outstretched, but I pushed my chair back, out of his reach.
Phillip’s face was red, his lower lip trembling. He glanced around the shop, one face to another, as if looking for someone else to hand the demon to. Then he came back around to me, and scowled.
“There’s more like you. Lots more.” He grabbed his coffee and threw it into a garbage bin as he walked out.
I looked over at the barista behind the counter, who was watching us, one hand near the phone. “Sorry. Leaving now.” I picked up my cup.
Outside, I spotted Rachel outside a taco place across the street. She pointed up the street, a question on her face. Follow? I shook my head and crossed to her.
“What happened?” She peered up the sidewalk. “We can still catch him. Maybe.”
“Let him go.” I wasn’t up to confronting any real demons tonight. I only hoped it was too late for him to find another victim.
“He called it a demon.” I sipped my coffee. “When I asked him. He knew what I was getting at, so he got scared and left.”
“So what now?”
I was tired. “Let’s go home.”
Back home. “Want a beer?” Rachel asked, hanging up her jacket.
“Just water.”
“You mind if I have one?”
“No. You have studying?”
She grimaced. “Always. And a paper on Freud to work on.”
“You’re still on Freud? Isn’t he ancient history? The Blockbuster Video of psychology?”
She punched my shoulder. “There’s still some useful ideas. The paper’s supposed to be about finding one and explaining what’s not BS.”
She brought me a water and opened her laptop on the couch. I went into my office.
First I sent Jenna Kempton an email. I wanted to be sure her husband was sober and healthy, and I also warned her that he should stay away from Phillip if possible. I couldn’t give her the real reason; I just told her I had an idea he was a bad influence.
I went digging for more information on Phillip, but got nowhere. I didn’t know what to do now. Was he really letting some sort of demon into people’s head so it could make them kill themselves? What could I do about it? I know an ex-priest who does exorcisms, but—
My phone buzzed. Jenna Kempton.
“Tom? I’m sorry to call you, but—” She took a breath. “He went to a meeting and he isn’t back yet. He’s not answering. I can track his phone now, and it says he’s at a bar.”
Was I Luke’s sponsor now? I tried to think of an excuse to stay home, but before I could think of anything she said, “I can’t go because my three-year-old is asleep and I can’t leave him. I’ll pay you. I’m just worried.”
I stifled a groan. But the thought of making a little extra cash eased my irritation. “Sure. Text me the address.”
In the living room Rachel was studying with the TV on low. “I have to go pick up my client’s husband,” I told her. “He’s at a bar.”
Rachel cocked an eyebrow. “Will you be okay? Maybe I should come.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll text you the address. It’s not far.”
She frowned. “Okay. Call me.” She turned back to her laptop.
I hesitated. “Are we okay here?”
She slammed the laptop shut. “No. Yes. I’m coming with you.” She stood up.
I’ve learned not to argue with her. “Fine. Let’s go.”
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