The paramedics took her away, and Pam went with her. We didn’t tell them about the demon; Jayne seemed calm now, not thrashing about like Bryan. I hoped she was free of Rhahar. I wished I was.
Back home I ate a sandwich, although I didn’t have much appetite. Rachel called between patients, and I told her about Jayne Furier and the demon.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I think so. She was unconscious when they took her away, but calm. Not fighting. Her sister will let me know.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
I didn’t want to answer. Mostly because I didn’t know, but also because most of the alternatives were likely to get me in trouble with Rachel. “I need to find out more about Rhahar, if that’s the name of the demon. Then—I don’t know.”
“Liar. I don’t even have to be psychic to know what you’re doing to do.”
My face got hot. “Then tell me, what else should I do? I’d love to hear it.” I don’t usually snap at Rachel, but Jayne’s possession had rattled my nerves.
“Don’t get mad at me, jerk,” she snapped back. “I just want to know if dinner is going to be late tonight. It’s your turn.”
“I don’t know what I’m making.” I hesitated. “Sorry.”
“Try that Milan guy. Maybe they know more about those books.”
“Good idea. I’ll let you know.”
We hung up. Now I felt worse. But I couldn’t solve that right now.
So I called Milan Powell. “Rhahar? I don’t know right off the top of my head but I can look some stuff up. Why don’t you come out again?”
I wasn’t going to get any other work done today thinking about this. “Give me an hour.”
A little over an hour later I was back in Oak Park. Milan was wearing sandals today, but otherwise looked the same as yesterday, in shorts and a fuzzy sweater. “Hi!” They waved me inside. “I think I found something.”
In her living room they had a pot of tea, two cups, and a stack of books. One lay open on the sofa next to them as they sat down. “Here.”
I picked it up, sitting in a chair across from her. Rhahar the Destroyer said the black lettering at the top of the page. Beneath the letters was a drawing of—well, it looked like the head of Medusa, with long thick braids coiled across its scalp, and five eyes on the front of a face riddled with bumps and scars, perched on top of a bony lizard with six legs. It towered over a cowering woman, as if the artist had drawn her in for scale.
I looked up at Milan. “What is it?”
They smiled and poured me some tea. “It’s an Indian demon—India, not native American. There are writings about it going back to 700 B.C. Rhahar lives beneath the ocean in some tales, but in other versions it’s sleeping beneath the earth or buried deep inside a mountain overlooking a peaceful village.”
I flipped through the pages. “Does it possess people?”
“There was a cult devoted to it in the 7th century that believes Rhahar could go inside their head. In its rage to be free it would take over one of its worshippers, and they’d wreak havoc on everything and everyone around it before they died. Historians think they were just doing drugs.”
“Is the cult still around?”
Milan pulled a book toward them. “According to this, it was outlawed in the 7th century and all its followers were executed. But who knows? They could still be out there.”
I looked at the picture again. “Is this accurate? It’s like something out of Lovecraft.”
“One of the ancient gods, yeah. I don’t know. There are other drawings—” They started opening books. “They’re pretty similar. Whether someone actually saw it, or these are from visions? I don’t know.”
I flashed back to a house I’d visited last year. Some kind of “Old One” had been buried in the subcellar of a house in Indiana, and a local family had been guarding it for generations. We’d blown it up—or tried to. For all I knew, it was still there, sleeping.
“Great.” I sipped some tea. Lemon with honey. Sweeter than I like, but I wasn’t going to gripe. “So how do we stop it? Can we kill it? Knock it out? Make friends with it?”
Milan shrugged. “I don’t really know. Sorry.”
“Okay.” I finished my tea and stood up. “Thanks.” I didn’t know what to do with what they’d told me, but more information is generally better than less.
“Hang on a minute.” Milan stood up and went to one bookshelf, bending down. “Here. I can sense you’re looking for some kind of inner peace. This isn’t about demons or monsters, but it might help.”
I took the book. The Power of Hope. What could Milan sense about me? I already had Rachel watching my aura. And I had drugs from my psychiatrist in case I got depressed or anxious. Or suicidal again. But I tell everyone around me to keep an open mind when things get paranormal, so I guess I had to do the same now. “Thanks.”
Milan walked me to the door. “I’ll see if I can find anything else. Demons aren’t really my expert area, but I’ll try.”
“I have some resources too. Anything would help.” I shook their hand. “Thanks again.”
“Sure thing.”
I drove home. My phone buzzed before I reached the highway. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voice mail until I could pull into a gas station to listen to the message.
“Hi, it’s Pam. Jayne Furier’s sister, you know. She’s awake and out of it now, but they’re running tests. But she wants to talk to you. Can you come out to the hospital? Let me know.”
I groaned. Driving back to Skokie wasn’t on my list of fun ways to increase my car’s mileage. But this might be important. So I called Pam back and told her I was on my way, then texted Rachel.
Jayne Furier lay in a hospital gown on her bed, breathing shallowly, her eyes closed. Pam was sitting beside her bed.
The Skokie hospital wasn’t big, but it looked modern and efficient. I had a pass stuck to my shirt, and they’d called the room to make sure I was allowed as a visitor.
Pam stood up, rubbing her eyes. “Hi.”
“Is she all right?” Jayne’s eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow.
“She said she has to tell you something.” Pam shook her head. “I don’t know. They gave her some sedatives, she goes in and out. Just—try not to let her get upset, all right?”
“Pam?” Jayne’s eyelids flickered. “Is that—oh. Hi, Tom.”
“How are you feeling?” I walked to the bed.
She leaned her head back to look up at me. “It hurts. Everywhere. What did I do?” For a moment she didn’t seem to remember me. “Never mind, Pam told me. You had to burn the book on the grill? Bryan won’t—oh, shit.” She closed her eyes and started to cry.
Pam ran around the bed to offer her a box of tissues. I backed away and leaned against the wall, looking out into the hallway as they cried together. Patients rolled past the door in wheelchairs or hospital beds, and nurses checked their tablets and phones as they hurried to their next emergency.
Jayne blew her nose and tossed a tissue on the table next to her. “All right,” she said. “I’ve got to tell you this. Come here.” She motioned me close to the bed. Pam stood on the other side.
“There’s—it was—something—inside my head,” she told me, her voice low. “I don’t know what it was. But it hurt. It was like something wanted to rip its way out of me.” She shuddered again. “Everything was black.” She closed her eyes. “There were these eyes—five eyes, just looking at me, in all different colors. And there was this grunting and growling, like a wolf or a tiger. I don’t know how long it was, it felt like I was stuck in there forever, in the dark with this, this thing.”
She opened her eyes and took a breath. “Then it said, it said, ‘Keep the call. Keep the call.’ And then, just, ‘Before the moon. Before the moon.’” She shook her head, trying to wipe the words from her memory. “I don’t know what it means. What does it mean? I don’t care. I just want it gone. I want it out of my head!”
Pam reached out to clutch her wrist. I asked, “Is it still there? Do you feel it?”
“No.” She rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. “It’s gone now. But I can still see it. And hear it. I want it gone. Just—gone.”
Before the moon. “I’m sure it will stop soon.” I wasn’t sure at all, but I had to say something reassuring.
Jayne closed her eyes. “I hope so.” In a moment she was asleep.
“They gave her sedatives.” Pam stroked her sister’s hair. “She’ll be here all night. They say she’ll be okay, but—I couldn’t tell them about the book. Or what she said, that Rhahar thing. They’d think she was crazy. They’d think I was crazy.”
“Yeah.” I’ve been called crazy plenty in my life. It’s not fun.
“What does it mean?”
I took out my phone. “I’m not sure. I’ll get back to you.”
Pam sat down next to the bed again. Outside in the hall, I leaned against the wall as someone pushed a cart of dinner trays past me. I was looking up phases of the moon.
I had dinner ready when Rachel got home. Her favorite: tofu with brown rice and cilantro and other stuff. Her eyes widened when she saw it. “Special occasion? Guilty conscience? Whatever, I’ll take it.” She gave me a kiss.
I let her talk about her day for a while. She can’t go into detail about her patients, but the other therapists at her practice are pretty amusing. After telling me about her morning staff meeting, she put down her fork and looked at me. “What’s going on? There’s something you’re scared to tell me.”
“You, too, could be a detective.” I told her what I’d learned from Milan Powell, and what Jayne Furier had gone through while being possessed by the book.
“So you think this demon is coming soon,” Rachel said. “And it’s not just a standard demon possessing one person at a time. More like Cthulhu coming to destroy the world. Or at least the suburbs.” She frowned. “How soon?”
“The night before the new moon.” I showed her my phone. I’d downloaded an app.
“Next Tuesday. Not a lot of time.”
“Yeah.”
“Well . . .” She sipped her beer. “Burning down the house probably isn’t plan A, right?”
“It was a great Talking Heads song in the 80s, but arson isn’t my first choice.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Start looking for Plan B.”
I spent part of the night looking through the book Milan had given me: The Power of Hope. Lots of inspirational thoughts and stories, but I couldn’t detect any hidden meanings—or anything that would help me vanquish Rhahar. Rachel didn’t pick up anything supernatural from it. She was watching Lust Atoll, her latest favorite reality show. I checked it out from time to time, mostly during any scene involving actual lust. There were plenty.
My phone buzzed while Rachel was getting us more beers from the kitchen. Milan Powell. “Hi, I was just looking at that book you gave me,” I told them.
“Find anything good?” They giggled.
“I’m not as good as reading between the lines as you are. Did you happen to find out anything that might help me with Rhahar? It turns out he may be making an appearance sooner than I thought.”
“Actually . . .” They hesitated. “I was just looking through some books. Can you come out tomorrow? I think I found something.”
“That would be great. Noon?”
“Make it one. I’ve got lots of laundry in the morning.”
“Mind if I bring my wife?” Rachel had returned with beer. “She helps me with this stuff.”
“Bring anyone you want. See you tomorrow.” They hung up.
“What are you getting me into?” Rachel sat down next to me and picked up the remote.
“Milan Powers. She—I mean, they might have a book that could help with Rhahar. Can you come? If I do all the laundry and fold it and put it away?”
She smirked. “Don’t beg, it’s not manly. But yeah, I’ll come.” She kicked up the TV sound. “Now be quiet, this is getting good and lusty.”
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