I laugh. “Maybe at the big house. I would wager a guess that the most prominent spirits in the big house would be Van Doren ancestors, no?”
“Yeah, okay. I’m going to warn Dad and see if he has another suggestion, but let’s go with that.”
“I don’t think it truly matters where we are. To me, it appears that Johnston’s ghost follows him. He’s not haunting a specific place. He’s haunting Malin himself.”
“I feel so stupid,” Ellory mutters. “I should have thought of that.”
Avory wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him into his side. I smile. I love their love. It’s pure and sweet.
Brodrie, sensing something wrong with his fathers, crawls toward them and climbs into their laps. Sawyer follows. They’re a perfect little family.
“I’ll keep you posted,” I say and get to my feet.
They acknowledge my departure, and I head back to the office. My first stop is Malin. I stop outside his door, finding him right where I left him with my shirt wrapped around his head like he’s warding off the cold.
He looks up, meeting my eyes. I watch him closely and wonder where Johnston is. The seconds tick by, and there it is. His eyes flicker to his left. They linger for a minute before meeting mine again.
What everyone has always interpreted as eye contact making him uncomfortable might be something very different. Our inability to observe him without him knowing, because healwayssenses us there, could be Johnston saying something.
I step into the room and join him behind his desk. Malin rests his head against my hip without a word. While he takes comfort in my presence, I look around his office.
Your days are numbered, Johnston.
“We’ll fix this,” I murmur. “Promise. We’ll find a way to free you, Malin.”
His arm wraps around my leg, and he turns his face into my thigh. His chest inflates as he inhales deeply.
We’ll get rid of your demons. That’s what Johnston is, after all. He’s not a ghost. Not a simple spirit. He’s a demon clinging to his victim. Just as he had in life, he continues in death.
15
MALIN
I’m sometimeshanded cultists who weren’t a part of the New World Order Temple. I don’t mind killing them because there’s no such thing as a ‘good’ cult. However, they don’t mean anything to me. I don’t know what their cult is about. I don’t know who they hurt or why. All I know is that they’re bad people.
Even when I don’t know the cultists who are from the temple where I was a victim, I know what they’re about. I know what they’re a part of and what they’ve likely done under the pretense of some god. Or maybe in the name of Ryan.
It’s that personal connection that makes me kill them far more brutally than others. Because I know. I’ve been there. I’ve seen their victims. I know how the victims’ abuse might linger for years after.
But the man’s body lying at my feet? He hurt someone, I’m sure. So, I killed him. But it was quick and without much interest. I stabbed him in his chest and watched him bleed out. I stared at him until his heart stopped and he died.
Now I turn and head for the door. It opens, but no one is there. They’re not always here unless it’s someone from the cult where I spent my childhood.
Ryan’s image follows in my peripheral vision. He’s not exactly beside me. I can’t even tell if he’s walking. He just lingers there.
It’s his voice that I hear clearly. Incessantly rambling about how I’ve turned into an awful person since his death. All these killings of innocent men. The first few times, I tried to explain why I’d killed them. Why their deaths were important.
Over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that Ryan is delusional. He believes the bullshit out of his mouth. I’m not sure he ever believed in God. He believes himself to be a god. His word is holy scripture.
If he’s a god, he’s a very dark and depraved one. For polytheistic cultures, their gods come in balance. There are good gods and dark gods. They each serve a purpose.
In Ryan’s world, he’s a dark god, but there aren’t any good ones to balance him out. He sees black and white, and it’s the evil men and women that he finds innocent. Yes, there have been some women brought in, though not from my temple. Women were always victims. Always supposed to be submissive to men. Always the most sinful.
I shower with Ryan’s incessant commentary on how he’d cleanse me. Sometimes his tense changes from hypothetical to absolute, as if he can make it happen.
You’re not strong enough to make me now,I tell him silently.I’m stronger than you.
“Wicked boy. You belong to me! You will do as I please. I am your divinity.”
