― Jenna Maclaine
Love and Pain
I'm sitting in my living room with Brooke trying to calm her when I'm scared myself. I've always had an aversion to the supernatural and any talk about mystical occurrences scares the hell right out of me.
I sometimes think that's why I ran away from church when I was kid. It wasn't that I didn't believe―I did. It was more a case I believed too much, if that's possible and was always afraid I'd experience some kind of spiritual apparition.
I grew up in a household where there was a tactile sense of the presence of God and instead of drawing me, it repelled me because I always felt the spiritual dimension was other-worldly, the way some people are afraid of being abducted by aliens.
Yeah, I know I sound deranged, but I've got the feeling that a whole lot of people feel the same way I do but are too embarrassed to admit it. Well, that's my apology for my life and my excuse for deferring to strong women. I suppose I suffer existential angst and need mothering. Okay, I'm being sarcastic but I'm sure Art Tucker, my Jungian therapist and sometime friend, would definitely see it that way and mock me to no end.
To add to the spooky atmosphere there's a rainstorm raging outside again. What the hell! We're going through a period of solar flares and you'd expect the Earth to be scorched and we'd all of us to be suffering from widespread droughts. But the fact is, all during August, it was hot as hell during the day and then, rained like the devil during the night as it it's doing now
...and the saga continues.
Brooke is trembling curled up on the sofa under a cover―even still, she's ten times stronger than me. Hell, the girl looked the devil in the eye and refused to back down. Who does that?
Certainly not me.
I push back a damp lock of hair from her forehead.
"It's weird―I'm trying to warm you so you'll stop shaking and yet your hair is damp. Is it a cold sweat?"
She rolls her eyes. "Really Zach, you are so zoned out. I'm not trembling because I'm cold, I'm still shaking from fear. You try staring the Devil down and we'll see if your hands are steady."
I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Hey, I'm not mocking you―far from it―I admire you. I was sitting up because I was scared to go to sleep and experience this sleep paralysis thing. I never told anyone, but it would happen to me when I was a teenager and I'd crawl into my parents' room and sleep on the floor. So, I'm no hero."
"And yet you doubt anything spiritual is going on?"
"Maybe it's more a case I run away from it because frankly, it terrifies the hell out of me."
"So, what are we going to do?" she moans, "we're not equipped to deal with these things―even Angelica, surrounding herself with white light, still gets attacked."
"You're kidding?" I laugh. "That sounds so superstitious. It's like relying on a fetish or totem―maybe she should carry a rabbit's foot for good luck and wear garlic around her neck to ward off evil spirits."
Brooke gets defensive. "Don't be judgmental, Zach. Angelica has told me things no one else could possibly know. She has a gift. None of us have any magical charms against evil spirits."
I grow silent. "You're right―that was incredibly insensitive of me. It's probably a man thing―like fear of impotency. It doesn't matter if it's a one-time thing. You never want to experience it."
A large thunder clap rattles the windows and Brooke instinctively runs to my arms.
"You're okay, Love," I murmur, stroking her hair and holding her close. "You're safe―safe in my arms."
Her dark gaze meets mine and I feel myself melt inside.
"See?" she whispers, "You're not as weak as you think and if I might add, definitely not impotent."
I colour from my neck to the roots of my hair but inwardly am pleased. I realize in a time of crisis I can forget about my own fear and comfort her―it may not help our struggle against darkness in high places, but besides confirming my manhood, reminds me I have limits...
For instance, I'm not an exorcist...but know someone who is―my mentor, Father Breton.
I think it's time to contact him.