Page 40 of Play Nice

We walk out of Maya’s office to the hopeful faces of Tommy and Amy. We watch the hope drain from their expressions when they see us.

They join us in our silent march out to the parking lot.

“Why don’t I take Clio?” Tommy says.

No one argues. Not even me.

“See you back at the house,” he says, the only one of us attempting communication.

He opens the car door for me, then goes around to the driver’s side.

He waits until we’re pulling out of the parking lot to make another endeavor to chat.

“The first session can be rough,” he says. “Better luck next time.”

“So, do you and Leda just sit around talking about what might be wrong with me?”

“No. Clio. Of course not.”

“Actually, I don’t care,” I say.

“Leda—”

“I said I don’t care, Tom .”

He backs off. He turns on some music. His nu metal playlist, unfortunately.

A few Limp Bizkit songs later, we pull into Dad’s driveway. I unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car without saying another word to Tommy. I’m going to go gather my stuff and call a car and meet Roy at the house.

I’m almost past the kitchen table when I notice that everyone’s sitting around it. Staring at me. Daphne. Leda. Amy. Dad stands behind his chair at the head of the table, his head down.

I want no part of whatever this is, so I keep walking.

“Clio,” Dad says.

“I have to go,” I say. “I need to catch the train.”

“You went onto my computer,” he says. “This is the second time you’ve broken into my study—”

“I didn’t break in. The door was open.”

“You violated my privacy. My trust.”

“Your trust? You were trying to commit me!”

“I am trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to control me,” I say. “You all are. You want to control my feelings, my behavior. My grief.”

“What grief? You didn’t even know her!” Leda shouts.

“Because of you,” I say, pointing at Dad.

“Because you gaslit her about cheating until she fucking lost it! Because you lied about her burning me! Because you had to villainize her to make yourself the hero. The greatest dad in the world, who rose to the occasion when his crazzyyyyy bitch wife couldn’t handle being a mother. Wow. What a gem! How lucky we are!”

“I did it all for you!” He’s so loud. He’s the loudest sound in the world. “And you’re nothing but ungrateful.”

“You did it for you . It’s all about you . You cheated on Mom—”

“Fine! I did! I cheated on Alex. It was miserable being married to her. She was a terrible wife and an even worse mother. Did she burn you? Let’s think about this for a second.

Where’d you get the lighter, Clio? Why did you believe in demons?

Because of her! She was out of her fucking mind!

She got exactly what she deserved. And sometimes you remind me so much of her, I want to—” He reaches his hands out toward me, his fingers curling in.

“And I hate it. So I try to be so good to you. But you make it so goddamn hard!”

He throws his chair against the wall.

Amy screams.

Leda winces.

Tommy gasps.

Daphne buries her face in her hands and cries.

Dad stands there enraged. Chest rising and falling, fists clenching and unclenching.

This is the truth of him. Of us. It’s been here this whole time. Dormant. Hiding. Waiting.

“Yeah. Wow. I’m going to go upstairs and get my stuff and call an Uber. I’ll wait for it outside,” I say, eerily calm. “Okay.”

I walk out of the kitchen and into the hall, up the stairs.

I leave.

No one stops me.

—

When I get dropped off at the house, Roy’s car is in the driveway.

It’s humid, sweltering even now at twilight. I mop sweat from my forehead with my T-shirt. My jeans slide down my hips.

Being back at Edgewood, I’m reminded why I left. Why I called Roy in the first place.

I’m reminded of my fear.

Of the unblinking eyes observing me.

Of how I haven’t eaten anything in days.

Of how I’m alone everywhere except here.

The front door is unlocked. I open it. Cross the threshold. I expect Roy to come and greet me, but he doesn’t.

“Roy?”

No answer.

“Roy? It’s Clio. I’m here.”

The front door closes itself behind me. I hear the lock click.

“Roy?”

I put a foot on the first step up to the living room.

My heart thumps.

Another step.

Another step.

My legs shake beneath me, knees buckle.

I use my hands to help me climb to the top, clinging to the banister.

“Roy?”

He’s not up here. He’s not outside on the deck.

All that’s here is Mom’s book, the hot pink lighter resting on top.

I look up, and I see it there on the wall beside the fireplace. Exactly where it was. Where I’d patched and painted over it.

I call out for Roy again.

It’s shy of eight p.m., and daylight lingers on the horizon. Still, I flip every switch I pass. Upstairs hall. Closets. Office. Leda and Daphne’s room. The bathroom. The shower rod is on the floor; I left it there after I ripped it down, the curtain crumpled.

I step back out onto the deck and scan the surrounding woods. “Roy!”

There’s a soft squeak behind me that grabs my attention. The sliding door pulls itself closed. Through the glass, I see a figure. Someone there. I can’t quite bring them into focus—they’re lost among the trees, in the confusion of the reflection.

Whoever it is, whatever it is…it isn’t Roy.

I rush forward and yank the door open. The living room is empty, save for the ambiguous sound of movement. A clunking somewhere inside the walls or beneath the floorboards. I hold still to listen, but it’s already gone.

The demon is committed to being intangible. An invisible threat is infinitely more frustrating. An invisible threat is madness.

I take my phone out of my pocket and call Roy.

It rings. I hear it.

It’s ringing. His phone is here. In the house somewhere.

He’s not answering.

“You’ve reached Roy Johnston, demonologist. Please leave a detailed message and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Blessings.”

I hang up and call again, following the sound of his ringtone downstairs.

The cold creeps up as I descend. I feel for the light switch with trembling hands.

“You’ve reached Roy Johnston…”

Every door down here is shut except for my bedroom door. Roy’s cell phone is on the floor just outside on the carpet.

Slowly approaching, I brace myself to find him in my bedroom.

“Roy…”

I step through the doorway. My room’s empty.

I turn around and pick up Roy’s phone. I open the door to the garage, which is also empty of demonologists. And of dismembered mice. There’s no relief in this.

I try the bathroom. It’s occupied only by a few dead flies in the sunken tub.

Mom’s room.

Her bed. Her dresser. I’ve already been through everything that’s in here. Some musty clothes. Expired bottles of Advil. A receipt for a Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee—no cream, no sugar. A Bible.

It’s possible that it smells like her in here. But I don’t remember what she smelled like.

I wander back upstairs, back through the house, searching for him like he’ll magically appear. Like it’s a game of hide-and-go-seek. Like it’s a big joke. Even though I know in the dark depths of my squirming guts that it isn’t. There’s no more laughter.

Only the sound of my footsteps and ragged breath and hammering heart.

—

We’re coming up on midnight. The sun has vanished.

“The house is dark because the lights won’t stay on.”

My phone is in my hands, in front of me, facing me. I whisper into it. I’m filming. For proof.

“He’s somewhere in the house,” I say, between giggles. “But I can’t find him.”

There was half a bottle of vodka in the freezer when I arrived earlier this evening. Still no Roy, but that, that I found. It’s just about gone now.

It’s the ladder that finally pulls me from my wandering spell.

“That ladder isn’t where I left it.” I reverse my camera. “That ladder.”

The ladder that leads to the one place in the house I haven’t checked.

“How did I not notice it before?”

It’s downstairs, in my room, propped up against the wall in my closet.

I set my phone down, wrestle with the ladder, pry it open. The panel above me is shut. I climb toward it.

“Roy?”

One hand on the ladder, one hand above me, palm flat as I reach for the panel. I push.

It lifts, but barely. There’s something on top of it, a weight that I disturbed, that gravity releases. Thud. The noise is dense.

“Hello?”

Carefully balancing on the ladder, I lift my other hand. Push harder.

The panel doesn’t budge.

I step up higher on the ladder, lean over so I can put my back into the lift.

I hear Leda’s voice inside my head. She can’t help herself.

Now Daphne’s. You had to go and tear open an old wound.

The wound is open. It’s always been open, festering. It doesn’t matter if I keep this panel shut. If I climb down this ladder, walk out of this house, and never come back. Whatever’s here will always be here, even if no one else acknowledges it but me.

It’s not at rest.

It’s why she was here.

It’s why I am here.

Knock knock knock.

The sound disorients me. I think it’s coming from above me, and I lose my balance. I fall forward, and my face collides with the top rung of the ladder.

And most of the other rungs as I slide down.

There’s the taste of blood in my mouth. Warm, wet agony radiating from my nose. I land on my knees, crawling forward as blood spews from my nostrils.

I think I just broke my nose.

My perfect, beautiful nose.

Knock knock knock.

The lock whirs, and the front door opens.

“Clio?” It’s Daphne.

“I can’t believe we’re back here.” Leda.

“She’s our sister,” Daphne says. “And this is just a dumb fucking house.”

“It’s smaller than I remember.”

I get to my feet and stumble down the hall, to the bottom of the stairs.

Leda and Daphne stand on the landing, looking up toward the ceiling.

“What are you doing here?” There’s too much blood in my mouth, and I accidentally swallow some, start to cough.

Leda screams when she sees me.

“Fuck!” Daphne says, rushing down to me and helping me up the stairs. “What happened?”

“I fell off a ladder.”

“There’s so much blood,” Leda says, covering her eyes.