Page 42 of Play Nice

A fter the disastrous initial exorcism, more attempts were made to rid the house of the demon. Paranormal experts were brought in from overseas. Priests from Vatican City. The demon resisted.

Roy left satchels of lavender and thyme and cloves of garlic in Cici’s closet. He sprinkled salt in the attic. We had a witch come and cast spells of protection. None of it made a difference. None of it mattered.

It fed off my energy. Feasted on my anguish.

My pain kept it occupied. Kept it happy.

I wanted to defeat it. I wanted it gone.

It cost me my daughters. But I had nothing left in me then.

I spent less and less time at the house, often visiting with Roy in Connecticut and eventually moving in with him there.

Days turned to weeks turned to months, and I crawled toward healing, wanting more than anything just a moment of peace, a moment to forget all the pain and terror of the past. I was no longer there physically, but mentally, it would not let me leave.

It would not let me go. The demon found me in my dreams. My nightmares.

It leached the colors from my world, from my view.

I understood then that there was no escape.

When I finally returned to the house, I went slowly up the stairs and stood in the living room, perfectly still, listening. It was quiet, and in the quiet I allowed myself that moment of peace I so craved.

—

When I come to, it’s on the kitchen floor, on my side, in a pool of blood.

It’s to Daphne’s voice.

“?‘But then I heard it. The cruel, soul-curdling sound of its laughter, and I felt a chill, a brutal cold that I knew was of death itself. The evil was not gone. It would never be gone. But it could be kept at bay.’?”

“Daffy…” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Daphne…”

She sits on the floor, her back against the wall, knees to her chest. Book hiding her face.

“?‘My daughters are no longer in the house, but they are out in the world. A world that’s unforgiving, that’s brimming with unspeakable evil.

I’ve devoted the rest of my life to fighting that evil.

I have seen the face of it. It has slept under my roof. It is real. Denial will not—’?”

“Shut up,” Leda whines. I can’t see her. I don’t know where she is. I can’t lift my head.

“?‘Denial will not save you. Skepticism will only buy you time. My hope is that my story gives a voice to everyone who has been haunted by evil, both of this world and the supernatural. Who has been met with doubt and ridicule. Who has been called crazy. Who, despite the adversity, hasn’t abandoned the truth, or their fight against what works in shadow. May it all come to the light.’?” Daphne smacks the book shut. She’s got a black eye and a bloody lip.

“What’s going on?” I ask. The bulb in the kitchen is searingly bright.

“Tell her,” Daphne says.

I turn. Leda’s propped against the refrigerator. There’s a welt on her forehead. “You’re both insane.”

“Leda knocked you out. We fought. And she confessed to reading the book.”

“What?” I’m dizzy. I slap my hands down to steady myself.

“Apparently, I’m the only one who hasn’t read it. Who kept my promise. So fuck it. I’m catching up on my reading,” Daphne says.

“You read it?” I ask Leda.

“You two don’t understand. I’m the oldest. The pressure on me…I had to know. I had to be aware of what was out there. I had to—”

“The pressure on you ?” Daphne says, standing.

“What pressure? It all falls on me. Do you get how, like, crushingly exhausting it is to have to navigate all your bullshit? Everyone’s bullshit.

What about my bullshit? What if I want to be the asshole for once?

What if I want to throw a fucking tantrum. ”

I reach up to the counter and pull myself to my feet.

“What if I’m angry?” Daffy carries on. “What if I want it to be about me for fucking once!”

“It’s never about me either. It’s always about Clio,” Leda says. “That’s why we’re here. Because of her.”

“You showed up here,” I say. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

Daphne’s expression doesn’t change. It’s disturbingly blank. “Let’s just say it all, then. Let’s just have it out.”

“What’s happening?” Leda says, breaking down in tears. “What’s happening?”

“Exactly what it wants,” I say. “We’re putting on a good show.”

“I hate looking at you, Clio. I hate that you’re so pretty,” Daphne says.

“And I hate your stupid fucking outfits. I hate that you’re spoiled.

I hate that everything just works out for you.

I hate that I hate it. I hate that Leda found someone to love her, but I’m somehow still alone.

I hate how badly Mom messed me up. I hate that the truth of who she was and what she was doing to us wasn’t enough to get us out of this house.

That a lie was what saved us from her. I hate that she never changed, never got better.

That she fucking drank herself to death and no one’s surprised.

I hate that I know Dad cheated on Mom with Amy, that deep down I’ve always known it.

I hate that Dad hates that I’m gay but will never admit it.

I hate so much about our family. I hate that I need you all. ”

“Daffy…” I say.

She looks down, a sob escaping. She slumps over, slides back to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t…I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“But you meant them,” Leda says. She gathers up her hair and pulls it high over her head, like she’s holding a noose, about to hang herself.

“You meant every word. It was honest. And if we’re going to be honest, fine.

I have a healthy, happy relationship. My life is stable.

My career is stable. That’s why you don’t like me.

You’re jealous. You’ll never admit it to yourselves because you think you’re too cool to want what I have.

But you do. And you’ll never have it. You’re too dysfunctional.

You’ll both die alone, likely in debt, and no one will be around to mourn you. ”

“Jesus, Leeds,” Daphne says. She tongues her busted lip.

Leda lets her head back and releases a wild laugh.

She turns and stumbles out into the hall, then down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I call after her.

“What do you care?” she says, still laughing. “I’m the least favorite sister.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Daphne asks, grabbing my arm. I flinch at her touch, and she retracts her hand. She stares at it as if she’s surprised to see it there at the end of her wrist. “Sorry…”

“No one cares about Leda. She’s no fun,” Leda calls out from downstairs.

“She doesn’t do anything fun. You both have substance abuse issues and self-medicate with drugs and alcohol, you sleep around, slut it up, but Leda’s the issue, the wet blanket.

All she ever tries to do is the right thing.

Color inside the lines. But somehow, no, that’s not good enough. Nothing is ever good enough.”

“Leeds!” Daphne shouts.

“Who cares about Leda? She’s so boring !”

“Leda,” I say, lurching toward the stairs. My head feels like a cement block, and my vision is blurred, and my mouth still tastes of blood. “Leda, what are you doing?”

“What if I told you I knew about the demon. What if I told you that sometimes, if it couldn’t wake you, Clio, it would come into our room at night and watch us sleep.

It would go up in the corner, and it looked like a shadow, only I could see its big white eyes staring out at me from the dark.

And it had this long, thin red tongue with a slit like a snake’s… ”

Daphne follows me to the landing and down the second set of steps to the hall. All the lights are off. I don’t see Leda. She’s hiding.

“What if I told you I pulled the covers up over my head and promised myself that when I pulled them down, it wouldn’t be there.

And I counted one Mississippi, two Mississippi, with Daphne across the room snoring, none the wiser.

What if I told you, when I pulled the covers down, it was right there, at the foot of my bed.

I remembered what Dad told me about bullies.

If you ignore them, they’ll go away. And so I ignored it, and it stopped coming into our room.

I was glad it was gone, but I missed it.

I missed the attention. I missed how I felt with its eyes on me.

I missed how it watched me. I knew we came second to you.

I could hear you, sometimes, talking to it. Laughing with it.”

I take a cautious step down the hall, approaching the bathroom. I push the door back. “Leda…”

“There were times when I wondered if it’d be worth it, to invite it back in. Acknowledge its presence. Give it the attention it wanted so I could get some back. Didn’t matter what form the attention came in. If it made me afraid or sad or angry.”

The bathroom’s empty.

“Leda,” Daffy says. “Leda, where are you?”

“But I chose to ignore it. To shut it out. And I’ve held that door closed ever since. It hasn’t been easy. It requires such strength, such discipline.”

I can’t even tell which direction her voice is coming from.

“What if I told you I lied about the burn not because Dad asked or because Mom would drive us to school with vodka in the glove compartment, because she would get drunk and tell me how ugly I was. What if told you I lied because I wanted out of this house. Needed out of this house. Away from it .”

“Leda?”

“Goddamn it. It’s so cold down here,” Daphne says, her voice hushed. She blows into her hands. “How is it so cold?”

Daphne opens the door to Mom’s room and finds the light switch. “She’s not in here.”

That leaves my room.

The door is locked.

“Leda,” I say, pounding with a closed fist. “Leda, open the door.”

I will bleed you out! I will bleed you out!

“Leda, please,” Daphne says.

Now I can hear her. I can hear her breathing through the door. I can see her shadow underneath.

“Leda!” I say, trying the knob again.

“Move,” Daphne says to me. “Leda, I’m going to break down this fucking door.”

Leda erupts into a fit of maniacal giggles. “And here I thought if it was me alone in this house instead of Clio, you wouldn’t have come. You’d have just let me rot here. You…”

“One more chance,” Daphne says.

“Can you break down a door?” I ask her.

Leda resumes her deranged snickering.

“Guess we’re about to find out.” Daphne charges, bangs her shoulder against the wood. There’s a clunk— and Leda stops laughing.

“Shit,” Daffy says. “Leeds?”

A pause, a few seconds that hold back forever like a sharp knife.

“It’s…it’s in here. With me,” Leda whispers. “It says come in.”