I feel myself slowly start to gain consciousness. I’m laying down, face up, hands on my belly. My back feels stiff and my head hurts. I guess the shadow and everything must have all been a dream. Whew. Now to get up and…

Why can’t I move my hands?

I snap my eyes open, only for them to be greeted by the high ceiling of the San Angelo First Catholic Church. I recognize the murals and the adobe-style architecture one would expect from a church built by a Spanish conquistador in the mid-1600s. I look at my hands. They’re cuffed. Oh no.

I sit up, facing a wall. To my left, is the altar, with the two candles lit, illuminating the Crucifix in the center. Underneath the edge glints the words “agnus dei, qui tolis peccata mundi,” which I’ve never understood. I look down again to see my feet are tied up as well as my hands. I’m sitting on the predella, with my cuffed feet chained to a huge concrete ball.

I turn towards the pews and look down the nave. Standing there are a bunch of people. The one standing closest to me is Father Paul. Ugh, I’ve always hated him, that jerk. He’s holding a Bible close to his chest. His face tells me he’s scared. Behind him are the Sherrif’s Posse and a few others. One of them is holding back…

“MOM!” I scream as I turn towards the crowd.

“Stay where you are!” one of the deputies calls out.

“Ha! Like we need to be threatened when we’re restrained like this!” joked 35 inside my head. “Then again, our souls aren’t completely bound to this body, so we could just ignore that.”

“Wait, I can like, jump out of my body too?” Did I say that part out loud? Because everyone gasped as I said that.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t recommend that. At least not yet. Also, you might want to learn to speak to me without running your mouth.”

“Who are you, Demon?” shouts Father Paul.

I stare silently. I don’t know how to react.

“I said, who are you?” he repeats.

“Possibly your redemption, possibly your end. It all depends on what you choose to do next,” 35 says using my mouth, with an evil grin. “Unfortunately, you types are typically beyond redemption. Especially given the nature of your wrongdoings. But maybe, just maybe you can set things right? Gotta warn you though; It’s now or never, Father.”

His eyes go wide. “My redemption? You will not corrupt me!”

“Yes, your redemption,” 35 replied. “Though, it’s as I said. Very unlikely.”

I turn my attention back towards the cops standing behind the pews. Turns out, I was wrong, only some of them are the Sheriff’s Posse. The rest are mostly the San Angelo Police Department. Is that a Marshall? I don’t know, I don’t know cop divisions that well. In any case, they all have their guns in hand, ready to raise them at a moment’s notice. They’re still holding back my mom.

“Please let my mom go!” I beg across the room. I’m scared. I’m terrified. Gosh, please don’t let anything happen to her.

“I have already been redeemed through Christ, our savior!” Father Paul shouts, bringing my attention back to him.

“Christ, the Son of God?” 35 shouts back, not really taking what Father Paul said seriously. “God, whose house this is?”

“Silence demon! You do not speak in this House of God!”

“God is not here,” 35 responds sinisterly. “Not for as long as you are.” It turns towards the crowd and glares with my face. “Or they. He wants nothing to do with any of you disgusting creatures. This adobe enclosure is vacant of the divinity so long as the filth inhabit it.”

The priest gasps. Several of the cops murmur to each other. Others look confused. I turn towards Mom.

“You chiefly among others excluded, of course, Mrs. Weaver,” 35 assures.

She screams. “BROCK!”

Father Paul starts to tremble. He steadies himself for a second to bellow “You vile-“

He’s interrupted by the doors being slammed open. In barges a buzz-cut man in a black suit and tie. He frowns as all eyes turned to him. There’s a long pause that he breaks after looking around the room.

“Is this why I drove all the way from Grand Junction? To watch some cult ritual thing going on?” he asked with a grouchy tone. “Am I explaining to my bosses that my partner and I wasted an hour here and another back for some, police-sanctioned ceremony?” He turns towards me. He goes pale. “What’s the child doing here? If he’s under arrest, then why is he here and not the station? Who gave you all this order?”

“And who the hell are you?” yells one of the cops.

The man pulls out a badge in a wallet as he makes his way towards me. “Agent Collins, FBI. Now, are we moving this kid to the station, or are we letting him go?”

“You can’t bring him to the station! He’s possessed by a demon!” shouts Father Paul as he tries to stop Agent Collins.

“For fuck’s sake, you moron, I’m not a demon!” 35 screams in annoyance.

“Brock!” Mom screams in disappointment.

“Mom, I swear, that wasn’t me! It was him, or her or…”

35, sounding even more irritated, loudly announces, “Kid, the correct pronouns to use when you don’t know someone’s pronouns are ‘they’ and ‘them.’ You can quit that whole ‘he/she/it’ spiel now.”

“They?” “They”…for a single person? How does that work?

“Look, kid, we got bigger priorities right now.” 35 says to me before turning towards Agent Collins. “Greetings Agent. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a little tied up at the moment, but you can sit right there and we can talk if you want.” They(?!) gesture towards the closest pew on my right.

“You can’t get that close! It’s too dangerous!” Father Paul screams.

“Are you seriously this deluded, Father?” shouts a female voice as it walks in through the door. It came from a woman with long dark hair in…what’s the women’s equivalent to a suit? Not a dress, no, something more for like, business, or offices or things like that. Same colors as Collins’s suit though.

“Do you really expect us to believe that you have a demon of all things in here?” She sounds as irritated as 35.

Everyone falls silent and stares at her, waiting for her to tell us who she is.

“Agent Thompson, FBI. Now, if you will please, will someone tell my partner and I the real reason the kid is being detained here and not at a station?”

A confused blabber of voices ensues, but they mostly all say something along the lines of “He’s really a demon!” With a annoyed look on her face, she pushes past Father Paul and Agent Collins, and makes her way towards me. She stops at the front pews, and looks me dead in the eyes.

“What’s your name, kid?” she asks coldly.

I stutter. “Uh, B-Brock?” I can barely muster my own name. I notice Collins pushing past Father Paul to catch up with Thompson. The priest doesn’t move after being pushed.

“Brock.” She nods and crosses her arms. “So, they tell me you’re a demon. Sounds like nonsense.”

“No, they think I’m the demon,” says 35 sharply. “And that’s not even true.”

At this point, Collins has caught up to Thompson, and they both look confused. Collins more so than Thompson.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asks, hoping clear it all up.

“It’s not the kid, it’s me.”

“So what you’re saying is, you got some Sméagol thing going on?” Thompson asks with a bit of doubt.

“I think he means multiple personality disorder,” explains Collins.

“I suppose what’s going on here does mimic the symptoms of that, yeah. We are basically headmates, after all.”

The agents look at each other. They don’t seem to believe what’s going on.

“So, we’re here because of some small town’s misunderstanding of…multiple personality disorder or whatever it’s called. Do I have that right?” Thompson sternly questions.

Neither 35 nor I say anything for a second. The agents sit down in the front two pews on opposite sides of the nave. Come on 35, what’s stopping you from answering them?

The silence persists.

“Come on, Brock, could you help us understand what’s going on?” Collins requests.

“The kid can’t, but maybe I can,” offers 35.

Pause, until Collins breaks it.

“Okay then, could you riddle me this: if you’re not Brock, then who are you?”

“Everyone can call me 35.”

“35? Like, just the number, 35?”

“Yep, that’s right. Just like the number.”

“Well, that’s hardly a name, don’t you think?”

“Not gonna disagree with you there, Agent. Unfortunately, it’s not possible for me to tell you my name.”

“And why is that?” Thompson cuts in.

“Because it will jeopardize my mission.”

“Your mission?” She sounds doubtful.

“Yes, my mission.”

“And what exactly is your mission?” Collins resumes.

“I can’t tell you that part either.”

He scoffs. “Well, 35, I don’t know if I can help you if you’re not gonna be honest with me.”

“I am being honest with you. With what I can, of course.”

“Well, you’re not telling me much, so I can’t say you are.”

Using my face and body, 35 scoffs with a smirk. “Dang, I like you. I really do. But you see, being cagey is not being dishonest; it’s being cagey. But, I tell you what, I can cut you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes, a deal. Tell me Agent, you’re a man of law and order, right? Of justice? Isn’t that why you went into law enforcement in the first place? After seeing those kids beating up your best friend?”

Wait…how do they(!) know about that?

He pauses. You can see the mood change on his face. He leans back. He even shrinks a little. His head slumps down a little and he looks at the floor. Did 35 hit some sort of…soft spot?

“Collins?” Thompson tries to wake him up. It works.

He looks up a bit. He tries to ignore the fact that 35 knew something about him he never mentioned. “Yeah, that is why I joined. To protect people.”

“And how is that working for you so far?” 35 pushes.

He doesn’t answer.

“Collins!” Thompson snaps.

“And what about you, Thompson? Why did you join?”

“I’m here to have you answer my questions, not the other way around!”

“Oh, I see you’re a no-nonsense kind of…” 35 goes silent, then mutters inside my head. “No way! I could never have guessed!”

“G-Guessed what?” I nervously ask.

“That Agent Thompson here is on a similar journey to you!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see when you finish yours.”

Unbelievable!

35 resumes their(?) conversation with Agent Thompson. “So as I was saying, you’re a no-nonsense kind of agent. Surely, you too are here for law and order, right?”

She just glares at me (or…us?).

“And you have yourself a journey to take.”

She tilts her head.

“There’s something bothering you, isn’t there? Something you can’t quite describe or name? But it bothers you nonetheless.”

She’s as good as a statue, except her eyes. Did they hit a soft spot with Thompson too? Jeez, how does 35 keep doing that?

“In any case, I can make you two an offer that will satisfy your moral strings. And it will make you look like heroes. Hell, you’ll even be heroes. You’ll even see why they call me a demon. The three of us, we can do great things together. All you have to say is ‘yes.’ So, what do you say?”

They look at each other for a moment. They silently debate what they are going to tell them (that pronoun is going to take some getting used to). Once the moment passes, they both turn back towards us. Collins gives us his answer.

“Okay. Yes.” He sounds almost…defeated?

Agent Thompson doesn’t say anything. She just sternly nods.

“Alright then, you two. Come closer.” They gesture with my pointer fingers as well. The agents don’t seem to trust that. “I don’t want to say the next part where they can hear.”

They hesitate, then slowly work their way towards me.

“What are you doing?” shouts Father Paul. You can’t set him free!

“Relax, Father, we’re not doing that,” Agent Collins assures.

Once they’re finally close enough to whisper, 35 begins. “What you’re about to see, is not corporeal. That means bullets will have no impact. You two understand that?”

They look puzzled. “And how is that supposed to work?” Collins asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t need to know that part. Just know that means don’t shoot. Don’t shoot, no matter how scary things get. And trust me, things are going to get very scary.”

A look of concern washes over them.

“But let me assure you, as per our newfound arrangement, nobody here is in any danger, that includes you, kid.”

Thank you. Very reassuring.

“But whatever you do, hold your fire until I say so, do you think the two of you can do that?”

“I can’t make any promises.” Collins admits.

“But you can try, right?”

He nods. We (35 and I, not Collins. Actually, wait, I guess him too) look at Thompson, then she does too.

“Alright, that works for me.” 35 turns to Father Paul before announcing “Last chance Father. Confess and be redeemed, or cower and be removed.”

Father Paul, scared, but proud, responds with “I am redeemed! I have confessed to God! You will not have your way with me, demon!”

They hold out my arms wide and proud, and say “I guess it’s showtime, then.” They turn back to a whisper. “Remember. Do. Not. Shoot. Until. I. Say. So.”

And just like that, 35 leaves my body. Once again, a black shadow of a person stands in front of me. But this time, they’re facing away from me. The Agents push back in terror. They both reach for their guns. I can’t see the priest, but I can imagine the look on his face.

35 starts making their way down the nave towards Father Paul. With them out of my view, I can see that I was right about him. Everyone raises their guns towards them. Each step they take makes him tremble more and more. Actually, so does everyone. Mom’s eyes are as wide as a river. What is 35 doing? What are they going to do?

“Hey, that’s close enough to him!” Yells a voice.

“Gentlemen, what can I do? I’m just a ghost. A spect-er, if you will.” 35 replies. “Let me show you.”

They step to the side and start walking…through the pews. Like, through them. Like they’re not even there. Naturally, everyone starts gasping and muttering. 35 steps back into the nave, right in front of Father Paul now. He leans back.

“Get away from me, demon!” He screams.

“I think we both know who the real ‘demon’ here is,” they reply coldly.
“Also, I think you’re being racist.”

“Excuse me?”

35 doesn’t respond. Instead, they…

WHAT.

THE.

HELL.

IS.

THAT.

THING?!

I tremble back in my chains. I thought my soul was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. Correction: it’s the second scariest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t even scream because I’m too scared. But mom does, I think.

Behind Father Paul stands this…monster. It stands almost as high as the ceiling. It’s this gross rotten yellow. Most of its height come from its thin, dangly legs. Its rear legs are a bit shorter than its front, making its short, compact body angle up towards the ceiling. Wait a second, its front arms are like…ninety percent toes! Or Fingers, or…uuuggghhhh! Its neck is like, ten feet long, and twisted like a snake’s. The head is-IS THAT A HUMAN FACE?

The cops all open fire, causing me to cover my ears and curl up a little. I keep looking at the floor then back up again, so I can barely see what’s going on. But I can still see the monster. They keep missing and hitting the ceiling. None of the bullets seem to hit it. It doesn’t seem to react, aside from turning to face them. There’s this…liquid drooling out of the mouth. It’s gross. Instead of talking, it lets out this low rumble of a roar.

The firing stops. The monster doesn’t move an inch. 35 turns back towards me and the two agents.

“Did either of you two fire your guns?” they ask loudly.

“Just once,” Thompson replies.

“Uh, no,” Collins stumbles.

“That’s good enough,” they reply. Then, they reach up towards the ceiling with their right hand. Lightning starts striking all over the place. Glowing circles appear around their arm, spinning around with some strange symbols I don’t recognize. Their voice has grown to a deep boom.

“And let it be, by the Laws of the Earth, that no soul who has violated children shall inhabit this body!” 35 announces. They punch Father Paul on the chest. A white circle appears where the punch landed, then fades.

The monster turns back towards 35.

“Go ahead. Try to get back in this body.” They challenge.

Wait. THAT’S FATHER PAUL’S SOUL?

Honestly, that kinda makes sense. I never liked him, and now I feel better about it. And wait…they said, no one who violated children can go into that body. Does that mean…?

Father Paul reaches for his body. Unlike 35 or I, he does not go back inside his body. Dang. I guess he did then.

“You see that, everyone? As per the law I just enacted, he cannot re-enter his body, because he has violated children!” 35 yells like the highest authority.

Father Paul (if he still gets to be called that) roars. He reaches for 35 with his long dangly fingers, but 35 moves out of the way. He continues trying to grab them. Then, 35 does something unexpected…

They turn into a giant eagle. Yes, a giant eagle, or maybe a hawk or falcon. Hard to tell, they’re still completely blacked out as they were in their human form.

In any case, they fly up to his face, grab a hold of his neck with one foot, and claws at his face with the talons of the other. He shakes violently, leading them to be flung off. Too late. Damage has been done, he’s blind now. They use their wings to steady themselves midair.

He starts flailing around violently, and I space out, looking down and covering my ears.

When I get back to, he’s crumpled up on the floor, both of his legs and all ten fingers broken in several spots. He can’t move. 35 is standing on him, wings sticking out a bit. They go back to their human form.

“Anyone else like him wanna wind up like him? Or would you like to fess up now?” They ask the cops with a scolding note.

Nearly everyone in the San Angelo Police Department comes forward. The remaining cops from the Sheriff’s Department hesitate, then try to arrest the offending cops.

“Agents, you may fire your guns now should the need arise.” 35 calls.

They join the other cops in arresting the ones that came forward.

35 walks up to Mom and starts talking with her. And it’s at that moment, that I just bury myself in my own mind once again. Things happen, I think. At some point, I am freed, and at another, Mom hugs me in tears, and then makes some phone calls, I think.

When I bring myself back up, I’m in the back seat of an SUV. Mom’s sitting at the other window. Agent Thompson is driving and Collins is in the passenger seat.

“Hey, you alright?” 35 checks. They’re in my head again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” I mutter. Am I though? I look out the window. “Where are we going?” I ask out loud.

“The Grand Junction FBI Office,” answers Agent Thompson. “Local LEOs were busy with dealing with that child trafficking ring you just uncovered. We’re gonna have to talk about that.”

Everyone stays silent. Collins turns on the radio to fill in the void. It quietly plays what I think is Depeche Mode.

“So, remember what you said earlier?” 35 asks inside my head.

“About what?” I answer as quietly as I can.

“About you being a monster?”

I pause. No. No. No! I can’t be as bad as him! I’m just-

“Relax kid, you’re not that bad,” they assure. “I’m bring that up because you have now seen what an actual monster looks like. Yours looks nothing of the sorts. At least you still looked vaguely human, especially when compared to that creature from a Stephen King novel.”

“Right. Barely human. Sounds like a low bar to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I-uh,” I’m stumped. There is something wrong with it, but, like, I can’t say it. What is it?

“You can always work your way up if you want,” they suggest. “It’s like a body builder. You don’t start by lifting 250 pounds from the get-go. You start at whatever’s a little bit past the edge of your comfort zone, say like forty or fifty, then slowly work your way up to 250. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess. I guess I can buy that.”

“And that is really why I’m here. Think of me as your personal trainer. I can get you started, help you along the way, give you ideas for where to go, and be there to catch you when you fall. And you will. But as Batman’s dad said, ‘We fall to learn to pick ourselves up.’”

Jeez, it’s been a while since I’ve seen that. But no matter. Question is, am I a monster? Does the existence of Father Paul prove that? Or not? What if I want to be the monster? Do I? Am I?

“And, what if I wanted to start this… journey, what would I do?”

“Well, I figure a good place to start is by honestly assuring yourself that you are not a monster.” They say nothing more.

Right. Can I do that? Would it be… “honest?” 35 thinks I’m not a monster. Does anyone else? Yeah, I do still look human when compared to that actual monster. So…maybe if I don’t look like a real one, then I’m not one, right?

Nonsense. Predators look like prey all the time to capture prey. But yet, prey will sometimes look like bigger predators to scare off predators that would eat them. So…which one am I?

Well, Dad always told me everything is a choice, so maybe I can choose to be the prey that looks like a predator, the human that looks like a monster. Heck. I’ve just now decided that I don’t want to be a monster (even if it’s not true), so maybe I can just choose to not be one, right?

Well, I got four years and two months with this prick, might as well make the most of it.

“I am not a monster,” I tell myself. Nothing happens.

“I am not a monster,” I say again. Maybe it’ll work the third time?

“You gotta truly believe it,” they explain. “Justify it if you have to.”

I inhale. Okay. Maybe I was a monster before, but I’m not now. Yeah, that’s right, I’m choosing to not be a monster anymore. I am no longer a monster. I am not a monster!

“I am not a monster.”

A weight comes off of my chest. I feel more…relaxed. But I get a slight headache.

35 chimes in. “It’s okay, that’s what tends to happen when you forcibly alter your brainwaves. It means you’re doing good.”

Wow. I actually did it, didn’t I?

“Yes, you did. I’m so proud of you.” I feel this warm sensation in my chest. I can feel them smiling. I don’t know how I know, but I do. They are smiling for me.

For a split second, I do too, before looking out the window to watch Grand Mesa shift as we drive by.