We arrive at the FBI headquarters in Grand Junction. They get Mom and I out of the car, run is through the metal detectors, and they lead us to a carpeted room with a round table in the middle. Not what I expect an interrogation room to look like.

“Please, take a seat,” instructs Agent Collins.

I sit down in the chair closest to the entrance. Mom sits right next to me

“So, are we being interrogated?” I ask nervously.

“No, this is just an interview, trying to get you and your mom’s statements,” Collins assures us. “As soon as we get them, we’ll see about getting you two back home.”

“Sooner the better,” chips 35. “I don’t wanna spend another minute in this dumpster of a so-called ‘small town.’”

 Collins gives a shrug in half-agreement. He and Thompson leave the room for almost an hour. Nobody says anything during that time. As soon as they come back, they both take a seat, and Thompson pulls out a recording device, and places it on the table. In addition to that, she also pulls out a pen and paper.

“Are we all ready? Anyone need a water or anything?” Agent Collins asks.

“Are you?” mom turns and asks me.

I sigh. “Yeah, I guess I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” She puts a hand on one of mine.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Just give me a second,” 35 requests. They hop out of my body again, and sit in the remaining chair. They look at me with their glowing white eyes, and nod.

Wait…that’s new.

“I’m ready,” They state.

I’ll have to ask about the eyes later.

“Then I’m ready too,” says Mom, a bit uneasy from the shadowy figure sitting on the other side of me.

“Alright then,” says Collins. Thompson turns on the recorder.

“It is Thursday, August 9^th, 2012 at 6:42pm at the Federal Bureau of Investigation Office in Grand Junction, Colorado. I, Agent Timothy Collins, will be conducting this interview, along with my partner, if she may also state her name for the record.”

“Agent Dana Thompson.”

“This interview is in regard to the events earlier today in San Angelo. If the witnesses may state their names and confirm details, namely their dates of birth and addresses.”

“My name is Evelyn Weaver, I was born March 21^st, 1967. As of right now, I live at 1712 Elk Steppe Drive, San Angelo, Colorado with my husband and two kids.”

Collins asks “And what’s your ZIP code?”

“81436”

“Thank you. And you, young man?”

“Brock Weaver. October 31^st, 1998. I live with my mom.”

“Thank you. We also have a third subject present. One that, as of right now, does not legally exist, but is fully capable of talking about today. If it may state how it wants to be addressed.”

“35, just like the number. And if you don’t mind, the pronouns I would like you to use are “They” and “Them.”

“Duly noted.” He pauses. “Now, as all of you understand, nobody is being charged with anything right now. However, I would still like to state for the record that you have the right to remain silent, and you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, the state will provide for one. Do you understand this? Please state ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

“Yes,” states Mom.

“Yes,” states 35.

Another sigh. “Yes.”

“Okay. So, Brock, would you mind stating what’s the last thing you remember before 35 here showed up?”

I think back. “Well, getting off the bus and walking into the school. And then I spazzed out.”

“Is that it?” asks Collins.

Do I want to mention the visions I experienced right before I blacked out?

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Are you sure about that?” Agent Thompson presses.

“Well…” Okay, maybe this will be harmless. “There was this sort of, feeling of impending doom that started when I got on the bus. And it grew and grew and grew until I blacked out.” Sure, that makes sense. Everyone else saw that. Just don’t mention the visions.

“Impending Doom?”  She digs.

“Well, an overall sense of dread. I tried drowning it out with my music, but it did not work.”

The agents both nod.

“And this all happened yesterday, correct?”

“Y-Yesterday?” I stumble.  Wait, Collins said that today’s Thursday?

I turn towards 35. Their eyes are wide. I can’t tell which way they’re looking though. Not that it matters right now.

“How long was I out? How long did you have control over me!? I swear, if it was any more than the forty minutes I had before class…”

“One day,” they answer. “I was by myself in you for one day, and one class period.”

ONE.

WHOLE.

DAY!?!?

You’re telling me I lost a whole day of my life? No way. Nuh uh. I am so going to kill…

“When were you planning on telling me that?” I angrily ask them.

“Well, it never came up until now!” They defend.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Agent Thompson cuts in. “You had you seizure yesterday, then came back this morning at about 8:50 am, correct?”

I take a moment to gather myself. This isn’t over. “Yes.”

 

**** (End of interview…)

 

“…and as they say, the rest is history,” finishes 35.

“Very well,” Collins comments. He turns towards Thompson. “Anything you want to add?”

“No, I think that’s enough, for now,” she agrees. “As of right now, nobody has committed any crime that we can charge anyone with, other than Father Paul.”

“Who has already been detained,” Collins states. “Are you sure he’s gonna be able to talk?”

“His soul is damaged. He’ll barely be able to even refuse an order. He’ll spill everything.” 35 assures. “Especially since his soul is only allowed back in his body as long as he keeps talking.”

Wait, what?

“He won’t be able to eat or drink as long as his soul is out of his body. He’ll starve. Even if he somehow did initially refuse, survival instinct will kick in and he’ll get right back to spilling.”

“I thought you kicked him out of his body forever,” I object.

“I did, at first,” they confirm. “But I amended it while you weren’t paying attention.”

…Oh.

“Speaking of that,” starts Collins. “We need to ask. How are you able to do any of that? Where do your powers come from?”

“It’s as I’ve stated before, I cannot tell you. No matter what.” They sound a bit sharper.

“But you do know where it comes from, right?” digs Thompson.

Pause. “No comment.”

“You know that people are going to want to dissect you and Brock for those answers,” she stabs.

Mom’s face goes pale. “Please tell them! I don’t want anything happening to my little boy!”

“Mom!”

“Well then, I guess there’s nothing else to do other than to tell them the truth.” Wow, did they really give up that easily?

Collins asks “And what’s that?”

“That you’ll find nothing in my host’s body that you wouldn’t find in the body of any other fourteen-year-old. I’m a soul, bound to this body the same way all of our souls are. If that body dies, we both just move on to whatever's next. My arrival did nothing to change the body any more than anyone else’s soul does to theirs.”

A deafening, uncomfortable silence fills the room. It feels like it lasts forever. Collins eventually breaks it.

“And you cannot tell us how you knew about Father Paul’s…activities, correct?”

35, not feeling in the mood, answers with a dead-faced “No.”

Collins looks like he wants to ask 35 about how they knew about his past and Thompson’s invisible struggle, but backs out at the last second.

“Well, we’ve pressed you for it enough, so thank you for your cooperation. Mrs. Weaver. Brock. 35. And with that, this interview is concluded.” He turns off the recorder.

We get up, exit the room, and are led out of the building, where…

Dad?

He was waiting for us. He’s standing next to his truck. Once he sees us, he walks up to us.

“Are you two alright?” he asks.

Mom hugs him. She tries to pull me in, but I don’t budge. Dad gives me a bad look, before turning to 35.

“So it’s all true then,” he states. “My son is possessed by a demon.”

35 groans where everyone can hear them. “That’s not going away any time soon, is it?”

Before Dad could respond, Mom cuts in. “Where’s Delilah?”

“She’s staying at a friend’s house. She’s fine.”

“Which friend?” she asks anxiously.

“Uh, Courtney’s.”

You can see the relief on her face all the way from San Angelo.

“I asked for some emergency time off work when I heard what happened.” He explains. “After I dropped her off, I came up here as soon as I could.”

“You must be Mr. Weaver,” Collins cuts in. He reaches his hand out to shake. Dad complies. “Agent Collins.”

“Alan Weaver. I’ll be taking my son and my wife home now, if you don’t mind. Unless you can do something about this…demon.”

35 glares with their arms held out in irritation.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that, sir.” He reaches under his coat to pull out a wallet, then pulls a contact card out. “But if there’s anything we could do to help, here’s my-”

“We won’t be taking that. We’ll be exorcising him tomorrow,” Dad cuts off. “I’m sure Father Paul will know what to do.”

Everyone, including me, looks at each other for a few seconds. 35 starts giggling, Mom puts her head down, and a look of light shock paints itself of Collins’s face. Who’s gonna break it to him?

“Uh Alan?” Mom starts. “He, uh…uh…”

“He what?” Dad asks impatiently.

35 is still giggling.

“He was arrested on charges of crimes against children.” Collins lays out plainly.  Dad’s eyes fill to the brim with disbelief. “More details are being kept hidden from the public pending further investigation.”

“That’s impossible! He’s a righteous, pious man! He would never! How did this happen?” He turns to 35, who hasn’t stopped giggling. “You! Did you do this?”

Still giggling, 35 tries to answer with “do what?”

“All of this! Did you get him arrested?” He snaps.

“I mean, I did expose what he and almost the entire San Angelo Police department were doing. Not my fault it’s bad enough to warrant an arrest.”

He gets up in 35’s face. “This is your fault! He wouldn’t have been arrested if it wasn’t for you! You did this to save your ass, didn’t you?”

“Calm down sir, you’re acting all hormonal,” they taunt.

WOAH. He’s not gonna take that-

He takes a swing at 35. 35, being the free soul they are, doesn’t feel a thing. His arm passes through them harmlessly. He almost trips from his momentum.

“Like, really emotional.” I can hear them laugh.

He tries several more times to hit them. Not a single blow does anything meaningful. After enough failed punches, he pulls back away from 35. There's anger and frustration plastered on his face. (Wait, does this count as assault?)

“How could you do this?” He yells. “He was a good man. A-”

 “Clearly not if he was having his way with kids,” they cut him off.

He growls and turns away from us. I haven’t seen him like this since that time I almost failed my reading class. This is not gonna be good. I already fear the drive home.

“Hey,” says Agent Collins. “I think we should all take a minute calm down. We’ll see how the Father Paul situation turns out in due time. Right now, you have to drive your family home. Can you do that?”

(I guess not.)

He doesn’t respond.

“Can you?” Mom asks worriedly.

He hesitates for a moment, before answering with a sharp “Yes.” He then turns to me and barks “Get in!” Immediately after, he orders to 35 “and if you have to come, you’re riding in the back! I do not want to hear a peep from you. Otherwise, you’re staying right here!”

35 just blissfully skips towards the truck, and…jumps over the fender and into the bed of the truck. I guess they aren’t completely bound to physics as a spirit. I quietly climb into the passenger side back seat. Agent Collins gives Mom his card before she climbs in the front passenger seat. Once we’re all buckled up, Dad starts the truck and pulls out in a hurry.

By now, night has fallen, so I cannot see anything out the window. The moon is in last quarter, so it won’t be up until midnight. It’s just then do I realize that I, or we if you count 35, have not eaten anything since breakfast this morning. My stomach starts growling. I would ask to stop in Delta or Montrose, preferably Delta since it’s closer, but I’m too afraid to ask. Dad’s mood scares me.

“Psst” whispers 35. “Don’t tell them this, but we can still talk discreetly while we are out of the body.”

Well, that’s convenient. “That’s nice,” I try to think towards them.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize for not disclosing how long I was alone in your body. The situation just never brought it to mind. I have ADHD. I forget things when I’m not looking at them.”

Wait…35 has ADHD? How does that work? Don’t you need a brain for that?

“I get it. Everything’s been scary ever since I’ve shown up. Even worse with all of the attention we’ve received. We’re probably gonna wind up on the news if we haven’t already.”

I deflate.

“And I’ll be honest. This is not how it was supposed to go. It’s all been going horribly wrong since I first showed up. I’m as lost as you are at this point.”

Oh, are you now? “How was it supposed to go then?”

“I was supposed to show up while you were asleep. And you were supposed to wake up two mornings after. That way, nobody would know. But I couldn’t exactly hide a seizure and a change in demeanor after they occur right in front of over fifty people, children and adults alike.”

Oh. That makes sense, I guess. Not sure how I feel about that. Or if that changes how I feel.

“But, I can make a promise, if that’s of any assurance.” They pause. “I promise I will do my best to help you. To protect you. Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together. Between the two of us, there’s nothing we can’t do. Does that sound good?”

I don’t feel safer, but I’ll take what I can get. “Yeah, I guess.” I reply. But then I add “you still made my dad mad though.”

“Hehe, yeah, sorry, couldn’t resist!”

“That’s nice. You couldn’t resist. What a lame excuse.”

“Hey, I can do better!”

Whatever.

At this point, the pain in my stomach is too much for me to bear. My drive to eat overcomes my sense of fear of dad’s anger. “Can we stop somewhere to eat, please? I have not eaten since this morning, and my stomach is killing me.”

Mom and Dad quietly chatter with each other before Mom says “we’re coming up on Delta. We’re going to have to stick with drive-thrus since we got 35 with us. So, Mickie D’s, Arb’s, or do you want to wait until we get to Montrose?”

Right, we do need to stick with drive-thrus. I hope someone's open this late.

**** (Back Home)

I hop out of the truck, food in hand. Or rather, what’s left of it. Really just the bags and cups. 35 Hops out and follows right behind me. Everyone is silent as we walk up into the house. Dad unlocks the front door and we all enter as he turns on the lights. I just head straight for the bathroom to get ready for bed. I throw my trash away in the can under the sink. It’s just then that I realize something.

Am I really about to strip down, go to the bathroom and shower in front of 35? Uh…do I talk about it? Or do I just…pretend they’re not in the room with me? Sure, I’ve already peed with them here back in Grand Junction, but this… this is…scary.

They seem to notice my trouble. “Look kid, I get it. It’s extremely awkward, but the fact is that this is gonna be our lives for the next fifty months. Best we get used to this sooner rather than later. You can’t go that long without cleaning yourself, and you certainly cannot go that long without taking a leak or a dump.”

I hate that they’re right, but they’re right. These next four years are going to be miserable!

“Good news though,” they continue reassuringly. “I already emptied our guts yesterday, so you can completely skip that part for tonight.”

Our guts. Our guts. Ugh. At least I still decided what goes in them, right? Wait, did they…?

I frantically ask, “did you wash…?” I stumble on the words.

Not wanting to say anything, but saying it anyway, they painfully answer “Yes, I washed our crack in the shower immediately after. This is America, be-days are not an option here. And we can both agree it’s nasty not to!”

Whew. I’m so relieved. Wow. I suddenly feel lucky that my invader had the same ideas about hygiene that I did. How messed up is that? (But what the heck is a be-day?) Disgusting!!!

I turn towards the Vaseline. Yeah, no. Not doing that tonight. At least not until I’ve gotten used to-

“Not for as long as I’m here, kid,” they state sternly. “I will not be having that at all.”

Okay, that might be a problem. I’ve never gone that long without it! Not since I learned how, anyway. Longest I’ve gone was about two weeks last summer as we stayed in a hotel in Denver. (Jesus Dad, you really know how to plan a bad trip.) There is no way I’m going four whole years without it. I'm gonna go crazy from this!

This is Hell. I’m in Hell. I died as I walked into school and I went to Hell. And 35 is my tormentor. Everything I’ve been seeing so far is like some… act put on by Satan’s demons. I committed the Sin of Lust. I rejected Jesus and now I’m-

I feel a smack across my face.

“You. Are. Not. In. Hell.” 35 emphasizes, holding my arms tightly. “But if you were, I would be your ticket to Heaven.”

I smile and laugh defeatedly. “And what are you saying? You’re Jesus?”

They grunt. “I am not Jesus. He has nothing to do with what’s going on here.” They pause. “But…I can assure you, if He was here, He’d tell you to listen to me.”

Right. Very reassuring.

“Now get in the shower.”

They do most of the work while I’m in there. I’m too sad to wash myself. Even if this isn’t Hell, it might as well be. My life isn’t my own anymore. I had a barely bearable life, and now it’s gone. I guess we really do need to appreciate what we have; we never know when it will get taken away from us.

I almost cry, but the tears stop at the corners of my eyes. I can’t cry. I’m physically not able to. I haven’t cried in two years. I want to, but something's not letting me.

I distract myself from the whole ordeal by fantasizing what it must be like to be a bug or a mouse, being so tiny in a world so big. Where grass blades are forests and overgrown irrigation ditches are like rivers through the jungle. And the ever-present threat of being stepped on by a two-legged giant. A nightmare I would very much prefer to the one I’m living right now.

I just let 35 continue to do most of the work as we get ready for bed. Hehe. “We.” I’ve truly accepted my defeat. It’s so weird, seeing them grab my body parts from the outside in order to manipulate them. Yet, it feels like they’re moving from my own will. How does that even work?

They brush my teeth, put on deodorant, and use a towel to cover us as we hop into our room to put on nothing but underwear and a shirt. I climb into bed. 35 plops into my computer chair. Better than right next to me in bed, I guess.

I wait for Mom to come and tuck me in. Only this time, she never does. Is she too scared? Or too tired. Either way, I…almost wish she did. I, uh, need that familiar gesture. Yeah. I need that familiarity…

Eventually I fall asleep, despite being uneasy from sharing the same room as 35. I never wish them a good night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m walking behind my comrades, my rifle pointed down at the ground to my left side. Our flashlights are barely illuminating the long-abandoned bunker we’re in. Maybe we’ll find something in here useful. I don’t know. Everything feels so…hopeless right now. It’s like we’re on borrowed time. I’m not sure that we’re not.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of metal snapping and my girlfriend screaming. I turn around to see that the floor under her has collapsed. I run out to the ledge where it snapped and call out her name. No response. I call out again. Again, no response. One more time. She finally answers.

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. She’s one of the last good things on this planet.

My team and I set up so that I can rappel down to her. It doesn’t take too long. As soon as I’m down, I take her hands in mine and ask her if she’s okay. She’s broken her legs, but otherwise, she’s fine. I hook her up to the line and my team pulls her up.

As I’m waiting for them to finish the job and send it back down for me, I notice something about this place. It’s an entire cavern, with a pathway leading to a collapsed hall on one end, and the other leading to another room, from where there’s a faint light coming. I let my team know what’s up before going to take a look.

As soon as I enter the other room, the light shines a bit brighter. A comfortable, soothing, but strange white-green. It’s coming from what looks like some sort of altar in the center of a strange circle. There’s marks I can’t quite make out on the floor, and symbols I don’t recognize all over the walls, including on two sets of columns on each side of the circle.

As I step onto the circle, the markings on it start to glow the same color as the altar, which in turn starts to glow brighter. It’s literally a bunch of circles arranged in a way of which I cannot make out the rhyme or reason. I step closer and closer to the altar. My curiosity is getting the better of me. Besides, whatever is going on here cannot be worse than what’s going on out there, right?

I hear my friend call out my name just as I touch the altar. I’m knocked back just as a great big column of swirling light appears and rises where the altar is. It’s nearly blinding. Suddenly, a swirl of light reaches for me and-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I yank myself up from my bed, panting from my dream. I look around. My room feels strangely empty. I look to my computer chair, but I do not see 35, nor the chair or even the computer. I turn towards the window, to see a girl standing there. She’s facing away from me. The light coming from outside is really bright, stopping me from seeing whatever she’s looking at.

She doesn’t react to any sounds I make as I pull the sheets off of me. She just keeps looking out the window. There’s something about her that seems…familiar? Not that there’s anything to go by; her long, thick, wavy blonde hair makes it impossible to see what she’s wearing, or even if she’s wearing anything at all. Still, a part of me wants to go ask her who she is and what she’s doing here. But just as I reach, everything starts to fade-

****

I wake up. This time for real. I look around my room. The early morning light floods it with the glow of a warm, gentle, Colorado sunrise. Everything is back to normal; except I can’t find 35 anywhere. They must be back in my head. My alarm clock reads “8:36 am.” I’m supposed to have school today, but I guess somebody got in the way of that.

That was definitely a bizarre dream. Not that it matters. I’m starting to forget about it anyway.

I get up and make my way towards the kitchen. It’s really quiet for a school morning. Delilah must be at school, but I don’t know about Mom and Dad. Oh well. I’ll find out soon enough. I walk over to the pantry and grab a couple toaster pastries. Naturally, I stick them in the toaster, set it to a medium darkness, and wait.

“So, enjoying your morning?” greets 35 from inside. “It honestly looks and feels really nice right now.”

Yeah, it kind of does. I don’t remember seeing the house this quiet in a while. The temperature is just right. The tile under my feet feels really dry and cool, letting my feet gently slide across it. I like it when that happens. It feels nice. Almost calming.

But I’m always feeling a bit uneasy anyway. It’s like no matter how quiet things are, I always hear something screeching inside my mind. It’s why I can never truly meditate.

Whatever. Burden of ADHD, I guess. I’ll still try to enjoy my morning.

“‘Screeching?’ Is that what you call it?” 35 asks curiously.

“Yeah, I think it’s an apt description.”

“I guess I can’t argue with you there.”

I take a second to compose. “So, you hear it too?”

They hesitate before answering “Yes.”

Before I can respond, the pastries pop out of the toaster, smelling of sweet strawberries and such. I get out a plate, grab the pasties while burning my hand, and take a seat at the kitchen table. 35 seems to understand that I don’t want to be interrupted.

It’s just then, that I hear a knock on the front door.