Carry On

1997

"Exorcizamus te, Omnis Immundus Spiritus, Omnis Satanica Potestas..." The words flowed out in a whisper, barely audible to the girl speaking them and unheard entirely by her fellow passengers. They were instinctual, repeated so many times they'd become a second language. There probably weren't many kids her age that could speak a second language, let alone a dead one, but that wasn't the point. They were more than words to the girl repeating them over and over--they were a weapon, her only defense against the abominations whom had left her homeless and alone.

The girl had spent the better part of a year committing the words to her memory. She'd crossed the country, stealing to keep alive, trying her best to keep tabs on the monster that had destroyed her life with what little she could scavenge.

Her whole life was sitting in the seat beside her, her right hand draped protectively over the sand colored backpack. It was all replaceable, though it had taken her a long time to acquire all the articles within the bag. Some of it was stolen, like the Metallica shirt she'd taken from some thrift store, and some of it had been bought with stolen money, like the worn toothbrush resting just in the inside pocket of her bag.

There were only four things the girl carried on her at all times; the last photo she'd taken with her father and her older brother, lived in the inside pocket of her army jacket, across her heart. She knew it was a waste of space, but she couldn't find it in herself to throw it away. It was all she had left of her life before and she wasn't sure if she was ready or able to forget it yet.

The second item was a hunting knife that had belonged to her father. It was all the protection she had now and it had earned its worth her first night living on the streets. It was a large knife, but she'd managed to keep it hidden beneath her shirt for the most part.

In her back, left pocket was whatever money she had acquired which was currently a twenty dollar bill. It was all she had left after swiping a wallet from a preoccupied businessman as he'd shoved into her on the street. She'd spent the rest on a bus ticket to Nebraska.

The final item rested loosely around her neck on a piece of string. It was a lump of iron no bigger than a nickel. It was by no means fashionable, but in her time on the run she'd discovered that a lot of the things that go bump in the night didn't like iron and in the event that she was grabbed, there was a chance it could save her life.

"Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii, Omnis Congregatio et Secta Diabolica..." She continued, eyeing the passing cars out the window.

If she'd been asked a year ago whether she believed in the supernatural--the things that go bump in the night--she would have laughed it off without a second thought. That was before she'd returned late one night from cheer practice to find her neighbor, Carl--a member of the parent-teacher committee at her school and a married man with three kids--donning eyes black as an oil spill, ripping her father's insides out through his bellybutton--her brother already dead, gathered in a bloody mass in the corner. He'd left her alive, laughing as she'd collapsed onto the floor in tears.

She couldn't close her eyes without seeing her father's once piercing blue eyes overflowing not with pain, but with sadness. It was as if his last thought hadn't been about himself, but his daughter. Not a day went by she didn't blame herself for not being home. And even though her presence might not have made that much a difference, it would have made some and just maybe it would have been enough. Maybe her brother could have gotten away, maybe she could taken the monster off guard, or distracted it somehow, maybe she could have made some sort of difference.

The Greyhound pulled to a stop, dragging the girl from her thoughts.

Her idea of hunting the demon had simply been looking up violent, unsolved murders and working her way out from her town, which had brought her to a small town in Nebraska. So far, each crime scene had contained sulfur which she'd learned was like a demon form of ectoplasm. She knew she was on the trail of a demon; she could only hope is was the right one.

Grabbing her bag, the girl waited patiently for the rest of the passengers to get off before making her way off the bus. She tossed her bag over her shoulder, making sure to pull her dirty baseball cap down and over her eyes.

"Hey kid, you got someone waiting for you?" The driver asked in vain as the girl ignored him, hurrying down the steps and into the crowd before more questions were asked.

In the year and a half she'd been on her own she'd learned three things; trust no one, keep your mouth shut, and don't draw attention to yourself. Demons could possess anyone, and you wouldn't know until they were ready to rip your head off. That wasn't to say the girl suspected everyone of being possessed, she was simply cautious. After countless hours pouring over any book she could get her hands on regarding demons she'd picked up a few things, salt, iron, holy water, devil's trap, enough to keep herself alive and hopefully enough to bring down the son of a bitch that had killed her family.

The girl lowered her arm as a black, '67, Chevy Impala pulled to a stop along the long stretch of road. It had been maybe the tenth vehicle she'd seen and the second to stop, the first stop not ending so well. Placing her hand on her knife, she approached the car door.

"What the hell you doing out here, kid?" The man looked rough. He wasn't too old, maybe late thirties, early forties the girl guessed, but he was worn. His eyes carried something heavy and dark and the girl hesitated.

"Just lookin' for a ride to the nearest diner." She hadn't eaten since she'd left Illinois and she knew next to nothing about the town she was in.

The man didn't respond for a moment, looking the girl over as if debating whether not she was telling the truth.

"You planning on using that?" The girl couldn't mask the surprise on her face as she gripped her knife. She may have been new to the whole, 'wielding a weapon' thing, but no one had ever noticed her knife before which normally left her at an advantage.

"If I need to." The man laughed, admiring the girls courage and honesty. It wasn't a long laugh and it wasn't filled with a large amount of joy, but by the way it sounded the man needed the humor. Even if humor hadn't been the girl's obvious intention.

"Come on." His smile faded as he motioned towards the passenger seat. "You got any family, kid?"

The girl climbed in, laying her bag in her lap but keeping her hand cautiously over her knife. Hitchhiking wasn't the safest means of travel, but it was her only one and besides, the girl was fairly certain she could handle herself well enough.

"No." The man shot her a side glance as he pulled away. Her response most likely only led to more questions, though he didn't press the matter and a part of her was thankful for it.

Reaching into her bag, the girl grabbed a water bottle she'd filled with holy water from a church she'd passed on her travels. Eyeing the man for a moment, she twisted the cap off and waited. She needed to get the water on the man without being conspicuous.

Her moment came when they hit a slight bump in the road. Though the movement may have been a bit dramatized, she managed to splash a few droplets on the bare skin of the man's hand.

Nothing.

"Hey, kid, watch it will ya?" Twisting the cap back on, she'd gone to place it back in her bag before the man caught a glimpse of the black cross she'd scribbled in sharpie on the side of the bottle. She wasn't quite fast enough. "Is that..." he paused, looking down at the girl. "Was that holy water?"

"No, just water." She lied, pulling the draw string on her bag closed. The man's hand reached over, grabbing the girl's bag as her knife rose simultaneously to his gut as a warning. The girl said nothing as she'd pressed the knife against the man's side, just continued to keep the man's gaze as he looked between her and the road. "So what if it is." She finally spoke, her hand unwavering.

The car pulled to a stop, the man's hand on her bag and the girl's still on her knife at the man's side.

"You think you're some kind of hunter? Is that it?" He could see in her eyes she had no idea what he'd meant by the term. "You hunting demons, kid?" The girl was unable to mask the surprise in her face.

No one believed her, not the police who had worked the case nor the social workers that tried to get her into a home; demons weren't real. She'd been told countless times, but she knew what she saw. And this man spoke of them as though they were an everyday occurrence.

"Just one." She responded coolly.

"Bet I know what happened to your parents." In one swift movement, the man had disarmed the girl, taking her knife from her and pressing it against her throat, pinning her the back of her seat. The man was faster than she'd anticipated

"You're lucky."

"That I got picked up by a psychopath?" Her voice rose towards the end with her anger. Without acknowledging the girl's attempted insult, he pulled off again.

"I'm in town to see an old friend." He continued, taking a glance in the rear-view mirror before focusing back on the road before him. "I think she'll be interested in meeting you. What's your name, kid?"

The girl was silent for a moment, crossing her arms against her chest as she eyed the man. She should have jumped out of the car, the man had just held a knife to her throat. There was just something about him, though the girl wasn't sure exactly what it was, it was trusting--safe.

In one breath, turning away from the man, she replied and though she couldn't explain why, she answered truthfully, "Frankie."