Construction Post: TOMU 2-43
11/4/2011
2:30-3:00 - 650 words
3:00-3:30 - ~1000 words (+350)
5:00-5:30 - ~1500 words (+500)
[Beginning. I tried writing this before as a conversation between Mackenzie and the others the next morning, but the lack of immediacy felt wrong... she was already waking up at the end of the last chapter, so the idea that she would just sort of roll over and then wait until breakfast felt wrong.]
I woke up shaking... shaking and hot. Ian stirred sleepily beside me. He reached out to put his arm around me, and then drew it back with a jerk and a yelp.
“Mackenzie, you're burning up!” he said, suddenly very awake.
It wasn't quite the literal truth, but closer to being so than it might have been for another person. It could have become the truth, too, so I took a few moments to focus on cooling down, if not actually calming down... and as soon as I had the full use of my legs back from my dream-self, I got up and away from the bed, just in case.
“It wasn't him again, was it?” Ian asked, and he sounded confused and concerned.
I could understand that. He and Amaranth had both learned to recognize the way I tended to snap myself awake in case of nightmares of nocturnal incursions. This was different, and I suppose it must have been a little scary. My sleeping body normally gave off enough heat to be snuggly, not enough to be dangerous. My control of my inner fire was pretty ironclad, at least in terms of suppressing it. My grandmother's conditioning made a flare-up while I was sleeping pretty much impossible.
Anger was one of the things that could override that control. I didn't tend to get really angry very often. I get ticked off or frustrated, but the kind of blinding, white-hot rage that was dangerous... well, I'd been conditioned to avoid that, as well.
“Mackenzie, what's wrong?” Ian said, and I realized I hadn't yet found my voice.
“It was him,” I said.
“I thought he'd learned his lesson.”
“More like he was biding his time,” I said.
“Took you by surprise?” Ian guessed.
“Sort of,” I said, while I figured out what to tell him. I mean, it was a definite thing that I was going to tell Ian what had happened and what I suspected. But I'd just woken up, and I was trying to figure out how to explain the dream and what the man had said in it. “He was trying to get in my head about this whole Twyla thing... he said he thinks we should be friends.”
“I wonder why he said that,” Ian said.
“That's not all,” I said. I could feel the heat draining away from my skin, so I sat down on the side of the bed. Ian got his legs out from under the sheet and came around to sit next to me.
“Take your time,” he said.
In my dream, I had tried not to think about it because I figured that would be more easily “overheard”... now that I was awake, I couldn't stop thinking about. At the end. Maybe the most obvious meaning for that was at the end of their association with one another... any relationship they might have had seemed to have ended before I was born or shortly thereafter. Maybe she'd stopped trusting him, if she ever had.
Or maybe he'd been talking about the end of her life... which would mean in turn that he had been present in her life near the end. If that was the case, I hadn't had any inkling of it, but then I'd been young and my mother had obviously already kept a few big secrets from me by that point.
If he'd been there at the end of her life... especially if he hadn't been present between the time I was born and then...
It seemed so nebulous, so tenuous. It was nothing like evidence I could have brought in front of a tribunal, but of course as a demon he didn't actually have to be convicted of anything. And in a certain sense, I didn't need to know if he was guilty of this particular outrage or not... I couldn't exactly bring him to justice myself. It was just one more reason to hate him.
[One hour in.]
I woke up shaking... shaking and hot. Ian stirred sleepily beside me. He reached out to put his arm around me, and then drew it back with a jerk and a yelp.
“Mackenzie, you're burning up!” he said, suddenly very awake.
It wasn't quite the literal truth, but closer to being so than it might have been for another person. It could have become the truth, too, so I took a few moments to focus on cooling down, if not actually calming down... and as soon as I had the full use of my legs back from my dream-self, I got up and away from the bed, just in case.
“It wasn't him again, was it?” Ian asked, and he sounded confused and concerned.
I could understand that. He and Amaranth had both learned to recognize the way I tended to snap myself awake in case of nightmares of nocturnal incursions. This was different, and I suppose it must have been a little scary. My sleeping body normally gave off enough heat to be snuggly, not enough to be dangerous. My control of my inner fire was pretty ironclad, at least in terms of suppressing it. My grandmother's conditioning made a flare-up while I was sleeping pretty much impossible.
Anger was one of the things that could override that control. I didn't tend to get really angry very often. I get ticked off or frustrated, but the kind of blinding, white-hot rage that was dangerous... well, I'd been conditioned to avoid that, as well.
“Mackenzie, what's wrong?” Ian said, and I realized I hadn't yet found my voice.
“It was him,” I said.
“I thought he'd learned his lesson.”
“More like he was biding his time,” I said.
“Took you by surprise?” Ian guessed.
“Sort of,” I said, while I figured out what to tell him. I mean, it was a definite thing that I was going to tell Ian what had happened and what I suspected. But I'd just woken up, and I was trying to figure out how to explain the dream and what the man had said in it. “He was trying to get in my head about this whole Twyla thing... he said he thinks we should be friends.”
“I wonder why he said that,” Ian said.
“That's not all,” I said. I could feel the heat draining away from my skin, so I sat down on the side of the bed. Ian got his legs out from under the sheet and came around to sit next to me.
“Take your time,” he said.
In my dream, I had tried not to think about it because I figured that would be more easily “overheard”... now that I was awake, I couldn't stop thinking about. At the end. Maybe the most obvious meaning for that was at the end of their association with one another... any relationship they might have had seemed to have ended before I was born or shortly thereafter. Maybe she'd stopped trusting him, if she ever had.
Or maybe he'd been talking about the end of her life... which would mean in turn that he had been present in her life near the end. If that was the case, I hadn't had any inkling of it, but then I'd been young and my mother had obviously already kept a few big secrets from me by that point.
If he'd been there at the end of her life... especially if he hadn't been present between the time I was born and then...
[]
“Mackenzie, what is it?” Ian said.
“I think... it's possible he may have killed my mother,” I said.
“Is this the first time that's ever occurred to you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged, kind of uncomfortably.
“I don't want to use the words 'I assumed' when talking about something demony,” he said, “but... well, I kind of did just assume that was what happened. You never really talk about it except to say...”
“It's not my fault,” I said.
“Yeah, that,” Ian said. “That just leaves the other... I mean, the more obvious culprit. Right?”
“I honestly never thought about it,” I said. “I mean, I didn't know the man back then... I was aware that I must have had a father, and after I turned it did sink in that he had been a demon. But I had more immediate things to deal with, and I'd gone half my life without thinking about him... well, my entire life at that point. You know what I mean. The point is that he didn't exist to me enough for me to suspect him of anything.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Ian said. “What exactly did he say? Was he, like, taunting you about it?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
It seemed so nebulous, so tenuous. It was nothing like evidence I could have brought in front of a tribunal, but of course as a demon he didn't actually have to be convicted of anything. And in a certain sense, I didn't need to know if he was guilty of this particular outrage or not... I couldn't exactly bring him to justice myself. It was just one more reason to hate him.
“What then?”
“He just made some comment about how my mother was 'at the end',” I said. “I'd say it's not so much what he said as how he said it... but he didn't really say it any way in particular. Maybe I'm overreacting.”
“If your reaction to him is to get mad and cut him off, you're not overreacting,” Ian said. “That's a perfectly valid and reasonable reaction to a demon who comes into your head while you're sleeping. Or anyone who does it, when you've made it clear he's not welcome. That's the number one sign that he's full of shit when he talks about wanting to help you or wanting the best for you, right there.”
“I guess,” I said.
[1.5 hours]
I woke up shaking... shaking and hot. Ian stirred sleepily beside me. He reached out to put his arm around me, and then drew it back with a jerk and a yelp.
“Mackenzie, you're burning up!” he said, suddenly very awake.
It wasn't quite the literal truth, but closer to being so than it might have been for another person. It could have become the truth, too, so I took a few moments to focus on cooling down, if not actually calming down... and as soon as I had the full use of my legs back from my dream-self, I got up and away from the bed, just in case.
“It wasn't him again, was it?” Ian asked, and he sounded confused and concerned.
I could understand that. He and Amaranth had both learned to recognize the way I tended to snap myself awake in case of nightmares of nocturnal incursions. This was different, and I suppose it must have been a little scary. My sleeping body normally gave off enough heat to be snuggly, not enough to be dangerous. My control of my inner fire was pretty ironclad, at least in terms of suppressing it. My grandmother's conditioning made a flare-up while I was sleeping pretty much impossible.
Anger was one of the things that could override that control. I didn't tend to get really angry very often. I get ticked off or frustrated, but the kind of blinding, white-hot rage that was dangerous... well, I'd been conditioned to avoid that, as well.
“Mackenzie... what is wrong?” Ian said, and I realized I hadn't yet found my voice.
“It was him,” I said.
“Seriously?” he said. “Fucking hell... no pun intended. I really thought he'd learned his lesson.”
“More like he was biding his time,” I said.
“Took you by surprise?” Ian guessed.
“Sort of,” I said, while I figured out what to tell him. I mean, it was a definite thing that I was going to tell Ian what had happened and what I suspected. But I'd just woken up, and I was trying to figure out how to explain the dream and what the man had said in it. “He was trying to get in my head about this whole Twyla thing... he said he thinks we should be friends.”
“I wonder why he said that,” Ian said.
“That's not all,” I said. I could feel the heat draining away from my skin, so I sat down on the side of the bed. Ian got his legs out from under the sheet and came around to sit next to me.
“Take your time,” he said.
In my dream, I had tried not to think about it because I figured that would be more easily “overheard”... now that I was awake, I couldn't stop thinking about. At the end. Maybe the most obvious meaning for that was at the end of their association with one another... any relationship they might have had seemed to have ended before I was born or shortly thereafter. Maybe she'd stopped trusting him, if she ever had.
Or maybe he'd been talking about the end of her life... which would mean in turn that he had been present in her life near the end. If that was the case, I hadn't had any inkling of it, but then I'd been young and my mother had obviously already kept a few big secrets from me by that point.
If he'd been there at the end of her life... especially if he hadn't been present between the time I was born and then...
[]
“Mackenzie, what is it?” Ian said.
“I think... it's possible he may have killed my mother,” I said.
“Is this the first time that's ever occurred to you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged, kind of uncomfortably.
“I don't want to use the words 'I assumed' when talking about something demony,” he said, “but... well, I kind of did just assume that was what happened. You never really talk about it except to say...”
“It's not my fault,” I said.
“Yeah, that,” Ian said. “That just leaves the other... I mean, the more obvious culprit. Right?”
“I honestly never thought about it,” I said. “I mean, I didn't know the man back then... I was aware that I must have had a father, and after I turned it did sink in that he had been a demon. But I had more immediate things to deal with, and I'd gone half my life without thinking about him... well, my entire life at that point. You know what I mean. The point is that he didn't exist to me enough for me to suspect him of anything.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Ian said. “What exactly did he say? Was he, like, taunting you about it?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
It seemed so nebulous, so tenuous. It was nothing like evidence I could have brought in front of a tribunal, but of course as a demon he didn't actually have to be convicted of anything. And in a certain sense, I didn't need to know if he was guilty of this particular outrage or not... I couldn't exactly bring him to justice myself. It was just one more reason to hate him.
“What then?”
“He just made some comment about how my mother was 'at the end',” I said. “I'd say it's not so much what he said as how he said it... but he didn't really say it any way in particular. Maybe I'm overreacting.”
“If your reaction to him is to get mad and cut him off, you're not overreacting,” Ian said. “That's a perfectly valid and reasonable reaction to a demon who comes into your head while you're sleeping. Or anyone who does it, when you've made it clear he's not welcome. That's the number one sign that he's full of shit when he talks about wanting to help you or wanting the best for you, right there.”
“I guess,” I said.
[]
“I'd do one of two things,” Ian said. “I mean, the one that pops into my head first is to just ask him pointblank, the next time he shows up... because you know there's going to be a next time. But what's he going to do except just look your right in the eye and tell you no? That's why the other thing is the smart choice: don't let it change anything. Cut him off and keep him cut off.”
“You're right,” I said. “But I don't know if this is something I can leave alone.”
“Listen, we can look into this on our own,” he said. “Find if there's any chance you're right or not. How did your mother die?”
[]
“Mackenzie, I understand that this is hard to talk about, but you can't really do this without you,” Ian said. “If it's too painful, you might have to make a decision about what's harder: bringing it up or letting it go. Of course, you don't have to decide that right now.”
“I definitely want to do this,” I said. “The thing is... I don't think anyone ever told me how she died, exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother is the one who told me,” I said. “But the thing is, I think I already knew...”
“She wasn't forthcoming on the details, then?” Ian said.
“No,” I said. “It might have been the last time she ever treated me with kid gloves, but she didn't tell me anything more than it had happened.”
“Huh,” Ian said. “And you never got curious about it?”
“I don't think she would have told me if I had,” I said.
“Suggesting that you didn't,” Ian said. “And I didn't mean asking her, I meant... looking stuff up. If you lived in a small town and she died suddenly, it probably would have been in the news. Even without that, there probably would have been a notice. Don't you think your grandmother would have seen that she had a funeral?”
“It really depends on how she died,” I said.
“Seriously?”
“Well, probably not,” I said. “My grandmother's faith... it's not just about appearances and formalities, but it is about those things. I think she would have given any of her daughters proper Khersian rites even if she was pretty sure they were burning in hell.”
“Okay, well that's stuff to look for.”
[]
“The ethernet wasn't really a thing at the time... a few years later, yeah, everyone was talking about the world wide weave and the information [superhighway],” I said. “But this was like... 213? I had pretty free access to the library, but they only had the local papers and the national ones, not the ones from back home.”
This entry automatically cross-posted from http://alexandraerin.dreamwidth.org/328036.html. Comment hither or thither. Void where yon.
2:30-3:00 - 650 words
3:00-3:30 - ~1000 words (+350)
5:00-5:30 - ~1500 words (+500)
[Beginning. I tried writing this before as a conversation between Mackenzie and the others the next morning, but the lack of immediacy felt wrong... she was already waking up at the end of the last chapter, so the idea that she would just sort of roll over and then wait until breakfast felt wrong.]
I woke up shaking... shaking and hot. Ian stirred sleepily beside me. He reached out to put his arm around me, and then drew it back with a jerk and a yelp.
“Mackenzie, you're burning up!” he said, suddenly very awake.
It wasn't quite the literal truth, but closer to being so than it might have been for another person. It could have become the truth, too, so I took a few moments to focus on cooling down, if not actually calming down... and as soon as I had the full use of my legs back from my dream-self, I got up and away from the bed, just in case.
“It wasn't him again, was it?” Ian asked, and he sounded confused and concerned.
I could understand that. He and Amaranth had both learned to recognize the way I tended to snap myself awake in case of nightmares of nocturnal incursions. This was different, and I suppose it must have been a little scary. My sleeping body normally gave off enough heat to be snuggly, not enough to be dangerous. My control of my inner fire was pretty ironclad, at least in terms of suppressing it. My grandmother's conditioning made a flare-up while I was sleeping pretty much impossible.
Anger was one of the things that could override that control. I didn't tend to get really angry very often. I get ticked off or frustrated, but the kind of blinding, white-hot rage that was dangerous... well, I'd been conditioned to avoid that, as well.
“Mackenzie, what's wrong?” Ian said, and I realized I hadn't yet found my voice.
“It was him,” I said.
“I thought he'd learned his lesson.”
“More like he was biding his time,” I said.
“Took you by surprise?” Ian guessed.
“Sort of,” I said, while I figured out what to tell him. I mean, it was a definite thing that I was going to tell Ian what had happened and what I suspected. But I'd just woken up, and I was trying to figure out how to explain the dream and what the man had said in it. “He was trying to get in my head about this whole Twyla thing... he said he thinks we should be friends.”
“I wonder why he said that,” Ian said.
“That's not all,” I said. I could feel the heat draining away from my skin, so I sat down on the side of the bed. Ian got his legs out from under the sheet and came around to sit next to me.
“Take your time,” he said.
In my dream, I had tried not to think about it because I figured that would be more easily “overheard”... now that I was awake, I couldn't stop thinking about. At the end. Maybe the most obvious meaning for that was at the end of their association with one another... any relationship they might have had seemed to have ended before I was born or shortly thereafter. Maybe she'd stopped trusting him, if she ever had.
Or maybe he'd been talking about the end of her life... which would mean in turn that he had been present in her life near the end. If that was the case, I hadn't had any inkling of it, but then I'd been young and my mother had obviously already kept a few big secrets from me by that point.
If he'd been there at the end of her life... especially if he hadn't been present between the time I was born and then...
It seemed so nebulous, so tenuous. It was nothing like evidence I could have brought in front of a tribunal, but of course as a demon he didn't actually have to be convicted of anything. And in a certain sense, I didn't need to know if he was guilty of this particular outrage or not... I couldn't exactly bring him to justice myself. It was just one more reason to hate him.
[One hour in.]
I woke up shaking... shaking and hot. Ian stirred sleepily beside me. He reached out to put his arm around me, and then drew it back with a jerk and a yelp.
“Mackenzie, you're burning up!” he said, suddenly very awake.
It wasn't quite the literal truth, but closer to being so than it might have been for another person. It could have become the truth, too, so I took a few moments to focus on cooling down, if not actually calming down... and as soon as I had the full use of my legs back from my dream-self, I got up and away from the bed, just in case.
“It wasn't him again, was it?” Ian asked, and he sounded confused and concerned.
I could understand that. He and Amaranth had both learned to recognize the way I tended to snap myself awake in case of nightmares of nocturnal incursions. This was different, and I suppose it must have been a little scary. My sleeping body normally gave off enough heat to be snuggly, not enough to be dangerous. My control of my inner fire was pretty ironclad, at least in terms of suppressing it. My grandmother's conditioning made a flare-up while I was sleeping pretty much impossible.
Anger was one of the things that could override that control. I didn't tend to get really angry very often. I get ticked off or frustrated, but the kind of blinding, white-hot rage that was dangerous... well, I'd been conditioned to avoid that, as well.
“Mackenzie, what's wrong?” Ian said, and I realized I hadn't yet found my voice.
“It was him,” I said.
“I thought he'd learned his lesson.”
“More like he was biding his time,” I said.
“Took you by surprise?” Ian guessed.
“Sort of,” I said, while I figured out what to tell him. I mean, it was a definite thing that I was going to tell Ian what had happened and what I suspected. But I'd just woken up, and I was trying to figure out how to explain the dream and what the man had said in it. “He was trying to get in my head about this whole Twyla thing... he said he thinks we should be friends.”
“I wonder why he said that,” Ian said.
“That's not all,” I said. I could feel the heat draining away from my skin, so I sat down on the side of the bed. Ian got his legs out from under the sheet and came around to sit next to me.
“Take your time,” he said.
In my dream, I had tried not to think about it because I figured that would be more easily “overheard”... now that I was awake, I couldn't stop thinking about. At the end. Maybe the most obvious meaning for that was at the end of their association with one another... any relationship they might have had seemed to have ended before I was born or shortly thereafter. Maybe she'd stopped trusting him, if she ever had.
Or maybe he'd been talking about the end of her life... which would mean in turn that he had been present in her life near the end. If that was the case, I hadn't had any inkling of it, but then I'd been young and my mother had obviously already kept a few big secrets from me by that point.
If he'd been there at the end of her life... especially if he hadn't been present between the time I was born and then...
[]
“Mackenzie, what is it?” Ian said.
“I think... it's possible he may have killed my mother,” I said.
“Is this the first time that's ever occurred to you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged, kind of uncomfortably.
“I don't want to use the words 'I assumed' when talking about something demony,” he said, “but... well, I kind of did just assume that was what happened. You never really talk about it except to say...”
“It's not my fault,” I said.
“Yeah, that,” Ian said. “That just leaves the other... I mean, the more obvious culprit. Right?”
“I honestly never thought about it,” I said. “I mean, I didn't know the man back then... I was aware that I must have had a father, and after I turned it did sink in that he had been a demon. But I had more immediate things to deal with, and I'd gone half my life without thinking about him... well, my entire life at that point. You know what I mean. The point is that he didn't exist to me enough for me to suspect him of anything.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Ian said. “What exactly did he say? Was he, like, taunting you about it?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
It seemed so nebulous, so tenuous. It was nothing like evidence I could have brought in front of a tribunal, but of course as a demon he didn't actually have to be convicted of anything. And in a certain sense, I didn't need to know if he was guilty of this particular outrage or not... I couldn't exactly bring him to justice myself. It was just one more reason to hate him.
“What then?”
“He just made some comment about how my mother was 'at the end',” I said. “I'd say it's not so much what he said as how he said it... but he didn't really say it any way in particular. Maybe I'm overreacting.”
“If your reaction to him is to get mad and cut him off, you're not overreacting,” Ian said. “That's a perfectly valid and reasonable reaction to a demon who comes into your head while you're sleeping. Or anyone who does it, when you've made it clear he's not welcome. That's the number one sign that he's full of shit when he talks about wanting to help you or wanting the best for you, right there.”
“I guess,” I said.
[1.5 hours]
I woke up shaking... shaking and hot. Ian stirred sleepily beside me. He reached out to put his arm around me, and then drew it back with a jerk and a yelp.
“Mackenzie, you're burning up!” he said, suddenly very awake.
It wasn't quite the literal truth, but closer to being so than it might have been for another person. It could have become the truth, too, so I took a few moments to focus on cooling down, if not actually calming down... and as soon as I had the full use of my legs back from my dream-self, I got up and away from the bed, just in case.
“It wasn't him again, was it?” Ian asked, and he sounded confused and concerned.
I could understand that. He and Amaranth had both learned to recognize the way I tended to snap myself awake in case of nightmares of nocturnal incursions. This was different, and I suppose it must have been a little scary. My sleeping body normally gave off enough heat to be snuggly, not enough to be dangerous. My control of my inner fire was pretty ironclad, at least in terms of suppressing it. My grandmother's conditioning made a flare-up while I was sleeping pretty much impossible.
Anger was one of the things that could override that control. I didn't tend to get really angry very often. I get ticked off or frustrated, but the kind of blinding, white-hot rage that was dangerous... well, I'd been conditioned to avoid that, as well.
“Mackenzie... what is wrong?” Ian said, and I realized I hadn't yet found my voice.
“It was him,” I said.
“Seriously?” he said. “Fucking hell... no pun intended. I really thought he'd learned his lesson.”
“More like he was biding his time,” I said.
“Took you by surprise?” Ian guessed.
“Sort of,” I said, while I figured out what to tell him. I mean, it was a definite thing that I was going to tell Ian what had happened and what I suspected. But I'd just woken up, and I was trying to figure out how to explain the dream and what the man had said in it. “He was trying to get in my head about this whole Twyla thing... he said he thinks we should be friends.”
“I wonder why he said that,” Ian said.
“That's not all,” I said. I could feel the heat draining away from my skin, so I sat down on the side of the bed. Ian got his legs out from under the sheet and came around to sit next to me.
“Take your time,” he said.
In my dream, I had tried not to think about it because I figured that would be more easily “overheard”... now that I was awake, I couldn't stop thinking about. At the end. Maybe the most obvious meaning for that was at the end of their association with one another... any relationship they might have had seemed to have ended before I was born or shortly thereafter. Maybe she'd stopped trusting him, if she ever had.
Or maybe he'd been talking about the end of her life... which would mean in turn that he had been present in her life near the end. If that was the case, I hadn't had any inkling of it, but then I'd been young and my mother had obviously already kept a few big secrets from me by that point.
If he'd been there at the end of her life... especially if he hadn't been present between the time I was born and then...
[]
“Mackenzie, what is it?” Ian said.
“I think... it's possible he may have killed my mother,” I said.
“Is this the first time that's ever occurred to you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged, kind of uncomfortably.
“I don't want to use the words 'I assumed' when talking about something demony,” he said, “but... well, I kind of did just assume that was what happened. You never really talk about it except to say...”
“It's not my fault,” I said.
“Yeah, that,” Ian said. “That just leaves the other... I mean, the more obvious culprit. Right?”
“I honestly never thought about it,” I said. “I mean, I didn't know the man back then... I was aware that I must have had a father, and after I turned it did sink in that he had been a demon. But I had more immediate things to deal with, and I'd gone half my life without thinking about him... well, my entire life at that point. You know what I mean. The point is that he didn't exist to me enough for me to suspect him of anything.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Ian said. “What exactly did he say? Was he, like, taunting you about it?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
It seemed so nebulous, so tenuous. It was nothing like evidence I could have brought in front of a tribunal, but of course as a demon he didn't actually have to be convicted of anything. And in a certain sense, I didn't need to know if he was guilty of this particular outrage or not... I couldn't exactly bring him to justice myself. It was just one more reason to hate him.
“What then?”
“He just made some comment about how my mother was 'at the end',” I said. “I'd say it's not so much what he said as how he said it... but he didn't really say it any way in particular. Maybe I'm overreacting.”
“If your reaction to him is to get mad and cut him off, you're not overreacting,” Ian said. “That's a perfectly valid and reasonable reaction to a demon who comes into your head while you're sleeping. Or anyone who does it, when you've made it clear he's not welcome. That's the number one sign that he's full of shit when he talks about wanting to help you or wanting the best for you, right there.”
“I guess,” I said.
[]
“I'd do one of two things,” Ian said. “I mean, the one that pops into my head first is to just ask him pointblank, the next time he shows up... because you know there's going to be a next time. But what's he going to do except just look your right in the eye and tell you no? That's why the other thing is the smart choice: don't let it change anything. Cut him off and keep him cut off.”
“You're right,” I said. “But I don't know if this is something I can leave alone.”
“Listen, we can look into this on our own,” he said. “Find if there's any chance you're right or not. How did your mother die?”
[]
“Mackenzie, I understand that this is hard to talk about, but you can't really do this without you,” Ian said. “If it's too painful, you might have to make a decision about what's harder: bringing it up or letting it go. Of course, you don't have to decide that right now.”
“I definitely want to do this,” I said. “The thing is... I don't think anyone ever told me how she died, exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother is the one who told me,” I said. “But the thing is, I think I already knew...”
“She wasn't forthcoming on the details, then?” Ian said.
“No,” I said. “It might have been the last time she ever treated me with kid gloves, but she didn't tell me anything more than it had happened.”
“Huh,” Ian said. “And you never got curious about it?”
“I don't think she would have told me if I had,” I said.
“Suggesting that you didn't,” Ian said. “And I didn't mean asking her, I meant... looking stuff up. If you lived in a small town and she died suddenly, it probably would have been in the news. Even without that, there probably would have been a notice. Don't you think your grandmother would have seen that she had a funeral?”
“It really depends on how she died,” I said.
“Seriously?”
“Well, probably not,” I said. “My grandmother's faith... it's not just about appearances and formalities, but it is about those things. I think she would have given any of her daughters proper Khersian rites even if she was pretty sure they were burning in hell.”
“Okay, well that's stuff to look for.”
[]
“The ethernet wasn't really a thing at the time... a few years later, yeah, everyone was talking about the world wide weave and the information [superhighway],” I said. “But this was like... 213? I had pretty free access to the library, but they only had the local papers and the national ones, not the ones from back home.”
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