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Tomorrow, when he has time to sit and think about what's happened while he lies in a hospital bed, Joel will tell Spencer that it felt like a switch going off in his mind. One moment he was there, he was in control, and then something flipped a switch inside him and suddenly he wasn't. One moment he was muttering curses under his breath because he'd sloshed hot coffee on his hand while trying to close his travel mug and the next he hadn't felt the pain because he hadn't felt anything.
The mug drops, the plastic exterior cracking where it hits the kitchen floor. Coffee spills over the tiles, over Joel's shoes, it splashes the cupboards and one of the kitchen chairs, but Joel doesn't notice because he's not in control anymore. He's still there, he's still inside, and he's screaming, feeling as though he's pounding his fists against a door that doesn't really exist because he's trapped inside himself. The walls are closing in on him, the walls of himself, the walls of the demon, just walls, and he can't explain it, but he's being pressed down smaller and smaller until he can't breathe.
The demon has taken over.
Joel can't feel his body, but he can feel it. It pushes at his mind, probing curiously and he screams again, but it doesn't make a sound. It only echoes inside him somehow and Joel spends several minutes in such a state of terror that he thinks he blacks out. If such a thing is at all possible when he's not really in control of his body, he doesn't know, but there's a gap in time Joel doesn't remember.
When he comes to, he can feel pain again. He's not in control, not by any means, but there's a shrieking pain in the fingers of his left hand and when he's allowed to look down, he sees three of them are swollen and an angry red.
You're so delicate. No wonder I killed her so swiftly.
The voice is worse than the pain in his fingers could ever be. It's ancient and it's eternal and it's endless. It's like being pierced by something burning hot, something dull and ragged that slips in between his ribs and wiggles back and forth, tearing skin and burning his insides and Joel goes away again.
This time when he regains consciousness, there's silence. His fingers throb and ache and when he looks down at them, it looks as if they've been slammed in a door.
They have been.
The voice is different this time. It's still like something hot and sharp being driven into him, but the demon is restraining itself somehow. The voice has been pulled back and Joel finds he can withstand it a little better. It's still awful and he's still terrified, trapped in a body he can't control, unable to call for help, unable to let anyone know what's happened.
And what would they do? the thing asks. Your witches are not equipped to handle me.
Joel can't answer, he only retreats and feels sick, knowing sooner or later Spencer is going to wonder why he isn't at work. Sooner or later, Spencer is going to come looking for him and this is what he's going to find. A monster in the place of his husband. A monster intent on experimenting with his body to see what he can withstand.
There's a lighter in his right hand, the flame sparks to life. Joel watches silently as it's brought closer and closer to his skin and he feels the pain sear through him, but he can't stop.
He isn't in control anymore.
The mug drops, the plastic exterior cracking where it hits the kitchen floor. Coffee spills over the tiles, over Joel's shoes, it splashes the cupboards and one of the kitchen chairs, but Joel doesn't notice because he's not in control anymore. He's still there, he's still inside, and he's screaming, feeling as though he's pounding his fists against a door that doesn't really exist because he's trapped inside himself. The walls are closing in on him, the walls of himself, the walls of the demon, just walls, and he can't explain it, but he's being pressed down smaller and smaller until he can't breathe.
The demon has taken over.
Joel can't feel his body, but he can feel it. It pushes at his mind, probing curiously and he screams again, but it doesn't make a sound. It only echoes inside him somehow and Joel spends several minutes in such a state of terror that he thinks he blacks out. If such a thing is at all possible when he's not really in control of his body, he doesn't know, but there's a gap in time Joel doesn't remember.
When he comes to, he can feel pain again. He's not in control, not by any means, but there's a shrieking pain in the fingers of his left hand and when he's allowed to look down, he sees three of them are swollen and an angry red.
You're so delicate. No wonder I killed her so swiftly.
The voice is worse than the pain in his fingers could ever be. It's ancient and it's eternal and it's endless. It's like being pierced by something burning hot, something dull and ragged that slips in between his ribs and wiggles back and forth, tearing skin and burning his insides and Joel goes away again.
This time when he regains consciousness, there's silence. His fingers throb and ache and when he looks down at them, it looks as if they've been slammed in a door.
They have been.
The voice is different this time. It's still like something hot and sharp being driven into him, but the demon is restraining itself somehow. The voice has been pulled back and Joel finds he can withstand it a little better. It's still awful and he's still terrified, trapped in a body he can't control, unable to call for help, unable to let anyone know what's happened.
And what would they do? the thing asks. Your witches are not equipped to handle me.
Joel can't answer, he only retreats and feels sick, knowing sooner or later Spencer is going to wonder why he isn't at work. Sooner or later, Spencer is going to come looking for him and this is what he's going to find. A monster in the place of his husband. A monster intent on experimenting with his body to see what he can withstand.
There's a lighter in his right hand, the flame sparks to life. Joel watches silently as it's brought closer and closer to his skin and he feels the pain sear through him, but he can't stop.
He isn't in control anymore.
