Page 17 of Christmas Spirits

Laurence was at my side suddenly, pushing me toward the open door. “We should go,” he whispered in my ear. I knew he was right, but I was having a hard time ripping my gaze from the scene before me. My mother might not be my mother right now, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to hurt her. She couldn’t control what she was doing.

That’s when I saw the syringe one of the male nurses was holding. He checked the dosage of medication inside and uncapped the needle. Sedative, most likely.

I didn’t want to see this, so I trudged to the door.

“Marc… Anders…” My mother gasped, her voice back to its normal tone, but strained as her body continued to struggle against the nurses.

I spun around to see her brown eyes staring at me with helplessness and desperation. She was trying to push past the spirit but was losing the battle. Her eyes continued to change from brown to black and back again.

I fought the urge to run back to her side.

“Marc Anders!” she shouted one last time before another growl rumbled up her throat. As her eyes blanked again, the male nurse plunged the syringe into her arm, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

Laurence tugged me out the door and into the hallway. We sped-walked down the corridors toward the entrance, and this time, when we passed the security guard, he didn’t say a word. Maybe he wanted to, but we were rushing out the main doors before he could get anything out.

It wasn’t until we were back in the car, doors shut and locked, that I felt it safe to let out the breath I had been holding. Laurence didn’t waste any time. With his only working hand, he threw the car into reverse, pulled out of the parking spot, and sped out of the lot and onto the highway.

I touched the back of my head and looked at my fingers. No blood, but the spot was definitely tender. A nice sized bump was forming, too.

“We should go to the hospital to get your wrist checked out,” I said softly.

“No way,” he replied. “Not with that thing following us.”

I guessed he had a point, but an angry purple bruise had already painted his hand and up his forearm. It looked extremely painful, and from the way he was holding it against his chest, it seemed he’d lost most mobility in his fingers as well.

Sour bile rose up my throat. The spirit had snapped his wrist like it had been nothing more than a toothpick.

Opening the glove compartment, I pulled out the bottle of over-the-counter pain killers I had stashed in there for emergencies. I twisted the cap off.

“How many do you want?” I asked him. “Three?”

He took the entire bottle from me and poured a bunch of pills onto his tongue. Then, using his knees to balance the wheel, he took an old water bottle from his car door holder, used his teeth to pop the top, and took a huge swig.

“You’re going to get a stomachache,” I muttered as I snatched the bottle back, closed it, and put it away.

After swallowing, his face twisted in disgust. “I’ll take it over the pain of this wrist.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that. From the swelling and bruising, it looked like he’d probably need something a lot stronger than some glove compartment Motrin.

“We’re going back to Divine Magic,” Laurence said. “We’re safer there.”

Slumping back into the seat, my mind raced with everything that had just happened. Those moments when my mother had been nervously looking about the room…had it been because she had sensed or seen the poltergeist and I hadn’t? Must have been. But if it could hide from me, that made this whole situation evenmoredangerous. I wouldn’t be able to see it coming.

We drove for some time in silence. Laurence drove over twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. He normally stuck to the rules when it came to driving, but I understood his sudden need to be where he believed was safe.

“Marc Anders?” he said unexpectedly, eyes fixed on the road.

“Hm?”

“I’ve been trying to rack my head about it since we left, but I don’t understand what it means. Or why the poltergeist said it. Marc Anders? What does that mean? Is it a name?”

“I think so,” I said, “but I don’t think it was the poltergeist that said it. I think it was my mom. I think she was fighting the thing.”

“Then that’d mean it was something she wanted us to know. It’s important.”

I nodded. “I think so, too.”

We turned off the exit for downtown Fairport, and only then did Laurence slow his speed. I had to admit, being in the city made me feel a little better. Safer.

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