Page 166 of Dance With A Devil
I shake off their hands and pace, tension ricocheting off the walls. “I have a right to the truth.”
“If you’re serious,” Gaia says, eyes steady, “then let’s get serious. You said you needed a support system? Well… we’re here. All of us.” She gestures around.
I let a grin curl at the corner of my mouth. One part fear. One part pride. “I’m not ready. But let’s do it anyway.”
She grabs a chair from the kitchen, places it dead center in the living room like it’s a damn ritual circle. “Sit here. The rest of us will surround you.”
“Okay, this is giving majorExorcistvibes.” I joke, mostly to keep my nerves from slitting my throat.
“Girl, shut up,” Ryan snaps, smacking my arm.
Fred adds, “Out of all the shit you could’ve said, that’s what you chose?”
I grin. “It made you smile. Mission accomplished.”
Gaia ignores us and moves the remaining chairs into place. “Alright. Everyone, sit.”
“Shit. We’re really doing this,” I mutter, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “This is either gonna break me… or birth me.”
Gaia’s voice cuts the tension like a scalpel. “Athens. Shut the fuck up. This isn’t a fucking exorcism, it’s worse.” She raises her chin. “And if any of you move during this, Iwillslap the soul out of you.”
Silence falls. We sit. Something thick settles in my lungs. Dread. Truth. Maybe both.
“I only positioned you all around her,” Gaia explains, “because when the memories start to hit, she might pass out again. Or seize. Or scream. This isn’t reading words on paper. This is soul surgery. And I have something to bring her back if needed.”
“I won’t pass out,” I lie. “I’m ready.”
She doesn’t even blink. “No, you’re not. But you’re brave enough to do it anyway.”
The second she turns to Mama, my chest tightens. “You ready?” she asks her.
Mama nods, her voice soft. “Yes, baby. I’m ready.”
Her voice coils around me like warmth I haven’t earned. I mouth,I love you, and a tear escapes before I can stop it. She mouths it back.
And for one damn second, just one, everything feels okay.
Then Gaia’s eyes cut to mine.
No warning. No countdown.
Just a single word. A loaded bullet of sound.
“Rain.”
“Hello.”
The woman’s voice slithered into the sterile room like silk soaked in poison. She was pretty, too pretty, in a clinical, wax-doll sort of way, and wore a pristine white coat that made my skin crawl. No name tag. Just her smile. That was unsettling enough.
“My name is Mrs. Kaia Walker,” she said, her eyes never blinking. “And I’m going to help you forget.”
“Forget what?” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. I twisted in my chair, searching the room with growing panic. “Where’s my mama?”
Mrs. Kaia gestured to a slatted window with the blinds pulled shut. “She’s just on the other side of that. Watching. Listening. But she thought we should have some privacy first.”
“Why?” My chest felt tight. My fingers dug into the fabric of the chair. “What do we need to talk about?”
She clicked her pen. The sound was surgical. “Tell me about your father. And how he hurt you.”
