Dead?

Past

"Maybe we should find someone else to talk to." Maxine started. They had been friends since they lived on the same street. He graduated two years ago, moving into this exact apartment right after. Not willingly, his father kicked him out right after he turned eighteen. A sink or swim kind of deal. He held down a few jobs here and there but was more often laid off for his weird behavior. She understood wanting to receive help from them but why them?

"We sought out help when we were kids. You know how Pastor Wendell was towards us. He trained us but other than that?" Michael opened the fridge and started pulling out the old boxes. It was his avoid situation kind of thing to start cleaning. A look around, she could irritate him about the past to get this place spotless -- instead she went to the hallway bathroom and grabbed out a bag to assist. There was no sense drudging up too much of the past.

Pastor Wendell, a middle-aged man who ran the youth ministry at the church. After finally admitting to Michael that she kept hearing voices and that she believed him about seeing things that weren't there. They went to their pastor knowing that they needed help -- just didn't want to tell their parents about it.

They anxiously stood around in the hallway waiting for him to stop his phone conversation to wave them in.

When Michael froze not wanting to admit what he sees or hears she finally said it. She spilled everything that they dreaded to say outlout to adults. They waited nervously for the laughter, the anger, or the threats -- maybe all three. However, their pastor just sat at his desk a kind smile was all he offered. He handed them a small booklet, telling them to read it. That they were to come back to his office to tell him what they learned from the material.

They did for several months come back every Sunday morning after class to report what they were learning. About the demons, the ghosts, the witches and everything else that was discussed in the books.

She stopped attending the lessons when Pastor Wendell took them to a session. They watched him and a group of men and women  pray and splash holy water on a woman who was possessed. She couldn't handle it -- the things the woman growled, declared, the dark shadows that played along the wall. What really got her was the eyes of the woman as the demon fought against what they were doing. Once the shadows subsided for weeks she could still hear what they had said to her and to the woman.

Michael continued for awhile longer though she never asked how much longer. They were far too young to have experienced that or she wasn't strong enough either way --.

The place was spotless, Michael was less tense and more willing to talk about what was going on.

"Maybe she won't return and won't be our problem?" Michael laughed cramming the bags of trash into the kitchen trashcan. Though they were stuffed, they hung over, some spilling. She placed the bags she did along the side knowing full well they would not fit.

"Maybe" She replied staring at the door.