Diary of a Demon

Epilogue

Epilogue

Christopher Book was laying on his couch, staring at the wall. He had been staring at the wall since he had gotten up that morning. It was what he did when he couldn't get the energy to reach for the TV remote. That spot on the wall. There had been a picture there. A family photo. He'd taken it down when his wife had died.

Chris imagined the picture. He imagined the face of his son. Not the chubby, little-boy face it would have been in the photo, but the mature, intelligent face of his teenage son. He had thought he had felt Anders' presence around the house for a while, but now it was gone. People told him that was to be expected. When someone died, you often felt like they were just around a corner, or in another room. But now the feeling of Anders was gone, even in his bedroom, which Christopher hadn't touched Maybe that meant he was healing. Probably not.

Ding Dong.

His mind reached slowly towards reason. The door bell. He should answer it. I may not be not a kid playing a prank, ringing and dashing away. That had happened a few times. Chris shifted and slid his feet into raggedy slippers before shuffling to the door. He moved like an old man. His guest would probably get bored of waiting and leave the casserole or flowers they had brought for him on the porch.

He opened the door. The eyes that met his were startling. Fierce blue eyes stood out in stark contrast to the wrinkled face of the short, plump old lady standing on his porch. She smiled at him, looking expectant.

"Uhm, hello," Chris said.

"May I come in?" asked the woman.

Chris was so flabbergasted that he stepped aside and she marched right past him into the front hall. Like she knew the layout of the house she headed for the kitchen, pulled up a chair for herself at the kitchen table, and indicated he should take the other. Chris sat, his foggy mind barely catching up with what was happening. He opened his mouth so say something, but no words made their way past his lips.

The old woman raised her hand, indicating he did not need to speak. "My name is Wren, Mr. Book. I have very long story to tell you. It ends with my recovery from Alzheimers-"

"But you can't recover from-" he began.

"-and it begins," she continued, as though he hadn't interrupted. "It begins with your son."