Shoot Me Down

Part 26

I let him continue believing the salt will save him until that night. He sits on the couch for most of the day, a bag of frozen peas on his hand. His face is chalk white, and he’s trembling. When Nakia comes home and sees the hole in the drywall her face goes blank.

            “You punched the wall?”

            He shifts on the couch, grimacing when the bag of peas shifts on his hand. “I was pissed off at Larry.”

            “You probably broke it,” Nakia says.

            ‘No shit, the wall is caved in,” he snaps.

            “Well go to the hospital,” she shoots back. “Just don’t ask me to take you. That’s what you get for punching walls.” She turns and stomps down the hallway and he yells after her,

            “I don’t need a hospital!”

As it gets darker outside Caleb makes sure all the lights are on, darting once, and then twice from his salt circle to flip switches, and  run down the hall and grab the blanket from his bed. He’s still obviously nervous, though not in the state he was last night. He turns the TV up ridiculously high. It’s a good thing for him that the nearest neighbors are acres away. Nakia stays quiet in her room.

            Around midnight he flicks the TV off and turns over, his back facing the room. I hear him grunt in pain. Is his hand really broken? I hope it is.

Now, how do I start? It’s something I want to build up to. I place one hand on the wall, making sure I’m good and angry, testing myself. The darkness comes to the surface with barely an effort on my part now. Lurking just behind my chest, twisting and growing. Waiting. My hand makes contact, the wood feels cool beneath my skin. Curling my fingers I scrape my nails along the wall, producing an awful rasping sound.

            The dark lump on the couch doesn’t stir. He hasn’t heard it yet. I drag my nails along the wall, nearing the place where he sleeps, stopping just at the line of salt. Both hands now, scratching out a rhythm. Now the lump stirs, and Caleb peers out from beneath his covers. I can see his wide, white eyes in the dark, like a frightened animal. Hear his breath rasping in and out of his lungs. He’s like a beacon radiating fear. It comes off him in waves. My eyes find him in the dark, watching his fingers curl around the blanket. He crams himself into the far corner of the couch, swearing under his breath.

            Let him have a minute. I pause, and the house is silent except for his ragged breathing. He finally speaks into the darkness, his voice wavering. “You can’t come over the circle. So why don’t you just back off. Leave me alone.” There’s a note of desperation in his voice. “Just leave me alone!”

            Anger is still burning in my gut. “No,” I say out loud. He stiffens. He heard me. Caleb curls his knees up to his chest and huddles in his blanket like a beggar, shivering as if he’s out in the cold. He’s actually shaking with fear. I resume scratching, and now I crouch down and run my nails over the floor, scratching and scraping my hands over the hardwood. My skin squeaks as I do it, reminding me of dragging Caleb backwards out of the bedroom. I can’t keep the smile off my face.

            Now I make little darting motions at the salt line, poking my fingers into it at regular intervals, pushing the salt forward, breaking the circle in multiple spots. This gets an instant reaction from Caleb. He scrabbles off the couch, tangling himself in the blanket, hovering over the salt circle as if he can somehow protect it from me,

            “No! No, you can’t do that!”

            I’m flicking the salt now, scattering it inwards, and Caleb’s eyes are fixed on the floor, his chest rising and falling as he breaths faster and faster.  His voice comes out in a sob,