The Scion

Stephanie Bennett was all nerves as she paced through her living room shooting glances every so often at the clock. The past several months had all snowballed and made everything difficult. Her husband had begun the process to gain sole custody of their daughter, Yeardley. She had been written up at work for constantly being late or having to leave early. She understood this because after all, it was the truth. However, she had spoken to her boss about her circumstances, or more accurately her child’s circumstances, in a one to one meeting two months ago. This put the idea in her head that they were just looking for an excuse to let someone go. Maybe there was a planned downsizing and they’re looking for people who stick out to make layoffs easier. Whatever. When it comes to her family, her child especially, everything else came second. Yeardley’s emotions had been erratic, unpredictable, and at times close to uncontrollable. Yeardley had been acting out more in school the past few weeks. She had started biting people, spitting, scratching, even cursing. It was as if her daughter was being replaced by some sort of doppelgänger. Only this doppelgänger, were that the case, was vicious, vindictive, cold, and mean. Stephanie had gone to 10 various professionals all of whom were completely flummoxed.

Stephanie often finished her days in Yeardley’s room, sitting bedside in a rocking chair as if on guard duty. Over what she did not know. But you hear stories, no matter if you’re an adult or a child. Stories that you don’t want to believe. However, in time after all ideas have been exhausted, one often turns to the unexplained and the astounding when they are truly, truly desperate. Stephanie Bennett had reached that level of desperate.

Stephanie had never been a religious woman, but she believed in a higher power. She prayed nightly that her daughter would come back to her. After three months, her hope was dwindling. Yesterday, Stephanie had gone to her church during lunch. She spent fifteen minutes with her head bowed, hands clasped together, praying while she silently cried. The priest, Reverend Ford, noticed her and went to her side to say hello. Seeing her in distress, he couldn’t help but inquire what troubled her. It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually she emptied her heart to Reverend Ford. After she had finished, he sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Finally, he told her there might be someone that could help. But, he stressed could help, not can help. At this point Stephanie would take help from anyone if it helped Yeardley. Reverend Ford disappeared for only five minutes. When he returned, he took her hands in his, and said his friend would be at her house by 8:00 PM the next day. That was yesterday. Looking at the clock for what seemed like the thousandth time today, it read 7:55 PM.

Soon.

Stephanie returned to the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee only to give herself something to do besides pacing and staring at the clock. The last thing she needed was more caffeine. She added her sweetener and milk to make her coffee the desired color then walked back into the living room. The clock read 7:59 PM. She brought the cup of coffee to her lips with difficulty as her hands were shaking. She watched the second hand with wary anticipation.

Thirty seconds.

Who did the reverend call? Why was he so secretive?

Twenty seconds.

All of a sudden, Stephanie got a very uneasy feeling in her stomach.

Ten seconds.

All the questions that she should have asked herself or ask the reverend flooded her mind like a rush of bulls thundering through her head.

Five seconds.

What had she done?

The second her clock switched to 8:00 PM, a knock came at the door. Stephanie nearly screamed in surprise and clutched her trembling cup of coffee in both hands. Setting the coffee down on the stairs, she cautiously walked to the door

“Who is it?” she asked through the door.

“Good evening, Ms. Bennett. Father Ford sent me, ma’am.”

It was a man’s voice, a kind, soothing voice. When he spoke, even through the door, her anxieties slightly lessoned. She collected herself and opened the door. Standing in the doorway was a man, early 30s, professional styled hair with a little scruff on his chin, dressed in a black and grey striped polo shirt, a denim jacket, and blue jeans. Over his left shoulder, a white 1973 Pontiac Firebird TransAm rested on the curb. From behind a pair of sunglasses, he beamed at her and offered his hand in greeting.

“Miss Bennett?” he asked, receiving a nod. “Hello ma’am. My name is John Scion. Father Ford said that I might be of some help. Would you mind if I came in?”

“Of course, Mr… Simon did you say?”

“Scion, ma’am, but please, call me John.”

“Thank you, John.”

John walked to the stairs, picked up Stephanie’s coffee mug, and handed it back to her with a smile. He removed his denim jacket and hung it on the banister.

“I spoke to Father Ford on my way here. He mentioned several instances where your daughter, Yeardley is it?” He received a nod. “Where Yeardley has been emotionally distraught, verbally and physically violent, distant, and acting very much unlike herself. Has she been violent towards you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mmm hmmm,” he said, contemplatively. “And this has been going on for approximately three months, but has escalated considerably in the past three or four weeks, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Okay. Just to make sure, has Yeardley had any changes in her diet or medicine regimen that could be provoking a reaction of some sort?”

“No new meds,” she told him. “I’m not sure about food. I don’t know what she eats at school. I mean, she tells me when I ask but since I’m not there…”

“I understand. A parent’s eyes are unfortunately unable to watch their child constantly, no matter how much they wish they could.”

“You have children yourself?” Stephanie asked.

“Sadly, no, I’m unable to conceive. It hurts some, but that’s partly why I wish to help others. I cannot provide for my own family, so I provide for yours.”

“That’s very noble, John,” she said, sweetly.

“Nobility?” he chuckled. “I don’t think so. I’m just lending a hand in times of need. It’s something we all should consider, but humans often don’t see past their own nuclear family. I often wonder if people would open their hearts more frequently would it mend fences globally.” John trailed off, looking up to the ceiling as if in wonder or hope. Finally, he snapped back to Earth. “Has Yeardley made many friends?”

“Oh, yes, she has several.” Stephanie walked to the wall and showed John a picture of four girls, roughly seven to nine years old, sitting at a picnic table. “That’s Yeardley on the right. These are her adopted sisters, Ruth, Omara, and Paulina.”

“They look so happy here.”

“Yes,” Stephanie smiled, choking back a tear, “it was a wonderful day.” Stephanie’s smile faded and she turned from the picture. “The girls haven’t been around lately. They’re…”

“Frightened of her?” John finished

Stephanie nodded, a sob escaping her in a huff.

“Well, let’s try to fix that. May I speak to Yeardley, please?”

“Yes,” Stephanie said, wiping her eyes, “she’s upstairs.”

Stephanie led John upstairs in silence. When she got to the top step, she spun around to face her strange visitor who had still yet to remove his sunglasses.

“Please,” she started to sob again, “please help my little girl. I try to be a good mother. Really. But this whole thin…. My ex-husband is trying to get sole custody of her, saying I’m unfit. I’m not. I swear to you, I’m not! She’s my life!”

“Ma’am,” John said, putting his hands on her shoulders, “I cannot promise anything, but I will do my best to bring this to a close where everyone is content. I believe you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” she nodded, fighting back tears.

“One more thing, Ms. Bennett,” he said, seriously. “The moment we enter her room, my experience has shown me that there could be some words said that will cut deeply. You must remember that the girl saying those things is not your daughter.”

“I don’t understand,” Stephanie said, skeptically.

“I know,” John said, soothingly. “But from here on out, it is imperative that you trust me. What is done is in Yeardley’s best interests. You must remember that.”

Stephanie nodded, still partially lost. Nevertheless, she steadied herself before turning and leading John to a door that once had posters of horses, flowers, and fairies taped or tacked to it. Now, all that remained were shreds of paper, remnants of a young girl’s fury.

“How old?”

“She’s eight,” Stephanie said, knocking on the door. “Honey, it’s mommy. Can I come in?” She received no response. “Baby, I have a friend who wants to meet you.”

Again, silence. After a few moments, the door unlocked and opened slightly. Stephanie opened it fully and they found Yeardley sitting in a dark corner of her room with her stuffed animals.

“Honey, how did you …?”

“What do you want?” Yeardley asked, her eyes on John.

John walked slowly around Stephanie and strode over to the corner. As he approached, he noticed that the stuffed animals she was sitting amongst were, in some form, dismembered. Ears had been ripped off heads. A tiger looked to have torn an elephant’s trunk off and was devouring it. A unicorn had been decapitated and it’s head shoved on a yard stick. As John knelt in front of her, she finished ripping a turtle’s shell open and turning it inside out, it’s stuffing bleeding to the floor.

“Hello, Yeardley. My name is John.”

“John. A biblical name.”

“Yes, I suppose it is, though I was named for John Lennon. I really like your name. It’s unique.”

“It’s stupid,” she spat. “How many girls are named Yeardley?”

“Well, I know of two: you and Yeardley Smith. She voices Lisa Simpson. I don’t suppose you’ve seen that show yet.”

“No,” she said, venomously. She turned her eyes to her mother and spoke in a condescending tone. “She doesn’t let me watch anything good. It’s all puppies and music and magic. It’s boring.” She directed her eyes back to John. “I asked what you wanted. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to meet you.”

“I’ve met too many adults,” she growled. “She has had me checked over and over again, poked, prodded, and scanned. Is that what you want?”

“Not exactly,” he said, sitting down on the floor. “Mostly, I wanted to see if I could help your mother and thereby help you.”

Yeardley scoffed slightly, “She always needs help.”

“Does she?”

“Yes,” Yeardley said, then added, “but you can’t help the helpless.” Yeardley turned her head to glare at Stephanie with contempt. “Mommy always needs help. Mommy’s weak. That’s why Daddy left. He couldn’t stand the whining. She’s old and rank. Daddy said he could do better.”

Stephanie tried to stifle her sobs, but eventually she broke down. Her crying was quiet, mainly because she didn’t have the energy to make it audible, but it was obvious.

“See?” Yeardley said, a note of malicious triumph to her voice. “Whining.” She over-enunciated every letter of her last word.

“Yeardley, she’s worried about you. She thinks you’re hurting.”

“Just because the old bag is hurting doesn’t mean I am.”

“That’s what I need to determine. But I could use your help.”

Yeardley laughed, a cold, maniacal cacophony that hurt John’s ears.

“You want me to help you?”

“If you could, yes.”

“And what, John, would you ask of me.”

John’s hand flew out and his palm to Yeardley‘s forehead.

“To sleep,” he said in a soothing, smooth tone. Yeardley’s eyes closed and she slumped over.

“No!” Stephanie yelled, starting to advance.

“She’s fine,” John said, as he picked Yeardley up and walked her over to her bed. Laying her down, he spoke to Stephanie yet never took his eyes from the little girl. “This is where things get interesting, Ms. Bennett. I understand you are concerned right now and I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. Yeardley is not behaving like herself, because Yeardley is not herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, Ms. Bennett, do not interrupt. I need something to restrain your daughter.”

“What?!”

“Trust me, Ms. Bennett!”

Stephanie hurried from the room as John began a prayer.

“Heavenly father,” John called in Latin, “hear my prayer. Protect this innocent child. Give her strength and courage as her soul is cleansed. Bathe her in your light. Bless her with your love. Shelter her from darkness and help me save her soul.”

Stephanie ran back into the room catching John’s last few lines. He turned back to her with his hand outstretched. Stephanie passed him strips of fabric.

“Good,” he said, and started tying down Yeardley’s wrist to the bed. “Take two. Tie her other hand and leg. Hurry.” He started on Yeardley’s leg as Stephanie started on the opposite side. “Make it tight but do not restrict blood flow.” When John was finished, he pulled a silver, runic glove from his pocket and slid it on his right hand. He slid the rocking chair closer to the bed and sat down.

“Done,” Stephanie said.

“Stand back, Ms. Bennett,” John said, and touched his gloved hand to Yeardley’s forehead.

A bright, nearly blinding light emanated from John’s gloved hand the instant he made contact. Stephanie’s gasp turned to a scream as she shielded her eyes.

When John woke up, he was still in Yeardley’s bedroom. Scanning the room, everything and everyone was how he just left it. Rising from the chair, he pressed a couple of buttons on his watch, activating a fifteen minute timer. He glanced down at the sleeping body of the little girl briefly before moving around the bed, trying to get a feel for the room. There had to be a gateway. He checked under the bed, in drawers, the toy box, and the closet and came up empty. Frustrated, he started to exit the bedroom when the full length mirror caught his eye.

“Disco,” he said.

Stepping in front of the mirror, John raised his sunglasses. Yellow pupils with red irises turned to jet black as he looked into the mirror and the glass turned transparent. John reached behind his back producing a silver handgun adorned with runes. He drew back the slide to chamber a round, then stepped into the mirror.

John disliked this part of the job. He felt as if he was violating some unwritten law invading a person’s mind like this. However, there was little else he could do. Yeardley was already being mentally violated. At least John had altruistic intentions.

Once through the mirror, John found himself in something that resembled a crypt. The cries and screams of Yeardley, the real Yeardley, echoed around him begging to be released. Bodies of bones on the ground added to the macabre of the dusty, stone room. Stepping around the bones, he exited the crypt and appeared in an underground passageway. All manner of dirt dwelling insects crawled or slithered over the walls. The stench that attacked his senses would make any normal person retch. He checked his timer. Eleven minutes to go.

Time moved differently here than in the physical realm. It moved much faster. After his timer went off, around three minutes will have passed in real time. However, that time often meant life or death to the person he merged with.

Up ahead, John heard sounds of scratching and clicking. He hastened his steps and soon reached a circular room littered with more bones. A vertical shaft ascended from the middle of the room. Against the wall there was Yeardley wrapped in some sort of mystical cocoon. John hurried over and put his gloved hand on the wisps of vapor encasing Yeardley and found he couldn’t penetrate it. He raised his pistol and contemplated firing, but thought better of it. If his blessed rounds could pierce her confines, there was a chance he could injure if not kill her. Even though time was against him, there had to be a better way.

Then from above the sound of movement reached John’s ears. Spinning around, John saw a gangly form descending from the vertical passage. It’s arms were nearly as long as it’s entire body, all extremities toothpick thin and wiry. It’s body looked emaciated and covered with a thick, viscous goo. It’s head rested on shoulders separated by little neck, yet the demonic head was able to move in such a way that the thing was able to see in a perfect 360 degrees. Green eyes found John pointing a primitive weapon and it smiled revealing diamond hard, dagger-like teeth.

“Savior,” the thing said in a breathy coo.

“Oh son of a…Laquanix?” John groaned. “You got to be kidding me.”

“Long time, Savior,” Laquanix purred softly. “So nice to see you.”

“Well I can’t say the same,” John said, indignantly. “Do you know how many times I’ve banished you? I mean, really, tell me if you know because I’ve lost count.”

“Try as you have, try as you will, Laquanix is not so easily killed.”

“Ha ha, saying it in verse. That’s new. I’ll figure out how to one day though.”

“Your time on this plain, the next, or any other will have long expired before you are rid of me.”

“I’ll make it my personal mission, you ugly cuss. But the kids. Why do you go for the kids?”

“One child’s fear is amplitudes more than tens of adults. It’s sates my hunger more satisfactorily. Fear is my main course, and while everyone is afraid, I shall never go hungry.”

John pointed his pistol at Laquanix and fired. It sounded like a bomb exploded in the cavern. Laquanix screeched as two bullets pierced it’s upper torso. Blue fire burned from the bullet holes as it cooked the demon’s body from the inside.

“You slag!” Laquanix groaned.

“Blessed rounds filled with holy oil that ignites when it comes in contact with demon blood. Pretty cool, huh?”

Laquanix lashed out with it’s long, slender arm, cutting John’s chest. John rolled with the strike, spun around, and fired again. This time the bullet hit the stomach but barely phased the demon. It grabbed for the Savior with greedy digits aching to flay the skin from his bones. John rolled, ducked, and dodged barely staying out of the demon’s reach.

“This girl you come for,” Laquanix cooed, “what does she mean to you? Just a lost sheep, insignificant, barely a speck on the map of life. Why does one child mean so much. Would you rather I feast on a hundred adults instead of children? Should we…negotiate?”

John had enough. He jumped up and aimed, going for a headshot. Unfortunately, he stayed in one place too long. A large hand smashed into him sending him into the cavern wall with such force John lost his grip on the gun. Before he had a chance to recover, Laquanix had him in his hand. Strands of slimy, putrid ooze coating the demon’s body now stuck to John making his stomach churn. The demon brought him to it’s face and smiled a triumphant grin. John, in a fit of desperation, raised his gloved hand and touched the demon’s cheek.

The scream that Laquanix cried was nothing like it’s previous airy coos. They became a piercing squeal of intense pain as light radiated from John’s hand. The demon’s skin began to crack, splitting to reveal greenish black musculature coated with the same ooze on it’s exterior. Laquanix ripped John off it’s face and threw him to the cavern floor.

When John hit the ground, he hit hard enough he felt something crack. Jolts of pain passed from his arm almost paralyzing him. The two minute warning sounded from his watch and only his will allowed him not to black out.

John picked himself up from the ground and ran for the cocoon, picking up his gun as he ran by. He raised the gun and blind fired twice at the demon. Squeals of pain told John that he hit somewhere. Collapsing against the cocoon, he dropped the gun and used his left hand to swing his broken right arm up and let the gloved hand fell on the cocoon. Something about touching Laquanix with the glove reacted with the cocoon because it broke, dropping Yeardley to the ground.

“What happened?”

“Talk later,” John shouted, picking the gun back up. “Come on!”

John was dragging the disoriented child through the caverns with a furious Laquanix in full pursuit. John fired his gun behind him hoping to slow the demon up. John and Yeardley both had their share of stumbling as they bounced off the cavern walls. Regardless of the pain, they pressed on.

Light from up ahead told John they were almost home. He blind fired behind him until the clip ran dry. He pushed her through the crypt’s entryway, put his hand on the wall, and yelled, “Conlidam!” The wall blew outward into the cavern, collapsing the entryway. John ran to Yeardley and tackled her through the gateway.

When they fell out of the mirror, John and Yeardley’s consciousness transferred back to their corporeal forms. The second Yeardley was free, she sat up as far as her restraints allowed and vomited a thick cloud of black ash that dissipated into nothingness. After the demon was expelled, Yeardley dropped back on the bed. Stephanie ran to her daughter’s side as an alarm sounded from John’s pocket.

“Baby?” Stephanie cried. “Yeardley, baby, please be alright. Please be alright.”

Tears started to form in her eyes as she cradled Yeardley’s head against her chest. After a few minutes, she heard a soft, “Mommy?” Stephanie looked down and saw her daughters greenish blue eyes had replaced the coal black ones. Stephanie couldn’t hold back tears as Yeardley’s hand reached up to touch her face. Stephanie saw John starting to move in the chair. Seeing mother and daughter together, John smiled weakly and leaned his head against the cushioned headrest.

“Thank you for letting me stay the night, Ms. Bennett,” John said as they escorted him to his car. “I needed time to recover.”

“It was the least I could do considering you brought my little girl back to me. John, do I want to know what all that was last night?”

“No,” Yeardley and John said in unison.

“You have Yeardley back, Ms. Bennett. That’s the only thing you need to take from last night.” John knelt to get on Yeardley’s level. “Now for you, young miss,” he smiled, and pulled a star necklace from his coat pocket, and fastened it around her neck. “This is for protection. But just in case, “he produce a piece of paper and held it out, “this is my direct line. If you ever need me again, let me know. I’ll be here.”

Yeardley flung her arms around John’s neck causing him to wince. He fought the pain and returned her hug. Stephanie came forward and gave John a gentle hug and kissed him on the cheek. They all said quiet words of thanks and farewell as the girls moved to the driveway. John sat down and turned the ignition making the car roar to life. Yeardley waved enthusiastically to him from the driveway as he waved a farewell back to them, and drove off.

After John exited the housing addition, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and made a call.

“Father Bass? It’s Scion, Father. What can you tell me about the problem?”