Under the Light - By Laura Whitcomb Page 0,70

now, it will be a grave mistake,” she said. Her cheeks were blotchy with red. “It’ll just get worse.” And the darkness behind her inked into such density that I could almost feel it sucking at the light in the room.

I came close to the woman’s left shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Heal thyself.” She shuddered on the inside, just a little, enough to turn the darkness that was attached to her a lighter color of charcoal gray.

“I thought Pastor Bob would be here,” said Cathy. “Why isn’t he here?”

When the woman with the shadow hesitated, the others stared at her—she was apparently the one who was supposed to have all the answers.

Jenny stood up and the woman’s eyes flashed with fear.

Cathy stood too, holding a protective arm in front of her daughter. “Beverly Caine, I’m going to ask you a direct question and I expect an answer. Did you know Judy Morgan was fornicating with my husband?”

The others gasped.

The dark cloud behind Mrs. Caine disappeared except for one small black flame that came to rest behind her sorry eyes, perhaps in the part of the skull where the ego lived.

“So I guess lying and keeping secrets are not necessarily signs of demonic possession,” Jenny pointed out.

“Oh, my Lord,” one of the other women whispered.

“Jennifer Ann,” another of the ladies scolded, “you’re speaking to your elder.”

“Eudora Franck,” said Cathy, “Be quiet.”

I drew closer to Mrs. Franck. She was embarrassed and annoyed and it made her thoughts vulnerable for a second. I saw an image pop up and sent it to Jenny.

Her mother’s mother, I called. In the garden.

Apparently she heard me. “If I’m possessed because I believe in ghosts,” said Jenny, “then we should perform an exorcism on Mrs. Franck, too, because she told my mom that after her grandmother died she saw an apparition of her in the backyard, isn’t that right?”

Everyone looked at Mrs. Franck, who seemed mortified. “I did see her,” she confessed.

“And if you think a demon’s living inside me because I had sex outside of wedlock,” said Jenny, “then my father and Judy Morgan must be possessed too.”

Cathy sat down in astonishment. I felt a waver in the confidence of another of the women. I glided over to the head of the one wearing the pink striped sweater. Again I told Jenny what she was thinking.

“And Mrs. Lowe, too.” Jenny nodded at her. “You slept with your husband before you were married, right?”

“Cathy!” Mrs. Lowe gaped at her. “I told you that in confidence.”

“You told me a secret,” Cathy agreed, “but not the one about my husband sleeping with your next-door neighbor.”

“Jenny, sit yourself down. You are in my house,” Mrs. Caine snapped. “Show some respect and do as you’re told.”

The darkness began to form again behind her shoulder, like a hornet’s nest of shadow.

“Sit,” Mrs. Caine ordered.

“No,” said Jenny. Cathy stared at her daughter as if she had never heard her say the word before. “Why should I? You have no respect for me.”

The cloud of negativity behind Mrs. Caine’s shoulder fluttered, and I blew it away. As it flew off through the wall, it made one of the little angel figurines in the bookcase below wobble in a little dance of joy.

Jenny looked down at her mother. “Mom, let’s go.”

“We did not give you permission to leave,” said Mrs. Caine.

“And I didn’t give you permission to humiliate me,” said Jenny.

Cathy did nothing more than vaguely reach for her daughter. Her fingers lightly brushed Jenny’s sleeve as the girl walked out.

An argument broke out anew, but no one followed Jenny, not even her mother. I was the only one who watched her march away through the door and down the walkway. She picked up her pace and was soon running. She didn’t look back as if she feared being chased—she just ran. I worried that she would revel in her new freedom and leap from a curb without looking for traffic, but she made her way smoothly block after block, running not in the direction of home, just away.

I was still nervous for her. Where would she find a safe place to land? But when she was passing a store where a woman was just leaving and they collided, I felt as if something had shifted.

The woman was carrying a large bag of books and file folders. She was dressed in an Indian skirt and had her strangely matted hair pulled back in a bright beaded headband. As Jenny clipped her shoulder, they