Every Day (Every Day 1)

He closes the door behind him, then chooses an armchair that’s between me and the door. He is probably twice Ainsley’s size, so he could stop me if he wanted to. The question is whether he’d really want to. The fact that my instinct is to wonder about these things is a tip-off that there may be cause for alarm.

I decide to come on tough.

“It’s Sunday,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be in church?”

He smiles. “More important things for me here.”

This must have been what it was like when Red Riding Hood first met the big bad wolf. What she felt must have been as much intrigue as terror.

“What do you want?” I ask.

He folds his leg across his knee. “Well, Nathan told me the most interesting story, and I’m wondering if it’s true.”

There’s no use denying it. “Nathan wasn’t supposed to tell anyone!” I say loudly, hoping Nathan hears me.

“While for the past month you’ve left Nathan hanging, I have been attempting to give him answers. It’s natural that he should confide in me when he is told such a thing.”

Poole has an angle. That much is clear. I just don’t know what it is yet.

“I am not the devil,” I say. “I am not a demon. I am not any of the things you want me to be. I am just a person. A person who borrows other people’s lives for a day.”

“But can’t you see the devil at work?”

I shake my head. “No. There was no devil inside of Nathan. There is no devil inside of this girl. There is only me.”

“You see,” Poole says, “that’s where you’re wrong. Yes, you are inside of these bodies. But what’s inside of you, my friend? Why do you think you are the way you are? Don’t you feel it could be the devil’s work?”

I speak calmly. “What I do is not the devil’s work.”

At this, Poole actually laughs.

“Relax, Andrew. Relax. You and I are on the same side.”

I stand up. “Good. Then let me go.”

I make a move to leave, but as I anticipated, he blocks me. He pushes Ainsley back to the sofa.

“Not so fast,” he says. “I’m not finished.”

“On the same side, I see.”

The grin disappears. And for a moment, I see something in his eyes. I’m not sure what it is, but it paralyzes me.

“I know you so much better than you give me credit for,” Poole says. “Do you think this is an accident? Do you think I’m just some religious zealot here to exorcise your demons away? Did you ever ask yourself why I am cataloging such things, what I’m looking for? The answer is you, Andrew. And ot

hers like you.”

He’s fishing. He has to be.

“There are no others like me,” I tell him.

His eyes flash again at me. “Of course there are, Andrew. Just because you’re different, it doesn’t mean you’re unique.”

I don’t know what he’s saying. I don’t want to know what he’s saying.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do. I look into those eyes, and I know. I know what he’s saying.