Paul? Paul was the one who hurt her? That motherfucking bastard. Did Jazz know he was locked up? Until Acer had mentioned the incarceration, he’d never thought Paul could be a threat to anyone. The guy was thin, scrawny really, jumpy as fuck, and had those shifty eyes of someone always on the lookout for an attack.
“He always thought people were out to get him. He’d scan the street ten times in an hour, freak out if the phone rang, or talk about outlandish conspiracy theories.” She chuckled but the sound wasn’t one of humor. “When I first met him as a kid, I wondered if he was some secret spy. A James Bond type.”
With a heavy sigh, she stopped pacing and walked around the coffee table. She sat where Gumby had been seated before. He almost offered her his spot on the couch but didn’t want to interrupt her thought process.
“You’re doing great, Jazz,” Screw said. He hadn’t moved his foot, in fact his hand now rested on the couch, right next to Gumby’s. The urge to hook their pinkies together overwhelmed him.
Ridiculous.
“Thanks, but that was the easy part.” She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and continued. “One night, when I was thirteen, my mom had to leave for work, and my step-dad was running late. They didn’t like leaving me alone; we didn’t live in the greatest area, but she really had no choice. She couldn’t miss her shift, and my step-dad was on his way home. I should have been alone twenty minutes maximum. But thirty minutes later, when I was in my room doing my homework, Paul came in. It’d been a solid year since any of us had seen him. He didn’t come around much. Paul was gay and before I knew him, his parents sent him to one of those religious camps where they try to pray you straight or some nonsense. Anyway, he hated his dad for it and only really came by when he needed something. I’m not sure where he spent the rest of his time. I never wanted to know.”
Gumby tensed but forced himself to keep from reacting further. He supposed he’d been lucky to have been spared that fate. Though if his old man had gone that route, maybe he would have been the only one hurt…
“Paul looked awful. Sweaty, and jittery, with circles under his eyes. He kept saying that someone was coming, and we needed to get away.”
Jazz began rubbing her left upper arm, over and over. She rocked back and forth, staring straight ahead though not actually seeing anything.
“With each passing second, he grew more and more frantic until he suddenly froze and said it was too late to get away. ‘H-he’s here,’ he said.” She swallowed. “And when I asked who he told me, ‘The Devil.’” Jazz’s voice cracked and she shook her head. “Sorry, I just…I need a minute.”
God, his heart was going to split in two. Screw’s too if the anguish in his eyes meant anything.
“Take all the time you need, Jazz. We’re not going anywhere,” Gumby managed to say around the lump in his throat.
She gave him a nod then took a deep breath. “It was then I knew something was seriously wrong with him mentally. He often talked with fire and brimstone religious undertones, but this was out there even for him. When I asked him w-where the devil was, he turned on me and said… h-he was in me, and it was his responsibility t-to get him out. Uh, to save me.” She cleared her throat, seeming to use the act to buy herself another second. “I remember thinking he meant some kind of exorcism so I said we should go in the living room. I was trying to buy some time for his father to get home. I thought he’d say some prayer and that’d be it. I was wrong.”
She fell silent. Gumby’s throat felt tight. He knew the next words out of her mouth would be awful. Knew he should say something comforting, but words failed him.
“What did he do to you, Jazz?” Screw asked, voice ragged.
“He c-cut me. Right here.” She pointed a trembling finger at her left shoulder. “Said I had to bleed to get the devil out of me.” A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another, and another. “It wasn’t deep, but it hurt so bad. I remember screaming until my throat was raw. That’s how my stepfather found us. Paul holding a bloody knife to my injured arm. He dropped it and ran. We didn’t see him again for three years.”
Jesus Christ. He wanted to gather her in his arms and press his lips to that spot. But he held back because this was about Jazz purging the poison, and her story wasn’t over. “What did your parents do?”