Chapter 3

The following week was relatively uneventful as Max and I settled back into life at the former funeral home that I’d rented.  To my relief, both Angela and Evan were away on a mission, so it was only Megan, Max, and me in the house. 

To my disappointment, Max was so devastated and preoccupied with his loss that I felt disconnected from him.  It didn’t help that he hadn’t made love to me once since our return.  For a man who’d wanted sex with me on a daily bases more times than I could count since we’d gotten together, this was a shock.

When he wasn’t working, Max spent a good deal of time in private conversation with Megan, but I didn’t ask the topic.  Knowing the history between them, I guessed that he was processing the loss of her sister, Melissa, on a permanent basis.  Having her ashes in his possession for all of those years had to make him feel like he still had a part of her with him; because he did.  Losing them in the fire was a final parting that induced grieving that should have been completed years ago.

I’d never had someone who I loved commit suicide, so I couldn’t relate to his emotions like Megan could.  Knowing the intense pain, helplessness, fear, loss, and heartache that I felt when Peter left me and went back to Africa, I could only imagine what it was like for a fifteen-year-old boy who thought he was in love to have the object of that love hang herself.  I’m sure that the fact that Melissa was pregnant with his child when she did such a horrific act only doubled the impact.

I understood that he needed to converse with Megan about his pain, but I also felt very hurt that he didn’t trust me enough to confide in me.

We’d been back for ten days when a small, porcelain jar appeared in our bedroom on the top of the tall boy that Max was using for his clothes.  It’s intricate hand-painted floral artwork was impossible to walk past without noticing, so when I asked him where he got it and went to pick it up to examine it better and he almost bit my head off, I was genuinely both surprised and hurt.

“I don’t understand what’s happening with you, Max.  I’m sorry for the loss of your home.  That has to be a devastating thing, but I thought that we were a team.  You’ve literally shut me out since we’ve returned.  Not just with your thoughts and emotions, but in our bed.  You haven’t made love to me once since we left Puerto Rico,” I complained as I slipped my arms through the straps of the bra that I’d selected from my intimates drawer.

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking sexy with his hair towel dried and uncombed.  My eyes settled on the tiny beads of water that were still on his chest from the shower that he’d just stepped out of.  Just days earlier, I would have been passionately licking that water from his chest while he took me with a fervor that couldn’t be matched.  Instead, I stood staring at him, unsure of what to do or how to act.  So much had changed between us in such a short period of time.  It was almost as if he was a stranger to me.

His face grew dark and angry looking to the point that I stepped back a few inches.  He shocked me when he rushed forward and pulled the bra back off my body before I’d had the opportunity to fasten it.  He tossed it to the floor and then flung me onto the bed.

I could hear the lace of my panties tear as he yanked them down with such force that it felt like a layer of my skin was removed from my thighs along with them.   Frightened, I struggled to get out from under him, but he had me pinned with his entire weight. 

I was about to ask him to stop when he covered my mouth with his own.  His

kiss was aggressive and passionless to the point of almost being cruel.  He’d positioned his face over mine in a way that my breathing was compromised.   I was genuinely concerned about suffocating, so I paid little attention to the harsh way that his hands attacked my breasts with what seemed like minimal regard for my pleasure.  It was as if he was fondling them for the sake of fondling them instead of with a passion and tenderness of touch that was meant to arouse and excite.

When he finally freed my mouth, I sucked in air with a desperation as I told him that his attention to my breasts just wasn’t working for me and, perhaps, we should just forget having sex. 

I realized that it was a mistake to say that to him when his face got even darker; his eyes mirroring an anger that welled from deep within him.  When he lowered his mouth over a nipple, I jolted from the impact of his aggression.  When his hand moved down to the apex between my thighs, there was nothing about the roughness of his touch that was in the least bit arousing. 

Instead of preparing me for his entry, he was causing my body to shrivel up from the inside out.  All that I wanted to do was to escape and hide.  The harder he worked at it, the worse my body got.  I found it difficult to believe that he didn’t realize my dryness when his fingers entered me on more than one occasion.  If he did, he did nothing to alter the situation.

When he finally did ram his manhood into my depths, I was surprised that he didn’t react to the pain from the assault that my dry interior must have had on his tender flesh since it felt quite painful to me.  Either I was wrong and it didn’t bother him that I was dry inside, or he was too emotionally worked up to care because he continued to thrust himself inside of me until he’d reached the point of release.  After which, he rolled off of me and lay on his back with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

“There.  Satisfied?” he grumbled before getting up and going to the bathroom to clean up without sparing me so much as a glance.

I lay on the bed with silent tears soaking the coverlet while I waited for him to dress and leave the room.  He did so with equal silence.  It felt like when the house burned down his love for me burned with it.

I waited until I heard his vehicle pull out of the driveway before I took a quick shower to remove the remnants of his sexual assault – I just couldn’t think of it as love making since I’d felt no love coming from him.  I not only wanted to remove the sex juices that he’d left inside of me, but I wanted to erase the feel of his cruel touch from my body.   So, I scrubbed with a loofa until my flesh was deep pink and then got dressed.

Megan was making pancakes when I entered the kitchen.   She wore a concerned look on her face as she flipped each four-inch round with easy care.

“Is there enough for me?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“What’s going on between you two?” she asked without taking her eyes off of the pancakes.

“I wish I knew,” I sighed as I helped myself to some coffee.  “It’s like the Max I knew was lost along with that house.  I barely recognize him now.”

“So, the honeymoon’s over,” she said, thoughtfully.

“If he continues on the path that he’s on, so is the marriage,” I said, bitterly, as I placed my hand on my tender, lower abdomen.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked in a tone that made me question her sincerity.

I thought for a moment and decided against it.  Max wasn’t the only one who was acting strange since our return from our shortened honeymoon.  Megan’s behavior was off as well.  Something was clearly troubling her and I questioned if it had to do with Max’s house burning down.  I didn’t think that it was fair to burden her with my marital woes on top of whatever troubles she was working on dealing with.

“I think I’d just like to eat some breakfast and then get down to the lab.  I have some vampire scientists coming to pick up the formula to the werewolf antidote.  I want to talk to them about focusing on vampirism now.”

She slid a plate containing two pancakes and one egg over easy in front of me.  “Do you want honey or maple syrup?”

“Honey, please, my honey,” I grinned.

She flashed a weak smile in my direction and fetched the squeeze bottle of honey that was shaped like an adorable bear from the cupboard. 

I studied her with my peripheral vision and finally said, “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think that there’s something wrong?”

“You haven’t been yourself since we got back.”

Megan slumped down in the chair next to me. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“It’s probably best to just hit me head on with it.  My day has already been shitty and I’ve been up less than two hours.”

“I feel like the sky is falling down around me in a world that’s gone mad,” she moaned.  “I’ve had to deal with darkness and threats to my person and to those I love off and on over the years, but never at such a non-stop and consistent level as I have over the last year and a half.”

“It’s been intense,” I said as I squeezed honey onto my pancakes.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered.  When I looked at her with a look that was both expectant and questioning, she said, “I have been trying to deal with this on my own, but it’s becoming clear to me that my emotions and sentimental attachments are hindering my effectiveness.  It began when Max first met you.”

“You need to be a bit clearer.  What began?”

“Melissa.  I started seeing her when Max first met you.  She was riding on his shoulders,” she said with hesitancy. 

“What?”

She looked away.  “It’s hard to explain, but in layman’s terms, she’s attached herself to Max.  She’s probably been attached to him since her death and I just never noticed because he didn’t date anyone until you.  She’s been getting more and more aggressive about connecting to him.  I’m sure that’s why he’s behaving like he is.”

“Could her attachment also be the reason why he didn’t date?” I asked.

“If she was attached to him, he would have felt complete without looking elsewhere.  So, yes,” she said.

“Yet, he came after me hard,” I mused.

“Which means that he really loves you.  I’d guess that the reason she’s gotten more aggressive was because she was jealous, but I don’t think that’s what it is.  She understands that he’s still living and deserves happiness.  I just don’t know the reason.”

“Can’t you cast her off of him like you do everyone else?”  I asked with angst.

“I don’t do it with everyone.  I do it with most. Now that the place has thinned out with its resident ghosts, I’m actually able to identify who is still here.”

“Really?”

“You won’t like it,” she said with a shake of her head.

I ignored her last comment as the thought struck me.  “So, when Max and I are alone in our bedroom, Melissa is watching?”

“Not just Melissa,” she said, anxiously.  “I believe that there is an incubus occupying the house who has targeted you.   And, also, a shadow person.”

“You mentioned an incubus before, but I never bothered to research it.  What is

it?” I asked.

“To be short and clear,” she said as she sipped on her coffee.  “It’s a male spirit who is often called demonic.  He has sex with sleeping women.  His female equivalent would be a succubus.” 

 “That afternoon…”

She nodded.  “If it wasn’t an incubus - which I believe it was – it was a nasty and very earthbound entity who I’ve yet to be able to cast out.”

“Is it generally that difficult to cast a spirit out?” I asked with trepidation.

“Normally, it’s quite easy,” she admitted.

“Which is why you think it is an incubus?” I asked.

She nodded.

“What about Melissa?  Is she demonic?”  I asked with a trembling voice. 

Her eyes grew wild with insult.  “Why would you ask such a thing?   I just got done telling you that she understands Max’s love and need to be with you.”

I jumped in my seat at her aggression in responding.  “I wasn’t trying to upset you.  I have limited knowledge of these things.  You’re telling me that she’s riding on Max’s shoulders and is watching us have sex.  Does Max know this?  Does she have his permission? I’m just trying to understand.”

She took a deep breath.  “I’m so sorry.  I’ve spent most of my nights trying to communicate and cast out spirits since you left.  I’m sleep deprived and exhausted.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.  “Why nights?  Why can’t you do it during the day like when we cleansed the house?”

“Nights are easier because most of the area is shut down and sleeping.  It gives me more energy to pull on.   The remaining entities are powerful.    I need a lot of energy,” she offered.

“Is there something that I can do to help?” I asked.  “I have zero knowledge, but I’m willing to try.”

“Actually, there is something that you can do.” The sound of Evan entering the house brought our conversation to a halt.  She whispered that we’d talk about it later while I steeled myself for seeing him for the first time since he’d confessed his love for me.