Page 81 of Devil Inside

The Sassanian bottle made from silver with mercury gilding from early fifth century Persia. See the etchings of the goddess across the bottle? We’ve been that woman before.

All these totems of mankind. Testaments to their deities. Their gods.

Their devils.

We never settle in one vessel for long, simply adrift in this sea of people. That’s what Jordan wants, isn’t it? To playcatch me if you can? See if he can sense us? Pinpoint us?

These people have all come here to bear witness to their history. The rise and fall of so many empires, the remnants of collapsed cultures now placed behind glass, sealed from anyone’s touch.

We have witnessed these downfalls. Sometimes we’ve even nudged them along.

Jordan slips away from us, into the next room. It’s not difficult to find him in a crowd.

Always burning.

The fissure within him has cracked so wide, light pours forth from his ribs, a pressure vent spitting volcanic gas into the sea, a trench in his chest, blasting the blackest heat.

See how he burns.

But can he see us? See me? He’s trying to prove something. Test himself. It’s charming, actually. Watching him search. Maybe he needs a little help. Just a nudge.

He doesn’t notice us closing in on him.

We’re so close now. Right at his back. Look at the skin of his neck.

See how the hairs lift.

She’s here, I know it. I can feel her. It has to be her... but where? Where is she?

More likewhois she?

I’ve left the ancient art and made my way to the contemporarywing. The artwork here is mainly paintings, along with several sculptures at the center of every room.

Each gallery space feels like its own chamber of an ever-expanding heart. All these people are merely blood cells getting pumped from one ventricle to the next.

Just when I think I’ve circulated through the entire heart, there’s another chamber.

The fingernail of anxiety against my chest reaches in deeper, piercing the very tissue. I don’t think I can stay much longer. I don’t know what I was thinking. Too many people.

I need to get out of here. Before I lose my grip.

Just stick it out, Jordan. You can do this.

She’s here. I know it. Feel it.

Feelher.

But where? She’s hiding, somewhere. In someone. I know I can find her, on my own. If I can do that—feel her—then who cares what host she’s in?

Too many people. Too many faces.Hold it together, I think.Lock that shit down.

The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Rise, all on their own.

It’s her. It has to be.

I spin around, take in the people all around me. Nobody makes eye contact. Everyone’s focused on the art. It has to be her, doesn’t it? I swear she was just here.

Getting warmer...