I let him continue believing the salt will save him until that night. He sits on the couch for most of the day, a bag of frozen peas on his hand. His face is chalk white, and he’s trembling. When Nakia comes home and sees the hole in the drywall her face goes blank.

            “You punched the wall?”

            He shifts on the couch, grimacing when the bag of peas shifts on his hand. “I was pissed off at Larry.”

            “You probably broke it,” Nakia says.

            ‘No shit, the wall is caved in,” he snaps.

            “Well go to the hospital,” she shoots back. “Just don’t ask me to take you. That’s what you get for punching walls.” She turns and stomps down the hallway and he yells after her,

            “I don’t need a hospital!”

As it gets darker outside Caleb makes sure all the lights are on, darting once, and then twice from his salt circle to flip switches, and  run down the hall and grab the blanket from his bed. He’s still obviously nervous, though not in the state he was last night. He turns the TV up ridiculously high. It’s a good thing for him that the nearest neighbors are acres away. Nakia stays quiet in her room.

            Around midnight he flicks the TV off and turns over, his back facing the room. I hear him grunt in pain. Is his hand really broken? I hope it is.

Now, how do I start? It’s something I want to build up to. I place one hand on the wall, making sure I’m good and angry, testing myself. The darkness comes to the surface with barely an effort on my part now. Lurking just behind my chest, twisting and growing. Waiting. My hand makes contact, the wood feels cool beneath my skin. Curling my fingers I scrape my nails along the wall, producing an awful rasping sound.

            The dark lump on the couch doesn’t stir. He hasn’t heard it yet. I drag my nails along the wall, nearing the place where he sleeps, stopping just at the line of salt. Both hands now, scratching out a rhythm. Now the lump stirs, and Caleb peers out from beneath his covers. I can see his wide, white eyes in the dark, like a frightened animal. Hear his breath rasping in and out of his lungs. He’s like a beacon radiating fear. It comes off him in waves. My eyes find him in the dark, watching his fingers curl around the blanket. He crams himself into the far corner of the couch, swearing under his breath.

            Let him have a minute. I pause, and the house is silent except for his ragged breathing. He finally speaks into the darkness, his voice wavering. “You can’t come over the circle. So why don’t you just back off. Leave me alone.” There’s a note of desperation in his voice. “Just leave me alone!”

            Anger is still burning in my gut. “No,” I say out loud. He stiffens. He heard me. Caleb curls his knees up to his chest and huddles in his blanket like a beggar, shivering as if he’s out in the cold. He’s actually shaking with fear. I resume scratching, and now I crouch down and run my nails over the floor, scratching and scraping my hands over the hardwood. My skin squeaks as I do it, reminding me of dragging Caleb backwards out of the bedroom. I can’t keep the smile off my face.

            Now I make little darting motions at the salt line, poking my fingers into it at regular intervals, pushing the salt forward, breaking the circle in multiple spots. This gets an instant reaction from Caleb. He scrabbles off the couch, tangling himself in the blanket, hovering over the salt circle as if he can somehow protect it from me,

            “No! No, you can’t do that!”

            I’m flicking the salt now, scattering it inwards, and Caleb’s eyes are fixed on the floor, his chest rising and falling as he breaths faster and faster.  His voice comes out in a sob,

            “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!”

            “I will never leave you alone,” I snarl. “You did this to me!”

His head whips around when I speak, as if he can’t figure out where my voice is coming from, as if it’s coming from all directions. Finally he turns around and runs for the hallway, losing his blanket in his mad dash. The door slams and then there’s nothing but silence. I imagine he’s hiding under his bed right about now. There’s no point following him.

            I’ve already turned him into quivering jello, so there isn’t much else to do tonight. As usual I find myself drifting back into the kitchen. It’s strange, I’m still tangible, so I’m able to lean against the counter, resting my chin in my hands. It seems like after I get mad these spells last longer and longer. Like I’m stronger in this world the more I haunt the people in it.

            Dagger like pain shoots through my stomach, and I brace myself on  the counter top, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for it to pass. It’s sharper now, hotter. It almost feels like I’m being shot over again, and I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. It hurts. The lightening crack of the gunshot is ringing in my ears. My shirt is soaked with warm blood.

            After a minute the feeling fades, the ringing in my ears recedes. I duck my head and check my sweater. There’s no blood. No stain.

 Sam’s voice is in my mind suddenly, warning me about tethering myself to Caleb. Is that what’s happening? Is that what it means? The last thing I want to do is get stuck here with him. I frown and chew on my bottom lip. The idea is frightening.

Straightening up, I stare out the window into the dark forest, telling myself everything will be okay. I’ll go to Sam soon. Something has to happen soon. Caleb has to break. He hasn’t slept properly in two nights now. It won’t take much longer. How long can the human body last without sleep? I can’t remember, but I know there’s a certain number of days it takes and then you’re declared clinically insane. I grin, and the expression feels wicked, even to me.

Let’s test that number.

            I’ve been pacing the attic for twenty minutes now. Thundering back and forth over the boards, arms rigid at my side, fists pumping. My feet pound out an angry rhythm beneath me. I rage in my head, making myself heard. In my head I repeat the message over and over,

Hear me. Hear me. Hear me.

Nothing happens at first, it’s just me pacing in the dark. I hear the rats scatter as I march back and forth, their little claws skittering across the floor, fleeing to their homes in the walls. After a minute more a door slams shut downstairs. I pause, my foot hovering inches above the floor. Has he heard me? Is he listening? There’s no noise from downstairs now. Only silence. I hope he’s standing there with one ear cocked to the ceiling, trying to figure out what he’s hearing. I grin, and stomp my feet a few more times. Stop, listen.

Someone is speaking downstairs. I can’t hear words, just a high frantic murmuring. I imagine he’s calling his mother again. Curiosity overcomes me. I have to see what effect this is having on him.

Sliding through the attic door I descend the steps and emerge into the kitchen, which is empty, aside from stacks of unwashed dishes. Every light in the house is blazing. Caleb is trying to chase out the ghost by killing all the shadows. I snicker a little. Too bad for him, it won’t work. I find him in the living room, huddled on the couch in his boxers and a rumpled t-shirt, his blonde curls stand up in wild angles all over. He’s babbling into his cell phone, eyes wide. So wide that they remind me of a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck.

Run rabbit, run.

“I could hear it, just a minute ago.” His voice is quavering, and he’s gripping the cell phone tightly so that his hands don’t shake.

The voice on the other end gets louder. She sounds annoyed.

Caleb’s voice holds a note of whiny protest. “Well your advice didn’t work. The salt circles are useless. You need to come over here.”

            More angry muttering from the cell phone, and now Caleb looks more angry then frightened. “Don’t call me names. You’re supposed to be supportive, not abusive.”

            How ironic. I can hardly believe he has the nerve to say that.          

            “Well it didn’t work!” He pauses, and his brows draw together. “You’re completely useless. I should have known.”

            My mouth is open, staring at him in shock. The sheer venom in his voice is chilling.

            The voice on the other end is hard, just as nasty, and Caleb’s eyes go wide and his mouth draws into a thin line. “Don’t be like that. Don’t. I need your help. I’m asking you for help.” He pauses, and his face gets even darker.“Yes, you helped me the first time. Fine,” he raises his voice, “Fine! You’re such a bitch!” He snaps the cell phone closed and glares at it for a second, then his head jerks up and his eyes widen. Apparently he’s remembered why he called her in the first place. He looks up at the ceiling, her fingers curled tightly into the edge of the sofa cushion. When no further sound comes from above he relaxes a little, slumping back onto the couch he grabs the remote and turns the TV up full volume.

            “Caleb?”

            Nakia is standing in the doorway, squinting against the light, “That’s really loud.”

            He glares at her, “You didn’t hear the footsteps?”

            “What footsteps?”

            I smile, knowing that she would have slept through almost anything. Caleb looks back at the TV, his expression furious. “The footsteps in the attic. It was her.”

            “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” Nakia asks. Her expression is carefully blank.

            “Yes I’m sure, you idiot!” he snaps. “It was her! She’s trying to get to me.”

            Nakia is backing down the hallway. “You sound crazy, you know.”

            For a second I’m worried he’ll leap at her. He tenses, looking like he’s about to jump out of the chair and strangle her, but then he relaxes and says firmly, “Yeah, maybe I am. Go back to bed, babe.”

            I frown. What’s with the weird mood swing just then? He’d looked furious. Could he be worried that I’d do something if he attacked her? That meant she was safe. Nakia seems to be pondering the same thing, because she smiles, ever so slightly and turns to go back down the hall. Caleb says, “Police call you again?”

            She stops, looking frightened. “No. You have my cell phone still. Remember?”

            “They might have called you some other way,” he says, his eyes still on the TV. “Remember what I told you. If they contact you. You tell me right away.”

            Nakia nods. “Fine. I’m going back to bed.”

            Abruptly Caleb stands up. “I’ll come with you.”

            Nakia freezes, and the look on her face is probably identical to mine. “What?” she says.

“I’ll come with you, babe.” Caleb looks casual about it, like it’s no big deal. “What’s the problem? We’re free to be together now, right? I mean, we don’t have to pretend to just be roommates anymore. Not that we really ever did. So, I’ll come sleep with you tonight.”

            She stiffens as he comes down the hall and takes her hand firmly. “Come on, we’ll cuddle. You love that, we haven’t slept in the same bed for awhile now. Too long.”

            “Not since the accident...” Nakia says pointedly, but then her voice gets strangely choked, and I can see Caleb is squeezing her hand violently. Her eyes fill with tears and she falls silent.

            “Come to bed now.” Caleb leads her down the hall and I drift behind them, anxiety and fear clawing at my insides. What’s he playing at? Why is he doing this to her? Nakia’s discomfort is painfully obvious. Her entire body is rigid as they walk into the bedroom. She clearly doesn’t want to be anywhere near him, but she doesn’t protest.

            They walk into the bedroom, and Caleb turns on the light on the nightstand. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, throws it on the ground. Nakia stands on the other side of the bed, arms crossed over her chest, frozen and horrified.

            “Well,” he says, and then when she goes to lift back the sheet. “No.”

Nakia glances up at him in alarm.

“Not like that.” Caleb smiles. “We can’t cuddle like that. Remember how you used to wear those sexy pajamas? Put those on.”

            Nakia shakes her head slowly. “I don’t…”

His voice is low. “Just do it, Nakia.”

She walks over to the dresser, and my stomach curls unpleasantly when I see she can hardly hold herself up, she’s so afraid of him. Her hands are shaking as she draws a lace night gown out of the top drawer. Furious, disgusted thoughts are swirling in my mind, a windstorm of confusion and anger. What the hell is he doing? Why is he doing this?

            The light goes out. A rustle of sheets. I try to summon up the anger that I felt earlier, to crash the lamp over, to make the lights flicker. Anything. But my anger is overcome by horror and disgust. I can’t make the anger come, I can’t do anything. I turn and slip through the bedroom door. I have to get away from this. I can’t just stand there and listen to this.

            Standing outside in the hall I realize exactly why he’s doing this. He knew what my reaction would be. He knew I wouldn’t blow up and risk hurting Nakia, and he knew I’d be too flustered to attack him directly. And he’s right. I’m here now, in the dark hall staring at the door to Nakia’s bedroom, helpless. I want to break Caleb, but now I realize that it won’t be easy. He’s fighting back.