"Make sure you don't miss today's service." Jeanette spoke as she hurriedly went for the door. She was prepared for church. It was a sunny Sunday morning.
She was dressed in a red blouse and a black skirt. Her black beret complemented her neatly matted French plait.
She was in a rush not to miss the early morning mass. Her husband, Steve had left that morning. He was in a reputable echelon in the church as an exorcist and his wife was his accomplice in his doings.
They brought up their only child, Simon in the path of light and God's word. He was also training as an exorcist, though he had never conducted exorcism nor experienced one.
Sundays were exceptionally awesome for Simon. He wouldn't afford to miss a Sunday service.
"Sure, Mom. 8 a.m." Simon said, grabbing the bottle of milk from the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Simon was nineteen, and quiet in every way that counted.
He had the kind of face people didn't always remember—until they did. Lean, clean, and boyish, with soft cheekbones and a jaw that hadn't fully sharpened yet. A faint dusting of stubble framed his chin and upper lip, more out of forgetfulness than style. His lips were full and naturally pink, often pressed in thought or twitching like he almost smiled but never quite did.
His silver hair, thick and messy, flopped lazily over his forehead like it had a mind of its own. Not styled. Not cared for. Just there. His brows were a deeper ash tone, giving his expression a quiet seriousness even when he wasn't trying.
He wore black-rimmed glasses that slid down his nose too often, hiding soft silver eyes that didn't gleam—they wandered. There was nothing piercing or intense about his stare. His gaze was distant, like he was always half-elsewhere, quietly studying the world instead of living in it.
Simon didn't turn heads. He didn't need to. There was something calming about him—the way he carried himself like background noise, safe and steady. His presence didn't shout. It murmured. And somehow, that made it harder to forget.
"Oh! Before I forget, Jessica's sick. Her mum called this morning saying Jessica's got a fever. I don't think she'd be in church today... you know, I'm worried about her." She looks down to the watch on her wrist.
"Oh my! It's getting late. Bye, hun!" she said, dashing out the door.
Jessica wasn't just Simon's best friend—she was the constant in his world, the thread woven through every memory he had. He couldn't remember a version of life that didn't include her. She was always there. Like breath. Like heartbeat.
They grew up side by side, chasing fireflies and climbing rooftops, getting into trouble and getting out of it together. Everyone used to say they were like siblings—two halves of the same coin, inseparable and familiar. And for the most part, they were.
But Simon had never really seen her as a sister. Not truly. Not deep down.
She was Jessica.
The girl with the quick laugh and a sharp tongue. The one who knew how to make silence feel safe. The one who could look at him once and know exactly what he was thinking.
He was a year older, a few inches taller, and maybe a little more serious. But she balanced him—brought softness where he was sharp, chaos where he was calm. She didn't just exist beside him. She fit beside him.
So when his mother said she was sick, something in his chest shifted—made it feel heavier.
"I'll check on her. Text me when Father Nicholas starts preaching."
Father Nicholas was the church priest. Simon loved his sermons—especially the ones about the world beyond. They intrigued him.
Father Nicholas was a wise man, vast in knowledge and deeply experienced in the supernatural. He often let Simon borrow books from his study—books on religion, spirituality, and all things paranormal.
Simon rushed through his cereal and headed upstairs to shower.
—
—
He arrived at Jessica's family house which was just a few minutes away from his. He hurriedly opened the door that led to their hall way.
Mr and Mrs Lyon were in the living room having a discussion. He didn't bother going into the living room.
"Good morning, Lyons." he called out.
They were startled by the sudden entrance but relaxed when they saw it was Simon.
"Good morning, Simon," they responded.
He didn't pause to meet their eyes—his focus was locked on checking up on Jessica.
He reached her door and stretched his hand toward the knob, then froze. A flash of an undressed Jessica crossed his mind, and he quickly retracted his hand, knocking instead.
"Come in," came a frail voice from behind the door.
He gently pushed it open and peeked in.
"Hey, Jessica," he said softly, carefully closing the door behind him to keep the noise down.
To his surprise, Jessica looked perfectly fine. She didn't look sick at all. She sat on her bed, a pillow on her lap, her phone in hand. Her smile was warm and genuine.
"Simon, you came," she said in a voice that sounded far from frail. She placed her phone on the nightstand beside her bed.
"Your mom said you weren't well..." His voice was still soft.
He walked to her bedside and pulled part of the duvet aside so he could sit.
"I'm okay now. The fever's gone. I'll be joining you at church," she said with a light laugh as she stood and walked into the bathroom.
"Just a minute. I'll be quick!" she added, shutting the door behind her.
She poured a jar of scented bath oil into her already filled blue ceramic tub, pulled off her clothes, and stepped in.
Simon was still confused by how quickly she'd recovered, but he didn't want to dwell on it.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He scrolled for a while, growing increasingly impatient.
"What are you doing in there, evolving?" he muttered, thumb still scrolling through his screen.
"Just a sec." She giggled from the bathroom.
He sighed.
Bored, he lay back on the bed, resting his head on the pillow with his right arm beneath it. He stared at the ceiling, closed his eyes—and drifted off to sleep.
Jessica took her time. When she came out, she apologized.
It was already close to 8. The church wasn't near.
She dressed in a flower printed green blouse and black pair of pants. She added some make-up to her face and a vibrant red lip stain and lip gloss too. Her hairdo made her face look rounder and softer. She looked exquisite. She wore a pair of green shoes that matched with her emerald green eyes.
Simon was already at the door waiting.
"Just as beautiful as always," he said.
She chuckled, grabbed her phone and purse, and joined him.
They met her parents still deep in conversation. Her dad finally noticed them. He paused, turned, and smiled at the pair standing in the hallway.
Jessica blushed, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her mom rose from her seat.
"You sure you can go?" her mother asked, visibly concerned as she walked over to feel Jessica's forehead.
"Don't worry, honey. She's better now. And besides, she's going to church—don't restrict her," her father said reassuringly, placing a strong, confident hand on his wife's shoulder.
"You heard Dad, Mom. I'm okay now. See ya!"
She quickly left with Simon before her mom could ask more questions. She was good at that.
Simon and Jessica rode their bikes down the road, chatting cheerfully. He kept glancing her way, still checking to see if she was truly fine—obviously, she was.
"Ever witnessed an exorcism before? Or performed one?" she asked with a sly smile.
She definitely wanted to tease him.
"No, I haven't," he replied. "But I overheard Mum and Dad talking about one. Something about the orphanage? I might ask to come along... though I don't know the full details."
"Possessions are rare, but this one... it bothers me. I can't remember the full deets. Ugh!"
Frowns creased his forehead.
He was frustrated—he had clearly heard their conversation, but now it was like the memory slipped away.
Jessica let out a sarcastic laugh, clearly amused.
"Scaredy cat," she teased.
She probably assumed the frown was from fear of exorcism, not frustration. Well now she's gotten his attention due to her laughter.
Simon sighed.
"I just can't remember what they said, that's—"
He made a sharp pause mid-sentence.
"Race ya!" Jessica shouted and took off on her bike.
She loved racing with him.
Simon tried to keep up, but something about this race felt wrong.
A wave of dread rolled through him.
It was unlike anything he'd ever felt.
What'd be making him feel this way? He couldn't decipher what it was. The more he tried understanding, the more confusing it was. He felt this uneasy cold wind associated with the suffocating atmosphere.
"I think you should stop the race, Jessica!" he called out.
But she just laughed and pedaled faster.
Simon could perceive it so much, danger was near, lurking around somewhere waiting for the perfect time to strike.
And Jessica? She wasn't listening.
Then, in the blink of an eye, a massive truck loaded with timber came barreling fast down the road behind them.
Simon swerved out of the way.
He looked ahead.
Jessica hadn't noticed it.
It all happened too fast.
The impact sent him flying from his bike.
The truck struck Jessica from behind.
She went airborne.