Saving Elijah

me.
    I was thinking about the way Peter's hand had felt moving over my skin, the large palm with its smooth, agile fingers, their touch as voluptuous as fine silk, elegant for so big a man. Those facile fingers surely told something about him. Did my own hands tell something about me, too, these skinny fingers and rattled bones?
    "Tell him, why don't you?" I felt the cold rush, the presence, turned to the sheath of light that was my demon. "Tell him what a little whore you are."
    It followed me into the hallway, into the dining room, into the kitchen. It followed me into the next day, and the next, haranguing and harping, demanding that I reveal my unfaithfulness to Sam.
    When Becky told me about her own affair and asked for advice, I told her that if she decided in the end to stay, I thought it would be best to forgo any midnight confession of infidelity. I told her I thought she should just decide, and then get on with it. Because telling Mark would poison their relationship.
    The demon's scolding attack lasted for more than a week. Even when I managed to sleep, I could hear the demon's exhortations. I tried to shut my ears, get away from its exhausting diatribe, but where could I go, it was everywhere. Finally, I turned on the demon in the middle of the night. 'Tom tell him!"
    Sam sat up in bed. "Tell me what?"
    "Tell him," it whispered.
    Sam reached for his glasses and put them on. "Dinah, who are you talking to?"
    I left the room. Sam followed.
    "You're talking to hallucinations again, aren't you?"
    We were standing now by the bar in the living room. Sam poured himself a scotch. "Dinah, I can't take this anymore. Really."
    I followed him into the kitchen, where he plopped ice into the glass, took a sip, and sank into a kitchen chair.
    "If you don't call someone to get some help, I just don't know what I'm going to do. Or maybe I'm doing this wrong, maybe I should be calling for you. Maybe I should just put you in the car and take you."

    *    *    *

    I had to do something. It wouldn't leave me alone, it seemed it would never leave me alone again. It had me, I had made the bargain and I was at its mercy. But maybe I could force it to show itself to Sam, even if he'd hate me in the process. Then at least he'd know I hadn't lost my mind.
    "Tell him yourself," I said. "Show yourself to him."
    The demon recoiled. "You think you can trick me? Me?" It had stopped cooing, now it was screeching. "Well, you are wrong. You are nothing. You are no one. You are mine."
    At this familiar refrain, I told Sam.

    *    *    *

    Sam turned paler than pale. He said not a word to me, just got up from the chair, put his glass down, and walked out of the kitchen. I followed him into the bedroom, watched him put on some clothes and pack a bag.
    "Where are you going? Sam, please, I'm sorry."
    His eyes narrowed. "You're sorry another man touched you?"
    "No. Yes."
    "What did you expect, Dinah?"
    "I don't know. I just wanted you to ..."
    "To what?'
    I was frightened now, of his quiet rage, of his being gone.
    "I don't know."
    "Well, Dinah, I don't know either."
    I tried to think what I could say to make him stay. "Please, Sam. It puts ideas in my head. It won't let me—"
    "Dinah, stop."
    "If I had a mental illness, or if I had cancer and had to have a breast removed, you'd stand by me, Sam. Wouldn't you?"
    He stared.
    "Wouldn't you, Sam?"
    He threw his sneakers into the bag and closed it. "It's hardly the same thing. What is wrong with you?"
    I sank into a chair. He picked up the bag and grabbed his wallet from the night table, turned to leave. "I need to go now, Dinah. I just need to go."
    I saw the pain in his eyes, heard the determination in his voice, and knew there was nothing I could say or do to stop him.
    "What should I tell the children?"
    "Tell them I've gone out of town on a business trip. I'll call them as soon as I can."
    He was gone, he was gone.
    I heard the front door close softly, and I heard the demon's dancing stomping footsteps in the hallway. No sooner had I heard these sounds than it appeared in the corner of my bedroom, preening, victorious. "Payment time."
    I started to scream, but it raced to me with light-speed velocity and clamped itself over my mouth. I could still feel the scream in my throat, but my voice was silenced.
    "Payment time," it whispered, spurting filth into my ear.
    It knew it had won. I lay back against the headboard and pillows. It made me watch while it slithered all over me, its lips