Wicked - 4. Jake 2

Upon moving into the orphanage as a newly teenager, I was quickly pulled into the street world of drugs and petty crime. I frequently got in trouble with police and was labelled a troublemaker. Youth workers and child councilors were assigned to me and I was forced into appointments. Most support workers are actually crazier than the people they're helping. They were only attracted to the job as a way of dealing with their own neurosis and because they weren't smart enough to go to university or work as something that pays better. I always felt that I was smarter than the adults, whose half-hearted attempts to fix us were more about clocking in hours to get their paycheck.

Plenty of the support workers were knowledgeable in self-help books and practices, having first learnt them to help themselves. Psychology is a science that often blurs into less scientific territory, due to the fact so much about the human brain is still unknown. One afternoon I was in some lowly-paid child councilor's office and in the waiting room she had a book and CD set called 'The Secret'. I asked her about it and that was the first time someone explained manifestation to me. Gifted me a few books by Deepak Chopra as well.

Collective Consciousness is a belief system without rules or deities or mythology. It is a line of thinking that suggests the world we live in is not as concrete as it seems nor are we separate to it. What you put your attention on grows, that would be the obvious perception and even scientific psychology would agree. But the main idea, manifestation suggests you can visualize a thing, believe in it, let it go and then it comes true. After it was explained to me I tested it out with amusing results: imagining myself finding a twenty dollar note, stopped thinking about it, later found a twenty dollar note at the subway. Seeing black Nike sneakers and wanting a pair, imagining myself wearing them, stopped thinking about it, and saw how things naturally fell into place until I was in a position where I could ask and get what I wanted when one of the workers was getting everybody presents.

Trying to manifest nicer things was harder. I tried seeing myself behind the wheel of a red Lamborghini but was so excited about the prospect of it working that I couldn't stop thinking about it, a crucial step in getting manifestation to work. Imagining myself in a grand mansion, making a 'vision board' like one of the workers suggested, didn't mean someone was going to pop into my life and give me a free house. Even something like that would need to be worked for.

I wouldn't have even attempted manifestation were it not for something that happened when I was ten-years-old. It had been a normal morning when I'd gone to the bathroom, went to wash my hands and saw with my own eyes the tap turning on before I touched it. I froze, then ran fearfully to Mummy, leaving the water to run. She'd said the exact same thing happened to her and at the same age.

"We come from a long family line of witches." She said soothingly, stroking my back to calm me.

Sitting at the living room table by my apartment, I adjusted my shirt in the sewing machine. An old bulky thing lent to me by one of the support workers I'd known for several years. I was trying to fix up the stupid hole in the sleeve, but the needle kept bunching the fabric. I was breathing out my nose in anger. Undoing the thread, counting to five, trying again and it jammed. Starting over, counting to five, watching the needle fuck up for the tenth time. After each failed attempt I hit the side of the inanimate object, as if to punish it for disobeying. Then in a rage, I hopped up and went into the kitchen, came back and started stabbing it repeatedly with a pair of scissors. Swearing with each stab until it was in pieces, then I dropped the scissors on the floor and left to do something else.

I went to my desktop computer and started it up, it was cloggy to load and the screen flashed sickly blue light onto my face. I opened my chat client and scanned my three regular chat-buddies from an occult forum. One of them was online and the flashing icon meant he'd replied to my message, his username was LuciferChild33.

Your inτεnτion isn'τ sετ. King Bεliαl is hαppy τo kill τhis guy for you buτ you nεεd τo mαkε up your mind. You nεεd τo sτop τhinking αbouτ iτ αfτεr you do τhε riτuαl, hεsiτατing αbouτ iτ αfτεrwαrds fucks wiτh τhε rεsulτ.

I read his response and sighed.

After reading all the threads on the occult forum I'd decided Belial was the spirit I wanted to contact first. Belial the wicked, the lawless one, is a demon listed in historical texts such as The Lesser Key of Solomon and the Ars Goetia. When I'd first drawn up his sigil on paper and meditated on it I felt a rush of heat come over my body. I spoke to him aloud and felt that he was intrigued by me, the impression I got was that most people came to him when they needed help with something. I'd been attracted to him because he emphasized rebellion and power, the 'one without a master'. Usually I had a plate of food or glass of red wine as an offering when I summoned a demon into my circle of black candles. They didn't physically appear, but you could always feel them, and sometimes I saw things in my mind's eye.

For Belial I decided to offer my blood, using a diabetic lancing pen I'd taken from the first-aid cupboard in the bathroom of my therapist's office. Pricking my finger mid-ritual and wiping a line of red down his sigil, my head grew hot under a tense pressure. There were thoughts in my head that weren't my own.

BLOOD ON THE SIGIL! PUT MORE BLOOD ON!

"I already gave you my blood, you never asked for more before."

MORE BLOOD ON THE SIGIL NOW! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!

Sighing I squeezed the end of my finger, forcing more blood out of the prick in my skin and painting it on until he was satisfied. Unlike other demons, Belial was insistent that if I wanted him to do something for me I must command it. He didn't respond to weakness.

"You will kill him for me."

IT WILL BE DONE.

After I dismissed him my head was dizzy, but the warmth didn't leave my body until hours afterwards.

I started typing up my response. Despite my apparent ability to do evocations successfully I wasn't psychic, I could barely focus my own mind for an extended period of time let alone focus on anyone else's.

Yεαh, yεαh. You'rε righτ, I know. I rεαlly did wαnτ τo kill him τhis τime, iτ's jusτ hαrd bεcαusε I sτill lovε him you know? I sent the message with a scowl, then typed up: Did iτ work? How is hε? I stared at the dots impatiently as he typed his reply. This guy answered far too slowly for my liking but I needed to play nice if I wanted his help.

Almosτ. Iτ αlmosτ workεd. Buτ like I sαid, your τhoughτs kεεp gεττing in τhε wαy. You nεεd τo sτop obsεssing ovεr τhε rεsulτ, you cαn'τ εxpεcτ iτ τo work if you kεεp wαnτing τo kill him onε sεcond αnd τhεn you'rε bαck τo bεing in lovε wiτh him τhε nεxτ. As for how hε's fεεling... A pause before the next message. Hε's scαrεd, vεry scαrεd. I cαn fεεl iτ. Hε doεsn'τ know whατ τo do.

Good. I typed back spitefully.

I'd spent a great deal of time practicing baneful magic, so I knew it had nothing to do with my power. To get stronger I targeted people who'd hurt or annoyed me, even years in the past. I made curse jars with the help of particular entities, just simple glass jars that you meditate on and fill with certain ingredients. Vinegar, rusted nails, graveyard dirt, dog shit. A printed-out profile shot of the victim with their name and date of birth written on the back. Each item meditated on, my hatred and vitriol channeled inside before adding it to the jar. Sealing it and burning a candle on top, setting my intention and chanting for half an hour. Die die die. Finally leaving to bury it somewhere in the dead of night. A process I was getting better and better at.

I'd not seen my last therapist since she tripped in her house and cracked ribs, the demon was taking its time but I was really hoping she'd take a turn and die in hospital soon. So far I've caused grievous injury to five different people but annoyingly none of them have died yet. It must be me craving the result too much, not letting go like you're supposed to when you manifest. At least I was able to kill my target's closest family member, a result of all the negative energy I'd been hurling his way. Imagining him weeping over the headstone and in bed alone at night brought a spiteful grin to my face. Broken like the worthless fucking cockroach he is.

I still think I'd prefer to murder someone myself as opposed to just doing rituals, meditating and waiting for it to happen.

Anywαy I nεεd somε slεεp, wifε jusτ puτ τhε kids to bεd. I kεεp forgεττing wε'rε in diffεrεnτ τimεzonεs. Goodnighτ.

Goodnighτ and τhαnks αgαin. I sent back and closed the window after he went offline.

Earlier today when school ended my emotional pendulum had swung back again. I'd been thinking about how helplessly in love with him I was, how weak this mortal boy made a god like me feel. Basking in the pure warmth of love until the humiliation and rage came back. How dare he! I want to kill him! I want to kill him with my bare hands!

My evening was free. I couldn't hang out with the guys and get drugs because Laurene was still pissy. I thought about having sex today. Instead I gave my homework a half-hearted attempt and continued reading my Jonathan Kellerman crime novel until it was time for bed.

The next morning at Brine High I was walking the edge of the grassy oval, thinking about all my plots and schemes. All the irons I had in the fire. It was another bright day, birds chirping and the scent of flowers in the air. I strolled until Kyle Thorburn appeared in my sights, walking the footpath alone. Maybe heading to the front office. He was annoyingly not dead. In the moments I was in love with him my heart beat very fast and he sapped out a warm and generous side of me that never came out for anyone else. In the moments I hated him, my whole body went fixed and cold; it was a determined hatred. I started following him.

He walked ahead of me unawares as I crept behind him. At first there were no thoughts, just a predatory stalking. His tousled brown hair shone in the overhead sun. The personification of every ideal projected onto this boy. How could you possibly be so stupid? I thought with rage. You could've had a god like me on my knees for you, tending to your every wish. Doing whatever you wanted and worshipping you for every second until you died. But you're too stupid. It was an injustice beyond measure. My hands were tingling as I again imagined wrapping them around his neck and viciously strangling the life out of him. My arms began to raise at my sides, but then Kyle opened a side door to one of the school buildings and vanished inside.

The door swung shut behind him. I stopped, then turned and walked away. I'll use a different demon to hurt him next time, I decided.

Roll call and my first two classes passed like a breeze. I sat through them bored, barely listening. When my Biology teacher told me off for not doing my work I spent the rest of the hour thinking about killing him in the staff parking lot after school, a shiv between the ribs. I was antsy and emotional when lunch came around, feeling like a raw wound, craving a cigarette. I went to the music room my band always had booked out for practice.

"What the fuck is that?" Laurene ashed her cigarette onto the floor. As per usual there was much more bumming around and not much practice. She stood up and reached for my sleeve, I viciously swiped her off. "You tried stitching up the hole in your shirt? You're so fucking poor dude. Look I'll buy you some new school shirts, alright?"

"I could get the youth shelter workers to pay for more, just can't be fucked asking for their help." I bit back.

"Don't worry about it, I'll buy you some..." she rolled her eyes. Her charity was marred by her condescension. The exasperation she put on to hide how satisfying it was for her to buy anything she wanted, just call on Daddy and use her sex-abuse victim card to play with his head and get whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She tucked her dyed bangs behind her ears.

As much as I hated her, Laurene was the source of all my nice things. If she updated her phone, either me or one of the other bandmates would get her old one. Same with technology and sometimes clothes, she was generous with her hand-me-downs because none of it meant anything to her.

"Sorry I don't have parents." I sniped and she said nothing to that, facing away in her chair and taking a drag.

"Cut the guy some slack, Laurene." Kevin complained. Joshua flipped his fringe back, also wearing a sympathetic look. I'd not been after their pity, it only annoyed me further.

"Whatever," she deflected "I talked to blondie big-tits and she said we're a go to perform at her beach party this weekend. She just wants a ton of ketamine."

"Aw man..." overweight Carter was unenthusiastic, his typical roll-over-and-die attitude "What if they laugh at us? What if they steal my bass and smash it against the rocks, they'll be drunk after all."

"Shut up, it'll be fine." Laurene shot back.

"Well we won't be able to worry if we spend the whole show in a K-spiral." Kevin remarked.

"Who knows," I smirked while imagining it "We might all get laid."

Suddenly Kevin and Joshua looked more eager, Carter sagged and a second chin poked out of his fat neck.

"Come on Carter, I'm sure there's a girl out there who'll suck your dick for a bag of ketamine."

His soft pink fingers clenched his trousers and he said nothing.

"It's not like you need a show or drugs to have sex, gay men have it so easy." Envy flashed across Kevin's face as he eyed me.

"I wish it was like that for us lesbians. Then again I'm a lot pickier than Jake here." She flashed me a look. Despite the fact I pissed her off the most frequently, I was sure Laurene felt some kind of camaraderie with me, us both being queer kids. With a smirk I played a few notes on my keyboard and looked away from them.

I wasn't picky at all because for me it was less about the sex itself and more about the attention. I ruined people all the time, and usually without even trying. I slept around with older men and even guys as fat as Carter, they heaved as they made love to me slowly whilst adoring my youthful beauty. I slept around with them for a while and after cutting it off I'd always send hinting messages every few months just to make sure they never got over me. When I involved myself with boys I always found it surprising how easy it was to toy with them. They'd see me explode and have an emotional meltdown over the smallest thing, and thinking they were seeing vulnerability in me it only made them want me more. As if my irrationality was something that could be controlled.

Sex buddies of mine always ended up getting into relationships quickly when I refused to commit to them. I'd never had feelings for long – with the exception of Kyle – I was restless and quickly lost interest in people. The grass was always greener elsewhere.

There was one boy from out of town who once confessed to me on a date that he was a masochist. He liked being physically hurt and degraded. One time we were at the beach docks at night, carnival lights behind us reflecting off the water, picking through cones of cotton candy, and without explaining myself I slapped him across the face. He'd looked shocked and scared before the understanding came over him, settling his features and then an arousal. After that he let me choke him. And after that our relations became increasingly more violent, I left bruises all over his body. He seemed to enjoy it more than I did. I made sure to invade every crevice of his heart and mind, made sure I owned him completely before tossing him aside. I don't quite remember his name.

Then there was the junior from this school. I'd not quite been able to ruin him emotionally, but he picked up my drug habits and that caused him to drop out of school anyway.

My vanity made me desperate to be adored and loved by as many as possible, my power-lust drove me to test the limits of my influence on the inner worlds of others, and my sadism urged me to destroy people as intimately as possible. It's not like I never warned them, and when boys knew I was toying with them it sometimes made them like me even more. I often got the feeling a lot of them really had wanted to help me somehow, for whatever reason. But I saw their hearts, so squishy and sensitive, and with my own heart eternally cold and unfeeling it was too tempting to resist, too easy to conquer and destroy.

Because I was beautiful men always wanted me. So I moved like a fire through woods, burning others and forging a path forever unfeelingly forwards. For no other reason than because I was bored and because it was fun. I simply needed to be adored, I thirsted for attention. Then I met Kyle.

"I wonder if we'll be popular after this..." Kevin murmured, slack in his chair and staring up at the roof.

"You can never have too much attention." I agreed with an indulgent flush.