Page 17 of Not Today, Satan
The photo’s dated eighteen years ago.
Beside the date is another word, one I recognize as a place on Earth, a place from which I’ve recently met one of its former residents:Los Angeles, California.
I purse my lips and furrow my brow at the picture. This must’ve been taken on one of Father’s many trips to Earth. He took her with him. He’s never taken me.
The girl in this picture is happy and free, not tethered to this place like I am. It’s hard to believe she’d betray Father enough to warrant death. She must’ve loved him at some point.
Until she didn’t.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I delve further into the book.
My mother ages with each turn of the page, but her location doesn’t shift. She’s always in the same park, on the same bench, surrounded by the same perfectly manicured green hedges. As the dates get progressively closer, the images spin as I do the math in my head.
Most of these were taken after I was born. After she supposedly died. The trembling in my hands surges through the rest of my body, and I almost drop the book.
“What the actual—?” I ask the empty room.
I turn to the last page, and my breath whooshes out of my lungs. My mother now appears to be in her mid-thirties. Tiny lines edge the corners of her eyes and mouth, barely visible in the shade of the tree. Her hair’s cut into a mid-length bob that brushes the shoulders of her ivory cardigan.
I’ve always assumed my mom was a demon like me. But the thing about demons is that we don’t age the way humans do. Once we reach adulthood, we achieve our permanent form for eternity. The only way I can discern an elder demon’s age is either by knowing them personally or by the scarring on their bodies from battling alongside Father all those years ago.
It’s possible she’s chosen this ageing human as her form, but even when I squint, I can’t see the demon beneath—which I’m able to do with all demons who hide their form from others.
I bite back the bile sliding up my throat. There’s only one explanation, and I heave with the realization.
She’shuman.
Which means… I drop the book and stare down at my body. The body that only looks like the other demons when they’re in human form. The legs and torso and face I never chose for myself like everyone I know. The form that now shakes with effort to not vomit all over Father’s duvet.
I’m half human.
“No fucking way.”
I grab the album and shove it closer to my face, sure if I search hard enough, I’ll make out my mother’s demon form. But her image never falters.
The date comes into focus, and I let out a gasp.
It’s one week ago.
My birthday, to be exact.
Father mentioned leaving for Earth after his pitiful excuse for a party, but I’d assumed it was another business trip. That wasn’t the reason, though. Maybe that was never the reason for his jaunts to the surface. He was visiting my mother. Ahuman. And he’s been lying about it my entire life.
The room blurs and spins around me. My vision threatens to go blacker than the walls. I close my eyes and try to control my breathing the way Mr. B. taught me. In for ten, out for ten.
When I’m sure I’m no longer going to pass out, I study the image again, desperate for clues to make sense of any of this.
My mother’s reading a novel on the now familiar bench. She’s not looking at the camera.
In fact, I realize as I flip back through the second half of the book, she’s not looking in any of the images beyond the first few. It’s almost as though these pictures were taken without her knowledge.
I massage my forehead.
Not only has my mother been alive all these years, she’s also been on Earth.
Did everyone down here know the truth, or were they also victims of Father’s lies? And why tell me she’s dead? Is it because he doesn’t want me to go searching for her? Because he knows Iwillsearch for her?
Maybe it’s because he taught me that being human is the worst thing I could be. He hoped that if he kept me away from her, I’d grow out of it. But it’s part of my DNA. He’s only taught me to hate myself.
