Hope Is For Mortals

Francine let Heidi and Jessie take her bed. She could sleep on the couch just fine. If she could sleep at all with everything going on. Carl claimed the recliner, and Sondra said she would camp on the floor. Hunter did not sleep. Not often, anyway. He said that after hundreds of years of living, insomnia became permanent.

The lights flickered at uneven intervals, brief pulses of brightness that made the shadows jump. The scraping along the walls and door never fully stopped. Robbie was still searching for a way in. Francine kept telling herself he, or it, would eventually get bored and leave.

The scratching stopped.

The sudden silence felt wrong. Heavy. Waiting.

Then her phone rang.

Francine flinched. She glanced at the clock.

2:57 a.m.

The phone vibrated against the table, its glow bright in the dark. She stared at it. Could that thing be calling? The thought was ridiculous.

Still, at this point, she wouldn’t put anything past it.

“Are you going to answer it?” Carl asked quietly.

“What if it’s him?” Deb whispered. She had stepped out of her room and now stood beside Francine, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Then I guess we talk,” Francine said. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Francine, honey, are you okay?”

Relief flooded her.

“Oh. Mrs. Roberts. Hi.”

“Francine,” Delphine Roberts said calmly, “I was walking past your apartment, and I couldn’t help but notice your building seems to have a bit of a possession problem.”

“Yeah. Just a little bit. I’m hoping he gets bored and goes away.”

“Francine, I know you aren’t as advanced in the supernatural world as some of us, but you’ve been here long enough to know that isn’t how this works. Once a demon latches onto you, he doesn’t give up.”

“A girl can hope,” Francine said weakly.

“Hope is for mortals and the foolishly in love. You are neither.” Mrs. Roberts paused. “I’ve sent a small spell your way. He’s gone for now. But he’ll be back. Come by the library in the morning. I believe I have a book that may help.”

“I was planning to,” Francine said.

“Good. I’ll expect you. Now try to get some sleep. It’s after three.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, no one moved.

The air felt different. Lighter. The oppressive weight pressing against the walls had lifted, but the quiet did not feel safe. It felt temporary.

“I don’t know what Mrs. Roberts did,” Francine said, her voice thin with relief, “but she did something to send it away. It will be back eventually, but at least now we might be able to sleep.”

“If that thing is gone,” Sondra said, already reaching for her purse, “I’m going home.”

She grabbed her keys and headed for the door. Her hand paused on the knob. She glanced back at Francine.

“A word of advice, Francine. You can’t save everyone.” Her gaze sharpened. “And if you keep trying, one day there won’t be anyone left to save you.”

The door shut behind her with a quiet, final click.

“She’s not wrong,” Hunter said.

Francine didn’t look at him.

“You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months,” he continued. “Not since the dreams started. You’re running on stubbornness and guilt.” His voice lowered. “This demon is stronger than anything you’ve faced before.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes searched her face. “Because I’ve seen what happens when you push yourself too far. You don’t heal like you used to.”

Silence settled between them.

“If we don’t help them, that little girl will be hurt. She may even be killed.” Francine lifted her chin, defiance hardening her expression. “She reached out to me. Asking for help. I can’t turn my back on her.” Her voice softened slightly. “But no one else has to put themselves in danger. If any of you want out, I’m fine with that.”

“Not a chance,” Deb said immediately. She stepped closer to Francine. “You’re my bestie. Nothing, not even a raging demon from whatever nightmare pit it crawled out of, is going to stop me from helping you.”

“You know I’m in,” Carl added.

Hunter did not speak right away.

When he finally did, his voice was quieter.

“I’m not saying don’t help,” he said. “I’m saying be careful.” His gaze held hers now, steady and unguarded. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something in his expression made her chest tighten.

She looked away first.

She didn’t know what this was between them, this thread that had existed ever since the night he turned her. It was more than obligation. More than gratitude. Sometimes it felt like gravity.

And he was leaning toward it.

She wasn’t sure she was ready to fall.