Melissa opened her mouth again, unable to hold back. “That’s bullshit,” Melissa said. “My parents used to talk all the time about how the devil was real and how Satan was always sending dark forces to mess with people, and I never believed it, because it wasn’t true. My parents are liars, crooks, people who feed off other people’s fears.” She shook her head. “No, it’s impossible. I think she’s become unstable, maybe from that swamp gas in her backyard. There must be a rational explanation.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “I hope you’re right. Believe me, I know how all of this sounds.”

Jess put her hands on her chair. “Who cares what the reason is? Ghosts? Spirits? It’s semantics. How about ‘weird shit’?”

I pressed my lips together, pulling back what I didn’t want to say. I had seen demons and darkness, and they were nothing like my friend throwing me into a construction hole in her backyard. The demons I had seen were my parents’ belongings disappearing one by one, being sold off to fund June’s addiction. The middle-of-the-night phone calls, begging for money. The countless trips to rehab that always ended in heartbreak. An ending that no one wanted, one that I could never forgive myself for. One that in my darkest moments, I blamed myself for.

Melissa cleared her throat. “Really, though, my parents’ church was into that stuff. They would get together and speak in tongues, and the pastor would cast out people’s demons every Sunday, right after the light show where lasers would spell out ‘Jesus’ and everyone would cheer.” I waited for her to laugh but then realized she was serious.

She continued. “It was deluded. Ridiculous.” She rubbed her forehead and then stopped, probably remembering her aesthetician had said friction made her Botox wear off quicker. “Anyway, you know I barely speak to them now, and that’s a large part of why.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately, I have to see them in a few days when they stop through town on the way to a tent revival in Iowa.”

I leaned forward. “Really? If they are into all of this hellfire stuff, maybe we should talk to them about Liz.”

This time, she did laugh. “Absolutely not. And possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had. All they’ll do is tell us to make a large donation to their church and maybe give us some fake holy water and a plastic crucifix made in China by five-year-old laborers.”

“Well, the holy water and crucifixes can be plan B,” Jess said. She picked up her phone and tapped away. “Plan A is a bit easier: I’m just going to text Liz.” She held up the screen when she was done.