Possession Read Online Free Page A

consisted of all ages and
races. It seemed no one was immune from mental illness.
    Aslender man
in his twenties came over and sat down across from me. Within moments it became
clear that he was a bundle of nervous energy. His fingers ran through his blond
hair a few times before he started fidgeting with his tray. He began to move
his milk carton incessantly back and forth. When he finally got around to his
food, his left hand kept tapping the tabletop while he ate.
    He started mumbling to himself. “Have to get more
salt for protection. Can’t forget the salt. They’ll be coming again tonight.”
He looked over his shoulder and then back at me. He suddenly focused on my face.
“I’m Andrew. If you’re not going to eat that roll, can I have it?”
    “Sure,” I said, passing it to him.
    I took another bite of mac and cheese and watched Andrew
as he began to pick small pieces off the roll. He piled the pieces on the side
of his tray. Once the bread was all in a pile, he reached for a piece and
started to chew it. “So, you’re a healer.”
    “Sorry…what?”
    He gestured toward my wrist. “The blue swallow. The
sign of a healer. We don’t get many healers in here.”
    I turned over my right wrist, and for the first
time noticed a tattoo in the shape of a swallow. I was a healer? What’s a healer?
    “Next time I have a headache, can I come to you to
get rid of it?” he asked anxiously.
    I just stared at him, not sure how to respond. I
looked down at the tattoo again. I’m a healer? I had no recollection of what
that meant or entailed. Were people supposed to come to me to heal their
headaches? “You mean…I’m a nurse or something?”
    Andrew was watching me closely now. “They gave you
shock treatment. I heard. The rumor mill in this place…word spreads like
wildfire. It’s not just the patients that gossip. The staff loves to talk in
front of the patients—it’s like sometimes they forget we’re even there. I
think they’re too used to dealing with the real wackos, the ones completely out
of their minds.” He raised his finger and gestured toward Dean. “Now that boy can keep a secret.” He smiled
and picked up another piece of bread. “You’re a healer. You touch people and
they get better.”
    I paused a second before phrasing my next
question. Andrew’s conversation was as all over the place as his hands, and the
rapid-fire pace of it made me unsure if I’d heard him right. “What kinds of
things do healers do, besides get rid of headaches?” I asked.
    “Memory shot? Not surprising. First time I had
shock treatment I forgot I hated green beans. I ate nothing but green beans for
two weeks until one day I remembered.” He shook his head in disgust at the
memory. His hand whipped across the table and grabbed my wrist. He turned it
over and studied the tattoo. “From the look of your tat, you’re part of a
Scottish clan. They said your name is Colina Campbell. Campbell is Scottish,
see? The Scottish live in a closed community. It’s not like you see a lot of
them out in the public healing strangers. Not like those gypsies. The gypsies
will heal anyone for the right price.” He let go of my arm and studied me
quietly for a few minutes. “You look fairly young. How old are you?”
    “I’m not sure.” I answered his question while
still trying to process the deluge of information he’d dumped on me. “I’d say
seventeen or eighteen. That would mean you’re a newbie healer. Most folks don’t
start seriously training their kids until they hit their late teens. Now me,
I’m a reader. Or, I used to be.” Andrew shook his head and looked down at his
bread. “Too many voices screaming in my head. I couldn’t keep control as I got
older. It was all too much.” He lifted a leather cord from around his neck. On
the end of it was a purple pouch. He patted it comfortingly. “This puppy right
here helps mute my powers.”
    I just stared at him, trying to absorb what he was
saying. A