I had a dream that night. I was back in my room, lying on the couch. K'Layah was there after we had our beautiful moment with a movie. We stood there frozen and holding one another close as we drifted off. I brush her hair slowly until she falls asleep first. Her breathing is low, and her body is warm. She's a perfect woman to be cuddled up with someone like me. I hold her tight as I drift off in my dream, like a dream Inside a dream. A shadowy figure stands above us. It has a feminine figure along with what looks like long hair. It didn't resemble my usual demon this time. It looked similar to a woman. It reached out to me and spoke with a woman's voice.
"If you lose me, you will die. Your life is only held together by my force. We are the same and won't be separated. Not by the doctor, not by war, not by death. You are MINE!"
I look at her as her fingers touch my nose. She reaches past my face and unto my soul. This woman traps me, and I love it. I don't want to lose her. My sick mind loves being used by her. Perhaps it was why I wanted to be with K'Layah so bad. My body feels like it's lifting, floating above the heavens, and ascending to a higher power. My chest tightens as she speaks again.
"I can take that away. I will take that away. Without me, you aren't the Deadman. You are just a murderer. I will be a sinister force in your life if you betray me—Mark my words."
I wake up in a cold sweat. The bed sheets are covered in my juices, and I turn over to my side. I look at the clock, and it's early in the morning. There is a noise from the metal doors opening. Micheal comes in and sits in the same spot he sat in yesterday. He flicks back to the animal documentary.
"Hey there, Mr. Deadman, you can't possibly forget me."
His voice is different from yesterday. A happier cheerful tune has replaced the stoic plane sound from before. He continues.
"I suspect you had a meeting with your ghostly spirit last night. The monitors peaked around 3 in the morning. Your heart rate rose to 195 at that time. Does the Deadman have that strong of a grasp on you?"
I look towards the edge of the bed when he asks me that question.
"Of course, it does. I can't fight that thing at all, whatever it is." I say.
He looks over at me.
"You don't know what it is? What if I told you its history is rooted in a kingdom that never existed in a land that never grew grass, a place with people who weren't there? The deadman, even the name itself, is ironic. It's all a lie. The Deadman was never a man. It was a woman. Though through time, history couldn't bear the thought that a woman is capable of doing all those things. So it changed it. Tell me, Mr. Deadman, do you read the history books? Did you know the history we teach our kids is about people who have no ties to us? It's a white man's history written in a white man's language told by white men. Tell me do you know the stories of the villages ravaged by the ones we call heroes? We have lived in a world where people gain more fame doing things like you for centuries. We've had a million deadmen. You're just the newest one. Even if that name is generic, we have alternatives. Antihero, robber, crook, rogue, all names that could replace you in our history like they've done before and will continue to do. Sorry I've taken you on a history lesson. Tell me did you choose?"
I look at him surprisingly. I didn't expect a lecture on this demon, but I guess the more I know, the better.
"Yes, I have. I choose to get rid of it," I say.
"Good, then let us prepare," he says.