Free After Obsession by Carrie Jones, Steven E. Wedel

she told the story. I don’t care about the money. White Deer, whoever he is, probably saved her life by knocking her up. When I was little I liked to think that the Great Spirit sent him to save her and help create me, but I guess that’s pretty conceited.
    Only Onawa tells me different. If not for the vision quest, I’d think I’d just made her up out of my desire to know something about where I came from. Mom’s dead parents were both the grandchildren of German immigrants. Fine. Okay. I’m half German. That’s not the half I’m interested in.
    I don’t know many of the prayers. The ones I know I got off the Internet. Still, it’s the best I can do. I recite a Cherokee prayer over and over as I lie awake, listening to the scratching.
    “As I walk the trail of life in the fear of the wind and rain, grant me, oh Great Spirit, that I may always walk like a man.”
    Walking like a man in the face of fear. Sometimes it’s the best we can do.
    I’m in that state between being asleep and being awake. That’s when Onawa usually finds me. I can only think of Aimee. Aimee screaming something at me as the black spirit world closes around her. Is she being possessed or something? I don’t know. Aimee’s red hair is flying around her face, like in my painting.
    Remembering the painting breaks the vision apart. Onawa calls to me. She has more to say, but I can’t hear it. My eyes open as I feel my face flushing again over the thought of Aimee finding my crude painting of her in the art room.
    “I’m such a dumb-ass,” I tell the ceiling. Still, it had gotten her to call me, and she didn’t seem mad that I’d painted her.
    It’s early morning. I dress and go downstairs. I start the coffeepot, then put some water on the stove for oatmeal. Aunt Lisa is in the kitchen when I turn away from the stove.
    “You’re quite the handyman around the kitchen, Alan.” She gives me an early-morning smile before adding, “Not in a girly way, you understand.”
    “It’s the least I can do for the aunt who found that awesome truck for me,” I say. “Want some oatmeal?”
    Eventually, Mom and Courtney make their way to the kitchen, too. I run up to my room to get my books, and as I’m coming out of my room I hear a commotion downstairs.
    “No, I’m not riding with him. I’ll take the bus like I always do,” Courtney says loud enough that I can hear her on the upstairs landing. “I don’t like him.”
    “Why?” Aunt Lisa asks. “Alan is a nice boy.”
    “He’s an asshole. He came into my room!”
    “Courtney Rae Tucker! You will not use that kind of language or tone in this house, and especially not about our family.” Aunt Lisa is furious. I wonder what Mom is doing during this exchange. As far as I know, she’s still in the kitchen. I feel awkward even hearing the conversation from up here.
    “Fuck you!” Courtney screams. Even I’m shocked by this, and I’m pretty used to hearing kids cuss at their parents. She runs through the dining room and out of the house. She doesn’t bother to close the door.
    Below me, Aunt Lisa starts crying. Mom is saying something to her, but I don’t get to hear what because something sharp slams into my back. The pain is sudden, completely unexpected, and right on my spine. I can’t help but let out a girly little yelp, like a dog that’s been stepped on or something. Whatever hit me falls to the floor and I hear glass breaking.
    God, it hurts!
    I look down and see a framed picture of Courtney. It looks like it’s from early grade school. The glass is broken and one corner of the frame is busted. Her face stares up at me with a happy little gap-toothed smile. She doesn’t look like a girl who’d yell curses at her mother.
    My back hurts. The pain isn’t quite as sharp as it was, but it’s still there, in a spot just out of reach so I can’t even rub at it.
    What caused that?
    I look around the hallway and find a rectangle of space on the wall that’s whiter than the