A Name in the Dark

by G S Fortis

  She unleashes an unholy scream, and I whip her around to throw her down the hall. Keeping hold, she pulls me with her. We shoot down the corridor like a bullet down a barrel. The inertia is so strong it feels like we’re flying.

  We smash into the far wall, our bodies slamming against stone. Santa Muerte tries to use the sudden brake as an opportunity to plunge her claws into my chest, but I’m too fast. My hands wrap around her wrist, instantly burning her.

  She gives another cry but doesn’t stop. The force is so great that it pushes me off my feet, and we go flying down another dark corridor. My hands remain wrapped around her wrists as she propels us down the hall. Flames erupt around us. We’re a ball of orange light shooting down a shadowy passage.

  My back crashes into an altar, and I can feel my spine bend unnaturally from the impact. A rapid sequence of crackling sounds follows. Santa Muerte flies over and past me. The flames are extinguished, and I crumple to the floor, trying to catch my breath from the sudden stop.

  For a moment, I’m worried I fractured my back. But there is no pain, and I am able to pull my knees under me. Blood seeps from the damaged and burnt skin on my hands. Each drop is like lava, forming tiny flaming candles on the floor.

  Santa Muerte leaps over the altar and lunges at me, mouth open to bite. She pins me backward against the floor, and I wrap my hands around her neck to stop her gnashing teeth.

  When her claws dig into my chest, I realize my mistake. My sternum cracks as her fingers break through, and the air seeps from my lungs. She hovers above me, forcing the weight of her body into me.

  Her bony claw scratches at my heart, struggling to get a hold. I try my best to push her away. Her nails sink deeper. The light from my hands dims. I dim. Everything dims. I howl in pain, my voice echoing through the mausoleum. If I don’t fight back at this moment, I’ll be dead.

  Footsteps echo down the hall, followed by a voicing shouting, “Let her go!” From my peripheral vision, I can see David above us with Paige next to him. His gun is pointed at the spirit.

  Santa Muerte lifts her horrific face to him, and it’s probably the first time he’s seen it, because he shouts, “Jesus!”

  “Don’t shoot her!” Paige warns him—not that bullets will do anything, as she and I know.

  Santa Muerte ignores them and focuses on me. Her skeletal face smiles wickedly. “They’re next,” she spits.

  No, they’re not.

  My heart beats faster and harder. I fight against her crushing claws. My hands brighten in intensity as the blood flows again. My fingers wrap around her arm, my talons digging into her flesh. Slowly, I pull her fingers out of my chest. I summon Dudley’s strength—all of it—and push her back.

  Wind blows like a cyclone around us, the result of our combined powers. Through the vortex, I can hear David’s confused voice as he continues to swear. I can see Paige trying to pull him away.

  Santa Muerte’s fingers slip from inside me. She cannot overpower Dudley. She cannot overpower us.

  I rise to my feet, forcing her onto the altar. We are in the eye of my storm, and there’s nowhere for her to go. She struggles to escape, but the fight is over. I loom above her, in control of my body and hers.

  I remove one hand and dig into my pocket. My fist rises above her face, holding the veil from Ammon. I let it fall.

  By its own accord, the veil unravels and spreads itself wide. Santa Muerte freezes, staring at the veil. For a moment, the fabric floats above her face. Then it drops suddenly. It wraps itself around her head and across her face then slowly constricts. Through its translucent fabric, I can see Santa Muerte struggling.

  For a moment, the spirit disappears. In its place is Elizabeth. When she sees my demonic face, she recoils. “No!” she shouts through the ever-tightening fabric. “Please!”

  “What’s my name?” I scream.

  The body writhes beneath me, trying to escape. The wind continues to whirl around us, whipping her loose clothes like flags in a hurricane. Santa Muerte’s visage returns, and she roars in my face.

  “What’s my name?”

  Elizabeth returns. “Help me!”

  “Tell me my name!”

  She’s confused. Her eyes search for an answer. “I don’t know!” she cries.

  This isn’t supposed to happen. The veil is supposed to make her tell the truth. Except… she doesn’t know. Santa Muerte does.

  The spirit returns, this time noticeably weaker. Yes!

  “The name!” I command. “Say it!”

  Santa Muerte begins to speak, as commanded. “Your… name… is…” Then she’s gone, and Elizabeth’s face returns.

  No!

  Elizabeth is also weaker and struggling to breathe. The veil is too tight now. Her life force is waning, and I have only moments left.

  “Give! Me! The! Name!” I shout. Santa Muerte knows the answer, and she can’t hide forever. I need this key. I need this thing out of me. I need this hell to be over. “Come back! I command it!” Please.

  Elizabeth gasps for breath.

  Paige breaks through the cyclone that surrounds us and hurries by my side. “Darcy! You have to stop!” she cries above the wind. “You’re killing her!” David is behind her, trying to make sense of what is happening before him.

  Paige is panicking, but I am in control. I am in control. “The name!” I plead.

  Elizabeth’s eyes flutter.

  “Stop!” Paige shouts, her voice barely piercing the howling air as it intensifies.

  Santa Muerte returns and snarls at me in defiance.

  “The name!” I demand.

  Elizabeth returns, unconscious.

  “Darcy, stop!” Paige repeats. Her voice is barely a whisper in a tornado. “Think about Ben…” Her voice trails off, overcome by the cacophony around us. I look up to tell her to back off.

  Instead, I see Father Ramon. His bloodstained robes whip in the wind. Ramon shouts above the wind, but I can’t hear him. He holds onto his stomach, grimacing. His lips move, and I know what he’s saying: Please. Stop.

  I’m momentarily relieved to see him alive. I look back at Elizabeth, who is possessed by a force she doesn’t understand. That poor girl unknowingly killed someone she loves.

  I see myself in her. “I’m sorry,” I say, pulling away the veil. It delicately slips off her face, releasing its hold the instant I tug on it. The key to my salvation now dangles from my hand like an ordinary piece of fabric.

  The wind dies down, and Elizabeth lies still. Her face fluctuates between her own and Santa Muerte’s. Back and forth it goes, neither force strong enough to maintain control.

  Father Ramon approaches Elizabeth’s still body and lays one hand on her face while another makes the sign of the cross. My eyes stay fixed on him, watching him prepare for the exorcism that will save Elizabeth and banish Santa Muerte.

  A tinge of jealousy courses through me. I can’t help it. I want this to be over.

  As he lays his hands on Elizabeth, Paige circles around the altar to stand by him. Instead of stepping next to Father Ramon, she passes right through him. Or rather, right through his ghost.

  For a moment, his image ripples like a reflection on the surface of water, then it regains its form. His mouth moves to utter a silent prayer in a voice I will never hear again. My heart breaks a second time when I accept that Father Ramon is dead.

  I stumble backward and to the ground. My body is drained, and I wilt to the hard stone floor. The tears return. My hands are no longer glowing, but my skin still reddens from the pain of being in the church. I don’t care. I sit there, waiting for the pain I deserve.

  I watch as Father Ramon’s ghost continues to pray. Then he stops, confused. Nothing is happening to Elizabeth. He looks at me, lost. His mouth asks a silent question. Name?

  He needs the spirit’s true name. That’s the only way to exorcise the entity. Santa Muerte is not her true name—it’s just the title she’s been given.<
br />
  But I know her true name. I’ve heard it before. I remember it. I speak each syllable slowly, just like he taught me. “Meek-tay-kah-see-wah-tl.”

  Mictecacihuatl. Lady of Death. Ruler of the Underworld.

  Silently, Father Ramon speaks the name and finishes his prayer. A wisp of light rises from Elizabeth’s body. It forms into the image of Santa Muerte and hovers. The light transforms, and the robes fall from her body to reveal a seminude woman. Her skin is covered in black and white paint, and she wears only a feathery skirt and a gold-plated bib necklace that covers her breasts. On her head is an enormous crown of feathers.

  Mictecacihuatl stares back at me through dead black eyes. Her lips curl into a snarl, and she lunges. Father Ramon inaudibly cries out, and before Mictecacihuatl reaches me, her body vaporizes and disappears into a wisp of smoke.

  Father Ramon smiles at me. Then, slowly, he fades away into nothing. I try to yell for him, but I make no sound. My voice is hoarse, unable to even moan.

  I vomit what’s left in my stomach, choking on my own bile. The pain is inside me now. The church has regained its dominion over me and is rejecting me like a bad organ. The warm glow from my arteries diminishes. My joints contract, popping back into their sockets. Blisters form on my skin.

  Paige’s voice cries above me, “We need to get you out of here!”

  Elizabeth coughs. Her body convulses on the altar as she rolls to her side. Her eyes meet mine.

  Paige hoists up my dead weight. “Help me!”

  Another set of hands grabs me—David’s. He lifts my limp body into his arms. I look up at him.

  The fear and revulsion he had before are gone. Now he’s concerned and confused, probably wondering what happened to me and why I can’t stay in here.

  “Hurry!” Paige pushes him down the corridor as my head dangles past his arms. She lifts the weakened Elizabeth off the table then follows us as David leads the way out.

  Chapter 38

  ____◊____

  A BRIGHT LIGHT SHINES in one eye then the other. Once the light is extinguished, I’m blinded until my pupils readjust to the night.

  “I think you’re going to live,” Dr. Savell says.

  Once again, I find myself sitting on the hood of David’s blue Charger. It’s still parked across the street from the Cathedral, where a small army of LAPD, city officials, paramedics, and clergymen are cleaning up the mess. I’m wrapped in several space blankets, including one draped over my head like a hood. Paige sits behind me, cradling me in her arms so I can rest against her body. She’s my human recliner.

  Dr. Savell puts the penlight back into his case, which sits next to me. “Thanks, Doc,” I say. “And thanks for coming.”

  As soon as we made it out of the Cathedral, Dr. Savell was Paige’s first call. She knew the paramedics wouldn’t be able to do anything for me, and she did her best to keep them at bay while he rushed to be here. Luckily, David backed her up.

  Once he arrived, Dr. Savell took responsibility for me and did what he could. Four injections later, I’m feeling better, but I’m still in bad condition. My arms and legs are wrapped in gauze, which covers the puncture wounds of the tiny feathers thrown by Carmen and the blisters from my overextended visit to hallowed ground. A gaping wound from Santa Muerte’s claw scars my chest between my breasts—also covered by gauze. Every breath is a struggle from the internal damage.

  But I can feel myself healing, albeit slowly. I’m no longer bleeding, and all the wounds have closed. What once looked like third-degree burns on my face now seem like second-degree burns. I stay under my tinfoil covers, trying to remain inconspicuous while Dr. Savell ensures me that I am indeed going to live.

  Paige and I watch as a commotion forms at ground zero around the cathedral. The organized chaos opens a lane as a gurney is carried down the steps. From this distance, I can see that it’s Carmen in that gurney. They must have finally extricated her from my impalement. She’s strapped into the cart, and her wrists are bandaged and cuffed.

  She’s awake and soon sees me across the street. She smiles her wicked smile, and I can tell she’s already plotting her escape and revenge. I worry that I should have killed her when I had the chance. Now that she’s free of the magical feathers I used to pin her down, I can’t imagine there’s a jail cell in the state that can contain her.

  The gurney is hoisted into the back of an ambulance. A tall paramedic appears at the cargo doors and closes one. Then he turns to look directly at me. It’s Jack Skellington.

  Or… what’s his name? Percival.

  Percival nods at me in a manner that ominously communicates that he’s going to take care of things. Then he shuts the other cargo door. The ambulance rolls away.

  We continue to watch as another gurney is carried down the steps. Lying on this one is a young girl with long dark hair. An oxygen mask covers her face, but I can see that she’s awake and alert. Elizabeth is wheeled to another ambulance, which speeds away once she’s inside.

  Finally, two last gurneys come down the steps with less urgency. These hold closed body bags. I think about Father Ramon. I think about every kind thing he ever did for me. I think about the man who was my sole source of hope in this godforsaken world. He was the only man left I could find who was willing and prepared to conduct the exorcism—the man who was helping me find this demon’s name. I selfishly wonder who’s going to help me now.

  As if to remind me, Paige’s arms gently but firmly squeeze me from behind. Paige is going to be here. No matter how horrific I become, no matter how bad I get, she’s not going to abandon me. My hand finds hers and squeezes it in appreciation.

  She perches her chin on my shoulder and whispers, “I’m going to miss him.”

  “Me too,” I say, watching the medical examiners place his gurney into a nondescript panel van.

  Then I see him. His ghost stands at the entrance to the courtyard. Police walk casually through him as if he doesn’t exist. But he does.

  Father Ramon waves at me. I’m not sure how long he will be around, but it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere for a while. Maybe that’s why he waves—to let me know he’ll be there even if he can’t talk to me. Maybe he’s hoping it will comfort me. It does, and I smile. Then I notice Dr. Savell staring at Father Ramon. I can even see the hint of a smile.

  “What are you looking at?” I ask.

  Dr. Savell turns to me. He doesn’t hide the smile. “It’s a beautiful church, isn’t it? Oh, I know you’ve been through a lot tonight. And I’m sorry for your loss.” He turns back to the grounds, but I can tell he’s still looking at Father Ramon and not the actual cathedral. “Still, she’s a magnificent building.”

  I’m not quite convinced. Could there be more to Dr. Savell than he’s told me?

  He closes his medical bag and addresses Paige. “Call me in the morning, and let me know how she’s doing. If she needs anything else, I’m happy to come by.”

  Over his shoulder, I can see David approaching. Paige must see him, too, because she slides out from behind me and offers to walk the doctor back to his car.

  David doesn’t say anything. Without hesitating, he lifts the cowl of my space blanket hood and inspects my face, lifting my chin and moving my head from side to side. He checks my bandages arms then even looks down my cleavage to ensure that the wound is properly dressed.

  I’ll be honest—it feels nice to be touched by him, even though it’s like I’m being poked and prodded like a show dog. He has seen my demonic self, but he shows no trepidation. His contact is calm and assured. Even Paige recoiled from me after I turned. Not David. He’s not afraid of me.

  When he’s satisfied, he releases a deep sigh of relief. “You look better. You look… amazing.”

  I don’t. I look terrible. But I know what he means—I’m healing miraculously fast. I close my eyes and pretend he means something else. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me and smiling. I smile back.

&nb
sp; David shifts his weight as if he’s getting ready to tell me something difficult. I know it’s coming, and I’m ready when he says, “Darcy, what happened in there? What… are you?”

  After all this time of evading his questions, I’m finally ready to explain everything to him. “It’s a long story.”

  He takes a step closer. “I’ve got time.”

  I take a deep breath. “So, ten years ago—”

  “David!” a woman’s voice interrupts.

  David turns, and I follow his gaze to the source. From out of the crowd of police officers emerges a beautiful Asian woman. She’s tall and slim, with the posture of a runway model. Even wearing jeans and a T-shirt, she outclasses everyone around her.

  “David!” she calls again, searching.

  “Grace?” David answers.

  Grace turns, and the moment she sees David, she sprints to him. She throws herself in his arms and grabs him. “I came here as soon as I could,” she says, nuzzling her head into his chest. “Are you okay?”

  He holds her closely, comforting her. “I’m fine. How did you know I was here?”

  “One of the other ADAs called me and told me you were here.” She releases him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working on a case tonight?” Then she kisses him.

  My insides collapse. None of the wounds I endured tonight match the pain this image causes me.

  After an agonizing amount of time, she finally lets go. “I was so worried.” Then she turns to me.

  “Right,” David says as if to answer. He takes her hand and guides her toward me. I shrink inside my nest of foil blankets, hoping the darkness will hide me. “Grace, I want you to meet Darcy. She saved my life tonight. Darcy, this is Grace. My fiancée.”

  When he mentions this, I can sense Dudley wanting to emerge. My heart beats faster. My blood boils. It must be Dudley. Right?

  “You saved his life?” Grace asks, shocked.

  “Well, I…”

  I don’t have time to finish. She wraps me in a bear hug. “Thank you.”