Battle of the Soul

by Carl Alves

  “I fail to understand why you continue to defend him. He is rude, crude, and obnoxious. I have heard numerous reports of him drinking excessively and making a fool of himself in public. How can you defend after that incident?”

  Monsignor Curran sighed. Andy had been arrested just a few months ago for indecent exposure.

  “It was an unfortunate incident that Andy deeply regrets.”

  Devlin’s face tightened. “Unfortunate? The woman he exposed himself to was an older lady, a parishioner of St. Eustace’s I might add.”

  “I’m well aware of the situation. I’m the one who bailed him out of jail.”

  Bishop Devlin pointed his finger at Monsignor Curran’s chest. “You should have left him there. Jail would do the young man good. He’s a heathen.”

  Monsignor Curran sighed. “You’re going too far, Bishop. Although Andy has his faults, he’s not a bad person.”

  “Not bad? He got into a shouting match with a ticket taker at the St. Martin’s fair, and had to be forcefully escorted out.”

  “Andy has issues controlling his temper. He felt he was wronged and acted inappropriately. I’ve been working with him on that. There are many imperfect members of our flock. Need I remind you that many of our brethren have done far worse things than anything Andy has ever done?”

  For a moment, he succeeded in quieting the irate bishop. He knew it wouldn’t last. Bishop Devlin was a bully.

  “Stick to the topic. He’s an embarrassment to this diocese. I shudder to think that he is actually on our payroll. You should be castigating him, but for some reason, the young man does no wrong in your eyes.”

  “I see all of his flaws with open eyes, but I also see the good that he does. Despite your assertions, Andy is a good young man.”

  “A good young man?” Bishop Devlin looked like he was going to hyperventilate. “He’s a disgrace.”

  Monsignor Curran thought of himself as being patient, but this was stretching his limits. “Are you done berating Andy? I sure hope so, because I won’t listen to it for another minute.”

  Bishop Devlin took a step back. He looked as if he had just been slapped. “How dare you.”

  “Now you listen to me, Bishop. You have no idea what it’s like to be Andy Lorenzo. I don’t want to make excuses for him, but he’s only twenty-four and the things he has seen, the things he has done, the incredible ordeals he has been through, would have fractured a lesser person. With all due respect, Bishop, you have never been involved in an exorcism. Although I have, I still have never had to undergo the physical and mental hardship that Andy has. The imperfections in his character can be fixed, but what he has inside of him is pure gold.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “Don’t be foolish. You may have a disagreeable personality, but I’ve always considered you to be a practical man. Do you know how many exorcisms were documented worldwide last year?”

  Bishop Devlin rolled his eyes. “You and your exorcisms.”

  “Last year, there were ninety-two documented exorcisms. Next question, how many were performed a decade ago?”

  Bishop Devlin turned around but said nothing.

  “Twelve. Just twelve in an entire decade. The rise in exorcisms has increased at a frightening rate. Now let me ask you another question. How many of those ninety-two exorcisms did Andy perform?”

  Bishop Devlin’s face turned red.

  “Andy did eighty-four of them. Now here’s an even more important question. How many priests died last year trying to perform exorcisms?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t expect you to. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The answer is twelve Catholic priests died last year performing exorcisms. More died last year than in the previous two centuries combined. Of those twelve cases of possession where priests died, Andy later exorcised nine of the demons. The other three had already abandoned the host by the time he arrived, killing them as well. Fifteen people in total died last year as the result of demonic possession.”

  Bishop Devlin took a deep breath. “And these cases are all documented?”

  Monsignor Curran nodded. “These are the documented cases. I can assure you there have been many possessions in third world countries and the like that have not been recorded. Demonic possession has become a frightening reality in our world. Most people try to label these cases as schizophrenia or another mental disorder. However, the Church is painfully aware of their existence. This ascends all the way up to the College of Cardinals and the Papacy. Demons keep getting stronger and more daring, and we are less and less capable of doing anything about it. Except for Andy. I can’t explain what makes him succeed where others fail using more traditional forms of exorcism rites. I don’t know what makes Andy so special, but his abilities are unique.”

  Bishop Devlin sneered.

  “Despite your personal feelings, Andy is special.”

  “So it’s all right for him to break laws and be rude and obnoxious?”

  Monsignor Curran rubbed his eyes. “No, it’s not all right for Andy to do those things, but deep down, he’s a good person. He does this selflessly and exposes himself to great risk every time he performs an exorcism.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it. Our world has changed, and we must adapt to these changes. I’m not exaggerating when I say that Andy Lorenzo is the most important person in the Church. Far more important than you or I or even the Pope. If you have a problem with him, I suggest you take it up with Cardinal Galeone, but I can assure you that you won’t find a sympathetic ear to your pleas.”

  “I’ll be monitoring his actions.”

  They shook hands, and Devlin left the Monsignor’s office. Monsignor Curran closed the door. Undoubtedly the bishop would brood over this for some time.

  He stared out his window at the trees swaying in the wind on this blustery fall afternoon. He would have to confess the lie he had told Devlin the next time he visited the confessional booth. It was a small lie, a secret he alone kept. He had told the bishop that he did not know why Andy was so special and could perform exorcisms where others failed, but in truth he knew the answer.

  He hoped to never have to share this secret with Andy even though he was a grown man and deserved to know. Until that day, Monsignor Curran kept the burden of this knowledge on himself.

  Chapter VI

  Andy pulled his Mustang into the driveway of the rectory. The shocks were worn, the muffler rattled, and it leaked oil like a sieve. When he bought the car, he thought he knew how to race and challenged other drivers. He never won any races and managed to beat up his car by racing it. It was only three years old but it was on its last legs.

  After slamming his car door several times before it closed, he rang the bell to the rectory, and Mrs. Kaseman answered. She was a nice lady who volunteered to work at the rectory twice a week and made awesome chocolate chip cookies. He devoured them whenever she brought them over.

  “Hi, Mrs. Kaseman. Is Monsignor Curran around?”

  “He’s out back in the yard.”

  “Cool.” Andy worked his way through the rectory. He knew the place like it was his home since he had lived here until he was nineteen years old.

  Out back, he found Monsignor Curran raking leaves. Andy helped himself to a rake from the shed.

  Monsignor Curran asked, “So how did it go?”

  Andy shrugged. “Pretty routine. It was Arusha.”

  Monsignor Curran’s brows rose. “Arusha again?”

  Andy smirked. “Some demons just never learn. Anyway, I busted the kid out quickly. He was in bad shape.”

  “It was a good thing you got there when you did. Father McFadden told me Roy’s condition had deteriorated.”

  Andy nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think he would have lasted much longer. I gave Arusha a little extra pain and suffering to teach him a lesson.”

  “Did he put up a struggle?”

  Andy shook his head.


  Monsignor Curran sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why they bother.”

  “Because they know I can’t be everywhere at the same time. It’s not like I’m omniscient.”

  “The word’s omnipresent.”

  “Whatever.”

  Monsignor Curran dropped his rake and touched Andy’s bruised face. “What happened to you?”

  “Just an accident.”

  “Andy.” Monsignor Curran’s tone became stern.

  “Okay. I got into a scrap.”

  Monsignor Curran sighed. “Why do you fight? You’re so full of anger. Not to mention you’re not good at it. At least let me give you boxing lessons. I was pretty good at it back in my day.”

  “I didn’t exactly pick this fight.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  Andy shook his head. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

  Monsignor Curran knew he gambled, but if he found out Andy was having troubles with bookies, he would intervene. Andy would pay off Malik. He could tap a couple sources to get the money. Hopefully, Mr. Johnson would come through with a big fat check.

  “Why do you do this to yourself?” Monsignor Curran asked. “When you come out of the spirit world, you piss away the good you’ve done.”

  Not this conversation again. It seemed like every few weeks they went round and round with it.

  Andy shrugged. “Sometimes these things happen.”

  “You let them happen. You need to develop a greater sense of self worth.”

  “Easy for you to say. I’m good at one thing. I suck big time at everything else.”

  “Not true,” Monsignor Curran said. “You’re handy and you work hard. If it weren’t for you, a lot of tasks at the rectory wouldn’t get done. You’re always willing to help.”

  Andy grinned. “I guess.” He had always tinkered with electronics. While Andy was growing up, whenever Monsignor Curran or one of the priests or nuns had a broken radio or watch or clock, he tried to fix it and often succeeded.

  They bagged a pile of leaves.

  “I’ve learned over the years that it’s easy to talk about what should be done to make things better, or what makes someone a good Catholic. Many people talk a good game. The hard part is the doing. You do great things, Andy. You save lives. You change people for the better, and I’m not just talking about the exorcisms. The work you do here touches people in ways you don’t know.”

  Andy folded his arms. “Thanks, but I don’t need a pep talk.”

  “It never hurts to let someone know they’re valued and loved.”

  This was getting too sappy. Andy didn’t do sappy. He changed the conversation to another of the priest’s favorite topics, the Philadelphia Eagles. A half hour later, Monsignor Curran had devised a strategy for the team to make the playoffs this year. An avid football enthusiast, he served as an assistant coach for the Cardinal O’Connor High School football team.

  After they finished raking, Monsignor Curran asked, “Do you have any plans for the rest of the morning?”

  “My schedule’s wide open.”

  “Good. Jim Bankowski was supposed to deliver clothes to Saint Cecilia’s yesterday, but they offered him overtime at the plant and he had to take it, so the clothes are still sitting in the truck. Would you mind transporting it?”

  “No problem,” Andy said.

  Monsignor Curran tossed him the keys to the parish’s truck.

  Andy never minded going to St. Cecilia’s, a poor parish in North Philadelphia. The area was ghetto to the extreme. On either side of the church were crack houses. Not that the parishioners of Our Lady of Good Hope were loaded, but they were way better off than their counterparts at St. Cecilia’s. Over the years, Monsignor Curran had partnered with the nuns at St. Cecilia’s for food and clothing drives.

  Andy drove down I-95 South and got off at Allegheny. Loud music boomed from a car radio, and some thugs were hanging out on the street peddling drugs. Why didn’t the cops bust these assholes?

  Andy parked in front of the church. He rang the bell, and Sister Margaret greeted him with a warm hug. The woman was a friggin saint. She gave to these people selflessly and had to deal with the shitstorm that was living in North Philly.

  “You’re like a beacon of light, Andy. Thank you for coming.”

  She led Andy to her office. Andy felt miserable when she told him about how rough it had been lately.

  “One of our parishioners, Lucinda, was walking home following our after-school program. Lucinda was a great girl, volunteering to help with the little ones whenever she had time. I was inside when I heard a shot and then a scream. I ran out…” Sister Margaret wiped tears from her eyes with a tissue. “I ran out, and Lucinda was on the street bleeding. I shouted for someone to call for help. I held her, feeling completely helpless. The ambulance didn’t arrive until it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry, Sister Margaret.” Andy sucked at consoling people, one of the many people skills he lacked.

  She blew her nose. “At least you’re here. I needed your visit today. It just makes me feel like there’s some hope that things might get better.”

  There was a knock on the door, so Andy opened it. “Carlos, my man.”

  “Sister Margaret told me you’d be comin’ today.”

  Andy and Carlos exchanged their secret handshake.

  He felt like a cross between the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus whenever he came here. The kids always greeted him with big smiles since he came bearing stuff. Besides the clothes and food from the drive, he always made sure to bring treats. He bonded with the children, especially Carlos, his little buddy. They hit it off the first time they met, and had been tight ever since. Carlos had a shitty upbringing. His dad was an asshole who pimped Carlos’s mom out when he wasn’t in jail. Andy had taken Carlos to the park a few times, and they had seen the light show at the Lord & Taylor department store in the city last Christmas.

  “Hey, I got something for ya, buddy,” Andy said.

  Carlos’s face lit up. “Yeah, what is it?”

  Andy pulled out a king size Snickers bar and the latest Guardians of the Galaxy comic book from his jacket pocket.

  Carlos immediately went for the comic book. “That’s awesome.”

  “What do you say?” Sister Margaret asked.

  “Thanks, Andy. You’re the best.”

  “So, Carlos, Halloween’s coming up, and they turn the old prison into this wicked cool haunted house. If you want, we could check it out.”

  Carlos turned to Sister Margaret. “Can I go?”

  Sister Margaret smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

  “All right. I’m going to need help bringing the stuff in from the truck.”

  Carlos rushed out the door. “I’ll help you.”

  As they walked to the truck, Sister Margaret said, “I’ll round up some volunteers.”

  Twenty minutes later, they cleared the truck. Andy was glad to help, but it seemed pointless. Nothing ever got better at St. Cecilia’s. The neighborhood was a rotting infestation, and despite the good intentions of people like Sister Margaret, he never saw any progress. Nothing he did could make things better until they got rid of the drug dealers and gangbangers. If this was the spirit world, he could clean house and get rid of the undesirables. Here, he was powerless.

  He said good bye to Sister Margaret and gave Carlos a bear hug before returning to Our Lady of Good Hope.

  Chapter VII

  Andy knew something was wrong as soon as he returned to the rectory. Mrs. Kaseman wore a somber expression, like she had lost a family member. Two priests with similar dire looks were in the living room speaking in hushed tones.

  He went straight to Monsignor Curran’s office and entered without knocking. Monsignor Curran sat behind his desk, his face buried in his palms.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  He turned, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Take a seat, Andy.”

 
Andy did as instructed. His heart skipped a beat. He hated bad news.

  “I got a call from St. Andrew’s parish in New Jersey.” Monsignor Curran stifled a sob. “Father Christopher is dead.”

  “Oh, shit.” Andy forgot he was among religious people and let out a string of curses.

  Father Christopher was a kind older gentleman. Andy had known him his whole life. Since he was a small child, he could remember Father Christopher’s smiling face, which could light up a room. He always had a matter of fact, down to Earth approach that Andy appreciated. While other priests spoke in platitudes that he couldn’t relate to, he connected with Andy on his level. Not to mention he was lots of fun to be around. The priests of the archdiocese of Philadelphia got together with their counterparts in South Jersey for an annual softball game. Father Christopher was the life of the outing with his outgoing and friendly manner. As Andy got older, he drank beer with the priest and got to hear war stories of his early days in the priesthood when he had served as a missionary in some nasty countries.

  Father Christopher and Monsignor Curran had been tight. Father Christopher had been his mentor when he first started in the priesthood. They maintained contact, and he often visited.

  Andy looked down, holding back tears. “I can’t believe it. How did it happen?”

  Monsignor Curran said something Andy couldn’t hear.

  “What was that?”

  The Monsignor took a deep breath. “He died performing an exorcism.”

  Andy bolted up, torn between grief and anger. “Why the hell was he doing that?”

  “You were in Ohio performing the exorcism on Roy Johnson. The situation was acute. Father Christopher visited the girl and her mother. She’s not a parishioner, but a friend of the mother referred her. On Thursday, he called and said he thought the girl was in grave danger, and it couldn’t wait. Since you were away, you wouldn’t be able to get there soon enough. Father Christopher decided to perform the exorcism himself.”

  Andy sunk into his seat. Despair knocked him over like a tidal wave. “Why would he do that?”

  “You may not believe it, but years ago he was an accomplished exorcist. In fact, we had performed some together. I offered to help, but he wanted to get started right away, and neither of us thought it would be wise for me to join in once it was in progress. Historically, the results tend not to be favorable in those circumstances.”