Driven

by W. G. Griffiths

“And I suppose you have compassion on the poor host?” Gavin said.

  “I try to. Charity comes from knowing the truth.”

  Gavin’s tea glass slammed on the table.

  35

  Time out,” Gavin said, making a T with his hands. He’d never been very good at passive observation and this mock interview had gone on way too long. “You know how many guys I’ve locked up who claim the devil made them do it? I should believe them?”

  “Some people, for whatever reason, are influenced more than others. Demons can’t make people act, but if someone lays out the welcome mat often enough they can attract company and eventually a kind of partnership can be formed, often without the person knowing it.”

  “Partnership? Why doesn’t God corral these things if they’re really there? I mean, didn’t God make them in the first place?”

  “We’re living in a detour in time that is cursed because of misplaced faith. If you have another hour or two we can get into it.”

  “You must have had a cheery congregation.”

  “Maybe you find your hypnotist’s explanation of reincarnation easier to believe?” Buck said.

  “Katz—the psychologist—is convinced. I’m not,” Gavin said, wondering what would happen if the lieutenant, not to mention the media, heard about any of this.

  “Spirits are often misperceived as a past human life,” Buck said. “Does it make sense that Karianne and Krogan and others were meeting each other in life after life after life? That Krogan wanted to keep his name in every life and that his happiest moment was at the crucifixion? And by the way, how did you know he meant Jesus?”

  “It was obvious,” Amy said.

  “Obvious, how? Did she say ‘Jesus’?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” Buck said with a smile. “What happened was you asked her who was on the cross and she refused to say his name … didn’t she?”

  “How did you know that?” Amy said, surprised.

  “Demons hate to say God’s name, unless they’re being derogatory. They love to mock and they enjoy it when humans take God’s name in vain. They want us to associate the almighty God with the lowly and common. They find it comforting.”

  “Comforting?” Amy said, then pulled her notebook from her purse.

  “You mean like, ‘God, that’s the best French fry I’ve ever tasted,’ ” Gavin said.

  Amy wasn’t amused. Buck smiled gently.

  “I think you know what I’m saying,” he said.

  “But that’s just normal,” Gavin said. “Everybody does that.”

  “Exactly, but why?”

  “Because, well, because everybody does. They always have.”

  “Hmm,” Buck said, arching his brow. “I wonder why that is?”

  “Ah, here it is,” Amy said, looking at her notes. “Karianne was asked what she was searching for after one of her lives had died. She said she was,‘looking for comfort.’ ”

  “Oh, yes! Like people, demons strive to be comfortable,” Buck said. “Most people work hard all year long so they can have a week or two of relaxation. The home is designed for comfort. Some are very particular, some aren’t. Some live alone while others live in a group. Demons are very much the same. When an evil spirit leaves a body that has just died, Jesus told us, it goes through formless places searching for somewhere to rest. These spiritually arid periods aren’t any more comfortable for them than the Sahara Desert is for you or me. They want comfort. In Sabah’s case, comfort meant someone who likes to drink a lot. Like people, demons can be lazy. In Sabah’s case, why build a heavy drinker when you can find one?”

  “Kind of like house hunting,”Amy said. “Everyone has their own personal preference.”

  “Exactly, and decorate as desired, Miss Kirsch,” Buck said. “In the end a demon’s favorite home is furnished with weaknesses and perversions that match its own individual tastes. Anger, fear, depression, confusion, violence, power, wealth, fame… Our own vanities can make a demon’s work very easy. And they don’t like it when someone messes up their house. Or worse, evicts them.”

  “Enough about Sabah,”Amy said. “I want to know about Krogan. How do you mess up Krogan’s house?”

  Buck put his glass down on the table as a solemn look passed over his face like the shadow of a storm cloud. “You don’t.”

  “Explain,” Amy said. Surprised at her level of interest, Gavin looked at her, but remained silent, letting the conversation play out.

  “Sabah is content to get high and die, but Krogan thrives on hatred and the ruin of God’s creation. Krogan is of a different caliber. Stronger. He isn’t content to simply mess with people’s emotions and addictions. He wants to make his host a living abomination of hellish destruction. Krogan’s hosts aren’t tortured as much as they’re torturers.”

  “That’s why the host takes on Krogan’s name and tattoos it into his flesh,” Amy said.

  “Tattoos of his name do seem to be a trademark. A possession thing, like the branding of cattle.”

  “For whom to see?” Amy asked.

  “Other demons. Krogan is envied and many will call on him for a… ‘date.’ They’ve been doing it for thousands of years, maybe longer. They call it shadahd to signify what their ultimate intent will be. The demon—Sabah, for example—will plague its host with irresistible, sometimes unexplainable, temptations to drink. When the host has had so much to drink it can no longer mentally resist, the demon takes control. Krogan typically entices the other demon’s host to drink until only the demon can function. Krogan says ‘Shadahd’ as a sort of password. If the host doesn’t understand, Krogan gives the host more alcohol. Eventually the password is returned and their fun begins. The next day, if there is one, the host usually remembers nothing, except maybe a bad dream.”

  “Why Karianne? She seems so different than Krogan. In fact, she’s horrified by what Krogan does,” Amy said.

  “At some point in her life Karianne looked very comfortable to Sabah. The fact she stopped drinking probably upset Sabah, but time was on Sabah’s side. To wait five years is nothing to a being that’s been around for millennia.”

  In spite of himself, Gavin was intrigued. “So then why didn’t this Sabah just leave and find another alcoholic that’s not on the wagon?”

  “Sabah cannot leave. When a demon takes up residence, it is there either until the host dies or it is cast out. There is an example in the Bible where Jesus came across a demoniac known as Legion who was a virtual hotel for demons. The demons were petrified when they saw Jesus, but didn’t leave… because they couldn’t. They begged him to cast them into a herd of pigs. He did, and the demons immediately rushed the pigs into a nearby lake where they drowned, freeing the demons.”

  “Are there other demons like Krogan?” Amy asked.

  “There are many arranged meetings. Dates where the demons pair and gather for shadahd. More than you can imagine. But Krogan is one of the worst.”

  “Can you cast Sabah out of Karianne?” Amy asked.

  “Katz wouldn’t be very happy about that,” Gavin said.

  Buck paused. He got out of his seat, walked over to the sink, and leaned on it, staring ahead. Gavin noticed a row of small picture frames, containing photos of what he assumed were loved ones, arranged on the windowsill above the sink. Buck had his own picture graveyard, he thought.

  Buck turned and swallowed. “I’m retired. In Norway, I was caught off guard when Sabah retaliated with Krogan—and it meant the lives of my family. I won’t endanger the life of my granddaughter by casting out another demon. Sabah alone would not have been a problem, but Krogan is different. Krogan is too strong. To cast Krogan out one needs special preparation.”

  “What kind of preparation?” Gavin said, hoping he might finally hear something practical he could use.

  “Jesus warned his disciples that sometimes they would face demons of great strength—that they would need to rely on more than their faith. He said they would need to
pray and fast. I think Krogan is one of the very demons he was referring to.”

  Gavin shook his head. “Jesus may have been speaking to his disciples about Krogan?” He couldn’t believe this. A large share of a detective’s work was spent interviewing people who might somehow know the criminal. Gavin’s current list included the likes of Attila the Hun and Richard the Lionheart… and now Jesus and the disciples. He wondered if there was something he might have done to his tenth-grade history teacher to deserve all this.

  “It’s very possible,” Buck said. “At the very least he was speaking to them about demons like Krogan—demons that require more than simple faith to cast out.”

  “But how does that help us?” Gavin said, raising his palms to the ceiling in exasperation. “Your story keeps getting crazier and crazier. If Krogan has his pick of the bad guys when he’s in the dry land, why doesn’t he pick someone with access to nuclear missiles?”

  “Krogan doesn’t push buttons, he pushes the hosts. The chance of someone in such a position giving his life over to the kind of reckless, irresponsible lifestyle Krogan prefers is unlikely,” Buck said. “Krogan enjoys the physical sensation of power and the actual sight of the ruin caused by the host’s own hands. He will use a car, boat, or plane as long as the host physically operates it. His carefully picked body must also be able to endure impact and pain. Although if the body dies in the act, so be it.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the terrorists that flew the commercial jets into the Twin Towers were demonized,” Gavin said.

  “Would that be so hard to believe?”Amy interjected. Gavin eyed her. Was she actually buying into all this?

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me Krogan was flying one of those jets?”

  “No,” Buck replied. “He was probably already in his present host at the time. But whatever demons did orchestrate that event, they were free at that point to search for other hosts. Which, by the way, is why you must be careful not to kill Krogan’s host, Detective. If you do, the one you’re after will escape your reach and the destruction you are trying so hard to eliminate will continue.”

  In spite of the fact Gavin categorized Buck’s analysis under F for Fairytale, the old man’s words hit Gavin like a bucket of ice water. “I have to be careful not to kill the man who killed my grandfather? I fantasize about how I’m going to kill him. If you think for one minute I’m gonna give him more than two seconds to comply after ‘Freeze or you’re dead,’ you’re crazy.”

  “Then you’ll be setting the real enemy free,” Buck shouted, surprising Gavin.

  Buck visibly worked to calm himself. “Please understand me: you have to capture him and then keep him from being able to kill himself. Krogan is not one to sit in a prison if he has the choice. If able, he will commit suicide to escape—a common practice for demons who dread the limitations that jail brings. I’m sure you’ve seen killing rampages that end in suicide. The body dies but the demon simply moves on. The difference with Krogan is the vindictiveness. Krogan will come after you for imprisoning or killing the host.”

  “Great,” Gavin said. “Okay, let’s pretend for a minute all this demon stuff is true. How do I kill Krogan?”

  “You can’t. Krogan is immortal.”

  “Right. Then I would have to capture Krogan alive.”

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t have him for long. At the first opportunity Krogan would overpower his host and convince him to commit suicide.”

  “You mean I’d have to keep him locked up in solitary in a strait-jacket?”

  “Something like that. For the rest of his life. And pray the host outlives you.”

  Gavin stared at him blankly, then at Amy. Her expression matched his. He sighed and stood up. “Well, Buck. I thought when I pulled into your driveway I couldn’t feel any more tired or frustrated. I was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, Detective. I wish there was more I could do. You do look tired. Maybe you should take a nap before driving back. I’m sure you’d feel better.”

  Gavin ignored him. “If you think of something, here’s my card. If you lose it, I’m in the phone book.” He dropped his card on the table and escorted Amy to the door with his hand on the small of her back. She was sweating and Gavin wasn’t sure it was from heat or fear.

  Outside, Buck followed them to the car. Gavin opened the door, then paused and turned around, meeting the former preacher eye to eye.

  “Hired gun, huh?”

  Buck said nothing.

  “One thing confuses me more than anything else. You’re supposed to have this great faith.”

  “I’m not going after Krogan with you, Detective,” Buck said emphatically.

  “Krogan retired you?”

  Buck looked to the ground. “If I cast it out, it will quickly return to find me. If he finds me he could find my granddaughter.”

  “Even knowing it will mean others would die?”

  “Detective, I got the impression you didn’t really believe anything I said.”

  “But you believe it,” Gavin said. “What does that say for your belief in God? Isn’t walking away from Krogan the same as walking away from God?”

  Buck was silent for a moment, motionless, avoiding eye contact. Then he looked to the horizon. “It isn’t fair for you to question. You don’t know what Krogan is really capable of.”

  “Obviously, more than you think God can handle,” Gavin said. He got into his car and sped away, leaving Buck in a cloud of dust.

  36

  Buck wiped the dust from his eyes as the car left the driveway, the detective’s final words still boring a hole into his heart. Was the detective correct? Buck didn’t really believe his situation was more than God could handle. Who was Krogan compared to the Almighty God of the universe? But he now wondered if he trusted God’s will. Would God handle this situation? Was that what he was asking? He had never allowed himself to think in those terms since the crash. He had always seen Samantha’s Farm as a provision for his granddaughter, not an escape from responsibility. After all, was not Samantha his responsibility, too? She was family. He had always taught that family was more important than occupation. But was all that a clever detour he had subconsciously fabricated to keep his eyes off the real question: would God be there for him?

  Buck found a large stone a few feet away and sat on it. He looked out over the picturesque valley, reminiscing. His first experience with deliverance had actually been as a recipient. He had suffered from social insecurities and a severe depression that had started when he was a boy. Finally, when as a young adult his emotions had threatened to overwhelm him for good, a trusted childhood friend convinced him to attend a special church meeting with him. Apparently the guest speaker had some sort of deliverance anointing, his friend had said. Very reluctantly, Buck had agreed to go.

  He would never forget that night. He’d found himself in the last row of the old church, frozen to his seat as the minister called on people to come up for prayer. There was simply no way, he’d decided, he was going to stand in front of all those people and be publicly prayed for, with all eyes staring at him. That would be too terrifying. But at the same time, he could not leave. He remembered wondering if what he was seeing was real or just mind-over-matter or power of suggestion? What else could explain some of the behavior he was witnessing? And the control of the exorcist—although no one called him that. He seemed so in command of it all, without all the theatrics Buck would have expected.

  After the meeting ended, the church had emptied, except for Buck, his friend, the pastor, and the deliverance guy—Jedidiah Dobbs. It was a name Buck would soon after become closely associated with. Dobbs walked slowly up the center isle toward Buck. He’d been old even then, short and thick and dressed in a gray suit with a pocket watch looped from his vest. As he walked he took off thick, wire-rimmed glasses, cleaned them with a folded white handkerchief, and returned them to a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once.

  Dobbs stopped in fron
t of Buck, and with an approving nod his wrinkled face came alive. “It’s good you stayed,” he said, his voice more hoarse without the microphone.

  Buck felt immediately anxious and wanted to run away, but could not. He didn’t know why, but his heart was racing. “I almost didn’t,” he said, wondering why the old man was addressing only him.

  “The Lord has a plan for your life, my son. Do you want it?”

  That’s impossible, Buck said to himself. He says that to everyone.

  “In fact, he wants me to tell you he has a call on your life that would begin tonight. Do you want it?”

  Buck was scared speechless. His mind was telling him, “Leave! Now!”

  “But first,” Dobbs said, “there is something we have to take care of. Or, I should say, get rid of.” The old man settled himself down in the pew next to Buck, staring deeply into Buck’s eyes. Buck could not look away, no matter how much he wanted to.

  “What is your name, you filthy, vile thing?” Dobbs ordered.

  Confused and intimidated, Buck felt as though he was looking at the world from somewhere deep behind his eyes—like he was in the backseat of his mind, or at least not the only one driving anymore.

  “In the name of Jesus, tell me who you are.”

  Buck winced, the old man’s words stabbing at him—or so it seemed. He was about to tell Dobbs his own name, but when he opened his mouth he said, “Fear.”

  “Don’t get cute with me, lying beast. I want the name the others call you. In the name of our Lord, I command you to tell me now. What is your name?”

  Buck felt a sudden constriction around his neck as if he were being strangled. He felt as though something was climbing up his throat and he started to gag. But when he turned his head to vomit, only sound came out. “Dahl,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. His friend moved further away, his eyes doubled in size.

  “I don’t know you, Dahl. But it’s time for you to leave,” the old man said sternly.

  “He is mine,” Buck heard himself say.