by P. K. Tyler
"I know it hurts. You'll survive this. You're stronger than this demon and I'm even stronger than that. I love you. It's my job to be strong for you when you're weak." A loving arm guided him back to his room.
Zeph's mother stood in the room, a collection of filled trash bags around her. All of his posters from his walls, all his books and notebooks and drawings, everything he owned had been taken. His bed had been made with clean white sheets and a soft white blanket.
"What's going on?" He asked through chattering teeth.
His father shoved him into his room. "No temptation or memory of how you've been infected can remain. You'll be reborn out of this trial. Your clothes, your books, everything is a distraction from the work you have to do to cast this demon from your body. Focus your mind on God and you will be saved. Now kneel."
Zeph struggled to keep his balance as he settled his weight onto sore, tired knees. His body burned and his stomach churned with hunger and nausea. His mind blurred and he couldn't focus on one thought long enough to make sense of it. Why did everything hurt so much and where was Nik?
"Listen to me." His father cupped the back of his head, pulling his attention back to the present horror. "Are you gay?"
Zeph shook his head, knowing that any honest answer he gave would only lead to more pain.
"That's good. That's a start. Tell me about Nik Grekh."
Zeph's stomach lurched and he shook his head again, refusing to speak. Tears broke loose from his eyes and a scream he hadn't known he'd been holding back bubbled up inside him. He would do anything to stop this, to stop his father, but he couldn't give up Nik.
"Tell me about Nik," his father roared.
"I love him," Zeph cried before his father's belt struck his back.
As his father beat him, his mother read from the Bible. She started at the beginning and read straight through. He latched onto those words, he imagined the voice of God telling him he was loved, even if his parents didn't accept him. He had visions of a loving Jesus opening his arms to welcome him home.
After two days in his room, he was brought a bowl of chicken and rice. He shoveled it into his mouth with his fingers, not trusted by his father to have even a fork. His stomach revolted at the sudden introduction of food and he threw half of it up.
Zeph yawned, the past fading back into a painful corner in his mind. Nothing good came from dwelling on what had happened. His father was dead and Jesus had indeed welcomed him into the fold. He believed in his God, a loving God and in His place, in His Kingdom, completely. He'd been delivered from his parents, brought into the brotherhood of priests. His sin was one of action, not of being. When he devoted himself to God and took his vows, none of the past mattered any longer. What did it mean to be gay if he never acted on it? Zeph considered it so inconsequential, he no longer thought of himself as gay or anything thing else. He had married the Holy Church and devoted himself to God, body and soul.
But still, he loved Nik Grekh. Even if he could never have him.
Chapter Three
Black primordial sludge slipped between the worn floorboards of the old church.
Naamah waited for the perfect moment. A holy place, a holy body. Desecration of such magnitude was irresistible.
Stretching and reaching, globs of black rolled together under the floor, through the walls. A bright light and perfect innocence called to Naamah. Darkness can never be obliterated by light, only obfuscated, sent to hide in the corners of man's awareness, until the moment arises when the light finally fades. Given enough time, all men will sin. That bastard son, Christ, may have absolved their worldly trespasses, but true evil remained and would feast on each and every one of their souls.
A light-filled beauty knelt in a small room with a simple bed and chair, She clasped her hands around a rosary, reciting empty words.
Black slime smeared across the floor until it reached her toe. At Naamah’s touch, the nun's leg jumped but did not move away, her consciousness too lost in prayer, oblivious of the reality of the war around her.
Black wound around her calf. Thin and viscous, Naamah stretched and sought entrance. The tip slid under her black skirts, lifting and forming the head of a serpent, its split tongue tasting the dank air. Seeking. Seeking.
The nun gasped as blackness found it's entrance, sliding within her depths. Naamah filled Sister Delphina with sin.
A holy place, a holy body, no more.
Chapter Four
Nik licked his lips and stretched his back. The sofa in Zeph's office was nicer than the mattress he had at home, but it wasn't what he was used to. After last night, his body felt more bruise than skin and bones. He rubbed the crust out of the corners of his eyes and sat up.
Zeph's apartment door was closed. There hadn’t been an invitation to share the nicer quarters or kiss goodnight.
Nik wasn't surprised, but regret lingered. He wondered how things would be between them if he'd handled his feelings differently when they were younger.
He pulled Zeph's black t-shirt and his jeans back over his thin frame. Jesus, he looked like a skeleton. He needed to eat better, maybe work on building some body mass. He may be strong enough to subdue the average possession, but definitely not what he'd tangled with last night. That beast almost killed him. And then, the thick sludge coating every one of his pores, the sin his body usually destroyed, had nearly owned him. He recoiled from the thought of what might have happened to him had Zeph not been there to perform a second exorcism. Was it even possible for Sin Eaters to be possessed?
He grabbed his leather jacket and left the rectory. If Zeph was still asleep, he wouldn't be surprised to find Nik gone. It made him a little sad to think his presence or absence made no difference to his friend, but he shrugged the thought off and headed for the Sanctuary.
On his way through the back halls of the church, Nik heard every noise. The floorboards creaked and the old building seemed to sigh. He'd been here so many times, he wondered why it sounded so loud today. His head throbbed from the beating he'd taken the night before.
This must be what it's like to be hung over, he thought. I'll remember that next time I think taking up drinking is a good idea.
He passed the hall which lead to the convent and caught a flash of black in the corner of his eye. He turned, tempted to investigate, but men weren't allowed in that part of the building. It felt disrespectful to cross over that line.
Something pulled him forward, like the call of possession, a soul crying out for help. He resisted, shaking his head. It had to be the shadow of what happened last night. Nuns couldn't be possessed. They were off limits, sacred. Nik didn't exactly believe in things like that, but he didn't not believe either. He'd seen too much to dismiss it entirely, but Zeph's explanations of saviors and sanctity didn't ring true either.
He passed the hall and quickened his pace, a dark shadow falling over his mood. Even sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows in the cathedral couldn't lift his melancholy.
Outside, the sun beat down on the concrete, heating everything in the city. Even in the winter, New York managed to lock in the sun's heat and make people suffer. Cold and hot at the same time. He guessed that was their punishment for paving over an entire island.
The bodega on the corner stood out as a cloud of steam drifted over it and into the sky.
Coffee. Coffee was possibly the best idea Nik had ever had in his entire life.
He ordered a cup. Black.
He replayed the scene from last night over and over and knew he needed answers. The only people who might have them were Father Losado and the priests of The Old Order, but the idea of entering their dank secret temple and asking for help made his skin crawl. The Order might operate under the guise of the Catholic Church, but they told a much different story about Jesus and his descendants . Their members started training to work with Sin Eaters as soon as they could walk. Nik didn’t trust anyone that hardcore. Priests by day, these Holy Warriors—-as they liked to call themse
lves—- lived secret lives in the darkest places within New York's womb.
The Old Order was a last resort. He’d spent enough time with them between foster homes to know they probably couldn’t help. But he didn’t have any other options. Who else would believe him, let alone offer some insight about the demon he’d fought the night before?
Nik approached the entrance to the subway and hopped the turnstile just as the train pulled up. A spunky-looking brunette with a pixie cut and studs everywhere hopped into the same car just as the doors whooshed shut behind her. No one else boarded.
The fine hairs on Nik's neck rose. He swallowed hard, then forced himself to meet her eyes.
Bottomless depths stared back at him.
At first, neither of them moved.
He watched the girl with the pixie cut closely for tension, waiting for any sign of an impending attack. Her shoulders stayed fairly relaxed and even with her hips. He turned as though he were watching the blackness of the tunnel pass by the train's windows, but kept her firmly fixed in his periphery. Lights whisked by in a steady rhythm.
For the first time in his life, he was willing to let this one go. Even as the familiar ache began behind his eyes, demanding he fulfill his purpose. Nik was exhausted, down to his bones, down to whatever semblance of a soul he still had after everything he'd done. He hadn't even had a chance to recover from the last demon he fought.
She turned and took a step away and he tensed.
Shit.
Nik dropped the pretense of ignoring her and faced the threat. If he was to die, he'd give this last battle everything he had left. The pounding in his head resounded in his ears. Heat crept into his face and he stared her down, refusing to look away from the hell pit of her eyes.
"Hell of a night to be out." He hoped he could talk her out of a fight, he'd never tried to reason with evil. "I can't wait to be in out of the cold."
A malicious grin spread across her child-like features. "Bet I could warm you up." She sauntered over to him.
Nik put his hands in his pockets, hoping she'd assume that left him an easy target. When she got closer, he pulled a vial of holy water out of his pocket, and thumbed the cork out.
She glanced at the bottle and faltered only briefly, then lunged at Nik, arms reaching out for his throat.
Nik easily dove to one side as she glided past him, flinging holy water at her and reciting the words that had saved him so many times before, hoping that this demon wasn’t like the last one. She still looked human, so maybe that was a good sign.
When she spun around and glared at him, he flicked more holy water into her face, reciting the words he knew so well without emotion.
The young woman scratched at the burning flesh of her face.
Nik didn't relent and couldn't, not if he wanted to live. He continued chanting in a calm voice. It felt like he was watching someone else fight this battle for him. Too tired to be present, too conditioned to fight, unable to stop.
He raised his arm to fling the holy water again, pausing to take a breath, and she lunged.
She knocked him down to the floor of the train and he lost his grip on the vial. It hit a rail above them and shattered, raining glass and holy water down on both of them.
The water sizzled and dissipated as it landed on her. She winced but remained in control. Straddling Nik, she reached out with both hands and wrapped them around his neck, jerking him up and slamming his head against the cold, metal floor.
Nik tasted blood. Aiming for her eyes, exhausted and hoping to blind her temporarily, he spit into her face.
His blood and saliva splashed across her nose and cheeks, vivid freckles glistening in the florescent lights of the A-train.
She screamed and raised her hands to her face. She tried to climb up off of him, but he gripped her waist like he wanted her to ride him, a wild fuck in an empty train car. The demon twisted and jerked, screaming and clawing at her face as though his blood was worse than the holy water.
Nik continued the ritual to release the demon from the soul it had latched onto. "I adjure you by the holy angels, thrones, dominions," his own voice droned on in his ears. He held her tightly, demanding she submit to his will. "Tell me immediately how your name is called."
He removed one of his hands and brought it up to his mouth, spitting his own blood into his hand. He couldn’t believe the effect it had on her. Then he reached up with his bloody palm to grip her neck. "Your name, demon. The blood of Christ compels you to tell me how your name is called."
A guttural howl clawed its way up her throat, and with it came the one thing that could have saved her: her name. "Ardat Lili."
Where his blood landed on her face, tiny sores opened up and oozed black goo. Thick strings dangled above him.
His whole body jerked away, but he held tightly to the demon. Nausea hit him full-force, sending a screen of gray across his vision. Three fights within hours of each other were taking a hefty toll on him. He had to end this before he passed out.
"I exorcise you, Demon of Hell. Return to your unholy master, Ardat Lili. The blood of Christ compels you!"
The woman thrashed above him, but he gripped her neck with all his strength. When her face was a writhing mass of slimy evil, he pulled her close and took the sin into himself.
As the evil left her, the young woman's body fell slack against his chest.
Nik rolled her off and pushed himself up onto one elbow. His body had to process the sin he'd consumed. He just had to hang on until it did.
The A-train stopped, and Nik managed to make it to his feet to step out onto the platform. He didn't stop this time to even make sure the young woman was breathing. He needed answers and he needed them now.
His last resort was now his only choice.
Chapter Five
In the narthex of Our Lady of Mercy church, Nik could hear the high-pitched voices rose in harmony with the organ music ringing through the air. At the front of the sanctuary, a nun fluttered about the alter, replacing melted candles with nice new ones.
The old church had been built as a Franciscan Monastery and maintained the austere ambiance of self-denial. Low lights, dark wood, stone walls. Everything about the church screamed sacrifice.
Nik hated it.
The only thing that offered him relief from the oppressive atmosphere was a mural at the back of the altar. Instead of a traditional crucifix, the mural depicted Jesus on the cross, his mother The Virgin Mary, and Mary Magdalene weeping in the crowd before him. Looking closely, Nik discovered that the women held hands, their heads bowed, and Mary―the whore―held a fish in her arms. It always struck him as weird, but all that Catholic symbolism went over his head most days, so he hadn't thought much of it.
He stared at the tiny fish head, barely visible through Mary's robes.
Sister Francis Marie approached Nik at the back of the church and sat beside him in the last pew. She made the sign of the cross in the air before turning her attention to him. “Welcome son, you look as if you’re in need of someone to talk to.” Her smile betrayed the familiarity between them.
“Forgive me Sister, for I have sinned.”
“That’s not how this works, kid.”
“But I’d so much rather talk to you.”
The friendly nun chuckled before standing and staring down at him. “Let me take you to Father Lasado, he’s already in the temple.”
“Did he know I was coming?”
“No, but there have been reports. I’ll let him explain further.” She turned away in a plume of black and Nik hurried to follow. For such a small woman, she moved fast.
Sister Francis Marie led him past the pews toward the front of the room, closer to the mural. He stared at it, transfixed by the dark eyes of the man sacrificing his life. They were black, flat, and empty. Just like... It had to be a trick of light, a shadow or his need to purge the evil within him. No one would paint Jesus with the eyes of a demon, would they? They walked behind the organ player, an elderly lady
with purple hair with flecks of red dancing as the red votives lining the top shelf of the organ flickered. As soon as they exited the room and the door closed behind them, the sounds of music in the main church dulled considerably.
They followed the short hall then turned left. The short corridor contained only enough wall space on either side for one door on each side. The door to the left, Nik knew, opened to another brief hallway that led to a set of steps leading down into the old clergy house.
Sister Francis Marie unlocked the door on the right, leading Nik down a familiar steep staircase.
The stairs descended in a spiral pattern, if you could refer to square, stone steps as a spiral. Four steps down, turn right. Four steps down, turn right. Four steps down, turn right. Finally, his shoes hit wood. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as they entered a familiar, perfectly square foyer. Although small, only eight feet across either way, its double-vaulted ceiling stood towering twelve feet above their heads.
The nun pulled an archaic key-ring from a hidden pocket in her skirts and leaned close to one of the wall sconces on either side of the gilded, heavy wooden door. The ever present firelight of the Old Order's interior chapel provided the only source of light allowed beneath the church. They couldn't risk exposure for something so silly as the Vatican questioning a high utility bill. So within the sconces, tall, thick pillar candles stood lit, plenty enough for Nik to examine the elegant curves of the high ceiling above.
He'd loved the ancientness of this place when he made his first visit here. Now, he knew that the antiquated quality applied not just to the architecture, but the thinking within these walls as well. As a teenager, finding out that others were in this fight with him had given him hope, but, over the years, that hope had turned to disappointment.
That heavy wooden door groaned as it opened to yet another corridor, this one made of cinder block and very long.
Nik had spent a very brief amount of time here after Father Losado picked him up when he was twelve. The old priest had witnessed him chase down a demon possession to perform a sloppy but effective exorcism.