Be Not Afraid

by Cecilia Galante

  “Knew what?” My voice was quivering.

  “That I pushed him.” The priest’s voice surged with fury. “That I let myself get so overcome at his little annoyances, his bugging me all the time, that I pushed him in.”

  “But then you dove in,” I protested. “You told me you went in and got him. You saved him.”

  “Not without hesitating first.” The sadness in the priest’s eyes was liquid-heavy, the crest of an impending tidal wave. “Not without letting him flounder for a few seconds. He called for me, and I turned my back. I let him suffer.” He buried his face in his hands. “I let him suffer, alone in that water. I let him drown.”

  “But then you turned around again.” I grabbed the priest’s hand. “You turned around, and you dove in and pulled him out.”

  He shook his head, not hearing me, a million miles away. “And I broke my neck. I was unconscious. It was too late.”

  I thought about what I had admitted to Dad about leaving Mom, about not caring anymore. It was the same thing that Father William had done, the same walking away, turning his back, even just for a moment.

  And yet.

  A ferocity filled me then, and I squared my shoulders under the weight of it, lifted my chin. “Father, please. We make mistakes. And that’s all. It doesn’t mean we’re evil. It just means we’re human.”

  He shook his head as I talked, resigned to his defeat.

  “We’re still good people, Father.” I grabbed his shoulder, shaking it hard. “We are. But you have to believe it. You have to let the rest of that stuff go and make the decision to believe that you’re still good.” I rubbed my fingers over his gnarled knuckles. “You told me the other day at the hospital that you made the decision to do your rehab like you’d never done anything before. With a real commitment, remember? You said you had things to do. Places to see.” I was crying now, talking for both of us. “That’s still true. You still have things to do, places to see. But you won’t be able to do them unless you make the choice again to believe in yourself. To believe in your own goodness. Because I’m pretty sure after all this time, that that’s what God is. The goodness in us. That’s his gift to us. Our blessing.”

  He lifted his head, tried to fix his gaze upon my face. He seemed to be trembling under the weight of my words, steadying himself with one hand against the wall.

  “I don’t know if I can go back in there again,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I have it in me.”

  “You do have it in you.” I stood up, pulling him to his feet. “I can see it. Let’s go in there together. You can lean on me when it gets too hard, and I’ll do the same.”

  He hesitated, deliberating my words.

  And then he nodded, once, and pulled himself back up.

  The priest took his place next to the bed again, the sweat wiped from his brow, the purple stole around his shoulders, the rosary entwined in his right hand. Just as before, he gripped the crucifix in his left hand, holding it now like a sword. A rip stood out in the knee of his pants, and his shirt hung loose and untucked over his belt, but his voice sounded different. Stronger.

  “I command you, vile spirit, in the name of Jesus Christ, to leave this daughter of God and go back from whence you came!”

  Cassie lolled her head to one side, cackling insidiously. “But I like it here!” The demon’s voice was a mocking falsetto. “It’s so warm! And she smells so sweet!” The voice changed again, deepening into a throated growl. “You will never make me leave. She’s mine now! All mine! And I will live in her forever!”

  Father William wiped the sweat from his brow and readjusted his hold on the crucifix. He looked startled as I knelt down next to him, but when he turned back to Cassie, his voice was louder. He addressed her again, the determination behind it unmistakable, a new vigor in his tone.

  “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

  At the words, Cassie arched her back and shrieked. I reached out with my good hand and held on to Father William’s belt loop as he continued to chant the prayers from The Rite.

  Cassie’s fists clenched under the words. She shouted obscenities over the litany, and the pupils in her eyes disappeared once more. A groan sounded again, a deep, guttural sound, like metal tearing from the inside out. Her head tossed from side to side. She made a sudden jerking movement with her arms. Her biceps bulged, and a vein in her forehead strained as the ropes around her wrists loosened and then split.

  Before I could tell what happened, Cassie leapt from the mattress, knocking Father William to the floor. He landed with a sickening thud, crying out in pain as the crucifix fell and skittered to one side. The force of the blow knocked me in the other direction, opposite the priest. My casted arm made a dull knocking sound against the floor as it hit, and I curled it up against me, struggling back to my feet. Before I could blink, Cassie had ripped the rosary out of Father William’s other hand and roped it around his neck. Foam curled and spit from the corners of her mouth, and her tongue flicked in and out as she yanked tight along his throat and pulled. “You’re nothing, Priest! She’s mine now! Mine!”

  Father William’s arms flailed. His lips began to turn blue, and I could see the crystal edges of the rosary cutting into his neck. I lunged for Cassie, grabbing her around the waist with one hand. But my injured arm made the movement a futile one, and Cassie didn’t budge. She moved up farther along Father William’s neck instead, tightening the rosary even more, her neck bulging with exertion. Father William’s eyes protruded from their sockets; his hands clawed the floor.

  “Dominic!” I screamed. “Dominic!”

  He burst in all at once and rushed over to the priest, struggling to dislodge his sister’s grip on him. But it was as if Cassie had turned to stone. Dominic pulled and strained, to no avail. Father William was making wild gasping noises, his legs banging like heavy logs on the floor. I could see a trickle of blood leaking out from beneath one side of the rosary, and his Adam’s apple stuck out of the middle of his neck like a walnut.

  “It’s me you want!” The words came out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about them. “It’s me you want!” I said, louder this time. “Not him. Me!”

  Even from behind, I could see the muscles loosen in Cassie’s arms. With a whip of her head, she glared at me over her shoulder. Beneath her, Father William still thrashed, desperate for air. I did not move, did not even blink. The repugnant grin reappeared on Cassie’s face, a thin widening of the lips that stretched from ear to ear. A throaty giggle came out of her mouth as she let go of the rosary and slid in my direction.

  Father William inhaled once, hoarsely, as if coming up from the depths of the ocean. Dominic rushed toward him, cradling his head in both hands.

  I took a step back as Cassie crawled toward me on all fours. Her hair—what was left of it—stuck to the sides of her bloodied face, and her nails made a scraping sound against the floor. This demon was going to try to kill me right here, right now. I backed up into the corner. One step. And then another. Cassie matched my movements, right down to the pauses in between them. There was nowhere for me to go. I was trapped.

  A voice sounded behind her then, so strong, so forceful that I screamed, not recognizing it, unsure of where it was even coming from.

  “I adjure you, ancient serpent, by the judge of the living and the dead, by your Creator, by the Creator of the whole universe, by Him who has the power to consign you to hell, to depart forthwith in fear, along with your savage minions, from this servant of God!”

  It was Father William, up on his feet again, holding The Rite in one shaky hand, the crucifix in the other. Cassie stopped crawling, regarding him with a mixture of contempt and amusement, but Father William did not move, except to raise the crucifix in his left hand. He looked back down at the black book and began again. His face was set like stone, the words pouring from his mouth in a torrent.r />
  Cassie shrank back at the holy words, regarding the priest with wary eyes. Inside, the black snake slipped effortlessly through her arms, her chest cavity, down among her bowels, flicking its pink tongue, silent as silk.

  “It is the power of Christ that compels you!” Father William said.

  Cassie brought her hands up to her ears and screamed. Her fingertips had begun to turn blue again and the skin around her lips was a deep violet color.

  “The power of Christ!” he roared.

  “No!” Cassie backed up into the corner behind the mattress, cowering and whimpering.

  Father William stepped toward her. His breath came out of his mouth in tiny white bursts, and he walked without the aid of his cane. “It is God Himself who commands you, the majestic Christ who commands you!”

  “Stop!” Cassie curled up inside herself, hiding her face between her knees, clutching at her ankles. “I beg you, stop!”

  “God the Father commands you; God the Son commands you; God the Holy Spirit commands you. The mystery of the Cross commands you.”

  With every mention of God, Cassie’s body recoiled, as if a whip were striking her skin. She thrashed and flailed, screamed and pleaded, her voice growing weaker and weaker. “No more! No more! Stop! Please!”

  The snake slithered and recoiled, once and then again. It was working. Somehow, somewhere, Father William had found the strength not only to confront the demon, but also to expel it. He believed again. He did.

  “The faith of the holy apostles Peter and Paul and of all the saints commands you. The blood of the martyrs commands you. The continence of the confessors commands you. The saving mysteries of our Christian faith commands you!”

  Cassie had stopped flailing. She lifted her head from between her knees and let her legs settle indolently in front of her. Another eerie giggle came out of her mouth, softly at first, and then getting louder, until it became a hideous-sounding scoff. “Gotcha!” She laughed again, a raucous, evil noise that came from deep inside her chest. “Made you think you had it in you, Father, didn’t I?”

  Father William took a step back, scanned the book again, frantic. “Depart then, transgressor!” His voice trembled around the edges. “Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning, foe of virtue, persecutor of the innocent.”

  I could hear the fear again, thick as syrup, as he continued to struggle. I moved closer to him, stretching out my good hand and resting it firmly on the priest’s shoulder. He glanced at me, his eyes full of terror, and then nodded. His jaw seemed to clench itself, and the skin along his forehead was slick with sweat.

  Cassie seemed to pause at this show of unanimity. She raised her legs again and shrank back into the wall, as if caged, her eyes gleaming with suspicion. I took another step forward. Cassie’s hooded eyes followed me. I took another one, moving in front of the girl. What was I doing? I didn’t know. But it was time. I had to try.

  Behind me, the priest continued his litany. Cassie was no longer concerned with him. She stared at me instead, the hate seeping in and around the bones behind her eyes. “You faithless bitch!” she hissed. “Don’t you look at me!”

  I moved in closer.

  “Look past the evil!” Father William’s voice rang out behind me. “Look for the good, Marin. Look for God!”

  And right then, I understood.

  Here, now, was the time to choose the good.

  To see the good. Despite the horror and the blackness, despite everything else that insisted otherwise.

  Stepping forward, I threw my arms around the girl, holding her with both arms, the good and the bad one, and clutched her to me. Her skin was like ice, the tips of her fingers black again. Cassie gasped for breath, writhing under my touch. I gripped harder, pressing her against my chest, burying my face against her horrible, icy form. A strange, rotting smell drifted from her pores, and a wheezing sound came out of her mouth. Every cell in her body, every bone, muscle, vein, every inch of her was suffocating, dying.

  My body started to shake as Cassie arched away from me and began to scream, a hoarse sound, devoid of air.

  I held on tighter.

  I believe you are bigger than the evil I see.

  I believe you are good.

  I do. I believe.

  Behind me, the priest’s words got louder as he recited more prayers, the volume turned up, a torrential litany of salvation and deliverance. “I adjure you, profligate dragon, in the name of the spotless Lamb, who has trodden down the asp and the basilisk, and overcome the lion and the dragon, to depart from this child, to depart from the Church of God!”

  I believe that what is inside me is stronger than you.

  I retreated slightly as Cassie grew limp under my hold. Oh my God. Was she dead? I stared as her head fell back between her shoulders and a pinhole of light appeared right in the center of the bowl of blackness inside her skull. It was so small that I almost missed it—until in the next second it expanded a fraction of an inch more. It swelled and then faded a third time as the priest intoned his prayers: “Tremble now, serpent, and flee!”

  I kept my eyes fastened on it and held Cassie tighter.

  You are in there. You are.

  I can see. I can touch. I can heal.

  “Be gone to hell, from whence you came!”

  I know who I am.

  Cassie contorted once, twice, her muscles relinquishing all their strength as she slipped out of my hold. We fell to the floor in a single, jarring movement. I righted myself quickly, but Cassie’s limbs twitched spastically, her legs and arms jerking with such violence that I screamed, sure the girl’s body was going to split in half, terrified that the real end was near. And then, with a final, howling shriek, Cassie clasped both sides of her face with her hands and lay still.

  No one moved. I was not sure if anyone in the room was even breathing. Cassie remained motionless, her arms ribboned with blood, one of them flung over the top of her head, her chest rising and falling in violent tandem. Another pungent smell, something like vomit and excrement, filled the room, but the cold began to dissipate, the iciness leaking out like a stream in the wall.

  “What—” Dominic whispered.

  But Father William only raised his hand, signaling him to wait.

  After an interminable amount of time, Cassie opened her eyes. With difficulty, she raised her face and stared out at us. The horrifying mask had left; her eyes were back to their usual roundness. The skin along her arms and face was still raw, but there were no more bulging shapes pocking it, no more tightness along the bones. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Cassie?” Father William whispered.

  She blinked. “Why am I on the floor?” Her voice was soft. A stranger in her own body. “What happened?”

  Father William rushed over to a satchel in the corner and took something out. When he returned, he was holding a round, silver object. It looked like an old-fashioned stopwatch, complete with a link chain. He pressed a tiny button on one side, and the top sprang open. “Cassie,” he said. “Kneel and receive the Body of Christ.”

  It had to be a test of sorts, what he was doing. If the demon was still inside her, Cassie would not be able to receive Holy Communion, would not perhaps even be able to continue being in the same room as the Host. But the demon had fooled us before, just moments earlier. What if this was the same kind of thing? I pressed my fingers to my lips and waited, holding my breath.

  Father William got down next to the girl and helped raise her to a kneeling position. She looked confused and uncertain, glancing around the room fearfully, as if she were on some strange planet. I stared, straining until my eyes smarted, but I could glimpse nothing of the previous blackness anywhere inside her. There was the purple glob along her tongue, exactly where it had been before, and the small red cuts along her arms. The cut on her cheek glowed a soft rose color under her skin, but that was all. Nothing else. Nothing black.

  “The body of Christ,” Father William said. He held
up the tiny white wafer in front of Cassie, and paused as she regarded it with both eyes.

  She opened her mouth and closed her eyes as Father William placed the Host on her tongue. And when she swallowed, the small group of us closed around her, our arms fencing her in, and let her weep.

  Twenty-Five

  Every once in a while, I let myself go back and think about all of it again. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, as if it was just one long, terrible dream; other times, I have to fight to keep breathing as the pictures come flooding back. Afterward, as the memories subside, I get the distinct feeling of having been snatched back from the lip of hell, of someone pulling me back just as I was about to fall.

  And sometimes, I think I know exactly who that someone was.

  My eyes have stayed the same. I still see the shapes and colors of pain inside people, and maybe I always will. A new therapist I’ve been seeing, a middle-aged lady named Cindy, who actually believes that I can see pain, seems to think it might have developed as a kind of reaction to Mom’s suicide. She says there’s proof that things like that have actually happened to people. Apparently some kind of sixth sense develops after certain kinds of trauma, the brain’s way of trying to make sense out of incomprehensible situations. And she says that it might even go away, a little at a time, as I keep learning how to deal with Mom’s suicide and how to move forward.

  Sometimes I wonder if and when that time will come. I still think about Mom. A lot. I hope she’s not too disappointed in me that I never got to see her pain, or that if I had, I probably wouldn’t have known what to do with it. I hope she forgives me. I hope she knows that I’ve forgiven her, even though she didn’t say goodbye. Dad and Cindy have told me at least a hundred times over that things weren’t my fault, but I still feel guilty. I can’t help it. She was my mother. And I failed her. Little by little, though, I’m starting to come to terms with that, which is what Cindy says I have to do, even though I’m not too sure what that even means. I guess in the long run, I just hope I can learn to let it go. Because holding on to it—especially for this long—hurts too much.