Exorcist Road

by Jonathan Janz

  Liz covered her mouth.

  “Why?” Casey asked, looking like he might cry.

  “It’s not your fault,” Danny said. “That’s the important thing. Whatever reasons Father Sutherland had for doing what he did are between him and God.”

  And me, I thought. His executioner.

  Danny put a hand on Casey’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  Casey nodded, but he looked troubled. For a moment I forgot all about Father Sutherland and my new existence as a priest killer. I wondered what kind of memories Casey retained from his nightmarish ordeal. None, I prayed.

  “Can we go?” Carolyn asked.

  Danny chuckled, ruffled Carolyn’s hair. “You got your mother’s brains, you know it, kiddo?”

  And for the first time that night, I saw the girl smile.

  The lights came on less than a minute later.

  We had made our way out of the bedroom, moving with the uneasy silence of war-weary refugees, and had turned away from the ruined staircase in the hopes that the rear staircase was still intact.

  Ron was in the bathroom, sobbing. I thought at first Danny would pass the closed door by, so it surprised me when he stopped and called, “Ronnie.”

  No answer.

  I had an arm around Casey’s shoulder. Liz was beside us, Carolyn clutched protectively to her side.

  “Ronnie,” Danny said with more force. “Open the damned door.”

  Ron continued to sob.

  Danny tried the knob, but found it locked. Without hesitating, he brought up a foot and slammed it sideways into the door. The heavy door banged open, a bit of the frame splintering.

  Ron glanced up at us. He looked seventy years old. There were bloody cotton balls jammed in both nostrils.

  “I didn’t know Bittner would try to kill him, Danny, I swear it.”

  “How’d you get him out of the cruiser?”

  Ron’s mouth worked weakly—mentally fumbling for some sort of lie, I was sure. Evidently unable to think of one, he said, “I used a rock.”

  “Bet you had to hit the window a few times.”

  Ron didn’t answer.

  Danny nodded. “So you’d rather turn that mad dog loose on your son than risk anyone finding out about your other family. The money you took from your clients.”

  Ron muttered something unintelligible.

  Danny crossed his arms. “I always knew you cared too much about money, Ronnie, but I never thought you’d do the things you’ve done.”

  Ron hung his head lower, his fingers threading through his thick, greasy hair.

  Danny went on. “Say Bittner did shoot Casey. What then? We still would’ve known about your thieving. I would’ve known. Father Crowder here would’ve known.”

  Ron regarded his little brother with a look that I found chilling, even after all I’d witnessed that night. “I didn’t think that far ahead. Maybe Bittner would have killed you guys too. Maybe one of you guys kills Bittner, and nobody remembers what was said about my business dealings.”

  Danny tapped his own chest. “I would’ve remembered.”

  Ron shrugged. “Maybe I could’ve bought you off.” Ron nodded at me. “The Father here too. I notice he’s not above coveting another man’s wife. Maybe he’s as enchanted by money as he is by a nice set of tits.”

  “Father Crowder’s worth a hundred of you, Ronnie.”

  “Says the man who showed up tonight with a homicidal partner.”

  “That’s right,” Danny said. “And now he’s dead, thanks to you.”

  Ron’s voice rose an octave. “You’re the one who brought him here. He was your partner; why didn’t you keep control of him?”

  “I did,” Danny said. “I locked him in the back of the cruiser, remember?”

  Ron buried his face in his hands. “Casey would’ve told; I know he would’ve. He was that kind of boy. Always black-and-white, no gray.”

  I had held my tongue up until that point but could hold it no longer. Making sure to keep Casey out of Ron’s view, I said, “You’re a wretched excuse for a father.”

  “Go to hell,” Ron answered. “I didn’t want him to die… I’m just saying a kid like that doesn’t realize the pressures…keeping up a lifestyle…”

  “Two lifestyles,” Liz said from behind me.

  Ron glanced in her direction. “Oh my God… Honey…”

  Liz’s expression remained impassive. “You selfish bastard.”

  “You’re where he gets it,” Ron said, an edge to his voice. “You’re the reason he never listened to me…”

  At that point, Casey limped into the bathroom.

  Ron gawked at him. His expression would have been comical if the situation hadn’t been so ghastly. “Casey! You’re okay!” He rose unsteadily, his arms outstretched to embrace the boy.

  Casey said something I didn’t catch. Ron didn’t either, judging from the look on his face.

  Danny put a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Case, you don’t have to—”

  “I remember everything,” Casey said to his father. “I saw everything you’ve done…when it touched you.”

  Ron stared at his son, thunderstruck.

  Without another word, Casey turned away and left his father standing there, still apparently hoping for a hug.

  I thought Danny would slug Ron in the face then, or perhaps slap the cuffs on him for his white-collar crimes. But, instead, he said, “You can put your arms down now,” and left the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  The back staircase hadn’t fallen. The demon either hadn’t worried about our escaping that way or hadn’t thought of it. At any rate, we made it to the first floor without issue. As we crept through the back hallway, through the kitchen and into the ruined foyer, I kept expecting some new menace to leap out at us. And why not? The whole night had been like a horror movie, after all, and it was still pitch black outside. Navigating the wreckage of the staircase made me wish we’d gone out the rear of the house, but after a few uneasy moments we reached the front door.

  A glance at the grandfather clock told me it was only three thirty in the morning, which didn’t seem possible. The others’ faces showed the same strain I assumed showed on mine. Casey and Carolyn had dark circles under their eyes. Danny looked more than ever like he could use a drink.

  Liz still looked radiant.

  Ron came scurrying out of the darkness behind us and said, “What, you’re just gonna leave me here?”

  No one answered him. Casey, I noticed, didn’t even spare his father a glance.

  Danny glanced at Liz. “You got somewhere you can go for a little while?”

  “The Tomlinsons,” she said. “They live up the road. Sarah’s my best friend. She’ll let us stay without asking questions.”

  Carolyn tugged at her mom’s arm. “Can I sleep in Anna’s room?”

  Liz smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Ron said, “Should we pack some stuff?”

  Liz’s eyes swung up and came to rest on her husband’s. “You’re never going near these children again.”

  Ron’s lips moved soundlessly. He hesitated, then made to put a hand on her shoulder.

  Liz said, “And if you touch me, I’ll have Danny arrest you.”

  Ron flinched. He cast an unbelieving glance at Danny, who said, “It’s true, Ronnie. You don’t deserve these three, not after the stuff we found out tonight.”

  Ron shook his head, put his hands on his hips. “So that’s it, huh? Some crazy spirit says a bunch of shit about me and you all believe it. I’m guilty without even giving my side of the story.”

  “That’s right,” Liz said. “You’re guilty, and you’re a revolting excuse for a human being.”

  I resisted an urge to kiss her.

  As we made our way out onto the covered porch, Ron said, “Hold on a second… Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

  “How about your other wife’s place?” Liz said. “I’m sure she’d love to have you.”

&
nbsp; The door closed, leaving Ron gape-mouthed in the foyer.

  On the porch I glanced at Liz’s lacerated forehead. “Those need stitching up.”

  “It’s shallow,” Liz said. “You’re the one who needs a doctor.”

  I nodded down at my missing fingers. “I guess I’ll never be a concert pianist.”

  “I’ll take you to the hospital,” Liz said.

  “I’m okay to drive,” Danny said.

  “Okay to drive safely?” Liz asked.

  Danny smiled wanly. “The Father and I’ll go to the hospital once we get you guys somewhere safe, okay?”

  Liz tilted her head. “Still trying to prove how tough you are, Danny?”

  Danny chuckled, nodded at the kids. “I’ll get ’em into the cruiser,” he said, and hustled Casey and Carolyn toward the police car. “Back window’s busted,” Danny muttered, “so you two’ll have to pile in the front.”

  “We get to sit with you?” Casey asked.

  Danny opened the passenger’s door for them, and they climbed in.

  Leaving me with Liz on the porch.

  “I’ll let you sit on the side with the window,” I said. I took off my robe and folded it. “You can put this under you in case there’s any glass.”

  She smiled. “What about you?”

  “I’m already so banged up a few more cuts won’t make a difference.”

  She chewed her lower lip and touched my jaw, which was puffy from Father Sutherland’s hard-fisted blows. Her hand lingered against my chin. She seemed to debate with herself a moment. “Jason…I want to—”

  “You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

  She gave me a wry smile, cute dimples forming in her cheeks. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  I closed my mouth, chastened.

  “What I was going to say,” she went on, “is how much I’d like to see you again.” She swallowed. “I mean, in more than a professional capacity.”

  “I know what you meant.”

  She smiled again, and despite the fact that her husband might very well still be in the foyer and only separated from us by a wooden door and about eight feet of space, I felt a powerful urge to take her into my arms.

  But I didn’t, and this time my resistance had nothing to do with fear of women.

  I said, “There might be a time when we can see each other.”

  She looked crestfallen. “But not now?”

  “There are things that must be done.”

  She searched my face. “What kind of things?”

  “It’s better if I don’t tell you. Not yet, at least.”

  She didn’t seem satisfied, but she said, “All right, Jason. But when you finish with these—”

  “You’ll be the first person I call.”

  She watched me a moment longer. Then, I put an arm around her, and together we walked through the moonless night to Danny’s police car.

  After dropping Liz and the kids off at the Tomlinsons, Danny drove us to the hospital. We rode mostly in silence, though occasionally Danny would remark on how the storm seemed to be letting up.

  On the way to Saint Joseph Hospital, Danny and I got our stories straight. We kept it as simple as possible, deciding that we should tell the truth about the demon possessing Casey, about Bittner committing suicide. We’d claim that Sutherland killed himself after attacking me. The damage to my face certainly bore the tale out. Danny got out his cell phone, which unsurprisingly was working again, and called Liz. He told her our version, and she agreed to tell the same one. Since Ron hadn’t been in the room with me and Sutherland, there was no need to let him in on the deceit. Anyway, I doubted Liz would call Ron even if we wanted her to.

  Everything settled, Danny radioed in to the precinct, and we went inside the hospital.

  We were both discharged in the early afternoon. Despite the pain medication I was given, my hand was a shrieking holocaust, and my face ached nearly as badly. Danny had received stitches in half a dozen places, but though it was difficult for him to sit upright, he still managed to drive me home.

  The story we’d told had been met at first with incredulity. But after a team had been dispatched to the Hartmans’ home and the place had been examined, even the most skeptical investigators had to concede that our story was consistent with the state of the place. It was difficult to argue with the crumbled staircase.

  Though I’d never been a believable liar, I felt I acquitted myself rather well. Of course, having Danny to corroborate my story helped a great deal. Many of his fellow officers acted almost apologetic as they asked him questions.

  So it was at two o’clock that we headed back to the rectory. Neither of us said much on the way there, though Danny kept eyeing my heavily bandaged hand grimly.

  He pulled up to the cottage and slid the cruiser into Park.

  “I wanna thank you for all your help, Father.”

  I sighed. “I’m afraid we did more harm than good.”

  “You don’t mean that. If it weren’t for you, Casey would still have that…that thing in him.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “And Liz wouldn’t know about her husband’s other family.”

  “Hey, man, you screw around on your wife, she’s bound to find out.”

  “Liz deserves someone better,” I said.

  “That she does, Father. That she does.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a moment before he said, “You realize it isn’t done.”

  I nodded, thinking about the deaths of Jack Bittner and Peter Sutherland. I had no idea if Danny’s story about the priest would float, nor did I have the slightest clue what Danny would say about his partner. I knew he wouldn’t want to incriminate Casey, but what else could explain the man’s abrupt decision to blow his own brains out? I supposed we could claim that Bittner and Sutherland had made a suicide pact. Or were merely playing a high stakes game of truth or dare.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  I realized I had been smiling and briskly sobered.

  He seemed to hesitate. “How much time do you need?”

  I frowned at him, unsure of his meaning.

  “Father Sutherland’s,” he explained. “We need to check his study.”

  I swallowed, but cringed when I felt how raw my throat was from all the shouting I’d done in Casey’s bedroom.

  But Danny was not to be put off. “If it’s Sutherland, we need to tell my bosses. If it isn’t…well, I suppose the investigation has to go on.”

  “Do you think he’s the killer?”

  “You mean was,” Danny said. He slouched in his seat, peered out the side window. “I don’t want him to be the one, but at the same time, I do, you know? I mean, if he’s the one who did all those terrible things to those kids…then that means it’s over. It means you ended it. You did the dirty work. Stuff like that isn’t pretty, but somebody’s got to be willing to do it.”

  For some reason those words frightened me deeply. I didn’t like to think about what I’d done to Peter Sutherland. I was already second-guessing myself, sure I’d made a mistake. Somehow the prospect of searching Sutherland’s house was scarier than not searching. If we left it alone, I’d never know if I’d slain an innocent man. And if it had been Sutherland doing the killings, well, the city would soon realize the reign of terror had ended, and I could gradually return to a seminormal life.

  “Father?” Danny asked.

  I met his gaze with difficulty, and after a time, I nodded. He was right, of course. We had to know. It was the only way.

  Evidently satisfied by what he read in my face, he nodded.

  “An hour,” he said. “Get cleaned up, and I’ll come back to get you then.”

  “An hour,” I agreed.

  I went inside already feeling like a condemned man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I had been inside Father Sutherland’s stately brick Queen Anne home perhaps a hundred times over the past decade, yet somehow the atmosphere within its
aged walls already seemed different. As though the house itself understood that an irrevocable change had taken place and that its owner would not be returning. I was skittish on the way to Sutherland’s study, and that sense of foreboding grew as we opened the door and switched on his desk lamp.

  Danny fingered the bandage the nurse had taped over the gash in his forehead. Blood had already soaked through the white bandage. “You sure this is the room?”

  “I’m not sure of anything,” I said. I suddenly felt absurd, like a hapless gumshoe on some old television mystery show.

  Danny eyed me in silence as I walked around, studying the familiar objects on Sutherland’s shelves. I saw his hymnal, several books examining the dual nature of Christ. It was one of Sutherland’s primary interests. I continued through the study, glancing at several pictures of the priest with important members of the clergy and various foreign dignitaries. There was a snapshot of Sutherland shaking my hand on the day I was appointed to my post at St. Matthew’s. Looking at the faded picture, I felt a pang deep in my chest. I crossed the room, as if to escape from the image, and as I did, the floor creaked.

  I froze. Danny was staring down at my feet. He moved closer, placed a foot on the same board on which I stood and tested it with the toe of his sneaker. The board wiggled perceptibly. I stepped away from it and watched with apprehension as he produced a pocketknife, knelt and used it as a pry. Though the plank was thick and long, it took very little to unseat it. Very much as though someone had been removing the plank and replacing it on a regular basis for a good while.

  I watched in speechless dread as Danny levered up the board.

  We both gazed at what was inside.

  I’m afraid I began to weep.

  There were no souvenirs from six dead girls in the two-inch deep space beneath the floorboard. There weren’t trinkets of any kind.

  Just a pair of girly magazines—a recent Penthouse and a very old Hustler.

  These, I realized, were Father Sutherland’s great sins. For these petty crimes I had sentenced him to death. My mentor. My best friend.

  Danny was watching me with sympathy. “Maybe there are…you know, other hiding places. It’s a big house.”