by John Tigges
“What was that for?”
He smiled. “For just being you and the way you are.”
It was Nicole’s turn to smile. Myles’ love for her seemed to be growing every day, every hour, and she enjoyed each expansion. “Are we going to go to a church and get some holy water?”
He nodded. “Let’s ask the clerk if he can recommend someone—a priest. It can’t be that all priests and ministers are like the turkeys we’ve encountered.”
“Are you including Reverend Eddie John Stangood in that evaluation?” she asked, her eyes twinkling as she thought of the man’s white suit pants adorned with the yellow splotch of urine.
“Especially that phony bastard. Let’s not get started on him. I’ll call the clerk.”
After they indicated the silver crucifix, he withdrew it from the arrangement in the case, handing it to Myles for closer inspection.
“What else do you have to ward off evil?” he asked, handing the piece to Nicole.
Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, the man closely studied the couple for a long minute before answering. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” He brought his fingertips together, tilting his head to one side while waiting for further explanation.
“Well, the cross or crucifix is a talisman to ward off the devil, isn’t it?”
“In some respects, I imagine one might say that. However, it is primarily used as a reminder by Christians, Catholics most notably, of Christ’s ignominious death and sufferings that He endured for all of mankind.”
Myles sincerely hoped the man was not about to launch into some sort of religious tirade. “So, do you have anything that would fall into that category?” he said, quickly adding, “Of warding off evil, that is?”
Pursing his lips in thought, the man said, “I suppose a medal or two would be in keeping with what you’re describing. However, I feel things like that should be blessed by a priest before they’re going to be of any use to the individual.”
“Can you recommend someone?”
Again, he puckered up before speaking. “Well, there’s Saint Mark’s and Saint Peter’s. Both of them are relatively close by. Of course, there are others. You can get a full listing of the different churches, Catholic, Protestant, Jewish Temples and what have you, in the Yellow Pages of the phone book.”
Ignoring the man’s generalized offer, Myles said, “Do you know the addresses of the two you just mentioned?”
“Of course,” he said, taking the crucifix from Nicole, who held it out for him. “I’ll write both of them down. What about the medals?”
Myles looked at Nicole, who nodded. Anything. If whatever the man suggested worked, they’d take anything.
“Put a couple in with the crucifix. Which of the two churches would you personally recommend?”
Stepping behind the counter holding the cash register, he withdrew a box, placing the silver item in it. He turned, opening a drawer in a small chest behind him. When he faced Myles and Nicole, he smiled and said, “Here are a couple of Miraculous Medals. They should fill the bill.”
Myles thought he detected a note of sarcasm in the man’s voice, wondering if perhaps his decision in leaving the Church when he did had not been right all along. If everyone was cynical about faith and beliefs, then why should anyone simply give lip service to an unseen God?
“That’ll be fourteen thirty-seven with tax,” he said.
Myles studied him for a split second. Had he overreacted to the man’s statement about the medals filling the bill? Was he becoming paranoid about this whole situation in which he and Nicole found themselves? That was all they’d need—jumping at every shadow, every move, reacting to every word said to them.
Instead of contemplating further, he reached for his billfold, pulling out two ten dollar bills and handing them to the man.
“Incidentally,” the clerk said, “before those medals can do any good, they should be blessed. Here,” he said, handing Myles a slip of paper, “are the addresses of St. Mark’s and St. Peter’s.”
“Which of the two would you personally recommend?” he asked. “We’re strangers in town.”
The clerk leaned his head to one side. “I know you from someplace, don’t I? Have you come in here before? No. That’s not it. I’ve seen you though, I know I have. In the movie … No! On television! That’s it! I seldom forget a face. Ever since you walked in here, I’ve been trying to place you. Aren’t you on one of the local channels? News? Or weather or something to do with a news program? Sports?”
“I’m an anchorman,” Myles said stiffly, hoping that the man would not pursue the subject or ask why he said they were not local.
“Well, then, you’re not, are you?”
Myles looked at him, puzzled by the strange question. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You’re not really a stranger in town, are you?”
“No, I guess not. You caught me there.” Myles forced a harsh laugh. “However, which of the two churches would you recommend? Which has the most open, or should I say, laid back pastor?”
The clerk looked away for an instant, smothering a chuckle under his breath. “I think that would probably be Father Maskey at Saint Peter’s, then. Father Willis at Saint Mark is pretty old and crotchety. Father Maskey is about forty years old or so. Real nice guy. Calm.”
Miles looked at the slip, noting the address of Saint Peter’s church and rectory. It was only a few blocks away. “Well, thank you very much for all the help you’ve given us,” he said to the clerk.
“My pleasure, I’m sure.”
Myles took Nicole’s arm, steering her toward the door. He could feel the man’s eyes on his back. If only he would forget about his TV anchorman customer of the morning. The last thing Myles needed was someone telling stories about him looking for religious articles that warded off evil. If the man knew the truth, he would never believe it, and the stories would more than likely stop before they started. But he seemed to Myles to be the imaginative type, and there was no telling what he might develop as a fanciful tale.
Once outside, he told Nicole of his fears where the clerk was concerned.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “That’s the price of fame. I think you’re worrying needlessly.”
“I hope you’re right. Paranoia, I don’t need.”
They went to his car and in moments drove away from the curb, toward the rectory of Saint Peter’s Roman Catholic Church.
9:30 AM.
Myles and Nicole waited patiently at the door of the rectory. They had rung the bell, waiting for what seemed like minutes when in reality only a few seconds had slipped by. Presently, they could hear footsteps coming toward the. entrance. Heavy footsteps. Myles quickly pictured a huge man, one capable of playing the line for a professional football team, storming toward the door, demanding to know who dared interrupt his holy revery so early in the day.
When the door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief. The man peering out at them smiled broadly and said, “Good morning. I’m Father Maskey. I don’t think I know you. Do I?”
Shaking his head, Myles said, “No, you don’t. Father. We’ve never met. I’m Myles Lawrence and this is Nicole Kilton. May we come in?”
“Judas Priest, I’m sorry,” he said, jumping back from the opening to make a broad gesture with his free arm for them to enter. “The parish board would scalp me alive if they saw me standing here with the door wide open, trying to heat the great outdoors.”
Covering her smile, Nicole followed the priest’s motion, entering the warm hallway. Myles followed.
“What can I do for you?” the priest asked, peering first at one of his visitors, then at the other.
“We’d like this crucifix and these medals blessed, Father,” Myles said, offering the package to the priest.
“Hey, no problem. Glad to be able to do it. Come with me,” he said, motioning for them to follow him down the hall. He stopped at an open door, allowing them to enter first. “Take a seat. This’ll
only take a minute.”
He laid the package on the desk, opening a drawer from which he pulled a small purple stole and vial of holy water.
Nicole elbowed Myles, nodding toward the small bottle. Taking her arm in his hand, he gently squeezed it.
When Father Maskey had draped the stole around his neck after kissing it, he picked up the bottle and began praying softly but unintelligibly where Nicole and Myles were concerned. Then, he slowed the pace of the words and said, signing with the vial of holy water in the form of a cross, “I bless this crucifix and medals, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
Taking the stole from around his neck, he kissed it again, before returning it, along with the container of blessed liquid, to the drawer. Myles and Nicole stood. “There,” he said, smiling broadly, “that didn’t hurt a bit, did it?” Handing the crucifix and medals to Myles, the priest studied his visitors’ faces. “I must be slipping,” he said slowly. “You two are Catholics, aren’t you?”
“I am, Father,” Myles said. “Nicole isn’t. At least, she isn’t now. I …”
“Does that mean the two of you are thinking of being married?”
Myles looked down at Nicole. “I guess you might say we’re thinking along those lines.”
An expression of relief crossed Father Maskey’s face. “Let me explain what I meant when I said, ‘I must be slipping.’ ” He walked casually into the hall, his guests following.
Myles shot an inquisitive look at Nicole, who returned one of her own.
“Every once in a while, some religious nut or member of an off-the-wall religious cult will stop at a rectory and ask for holy water or something that they can use in a rite or ritual of some sort. They always pose as Catholics. We’ve always been told to be on guard for just such a situation. Then, you two walk in, hand me a crucifix and a couple of medals and I obligingly bless them without so much as a question or howdydoo!” Father Maskey smiled broadly. “Why do I feel as if I should know you, Mr. Lawrence? Do you belong to Saint Peter’s or go to Mass here once in a while?”
“No, Father. I’ve never been in your church. You might have seen me on television. I give the newscast for KSLL-TV.”
Snapping his fingers, he said, “Hey, that’s it. Of course. Well, at any rate, I’m glad I could be of service.” He waited as if expecting them to say thank you but fell silent when the couple did the same.
After several seemingly endless seconds passed, Myles said, “Holy water, Father. Could we get some from you?” He tried smiling but felt it must have looked forced and weak at best.
Father Maskey briefly glanced at Myles, then at Nicole and then back at Myles before speaking. “What is it, Myles? What’s troubling you two?”
Myles coughed, embarrassed at the fact the priest could read his emotions so well. “I guess we didn’t do so well at covering up, did we, Father?”
“After almost twenty years of being a priest, I guess one might say I can tell when people are happy and when they’re not. You two are definitely not happy. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think you’d be able to help us, Father,” Myles said evenly. “From what we’ve learned so far, our problem is ours and no one else’s. At least, no one we’ve talked with has been willing to offer a solution or help of any type.”
“Let’s go back into my office,” Father Maskey said, standing aside to allow them to enter.
“No,” Nicole said. “You’ll only listen and then tell us we’re living in sin. I’m tired of hearing it.”
“Are you?”
“Are we what?” Myles asked.
“Are you two living in sin, as the old saying goes?”
Myles turned to Nicole. “At least you have to give him credit for being laid back.”
“I’ve been accused of being just that,” Father Maskey said. “Being laid back, that is. Come on, it can’t hurt that much to talk it out with someone who’s willing to listen. I’ll bet you hit some other priest who was just itching for a fight because of some dumb experience and the two of you got the full brunt of his wrath. Am I right?” He smiled, looking at both of them in turn.
“I suppose you’re right, Father,” Myles said, taking Nicole’s arm, steering her back toward the man’s office.
“How old are you, Myles?” the priest asked.
Myles looked at him but didn’t respond.
“I imagine you were raised Catholic and went off to college … or maybe the armed services … and found it was pretty easy to miss Sunday Mass. Then the next thing you knew, you just weren’t going to any masses or fulfilling your obligatory duties to maintain your status as a Catholic.” He stopped, looking up to find Myles nodding slowly.
Nicole looked at Myles. “Maybe he will help. Maybe he’s the one we should have talked to in the first place.”
“Well,” Maskey said, “whatever the problem is, I’m willing to listen and if you want a suggested solution or help, I’ll be more than happy to be of assistance, if I can.”
Myles and Nicole relaxed, absorbing for the first time in hours the almost foreign sensation of calm.
“Well, who wants to start?” Maskey asked.
“I guess I should,” Nicole said. She told him of Myles leaving her and her utter sense of desperation and loss, her hours of loneliness and her nightly rendezvous with Myles when he gave the news. Then she hesitated for an instant about finding the book and looked to Myles for moral support.
“Go ahead. That’s probably the most important part of the story.”
Coughing to clear her throat, she continued, telling the priest of the antique book she had discovered. She described the rite she had performed before launching into the litany of weird events that had taken place since.
Without getting too explicit about the sensation of climaxing in the shower when the water took on the touch of rough hands, she nevertheless told of the calloused fingertips that seemed to touch her in the steam.
Maskey’s eyes widened. “And you saw nothing?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“I’ve felt the hands, too, Father,” Myles offered, breaking in.
“Tell me about it,” Maskey said brusquely, turning to Myles.
Myles recounted their evening up until they began making love and stopped.
“Go on, Myles,” Maskey urged, “don’t leave anything out. No matter how insignificant it might sound.”
Myles laughed, embarrassed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Father. It’s just what was going on when I did feel the hands.”
Father Maskey studied the two people sitting across from his position behind the desk. “Were the two of you being intimate? Making love?”
Myles nodded while Nicole looked away.
“Don’t be ashamed. For heaven’s sake, how do you think the human race is populated? If you two are in love, and I have every reason to believe you are, why wouldn’t you be manifesting that love in a physical way?”
“But, Father,” she stammered, “we’re … we’re not married.”
“Let’s not get involved in a battle of semantics. Sometime in the future, the two of you will be married, I’m sure. Meanwhile, let’s solve your problem or try to find a solution that’ll work.”
Relieved he would be able to tell the priest everything without being embarrassed, Myles continued. “I felt the hands on my bare rump, Father. So help me, I looked in the mirrored headboard and could see my image. We were all alone. There were no hands on me at all. That I could see, at least. Nicole’s hands were holding my face. We were all alone in that room.”
A thick silence fell over the office and Father Maskey did not speak immediately. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “You do need help. Both of you.”
“I hope you don’t mean that in the way the others meant?” Myles said.
“No. They were only concerned with the surface of your beings. The problem you two have is something entirely different. At least, I have to say it sounds like it’s ext
raordinary from what you’ve told me. However, I can only do so much.”
Both their faces fell.
“What do you mean, Father?” she whispered.
“Right now, it’s just your word. There has to be an investigation, of course. Someone will have to visit your apartment and witness some of the phenomena that you’ve described.”
“But what if nothing happens while you’re there?” Nicole asked.
“I didn’t say I’d come to your apartment.” Maskey peered at them.
“Who, then, Father?” Myles asked.
“Let’s slow down a bit. Let me tell you how these things are handled normally.”
A sense of disappointment visibly crossed both their faces and Father Maskey smiled. “This won’t take forever. Still, it doesn’t hurt to know and learn something. Especially in cases such as yours.”
Their looks of unhappiness turned to expressions of puzzlement.
“What do you mean by ‘cases such as ours’?” Myles asked, sitting forward. “Do you mean that what’s happening to us is not that uncommon or even happens frequently?”
“Suppose I take it one step at a time. If you have a question, jump in.”
Myles and Nicole nodded.
“Very well, then,” Father Maskey said. “First of all, try to forget everything that you’ve ever heard about or read about such things as possession. Most of them are not all that accurate, and writers and novelists as such usually take artistic liberties in dealing with the devil.”
Myles shrugged, smiling benignly.
“There are a couple of novels on the market that were obviously well researched, but I don’t think that a person’s imagination can capture on paper the full fury and general horror that is involved when one deals with the forces of absolute evil.”
“Have you been involved in anything like the novel The Exorcist told about, Father?” Myles asked quietly.
Father Maskey shook his head. “I’m not an exorcist, as such. There was a time in the past when all priests were considered exorcists but one of the results of Vatican II was the removal of several of the minor orders, one of which was the order of exorcism. When the priest blessed the congregation, it was a form of exorcism. But today, there are those priests who are designated as exorcists and they handle any and all cases of bona fide possession.”