by Pandora Pine
“I’m glad you finally realize this really is all about me.” Tennyson’s face pulled into a smirk that made him almost unrecognizable.
“What happens when you kill everyone on your list?” Greeley asked.
“Jesus Christ, kid,” Truman muttered.
The lights in the room blinked three times but stayed on.
“Your parlor tricks don’t scare me, Jacobson. I fought you and survived three times.” Greeley waggled his eyebrows. “Father, Son, Holy Ghost.” He ticked them off on his fingers.
Tennyson growled.
“Impressive, Cujo. Now, answer my question. What happens when you’ve achieved your goal and we’re all dead?”
Silence.
“So, you have no plan beyond your end game?” Greeley turned to Carson. “Mark will be his last victim.”
“How do you know all of this?” Fitzgibbon asked.
“I’ve been doing more than studying for my GED finals, Dad. I’ve been researching demon possession.” Greeley kept his focus on Tennyson. On Jacobson.
“Of course you have,” Fitzgibbon said, sounding like he didn’t know if he should laugh or be proud of his son’s initiative.
“At least he’s not on Tinder.” Ronan did laugh.
Greeley grinned at Ronan before turning back to Tennyson. “Jacobson will take over more and more of Mark’s personality and soul until there’s nothing left of him and he’s in complete control. After he accomplishes his end game and we’re all dead, he’ll kill the vessel and move on.”
“Charming,” Truman muttered.
“What about ending this now and just crossing over?” Greeley asked. “Don’t you have people over there waiting for you?”
Jacobson laughed. It sounded hollow and mirthless coming out of Tennyson’s mouth.
“There’s nothing left for you here, Jacobson,” Carson said.
“I’ll have my revenge. That’s all I need,” Jacobson snarled.
“Jace was never meant to be yours. He was always meant to be mine,” Fitzgibbon said softly. “Even if his father’s donation to the shelter hadn’t kept him in the closet. Jace was my destiny.”
Jacobson snorted. “You keep telling yourself that, asshole. If my aim had only been an inch more to the left. It would be you talking to your friends like this and I would have had my revenge. After I killed you, I would have killed Ronan and then his precious psychic. After that, there would have been no one to stop me from hunting down and killing Jace Lincoln.”
“Think again, motherfucker!” Carson said and started to laugh. “Cap, who the hell is Redmond O’Keefe?”
Kevin’s eyes widened in obvious shock. “That’s not funny, Carson.”
“I’m not joking,” Carson said. “He’s standing next to you and he’s wearing a BPD uniform.”
“Red is here?” Fitzgibbon paled as he sank down onto Truman’s bed.
Carson nodded. “He says he pushed you at the last second that night at the Beach Inn.”
“Red saved my life?” Fitzgibbon sounded as stunned as he looked.
“You bet your boots I did!” Carson recited and laughed again. “I like him!”
“I can’t wait to hear all about him, Dad.” Greeley turned around to face his father. “Thank you for saving him, Red.” Greeley’s green eyes were swimming in tears.
“Cry me a fucking river, kid. He might have saved your father once, but he won’t be able to do it again.”
Greeley turned back to Tennyson. His eyes were glittering with hatred now. “Listen to me, you son-of-a-bitch. Make all the threats you want, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing. You’re a fucking ghost. Without Mark Abruzzi to obey your every command, you’re powerless. We’re going to stop you, Jacobson. You’re not going to hurt another person if I have to kill Mark myself. Do you fucking hear me?”
Jacobson laughed. “You’ll be the first to die, boy, and I’ll dance in your blood.” Tennyson opened his mouth but before he could speak again, Jacobson screamed.
Ronan had managed to squirt Tennyson with the bottle of holy water.
Tennyson coughed hard and gagged a few times. “Okay, Ronan! You can stop now. It’s me!” Tennyson stood up and shook himself off like a wet dog.
“Christ, are you okay, Tennyson?” Carson went to him, grabbing his shoulders and looking into his eyes as if he were making sure Jacobson was really gone.
Ten shook his head. “Gonna be sick.” He ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the bowl. He was vomiting up thick, black ooze. Whatever the hell it was, it in no way resembled the eggs and pancakes he had for breakfast.
“I’ve got you, man,” Carson soothed from behind him. “Sick it up.”
Tennyson kept hurling. There was no way he had this much in his stomach to throw up, but he listened to his body’s urgings and kept vomiting.
When his stomach was finally empty, he hit the flush valve and fell back on the floor. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” Carson agreed, joining him on the floor.
“What are you saying?” Tennyson wiped the back of his hand against his lips.
“It was Ronan with the holy water that got Jacobson out of you. I stayed out there for a few extra minutes to make sure his spirit was gone. It is, by the way. I think the Holy Spirit in the water saved you.”
Carson was probably right. He’d been having a tough time fighting off Jacobson’s spirit. “What are we going to do. Jacobson’s not going to stop until we’re all dead.”
Carson frowned. “I’m no expert here, but the boy needs an exorcism.”
Ten raised an eyebrow. “A real-life exorcism?”
Carson nodded. “Greeley wasn’t the only one doing research about possession. Jacobson can kill Mark. His spirit is like a parasite that eventually kills its host. If we have any hope of saving Mark Abruzzi or his soul, we have to get Jacobson out of him.”
“Where the hell are we gonna find a priest to do that? I doubt we can look up ‘Exorcist’ in the phonebook.”
“Ronan’s a Catholic schoolboy. Wanna bet he knows a priest or two?” Carson snorted.
Tennyson couldn’t help himself, he started to laugh too.
41
Ronan
Ronan hated to say it, but he was glad to see Truman go home. He was glad that his best friend was well enough to be discharged from the hospital, but if he ever had to spend another night sharing a room with the man, it would be too soon.
He’d been comforted by having an ally spending the night in the same room with him, but after listening to Truman snore for a few minutes, he’d been ready to sign himself out of the hospital against medical advice. Ronan couldn’t help thinking he would have gotten more sleep in one of the hard-plastic chairs down in the ER waiting room. Now, Truman’s little family of five would be spending the night at home together.
Looking forward to having the night completely to himself, Ronan had the evening completely planned out. Dinner would be arriving around 5pm. He found that his appetite was slowly returning. Tonight’s meal included a bowl of chicken soup and some rolls. For dessert, some chocolate pudding. After dinner, he planned on watching a marathon of Criminal Minds. It was the one show he could watch that was guaranteed not to make him laugh. His chest still ached when he laughed or breathed too hard. The television show would help take his mind off how creepy it had been to hear Rod Jacobson’s voice coming out of Tennyson’s mouth.
Tennyson had been exhausted after channeling the spirit of Rod Jacobson and had gone home to have an early dinner and call it a night. Fitzgibbon had taken Greeley out for dinner. He knew the teenager would call him later. Ever since he’d been moved to a regular room with a phone, Greeley had been calling him every night.
Ronan couldn’t help thinking what an amazing young man Greeley Fitzgibbon was turning out to be. The boy’s foster parents had kicked him out of their home when the boy had come out to them. Even after all of the struggles he’d been through, Greeley was still determined to
live his best life. Thanks to Fitzgibbon, he was getting a second chance.
How did one boy take that incredible second chance and run with it, while Mark pissed his second chance into the wind? Both young men had gone through a similar set of circumstances at home. Both boys had survived by selling themselves on the streets of Boston, but when they’d both been rescued, Greeley held on to that lifeline with both hands, while Mark turned toward the dark side, so to speak.
Ronan would never understand Mark’s choice to ally himself with Rod Jacobson, in life or in death, but he still felt for the boy. Demon possession was a serious thing, not just the subject of blockbuster movies and best-selling novels. Not only could Jacobson’s evil spirit kill Mark, it could also destroy his soul.
Settling back against his pillows, Ronan took a deep breath. The right side of his chest burned, but not as much as it did yesterday. He was getting better, but not fast enough to suit his own tastes. He knew Fitzgibbon was going to be back out there in the morning with Tennyson, searching for Mark Abruzzi, when he should be the one doing that.
“Sir, you’re not on the list. I can’t allow you into Detective O’Mara’s room!” came the officer on guard’s voice from the hospital room door.
“Who is it, Daniels?” Ronan called out. So far, no one who wasn’t on the approved list had tried to get in to see him. He was curious as to who was trying to get in now.
“It’s me, Ro,” Tony Abruzzi said.
Interesting… “Frisk him, then let him in, Daniels.” It killed Ronan having to ask another officer to frisk his best friend and fellow member of the Boston Police Department, but with Rod Jacobson’s ghost on the loose, he wasn’t taking any chances.
A few moments later, Tony walked into the room, looking like something the cat dragged in. He held his hand out to Ronan, but seeming to realize what he was doing, let it drop to his side.
“You look worse than I do and I’m the one who got shot.” It was Ronan’s first defense mechanism to crack jokes at his own expense, but he was well aware of the fact that Tony’s adopted son was the reason he was sitting in this hospital bed healing from three gunshot wounds.
“I haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours.” Tony took a seat in the chair next to Ronan’s bed.
It was on the tip of Ronan’s tongue to say, “ditto,” but based on the serious look on Tony’s face, he bit his tongue. “What’s on your mind?” There was obviously something that brought Tony from Arlington all the way out to Salem to see him.
“Are Truman and Greeley okay?” Tony tangled his fingers together as he fidgeted in his seat.
Ronan nodded. “Greeley has a broken wrist and Truman’s getting over a concussion. They’ll be fine.”
“Good. That’s good.” Tony leaned forward in his seat. He cleared his throat and looked around the room, everywhere but at Ronan.
It was obvious to Ronan that his former partner was struggling with what he came here to say. “Spit it out, Tony.”
Tony looked up at Ronan. “Mark called me last night from some fleabag motel in Lynn. He had no recollection of the attacks on Greeley or Truman and had no idea how he got from your house in Salem to the motel six miles away.”
Ronan was silent. He was mulling over everything Tony had just said. If Mark Abruzzi had been arrested by the Lynn PD, Fitzgibbon would have been made aware of the arrest and Kevin most definitely would have called him. That led Ronan to believe Tony had not turned in his son. “Where is he, Tony?”
“You have to understand that he’s my son, Ronan.” Tony’s eyes pleaded with Ronan to hear him out.
Ronan’s Irish temper wanted to burst out of him like fire from an enraged dragon, but he held the fury inside of him. They had a lot of years of friendship between them and it had been Tony holding pressure on Ronan’s wound when Manuel Garcia had shot him last summer. He took a deep breath to keep his composure. “Mark killed two teenagers with promising futures ahead of them. He shot me three times, then he attacked Greeley and Truman, Tony. I understand that you’re protecting him because he’s your son, but there’s something bigger at play here.”
Tony barked out a bitter laugh. “What’s that, Ro? Justice? You gonna sit here and lecture me about an eye for an eye?”
Ronan knew the strength of Tony’s Catholic faith. How the hell could he be so blind to what was going on. “Rod Jacobson’s spirit is influencing your son and he’s moving toward full possession. Jacobson’s using Mark because he’s weak-willed and in desperate need of love and acceptance. He had a crush on Jacobson in life that has turned into full-blown obsession, which made him an easy target.”
Tony’s mouth hung open. “You actually believe that shit? Demon possession? Exorcism? Damn, Ro, that was just boogieman stuff the priests used to keep us in line and behaving back in school. You’re spending too much time with Tennyson and his whack-job friends.”
Ronan sighed. Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt. Tony wasn’t merely swimming in it. He was about to drown. “Did you ask Mark what happened the night he shot me?”
Tony shook his head and got out of his seat. “I didn’t come here to be interrogated, Ronan.”
Ronan almost asked why Tony did come here, but getting his friend more wound up wasn’t going to help him get to the heart of the matter any faster. Anyway, Ronan knew why his friend was here. Tony needed to confess and Ronan was his confessor of choice. “Let me guess, he can’t remember it all, right? He can only remember coming to Salem and then what happened after the shots were fired.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Tony looked stunned.
“Because Mark didn’t shoot me. Jacobson did.” Ronan drew on every last shred of patience he had left. “Sit down and listen,” Ronan commanded. When Tony finally obeyed, Ronan continued, “Mark was at my house that day. We spoke for a few minutes and when I turned to go into the house, he grabbed me and pulled me off the stairs.”
Tony looked askance. “That’s not possible. The only way Mark could move you was with a forklift.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Ronan could hear the frustration in his voice. He tried to dial it back so Tony would hear his words and not the emotion behind them. “It wasn’t Mark. It was Jacobson taking over his body. When he spoke to me again, his voice was different and he said things to me that only Jacobson would know.” Ronan stopped speaking to let his words sink in.
“You’re serious about Mark being possessed?” Tony finally seemed to be listening to Ronan.
“Yes, I’m serious. We used the lock of hair Tennyson found in Mark’s room to lure Jacobson’s spirit here earlier today. Jacobson admitted to us that his end game was to kill me, Ten, Greeley, Fitzgibbon, and Jace Lincoln. He’s also going to kill Mark.”
Tony’s mouth dropped open. “How is that possible? He’s a ghost. How can the dead kill the living?”
“He’s a parasite, Tony. He’s leeching Mark’s life force away from him. He’ll drain your boy dry like Dracula. When Jacobson’s done with him, he’ll leave that body and go on to another.” Ronan paused for effect. “Unless we can stop him.”
“How? How do we help my son and stop a fucking ghost? Do you have any idea how ridiculous I feel even saying those words out loud?” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Where’s Mark, Tony?” Ronan was done playing games here. By hiding his son, Tony wasn’t being a good father, he was committing a crime.
Tony sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I’ve got him checked into a hotel under a fake name.”
Ronan felt his temper threatening to explode again. He took a breath and tried to keep it at bay. “Jesus Christ, he’s got a warrant out for his arrest and you’re a member of law enforcement. You’re aiding and abetting, not to mention harboring a fugitive. They could take your shield over this.”
“I’m not a cop right now, Ronan. I’m a father.” Tony sounded desperate. “If what you’re saying about Jacobson is really true and not some di
me novel bullshit, then his mortal soul is in danger. Cops and judges aren’t going to understand that he killed two kids and tried to kill a cop because he was possessed by the demonic spirit of a serial killer bent on revenge. They’ll stick him in a cell and throw away the key, or worse, they’ll put him in a mental institution and dope him up on anti-psychotics.”
Ronan knew Tony was right.
“My son needs help. How do I help him?” Tony pleaded. Unshed tears glittered in his eyes.
Ronan sighed. He knew that just by suggesting this he could be brought up on charges as well. Mark’s soul was worth anything the brass at BPD could do to him as punishment. “We need to get Jacobson away from Mark for good.”
“You mean he needs the Rite of Exorcism. A real honest to goodness exorcism.” Tony seemed to deflate right in front of him.
“Jacobson admitted that he’s not going to leave Mark until his revenge is complete. There’s no other way.” Ronan felt the tightness in his chest ease a bit. At least Tony understood how serious the situation was now.
“Do you know a priest who can perform the rite? It’s not like I can go to our parish priest and ask for this kind of thing.” Tony shook his head. He ran a shaking hand over his unshaved face.
“I know a kid from Catholic school who grew up to be a priest. He serves at Saint Christopher’s down in Duxbury. Father Francis O’Callaghan. I can call him in the morning.”
“Thank you, Ronan. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Tony. The minute it’s done, the second Father O’Callaghan says the last word of the last prayer, you’re turning him in to the police. Got it?”
Tony’s head fell. He nodded once, briefly. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
Ronan laid back against his pillows. He’d only spoken to little Frankie O’Callaghan twice since they’d graduated from high school. Once was at their ten-year reunion and the next time was a week after that when they’d met for a drink at a local Irish pub. That was when Frank had accidentally spilled the beans about the seminar he was attending at the Vatican.