* * *
Cara checked her phone when she got back from her walk with Garren and was disappointed to see she’d missed a text from David:
My dad and I had an early dinner. Call me whenever you’re done celebrating. Miss you.
She dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, in a whisper.
“My dad’s sleeping in the next room and the walls are thin. Sorry I have to be so quiet.”
Even hearing a trace of his voice caused her chest to swell with warmth.
“Sorry I missed your text. How was your Thanksgiving?”
“It’s always tough without my mom, but my dad’s glad to have me here.”
“It’s good that you’re spending time with your dad. I’m sure that would make your mom happy.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” She was glad to hear a smile in his voice.
“I can’t wait to see you.”
“I’ll only be gone for the weekend. And I’ll call you again tomorrow.” His last words were slightly louder. “I can’t tell you how much I miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
* * *
Friday morning, Cara sat on her bed staring at her cell phone, rehearsing what she’d say to Ms. Clark. Finally, she dialed her cell number.
“Cara?” Ms. Clark answered, surprised to hear from her.
“Hi, Ms. Clark. Hope you had a happy Thanksgiving. How’s Rachel?”
Ms. Clark sighed. “Thanks, sweetie. Rachel’s still not herself. Spends all her time with Ethan.” Resignation sounded in her tone.
“I’m hoping you won’t mind if I come over with a couple of friends for an … intervention? We’ll say some prayers, do a blessing?”
Ms. Clark’s tone sounded more upbeat. “What a sweet idea. I’m not sure Rachel will react well to it. But I’ll try to make sure she’s here when you come.”
“Does this Sunday work? Later in the afternoon, when you’re home from church, maybe?”
“Yes. Let’s pray it will help.”
* * *
Cara pulled up to the Clarks’ bungalow Sunday afternoon and parked behind Rachel’s Corolla. Garren stood next to his truck, accompanied by a man wearing a purple religious robe who held a small, brown, leather-bound book to his chest. As Cara got out of her car and approached them, she saw that the man had a light dusting of silver in his short, dark hair. So he was likely older than he first appeared.
Garren gestured to the distinguished-looking man. “Cara, this is Archbishop Egan. Archbishop Egan, Cara Markwell.”
Cara couldn’t fathom how Garren got an archbishop to come to Rachel’s house. Maybe this was part of the job description, but it seemed like it should be a lot more difficult to enlist the in-home help of such a high-ranking clergyman.
“You made the right choice to seek help for your friend, Cara,” the archbishop told her with a slight bow of his head.
We’ll see, she thought, before she said, “Thanks for coming.”
She led Garren and the archbishop to the front porch and rang the bell.
Ms. Clark’s jaw dropped when she opened the door and saw the archbishop.
“We’re here to offer a blessing for Rachel,” the archbishop said with a gentle smile.
Ms. Clark’s look of open-mouthed shock faded at the word blessing.
“Thanks for letting us come,” Cara said, and placed a hand on Garren’s arm. “This is Garren. He’s a friend from school.”
Ms. Clark nodded, put a finger to her lips to warn them to keep quiet, and let them in. They followed her down the hall toward Rachel’s room. Their procession reminded Cara of a convoy heading to an execution.
Ms. Clark opened the door to Rachel’s room. Sitting up in bed, Rachel stared at her vanity. She briefly glanced at the archbishop.
Then she looked at Garren, and her eyes glinted like black onyx. “What is he doing here?”
The voice wasn’t Rachel’s. It reminded Cara of how Amber’s voice had sounded low and guttural when she’d issued a warning to “get out” at her occult party. Cara gripped Garren’s arm and stepped behind him. Garren didn’t say anything, but laid a hand over Cara’s.
“Don’t talk to the demon,” Archbishop Egan said, tucking the book he held in his robe pocket. “It will only deceive.”
He lifted one end of the stole that hung around his neck and moved toward Rachel, whose face tightened. Her lips pressed together.
“Ecce crucem Domini,” the archbishop said as he made the sign of the cross over Rachel, then himself, Ms. Clark, and Cara and Garren. Touching the printed cross on the edge of his stole to Rachel’s neck, he placed his other hand on his head.
Cara couldn’t believe Rachel was letting the archbishop touch her. But Rachel seemed almost paralyzed by his actions. Her body went rigid and her eyes grew wide.
The archbishop dropped the stole and fetched a bottle of yellow oil from his pocket. He uncorked it, shook some onto his finger, and made the sign of the cross on Rachel’s forehead. She hissed at him.
“Sit nominis ti signo famulus tuus munitus,” the archbishop said, then exchanged the oil for the book in his pocket. He opened it and continued to speak in the same unfamiliar language Cara assumed was Latin.
Ms. Clark stood on the side of Rachel’s bed, wringing her hands.
Cara remained behind Garren and squeezed his arm. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help?”
“We can pray, if you want.”
“Out loud?”
“Yes.”
“What should we say?”
“We can say a deliverance prayer. Repeat after me.”
“Lord, we pray that you bind the spirits, powers, and forces of darkness, the netherworld, and the evil forces of nature. Take authority over all the curses, hexes, demonic activity, and spells at work here and break them.”
Each word from both Archbishop Egan’s and Garren’s mouths resonated loudly, clearly, and deliberately. Cara’s words sounded weaker, but she didn’t stop, even when Rachel’s head whipped from side to side as if she, or the demon, was saying “NO.”
“What is your name, demon?” the archbishop asked, in English now. He drew near Rachel again and Cara thought for a second he might kiss her. Instead, he blew air in her face.
Rachel’s head stilled and it looked as though her lips were in a battle over whether to remain open or closed. Through her clenched teeth came the name “Succ—or—ben—oth.”
After finishing their current recitation of the deliverance prayer, Cara and Garren stopped praying. Cara shuddered to think that not only did a demon possess her friend, but it also had a name.
“The demon of jealousy,” Garren whispered in Cara’s ear.
She couldn’t bring herself to feel surprised that Garren knew about the demon.
The chilling voice, more menacing now, burst forth from Rachel. “We’ll still get her.”
A wave of revulsion passed over Cara. She didn’t understand why, but she was sure Rachel’s eyes fell on her when the demon finished its last statement. Cara clung tightly to Garren’s arm.
The archbishop resumed speaking in Latin. Rachel heaved. A gush of white, pasty liquid, dotted with clumps of what looked like small bunches of leaves, poured from her mouth and splashed onto her comforter. A wide, wicked grin, like the one Cara had seen on Amber at the occult party, spread across Rachel’s face. She broke out in a fit of manic laughter before her black eyes turned back to a more normal, milk chocolate color.
Vomit dribbled down Rachel’s chin and the laughter subsided. Rachel yawned, her mouth stretched open wide, and she exhaled heavily. Her eyes closed and she fell down on her side on the bed. She remained unmoving, apparently asleep.
Ms. Clark sat on the bed beside Rachel and wiped Rachel’s face with a tissue. Her voice cracked as she asked the archbishop, “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes,” Archbishop Egan said, closing the book in his hands. “Sleeping is common after a demon leaves.”
Cara
moved to the archbishop’s side. “What did the demon mean when it said, ‘We’ll still get her’?” she asked him.
“Most likely that it will come back, and bring others with it, if Rachel isn’t prayerful and doesn’t stay away from sorcery,” the archbishop said, to both Cara and Ms. Clark.
Ms. Clark looked at Rachel, who slept peacefully on her bed, then at the archbishop. “I need to talk to you about helping another person Rachel’s close to, who I’m certain is also possessed. But I’ll do everything I can to make sure Rachel stays away from the occult activities she’s been involved with.”
The archbishop put a hand on Ms. Clark’s shoulder. “I have faith Rachel will do what she needs to in order to avoid another, probably worse, attack.”
Cara prayed fervently for that same faith.
Ms. Clark ushered everyone out of Rachel’s room and thanked them for coming. When Ms. Clark asked the archbishop to follow her to the living room, Garren nodded to him and followed Cara, who stumbled down the hall and out the door. Outside, Garren stopped next to her Fit.
“I cannot believe what just happened,” she said, stopping to face Garren and finding comfort in his complete calmness. “How did you get an archbishop to come perform an exorcism?”
“I called him. He’s a servant of God.”
Garren’s words sounded so reverent that Cara wondered if maybe he was considering training to be a priest, if that might be the ever-elusive reason he didn’t seem attracted to anyone.
“You know so much about all this,” she said. “Are you planning to become a priest?”
“No. But I’m always ready to help in the battle against evil.”
And now he sounded like a superhero.
“Do you really believe the exorcism and our prayers worked to help Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have faith, like the archbishop, that Rachel will be able to avoid another demonic attack?”
“I hope she will. She’ll know what to avoid now. It’s certainly something to pray about.”
Prayer. How strange that something she’d never thought about much before, but had been doing a lot more of lately, could be so powerful.
THIRTY-ONE
Cara drove home after Rachel’s exorcism, still in a state of shock. Her mind refused to accept what had just happened, though she couldn’t deny that Garren had been right, as usual. Through her windshield, the sun winked at her as it sunk lower in the sky.
The cleansing, soothing spray of a hot shower was the best therapy she could think of. She parked on the street and gripped the wheel while she struggled to understand what had just happened. Rachel’s demon had been banished and couldn’t cause any more harm, she kept reminding herself. So there was no reason to be frightened. She hoped.
An eerie silence and a gloomy gray filled the interior of the house. Cara shook off the discomfort that fell over her like a cloak.
Her mom was probably still at the outlet mall taking advantage of the after-holiday sales. Cara flipped on every light she passed as she made her way upstairs to the main bathroom. Her cell phone didn’t show any new activity. She frowned, wishing she could hear the comforting sound of David’s voice.
In the bathroom, she turned on the showerhead, undressed, and stepped under the hot spray. Her mind numbed as she concentrated on the water massaging her skin and pattering against the shower floor. Shampooing her hair and lathering her body with soap, she let the water pound her until her tightly wound muscles relaxed.
Feeling as clean and calm as possible, considering what she’d witnessed, she stepped out of the stall and wrapped up in a towel. The house remained silent. She moved slowly down the hall and opened her bedroom door. Something caused her to hold back. A heaviness hung in the air, as if the space had been violated not long ago.
She scanned the room’s interior. The photo of her and David at the Anchor was missing from her nightstand. The hairs on her forearms stood straight up, like hackles on a cat’s back.
Tightening the towel around her body, she entered her room. She crept over to her nightstand and opened the drawer. David’s photo from her new teacher feature stared up at her. But the photo of her and David at the Anchor wasn’t there.
Her eyes were drawn to the flowers in the vase on her desk. The roses sagged and were brown and shriveled. Beside them, crumpled in a similar state of decay, was the rose in the corsage Garren had given her. She shut her nightstand drawer and sucked in a quick breath.
The roses had been as fresh as ever this morning. And they weren’t just dying, either. They looked bone-dry dead. She walked over and touched one. It crumbled to dust on her desk.
Next to the rose dust lay a small sachet. She didn’t want to touch it, but curiosity took over, so she picked it up with the tips of her fingers and twirled it. Fine black powder bulged behind a thin, translucent casing. Black thread sealed the contents. She sniffed at it. Burnt paper and sulfur created a nauseating scent, combined with a sweet floral smell she recognized as jasmine.
The sulfur reminded her of what she’d come to think of as the sorcery house. Amber had to be responsible. Somehow the witch had broken into her home.
Fury filled her as she thrust her limbs into a top and jeans and jammed her feet into her sneakers. She shoved the sachet in her pocket, grabbed her keys, and stomped off to her car.
Firing up the Fit’s engine, she recalled her promises to stay away from Amber. She’d fully intended to keep them. But as far as she was concerned, they were no longer valid after this break-in.
If Amber thought Cara was going to play the coward, she was wrong. This had gone too far. The harassment had to stop.
Amber might not live at the sorcery house, but Cara would bet that she did. She drove in that direction, and sure enough, when she passed by, the Jetta sat parked outside. Her heart thumped hard and fast at the sight of the car.
The sky had shifted from a rich blue to a deep black. The house’s curtains were drawn shut. Light only shone through the south-side window. It was steady, like an overhead.
Swigging on a diet soda, Cara tried to suppress the fear churning in her belly. Her discomfort only increased with the bubbles. She’d lost all the courage she drummed up on the drive over as soon as she laid eyes on the Jetta. Still, she refused to go home like a weakling.
She parked her Fit a few blocks away and snuck over to hide in the neighbor’s bushes. The path to Amber’s lit side window was straight and no one appeared to be looking out from inside any nearby houses. Cara hunched over as she ran toward the window. Then she stood with her back against the house’s siding. Her heart hammered so hard, she imagined Amber would hear it from inside and discover her.
The curtains obscured the side view into the house, but there was a gap where the two curtains met that she might be able to see through. She crouched underneath the window frame. Several slow, full breaths failed to settle her nerves.
Giving up on her efforts to calm herself, she lifted her head to peer through the slit in the curtains. The view of the inside was clearer than she expected. She leaned closer to the window for a better look, but ducked every few seconds, expecting Amber’s face to pop up on the other side of the window at any moment.
Against the far wall of what Cara remembered as the game room, figurines had been placed at the back of a small table, a depiction of a naked man with horns on the left side, a naked woman on the right. Between the figurines sat a tall, fat, white candle. In the center of the table was a silver-toned ball covered with holes with a chain dangling from the top. On either side of the ball were two shorter, wide, red candles.
Taller taper candles were set in holders in front of the red candles. The candle on the left was gold, the one on the right was black. White block letters ran up the sides of these candles and a photograph rested against each one. The images came from the picture missing from Cara’s room. Amber had torn it in two and covered Cara’s eyes with red Xs and David’s with red hearts. One candle re
ad: CARA, the other: DAVID.
Cara slowly backed away from the window.
Amber’s voice sounded in her left ear. “It was easier than I expected to lure you here.” The witch whispered her words.
Cara whipped around and looked directly into Amber’s beautiful, wicked face. Every nerve in her body zinged to life. Her back flattened against the house.
The only direction she could move to get away was sideways. She tried to slide toward the house’s edge. As she moved, the rough wooden siding snagged her shirt and cut the skin on her back.
Amber cocked her head to the side. “I have something for you.” She held up an envelope, as if wielding a weapon.
Cara stopped her sideways squirming. Whatever it was Amber had to offer—something like a note, by the looks of it—Cara would be glad to take it and flee. She prayed this could end that simply.
Even in the dark, she saw the witch’s blue eyes blacken. The potent odor of vanilla, oranges, and cloves, along with an undercurrent of sulfur, gusted up Cara’s nostrils, disorienting her.
In the next instant, Garren’s silhouette appeared over Amber’s shoulder. Cara drew in a shocked breath.
Garren’s tone was firm. “Go, Cara.”
At the sound of Garren’s voice, Amber’s black, rock-hard eyes widened.
Cara didn’t need to be told to leave. Everything in her warned her to run fast and far away. But even if Amber hadn’t been blocking her, she felt glued to the house.
Amber clutched the envelope she held to her chest and spun around to face Garren. He jerked his head to the side, encouraging Cara to run around the witch. Cara’s invisible bonds broke and she bolted past Amber and fled down the street.
Cara looked back as long as she could without fear of tripping. Garren turned and ran in her direction. She didn’t wait for him. By the time she reached her car, her breath came in ragged bursts.
Garren made it to her side and patted her back. “You’ll be all right.”
She gulped in breaths of air and nodded. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I saw you leaving your house and followed you.”
She wondered for a second if maybe he was a stalker after all. At the moment she didn’t really care. She had a feeling he’d saved her from something much worse.
Save Me Page 18