The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1)

by Duncan, Lex

  The First Sacrament

  BY LEX DUNCAN

  The Demons of Stone Chapel – Book One

  The First Sacrament by Lex Duncan

  © 2016 Lex Duncan

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Cover by Lex Duncan.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Visit Lex at:

  https://lexduncanwrites.wordpress.com/

  http://lexduncan.tumblr.com/

  https://twitter.com/lexduncan

  Find more Stone Chapel at:

  http://stonechapelbooks.tumblr.com/

  Thank you for reading!

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Extras

  “THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:

  Through me you pass into eternal pain:

  Through me among the people lost for aye.

  Justice the founder of my fabric moved:

  To rear me was the task of Power divine,

  Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.

  Before me things create were none, save things

  Eternal, and eternal I endure.

  All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

  ― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

  One

  Here's the thing about demons: They don't discriminate. They don't care if you're young or old, rich or poor. They don't care if you have kids, they don't care if you're married. They only care about your soul. Corrupting it, twisting it, ripping it to pieces until there's nothing left but a body. Possession is a fate worse than death and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

  Except for maybe Jason Clark.

  He's had it out for me since the seventh grade when I refused to kiss him in Samantha Henderson's bedroom closet during her birthday party. Seventh grade me was disgusted by the prospect, so when he leaned toward me, I scowled and shoved him into the wall. He yelled, the other kids laughed, and I left the party five minutes later.

  Nowadays, Jason exacted his revenge by calling me unpleasant names every time he saw me, telling people that I lost my virginity to a thirty year old drug dealer, flipping me off in the parking lot. Juvenile stuff like that. Most of the time, I ignored him. I was used to his bullying. Today was different.

  Today, he made the mistake of mentioning Rosie.

  I corrected it by punching him in the jaw.

  Headmaster Vance wasn't pleased. He sat across from me in his high-backed chair, bushy brows knitted together to create a caterpillar of hair above his glasses. He had that look on his face. Pinched mouth, wrinkled forehead. That look that said he was questioning his profession of choice. He leaned forward, hands folded atop his desk.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. Todd?” He asked.

  I shrugged. If he was expecting me to apologize for what I did, he had another thing coming. I wasn't sorry. I’d punch Jason Clark all over again and I’d enjoy the hell out of it.

  “This is the fourth time in only one month you've been called to my office.” He took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes. “Do I need to contact Mother Arden on your behalf?”

  My bravado ebbed a bit at the mention of my old guardian. Mother Arden was the last person who needed to hear about this. “No,” I said, frowning so hard that my face actually started to hurt. “You don't.”

  The chair groaned as he sat back. “Now, I understand that you and Mr. Clark have your differences―”

  I scoffed. Differences.

  “―But I cannot and will not tolerate any more of these outbursts. If you were anyone else, I would have expelled you by now, but due to your special circumstances―”

  “How come you never pull Jason in here, huh?” I was sick of hearing about my special circumstances. My special circumstances sucked. “He never gets in trouble for the shi―crap he does, but if I even put one toe out of line, it's straight to the office. It's not fair!”

  Vance didn't even skip a beat. We'd clearly been spending way too much time together lately. “Mr. Clark gets reprimanded just as you do, but you know as well as I do that I have a responsibility to Mother Arden to ensure―”

  “―That I'm getting a proper education.” I'd heard this spiel so many times that I could recite it in my sleep. “I know.”

  “Then why, Ms. Todd, do you insist on acting out?” He asked. Like I was doing it on purpose.

  “I wasn't acting out,” I said. “Jason said some stupid shi―crap about Rosie, so...”

  “You hit him.”

  “Pretty much. Yeah.”

  We stared at each other like a couple of cowboys in a duel. I held my breath, awaiting his first shot. The clock above his head ticked loudly. Five minutes until 3. Almost time to go home.

  Finally, Headmaster Vance spoke.

  “You'll have a week's detention, Ms. Todd. After school, starting Monday.”

  I slumped in my seat. It wasn't a bad sentence, but “after school detention” was usually code for “take this toothbrush and scrub the toilets for two hours.”

  “You'll be assisting Ms. Hayworth in the library. Moving books around and such. From what I understand, she's decided to rearrange the shelving order so students may better find the materials they need for their papers, projects, what have you.” His pepper colored mustache wriggled as he smiled. “Do you accept?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Helping Ms. Hayworth wouldn't be so bad, but I liked weighing my options. Just in case.

  “Would you prefer to scrub toilets instead?”

  So much for that negotiation. “Uh, no.”

  He opened a drawer and withdrew a pad of detention slips. “It's settled, then,” he said, scribbling my name, my task, and my wrongdoing onto the top slip. “I'm sure the two of you will get along splendidly.”

  I mumbled something that would have gotten me into even more trouble if he heard it—something involving a certain F word—and got to my feet. “Can I go now?”

  “Of course,” the bell rang as he handed me the slip. “Have a lovely weekend, Ms. Todd.”

  ***

  After grabbing my backpack out of my locker, I ran downstairs to catch the bus. Getting there early was essential. The school was too poor for its own service, so those of us who didn't have parents to buy them a Mercedes had to make full use of public transportation if we wanted to get anywhere in this city.

  There were only a few people onboard when I got there. Paying my fare, I we
nt to take my usual seat in the back. A steady stream of students and a few random people off the street followed suit and it wasn't long until the bus reached near maximum capacity. The doors closed, then with a lurch and a hiss, we were off.

  I spent most of the ride staring out the window. Enjoying the “scenery.” Or lack thereof. We passed the same buildings I saw every day. The same billboards, advertising phony exorcisms and Cromwell brand iron pills. The same narrow streets, cobblestone alleyways, wrought-iron gas lamps calling to mind simpler, more Victorian times. Rising above it all was the church, sharp spires soaring high into a blanket of gray clouds. No matter where you went in the city, you could always see it, reaching for the heavens as though it aspired to something greater than what the rest of the city condemned itself to.

  The church was Stone Chapel’s crown jewel, the focal point around which everything else developed. Tourists loved it. When I looked at it, however, I just got flashbacks of being dragged to Mass every Sunday. The nuns never let me skip.

  I got off the bus at the intersection of Elm and Ashmore, three blocks from my apartment. It wasn’t a bad day for a walk as far as the rain was concerned, though there were puddles in the potholes from last night’s storm.

  As I rounded the corner to my building, I noticed a blonde lady lurking on the stoop. Well, not really lurking. Just standing there with what looked like pamphlets in her hand. I really hoped she wasn’t from Child Protective Services. I’d met enough of those people to last me a lifetime.

  I considered ducking my head down and walking the other direction, but she flagged me over before I got the chance. “Excuse me, miss!” She said. “Do you know who lives here?”

  “Um,” I reluctantly approached the stoop. I didn't trust anyone who carried pamphlets around with them. “Yeah. Why?”

  The woman's plastic-perfect face looked like it wanted to frown, but it couldn’t quite get itself to do it. Creepy. “I'm afraid there's something blocking their mail slot.”

  That's because there was. I sealed it off with duct tape to discourage annoying people like her. There were only so many “Pray for Our Nation's Debauched Youth!” flyers I could take. Besides, no one ever used the slot unless they were hocking something. We had PO boxes. This lady clearly never heard of them.

  I climbed up the steps and slid past her, hand on the door. “Gee, that sucks. I'll let them know you stopped by.”

  “Wait!” She shuffled around to my side. I felt trapped, both by the stoop and the intensity in her blue eyes. “Don't you want a pamphlet?”

  “Not really.” I pulled at the handle. It was locked. Damn it. No one ever locked the door. “Look, lady, I just want to―”

  She held out a pamphlet and smiled until I could see every one of her teeth.. She couldn’t frown, but she could do that. Also very creepy. “Here you go, dear. You never know when you might need it. God bless.”

  I got the feeling she wouldn't leave until I took one, so I snatched the pamphlet out of her hand and waited for her to get down the street before I unlocked the door and went inside. I bounded up a narrow flight of stairs, studying the pamphlet as I went.

  That lady wasn't from social services, nor was she a Jehovah's Witness. She was from CADP. Citizens Against Demonic Possession. The pamphlet featured alarmist statements about how “the nation's youth were engaging in a deadly new drug: Voluntary Possession,” then went on to tell you how to recognize the warning signs. I'd heard of people doing it before―summoning demons in an attempt to get themselves possessed―but I didn't think it was a big enough thing to garner this much attention.

  Guess I was wrong. Big shocker there.

  Balling the pamphlet up, I climbed a second flight of stairs and took a right turn down my hallway. A dozen numbered doors, six on each wall, surrounded me. Some were silent while others burst with noise. A yelling couple, a crying baby, that guy who literally never stopped playing his stupid guitar. So much noise. All the time. I hated it when I first moved in, but I got used to it. I had to. It was here or the streets and I sure as hell wasn't sleeping on a park bench.

  My apartment was the last on the right. Number 11. I didn't hear any opera coming from 12. Mr. Zarcotti must've still been at work.

  I didn't waste any time getting inside. If you stayed in the hall for too long, you risked getting caught by our gracious landlord, Marion. He was always looking for reasons to kick people out. Didn't have to be anything serious. Loitering? Get out. Break a window? Pack your stuff. I'd done both of those things, but I managed to avoid him long enough and he eventually forgot about it.

  My apartment wasn't much. Studio, with a room the size of a closet to serve as a bathroom. The “kitchen” was merely an old refrigerator pushed up against a corner, accompanied by an even older stove, a rickety table, and a sink that didn't work half the time. I didn't have a bed, so I slept on the couch, and the rest of my possessions were either strewn across the floor or in storage tubs.

  It was a dump, but it was home.

  I deposited the pamphlet in the overflowing trashcan, threw my backpack down, and collapsed on the couch. I never knew how exhausted I was until I sat down to think about it. Too bad I didn't have time to be tired. I had homework to do, bills to pay, people to―

  Right on cue, my phone rang. And rang. And rang. And, guess what? It rang some more. Eventually, I got tired of hearing it and fished it out of the front pocket of my backpack. Rosie.

  “Hey,” I said, settling back down. “What's up?”

  A cough, followed by a wheeze. I winced.

  “Hey, Bee,” Rosie managed. “How was school?”

  “Sucked. I punched Jason Clark in the face.”

  Rosie gasped. Her voice was naturally soft, but sickness only made it softer. I had to turn the volume all the way up on my phone to hear her. “What for? What'd he do now?”

  I couldn't tell her what he said, not really. It would hurt her feelings. So I lied. Tried to, anyway. “Oh, you know. He was being stupid and I got tired of dealing with it.”

  “So you hit him?”

  Wow, she sounded just like Headmaster Vance. I couldn't catch a break. “Yes, Rose, I hit him. He deserved it.”

  “If you say so,” she replied, ever the pacifist.

  I picked at a loose thread on my school issued skirt. Which reminded me…I had laundry to do. “How are you feeling?”

  Another cough. “Okay, I guess. Fever's not too high today, so that's good. Oh, and Brother Luke came by.”

  “I'll bet you enjoyed that, huh?” I teased, but I couldn’t blame her for liking him so much. Brother Luke was young, attractive, and he treated her like a human being, not a monster. All in all, he was a decent guy. And he filled in for me when I couldn't make the trip.

  “Bee!” Rosie squeaked. “It isn't like that!”

  “Uh huh,” I said. “Sure it isn't.”

  She sighed. Her monitors beeped quietly in the background. “I can't wait until you find someone you're interested in. I'm never going to let you hear the end of it.”

  I rolled my eyes. Fat chance. I was too busy for romance. Besides, my last relationship didn’t end well. Dating your best friend sounded great in theory, but in practice…Too weird. We both thought it best not to bring it up anymore.

  “Are you coming by tonight?” She asked after a pause.

  “I would, Rose, but I'm exhausted, y'know? It's been a long day.” I hated not visiting, but the sanatorium was all the way out of town. It required a five mile walk or thirty minute long bus trip. Neither of which were particularly pleasant.

  “That's okay,” she said. To my relief, she didn't sound disappointed or mad. “I was just checking. You need to rest, Bee. You're running yourself ragged. I can tell.”

  Typical Rosie. She was the one laid up in a hospital bed and yet she still worried about me.

  “I'm fine,” I said as convincingly as I could. “Seriously.”

  “Are you,” cough, “sure?”

  “Positive. Are yo
u okay?”

  “Yeah, I'm―Shoot, here comes the nurse. Gotta go, Bee. See you tomorrow?”

  “Yep.”

  The line went dead. I put my phone down. In the hall, someone was shouting about the stray cat from across the street being possessed. Someone else suggested calling the cops. A third person said that was a stupid idea. It didn’t matter anyway. No one would do anything about it.

  I had more immediate concerns to fret over. Like rent. Food. Tomorrow’s math test. Rosie’s sanatorium bill. The fact that my savings account only had five dollars in it. I needed my latest get-rich-quick scheme to pay off. If it didn’t, well…I’d be sharing a slab of concrete with that cat.

  Two

  Hours later, I still didn’t get algebra any more than I did when I first started studying. I gave up around nine and got to work lighting candles for the night. I ran out of lightbulbs a month ago and never got around to buying more, so I made do with what I had on hand. In this case, candles. A lot of candles. Once they were lit, I went to the fridge and grabbed a water bottle and the leftover pizza box from three days ago, then shuffled over to the table.

  My laptop—a relic from 2002 I bought from a pawn shop—lay buried underneath a pile of overdue bills. I shoved them away, pressed the power button on the laptop, and waited. Mr. Zarcotti’s opera wailed dramatically across the hall. I didn’t know what the name of the song was, but I’d heard it enough to know the tune. Hummed along between bites of pepperoni.

  It took a good five minutes of sitting and stuffing my face with cold pizza for the old fossil to warm up. When my desktop finally appeared, I clicked on the browser and waited another two minutes for it to load. My homepage wasn't an email account or a news website or a blog.

  It was Armageddon Now.

  I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a conspiracy theorist, but I did consider myself a skeptic. There were things about demons that the government, the Church, the police weren't telling us. According to them, demons just decided to appear thousands of years ago to cause chaos in the world. I didn't believe that. They had reason, they had purpose. They were a whole hell of a lot smarter than we gave them credit for. And they were winning. Possession rates were higher than they'd ever been and the number of children being born with Faustian Syndrome was climbing with each passing day.