The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “Yeah!” I beamed. “I’m totally down with The Message.”

  He gave me a sly, one-dimpled smile. “Don’t let Father Miguel hear you say that. He’ll brand you a heretic like he’s pretty much branded me.”

  He got up from his reclining position and grabbed the black leather book from the backseat. His well-worn copy showed me it was a favored friend of his.

  I felt a little sorrow in that moment, and for the life of me, I couldn’t tell whether it was his or mine.

  Francis righted himself in the driver’s seat. “Have you read Matthew 11:28 in here? I love it in this version.”

  I had read it, but you can’t have too much Matthew 11:28 from The Message.

  He scooted around and sat with his back against the driver’s door, his knees pointing toward me. Francis read aloud. “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

  “Nothing heavy or ill-fitting, huh? Sounds like some Jesus couture. I love it. Sign me up for that.”

  “Looks like you’re already signed up the way you whip on a demon.”

  He turned his head and gazed out the driver’s-side window into the night, sighed, and rested his head against the window. “I know things feel heavy sometimes.” He turned back to me. “It’ll be daylight soon. Mother Nicole is waiting up for us.”

  I got suspicious again. “What did you do wrong?”

  “Didn’t we already have this discussion?”

  “You said these people would protect me. They must be doing the same for you. Why do you need sanctuary with a priest?”

  “I don’t have sanctuary with him. And maybe it was somebody else who did something wrong.”

  “Who would that be?”

  For a moment his eyes darkened to almost amber. But he got his cool back quickly. “I live here because I didn’t have anyplace to go and … somebody … told me about him. It’s an arrangement Father Miguel and I are cool with. Most of the time.”

  He added metal spikes to that fifty-foot wall he’d erected, threw in a water-filled moat, complete with crocodiles and a big sign that said “Back Off.” I didn’t even try to break through.

  “You gon’ take me in now and keep me safe from da hood, or what?”

  “Yeah, we’re going in, but it’s not the projects I’m worried about you running away from.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We’ll get to that soon enough.”

  The house looked older than the projects across the parking lot. If its sturdy, determined air were any indicator, it would still be around when those joints got torn down.

  Mother Nicole greeted us at the door in her full nun regalia. She had her hands on her wide hips and started in on Francis as soon as we stepped inside. “I thought you’d never get out of that car. You do realize I have the morning office in fifteen minutes?”

  “I know, Mother. I’m sorry.”

  She ceased her scolding to gather him into a hug. “You good little Samaritan. And what a pretty one she is.”

  Francis blushed.

  She let go of him, and looked me up and down. “You’re tall, but tiny. We definitely have to fatten you up.”

  Francis tried to be helpful. “She fasts like an ascetic.”

  The hands went back on Mother Nicole’s hips. She scowled at me, but her eyes were like two hazel stars, twinkling. “Do you think you’re up for sainthood or something? You’re still a growing girl.” She patted both her hips. “So am I, but for different reasons.”

  Kiki always cracked on herself about her weight. A wave of sorrow hit me. I’m never gonna see Kiki again.

  Mother Nicole said, “Follow me, lovie.”

  I tracked behind her. She led me through a pristine-clean, comfy-looking kitchen area and into the living room, Francis right behind us. All the furniture looked old—nothing too fancy, but nothing shabby, either. A nice house. Like a grandma’s house. Mother Nicole’s welcoming presence made me almost feel like I could chill for a minute.

  “Make yourself at home, lovie,” she said, “I know you’re tired, but I want to visit a bit before you go to bed.”

  Dog tired, I plopped onto a cushy upholstered wing-back chair. I liked her so much I didn’t mind staying awake a few minutes more. I still kept my guard up. A little. Francis lounged on the sofa, his back against the armrests, ankles crossed, shoeless feet on the cushions.

  Mother Nicole sat in a comfy-looking reclining chair across from where I sat. Someone had casually draped a crocheted afghan across it. [When she asked me my name, I realized I’d never told her.]

  “It’s Emme, like the television award, except there’s an ‘e’ on the end instead of a ‘y.’” I felt kinda nervous, rambling, “My whole name is Emme Kate Vaughn. I was named after my grandma. I never met another Emme, but I heard there was this plus-sized model with my same name. I mean, not the Kate Vaughn part. The Emme part.” I stopped myself. I was starting to sound crazy, and that was the last thing I wanted her to think.

  She regarded me with a look of kindness. “Emme Kate Vaughn is a pretty name for a very pretty girl. I see so many LaKweshas and Shaniquas, and such. I don’t hear names like yours too often around here.”

  “She’s in heaven now,” I blurted. “My grandmother, that is. Not Shaniqua or the other chick.”

  Shut up, Emme.

  Mother Nicole crossed herself. “Memory Eternal.”

  I nodded, ’cause I had no idea how I was supposed to respond. “Mother Nicole, what’s a morena?”

  “That’s my godson flirting.”

  I looked at him stretched out supine on the sofa. He acted like he didn’t hear her—probably so he didn’t have to admit or deny it.

  “For real. What does it mean, Mother Nicole?”

  “He was saying you’re a very pretty, dark-skinned girl.”

  I felt a tiny stab of pain in my heart.

  “Yeah. I got the dark-skin thing all my life. Sometimes people were pretty mean.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “I got used to it, but if Francis ever says, ‘The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice’ so help me, I’m gon’ smack him.”

  “You do that. And then I’ll smack him. But you don’t need to worry. I trained him well. He’s very respectful. And it’s pretty amazing that you resemble his—”

  Francis blurted, “I don’t say stuff like that.”

  Uh-huh. He didn’t want her giving me any inside info. But I had my own tricks. “He thinks I look like his ex.”

  He bolted up, and swung his legs off the cushions. “I never said who you reminded me of.”

  Mother Nicole chimed in with a grin. “I’m certain he wasn’t referring to an ex, lovie.”

  He shot her a look that I interpreted meant be quiet.

  I would have tried to press them for information, but I could tell that was all she wrote. Not that his look withered Mother Nicole. On the contrary. She returned his scowl with a smirk.

  I liked Mother Nicole. It seemed like she could handle herself. Like Francis, she had soft eyes. Hers were the kind of hazel that changes colors, sometimes looking more gray or green depending on … whatever. She was kinda chubby, but in a good way, like you wanna see a nun. Huggable. Short. And she wore cool glasses.

  I could already tell she had a great sense of humor. She was, like, joyful.

  I checked out her habit. I didn’t know much of anything about nuns. “Do you sleep in that stuff?”

  She said very seriously, “Yes. We never take our habits off. We have to shower dressed like this so God won’t see us naked. And we air-dry in the sun. That’s not too bad, except in the winter.”

  I must have looked crazy because she cracked up. “Of course I don’t sleep in this, silly. I�
�m about to start my day with the Divine Services.”

  “Oh, do you have church in your office in the morning?”

  “No, lovie. The Divine Services is another way of saying the Daily Offices or Liturgy of the Hours.”

  “What’re those?”

  She gave me an indulgent smile without a trace of dang, you’re stupid, in it, even though I felt dumb as rocks.

  “It’s fixed-hour prayer, lovie. We pray at set times every day. It’s a tradition that grew out of the book of Acts, when Peter and John prayed in the temple daily. Before that really. Psalm 119:164 says, ‘Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous laws.’ Since I was awake after your phone call I prayed the last of the night vigil prayers. And now that it’s almost five I’m going to say my morning prayers.”

  “What? You, like, pray every half-hour or hour or something?”

  “I don’t do the daily offices that often, but in my line of work, prayer without ceasing is good.”

  “I know that’s what the Bible says. I just wish I knew how to do it. I mean, me and God kick it all the time. Like, constantly. But that’s not praying without ceasing.”

  “Bite your tongue!” she said. “I think it’s extraordinary that you ‘kick it with God.’”

  She acted like she said stuff like “kick it” all day, every day.

  Mother Nicole went on. “The way you stay in communion with God and the way I do don’t have to be the same. God hears all our prayers, even when we’re only kickin’ it with Him. In fact, He may even prefer that. Jesus rejected wordy prayers said to impress others.”

  Francis said, “I like to kick it with the Lord too, but don’t get me wrong. I love me some Liturgy of the Hours. Maybe even more.” He laced his fingers behind his head and yawned. “Mother Nicole is crazy cool, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she is. I see why you didn’t mind her being your girlfriend.”

  She threw her head back, laughter bubbling up from inside. “Emme, I think you’re more Frankie’s type than I am.” Her gaze shifted to him. “What do you say, Frankie?”

  He squirmed on the sofa like Mother Nicole had on X-ray glasses and could see his drawers. “It’s not like that.” He unlaced his fingers and leaned toward her.

  She raised an eyebrow. Didn’t say a word. He rushed on with, “I’m thinking about asking her to join us in the work.”

  All Mother Nicole’s teasing disappeared. Her mouth flew open. “The work? What on earth would make you think such a thing? I understand you miss being around people your own age, but, Frankie, you can’t be serious.”

  He crossed his arms at her rebuke. “But, Mother Nicole—”

  “No buts, Frankie. Miguel didn’t even want you involved. You know how hard we had to work to get him to let you in. And you know how dangerous it is. And intense. Not to mention … icky. He’s not going to let her work with us.”

  “Mama Nick, she can see demons. Literally. I’ve seen her in action.”

  Okay. Now the brotha was telling my business, and I was gon’ have to jump him if he didn’t, like, cease and desist, immediately. “Hold up,” I said. “First of all, I don’t appreciate you telling all that or talking like I’m not even sitting here.”

  Francis looked at me, his shoulders falling. “I’m sorry, I got so excited—”

  Mother Nicole leaned forward. “I apologize too, Emme. He shocked me and I spoke without thinking.”

  “What kind of work are y’all talkin’ about, anyway? Dangerous and intense is bad enough, but icky? He didn’t say anything to me about any work. He told me he wanted me to come over here so I could have a safe place to sleep tonight, and that’s it.” I looked from one to the other and they averted their eyes like I’d asked them to tell me their darkest secrets. “Is somebody gon’ answer me?”

  Mother Nicole looked at Francis. “Why don’t you tell your friend about the work?”

  Francis rubbed his hands together. He looked like he was gon’ be straight with me. “We do the work of deliverance from satanic bondage. We’re part of Father Miguel’s team, Emme. He’s not simply a priest; he’s an exorcist.”

  “And what? You expect me to be the Exorsistah or something? I told you, I can’t even control it.”

  Mother Nicole choked back laughter. “Did you say the Exorsistah?”

  “Sorry. I was mad.”

  She hooted as she got up from the reclining chair. “That’s funny.” For a moment she paused, and then cackled again. “It hits you in waves … the Exorsistah.” Seeing her so amused broke some of the tension between the three of us.

  Some of it.

  “It was kinda clever,” I said.

  “And that came to you on the spot?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t let Father Miguel hear you say that. He’ll have a heart attack, and he’s already sick enough.”

  Francis perked up, “Yeah, ma. I could see him now, clutching his heart and moaning about tradition.”

  “And cursing you in Spanish. Lord, have mercy!” Mother Nicole added. “I need to get ready for the Divine Services. I’d invite you to come, but I think you and Frankie need to get some sleep.”

  She stepped over to me and patted me on the shoulder. “God give you peace, lovie.” For a moment she watched me with a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’re more than welcome to stay with us. And you may eat here. I insist. You’ll love the food.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. I’m glad Francis brought you.” She paused a moment. “Can you really see demons like he said? Literally?”

  “I can’t help it, Mother Nicole. If I could make it go away I would.”

  Mother Nicole placed her hand on her heart. She looked at me like that was one of the saddest things she ever heard. “May the Lord have mercy on you, my dear girl.” She turned her gaze to Francis still lounging against the armrest. “I need to pray.”

  I got up from the wing-backed chair and stood in front of Francis, one hand on my hip. “You tricked me.”

  “How?”

  “You said that y’all could help me.”

  “We can, but you’d be a powerful asset to us too, Emme.”

  My voice rose with my irritation. “I ain’t havin’ nothing to do with casting out demons with y’all! If you think because I can see ’em I want to do that for a livin’, you got another think comin’, bro’.”

  “Calm down, Emme.”

  He got up from the sofa with such graceful, confident ease you’d think there wasn’t nothing to getting me chilled out. My stomach did a backflip. Man, he wasn’t just fine, he was … sexy. And I never thought that about anybody.

  Mother Nicole might have had him nervous, but he wasn’t stud’in’ me. “Thinking of you joining us was just a thought.” He didn’t seem fazed by my reaction. Totally in control of the situation.

  That didn’t matter. I wasn’t doin’ it. He didn’t know Emme like he thought he did. I called him on his game. “You had that in mind the whole time, didn’t you?”

  “How could I not, Emme? It’s an extraordinary gift.”

  “It ain’t a gift! If anything, it’s a curse. It took my mama away from me. In fact, it got me locked up in the crazy house with her when I was twelve. Gifts don’t get you put on lockdown. And they don’t take your mama away from you.”

  His eyes filled with golden compassion. He tried to touch my hand but I yanked it away. “Don’t be touching me, Frank.”

  “Okay, Emme. I’m sorry. Tell me what happened to your mother.”

  He was standing so close. And I felt nervous in a whole different way than I did when Ray pushed up on me. This was kinda nice. Delicious even.

  I pulled my mind back into focus. “My mama could see demons like I did. And then she started seeing a lotta stuff I couldn’t. Stuff didn’t nobody see but her. She started going what you would call loco in your ghetto Spanglish.” I start circling my finger by my head. “Loco! Do you understand? Crazy! The next thing I knew, I was a ward of the
state.”

  I started feeling claustrophobic. The room seemed to be shrinking. I wasn’t breathing right. My breath barely seeped out my lungs.

  I’d told him about Mama.

  I felt like all my pores had opened wide, and my soul was in danger of escaping. “I gotta get outta this place.”

  He spoke tenderly. “Emme?”

  I didn’t want to give him any softness. I was afraid of what would happen. I couldn’t move. “What?”

  “It was only a thought.”

  “I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

  He continued to speak, his voice soothing as a warm fireplace on a wintry night. “Okay, chica.”

  “They started attacking me when I was five years old, Francis.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Now my breath came in sharp puffs while my heart slammed against my ribs. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a precipice about to fall into a black abyss. And then I did.

  I’m a little thing. In my bed asleep. I feel cold. I stir awake, and I’m about to call my mama, but something feels wrong about the room. It feels like somebody is in there with me, and it isn’t Mama.

  I look at my VCR clock. It’s three thirty in the morning.

  I’m too scared to sit up, so I open my mouth to call her; but before one syllable gets out, a black cloud is on top of me. It feels like it’s choking and crushing me at the same time. I can’t move any part of my body. A scream catches in my mouth. I’m pinned to the bed. That’s when the cloud turns into some kind of scaly, reptilian beast. It seems like its head is made of teeth. Teeth as big as knives and just as sharp.

  My other senses kick in. I smell it. The worst stench imaginable. I want to throw up, but it’s like I’m numb. I can’t move any part of my body and even my gag reflex is frozen under the weight of this thing. The giant mouth opens, and it’s big enough to devour my whole head.

  I feel the tears squeeze out of my eyes. I want to pray, but I can’t think of any words. Everything is happening so fast. I hear this soft but urgent voice tell me to move something, any part of my body, but I can’t. I can’t move at all. I hear the beast on top of me growl. With all my might I try to move my finger. Just one finger.