The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  He sighed, still praying. “I would expect some serious similarities. It’s a hybrid between Yoruba religions, the Roman Catholic Church; and probably other stuff, like some sorta spicy Caribbean gumbo. Emme, it’s made that way.”

  I kept my voice low because I knew Mother Nicole would be up in a few hours for the morning office, and she deserved her rest.

  “So what’s the difference?”

  “The Creed. The tenants of the faith that has sustained the Church since the days of the Apostles. And I believe in the Creed. I don’t mean Oshun when I ask for the prayers of Our Lady of Charity. I mean the mother of Jesus Christ. And I don’t worship the saints. I don’t sacrifice animals when Jesus’ blood took care of that. I don’t use magic or fetishes, and I don’t believe in reincarnation like Santeria practitioners do. I am a Christian. With Catholic leanings.” He ventured a smile with that punch line.

  “It’s too close to the Catholic stuff. It’s scary.”

  “What about how close it is to Pentecostal stuff? And don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

  I ignored his question. “I want to see Jamilla.”

  “I’ll take you to her.”

  “I have to get her out of the house. She won’t talk around her folks.”

  “Emme, that’s gonna be hard.”

  “I can’t get to the bottom of this without talking to her alone. Someplace where if she goes … off … she won’t get hurt or hurt nobody.”

  “I’ll work on it,” he says. “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What else is bothering you?”

  For a few minutes I didn’t speak, and he didn’t prod. Brotha kept praying the rosary; Hail Marying so much Jesus’ mama was gon’ be busy all day praying for him alone.

  Finally, I couldn’t take being quiet no more. “Why did you stop for me? At Walgreens.”

  He put his rosary back on, and sat back. “Why do you ask?”

  “Why stop prayin’ now, brotha?”

  He didn’t answer. “You were right in the front of the store. Soon as I walked in.”

  “And why didn’t you walk past me?”

  “I stopped to look at the paper.”

  “You were looking at the Ann Arbor News. I lived in Inkster most of my life. I know people in Inktown read the Detroit papers, not the Ann Arbor News.”

  “I work a lot in Ann Arbor.”

  I hissed to keep from yelling. “Why did you stop for me?”

  “Because you looked like my mother. You saw her picture, didn’t you?”

  “What kind of freaky thing is that?”

  “It’s not freaky. I was startled when I saw you. I miss her. So I stopped and stood by you, but you were so busy looking at me, I couldn’t really look at how much you looked like her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “And get this wonderful reaction? No, thank you.”

  “Why did Father Rivera go off when he saw me?”

  “Because you look like her.”

  “Why would that upset him? No, let me answer. I remember something you said. You said your mama left the Church because of your father. You said your father breaks your heart every day. I know you got something on him. Could it be that Father Rivera—the cranky old dude you gotta love-hate thing with—is your father? As in ‘daddy,’ not priest.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Was he a freaky priest? Was your mama a teenager he hurt?”

  “She was grown. She was young, but not that young. They fell in love.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We don’t advertise it. It’s not something to shout on the rooftops.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “No wonder he couldn’t stand me. He probably thought you was tryna play him, bringing home somebody who looks like her.”

  “I didn’t intend to bring you home. That’s why I gave you more money than I usually give a street person. When I saw you were hungry, it was like watching her suffer, and I couldn’t take that.”

  “What a Good Samaritan!”

  “It may sound bad, but my intentions were good. I do happen to know you aren’t her.”

  “She was the only other person who called you Francis. No wonder everybody was surprised. They shouldn’a been.”

  “I didn’t know we’d end up fighting demons together. I didn’t have a plan for you when I saw you, Emme. I certainly didn’t expect I’d be asking you here to work with us, and I sho’ as heck didn’t think I’d end up feeling things for you I definitely didn’t feel for my mother.”

  I glared at him. “You’re one of the most manipulative people I’ve ever met.”

  “And you’re one of the most ungrateful people I’ve ever met.”

  His words hit me like a slap in the face, but I couldn’t let him know. “I’m leaving, bro’. I don’t need to do this no more. Find yourself another mama.”

  He stood up. “Whateva.” And walked out of the room, leaving me sitting there on the sofa.

  I cried until my eyes swelled shut.

  Francis came back into the living room and gently scooped me up, holding me like a child. I had no energy or interest in fighting him anymore. I put my arms around his neck and rested my cheek against his neck. Did he hear me crying? Or did his intuition compel him to return?

  I must have felt like dead weight, but he was strong to be so wiry. That man, bless his heart, carried me once again. This time into his room, and he laid me on the bed he’d loaned me.

  He took a comforter from the closet and spread it over me so I wouldn’t even have to move to get under the covers. I burrowed under it, and buried my face in his pillow—so I could keep the scent of his face near me.

  Francis left the room for a few moments, then came back with a miniature harp. Brotha pulled a fast one on me. He didn’t tell me he could play the harp. But the music he pulled from those strings sounded like something straight out of heaven.

  For a moment I was a little scared. The Santería music was still with me. That music had a transcendent quality too, and watching the tape made me leery of everything. Including this man so into Catholic stuff.

  But it sounded so good. And I felt such peace hearing it. I whispered a prayer, “Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil.”

  If I could have cried some more, I would have, but there weren’t any tears left. I just listened to the sweet, soothing sounds of his harp until I slept again.

  I wake up and Kiki is standing over me singing the song she loves, “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.” She sounds like CeCe Winans.

  “Kiki,” I say. I’m so happy to see her. “You’re here!”

  “I missed you, Emme.” For a large person, her voice is high-pitched like a child’s, but more melodic.

  “I missed you too, Kiki.” For a moment I feel sad. I remember why I left her. But she can read hearts.

  “I know what happened, Emme.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. He’s a lost soul. He’s forgotten how to love me. Ray can’t stand to look at my body.”

  “But you’re beautiful,” I say. I get up and go to her and put my arms around her neck and she hugs me back. Her soft body is squishy and warm. She smells like Johnson’s baby powder. How could anyone not love her?

  Finally I release her. “It’s my fault he did it, Kiki.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I should have been invisible.”

  Kiki doesn’t engage me in this at all. “God didn’t make you to be invisible.” She stretches out her arm before me as if she’s giving me a gift. My state ID materializes in her hand. “You’re going to need this. You have work to do.”

  “I’m scared. I told Francis I was gonna leave.”

  “You love these people.”

  “Not Father Rivera.”

  “He’s a holy man, Emme.”

  “He’s a grumpy old man, and he hates me because I look like Francis’s m
ama.”

  “It’s not you he hates. He doesn’t know how to forgive someone.”

  I shake my head, “He thinks I’m out to seduce his son, and that we’re tryna play him. I’m tellin’ you, he ain’t feelin’ me.”

  “Sit down, Emme.”

  I sit back on the bed, but she doesn’t move to sit next to me.

  “If you have eyes, you can see. Many prayers are needed. Pray for the holy man. He’s sick, stuck, and needs to set things right before he dies.

  “You must convince him to allow you to attend Jamilia’s exorcism. Her deliverance will fail if you don’t go. Only you will see what the others miss, and if you aren’t there, she will surely die.”

  “But Kiki. He won’t let me do it. I’m a girl, he thinks I’m too young, and my experience is whack.”

  “Make him listen, Emme. You must be there. You have power. Make your mama proud.”

  “But Kiki—”

  She disappears before my eyes.

  The sight of Kiki vanishing startled me awake. “Daaaaaang.” The dream was so real. I tried to shake the thought of it out of my head.

  “What time is it?” I mumbled to myself.

  I sat up. Felt for the clock in the dark and turned it toward me; three fifteen A.M.

  I got ready to lie back down when the room went cold. Goose bumps rippled my flesh—it had to have dropped down into the forties.

  In July?

  Aw, shoot.

  The first thing that came to mind were the exorcism prayers Francis used in Walgreens. I’d seen a copy of prayers on his desk. He’d written them on a piece of paper in his meticulous, blocked print. So I’d stuck the prayers under my pillow like they were a love note from him.

  I snatched them from their hiding place, my heart pounding. I could see my breath in the room. Could Francis feel a demon in the house?

  I made the sign of the cross. The first one was a Greek prayer against Malefice—whatever that was—given to him by Mother Nicole.

  “Kryie elesison,” I spoke into the room. “God, I hope I pronounced that right.” I went on. “God, our Lord, King of ages, All-powerful and All-mighty.”

  A horrid stench curled itself around me, making my stomach revolt. I gagged, tying not to retch. I scanned the room. “I know you’re in here. Show yourself !”

  I could hear it breathing, a low wheeze, but I couldn’t see it.

  “You who in Babylon changed into dew the flames of the ‘seven times hotter’ furnace and protected and saved the three holy children.”

  At that the bed started shaking.

  I had gone through a lot with demons. I saw those electronic items at Walgreens fly off the walls, I’ve seen all kinda stuff, but as many times as demons had come to me, they never shook my bed. “Okay, Lord,” I said toward heaven. “I seriously regret fighting with Francis now. But I’ma still need You to save me, like You did the three holy children.”

  That demon I had spoken to showed itself as I commanded. Brought a buddy along.

  Not an attractive pair, these two. And they could use some basic oral hygiene lessons.

  The first one, the bigger of the two, had serious dental issues I didn’t think even Lumineers could help. The smaller one needed stock in Breath Rx. Human-like, but not human. Thirteen or fourteen feet tall and scaly, with huge feet in need of big-time toenail clipping. Thing One’s rotting black teeth oozed with a pus-like substance. It sank its teeth into my skin, causing me to scream like … well, like a demon was biting me.

  While Thing One demon tore into my flesh, Thing Two tried to get me naked!

  Hold up! Don’t no preternatural being yank at my clothing. I’d just gotten that gear!

  The pain of the bite burned like a thousand inoculations all at once. It released its stinging venom into me with such searing intensity, I thought I’d faint.

  The pain was so crippling, I dropped the prayer and couldn’t think—it was as though the power of words had been wiped from my head. I hollered from the deepest part of my soul, and words I didn’t understand poured out.

  “Ánima Christi, sanctífica me. Corpus Christi, salva me. Sanguis Christi, inébria me. Aqua láteris Christi, lava me.”

  This seemed to inflame them even more. Both rose from their haunches and stood to kick the heck out of me. I know they were supposed to be spirit beings, but God knows the pain of them slamming into my rib cage felt real! I cried out again in tongues I did not understand.

  “Pássio Christi, confórta me. O bone Iesu, exáudi me.Intra tua vúlnera abscónde me.”

  Demons didn’t like it. I felt my body go airborne until it slammed against Francis’s bookshelf. Books crashed to the floor with me. I screamed whatever would come out as loud as I could, my mind praying with all my heart that somebody would hear and come to help.

  The door crashed open. Father Rivera stood there, crucifix in his trembling hand, saying the same words in unison with me. “Et iube me veníre ad te, ut cum Sanctis tuis laudem te in sœcula sœculórum.”

  He finished with, “Amen!” Then continued with more prayers in English. He stepped over to me and made the sign of the cross with the crucifix in this hand.

  I could see the evil begin to dissolve. It was as if the devils were becoming transparent. The longer Father Rivera prayed, the more they dematerialized.

  “Defend us, O Lord, with your Holy Name, from all powers of darkness; protect us with Your holy angels from the attacks of the evil one: and from the malevolent wishes, wicked knowledge and psychic attacks of our brothers and sisters who do his work, either intentionally or through ignorance.”

  The devil’s bodies were next to nothing now.

  “They’re disappearing,” I cried, glad I could speak English again.

  Father Rivera said the final prayer. “Help us to refuse and rebuke all evil in Your name.”

  I did exactly what he said, “I rebuke you, evil spirits, in the name of Jesus!” With a poof they disappeared.

  My arms didn’t bleed, but weird pockmarks marred the surface that bore no resemblance to human or even animal bite marks. Father Rivera scooped me inside an embrace. “Are you okay, Emme?” His tenderness belied the gruff persona he’d shown me until now.

  I couldn’t even lie. I shook all over. “No! I’m not okay! They were … Oh, God … biting and tryna tear my clothes … Oh!” I grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go. “Thank you for helping me.”

  I thought he’d stiffen at my touch, but he held me like I was his own child.

  Francis and Mother Nicole came charging into the room. Francies rushed to my side. “Mother Nicole and I went to the church to pray the night watch. I could feel Emme was in trouble, so we rushed over. What happened?”

  Father Rivera answered. “She was attacked by some powerful devils—not demons. Devils.”

  When Francis saw my arm, the horror registered on his face. “They did this?”

  Father Rivera answered. “That and more. They’d have killed her, if I hadn’t intervened. And what’s worse, this room, this whole house, is blessed. They got through the protective barrier somehow.”

  Father Miguel released me to Francis’s arms. He rubbed my hair and spoke gently to me, his eyes full of anguish. “Aw, Chiara. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this.”

  Father Rivera rose to his feet with considerable effort. I could truly see how sick he was. “No, it’s not your fault. She is gifted. They want to destroy what God has imparted to her. It is a powerful charism. God is with her. When I came in here she was praying in Latin. I doubt that she knows Latin.” He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t speak Latin, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You prayed the Anima Christi. Soul of Christ, sancitify me. Not a word of it in English.”

  Now that was speaking in unknown tongues, for real!

  The priest’s frail body began to tremble. He reached for Mother Nicole. “Nikolai, please help. I don’t pie
nsa que puedo hacer esto más.”

  I whispered to Francis, “What did he say?”

  “He doesn’t think he can do this anymore.”

  Now the priest spoke to Francis. “I’m exhausted. Care for your girlfriend, por favor. Take her into the living room and let her sleep for the rest of the night on the couch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay with her, Francesco.”

  “I will.”

  Father Rivera hooked his arm around Mother Nicole’s, and she ushered the ill man back to his bedroom.

  Francis helped me up. We grabbed the blanket from the bed. He reached for the lamp on the night table and clicked it on, illuminating the darkened room. “Do you want anything else? Your pajamas or something?” he said absently.

  He stopped. Picked up something from the night table. “X, when did you get your state ID from Kiki?”

  “What?”

  “Here’s your state ID. Didn’t you say it was in your purse at Kiki’s house?”

  “You know I did.”

  “Did you sneak out there or something? W’sup with this?”

  I sighed. “No, she came here.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. It’s been a really long night.”

  He set my ID back on the night table, helped me get settled downstairs, and got my wound disinfected, even though it didn’t appear to be bleeding.

  My boyfriend, as Father Miguel implied, kept the night vigil praying the Kyrie eleison over me. I fell asleep to the sound of his asking, Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.

  Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

  Unfortunately, there have been too many times in my life when I woke up wishing the stuff happening in my life was only a nightmare. The dull, throbbing pain in my arm told me it was real.

  I don’t like no devils biting me.

  And I had to look a hot mess! Thing Two had ripped the sleeve of my silk shirt, tryna molest me. The torn sleeve hung off my shoulder. As much as I liked that shirt, I was gon’ burn it till it turned to ash. I noticed I was now wearing a silver charm the size of a quarter on a chain. It was nice, but not really my thing. And my long hair was standing, lying—and flying—all over my head.