The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “Are you going to ask me to tell you that I love you for your birthday, Chiara? Don’t you know me well enough to know the answer to that already?”

  “I’m not even going to go there,” I said, putting my arms around his neck. “I asked for that already, and you dropped the ball. There’s just one thing I want from you.” I wanted to kiss him so badly that I could hardly stand it.

  His hands moved from my hair to circle my waist. I could feel his heart thundering inside his chest. “What do you want, Emme?”

  “Finish the kiss we almost had at the mall.”

  “Now, or on your birthday?”

  Oh, so now he wanted to play. He knew I wanted that kiss now. But I could take whatever he could dish out.

  At least I hoped so.

  I slid my hands into his hair. Played in its silkiness. Then pulled back from him, a bit. “I want it on my birthday.”

  He closed the space between us. “Are you sure that wasn’t just a thank-you hug at the mall?”

  “Is that all it was to you?”

  “You tell me, you started it.”

  “Finish it, and I’ll tell you what it was.”

  And then I stepped away from him. “Good night, Francis. I’ve got a little more studying to do. Close the door behind you.”

  “That’s cold-blooded, X.”

  “Or not.”

  He promptly left the room, with a smirk on his face.

  If I wanted to effectively banish Francis from my presence, that little tease-fest after we studied was a good way to do it. Francis hardly spoke to me for the next few days.

  Good.

  It didn’t take Father Rivera to make me feel like a Delilah, now. I should have brought a pair a scissors and asked Francis if he wanted a little off the top. My mama did not raise a tease, and I felt genuinely ashamed of myself, which only served to remind me. I needed my mama. Not Mother Nicole. Not Kiki, but my own mama. I missed her so much it felt like a physical wound sometimes.

  What would you tell me if you were here, Mama? Should I have said anything to him about how I feel? Was that weak, I need to know if this really is love? Or lust? What’s natural and what’s evil? I’m not sure I know.

  I’d made a fool of myself. All up in that man’s face. And he didn’t say he loved me. Shoot. What did I know? Just because he made goo-goo eyes at me didn’t mean nothing. A lot of brothas looked at me like that. Tried to touch me, too!

  Maybe I wanted to belong to somebody so badly, I’d manufactured a connection with Francis that wasn’t there.

  Shoot. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  I didn’t know about Francis, but at least my guilt served me. Over and over again I asked God to forgive me for flirting like that. I put the GED books aside and focused wholly on prayer and the Gospels in preparation for the exorcism, which would take place at Jamilla’s home that evening. The four of us, and the two other men from the team—the psychiatrist, Dr. Michael Black, and the family practitioner, Dr. Stormie Jaynes—had done their final examinations and deemed Jamilla beyond the reach of medical and psychiatric care. In other words, she needed an exorcist.

  I was preparing for the night’s activity by sitting in silence before the Lord after Vespers, when Francis knocked on the door. I told him to come in.

  I wondered if he remembered that the last time he came in here, we almost ended up locking lips. He didn’t let on if he did.

  “Can we talk, Chiara?”

  “Sure. Have a seat.”

  I got up from the chair and sat on the bed. He took my place at the desk.

  He went totally didactic on me. “Okay, capsule course in exorcism. What was all the praying for?”

  “Because exorcism is essentially a prayer ministry. And we fast to deny ourselves food, so we can hear His directions more clearly. When we are empty, God can fill us.”

  “Good girl. Who’s the exorcist?”

  I sighed. He’d gone over this stuff with me for weeks before we almost kissed. “Father Rivera is the exorcist, though everyone on the team is important.”

  “And how do we best offer service?”

  “When we listen to Father Rivera and follow his directions. I have to do whatever he asks, no matter how crazy or mean it sounds. And I can’t take any initiative, no matter how badly I want to.”

  “Who can you talk to during the rite?”

  “We aren’t supposed to have conversations during the rite. We’re praying and watching. We can have a limited amount of sharing during breaks.”

  “Who are you forbidden to talk to?”

  “Under no circumstances am I to speak to the possessed person or the demonic spirit.”

  “What if it says something foul to you?”

  I folded my arms. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  He showed that same bratty impatience he often does. “Come on, X! Cooperate. I just want to make sure you’re ready. If I didn’t trust you, do you think you’d be here? I put my butt on the line for you. Now work with me.”

  I glared at him. Finally unfolded my arms. “Fine. What else?”

  “You didn’t answer the last one.”

  I sighed again. In an exaggerated way. “If it says something foul, it’s to throw me off my game. They don’t want me to pray. They don’t want Jamilla delivered, and they don’t want to leave. They’ll say whatever they can to stop us, including the vilest insults.”

  “And …”

  “They know our weaknesses. Our sins. And they use them all as weapons against us.”

  He must have caught the bored tone in my voice.

  “That’s real, Emme. If you think that attack we got when you were exercising was deep, it was child’s play compared to what they do during an exorcism. They can dredge up your worst secrets and blurt them out to everybody.”

  “I know that.”

  “Emme, I want to ask you to forgive me. You said I was always a gentleman with you, but we both know that’s not true.”

  “I forgive you. If you’ll forgive me for not being ladylike.”

  I would have told him that I didn’t want the birthday kiss at all now. Mostly. But I ain’t want that madness on our minds any more that it had to be. I ain’t want the demons to have any fuel to use against us. At least none that I gave them.

  He took a deep breath. Slapped his palms to his thighs. “All rightie, then. Last things. The icky stuff Mother Nicole warned you about.”

  “She said that I had to have a strong stomach. I can’t react to the sight of blood, urine, excrement, vomit, or copious amounts of drool.”

  “That’s my girl!”

  I smiled at that despite myself. “Anything else, Professor?”

  “I want to reiterate, X, you’re going in there as the enemy to the Kingdom of darkness. Nothing we say can fully prepare you for what you’re going to experience. This is a particularly bad case. And we’re sure she has devils, not just demons. Very powerful beings. They ain’t playin’ around. Not these. Every bit of prayer we had these past few weeks was necessary and then some.”

  I looked in his eyes and saw a little fear there. “Are you nervous?”

  “I don’t think we could pray more than we did.”

  “We probably could have. Who prays enough?”

  “Do you know if Kiki ever got things twisted? Could she be wrong about Jamilla dying if you aren’t in there today?”

  “We all get things twisted, sometimes. This isn’t like Old Testament times, when people could kill you if you said a false prophetic word. I mean, it sucks to miss God like that, but the fact is, we’re all seeing through a glass darkly, like 1 Corinthians 13:12 says.”

  He nodded, somber-looking. “True dat.”

  “But listen. The dreams your father and me had? And the state ID, which he totally checked out according to Mother Nicole? All of it is a bit too bizarre to be a mere coincidence.”

  “I know. That’s what scares me the most.”

  “I think that’s what should m
ake us the most hopeful. God did all that so we could pray for Jamilla. And we’ve been praying. For Jamilla. For Father Rivera. For the team.” I scooted closer to his chair, but didn’t dare touch him. Didn’t even hold his hand. We needed all our focus to be on the rite of exorcism. It was my first official one, and I wanted to be on my toes.

  “We’re all going to make it, Francis. I truly believe that.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I thought to myself, Me, too.

  I prayed all the way to Jamilla’s house. I didn’t want to mess up anything or fool around and miss God. Already the day had been full of mishaps. Somebody kept calling the house and hanging up. I felt as snappy as I would if I had PMS. I lost the paperwork I needed to take with me to my GED test. Thoughts that my so-called gift of seeing into the spirit world wouldn’t show buffeted me constantly. And my birthday was comin’ up soon. The day of freedom.

  On the way to the Jacobses’ house, Father Rivera rode in the back of the car with me. I didn’t want to sit up front with Francis. Neither of us needed the distraction of our mutual attraction. Nobody made small talk. Mother Nicole murmured the Jesus prayer while using some kind of crochet tool to make knotted prayer ropes out of wool yarn for the Orthodox monastic order she belonged to. It was a concrete reminder to me that her time at All Souls was as transitory as mine.

  We arrived at Jamilla’s simple house in the projects. Dr. Jaynes and Dr. Black were waiting for us outside. Michael Black was smoking a cigarette.

  I winced at that. I thought the whole idea was to ditch your sins before we got there. But wasn’t it a sin for me to judge? I repented for my wayward thought.

  We got out of the car and greeted the men. I liked them both. Dr. Stormie Jaynes was a tall, African-American man in his fifties. He beat both me and Francis in the height. At 6′5", he seemed perpetually stooped from having to spend most of his time with shorter people.

  Dr. Black was white, with wavy brown hair and an air of impatience. Like he was always thinking too far ahead, and you had to hustle to keep up with him. He was the psychiatrist. I wondered if his patients found him a sympathetic listener with his hurried manner.

  We went to the door together, Father Rivera and Francis taking the lead. Mama Jacobs answered the door. She swept us into her concern as soon as she ushered us into the house.

  The vibe in there was creepy, and not because we were in the hood. Even more creepy than when I had been there a few weeks ago.

  I watched Francis for his reaction, and I could tell he felt it, too. Prayer connected us when we met. After the prayer marathons we’d participated in, it seemed we could pick up on a lot of what the others felt. At least where spiritual matters were concerned.

  A quick scan of the room told me they’d prepared the living room exactly as Father Miguel had specified. The windows had been boarded on the inside. Anything can happen during an exorcism, including objects, and/or assistants, flying across the room. Demons love throwing people out of glass. I could attest to that after seeing Francis nearly hurled out of a glass door at Walgreens.

  The room had been emptied of anything that could hurt someone. They’d moved the furniture out and placed a twin bed in the center of the room. A small, cheap plastic table was near it, with the required crucifix, prayer book, holy water, and blessed candle on it. Someone had placed a small holy card with the image of St. Francis of Assisi on it. I didn’t know who in the family the saint meant a lot to, but I knew the picture would encourage Francis. I considered that a little gift of grace and evidence that God would be kind to us in the outcome.

  At least I prayed He would.

  Father Rivera donned his long black cassock with a purple stole draped across it. He looked every bit the kind of exorcist you’d see in a movie—still handsome, even though ill and in his older years.

  He and I had finally found some measure of peace, and I was glad about that. I felt I owed it to him to be useful, and I didn’t want to be present just to pray, although that was important. I wanted to use what they thought of as my “gift” to make a difference. What else was it for if not that?

  The last few weeks had grown me. I didn’t want to be the uneducated, smack-talkin’ hoodrat anymore. I wanted to be a woman of God.

  In Prada diva boots.

  Jamilla’s parents looked like they hadn’t slept well for weeks. I knew Mama Jacobs and Pop literally had been through hell with Jamilla. I knew they wanted their nightmare to end.

  Francis didn’t need to make introductions, since her parents had already met the rest of the team. Mama Jacobs asked us if she could get us anything before we began. My mouth was so dry, my throat so parched that I kept swallowing. Nerves.

  Father Rivera declined any drinks for us. No matter. There was a sense of urgency in the air, and we needed to get down to business. I’d consider it a fast from water for now and pray that God would bless my efforts.

  Pop said to me, “Emme, we’re countin’ on you.” Tears misted his eyes. “My little girl is not herself right now.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Jacobs. I understand.”

  “I want you to be prepared for what you’re going to see.”

  “I saw her a couple of weeks ago.”

  He took a deep breath as though he was going to say more, then thought better of it and shook his head.

  His words haunted me. Prepared for what I’d see? Weren’t those the exact words the orderly used right before he opened the door to my mother’s room?

  I didn’t need the hitch in my breathing to tell me I shouldn’t think about my mother right now. I rocked back on my heels.

  Now is not the time, X. You’re here on a holy mission. This ain’t about you, sistah.

  But his words had watered a seed that had been planted long ago.

  He walked Jamilla out of her room. Settled her in the center of the bed. She seemed less responsive now. It looked like you could move her body parts any way you wanted to, and she’d let you, not complaining, no matter how awkward the posture.

  Father Miguel didn’t waste any time getting started. With the crucifix, he made the sign of the cross in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

  Jamilla’s body stiffened, like she’d turned into a rod. She became a straight line. Her skin looked stretched, so that the natural lines and planes of her face were distorted. If you’ve ever seen someone who’s had too many face-lifts, that’s what she looked like. Only her entire body was pulled taut.

  Father Rivera only reacted by praying the words Mother Nicole often prayed: “Lord, have mercy.” Everyone repeated the prayer—except me. I’d gotten distracted while staring at Jamilla. I joined with the others after he said, “Christ, have mercy.” We used plain speech, rather than chanted. It made it easier for us to focus, so we wouldn’t be distracted by our efforts to sound right.

  Francis told me it took about twenty minutes to get through the entire Roman ritual, which Father Rivera would repeat as many times as necessary. It could go hours, or even days. Some exorcisms took months. He said unless the exorcism was grueling, his father rarely took breaks during the process.

  Next, Father Miguel began the Litany of Saints. This is when he called on the heavenly prayer warriors to intercede. Just like Francis said, he asked Jesus’ mama for help.

  “Holy Mary, pray for us. Holy Mother of God.”

  And we repeated, “Pray for us,” after each name. It was uncomfortable for me. Even though Francis had told me this wasn’t worshipping the saints and that it was no different than asking a live person to pray for me; still, I was Protestant through and through, and it felt weird. I was a little concerned my discomfort would affect Father Rivera’s tasks. I went along with it, praying inwardly that these prayers we asked the saints for were okay.

  A sound came rumbling out of Jamilla’s stiff body like a cat purring. And it was loud! I could almost feel a vibration from it.

  Every name Father Rivera called seem
ed to agitate Jamilla more, though she didn’t move any part of her body. It was the rumbles that changed, becoming more and more beastly and ferocious sounding.

  Father Rivera went through the names of holy angels, archangels, and saints I’d heard of, like the holy apostles and Saint Francis. Then he got to callin’ on folks I’d never heard of, like Cosmas and Gervase and Protase. They sounded like something from a science class.

  Science class? What in the world! We were in the middle of an exorcism I’d taken weeks to prepare for, and I was thinking crazy thoughts. My patience seemed to disappear, and I wondered if it was going to take forever to get through all those names. Finally, he got to the holy virgins and widows, and we were done.

  With that part.

  All kinds of strange thoughts began to invade my mind. I wanted to go shopping. I thought about Kiki. I wondered if I should buy new makeup. It was weird, because I was really trying to concentrate. I wanted to laugh at the sounds Jamilla was making. I couldn’t control the monkey chatter in my brain. Finally, Father Rivera, in a voice full of authority, spoke: “From all evil, deliver us, O Lord.”

  It was like something snapped in me. My mind was clear again, I immediately joined the prayers of deliverance.

  Father Rivera spoke, “From all sin.”

  And we said, “Deliver us, O Lord.”

  “From your wrath.”

  “Deliver us, O Lord.”

  “From sudden and unprovided death.”

  That one got a loud, “Deliver us, O Lord,” from me. I didn’t want anything bad to happen in that room. To myself, I prayed another prayer for Father Rivera. And one for Jamilla.

  Suddenly, Jamilla came alive. She screamed, “Help me!” In those two words, she sounded like my girl again.

  I thought of Mama. Where was she? I didn’t mean what hospital was she in. I meant where was the part of her that was her? Behind the voices and the weird postures. Whether it was schizophrenia, like they said, or something more sinister, did she ever push through the madness and beg somebody—anybody—for help?

  I was lost again. Everyone was repeating, “We beg you to hear us.”