His face was unreadable with that preternatural calmness that priests have and must perfect before they are ordained. Her anger blossomed again. "I'm waiting," she said.
"You sent Caitlyn Rogers and her son to me. Since we haven't spoken for several years, I took that as a sign that you were ready," he said, never taking his eyes off her face.
"That wasn't my intention. I met them by accident. The woman was in such a state of crisis that I couldn't just leave her alone. Believe me, I tried to not get involved."
"You're a good person, Sara."
"No, I'm not, Father and I'd like you to stop pressuring me. It's not going to happen. I don't want that life," she said. He was as stubborn as the last time they spoke.
"I don't think you even believe that. You could have turned away from them. Or when you saw Sam wasn't being haunted, you could have told them you couldn't help them. You didn't have to send them to me. But you did. That means something." He searched her face, and she blushed.
Damn him for being so attractive, she thought crossly. It wasn't fair that he was a priest. The whole thing made her feel weird, and she wished he had stayed away from her.
"I made a mistake then if I gave you that impression. It didn't occur to me that you'd take it that way. The woman mentioned demons, and your name popped into my head. You know, with you hunting demons and all."
"Right," was all he said.
"That's all there was to it," she said, picking at a cuticle on her thumb and not looking at him. They sat without speaking for what felt like an eternity.
He finally broke the silence. "I'll make some coffee so you can sober up. We will talk," he said.
"I don't want to sober up," she said and hated the sound of her whining.
"That's what happens when you turn your back on who you are," he said.
"That sounds incredibly preachy, you know. I expected better from you," she said.
"It's not preachy. Don't you think I've been in the same place as you? All I wanted was to be normal and I tried the same things you have. None of them worked for me."
"Is that why you became a priest?"
"Yes. If I would be battling demons then I figured I should probably have God on my side," Johan said. "You're still a nonbeliever?"
"I don't know. Believing in God doesn't make sense to me," Sara said and avoided his eyes.
"You've witnessed unexplained phenomena. You see ghosts. That is the realm of the spiritual. When you turn your back on that, life ceases to have much meaning."
"My life has plenty of meaning, thank you very much," she retorted.
"Then why are you getting drunk by yourself and watching Jerry Springer?" he shot back.
"Why the hell not? I love Jerry Springer. I'm twenty-two. I'm allowed to get drunk on a Wednesday night."
"You won't get rid of your gifts, Sara. However, much Jack you drink, the ghosts will still be there," he said, his voice calm and gentle again but his right eye twitching. He was fighting hard to keep his temper in check, she noticed.
"I don't want the nightmares anymore. I don't want them to know that I see them. I don't want to see them," she said. "I couldn't help that woman and her son. He probably has epilepsy, or something, and this woman thinks that he's possessed. That's some crazy, dumb shit right there. What if she doesn't go back to the doctor again and Sam has a brain tumor or something? She believes in all this stuff, and I think it's dangerous."
"But this stuff does exist Sara. You know it because you bear witness to their suffering," Johan pointed out.
"Maybe I'm just as bat-shit crazy as she is, as YOU are." She jabbed her finger in his direction. He shook his head at her and got up. She wanted him to leave as much as she wanted him to stay. If he kept discussing this with her, he'd break her.
She knew it, and she wouldn't be able to fight him on his logic.
She needed another drink.
"You still take your coffee with cream and sugar?" he asked. She nodded pushing down the joy she felt at him remembering such a small thing. "You do have coffee in the house?"
"I do. It's next to the machine," she said. He disappeared into her kitchen.
She eyed her empty glass and wished it were full. She heard him opening drawers in her kitchen. "Do you need any help?" she called out.
"I'm all good," was his response. She was the first one to say she was totally fine being alone. But late at night, when the nightmares of her parents' death inevitably came, the first person she wanted to call was Father Luken. After her parent's death, he was the only one that made her feel cared for. The nuns at St. Jude's were kind enough, but they weren't family, just teachers.
Father Luken offered her a family, a family of freaks to be sure, but still a family. And she'd turned him down. Maybe she was just too chickenshit to do the work, she reasoned with herself.
She shivered at how pathetic she sounded as he came back, holding two cups of steaming coffee.
"Are you cold?" he asked and handed her the cup.
"No, I'm fine. Thank you," she said. He sat down next to her on the couch, and she inched as far as she could away from him. He raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything.
"I want your help on this case," he said and took a sip.
"Why?"
"Why don't you want to do it?"
"I'm scared. They'll know what I am," she admitted and felt tears form in her eyes. Please don't run down my face and let him see, she thought.
"I know. I'll be with you every step of the way," he said. "I promise, I'll protect you."
Sara stared into her mug without answering him. She must have known what she would do when she opened the door for him. She knew why he came to see her. He was right in saying that she gave the mother his name for a reason.
"I know how hard this decision is. I also know it's the right one. There's nothing better than being yourself. To be open and willing to share the gifts that God gave you to help people." His words sounded hollow to her, but she nodded anyway. She sealed her fate the day she told that mother his name. It was as though she was asking him to call her home, and he did exactly that.
"Is it a demon?" she asked instead.
"No, it's not. The boy has something in him, though. I can see it in his eyes. There's a theory that it's possible for two souls to inhabit one body. One of my colleague's claims that's what really causes schizophrenia, two souls duking it out for the same body. I don't know whether I totally agree with it, but it's one of the possibilities."
"What kind of soul? Like a ghost's soul? If it was a ghost in him, wouldn't I be able to see that?"
"That's my hope anyway. Were you able to see any sort of aura around him?"
Sara shook her head. "All the ghosts in that alleyway stayed away from him. Not one of them came within five feet of him," Sara said.
"That's normal behavior for them. I'm not sure if they can all see each other. I've asked others like you, and they've told me it depends."
"So what's the next step?"
"We meet them together."
* * *
Caitlyn Rogers perched on Sam's bed and held her still sleeping, but screaming, son as tightly as she could. He'd had nightmares before but never like this. She'd tried to wake him up several times, but had no luck. She shook him as lightly as she could.
"Sammy, can you hear me? Wake up, Sammy. Wake up," she whispered into his ear. The all too familiar panic uncoiled in her stomach. Should she take him to the ER again? Or maybe his pediatrician? She had read somewhere not to wake children when sleepwalking and wasn't sure if the same held true with nightmares. Her own mother had always woken her up from childhood nightmares.
"Mommy, don't cry," Sam said as he looked up at her. Cait hadn't realized he was awake or that she was even crying.
"I'm sorry, baby. I just hate to hear you have nightmares, that's all," she said with a watery smile. His big eyes stared into hers as he shook in her arms.
"I saw her kill me, Mommy, with a big gun." Hi
s eyes widened. "Blood went everywhere," his voice lowered to a whisper.
5
The Drawing
Father Luken had arrived with coffee at nine o'clock in the morning and hustled Sara Caine into his car within minutes of getting there. The coffee barely masked her massive hangover and the bright, California sun made her head want to crack open. The entire drive over she hunched down in his pickup truck and prayed she wouldn't puke all over his seat.
"Why are we getting there this early?" she said as they hit another bump on Adams Boulevard and bile flooded her mouth. She swallowed it down and whimpered.
"As I told you, Mrs. Rogers has to go into work by noon and this was the time she had available," Father Luken explained in his most patient voice.
"Ok," was all Sara managed to get out.
They drove in silence the rest of the way to Venice. The coolness of the ocean air helped alleviate Sara's headache. She inhaled deeply.
She could do this. Perking up, she sat up straighter and turned to Father Luken. "You only gave me one option last night. What else could be plaguing Sam?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. If a ghost had entered the boy's body, I would think we'd see more erratic behavior then he's been exhibiting thus far."
"Seizures are pretty erratic."
"That's true, they are. I did some research when I got home last night and found documented cases of ghosts possessing the living. None of the cases mentioned the victims having seizures. Not to say that can't happen. Anything is possible when dealing with a mixture of our world with theirs."
"Theirs?" Sara had never heard him talk like that before. "Is there another world out there?"
"Physicists speculate that there are an infinite amount of worlds. I believe the spiritual realm could be one of the worlds."
"Sounds a bit farfetched to me," she said as they took a right off Main Street.
"My terminology might not be sound, but that doesn't make it any less real," he said. Sara turned back to the view of beach bungalows up and down the block. Father Luken pulled into a spot in front of a tiny, yellow cottage, wild roses growing up the front of it. Ms. Roger's home was straight out of a fairytale book. As in most fairytales, Sara wondered what darkness lay behind the picture perfect green door.
* * *
Mrs. Rogers ushered both her and Father Luken inside the cheerful living room and pointed to seats across from Sam, who was coloring a drawing on the living room table.
"Would you like some coffee or tea?" Mrs. Rogers offered. Father Luken shook his head.
"Water. I would love some water," Sara said giving the woman her best smile. Mrs. Rogers nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Father Luken made a beeline for Sam, and Sara reluctantly followed.
Father Luken knelt down next to Sam as Sara sat on the flowery sofa in front of them. She peered at the drawing and frowned at the disturbing image. She lightly touched Father Luken to get his attention, and he gave her a small nod. She faded into the background to watch him work.
"Hi Sam, remember me? I'm Father Luken," he said.
The boy nodded, not looking up from his drawing. "I remember you. Mom told me you would be coming."
"You're quite the artist, Sam. Do you like to draw?" Father Luken asked.
Sam shrugged. "I guess. I wish I drew better though. This doesn't look like my dream at all," he said and picked up the red crayon. He pressed the crayon hard on the paper and filled in the puddle beneath the man lying in the middle of a room.
"Is that you?" Father Luken pointed at the dead man just as Mrs. Rogers walked in with the waters. Sara took the glass from her and gulped it down. Water had never tasted so good.
"You can have mine too, Sara," Father Luken said not taking his eyes off of Sam and Mrs. Rogers handed her the glass. She downed that in seconds flat.
"So you've seen what he's drawing?" Mrs. Rogers interjected. Father Luken nodded.
"It's like my dream, Mommy, the one from last night," Sam said and snuck a peak at his Mom's face. Mrs. Rogers' face showed how she was very disturbed by the whole thing.
"Does he watch a lot of TV?" Sara asked and watched Mrs. Rogers shoulder's droop. She shook her head.
"I almost wish he did. I could then explain this away. We don't have a TV here. There hasn't been a shooting in the neighborhood for over a year. I have no idea where he could have seen such violent imagery," Mrs. Rogers said. Sara thought back to their first meeting in the alleyway. Mrs. Rogers was nowhere to be seen then. It was entirely possible he saw something bad without her knowing it. She'd have to tell Father Luken about that after they left.
"Has he drawn anything like this before?" Father Luken asked.
"No, he hasn't. He has night terrors every other night, but last night was different. I tried for half an hour to wake him up, but he wouldn't open his eyes. He scared me to death."
"Can you think of anything that could have triggered last night?" Father Luken asked, his voice projecting only concern and kindness. Sara wished she could sound so sincere.
"I had some friends from work over for lunch. None of them interacted with Sam though. He was on his best behavior yesterday."
"Had he ever met these friends before?" Sara asked while watching Sam progress on his drawing. It now included a black silhouette with a gun pointed at the dead man.
"Yes, they've all been over here before. Maybe once. They're work friends. We don't socialize that often out of the office," Mrs. Murphy said and ruffled Sam's hair, her face etched with concern.
"Where do you work?" Father Luken left the boy's side and joined Sara on the sofa across from the small family unit.
"At an emergency health clinic on Lincoln Boulevard. I'm an administrator there," Mrs. Rogers said never taking her eyes off Sam.
Father Luken leaned over to Sara, and she could smell the minty soap he used. His closeness was such a distraction that she barely heard what he said. "Sorry, I didn't hear that?" was all she managed.
"Are there any entities in this room?" he asked her again.
"No."
"Does Sam have an aura around him?"
Sara squinted at Sam and saw nothing but Mrs. Rogers and the back wall. "No."
"You sure?"
"I'm not seeing anything, Johan," she said and felt the headache pain roar back. Her eyes watered, and she pressed her hand against her forehead to ease it. She called him by his first name, she thought. He had to have noticed.
"Are you OK, Ms. Caine," Mrs. Rogers said and got to her feet. "Do you need a cold compress? Advil? I think I have Tylenol as well."
Sara waved off her concern. "It's just a headache, I'll be fine."
"Is it a normal headache?" Father Luken pressed his hand against her forehead and studied her eyes. "Your pupils are a different size. Have you ever had a headache like this before?"
Sara was ashamed to admit that she was delighted by the concern she saw on his face. "Not this bad."
"And you didn't see an aura around Sam before the headache hit?"
Sara deflated at the question realizing his concern was not for her. "Ghosts don't give me headaches," she retorted.
"This could be something similar to a ghost though," Father Luken said and gave her a warning look. He didn't want to show dissent in front of Mrs. Rogers, and she understood that. Kind of.
"I'm not picking up any entities in this room with my particular senses," she said, keeping her voice as level as possible. The look on Father Luken's face told her she hadn't succeeded. Father Luken turned back to Mrs. Rogers.
"Has anyone died in the last year? Anyone that you were close to?" he asked.
"No one that I know of. My husband died three years ago. Could that be something?"
"How old is Sammy?" Father Luken asked.
"He's six."
"Does he ever ask about his father?" Sara asked.
"No, not really," Mrs. Rogers said, biting her lip. "I don't have family and it's just been the two of us. He's never mentioned him to me."
<
br /> "Who stays with him when you're at work?" Sara asked. What kind of mother let her six-year-old wander off like that? And in this neighborhood?
"A nice old grandma, Mrs. Martinez. She lives two houses down from here. Do you think she has something to do with his condition? If I'm to believe the both of you, then he is neither haunted nor possessed. There is something wrong with him," she said, her eyes never leaving her son's face. "Maybe he's just a sick little boy."
"When did you notice something was off with him? The first time? Can you pinpoint when he took you by surprise?" Father Luken asked.
"I don't know. He is my first child. I have no idea what to expect. Who am I to say what is normal behavior for a baby and then a child? His pediatrician always felt he was on track. He never missed any markers. He started speaking quite early, but that's not out of the norm. His eyes though. Sometimes..." Something she saw in Father Luken's face made her stop.
"You can't help me, can you?" was all she said.
Father Luken shook his head. "I believe you when you say something is off. Look," he said and pointed at Sam's drawing.
"What? I don't see what..." Mrs. Rogers voice trailed off in confusion. She gasped when she saw what he was pointing at.
"Who's Jimmy?" Father Luken asked, pointing to the name that Sam had written on top of the puddle of blood next to the dead man.
"I'm Jimmy," Sam replied. A small sob burst out of Mrs. Rogers as she covered her mouth in shock.
6
A Mother's Dilemma
Caitlyn Rogers stared at the priest and the medium in front of her and felt the world was about to collapse. It was bad enough for her to think that her baby was haunted or even worse, possessed. At least those were fixable problems. What the priest was telling her now was too hard to believe.
"Are you sure? I mean how can we know? Children have imaginations that surpass ours. Maybe Jimmy is an imaginary friend? Or maybe I read him something with a Jimmy in it. There are a lot of different explanations to why he wrote the name Jimmy," she said, and searched for any other explanation than the one he was proposing.
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