Divine Temptation

by Nicki Elson

  “It does. Can you arrange it?”

  “I…yes. Kirsten’s old enough to stay with Liam. What time do you need me?”

  “Just after dusk, seven thirty. I’ll pick you up at your home.”

  He exited the office before Maggie could ask any more questions. He’d seemed angry, and she was certain the Wilson kid must be pinning something on Liam. She felt immediately guilty for thinking that about a sick child, but as far as she knew, he wasn’t sick at all and was just being dramatic.

  To be better prepared for whatever she was about to face, she had a good talk with Liam before the monsignor picked her up. Her son only repeated the same things he’d been telling her all along, and part way through the interrogation he teared up. The only thing he confessed was that he missed his best buddy.

  “Okay, baby, don’t cry.” Maggie hugged him and stopped her questions. “I’m going to help Monsignor Sarto figure things out and we’ll get your old friend back.”

  At precisely seven thirty, Sarto’s car pulled into the driveway, with Maggie waiting at the door. “To bed by nine if I’m not back by then!” she called to the kids.

  It felt strange sitting next to the priest in his compact sedan. He always emanated an almost otherwordly presence, so it was odd to see him doing something as normal and everyday as driving an ordinary car. She’d halfway expected him to show up in a pope-sized Batmobile.

  “Are we going to the Wilson’s?” she asked.

  “Not right away,” he answered curtly. They drove a little further in silence before he spoke again. “We’re going to Somme Park.”

  Maggie’s chest tightened. “I thought you wanted everyone to stay away from there.”

  “I did. But not everyone listens.”

  Maggie was confused—was he saying he wasn’t listening to himself? “Isn’t the park closed?”

  “They know we’re coming.”

  Those were the last words he spoke before pulling into the parking lot and exiting the car. The night seemed to grow darker as the pair crossed the expanse of asphalt and walked past the night guard with no more greeting than a nod by Sarto. Street lamps along the main path shot cones of white light onto the gravel, leaving everything beyond in a dark gloom.

  After curving past the fruit tree grove, Sarto motioned for Maggie to step off the path. They were going directly to the tholos, and the closer they got to it, the faster Maggie’s heart beat. This didn’t feel right. Why would he bring her to the very place he’d warned everyone to avoid? She peered sideways at the acute angles of the priest’s profile as they walked, not noticing until then that he’d grasped the back of her arm, as if afraid she might run away otherwise. His face was stiff as always, but his typical coldness was replaced by a burning intensity. He flicked his gaze to her.

  “Monsignor, I’m sorry, but can you please tell me what this has to do with Tommy?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.” He quickened his pace so that she had to move into a slow jog to keep from being dragged. When they reached the structure, she planted her feet firmly in the grass and refused to step inside. Sarto stood directly behind her, tightening his grip. “What do you feel?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.

  “Fear,” Maggie answered.

  “That doesn’t sound like what you felt last time.”

  “Last time I didn’t have someone forcing me inside,” she said through clenched teeth, her wariness of the monsignor’s connection to the energy growing.

  He relaxed his hold. “I apologize for frightening you, but we’re working with a limited timeframe. Please, Mrs. Brock, for the good of the Wilson boy, you must do what I ask without resistance.”

  “I don’t understand. How does this help Tommy?”

  “His family started noticing the changes in their son after they visited here last July. They didn’t want to admit this to me at first, but once they did I began to form my theory. I think he became infected during his visit; he may have taken something from the urn that wasn’t meant for him.”

  Maggie stared at him, showing the confusion she felt.

  “You felt stirrings here,” the priest continued. “I suspect the spirit in the urn was attempting to connect with you as well. I need you to be very brave right now and approach the urn, telling me exactly what you feel at each moment. I need to determine exactly what type of influence we’re dealing with. Are you ready?”

  “To tempt a demon? What if it infects me too?”

  “I’m trained to deal with these things.”

  She considered breaking the priest’s grip and running away, but where would that leave Tommy Wilson if he truly was possessed?

  Maggie wasn’t sure she could make her feet step into the tholos no matter how much her mind willed it. That’s when she saw a soft wash of white through the tree branches. Evan stayed hidden, apparently not wanting to reveal himself to Sarto, but the glimpse was enough to give her the courage to walk slowly, with the priest by her side, to the urn. She inhaled deeply and attempted to calm herself, opening to the energy.

  After a few silent moments, she said, “I don’t sense it. It just feels empty.”

  Sarto’s hand moved from her arm to the back of her neck, where he applied a forward pressure. Maggie resisted and shifted her eyes toward Evan. He’d moved noiselessly forward, and she could now see the rigid features of his solemn face. Slowly nodding, he kept his steely gaze on hers, silently assuring her he’d be right there should anything go wrong. Maggie attempted to swallow but found that her throat had gone completely dry. She closed her eyes and bent forward so that she hovered directly over the urn.

  “Perhaps I should step outside,” Sarto whispered. The pressure of his hand lifted.

  Maggie stayed still, trying to clear her mind of everything. She wanted to pray, but was afraid that would only keep the spirit at bay.

  Minutes passed, and Sarto lost patience. “Nothing?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Maggie stood straight and opened her eyes.

  “It’s gone then. The boy may have taken it all. This is worse than I expected. Come, there’s no time to drop you back at home.”

  They ran to the car, and Monsignor Sarto sped along the roads to the Wilson residence. “Should I wait in here?” Maggie asked when they pulled into the driveway.

  “No. You’ll stay with me. I may need your help.”

  They got out of the car, and he pulled a black satchel from the trunk before motioning for her to follow him to the house. Grace Wilson flung the front door open within seconds of Sarto rapping upon it. Her puffy eyes indicated she’d spent a good deal of time crying. “He seems better,” she said, the high-pitched squeak in her voice betraying her lack of faith in these hopeful words. “I tried keeping him in bed like you said, but he was getting restless, so I let him go into the basement to play his video games. Ken’s with him, but Tommy seems just like normal.”

  “Because it knows we’re coming,” Sarto said and headed straight to the basement stairs.

  Maggie didn’t say anything, but reached out and grabbed Grace’s hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb as they descended the basement stairs. Tommy stared forward at the television monitor with his fingers busy at the controls, completely ignoring their approach.

  “Tommy,” his dad said, “it’s time to stop the game.”

  “Aw, just let me finish this level. I’m about to beat it.”

  Sarto nodded toward Ken, indicating it was fine to give the boy a few more minutes. The priest set his bag on the air hockey table and pulled out a long, purple stole, placing it around his neck. “Where are the other children?” he asked.

  “We sent them for a sleepover at their grandma’s,” Grace explained.

  “When this is all over, I’ll want to spend some time with each of them, as well. Just to be sure.”

  “Of course,” Grace said in a husky whisper pulling her hand from Maggie’s to cover her mouth as she began to weep.

  Maggie took a step closer and gently
rubbed Grace’s back. The act of comforting the other woman helped to allay her own fears. Sarto meanwhile unloaded his bag of tricks—a Bible, a bottle of holy water, and two rosaries. He handed a rosary to each of Tommy’s parents and murmured for Ken to sit next to his son and be at the ready to restrain him should that become necessary.

  “Okay, buddy,” Ken said to Tommy as he sat down. “Time to stop the game.” When the boy ignored him, Ken laid his hand on the remote.

  “Don’t touch it!” Tommy shrieked, causing Grace to flinch.

  Ken gripped the remote and pried it from his son’s hand. Tommy slumped back onto the couch and crossed his arms, scowling, while Sarto kneeled down in front of him and placed the ends of the purple alb onto each of the boy’s shoulders. The priest tipped the bottle of holy water onto his finger tips and crossed himself before reaching out and tracing a small cross on Tommy’s forehead.

  Tommy stayed silent and watched the priest. His lower lip began to quiver. Monsignor Sarto kept his hand at Tommy’s forehead and rested his palm upon it as he spoke words in Latin. A prayer. When he finished, Sarto’s hand remained where it was, and he closed his eyes, the corners crinkling. “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “You know why,” Tommy said in a voice that sounded like his, but there was something more mature in the tone.

  “Why have you entered this boy? How can he possibly help your ends?”

  “He’s a vehicle.”

  “To…?” Sarto prompted.

  “Her.” The word came out in a guttural hiss, and Maggie’s fear crept back in. A year ago she would’ve suspected this was all an elaborate ruse, but now she didn’t question it. The boy was possessed.

  “Why do you stay so long?” Sarto asked the demon. “Have you given up on your objective? Lost sight of it?” Sarto asked.

  Tommy clamped his mouth shut and set his jaw stubbornly. Sarto began chanting, again in Latin. He moved both hands to the boy’s shoulders on top of the purple cloth and continued his incantation, his voice becoming lower and lower until it was a barely audible hum.

  At last, Tommy spoke, and his voice had resumed its childlike quality. “He doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. He’s afraid.”

  “Will you talk to me, Tommy?” The priest likewise modified his tone to something more soothing. “Why is he with you?”

  “Because I was bad. And he tricked me. He told me no one would ever find out and I could have whatever I wanted if I let him in. I wish I just would’ve told Mom and Dad that I made the scratch on their car.” He clenched his eyes shut and tears leaked out. “But he said he wouldn’t stay. He doesn’t want to stay, and he’s going to get in real big trouble if he doesn’t get out soon.”

  “Why don’t you let him out?”

  Tommy opened his watery eyes to look at the priest. “H-He’s so mean. I want him out but—” Tommy swallowed hard and flinched. Then he groaned and started to whimper. “I can’t. Every time he tries to leave…I get sick.”

  Maggie’s stomach lurched, and Tommy began to sob. His shoulders shook, and Sarto gripped them, attempting to hold the boy still. “Let him out, Tommy. It’s okay. Just relax and release him.”

  Tommy took several deep breaths. And then he screamed. His father’s arm flew around his shoulders, and Grace ran to him, but Sarto shouted for them to stand back and not touch the boy. “Pray your rosaries—both of you. Now!”

  The priest resumed chanting his incantation while he closed his eyes and held Tommy firm. Both Grace and Ken gripped the beads in their hands and seemed to do their best to recite prayers while their eyes burned on their shaking son. Maggie, meanwhile, stood helplessly by watching Tommy struggle with the demon. He suddenly looked so small, so very small as his body trembled and his eyes rolled back, revealing only the white.

  Strings of vomit spilled out the sides of his mouth. The demon was trying to get out. A flash of fear ripped through Maggie, and then eased. Everything was going to be okay. She could take the pain from this child. She had the ability. All she needed to do was open up to accept the spirit into herself instead. She’d be a savior. As an adult, she’d be much better able to handle the gifts this being would bestow upon her. Of course a stupid child had failed to deliver. But she wouldn’t. She was so much more worthy than this sniveling creature and his insipid parents clutching their trinkets. As if those could ever save them.

  Maggie gasped. These thoughts weren’t hers. She shot her gaze desperately at Sarto and saw that his eyes were opened, watching her with an odd expression of expectation. She stumbled to the air hockey table and reached into the priest’s bag, pulling out the first thing she touched. A wooden crucifix. She put it to her chest and attempted to recite the Our Father or the Hail Mary, anything, but no verses came to her.

  Her knees slammed onto the concrete floor of the basement as she murmured, “Help me Father, help me, help me.” They were the only words she could muster.

  She was still whimpering on the ground when Grace shouted her son’s name. Maggie slowly opened her eyes. The sensation that had gripped her was gone, and her thoughts were her own. Lifting her head, she saw Tommy slumped into Ken’s embrace with Grace hovering over them.

  “He’s fine,” Monsignor Sarto told them. “He’ll probably sleep for a long while, but he’s out of danger. I’ll leave you with the rosaries—blessed by the Holy See himself—and this vial of holy water. Bless him with the sign of the cross every night and every morning. I recommend the whole family fast for the next three days. Only a small breakfast, lunch, and dinner with no eating in between. For Thomas, I leave this.” He pulled a pewter charm on a chain out of his pocket. “It’s the medal of St. Benedict. He should keep it on his person going forward. I’ll be by at least once a day for the next week to check on him and to pray over your other children. It appears the demon has fled, but one must proceed with caution in these matters. If you notice any odd behavior, call me at once.”

  The Wilsons were shaken, but expressed their gratitude. After the monsignor packed his bag, they all went upstairs, with Ken carrying his sleeping child, and said their goodbyes at the front door. During the entire exchange, Sarto never once made eye contact with Maggie, not even when he pulled his crucifix from her hand.

  Maggie sat awkwardly next to Sarto in the small vehicle. He didn’t appear inclined to speak, but she had to ask. “Did I do something wrong in there? You seem so angry with me.”

  He stared out through the glossy black window, and for a moment, Maggie thought he was going to ignore the question.

  “I didn’t tell you to take the crucifix,” he finally said. “You don’t understand the rite of exorcism and it wasn’t your place to interfere.”

  “I understand, Monsignor. But the spirit—it seemed like it was trying to enter me as it left Tommy. I felt the same sort of euphoria, or promises, that I did at the urn. It’s hard to explain. But isn’t that what you sensed when you were looking at me so intently?”

  “It had formed a root in the boy. It needed a strong enough incentive to be able to release its grip.”

  “And I was the incentive? Is that why you brought me there?” Sarto kept his eyes on the road, and Maggie exhaled sharply, zoning her gaze onto the beams of the car’s headlights as they shot into darkness. Folding her arms over her chest, she murmured, “I can’t believe this.”

  “My methods may veer from the norm, but you can’t deny they were effective.”

  “Were they? You seem disappointed I was able to escape with my soul fully intact. Shouldn’t you be glad I grabbed the crucifix?”

  She glanced sideways at him and saw his thin lips press together before he said, “That cross is formed around a splinter of wood from his cross at Calvary. It was an excellent choice of weapon.” Maggie narrowed her eyes while he kept his stiffly trained on the road with not so much as a flicker in her direction. “At any rate, you have nothing to worry about. The extraction was too simple—meaning it was a lesser demon and not one that can do much damage
on its own. It merely weakens the host’s resolve against larger evil.”

  That new knowledge didn’t exactly comfort Maggie. “What happened to it? Is it still out there?”

  Sarto inhaled. “The energy is out there, but weakened. If weakened enough it may dissipate entirely. It hardly matters now. I hope you realize the importance of keeping the details of tonight’s events to yourself, out of respect for the family’s privacy.”

  “Of course.”

  They stayed mute for the rest of the drive while Maggie tried to concoct a plausible story with which to appease Brenda. A fabricated account would probably strike the office manager as more realistic than what had actually happened anyhow. When Maggie walked into her dark home with only the dim light above the kitchen sink providing bleak illumination, her first thought was to rush upstairs and kiss both of her children, but she didn’t want to wake them. The evening had been so completely surreal that Maggie had felt almost as if she’d been walking through a movie, or a very dark dream. It was only when moving along the familiarity of her hallway that the reality of it hit her.

  She jumped when the phone rang and rushed to it, her first thought being that it would disturb the children, her second being that she needed to talk to someone—anyone more communicative and less morose than the monsignor. The caller ID told her it was Sharon.

  “Hi!” she said, letting herself take a full breath for the first time in what felt like a while.

  “Are you working out? This late?” Sharon asked.

  “No, no, I just…” Maggie’s throat clenched. Everything that had happened that evening rushed at her and she couldn’t even begin to explain.

  “Oh no, did I wake you up? I’m sorry; this was the first chance I had to sit on my ass all day.” While Sharon rambled on, Evan appeared across from Maggie on the opposite side of the kitchen island. She covered the receiver so Sharon wouldn’t hear the tiny gasps that she suddenly didn’t seem able to control. Evan watched her through cautious eyes, with the corners of his mouth curved into a compassionate frown.

  Maggie jerked herself back into control, and when she was able to steady her voice, interrupted her friend. “Hey, Sharon, I’m sorry. I should’ve just let you leave a message. I’m actually not feeling very well. Could we talk another time?”