by Pat Esden
I had the sneaking suspicion the muffins and artifacts were another tactic designed to keep me busy and out of the way, like the flat tire and the invitation to go shopping. But I pretended like I was amenable and rushed along with Zachary, through the front door and into the foyer. Actually, the library wasn’t out of my way. From there I could take the circular staircase up to the balcony and the use the secret door to get into the hallway by Dad’s room. It seemed like the most obvious place for Dad to be—and, yesterday when the priest was here, it had smelled of incense.
We passed the dining room and couple of other rooms, all empty and silent.
“Where’s your aunt Kate and Grandfather?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen them. You’ll love the muffins, they’re the best. Laura made banana smoothies to go with them. They’re the Professor’s favorite.”
When we got to the library, its lights were dimmed. The only bright spot was the distant outline of the workroom’s open doorway, like a beacon designed to keep us from straying too far. Or a candle left lit on purpose, to attract unwary moths.
I let Zachary usher me toward it, playing along as we went deeper into the stacks. But when we neared the circular staircase, I halted. “Is there a bathroom somewhere around here?” I asked.
He nodded at a door next to the staircase. “It’s small and kind of stinky, but it works.”
“Great. Tell the Professor I’ll be there in a minute.”
I waited just long enough for him to vanish into the workroom. Then I sped up the staircase, careful not to make too much noise. Full tilt, I headed toward the secret door.
A hand seized my shoulder.
Yanking free, I whirled around. It was Chase.
A vein pulsed in his tightly corded neck. “Go back downstairs,” he said.
I glanced over my shoulder at the hallway door, and then back at him. “What’s going on?”
“Please, Annie. Just do it.” His eyes begged me to obey.
“No,” I said, not trying to hide my anger. “Tell me the truth.”
“Annie, trust me. You don’t want to know.”
A yowling sound came from the far side of the door, like an animal being skinned alive.
“What the hell was that?” I screeched.
“Nothing.” Chase had me by the shirtsleeve now. Sweat dribbled down his face. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. Just go back downstairs.”
My jaw clenched. His fingers tensed, like he was readying for me to try to pull free.
Instead, I moved in close to him, inches from his face. My voice growled. “You think you can stop me?”
“Annie, I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t—”
I didn’t hear the last of his words as I broke free, dove for the door, and hurtled into the west hallway.
I gasped.
The hallway was arctic cold, and frost coated the mirrors and windows. The acrid stench of church incense burned my nose. A cat ran past me and then another. Then they both ran back, circling and yowling like they had gone crazy or had rabies. What the hell!
“Annie.” Chase was coming through the door. “Wait.”
I covered my mouth and nose with my hand to keep out the smell and staggered toward Dad’s room. Damn them. Damn them all. Whatever was going on, I’d get Dad out of here. Go somewhere. Anywhere.
“Don’t,” Chase shouted.
Salt crackled under my feet as I shoved Dad’s bedroom door open and stepped inside.
I stopped. Unable to breathe or move, I could only stare.
Orange candlelight pulsed like a heartbeat through the darkened room. The priest and Kate stood beside Dad’s four-poster bed, so focused they didn’t even glance my way.
The priest raised his arm, his wide sleeve blocking my view of the bed. “I adjure you, Satan, deceiver of the human race, acknowledge the Spirit of truth and grace, who repels your snares, confounds your lies.” His voice echoed. His breath was an icy vapor in the frigid room.
Fear, disbelief, and horror all roiled inside me. An exorcism. They were doing a fucking exorcism on my dad! I opened my mouth to scream.
But Chase grabbed me from behind, one hand clamping my mouth, the other pinning me against his chest. “Shush,” he said.
The priest lowered his arm and I saw Dad, lying motionless, his eyelids wide open, his eyes rolled back so only the whites showed. Spittle foamed from the corners of his mouth. His arms and legs were tied to the bedposts.
The priest took a bottle from Kate and began sprinkling Dad with holy water. “Depart, unclean sprit!” he commanded.
Dad writhed against the ropes. His back arched. He howled in pain.
I thrashed against Chase’s grip, struggling to break free. He seized me tighter.
Grandfather’s voice came from beside me. “Be still. We’re trying to save him.”
I turned my head toward him and glared. Kill him was more like it.
“Begone, spawn of Satan!” the priest shouted.
A demonic voice hissed from Dad’s mouth. “No false servant attended by witches can command me!”
I looked back at Dad, my heart fumbling. The shadow in the church. The stranger Dad had become on the beach. I didn’t want to believe this. Exorcism. Demons. This couldn’t be real.
A chill—colder than the room—sliced though my veins. Overwhelmed, I let my arms drop to my sides and quit fighting against Chase.
He released me and Grandfather propelled me toward the sitting area and into a chair. “Sit,” he whispered. Then he and Chase folded their arms across their chests and stood in front of me like prison guards.
Kate was sprinkling more salt across the doorway.
The priest was making the sign of the cross over Dad. “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Dad spat at the priest, hitting him in the face. He cackled. “We’re not afraid of you.”
Without wiping off the spittle, the priest continued, “In the name of God, depart!”
The mirrors, the paintings, everything that hung on the walls began to rise and fall in a deafening rhythm, pounding faster and louder like an oncoming train. The air pressure climbed until my ears rang from it. The cold deepened. Shivering, I hunched over, tucked my chin to my chest, and covered my ears against the howling noise. The floor began to vibrate. The smell of sulfur overwhelmed the incense.
“NEVER!” Dad’s voice wailed. “No!” A demonic voice screeched.
Electricity crackled through the room. My head felt like it might explode. My stomach heaved and the taste of vomit coated my tongue. Please, let this be over.
“Begone!” the priest shouted.
I glanced up.
The priest crossed himself and then made the sign over Dad again.
Dad’s entire body jerked, fast quick spasms. “No” hissed from his mouth as the air pressure plummeted.
My ears popped. Dad went limp. His eyes closed, and the entire room went deathly silent.
A second passed. Then another.
The priest glanced at Kate. “It’s over,” he said.
While the priest and Kate untied Dad’s arms and legs, Grandfather poured a glass of water and helped Dad take a sip. Chase pulled the drapes open, sunlight streaming in.
I couldn’t make myself move. It was like I was sitting in the audience watching an old black-and-white movie sputter in front of me.
Dad’s eyes flittered open. He rubbed his wrists, ringed with rope burns.
“I’ll have Olya bring you something for that,” Kate said.
Sweat matted the priest’s hair and darkened his robe. His shoulders slumped as he took the gold chain and crucifix off from around his neck, kissed the cross, and then touched it to Dad’s forehead.
“Thank you,” Dad mumbled weakly.
“Thank the mercy and power of the Holy Spirit,” the priest replied. He put the crucifix back on and pulled a blanket up over Dad’s legs and body. He turned to Grandfather. “He’ll be fine, but he should rest now.�
� He tilted his head at the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you and Kate for a moment, outside in the hall.”
Kate cleared her throat. “We should talk in the study. Chase can stay with James.” She flicked her fingers at me. “She should come with us.”
The priest nodded. “Yes, that would be a good idea.”
Their sharp tones yanked me from my daze. Kate’s face was tight with anger, her eyes flinty and cold. My stomach dropped. Once I got to the study, I was going to get one hell of a lecture about how my barging in could have caused the exorcism to fail. I was certain of that.
I sliced a couple of looks in her direction. It wasn’t my fault. If they’d been honest with me in the first place, then none of us would have had to resort to subterfuge and secrecy. How was I supposed to trust them, if they were going to lie to me?
Mostly, I was glad and grateful that I’d witnessed everything—felt the demon’s presence, heard it, smelled it, tasted it. If I hadn’t, I probably would never have accepted Dad’s lightning-fast recovery as real—or, later, believed Dad when he explained a demon, not dementia, had caused his illness. I would have thought he was making up another one of his stories.
I nodded to say I’d follow them, then went to the bed and slipped my hand into Dad’s.
His fingers were hot and clammy. His face was pale. But he looked more at peace than he had in months, his eyes warm, his mouth curved into a gentle smile, the muscles in his shoulders visibly relaxed.
Grandfather opened the door and let the priest go into the hallway first.
“Come along, Stephanie,” Kate said, waiting for me to follow.
I glanced at Dad. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“It’s okay, Annie. I’m so tired.” He stopped rubbing his rope-burnt wrist and scratched his elbow three times.
I drew a sharp breath. It couldn’t be. The priest, Kate, Grandfather, Chase, everyone was acting like it was over. Heck, I’d thought it was over. But, was it possible we were all fooled?
I bit my tongue and fought to keep a sedate expression on my face. Dad’s eyes and mouth, his shoulders, his arms, everything about the way he held himself indicated he was tranquil and as innocent as a newborn lamb.
But could he be faking it? The three elbow scratches had always been Dad’s only tell. A tell that told me that under his relaxed exterior, he was ecstatic a plan was coming together.
Right now, however, there was no reason for him to hide his delight about the exorcism succeeding. Unless—
I pulled my hand from Dad’s, so he wouldn’t notice it trembling.
Unless the exorcism hadn’t succeeded, and making everyone think it had was Dad or the demon’s true goal.
CHAPTER 11
Before full possession is reached, the symptoms can
mimic dementia interspersed with moments of clarity where
the host or the demonic presence breaks through.
—Prevention, diagnosis and treatment
www.SerpentWrestler.com
I rushed ahead of everyone, down the hallway and stairs to
Kate’s study.
As soon as the door closed behind us, I blurted out, “Dad. The exorcism.” My words faltered as I gulped a breath. “He’s still—”
The priest turned toward me. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, his gaze was unwavering and intense. “I understand your father visited an abandoned church?”
“Yeah, we did,” I said. “But that’s not important. I have to tell you something.”
The priest thumped his fist on the back of the settee and bellowed as if he were addressing a congregation. “Deserted churches are a favorite playground for Satan’s minions. Your father was very fortunate. He easily could have fallen prey to a higher-ranking demon. You could have become possessed as well.”
“I didn’t. And that doesn’t matter!” I huffed.
The priest jerked back, his eyes bulging as if I were the spawn of Satan. “Doesn’t matter? Are you out of your mind, child?”
“Listen!” My voice tore from my throat, raw and forceful. “Dad’s not fine. He’s still possessed. The demon isn’t gone.”
Grandfather lifted his hand to silence me. He narrowed his eyes at the priest. “Is she right? Is this why you suggested we meet where James couldn’t hear?”
The priest shot Grandfather a hard look. “Certainly not. I only wished to let your son rest and clarify our arrangement in private.” His eyes cut toward me. “What you’re suggesting is impossible. A possessed man could not lie still with a religious relic under his mattress and a crucifix over his head.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Kate’s talonlike fingers dug into my shoulder. “Stephanie, listen to him. He’s experienced in these matters. You certainly are not.”
I clenched my teeth. I had to make them understand.
The priest folded his arms across his chest, his dark sleeves billowing. “If your father were still possessed, he would not have been able endure the touch of a crucifix against his skin. Welts would have risen and the demon would have cried out in anguish.” The priest held up his index finger. “But do not make light of the hold even a lesser unclean spirit can have. It’s only God’s strength and mercy that allowed your father, an unbaptized man, to be freed from the Devil’s grip.”
Grandfather nodded at the priest. “I have every reason to believe you’re correct, and James is free. But”—he turned to me—“why do you believe he isn’t?”
I shoved Kate’s hand from my shoulder and faced them all. “When I was holding Dad’s hand, he looked peaceful. But I’m—” I took a deep breath. There was a good chance they’d think I was being ridiculous, and they might have been right. But I had to trust my gut, and it was telling me something was still wrong. “I’m certain it was all an act.” My chest tightened. Was I that certain? Dad and I had always been super close, but that had changed over the past six months. Was there a chance I could be wrong? I knew next to nothing about exorcisms or demons. Part of my brain was even laughing at how crazy it all sounded. Still, I had to tell them what I’d seen.
I pitched my voice lower. “When there’s something at an auction Dad’s really excited about bidding on, he acts super relaxed like he isn’t interested in anything at all. That’s his poker face. The only way to know he’s faking is if he scratches his elbow three times.”
Kate groaned as if exasperated. “What you’ve failed to consider is that most often scratching is no more than a man relieving an itch, and your father had been restrained for some time.”
A sinking feeling gathered in my throat, then dropped into my stomach. As much as my pride wanted to argue with them, logic told me Kate and the priest were right. I’d seen the cross over Dad’s bed. I’d seen the priest touch his forehead with the crucifix. I’d even noticed part of a small linen bag sticking out from under the mattress, which I now assumed held the relic of some dead pope or saint. And, truthfully, it was possible he’d scratched more than three times and I’d failed to notice it.
I hugged myself, shoulders slumping. “You’re probably right,” I said.
Grandfather’s eyes gentled. “Your misinterpretation is understandable. And I’m very sorry we couldn’t tell you what was going on, but we were certain you wouldn’t believe us and would try to run off with him.”
My fingers clenched as I resisted the urge to nod. That was exactly what I would have done.
“This isn’t the first time we’ve faced this situation.” Grandfather’s voice softened even further. “If we’re lucky, it will be the last.”
I touched the back of my ear. At the beach, Dad had seemed like a stranger, but when I’d held his hand after the exorcism, all I’d sensed was my loving Dad. He had called me by my name, too. Kate was right. Sometimes a scratch was just a scratch.
“You did what you thought best,” I mumbled. Then I looked up and said with gratitude, “You saved Dad.”
Grandfather smiled. “We would
n’t have dreamed of doing anything less.” He turned away, stepped quickly to the door, and opened it. He looked back at the priest. “Father, we could go on about this all day. We certainly are thankful for all you’ve done. But we’re rather exhausted.” He inclined his head at the hallway.
The priest nodded. “Yes, of course, I must be going.” His eyes went to me. “If you don’t mind, I do have one more question before I go. Do you know what your father acquired from the church?”
Given a minute to think, I probably could remember everything: pews, the statue of St. Anthony, a couple of gothic chairs and a musty tapestry, the broken cups and napkins from the sacristy.
I glanced at Grandfather. Why wasn’t he or Kate offering to e-mail the priest a copy of Dad’s inventory? I’d seen Dad’s lawyer send it to them after Kate had been granted custody.
Ever so slightly, Grandfather shook his head, indicating for me to say nothing.
I looked at the priest and shrugged. “Off the top of my head, I can’t recall exactly.”
Kate stopped fiddling with her signet ring, an amazing piece of jewelry with a carved purple stone. “Is it necessary to put her through this right now? Can’t you see the girl’s dead on her feet?”
“Yes, of course, I’m beyond tired as well,” the priest said to her. Then to me, “If you recall what else he bought or just want to talk, feel free to stop by the church.”
“I doubt she or her father will have time for that,” Kate said. “Once James has rested, they’ll be leaving.”
Leaving? My pulse leapt and I couldn’t hold back a smile. Of course, we could leave now. Wow. This was great. Our life would go back to the way it had been, with just me and Dad, and we could put this whole nightmare behind us. I could register for classes and not worry about having to back out this time.
Uneasiness quivered in my stomach. I was beyond thrilled Dad was better. Leaving was all I’d wished for—except, it meant I might never get the chance to find out more about Mother’s death. And after what Chase had said in the library, I’d never be content until I did.
“Well, good night.” The priest stepped into the hallway, but glanced back at Grandfather. “We’re agreed about the relic, right?”