After The Exorcism: Book One

by Tabitha Swann

  AFTER THE EXORCISM

  TABITHA SWANN

  Chapter 1

  The girl heard the scraping of the crucifix against the wall as it slowly turned upside down, like iron on rock. The sound of it was as if it was scraping against her ear drum. She shut her eyes and screamed just to drown it out.

  The men shouted louder.

  Their prayers were deafening.

  “From all evil!” the first shouted.

  “Deliver us, O Lord!” the other called back.

  The girl’s body was yanked up from within, her back arching upwards as if lifted from underneath by invisible hands. Both shoulders popped and she felt the invisible knife of dislocation stabbing her. The rope binding her wrists and ankles tore at her skin.

  “From all sin!”

  “Deliver us, O Lord!”

  “Make it stop!” she screamed.

  There was a hammering at the door. “What are you doing to her?!” came the scream from the other side. “Let me in!”

  “From sudden and unprovided death!”

  “Deliver us, O Lord!”

  The priests were getting louder. The bed shook beneath her, its legs pounding into the floorboards. Underneath everything, within the textures of her own screams, there was another sound that only she could hear.

  It was a voice.

  It spoke in a language the girl had never learned, but she understood the meaning of every word. There were few words with equivalents in the English language. When she recalled them now, they came under umbrella terms like “Obey”, “Awake” and “Submit”, but there was more to them than that, nuances she couldn’t put into words, not even in her own mind.

  “From the snares of the Devil!” The older priest was shouting at the top of his voice, competing with the screams and otherworldly groans that emanated from the girl.

  “Deliver us, O Lord!” the younger priest shouted back.

  One of them splashed water across the girl’s chest and it opened up as if she had been sliced with a knife. She felt the air rush into her chest cavity. She opened her eyes and her body was yanked back down to the bed. She took in the dark room, mattresses covering the windows, plastic covering the floors. She took in the two sleep-deprived priests, covered in bruises and scratches and with dark circles under their eyes. The older of the two was dressed in a white robe with a purple scarf. His robe was covered with red and brown blotches. The younger priest was dressed in black. Both wore the collar. Both were sweating and wild-eyed, caught up in the frenzy of the exorcism.

  The girl took in the gaping wound in her chest.

  Through it she could see her ribs, red with blood. He skin had parted like the opening of a flower bud.

  “What are you doing to me?!” she screamed at the priests. “What are you doing?!”

  She heard her mother’s pleas from beyond the door. “Stop!” she screamed. “Please! Stop! You’re killing her!”

  The girl screamed too, matching her mother, like wolves howling in the wild. “You’re killing me!” she screamed.

  Her ribs began to shift in her chest. They opened like interlocked fingers of two hands being pulled apart. The creaking and the cracking of bones added to the symphony of pain in the girl’s bedroom, the Hello Kitty dolls and the Justin Bieber posters witnesses to her physical deformation, to what she felt were sure to be her final moments.

  The old priest held up his holy cross and shouted, “We cast you out, every unclean spirit! In the name of and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ!”

  The girl’s screams stopped and turned into horrific gargling sounds as her ribs withdrew into her body, like claws descending into an abyss below her flesh. Violent convulsions followed as her internal organs were laid out before the world, her chest opened like a sports bag. She looked down and she could see the beating of her heart.

  Her heart sped up.

  It went fast and faster.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  She couldn’t think.

  She could only wait to die.

  The voice whispered to her. It seduced her. It spoke to her of peace and happiness. It offered her a place at its side. It offered her eternal life. The men in the room shouted their empty rituals helplessly at her, their ropes cutting into her flesh, holding her in place for the monster with its mouth to her ear.

  The older priest drew a gun.

  She only had to say the word, and it would all be over. The heart would stop. The world would disappear. Her pain would be forgotten.

  The girl screamed, “No!”

  *

  The sound of gunfire jolted Scout into consciousness, throwing her back into the room and violently ripping her away from her hypnotic state.

  She sat upright in a state of panic, her eyes wide, scanning for danger, looking for unfamiliar faces in the shadows, listening for whispers under the everyday sounds of air conditioners, fish tanks and traffic outside. It was just gone eleven in the morning. The daylight fought against the blinds of the therapist’s office and created an orange glow in the room, like fire light. Scout turned on the couch and put her feet on the floor.

  “It’s OK, Scout,” Dr Maddox said. He stood and poured her a glass of water and set it down on the table beside her. “Drink this.”

  Scout put her hand to her own chest and looked down.

  “There’s no hole,” Dr Maddox said. “You’re safe. This is a safe place.”

  The office was furnished in oak, with large bookcases with leather-bound books, framed photographs of Dr Maddox with his family on vacation and with community leaders at charity events, and a Juliet balcony which looked out over a trendy district of Detroit. The place was in one of the few places in the city which had more occupied buildings than derelict ruins. Nowadays, that counted for trendy.

  Dr Maddox sat back down behind his expensive, custom-made desk. He took off his glasses and placed them on top of his notepad. He had loosened his tie while Scout had been under, she noticed, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He watched her in a state of concerned detachment. She caught him glancing at the clock on the wall which told him her time was up.

  “Take your time,” Dr Maddox said. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

  The sound of the traffic below soothed Scout. She closed her eyes and listened and felt her heart almost beating out of her chest.

  “You’re doing great,” Dr Maddox said. “I can see real progress.”

  Scout opened her eyes. She brushed back her long blonde hair and rubbed her face with her hands to wake herself up.

  “I’m afraid our time is up for today,” Dr Maddox said. “I really think with a few more sessions we’re onto a real breakthrough here.”

  Scout walked to the coat rack and grabbed her puffy red winter jacket. She pulled it on. She stopped before leaving and looked at Dr Maddox. She had practiced this speech a hundred times. She felt her stomach knotting up as she readied herself to say the words.

  “I’ll see you next week?” Dr Maddox said, standing.

  “I need to talk to you about that,” Scout said.

  “Is it the money?” Dr Maddox said.

  Scout nodded. Her face was red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her shoes. “I don’t know if I can afford to keep seeing you.”

  Dr Maddox walked from around his desk and stood in front of Scout. If she was another patient, he would have touched her to comfort her, she knew that. But Scout didn’t like to be touched. Not by men. Dr Maddox was the only good one she knew - he had been helping her for six months now after she begged him for a reduced rate - but even he knew to keep a little physical distance. At 5’ 2”, Scout was easily dwarfed by those around her, and, therefore, easi
ly intimidated. She was always aware of her size, of others’ strength. It always been this way, ever since she could remember. At twenty-two years old, nothing had changed.

  “I want to get better,” Scout said. “I want to be better. But I don’t have the money.”

  “Are you working?” Dr Maddox said.

  “At Havana’s, the nightclub over on the west side. I get steady work there, but it’s not enough for this.”

  “I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do,” Dr Maddox said. “This is the lowest rate.”

  Scout tried to smile through the kick she felt in her stomach. “I’ll be OK,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “Listen,” Dr Maddox said. “Today is on me. I’ll mark it down as I cancelled the appointment. Keep your money.”

  Scout wiped away a tear. With a half-second decision like that, Dr Maddox had spared her a few sleepless nights and days upon days of worrying. She would never tell him how much it meant to her, because she was ashamed of how crucial an extra $60 was for her life. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Wait one second,” Dr Maddox said.

  He went back to his desk and wrote something down on a piece of paper. He folded it up and handed it to Scout. She opened it. It was an address. A church.

  “I want you to try something for me,” Dr Maddox said. “It might sound scary at first, but, I promise you, it will help you a lot. There are people there who have been through situations like yours. Not exactly the same, of course, but they are very open-minded about this kind of thing.”

  “You mean they’ll believe me?” Scout said.

  “You know I believe you, Scout,” Dr Maddox said.

  “I don’t know if I can go to a church,” Scout said. “I’ve heard all the prayers I-”

  “It’s not like that,” Dr Maddox said. “It’s a support group. The woman who runs it is a friend of my wife’s. They meet once a week, every Wednesday night. They meet in the basement. I was going to tell you about it when I thought you were more ready, but I think you need something to keep you going. Your situation… You need a support system. You don’t want to fall back into old ways of thinking. You have to give it a shot.”

  “Thanks,” Scout said, with little enthusiasm.

  “There’s free coffee and donuts, if that helps.”

  Scout managed to smile. “It might,” she said.

  “The woman who runs it is named Tara. She’s a bit of a hippy, but she’s good people. It’s a safe place. It’s for people who have suffered a spiritual crisis, or just people in need of a friend who, for whatever reason, aren’t comfortable with sermons. Will you go along?”

  Scout hesitated, then nodded.

  “You have my number. Give me a call if you need anything. If your situation improves, come back and see me. I wish I could take you on for free, but there are rules against that kind of thing. I could lose my license.”

  “I get it,” Scout said.

  Dr Maddox fished in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed Scout fifty bucks. “Here,” he said. “Please. I’ve only seen you for a month, but you’ve looked thinner every time I’ve seen you.”

  Scout held up her hands. “No,” she said. “It’s OK. I’m OK. Thank you, though. I don’t want to take your money.”

  Dr Maddox took her hand and placed the note into it. Scout recoiled and shouted, “No!” She pulled back from his touch like it burned her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m sorry. I just want to help.”

  Scout took a step away from him.

  “Listen,” he said, “you need to learn to ask for help, Scout. You need to learn to accept help from people. You can’t have another nervous breakdown and just fall into help like you did here. You have to actively seek it.”

  Scout’s head was low, her hair covering her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. She was ashamed of her reaction, ashamed of wanting the money.

  “Take the money,” he said. “I’ll leave it on the floor and turn around and forget I even put it there. There’s no shame in accepting help, Scout.”

  But there was. It consumed her. She felt like the lowest creature on God’s Earth. Twenty-two years old and she couldn’t sleep in the dark and live in the wake of other people.

  Dr Maddox placed the money on the floor and walked back to his desk. He faced the window and spoke without turning around.

  “Go to the support group,” he said. “You need someone, Scout.”

  “I don’t need anyone,” Scout mumbled.

  She picked up the money and left.

  “Thank you,” she said, just as the door was closing.

  As she walked down the stairwell and out into the bitter November morning she patted the money and the address in her pocket to make sure it was still there. She left her hand in her pocket, holding them tight.

  With her other hand, she wiped away her tears.

  Chapter 2

  Central Woodward was a squat, sturdy-looking church with no spire which was capped with a light dusting of snow. Built short and wide from pale sandstone, it had one large stained-glass window and chunky detailing around the doorways. In the yard was weather-worn billboard with letters which were barely hanging on, reading: “SERViCES EVERY SUNDAY 10 AM. OPEN To ALL”. The bright white streetlights cast moving shadows on the church through the frozen willow trees in the front yard. Scout watched from across the street. She stood at the bus stop rubbing her hands together through her thin woolen gloves, her icy breath hanging in the air in front of her. Cars arrived and parked in the lot beside the church.

  The meeting began at 7 p.m. Scout was twenty minutes early, but she didn’t want to go in just yet. She didn’t want to have to talk too much. She planned to sneak in at the back, stay for the meeting, and then sneak back out without speaking to anyone. Scout wanted to get the lay of the place and the people, to see their faces and give herself time to convince herself it was a safe place before sharing her story.

  The closer the Minnie Mouse hands on her watch got to 7 p.m., the worse her stomach felt. Talking to strangers was not something Scout was good at. She didn’t like to rely on anyone, not even for company, and walking through the door, for Scout, was asking for help. She tried to dress nice, like she was a person who didn’t need help, but she knew they would be able to see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

  You’re pathetic, Scout told herself, nervously adjusting the straps of her small backpack.

  She shivered and tried to quiet her mind.

  She wore her nicest pair of jeans, boots with a fluffy lining, and a bobble hat from three Christmases ago that she hoped no-one would be able to tell was a Christmas hat, with it being February and all. She had put on a little make up even, which was rare for Scout, just to try to cover up the dark circles under her eyes.

  Five minutes to seven, Minnie Mouse said.

  Scout was trying to talk herself up as she watched more people park up and enter the church, greeting one another with hugs and kisses. Scout couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged her.

  What if someone tries to hug me and I flinch? she thought.

  You’ll be fine, she told herself. They’re strangers. They won’t even notice you’re there. You’re just taking a look. You don’t ever have to come back if you don’t want to.

  As she was convincing herself to cross the road, telling herself, and her grumbling stomach, that there was coffee and donuts inside, an empty bus pulled up to the bus stop in front of her. The door opened and the bus driver stared at her. He was an elderly white man with dark, sunken eyes and yellowing skin. He smiled at her with stained, sickly teeth.

  “You getting on, sweetheart?” he said, his dull eyes looking at her with something like hunger.

  Scout felt her chest tighten and she gripped her hands together. Something about the man unnerved her. She shook her head.

  A scowl flashed across the man’s face. “You know you’re stood at a fucking bus stop?” he said.

&
nbsp; Tears hit Scout’s eyes and her cheeks flushed red. She nodded and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  The bus driver closed the doors. “Stupid bitch,” he said.

  The bus drove away, leaving Scout shaking in the heavy fog of its exhaust fumes in the bitterly cold night. Her eyes were stinging with the threat of tears. Across the road, in the parking lot of the church, someone was stood in the shadows of the willow trees. The person was looking at Scout.

  Scout swallowed and diverted her eyes.

  Before she could decide, her legs started to walk down the street, away from the church. She wanted to go in. She really wanted to go in. But she couldn’t face it. She couldn’t face anyone. She needed to go home. She needed to be by herself so she could curse herself and prepare herself to try again next week.

  Scout heard a woman call from behind her, “Excuse me!”

  Scout stopped and turned. She took a quick breath to compose herself. She put on a polite smile.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said again, jogging lightly towards her.

  She was in her late forties, with long dark hair tied back and smiling blue eyes. She wore a woolen, home-made sweater, jeans and boots, with a colorful scarf, which also looked homemade, wrapped around her neck.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I’ve seen you here before. You were waiting outside last week, too.”

  “Was I?” Scout said, trying to smile. “Maybe that was-”

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “I was just-”

  The woman held out her hand. “My name’s Tara,” she said. Scout didn’t take her hand. Tara watched her curiously.

  “I should be-”

  “Scout?” Tara said. “Is your name Scout?”

  Scout swallowed. She smiled and nodded nervously.

  “Please, come on in,” Tara said. “Dr Maddox said you might come along. He’s a close friend of mine. And any friend of his, I like to think, is a friend of mine. I’ve been hoping to see you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That’s all he said,” Tara said, holding up her hands. “He said you were a friend and that you might come along. He wouldn’t tell me anything about your story, and I wouldn’t ask.” Tara smiled sympathetically.