Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1)

by Ploof, Michael James

  Lit by only the dreary glow coming through the heavy curtains in the living room windows, the hall looked the part of a dark passage to hell. A picture of the Last Supper hung on the wall to my left, and I blinked in surprise when the scene turned into one from a nightmare. Apostles tore at each other with savage wrath as the picture came alive and blood flew. I didn’t have to be a religious man to find it rather twisted.

  “Never mind his feeble attempts to weaken your resolve, my son,” said Father Killroy as he came to stand before the door. I knew he said it as much to himself as to me. He too had witnessed the carnage within the painting, and his sense of blasphemy must have been great.

  “You all right, Father? I don’t think it was so much me he was trying to shake up there.”

  Killroy looked at me and blinked with a nod, as if reining in his emotions. He laid the sign of the cross over me, the door, and finally himself. And then, to my great surprise, he leaned back, bellowing a prayer in Latin, and kicked the door in like a badass.

  I followed him into the room with a sudden pep in my step. That pep quickly turned to a quaking as I beheld the demon-possessed boy. He was sitting up in bed, staring at us and chewing on something. I followed his right hand from his mouth to the mangled body of what looked like a cat. The boy continued to stare as if not seeing us. He reached into the kitty gore and came back with a bloody treat. My stomach rebelled and threatened to spill my lunch, so I turned from the boy and focused on the spells at hand.

  Father Killroy’s booming voice helped me to focus as he attempted to verbally bitch slap the demon back to hell. I went to work with the ritual while the demon enjoyed his pussycat. I was really only here to protect the father and allow him to do his work; it was his job to send the demon on its way.

  Shrugging my cloak to the side, I took from my jacket pocket the tool with which I would form the ward of imprisonment around the bed—a black Sharpie. The demon continued to ignore us, and I gingerly climbed onto the little bed and began to draw the heptagram for my devil’s trap on the ceiling. Father Killroy seemed in a trance as he recited the long, rambling prayers that would eventually banish our foe. The whole creepy business of demon exorcism is made all the more nerve-racking by the sheer amount of time it takes to successfully remove one. I had at my disposal two spells capable of trapping it in place, but if I could successfully create a devil’s trap instead, I would be able to preserve that much more energy. In fact, just holding the demon in place with a spell could tax me to the limit quickly, depending on its strength.

  I had connected six of the seven lines in the ward when a hand grabbed my ankle. I looked down and was shocked to see the boy’s hand begin to smoke on contact. He quickly retracted it with a hiss. Puzzling over what had just happened, I connected the last of the lines and hopped quickly off the bed. With a wave of my hand I said the incantation and the ward pulsed to life. The effect was immediate. The demon, who had previously acted lethargic and slow, snapped to right quick. His body floated high above the bed until it nearly touched the ceiling. I looked nervously to Old Ben as the demon began his own chant in a variety of voices, all of which gave me an uncontrollable case of the heebie-jeebies.

  Father Killroy began to pray louder and the demon’s voices rose to match. Back and forth they went like auctioneers selling heaven and hell. The demon’s voice eventually drowned out that of the good father, and to my horror, the ward dissipated in a shower of sparks.

  The possessed boy fell like a stone onto the bed and came bouncing at me like a demented doll. I ducked out of the way but managed to catch a glancing knee to the forehead. He landed on the wall like a spider and looked back at me with eyes of pure black.

  Father Killroy hit him with holy water, which sizzled and smoked on contact.

  The demon screamed and fell to the floor, writhing in agony, and the father doused it repeatedly as he bellowed scripture in Latin. The demon convulsed and then lay still as stone. The boy began to cry, and I hoped beyond hope that it was over. Killroy, however, was not convinced. He looked to me and shook his head, never skipping a beat in his chanting.

  “What happened? Where am I?” the boy asked, looking up terrified at the priest.

  Trevor was no more than seven years old and not big for his age. He curled up on the floor and covered his ears from Father Killroy’s loud preaching, and looked to me with tear-filled eyes.

  “Mama, Mama!” he cried, so pathetically that I couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

  The father bore down with cross in hand and touched it to his head.

  “Help me!” Trevor cried. “Please.”

  I looked on horrified as the boy’s short black hair sprang forth and became long, red ringlets. His face contorted, and I reeled back as I looked upon my little sister.

  “Please, Owion, help me,” came my sister’s voice. The mispronunciation of my name ground my guts and threatened to rip my heart out.

  “Mary,” I heard myself gasp and took a step closer. “Father!” I yelled over the priest’s chanting. He simply shook his head “no” and pressed the cross to my sister’s forehead.

  She let out a mournful cry and reached for me, her little hand trembling. Tears streamed down my face, and I took another step across the bedroom toward her. The stain of blood crept across her quivering lips, and her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears.

  “Why won’t you help me, Owion? Why did you let them take me?” she pleaded, and I let out an animalistic mewling.

  Father Killroy pushed her head back against the wall with the tip of the cross and doused her with holy water once again. Mary cried in pain as the water hit her skin like lashes of a whip.

  “Help me, Owion!” she cried, and it was more than I could bear. A part of me knew this wasn’t my sister, that it was only the demon impersonating her. But that part wasn’t the one in control. With a scream of rage I leapt the short distance, grabbed Father Killroy by the throat, and tackled him to the floor. My increased strength helped me to subdue the bigger man easily.

  “Leave her alone, you son of a bitch!” I screamed, banging his head on the floor repeatedly as I choked him.

  “Resne…” Father Killroy croaked in a strangled voice.

  “He hurt me, Owion.” Mary’s voice came from behind me. “He is still hurting me!”

  “Leave her alone!” I screamed.

  Father Killroy’s face turned white and his eyes danced wildly as his mouth desperately formed silent words.

  “Trust thyself, and another shall not betray thee,” the ghost of Ben Franklin said in my ear. The words pierced the veil of my temporary insanity, and I released Father Killroy, horrified by what I was doing. I looked down at the gasping Father and realized what was happening. The demon began to chuckle behind me.

  Oh, shit!

  A flash of light exploded across my vision and I hit the floor hard. Dazed, I rolled over and watched the demon stalk toward me, holding the heavy candle holder that had sent me to the floor. I tried to get up but crashed back against the nightstand, my head swimming. The room teetered like a ship on stormy waters, and I puked on the floor as if seasick.

  The possessed boy grinned at me with a bloody mouth that had bits of kitty between its teeth, and my stomach heaved again. He kicked the still-recovering father in the face, stepped over him, and grabbing a handful of my hair, hit me with a quick uppercut that sent me crashing back against the wall.

  “Would you like to see her again?” the demon jeered, tilting his head unnaturally to the right. “He has her. You need only open yourself to Him.”

  My fury helped me recover from the blow quickly, but I still had not gotten my bearings. I swung at the demon miserably high and wide, and it grabbed me by the throat and floated upward. My head banged off of the ceiling as I clutched the floating boy’s arm, and I struggled to breathe as the supernaturally strong hands choked the life out of me.

  Father Killroy rose to his feet and hit the boy over the head, just as his mother ca
me crashing into the room.

  The already-spooked Old Ben jumped out of his own ghostly body at her sudden violent entrance, and Trevor released me. We fell to the floor, with me landing on top, and he began to wail, “Mama!”

  His mother was suddenly possessed by maternal instinct far scarier than any demon, and sprang toward Father Killroy, slamming him against the wall. Caught up in the effects of the demon’s illusions, she screamed bloody murder and repeatedly hit the good father in the face. When he seemed out for the count, she grabbed me by the collar and belt, and flung me like a sack of rice over the bed.

  “He did things to me, Mama! Kill him, please—he is hurting me!” the demon pleaded in Trevor’s voice.

  “Die, you sick bastard, die!” she screamed.

  I got to my feet laboriously and, summoning my strength, bellowed an incantation.

  The spell hit the possessed boy, and the demon went into writhing convulsions as it fought the effects. The boy’s mother shrieked at the sight of her screaming son. She sprang from Father Killroy and charged at me with murder in her eyes. I cocked back and hit the berserk woman with an uppercut to the chin, sending her down.

  The fatigue that followed a spell such as the one I had just unleashed hit me like a ton of bricks. I sagged against the wall, spent, as Trevor’s mother dropped to the floor unconscious.

  I slid down the wall and landed on my ass, but the binding spell held the demon floating above the bed. Father Kilroy groaned and breathed heavily as blood flowed freely from his nose. He picked up his Bible and cross, and began anew his prayers in a barely audible whisper.

  The demon fought against the binding spell, chanting in a language born of hell, and began to claw at the boy’s skin. Father Killroy’s voice cracked and faltered, but he struggled on, forcing the words in a spray of bloody spittle. He bravely stepped forward and, after touching thumb to bloody mouth, reached through my binding spell and drew a cross on the boy’s forehead. I don’t know what kind of allergy demons have to the blood of holy men, but the effects were immediate. The demon arched and began to shudder. Like an electrocuted cat, it thrashed and screamed in a dozen tortured voices.

  Trevor’s mother roused and suddenly became alert to the ensuing battle. “Trevor!” she screamed.

  “Oh, shit, not again,” I heard myself say, and slowly stood for round two against mommy dearest.

  The demon turned to float upright as it strained against the spell and Father Killroy’s blood cross. With eyes of black it stared at the mother of its host. She sobbed and brought both hands to her mouth, covering it in horror.

  “Give yourself to me,” the demon hissed. “Give yourself to me or your baby boy dies.”

  “No!” she screamed and reached for him.

  I bolted over the corner of the bed and grabbed Mrs. Marks, pulling her back against the wall.

  “Don’t listen to him,” I urged. “The father is nearly there.”

  If she heard me, she gave no indication. She reached for her son and struggled weakly against me.

  “Mama, oh, Mama, please help. It’s killing me!” the demon pleaded in Trevor’s voice as tears of blood fell from his now normal eyes.

  Father Killroy’s voice found its strength, and he furiously sped toward the end of the long-winded prayer.

  “Mama!” Trevor shrieked once more, and it was all she could bear.

  My apprehension rose as she stopped struggling, and I tried to cover her mouth—but was too late.

  “Take me instead!” she begged the demon.

  “No, Serena!” Father Killroy yelled.

  My bonding spell had been strong enough to contain the demon, and would have held out until the father had finished the exorcism, but Mrs. Marks’s invitation broke it in an instant—the way an invitation to a vampire can counter all spells keeping him out.

  Trevor’s unconscious body fell limply to the bed, and Mrs. Marks became rigid in my arms. I looked to Old Ben but found only a sympathetic look of helplessness. The ghost of Benjamin Franklin couldn’t meddle in the affairs of the living; I knew that. But I suspected that as a spirit he could do something against the demon. Maybe he feared for his soul. I don’t know, but he didn’t move to help.

  As I held Mrs. Marks, the demon in her began to laugh like a demented lover. Her cheek caressed mine sensually, and she put her arms around me, trapping me in the embrace.

  “What does Poor Richard say about courage?” I begged Old Ben, as the demon licked my face.

  The ghost looked to the floor with terror-filled eyes and shook his head, ignoring me.

  “C’mon, man, what does Poor Richard say about courage?”

  The ghost of Benjamin Franklin looked up as the demon’s rancid kisses dotted my cheek toward my lips. Father Killroy had begun the cleansing prayer anew and doused it with holy water. The demon found my lips, and I cringed helplessly in its iron grip.

  In a heartbeat, Old Ben was standing next to us. A sudden fury found his voice as he bore down on the demon. “Don’t ever mistake my silence for ignorance, my calmness for acceptance, and my kindness for weakness! For without justice, courage is weak,” he said, and shot a hand toward us, hitting the demon with a blinding ray of light. I shoved it off me and it staggered back into Father Killroy, screaming. The father, having seen the ray of sudden pure light, found renewed strength. The demon retaliated with an outstretched hand that shot forth pure darkness, and the opposing forces collided. Old Ben struggled against the onslaught, and the demon’s face twisted in rage as it stepped forward.

  Trapped between the wall and the clashing forces of light and darkness, I carefully reached my right arm across my body and unleashed my other binding spell. It hit the demon in the chest, And Father Killroy, still assaulting with the word of God, reached forward and drew another cross in blood upon its forehead. Old Ben stepped closer, and the gleaming light of my mentor slammed into the demon once again.

  I cast my third and final spell and sagged to the floor. The extraction spell was my last resort, due to the inherent danger to the possessed person, but I had no choice.

  The demon shuddered against the combined effects of Old Ben’s light, Father Killroy’s prayer, and my two spells. I watched, awestruck, as writhing tendrils of darkness snaked their way out of Mrs. Marks’s eyes. Father Killroy’s voice boomed and was accompanied by a redoubled blast of light from Old Ben’s ghostly palm.

  The demon smoke rose above the body of Mrs. Marks and then disappeared in a flash into some unknown void. She fell to the floor, and I passed out with a stupid grin on my face.

  Chapter 3

  Dude, Where’s my Cheese?

  I awoke with the world champion of headaches throbbing at my temples, and had apparently been chewing on sand. Father Killroy knelt next to me, lightly slapping my face. I was a little more than pissed to be awoken from my glorious sleep, and it took me a month of Sundays to see clearly.

  “What!” I protested, stretching out on the floor.

  “You injured, lad?”

  My eyes fixed on his, which were beautifully blackened, and he wore a butterfly bandage across his busted nose. In a rush of clarity I remembered what had happened.

  “Oh, shit!” I shot up and looked around wildly and soon realized we were alone in the room.

  “Where is the boy, his mother?” I whirled around on Father Killroy. “What happened to the de—”

  “Relax, Orion, we got her under control. You did well. Now sit down and get your bearings.”

  I sat.

  “They’re all right,” he continued. They’ve been taken to the hospital, but they’ll live. The demon is gone.” The memory of me choking the life out of the father played across my mind and I cringed. As if reading my thoughts, Father Killroy patted my leg and laughed. “It’s all right, lad, but you owe me a beer, at least. Lucky for me you choke like a girl.”

  I gave him a shocked look. “You’ve been choked by a girl? Was that when you joined the priesthood? Bad first time behind t
he ole wheel, huh?” I gave him a little nudge in the gut as I ended my teasing.

  A belly laugh escaped him. “Ha-ha, my son, you have it all wrong. God made the priesthood my calling to give the women of Boston a fighting chance.”

  I tried not to laugh—my ribs were killing me. I was still pretty loopy, having summoned so much power for the three spells. The one-two punch at the end had really taken a toll. We wizards can dish out some pretty intense whoop ass, but we are highly susceptible to fatigue. I looked to the merry father—he didn’t seem shaken up at all. I knew he’d been a pretty heavy hitter in the battles since the Culling, but something about him told me he’d been a warrior before joining God’s army.

  “Those bandages and the busted-up nose—why do they suit you, Father?”

  Father Killroy looked me dead in the eye, flexed the arm closest to me, and kissed his bicep. “2001 Golden Glove Champion.”

  “Hah!” I yelled. “Bullshit!”

  “That ain’t none, son,” he said coolly.

  In my mind’s eye, he went from one of the Tweedle brothers to Rocky BalBuddah, and I chuckled. “Well, why didn’t you just take me down when I attacked you?”

  “I needed you in the game,” he said with a shrug. “That spell of yours, with the bright light—it was like God had ended his silence and come to lead the charge. It was glorious.”

  I couldn’t take the credit for Old Ben’s handiwork. “Father, that…that wasn’t me who did that.”

  “What do you mean, ‘wasn’t you’? It sure as Chinatown wasn’t me. If it wasn’t your magic—” He suddenly gave me THE look. “Oh, no, lad, you aren’t trying to tell me…Benjamin Franklin did it?”

  I just sighed and raised my hands with a shrug. “You know I can’t cast that many spells at once. I was casting binding and cleansing spells when the light erupted from Old Ben—couldn’t have been me. Hey, if it wasn’t him, maybe it was an angel…or God.”

  “Don’t even think of downplaying the Lord and Savior, son. I get what you’re saying. But Dominican Republic, man! The ghost of Benjamin Franklin?”