by Rick Wood
He tried building up to it but, amid his mental determination, he saw something that drew his attention.
A few rows in front of him. The back of a head. Big, with chubby skin and messy hair.
It looked familiar.
Oscar told himself it wasn’t possible. He hadn’t seen him for years. It was ridiculous.
He doesn’t exist, remember?
Except, he didn’t really believe that. It hadn’t just been childish imagination. He had seen Bertrand every day for years.
Yet, he hadn’t seen him again since he was twelve.
It was just a boy who looked alike.
This boy’s head turned to whisper something to the person next to him. In the darkness, his features were covered in shadow, and Oscar couldn’t make them out. He only had a partial side-on view and there was no way to know for sure.
Oscar told himself to stop being stupid.
It wasn’t him.
Still, the inescapable feeling of dread had risen through him. He was no longer thinking about how to hold Gemma’s hand, or what he could say to her. He was thinking about Bertrand, and whether he was here, and whether he was back.
He decided he was being ridiculous. This boy was not Bertrand, he was just a boy.
When the film finished, Oscar tried to see if he could see the boy’s face, but he had already gone.
“What did you think?” Gemma asked.
Oscar didn’t understand what she was asking at first. His attention had not been on the movie for the last twenty minutes.
“Yeah, it was good,” he said, no idea whether it was.
They left the cinema in silence. Oscar wanted to make conversation, and he could feel her glances; she wanted to talk, too.
But his mind was elsewhere.
And, as they exited the cinema and entered the low light of late evening, he saw a figure across the street.
Watching him.
Features masked by shadow, and no way for Oscar to be sure… but, in his mind, it was unmistakable.
Oscar froze. Stared. His heart raced; his body tensed.
“Oscar?” Gemma said. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t hear her.
The figure walked forward, out of the shadow. The lack of light still made it difficult to see but, the more he approached, the more he looked like him.
A van drove past, blocking Oscar’s view and, when it had left, the figure was gone.
Oscar looked around, searching for what he was convinced he’d seen.
He told himself that Bertrand wasn’t there, and he turned back to Gemma.
But it wasn’t Gemma standing there anymore.
“You scared?” he asked.
“Huh?”
Oscar’s entire body trembled.
“I said, are you scared, you dirty piece of shit?”
Bertrand placed his fingers against Oscar’s skull and a pounding headache overcome him. It felt as if his brain was expanding, like his skull was shaking, and he couldn’t think.
It became too much and, with one last look in the eyes of the strange boy who had just returned, he collapsed to the floor.
He woke up in hospital a few hours later.
NOW
49
As Oscar opened his eyes, he felt different. Sluggish. Like everything was delayed. His muscles were dead weights, his bones were stiff to move.
He went to sit up, but a hand pushed him back down.
“Just take a minute,” said Lorenzo. “You can fight, but just wait a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute–”
“Please, you need to listen. Just wait.”
Oscar reluctantly lay back down.
He wanted to get up; he wanted to fight — he wanted to take the power he had gained and face The Devil. This was the best chance he had.
But he felt awful. The body felt heavy. Rigid. It stunk.
“I imagine you aren’t feeling particularly great,” Lorenzo observed.
“Uh huh,” Oscar grunted, closing his eyes and willing away a headache.
“Your body has been a corpse for almost a day now. It has already started decomposing. Your organs aren’t going to work properly.”
“Well that’s going to be great story to tell my grandkids.”
Lorenzo’s head dropped.
“Oscar, there — there is something you weren’t told. Something not explained to you, for fear that you wouldn’t go along with this had you known.”
“Oh, more bad news? What is it — my headache won’t ever go? My body will always feel like death?”
Lorenzo bowed his head and sighed. Deliberated, clearly struggling over what he had to say to Oscar.
“Just tell me,” Oscar said, starting to feel his sense of touch return. His fingertips felt delicate, and his brain felt like it was the wrong size for his skull.
“This is temporary,” Lorenzo said.
“What is?”
“This body. It won’t last a lifetime. It will expire quicker.”
“So, what do I have? Just twenty more years? Ten?”
“You have hours.”
Oscar stared back at Lorenzo.
Did he just say hours?
Oscar went to speak but did not know what to say.
“This body you are in is a corpse, Oscar. Not a living thing. The heart hasn’t beaten in a day, the lungs haven’t been used — it is like trying to fix a machine with faulty equipment. It may chug along, but eventually…”
“I will stop chugging,” Oscar said.
“Precisely.”
Lorenzo looked away.
He wasn’t sure whether to be angry for not being told this, or stupid for not figuring it out himself. Of course his body wouldn’t work as it had. Why didn’t he think of it?
In a way, it wasn’t so bad. If he hadn’t left his body he’d have died anyway, along with the world.
But despite how much he tried to rationalise it with himself, it did not relieve the anger. And, to make it even worse, he knew he needed to let go of that anger — he had just endured Hell to overcome negative emotions, and he had to repress his reaction or it would all be for nothing.
He covered his face and huffed. With everything Oscar had already given, his shortened life felt like the nastiest gift yet. Should he rescue April, he would not get to spend his life with her. He would not watch their children grow up, not kiss her on their wedding day — he wondered if he’d even get to say goodbye.
If he saved her, how much longer would he last? How would he tell her?
And here it was. The real reason he had to let April go.
Not just because that meant letting go of the Mara within…
But because that was the only way he could do this.
He willed the thoughts away and tried to let go.
Let go of April. Let go of the life he wished to live. Let go of everything he would never get to do.
Despite his body aching, he felt mentally strong. He felt able to take on anyone.
Including The Devil.
He leant up, batting away Lorenzo’s hand as it reached out to support him. He looked out of the window.
He saw her below. April. Skin sagging off her bones and red in her eyes. Stumps of two horns were beginning to show. She was slowly disappearing, and The Devil was taking prominence.
The charred remains of a Buddhist monk lay dead on the ground.
Thea and Henry cowered on the floor.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t dwell on what could happen, nor could he second guess the strength he had gained. He had to face the opponent.
“Let’s do this,” Oscar said, with less conviction than he wished to have.
“Let’s lower the helicopter,” Lorenzo instructed the pilot.
“No — not here. Take me further along. I want to surprise him.”
“Move further along,” Lorenzo told the pilot.
The pilot flew the helicopter away.
50
“S
ee?” The Devil said, pointing at the helicopter as it disappeared. “They know Oscar is dead. They know it’s over. They are escaping — saving themselves like anyone sensible would do.”
Thea and Henry were on their knees. Weeping. Holding each other.
There was no point running. Where would they go?
There were hundreds to thousands of disciples surrounding them, spreading to the bottom of the hill. They couldn’t run through them.
And in terms of fighting…
There was no fight anymore. The Devil had sent their crucifix up in flames. Their only weapons had been their crucifixes and the exorcism rites — neither of which wielded any power over The Devil anymore; not with the strength The Devil had gained.
The only thing they could do was hold onto each other and hope for a quick death.
They had tried, and they had done so knowing the odds were against them, knowing that there was little they could do; knowing the battle was unlikely to be won.
Oscar had tried, and he had failed. They held no grudges against him for that. They knew that he’d have done the best he could do — but the hope that he had succeeded diminished.
The only thing left to do was to accept their fate.
“I’m sorry,” said Thea quietly to Henry.
“What? What are you sorry for?”
“This is all my fault.”
“It isn’t.”
“You were going to leave, going to spend your last moments with your family. And I stopped you. Foolishly saying that there was hope, that we had a chance, that we have to keep fighting. And now look at us…”
“Thea–”
“You could have been with your family. Instead, you are stuck here with me, about to die for nothing.”
Henry grabbed hold of Thea’s cheeks, lifted her face, and looked her dead in the eyes.
“I regret nothing,” he said. “If there is a place to spend our last moments, it is here with you.”
Thea smiled solemnly.
She took hold of his hand in hers, gripping it.
“Come on,” she said, standing, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s do what we intended to do. Let’s go out fighting.”
They both turned to The Devil, who watched them with a mocking smirk.
He was always smiling, and it was always sinister. Grinning or smirking or beaming with such arrogance.
“What’s this?” The Devil asked. “Two Sensitives ready to die together?”
“Fuck you,” said Thea. “Do your worst.”
Another grin. “As you wish.”
The Devil readied April’s fists, flames flickering, conjuring a stream of fire.
So they would be burnt alive. That was how they would die.
They stood defiantly.
Thea tried not to think about the pain they were about to endure. She tried not to wonder how much agony she would suffer before it killed them, and endeavoured not to ruminate about the indignity of the prolonged anguish.
The Devil prepared to aim.
Thea closed her eyes. Flinched. Readied herself.
Waited.
And waited some more.
The fire didn’t come.
She was still alive.
She opened her eyes to see Henry looking back at her, thinking the same thing.
They looked toward The Devil, who was now on his knees, as if he had just been kicked over. Embers flicked from his fists to the grass.
He looked beyond angry. He was furious. Livid at the impudence.
“Who dares?” he roared.
He stood, fire flicking from his palms, a snarl across his face. Thea hadn’t seen this look before — it was the look of disbelief.
Someone was being defiant.
Someone didn’t realise when they were defeated.
Thea was not grateful. She just wanted her death to be over.
Then she saw a silhouette approach from behind The Devil.
A spark of hope fluttered within her.
“Tell me your name,” The Devil demanded. “I want to know before you die.”
“Forgive those who trespass against us,” said the man, holding a crucifix out before him. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil!”
The man lunged held out his crucifix, and The Devil fell to the ground once more.
Thea saw the face and could not believe it.
It wasn’t true. He wasn’t dead.
He was here.
He was alive.
He stood over The Devil, and this time he was the one grinning.
“To answer your question,” he said, “my name is Oscar — and it’s time to send you back to where you came from.”
51
The Devil stood, throwing his arms into the air, soaring fire into the sky. He turned this fire and aimed it at Oscar.
Oscar held his crucifix high and kept his body behind it. The flames rebounded away, leaving him unscathed.
“How…” The Devil gasped.
“You don’t affect me anymore.”
Oscar knew that when The Devil cannot fight externally, they would fight internally — so Lucifer turned his attention to what he knew would destroy Oscar.
He grabbed the skin of April’s face and pulled it upwards, contorting it like he was moulding a piece of clay. He pulled on her arms, distorting the skin from her body.
Oscar strode toward him. He remained impervious to The Devil’s attempt. Let go of what he was attached to. Resisted temptation.
The Devil wished to tempt him into anger, into losing control — but Oscar did not give into temptation.
And it wasn’t just The Devil’s large, grand attempts at temptation he resisted — it was all the smaller ones, too.
Impatience. When they took on St Helen’s Psychiatric Unit too soon, and Maddie died.
Obsession. When Hayley had become more than a daughter — she had become his every fixation.
And wrath. Watching April’s body degrade every day as The Devil grew in power, feeling helpless to stop it from happening.
He no longer gave into temptations of impatience, obsession and wrath.
And he would not give into his desperation to save April’s body, or irritation that The Devil persisted by hurting the one he loved, or sadness that April may not return to this world the same, should she return at all. The only way to save April would be to remain impervious to The Devil’s torment of her.
And, for this reason, The Devil found that there was no way it could beat Oscar.
But the question was not whether The Devil could beat Oscar — but whether Oscar could beat The Devil.
“Disciples,” The Devil commanded, standing tall. “Begin.”
All those bodies surrounding the hill stood from their position on one knee. The demons emerged onto the faces of those they inhabited. The evil that surrounded the remaining Sensitives grew.
Thea looked at Oscar, worried.
Oscar threw her his crucifix.
“Fight them off,” he said.
“What?” Thea exclaimed. “How? There are too many!”
Oscar shook his head. “Not for someone like you.”
“But, Oscar–”
“You’ve done mass exorcisms before, you know you can do it.”
“Not with this many. I can’t exorcise–”
“I don’t need them exorcised; I just need them out of the way.”
Thea went to object again but, seeing the resilience on Oscar’s face, she did not.
Oscar worried for a moment whether she could handle the task — but he had faith in her. Besides, he could not concentrate on his battle if he was worrying about hers.
So he turned away from her, trusting that she could achieve what she needed to.
He returned his focus to Lucifer, who hid behind the face of April, the thief who endeavoured to take a world he did not belong to, and did not belong to him.
It was time for this to end.
“Leave,” Oscar said.
; “Leave?”
“This is not your world.”
Lucifer’s face twisted into rage.
“This is my world if I wish to take it!”
Oscar shook his head. He straightened his arms out, making the shape of a cross out of his body.
“For haughty men have risen up against me, and fierce men seek my life,” he continued, citing the rites of exorcism he had used so many times before.
“You think this will work against me?”
Oscar nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
52
“I don’t need them exorcised; I just need them out of the way.”
Thea looked at Henry, who stared back at her, awaiting guidance.
She took a deep breath. Held it. Let it go.
He was looking at her with such vulnerability, such fear. She felt exactly the same — but she knew, for the sake of their task, she had to hide it. She had to show him nothing but strength, even if it was feigned strength.
“We’ve done this before,” Thea said.
“There weren’t this many.”
She smiled. Placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We weren’t this strong.”
He held her stare, then gave her the gentlest of nods. A nod she interpreted as — okay, let’s do this.
She turned to the oncoming possessed, the demonic infestation of humankind. The horde of them, so many she could not see the end.
She took in another deep breath. She could do this. She could. She so could.
I’m screwed.
She held the crucifix high. Told herself not to think such foolish thoughts. April was the one who always believed in her, and if Thea would not give this her all for the sake of the world — she would do it for April.
She gripped the crucifix, its edges digging into her hand and causing a twinge of pain; a twinge of pain she ignored.
“Turn back the evil upon my foes,” she said, looking at one face, then turning to another. “In your faithfulness, destroy them.”
“Hear us, oh Lord!” Henry responded, unprompted.
The first row of possessed faltered, but temporarily. They glanced at one another, not so much a look of oh shit, but a look of what’s this bitch doing?