by Peter Laws
Matt didn’t like the speed of all this, obviously. Hated it, in fact. Putting together a set of mini-trials should normally take months of planning. But the Bernie Kissell Express had left the station, and it was hurtling with pace towards the weekend. Matt, to be fair, was getting increasingly worried about that.
At least Perry and Kissell had agreed not to come. Matt had specifically banned them. Having those two lurking around with their prayer-soaked lips and underarm Bible odour would only confuse the subjects. It was certainly noticeable how calm, relaxed and normal these four clients seemed to be as they sat here in a pastor-less room. They’d gathered in a circle around the red centre spot of the basketball court.
Matt had read all of their files last night. One woman and three men, including the baseball cap bloke from the TV studio the other night. Having that one around put Matt on edge somewhat, but right now he was acting completely normally. He turned out to be a thirty-year-old personal trainer called Richie Gregor, with a history of drug abuse, two suicide attempts and what looked like a pathological obsession with weightlifting. He looked like a balloon, dangerously close to popping. But when he wasn’t acting all demonic, like now, he had a bizarrely kind and delicate way about him.
Pavel Basa was twenty-three. A bald Romanian man in a red Coca-Cola T-shirt and blue tracksuit bottoms. Pavel worked in an abattoir, shooting thousands of cows point-blank between the eyes with a bolt gun – enough to shake anybody’s mental state. The file said he’d been put on throat-slitting duty one day and had got an erection. He admitted this to his priest, and said it was purely from thinking about a girl he loved for distraction. The priest told him that no, this was an incontrovertible sign of bestiality and therefore evil infestation. Pavel, for whatever reason, seemed to be accepting this diagnosis.
The oldest was Deron Johnson, a Nigerian session drummer. The fifty-four-year-old had the type of Afro you could hide pencils in, and thick horn-rimmed glasses too. He claimed his mother-in-law was the Devil, which was less funny than it sounded. Especially when she’d been dead a year. She’d been mocking him every day. Telling him to drive his car up on the kerbs and mow down pedestrians.
Finally, of course, there was Abby Linh from the TV show the other night. She beamed with relief when Matt walked in, like they were old friends. Matt saw a lostness in her striking face that was frankly heart-breaking. For some reason, the fact that she’d worn a pretty summer dress on such a cold day made her confusion even more poignant. Her brown hair hung in a neat ponytail rope down her back.
He looked at them all, sitting there patiently and politely. Clearly a little scared, but perhaps hopeful too. Eager for insight and help for their condition. These poor people, Matt thought, as he walked into their circle. These poor, troubled people, who had so far been given answers that only pushed them deeper into despair.
He shook each of their hands (Richie’s vice-like shake almost cost Matt a finger bone) and he thanked them all sincerely for taking part. He called them all by name, looked each in the eye and used the warmest smile he could summon. For a troupe infested with the Devil’s minions, Richie, Pavel, Deron and Abby were a wonderfully polite bunch.
Matt chose not to stand for his speech. He scraped up a chair and chatted instead, setting his clipboard on the floor.
‘I appreciate that this is an unusual scenario to be in. So thank you for coming. And please understand that although this afternoon involves a few basic experiments, you are not under any sort of judgement. This is simply an exploration of theories. A second opinion, if you will. Pastor Kissell believes …’
At the mention of Kissell’s name, Richie immediately fluttered an eyelid. Just the one. He groaned and swayed in his chair. The cameras caught it.
‘Mr Gregor?’ Matt asked.
‘Sorry,’ Richie said, and sat up straight. ‘Carry on.’
Matt nodded for one his students to bring some water over and he could hear the first scrawling of Lisa’s disapproving pen on her pad. ‘At The Reed this weekend, you will hear one theory on your current troubles. Namely, that you are somehow influenced, terrorised or even controlled by an external spiritual entity. Today I offer you an alternative idea. Take it on board, or totally reject it. That’s your call. But I hope to offer at least some evidence that will suggest that you are not at the mercy of a demon or spirit. But rather that, just like millions of other people in the world today, you can be helped with more traditional medical methods. Therefore, I’ve devised a series of rudimentary experiments that will explore, and perhaps even challenge, some of the classic evidence for demonic possession. I’ve arranged with the university to offer you all a year of in-depth counselling, completely free of charge. I believe this will help you, but you are of course at liberty to take that offer or not.’
Pavel’s fingers, his cow-killing trigger fingers, were trembling on his lap. ‘What are the tests?’
Abby smiled at him. ‘Will they be hard, Matt?’
‘They won’t be hard. It’s not that type of test. There are no right and wrong answers. I simply want to observe your natural responses. We have four tests running at the same time, and we’ll rotate you … which means I anticipate this will last no longer than one hour. Perhaps even less. After which, you’d be welcome to stay for refreshments. If at any time you wish to stop, come back into this circle. Are there any questions?’
Abby crossed her legs. ‘Well, I’m sure this will be a very interesting afternoon. I’m ready.’
‘Good, and thank you all for your participation.’ He went to stand, just as the security guards and the student assistants came to collect their designated clients. Matt was proud at how his students spoke, putting the subjects at ease, guiding them to the doors, but with hover hands and no physical touching, as instructed. As ever, the constant cameras went with them.
He gave them ten minutes to get started and then he slowly wandered through each of the five rooms, quietly observing the tests taking place, each observed by two guards. He walked into Room One, where the Latin test was already getting results. The drummer, Deron, was sat in a chair, legs crossed, while one of the students read loudly from what looked like an ancient Latin prayer book. Deron was starting to writhe and groan. The many rings on his fingers kept tapping against each other. ‘No. Stop it,’ he whispered, in a low kind of animal growl. ‘I won’t. I won’t leave him.’
Deron had been told this test was to record his voice – to see if they entered into any inhuman, animal-like frequencies. But the point of this room wasn’t that at all. It’d be interesting to hear how Deron reacted later, when he learnt that what he was actually listening to wasn’t an ancient book of exorcism, but yesterday’s weather forecast being read out. Matt had laboriously translated it into Latin late last night.
Next, he strolled into the second room, where the cross test was already underway. Richie Gregor’s bulk was perched on a chair, eyes gone behind a thick, tight eye-mask. Flanked by security and nurses, a student was methodically, and gently, pressing only the edge of a series of hard objects against his forehead, just under the superman curl of Richie’s black hair. A pen, a chopstick, a toy sonic screwdriver from Doctor Who, a spirit level and a metal cross were the selections. Richie’s notes said he had a vociferous resistance to holy symbols. But he only started squirming when the corner of the spirit level touched his head. The cross passed by without incident, but the chopstick prompted a sudden and sharp ‘Fuck Christ’ to burst from his lips.
Matt would have laughed, if it wasn’t so depressing.
Next was Abby Linh and a simple test of psychokinesis. Demons were said to be able to levitate objects, and Abby’s report said that some of her friends had seen this very phenomenon happen during her ‘episodes’. Like a soup bowl that rose, hovered and smashed against her fridge. Even the possessed people themselves were said to sometimes rise off their beds and float. That he’d pay to see. So Abby was asked to sit in front of a tray filled with small objects. A small whit
e spork, the plastic top from some deodorant, a paperweight, and a full salt cellar. This was the most ropey test of them all, he felt, but the students pressed ahead anyway, asking whatever was inside of Abby to lift something up. She sat there, looking awkward. She smirked at Matt as he came in. ‘I think my demon has stage fright.’
Matt found Pavel in the fourth room, methodically dipping his fingers into those bowls of water. He snapped his hand back on almost every bowl, hissing like it was battery acid. At one point, he fell clean off his chair. It looked like Pavel was a solid fail, so far.
Yes, of course these tests were crude and rushed, and easy to dismiss if this was a purely academic study. But the point wasn’t to offer slam-dunk proof one way or another. They just deserved a second opinion.
Thankfully, the security guards never had to do anything. The subjects’ reactions were dramatic at times, but it was low level and nothing even approaching Tom Riley. The closest to that was Richie, who now and then snapped his eyes open and glared and hissed at people. But then he’d shake his head, apologise and then he’d be fine again.
When it was all done, they gathered back in the hall, and Matt thanked each of them. They seemed very relaxed for the most part. There were even a few giggles here and there. Matt suggested they head off for refreshments while he and his team went over the test results. He’d join them for doughnuts after and share the findings with anybody who was willing to hear them. The guards went with them, just in case.
It was around then when things went wrong.
He was sitting with his team, cross-legged on the floor of the basketball court. They were flicking through results and finding that yes, as expected, the subjects were hopelessly out in terms of detecting sacred objects and words. He felt an odd stab of self-satisfaction at this, immediately followed by an academic worry – that these rushed tests were built on a straw man premise. But then two things distracted him from this inner unsettlement. One was the two students who’d been shadowing Abby the whole time. They were still totting up her results, because they’d requested a few more minutes to double-check, then triple check their figures.
They looked up from their sheets and said, ‘Professor. I think you better look at these.’
Then the corridor outside exploded with sound.
A man was screaming and glass was shattering.
Everyone blinked. Just a second to let noise travel from ear to brain and finally, to limbs. A whole army of shoes filled the gym hall with the slapping of soles as they barrelled towards the doors. They slammed through the double doors and looked left trying to find the screaming man, but what Matt saw was not what he expected at all.
It was Claire, Reverend Perry’s wife, standing in the corridor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Matt shook one of his student’s shoulders. ‘Get security … now.’ Then he ran forward towards Claire Perry. She was standing alone, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, tucked in. One of her arms was raised up, pointing a palm towards the door to the toilets. The muffled screams were coming from inside.
‘What are you doing here? What’s going on?’
She ignored him.
Another pitiful scream split the air.
He winced and put a hand out to keep the students back, then he pushed the toilet door open wide. The first thing he saw was a doughnut on the floor. One of those Krispy Kremes he’d had delivered earlier. It was upended and fusing with a wet-looking tile. And just above the sink Matt saw a shattered mirror. For a brief second, he saw his own shocked face staring back, trapped in the honeycombed gaze of a giant insect eye.
But as he stepped further in, he saw.
Richie Gregor was thrashing his thick arms around, spine arched against the floor, teeth bared, eyes locked shut under horribly swollen lids. Two bauble eyeballs rolled madly against thin flesh. His baseball cap was tossed to the side, sitting soaked under one of the urinals.
Another shock was seeing that Reverend Perry and Pastor Kissell were on each side of him. Knees pressing into the wet tiles. Perry had his hand on Richie’s shoulders, but Kissell’s were slapped against Richie’s sweat-soaked forehead. In the mirrors, he saw Abby reflected in the doorway. She was staring in shock and throwing a pill into her mouth.
Matt’s shout was even louder than he’d anticipated. ‘Get off him.’
‘You …’ Perry snapped his head back. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’
Kissell’s cameramen swooped in, sensing blood, and Richie screamed again, only this time it was in sharp, jerking snaps. Kissell kept pressing his hand firmly against his forehead throughout the spasm.
‘Out,’ Kissell yelled. ‘Out of this man. In the name of Christ!’
‘Dammit, he’s having a seizure.’
Perry rounded on Matt. ‘Because of you.’
Matt glared at him. ‘The guards are coming. I’ll have them drag you off and throw you into the street.’
‘No need,’ Kissell said suddenly. ‘It’s okay. Look Matt … it’s done.’
The screaming stopped, and Richie’s spine was retracting to normal, which is when Kissell pulled his hand back. And that was when Matt saw it. The glimpse that changed everything. Not the final bubbles of spit spurting from Richie’s lips. That’s what everybody else was looking at. No, Matt was fixed on Kissell, who had chosen that spit moment to slowly pull his hand back and slip it into the cream blazer he was wearing. There was something very odd about his palm. Like the skin was marked with an old blister or burn. Something smooth and flat, flesh-coloured and shiny, but not flesh.
A gruff voice in his ear said, ‘Step aside.’
It was a security guard and a nurse. Matt, like a zombie, did what he was told, because his brain was too busy whirring with what he’d just seen.
‘Clear a space,’ the nurse said.
Matt shuffled back in silence.
Holy shit.
He had a rush of memory. Him and his mum in a seaside joke shop, pleading with her to buy a fake pool of plastic sick and a box of fake cigarettes that puffed out talcum powder, and a little black disc you could stick against your palm. That was the one his mum was saying, no, no, no to. Because there was simply no way any son of hers was going to shake people’s hands and give them electric shocks.
Holy shit.
Matt blinked himself back, heart thundering as the guards gathered around the beast on the floor. Only he wasn’t a beast any more. Richie was totally compliant and polite again. Hitching up and letting the nurse slip a folded cardigan under his head.
‘He’ll be okay now.’ Kissell smiled at them all. ‘Praise God.’
‘Bless you, Pastor.’ Richie spoke to the ceiling just as Claire rushed over to hug both him and Kissell. ‘I really think it’s gone.’
Kissell was beaming and started walking towards the door, but Matt moved with him.
‘I’ll go and tell the others, Richie,’ Kissell said. ‘I’ll tell ’em you’re free and … sorry … Matt, I can’t get by.’
Matt stood stock-still in the doorway.
‘Matt, I can’t get through.’
‘That’s because I’m blocking the door.’ Matt nervously looked at the guards. ‘Can you search Pastor Kissell, please?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Perry stepped closer. ‘What are you playing at now?’
‘Playing?’ Matt almost laughed. ‘Do it.’
The guards looked up, frowning, ‘Search him for what?’
‘A small device, flesh-coloured. Look in his pockets, his palm. I think he just gave Mr Gregor here a mild electric shock.’
Perry’s jaw dropped. ‘You are kidding me.’
‘Do it.’
‘I can’t believe this.’ Perry started to laugh. ‘Don’t do it, Bernie. Don’t give him the satis—’
Kissell was already raising his arms. His tucked pink shirt tugged itself up and over his belt. ‘Please go ahead. I have nothing to hide.’
Hands and fingers started patting him down,
and with every passing second Matt felt his stress levels rising. The frantic review of images he’d just seen. The desperate categorisation of light and shadow. Without thinking, he grabbed Kissell’s hand, and flipped it over, staring at the palm.
‘May I have my hand back, please? I am rather attached to it.’
Matt dropped it, unable to speak.
The guard stopped patting him down. ‘There’s nothing.’
Richie was sitting up now, rotating his arm like he’d just finished a gym session.
‘He’s stable,’ the nurse said.
Kissell tapped his glasses into place. ‘Now, if you’ll let me through, Matt.’
‘Wait,’ Matt said. ‘You … you …’
‘Are you all right, Professor?’ Perry didn’t just frown. He looked like his possession radar was going off. ‘Are you affected? Dear God, the box. Did you touch it?’
‘Screw that damn box. He must have dropped the device in here.’ Matt marched to the bin that was in reach of Kissell before. He yanked the metal lid off the bin and flung it to the floor with a clatter. He dragged the black bag out and immediately shook it out on the floor. It took a while. They all just watched him as he jiggled the bag, as bits of old tissue paper fell with crumpled up receipts. By the swishing end, Matt dropped to the floor, and started frantically sifting through.
‘Oh, Matt …’ Perry said. ‘Is there nothing there?’
Kissell looked over at Matt, sympathetically.
‘Then search Reverend Perry,’ Matt said. ‘They were standing together.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘And his wife. She hugged them both.’
‘What?’ Perry’s smarmy smile vanished. ‘You leave her out of this.’
Kissell caught Perry’s eye. ‘If the professor saw something he should have the right to check it. It’s important he eliminates the red herrings. That way he might get to the truth. Wouldn’t you say, Matt?’
Matt was too busy scanning the room, and so did the cameraman. ‘Where is she?’