“Wasn’t his daddy Charles Manson or something?” Maddox said with a chuckle. “Ran a cult in La La Land, spent his weekends sacrificing virgins.”
The words landed like punches, and I gripped the arms of my chair. “You’re quite right,” I said as I leveled a hard stare at the former soldier. “My father was a monster.”
Maddox shook his head with a dark grin. “Looks like Andara found the one guy who’s even more fucked up than we are.”
“That’s enough!” Andara said sharply. “I didn’t invite Simon Kane out here to take abuse from you.”
“It’s okay,” I said, showing that I wanted to handle this myself. I addressed the entire room as I spoke. “My father was a terrible man, as Sergeant Maddox pointed out. He murdered people, trafficked with dark forces, prayed at the altar of evil. His horrible legacy casts a shadow over my life. But I refused to let the sins of my father define me. To become like him. Mason Kane worshipped the darkness. I fight it.”
The group had grown quiet. Hopefully, my words were reaching them. Andara jumped into the conversation, determined to drive my point home. “Kane could have locked himself in his father’s mansion and hid from the world, or looked for answers in a bottle of whiskey as Sergeant Maddox is so fond of doing.”
The soldier flinched as if Andara had slapped him. The exorcist continued undeterred.
“Instead, Simon went out there and faced his nightmares. That’s why he’s here today. To inspire you and help you tap into your full potential. Kane proves that destiny doesn't define us. We can all defeat the monsters of our past if we just set our minds to it. Together we can beat the demons.”
Andara let his words sink in before he continued. “Now, I want everyone to declare that they are a survivor of demonic possession and introduce themselves to the group. Sister Nora, why don’t you start?”
Nora nodded. I noticed that she was holding a rosary in her hands as she addressed the room. She’d been mouthing words throughout Andara's presentation, intent on praying the rosary throughout the meeting. I struggled to reconcile this devout version of Nora with her old rebellious self.
People change, I reminded myself.
“My name is Nora Hall, nowadays Sister Nora. Like all of you, I’m a survivor of demonic possession. Five years ago, my life changed. You look at me, and you see my veil and habit, but I wasn’t a nun in those days. Just a foolish girl who was dabbling with forces beyond my comprehension. Father Andara saved me as he saved all of you, but the exorcism of my demon was only the beginning of my long road to recovery. I refused to let the beast defeat me and get the last laugh. The demon forced me to look deep inside myself, showing me what a fool I’d been. While I fought my way out of the darkness, I discovered my faith in God. My vows give me strength to face every new day, but not a night goes by that I don’t hear the demon’s laughter, or feel the monster staring back at me when I look in the mirror. I’m haunted, as I imagine many of you are. And that’s why I’m here today.”
Nervous tension electrified the air. Nora’s words came straight from the soul. She’d revealed herself, her fears and doubts and courage all on raw display. Judging by the teary-eyed reactions from some folks, her frank confession had touched almost everyone in the circle. You could probably guess who the skeptics were.
Once Sister Nora was done, Father Andara pointed to Stephen Ambrose, the defrocked priest accused of assaulting a nun in his church, and asked him to take over. Ambrose was a bundle of nerves. He kept running his hand through his receding hairline, and his eyes twitched as he spoke in an unsteady voice.
“My name is Father… well, just Stephen Ambrose now. And I’m a survivor of demonic possession. Even though I feel like I’m hanging on by a thin thread. I’m here because the beast took everything from me. My life, my calling, my future. I couldn’t retreat into my faith after what happened. I loved being a priest. People in my community trusted and looked up to me, very much in the same way we all trust Father Andara. I shattered that trust…”
Ambrose broke off, a surge of emotion making it impossible for him to go on. Overcome by the power of his dark past, the fallen priest buried his face in his palms, his bony form rocked by sobs.
“You didn’t break anyone’s trust, Father Ambrose,” Andara said in his most soothing voice. “The Church defrocked you because, officially, Rome doesn’t believe in devils anymore. But everyone in this room knows the truth. You weren’t in control of your actions when you committed your crimes. The demon was.”
Going by Ambrose’s stricken features, Andara’s words failed to comfort the fallen priest. Andara’s eyes flicked to Courtney Star. The pop star started to talk over the continued sobbing.
“My name is Courtney, and I’m a survivor of demonic possession.”
The former teen idol mumbled through her introduction, surprisingly nervous considering that she’d performed in front of capacity crowds at big arenas. I guess that was a long time ago.
“I’ve been running all my life,” she declared in a quivering voice, “but no matter where I go, my past has a way of catching up with me. My story is in the media, on the internet. That’s why I had to stop performing, why I haven’t released a new album in years…”
And so it went. Father Andara gave everyone a chance to speak. I lost track of time, swept up in the raw power of these heart-wrenching confessionals. Not surprisingly, Detective Tomkins and Sergeant Maddox appeared the least willing to open up about their pasts. I understood their reluctance as I’d been there myself. I guess it’s a guy thing. Men are often uncomfortable revealing any form of weakness, but the cracks were showing in both Maddox and Tomkins. A slip of the lip, a nervous tick, hints of the undercurrents of stress. Demonic possession was an experience even the most macho individual couldn’t brush off.
Once everyone had bared their soul, the room's attention shifted back to Andara. The exorcist seemed pleased by how the session had gone so far.
“Thank you all for being honest and willing to open up and share your pain with us. I know it hurts, but it’s part of what we’re trying to do here. Honesty is key. You all need to draw strength from your pain. Don’t feel angry at yourself. Channel that rage. The point of this gathering isn’t to reopen old wounds or stir up the demons of your past—”
“You mean, the demon of our pasts, Father Andara?”
The question hung there as seven pairs of eyes swiveled toward Liza Hawthorn, who was chuckling almost as if she was in on some private joke. I had felt sorry for her when I first took my seat in the circle. Now I wasn’t so sure. There was something unnerving about her witch-like cackle, and my body tensed up.
“Is there something you would like to share with the group, Liza?” Andara asked pointedly.
Liza nodded, her mouth twitching at the corners. She’d slathered on red lipstick, emphasizing the twisted expression of dark amusement. I found her behavior grotesque, repellent.
“Tell them the truth, Andara. Tell them what made the six of us so special among the many souls you’ve saved over the years.”
“I don’t—"
Liza leaned forward in her chair, a guttural quality edging into her voice as she cut off the priest. “Why the fuck don’t you tell them about Laura McCormick? Tell them why she isn’t here today!”
I perked up at this. Who was Laura McCormick?
The name sounded strangely familiar, even though I couldn’t place it.
“What is this crazy bitch yammering on about?” Maddox demanded.
Liza turned toward the soldier, eyes narrowed into slits, lips flirting with a snarl.
“Father Andara’s exorcisms don’t destroy the demon. His little rituals don’t even send the beast back to Hell. It merely forces the monster to find another victim. And another.”
Liza’s icy glare ticked from one member of the group to the next. A collective chill had gripped the circle.
“What are you saying?” Courtney Star asked, her eyes filled with dread.
&
nbsp; “Isn’t it obvious, child? We were all possessed by the same demon.”
This latest revelation sent shockwaves through all of us. I turned to Sister Nora, hungry for an explanation. Could there be any truth to Liza's claims? Had everyone here fallen under the dark spell of the same infernal entity? And if this was the case, why had Andara chosen to leave out this vital detail when he recruited me for the project?
“Alright, I’ve had it with this shit!” the former soldier declared. “I’m getting the fuck out of this nuthouse. I never should have agreed to this. You talk a good game, padre, but—”
Maddox was about to rise when the candles flickered. A chill raced up my spine as the temperature dropped by at least thirty degrees in an instant. My stomach knotted, body intuitively sensing the invisible presence in the circle. We weren’t alone any longer. Something dark and dreadful now infused the air.
The walls began to shake, rattling the sconces and extinguishing the burning candles, leaving a trail of wafting black smoke behind. A crucifix popped off the wall and slammed into the floor with a loud crash.
“Earthquake!” a woman shouted. I thought it might have been Nora.
But even as the world shook around us, a terrible certainty gripped me—we weren’t living through a natural phenomenon here. Almost as if to confirm this thought, the Ouroboros tattoo on my shoulder ignited with sharp pain, a telltale indicator that a supernatural force was at work.
The Devil had arrived at the desert monastery.
Gradually, the violent shaking stopped, the world returning to normal. We all stared at each other with a mixture of shock and terror.
Liza’s eyes had turned into white crescents as she rocked back and forth in her chair, a volley of Latin words bubbling from her quivering lips.
Reddit Daemonius habit, she was saying repeatedly.
The demon has returned.
Chapter Seven
Deep fissures tattooed the walls of the meeting room, visible reminders of the seismic shock waves that had gripped the chamber only minutes earlier. Liza Hawthorn’s eerie Latin mantra continued unabated.
Maddox snapped.
“Is someone going to tell her to shut her pie hole?”
I waited for Father Andara to intervene, to tell Maddox that he was out of line, but the exorcist’s gaze had turned inward. Realizing that Andara had checked out, I turned toward Maddox. “Why don’t you back off?”
Liza Hawthorn was getting to all of us, but Maddox was going too far.
The former soldier glared at me. “Who made you the boss? Last I checked, you’re the only one in this room who doesn’t have any business being here.”
The soldier was right.
I was the outsider in the group.
I wasn’t one of the possessed.
“That’s enough now,” Sister Nora said in a sharp voice. She turned toward Liza and grasped the older woman’s shivering arms. “It’s okay. You’re not alone, honey. We’re all in this together.”
Nora’s urging worked, and Liza calmed down gradually. Her eerie mantra dropped in volume and turned into a distant mumble.
Father Andara seemed to shake himself free of the shock that had gripped him, and he addressed the room, back in command.
“Is everyone all right? Then let’s take a break for now and reconvene after dinner tonight at seven o’clock.”
We all let out a collective sigh of relief. Everyone needed a time-out after this dramatic first session, even though most folks probably had as many questions as I did.
Had Liza Hawthorn spoken the truth? Had the same demon touched all six of these people?
For most of them, the answers could wait. I was the exception to the rule. As the possessed fled the conference room, I was the only one who remained seated. Once everyone was gone, my eyes found the exorcist.
“What just happened, Andara?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
Was the exorcist going to dismiss the recent weirdness?
“What was Liza Hawthorn talking about?” I said, a note of impatience creeping into my voice.
Andara shook his head. “She experienced a normal stress reaction to facing her past. The timing of the quake was dramatic, but we’re in the New Mexico desert. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
I fought back my growing irritation. Andara might convince himself, and perhaps even persuade some members of the circle. After all, many of these folks wanted to believe that the forces of darkness couldn’t touch them on this hallowed ground. I knew better. The Ouroboros mark on my shoulder didn’t lie. Something paranormal was happening here, and Andara was the only man who might have answers.
“What else is on your mind, Kane?” the exorcist asked, apparently realizing that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
He sighed. “Bringing the survivors of demonic possession together was always a risk. I knew it might trigger some buried memories and emotions. Some will fight these sessions, close themselves off like Sergeant Maddox and Detective Tomkins. For others, talking of the past will stir up unresolved trauma, and trauma manifests in different ways.”
I rose to my feet and stepped closer to the exorcist, cornering the priest.
“Cut the bullshit, Andara. I saw that look on your face when Liza went off. You looked scared. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Kane, please. It’s not what you think.”
“Liza Hawthorn was telling the truth, wasn’t she? The people you’ve invited here were all possessed by the same demon.”
Andara averted his gaze. An internal struggle played out on his face. I could tell he was debating if he should come clean. He finally broke the silence, a distant quality edging into his voice as the past unspooled before his mind’s eye.
“I first encountered the foul beast twenty years ago. When I drove the demon out of Liza, I thought I’d never encounter it again. I was wrong.”
Andara’s shoulders deflated as he leaned against the cracked wall, looking his sixty-five years. “The creature refused to leave this world and kept coming back over the years, finding new hosts. And each time, it mocked me. So many battles, so many exorcisms, the demon refusing to be banished from this plane of existence. It was all a game to the creature.”
“A game,” I repeated, thinking of the horrors the possessed had endured. The degradations and violence.
Andara’s expression grew tight with determination. “Defeating the creature requires a new strategy. A better strategy. Driving out the demon saved souls, but it was only a reprieve from the horror. Exorcising the demon isn’t enough. We need to destroy the creature once and for all. Only then will we all be free from this nightmare.”
I studied the exorcist. He was telling the truth—but not all of it.
“Who is Laura McCormick?” I asked. Liza had mentioned her name for a reason.
Andara’s expression darkened, his voice growing emotional. This was a painful subject for the exorcist. “Laura was my greatest success story. That’s why the beast went after her first.”
Andara’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. I felt bad for pushing him so hard, but I needed answers.
“Unlike most of the folks you met today, Laura defeated her beast completely. She moved on and put past terrors behind her. She married, had a kid, made a life for herself. Until the demon took everything away from her.”
Andara turned toward the digital projector. He held up a remote, and the bare wall facing the Biblical mural came alive with images. The first picture showed a smiling family as they fronted a modest but cozy two-story home. I assumed I was looking at Laura McCormick. Her happy features offered no hint of the darkness she’d lived through. No wonder Andara considered her his most remarkable success story.
The image changed. Same house, now transformed into a raging inferno. I felt like I was staring into the burning pit of Hell itself. Another shot—the home reduced to a smoking, skeletal pile of bla
ckened wood, ash, and crumbled stone—a disheartening sight.
“She… she didn’t survive,” Andara said. “None of them did.”
Laura’s death was tragic, but I still didn’t understand where Andara was going with this.
The image changed again. Now I was looking at three body bags inside a morgue. Shots of the victims’ burned remains followed. My stomach clenched, affected by the images of violent death. And finally, a picture of Laura McCormick’s corpse. Beautiful in death, skin untouched by the conflagration.
Unlike her husband and son, the flames had never touched her form.
Another shot, this time a close-up of Laura’s corpse in the morgue. My brows furrowed as I took in the Roman numeral six carved into the dead woman’s chest. I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to guess that the demon was referring to the six souls Andara had pried from the beast’s clutches.
“The demon went after Laura to send me a message,” Andara said, confirming my hunch. “Payback for a lifetime of fighting evil. If the beast can’t have their immortal souls, it will settle for their lives.”
The exorcist clenched his jaw and balled his fists, features trembling with deep emotion. “The monster thinks I’m old and weak. Perhaps it’s right. I’ve been at this game for decades. I should call it quits but I refuse to stop, knowing the beast remains in our world. When the demon finally reveals itself, I’ll be ready to face it for the last time. This nightmare ends today.”
A dark realization gripped me, and I looked at the priest as if seeing him for the first time. The flare of righteous anger in Andara’s eyes told me this was a crusade. I understood now what this was really about.
“You never planned to help these survivors overcome the past trauma of their possessions. The possessed are bait.” My eyes narrowed. “You're setting a trap.”
“No. I sprung a trap. The beast is now among us, Kane. Time to send it back to Hell, this time for good.”
The Possessed (The Paranormalist Book 5) Page 5