by S. L. LUCK
In the second row, Tina Medley raised her hand. “Go ahead, Tina,” Julia said from her chair near the coffee station.
“Gerald’s been dreaming, too,” Tina said with a catch at the back of her throat. She fidgeted with her necklace. “He’s usually a sound sleeper, but lately he gets up in the middle of the night and I have to hold him to calm him down. Our doctor said it’s probably just stress from all the things that have been happening around here lately, but then I had the same dreams Gerald was having. We—we wake up at the same time and we’re screaming, Father, we’re screaming and it’s horrible, just horrible.” Her lips quivered.
Marta Ramos rose from her chair, cradling her empty bottle. “I have them too. We’re all having the same dream, Father. My daughters won’t sleep in their rooms anymore; they’ve been sleeping in my bed for five days. It’s been hard on the kids lately, you know, so I thought that’s what it was. At first, they couldn’t really explain their nightmares to me, but then Emilia said something about a lot of people getting killed, and when she said it Gabriella started to cry because she had the same feeling. Ted thought they might have snuck and watched one of those horror movies we don’t like, but … but then I had nightmares too. Something’s not right, Father.” The bottle shook in her hands.
From the back row, a small voice tried to be heard over the gasps and whimpers. Father Pauliuk stood to instill order. “Please, we need calm if we’re going to solve this. Let her speak.”
A gray head rose just barely over the others. Mabel Wimbrey’s wrinkled face, trembling with Parkinson’s, was compressed with fear. “Archie had a heart attack.” A rush of women reached toward her, but Mabel went on, “They say he’s going to make it and for that I am thankful. I know he wasn’t in the best health to begin with; we’re not spring chickens like many of you, but he had those dreams, too. He woke up with such a fright, he was sweating and then his color went; his poor heart just couldn’t take it. He had those dreams and they almost killed him. It was the dreams, Father.” A tear squeezed from her eye and she used the hand not holding her cane to wipe it from her cheek. She sat back down.
Consternation puckering his face, Father Pauliuk said, “How many of you are having these dreams?” Two dozen hands rose. “And how many of your friends or family members are having this dream?” The rest of the hands went up. “Are they similar?” Every single head nodded. He couldn’t deny the possibility of a demonic presence in their small city, but neither could he be sure that the convergence of catastrophe hadn’t somehow triggered the psychological response they were experiencing. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what their identical experiences implied, but he was determined to find out. That he was in front of believers and skeptics alike required more of a measured approach, for he knew the skeptics would seize any opportunity to repudiate whatever solution he put forth. He said, “I thank you for sharing your concerns with me and I promise to do my best to help you, with the grace of God. We must remember that all things are possible through the Father, and that we will get through this if we rely on his strength and his wisdom.” He pointed to his right, where Julia had rolled out the rack of Bibles they used for fellowship events. “For those of you who don’t have them, please—” As he was speaking, movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the entryway, where his former parishioner and bookkeeper, Ed Norman, stood. Father Pauliuk finished his instructions to the group and asked Julia to cover for him for a few minutes while he excused himself, ignoring the huffs of indignation from the gum-popping woman as he went to greet Ed.
“Ed, what a pleasant surprise,” the priest said.
He shook Ed’s hand and then pulled him in for a quick hug, realizing only when Ed’s face was near his own that Dakota Cardinal was standing right behind them. He released Ed and greeted Dak, then led both men down the hall to his office. Much like the overfill in the fellowship room, the men’s appearance was unexpected, and Father Pauliuk was unsettled not only by the timing of their visit, but because neither man was a parishioner. Ed’s attendance had dwindled then stopped altogether after the death of his wife, and Dak wasn’t a believer in Jesus per se, though he and his family did believe in a higher Creator, as was common in his culture. Other than through Dak’s charitable endeavors, he wasn’t sure how the men knew each other, so his curiosity was etched on his face. “I’ve already had too much coffee this morning, but I can bring you some if you’d like.”
They declined his offer. “I know I haven’t come in a while,” Ed started, but the priest put up his hands.
“No need to explain. I’m glad to see you, Ed. How have you been?”
Ed patted his breast. “I have some new hardware.”
“Pacemaker?” Father Pauliuk asked.
“Uh-huh,” Ed said. “And it’s a good thing I do, otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tell you what we need to tell you.” His eyes confirming trouble, Ed frowned.
“You know you can talk to me, Ed. You too, of course, Dak.”
Dak pursed his lips, readying himself for a difficult conversation. “May I close the door?” he asked Father Pauliuk. The priest nodded.
When the room was secured to their liking, Ed said, “I’ll let Dakota tell the story. Maybe you can tell us what you make of it. You’ll understand why I asked him here once you hear what he has to say.”
Dak, who was familiar with Father Pauliuk more from the tragedy of the parish fire two decades ago than from casual acquaintance, said thoughtfully, “I appreciate your hospitality, Father.”
“My pleasure.” The priest smiled, appreciating Dak’s courtesy.
“I know you’re wondering why we’ve come to you today, but we felt that with the parallels in our spirituality, you might help. Our Elders are of the same mindset; they believe unity through all faiths is the only way that we are going to get through this.”
“Please tell Nikonha I said hello,” he said to Dak, fondly remembering several community clean-up events where he’d worked alongside the woman.
“I will,” Dak said, offering him a slight smile before seriousness once again overtook his face.
Though Dak was an easy conversationalist, his next words were awkward on his tongue and more than once he eased his explanation to ensure he neither exaggerated nor understated his report. Eventually, as Father Pauliuk listened attentively and Ed nodded on encouragingly, Dak got into a rhythm and revealed everything he knew about the devil-woman, from Jesse’s first encounter with her in the hospital to the smoke rising from her hand as she handed Dak his medicine wheel, to Sylvia’s proximity when Johnny’s fingers were bitten off by one of Roy Botcher’s llamas. He finished with the episode after Hattie’s funeral, when both Wendy and Ed had seen her black tongue, and when she had spoken inside Ed’s own head.
Father Pauliuk, who had been silent while Dak spoke, now looked wide-eyed at Ed. The older man shuffled in his chair, and when Ed regarded his old friend and spiritual guide, he saw terrible worry on the preacher’s face.
“I wish to God it wasn’t true, Robert,” Ed said. “I wish I could blame it on my heart, I wish I could blame it on old age. That would be a blessing, of all things, but I don’t believe it is. That woman came to me in my own room, in my head.” His eyes shot to Dak.
“It’s okay, Ed. He needs to know,” Dak said.
Ed shifted in his seat. “Honest to God, Robert, she was in my mind, demanding I … I take care of Dakota and his family. I can’t say exactly how she expected I do this, but I know exactly what she wanted me to do. She has intentions on them. Evil intentions, Robert. I feel she is targeting them because they all seem to sense her. Nobody else but them, and now me, I suppose.” Then Ed relayed the incident in his room in its entirety, leaving nothing out.
“A woman just asked me to perform an exorcism,” Father Pauliuk explained after Ed was done, if only to verbalize the complexity of his thoughts. “She believes her husband has been possessed by the devil. Everyone you saw in that room has been affected by sim
ilar nightmares. I don’t know what to make of it, but I don’t believe it’s good. When my wife died years ago, I believed it to be the devil’s work, and perhaps it was, but I do know that what happened then is not the same as what is happening now. However much it pained me, my grief did not invite the devil into my head nor encourage violence against others. Have you shared your experience with anyone else?”
Ed shook his head. “Only Dakota.”
Father Pauliuk leaned on his elbows. “Good. I appreciate your candidness, Ed. Something like that would be hard for anyone to admit. To be honest, if Dakota hadn’t explained what he had and if I didn’t have a room full of people suddenly demanding holy water, I might have suggested the advice of a doctor. I say this because my feeling is that there is something amiss here. I believe you, Ed, and I need you to understand that if you share this with anyone else and it gets to the staff at your home, they might insist on medicating you, which could potentially expose you to more danger or leave you unable to protect yourself if she comes again. That said, you need to do what you feel is right to protect your health. Understand?”
“Your feelings align with mine, Robert.”
“What can you tell me about the dreams everyone seems to be having? Do either of you know anything more of it?”
“I know that all of a sudden everyone wants a dream catcher. Our phone is ringing off the hook. We can’t make them fast enough,” Dak said.
“There’s a few down my hall that started screaming at night,” Ed said. “They don’t say what it is, but I know.”
“Sylvia?” Father Pauliuk asked. “Do you think she is causing their nightmares?”
Ed shook his head. “No. Not her. The thing inside her. I have no reason to believe this except that I do: I think Sylvia and the thing inside her are two different entities. You know how you can sense evil, Robert? Well, sometimes I sense it from Sylvia and sometimes I don’t. It’s like the evil comes and goes like a switch being turned off or on. I don’t know that she’s aware of it, either. Maybe she is. Maybe I’m wrong.”
They watched as Father Pauliuk absently touched his collar. The band of white standing stiff like armor around his neck contrasted starkly against the blotches of anxiety that appeared on his skin. “I’d like to confer with my colleagues, if that’s all right with you. Like Nikonha said, I do believe unity is our best defense against this beast.”
Dak said, “There may not be just one demon, Father. We think there could be more than just the devil-woman.”
The preacher frowned. “More than one?”
“The nightmares people tell us about seem similar except for the method in the violence,” Dak explained. “Some people say something’s going to happen with the river. Some say it’s the weather that’s going to get us. A few have suddenly developed fear of their pets. We’re fostering two dogs, a hamster, and a bird because their owners are now petrified of them. You see, Father, the end of these nightmares is the same: people die. But the way they die is not the same. I’m not sure what the Bible says about that, but in our culture, it indicates interference by different spirits.”
A long rush of air pushed out of Father Pauliuk’s nose. He said, “Whether there’s one or many of them, demons report to the devil, and we have to do whatever it takes to stop him. With things pointing to something happening at the festival, I think it should be cancelled. Dak, you’ve been on the committee for years, do you think you can convince them to reschedule it until we figure this out?”
“I’ll bring it up to them, but I don’t know what their appetite will be to change anything.
A few days ago, I had to practically beg the mayor not to cancel it. If I ask her to do it the day before it’s supposed to kick off, I doubt she’ll listen to me now.”
“Will you try?” Father Pauliuk asked.
Dak inclined his head. “I have to. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do what I can. I think the dreamers will be on our side; they won’t be hard to convince. It’s everyone else I’m worried about. People need something to look forward to, and with all that’s happened here lately, I think we’ve got a real fight on our hands if we’re thinking of taking away the only thing that gives them hope.”
Unable to stop himself, Father Pauliuk said, “It’s not the only thing that gives people hope.” He looked at the crucifix mounted above his door.
“Sorry, Father. That’s not what I meant.” Dak blushed.
“I know. You’re right that the festival has come to symbolize hope for many people, and I know that the court of public opinion won’t look favorably at the city or the committee if you succeed, but I think you might help save a lot of lives, if what we suspect is true.”
“And if they won’t cancel it?” Ed asked. “What do we do then?”
The silence between them intensified in their ears so that each man heard only his own heartbeat, only the expiration of his own breath. A long-suppressed terror once again rose in the preacher. He said, “We must exorcise the demons.”
“An exorcism?” Dak looked at Ed, who appeared completely unstirred by Father Pauliuk’s proposition.
The preacher held up his hand. “We administer minor exorcisms on a daily basis. We expel evil during baptisms, for example, and for this I have the latitude to perform as I must. But if what you’re saying is true—and I have no doubt that it is—then I must talk to the bishop and get his permission to conduct a major exorcism. Our complication here is that major exorcisms are a much longer process. It can take months or even a year of careful investigation before I would be granted approval, if I were the one to perform the exorcism.”
“But we don’t have that kind of time, Robert,” Ed complained.
“I don’t believe so, no,” the Father agreed. “But I will do my best. In the meantime, it’s important to remember that evil reacts to good like smoke reacts to clean air; it tries to smother it and poison it. I think that the more we gather and pray the spirits out, the harder it will be for them to stay. We need to choke them out with prayer. And I’m not suggesting only Christians do this, Dakota.” Outside, a cluster of clouds settled on the sky and the priest’s office was filled with shadows. Looking at the apprehensive men in front of him, the good Father’s faith intensified, and he said a silent prayer for their safety.
They made plans to speak again in the afternoon, and Father Pauliuk saw the men out before returning to the Fellowship Hall. In the short time since he’d been with Ed and Dak, the group had grown, swelled to what he estimated to be over a hundred women, and even a few children. Julia was reading the words of Joseph from Genesis 40:8. “They said to him, ‘We have had dreams, and there is no one to interpret them.’ And Joseph said to them, ‘Do not interpretations belong to God? Please tell them to me.’” He applauded her appropriate selection, even though only half of the fidgety group seemed to listen.
Seeing Robert return to the room, the gum-popping woman muttered, “It’s about time,” loudly enough that every bowed head turned to him.
“Ah! I see that Julia has blessed you with Genesis. This is what we need to do. We need to take our dreams and let them be interpreted by our all-knowing Father.”
His thumb rested on his bent index finger, and he used this triangle of flesh to expound his guidance, turning it and waving it for emphasis, while one hundred heads followed his hand like kittens to the red end of a laser. He did not broach the matter he’d discussed with Ed and Dak, but he did assert the need for both prayer and caution while he formulated a plan to help them. With the Fall Festival commencing the next day, he advised Julia’s group to avoid the fair grounds and then extended the entirety of the church for their purposes until their dreams subsided.
“We will keep our doors open through the night; we only ask that you be mindful in cleaning up after yourselves. I don’t mind clearing furniture, but my back isn’t what it used to be. I will be in and out of the building as I confer with my counterparts, but let’s plan to meet later today. How does seven sound?” Th
ere was a murmur of consensus, and he left them to plan the potluck Julia and Nancy had suggested.
He went now to the chapel, where the familiarity of the space never failed to soothe him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked the length of the nave then stopped to look up first at Jesus, hung high and center, then above at the stained-glass saints continuing sentinel to the ceiling of the apse. He was overcome by a great tide of emotion that made him shiver with love, and he put himself before them as a man hopeful of victory on their behalf. Reflecting on the task ahead of him, his knees began to tremble and he steadied himself on the altar until the feeling passed. He turned to the Bible that lay open on the altar and began to read, fortifying himself with the word of God. He calmed himself this way until, a few minutes later, his cell phone rang. It was Father Bonner.
32
Mayor Ada Falconer wasn’t an afternoon coffee-drinker, but here she was, nearly five at night, on her fifth espresso of the day. The ugly buzz of too much caffeine gave her a headache, so she reached for the bottle of Advil in her desk drawer only to find it empty. She sighed and pinched the tender flesh between her thumb and index finger like her yoga instructor had taught her, but the pressure did little to ease the pounding inside her head. It was the worst month of her life. She had never had to meet with families of deceased citizens, but now there seemed to be a steady stream of them, demanding answers, alternately wetting her shoulder with their tears and then blaming her for causing them.
The young nurse’s family had been the worst of these encounters. Grief bleating through his trembling lips, Tammy Cormoran’s father accused Ada of being so consumed with media attention that she failed in her sworn duty to protect the city. He didn’t care that she’d solicited assistance from other cities to patrol the area, he wanted his daughter back and he swore that until he was reunited with Tammy in the afterlife, he would make Ada’s life a living hell.
If that weren’t bad enough, her rushed entry to the office this morning had been exacerbated by a horde of protesters who threw mud at her until her security team scooped her into the building. Even then, she heard the shouts. “New mayor now! New mayor now!” a group of knit-hatted twenty-somethings shouted. “Garrett’s had enough! Garrett’s had enough!” a competing cluster of middle-aged men and women yelled. Her escape inside inflamed the mob, and they shrieked and bellowed louder, until their skin turned rage-purple and their chanting, angry mouths sprayed wetness on the windows. She could almost feel their spit on her neck as she hurried away from them.