Book 1, Chapter 2

 

The pair sat in the car, Alistair’s hand resting on the ignition. He turned to his pupil. Jonathan seemed distant, lost. Of everything the young man had experienced that evening, his mind dwelt mostly on the feeling that had churned through his chest and bit at his heart. A burning, a stinging almost, a sensation of something tugging at his very soul. It was all-encompassing, and yet when he tried to focus on it, to find the words to name it, it was absent, every beyond the grasp of his comprehension.

“Jonathan? Are you okay?”

The young man turned with a start. “Y-yes. That was just… a bit more intense than I was expecting.”

Alistair nodded and started the engine, pulling the vehicle out of the cul-de-sac.

“What did you think about Katrina?”

Jonathan hesitated. “She’s clearly disturbed. I think, perhaps, she needs to see someone. A specialist.”

“You think this is a psychological issue?”

“Well, yeah. You mentioned before she’d been to counselors. I think she might need something more intense, maybe a mental health facility. Someplace that can watch after her all the time.”

The old priest shook his head, pulling the car onto the main road toward the university. “I don’t believe that at all, Jonathan.”

“What? How can you not? Did you see what she did to-”

“What did you feel, Jonathan?”

The seminarian swallowed. His hand moved to his chest. Why did Alistair want to know? He didn’t want to think about that sensation, the inferno that blazed within him as he watched the child speak, as he simply stood in her presence. For several moments his words failed him, giving Alistair the answer he was looking for.

“I know you felt something dark.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“She’s been taken, Jonathan.”

“Taken?”

“By the Devil.”

Jonathan stared at his mentor, slack-jawed. “You think she’s possessed? Look, Father Alistair, I agree that something is deeply wrong with the child but -”

“Medicine and therapy will not save this child.”

“We have to trust in God that they will, Father. What other options do we have?”

“I’m sending my request to the Bishop tonight,” Alistair said, tightening his grip on the wheel.

“R-request? Wait, what request?”

“I’m asking permission to conduct an exorcism.” Jonathan was silent. He stared around the cab for several moments, searching for words. “I would like your help with it.”

“You want me to help you perform an exorcism?”

“It’s a complicated ritual, Jonathan, and I’m not well familiar with it. I could use your assistance.”

“Alistair, I think this is better suited for someone like Father Willingham,” Jonathan argued.

“Willingham would never condone an exorcism. I need you. You have a strong spirit, one that I know this demon fears. We can save this child, Jonathan.”

“Fear? Save? Alistair, this is all too much. Think about what you’re asking. I feel for this poor girl — for her family — but this is something professionals need to be handling.”

“The family -”

“Will never consent to an exorcism,” Jonathan interrupted.

Alistair hesitated. “You… you’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes, Jonathan, you’re right. I’m… I’m getting worked up about this. I can’t stand to see the pain that child and her family are going through. I do, truly, believe that this is the work of a demon, Jonathan, but you’re right. There’s no way Jason will consent to an exorcism.”

The car was silent for several minutes, the only sound in the night the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal as they approached the university. Jonathan wasn’t sure what he thought. Of course the child needed a specialist, but the more Alistair had pushed the more he thought about the burning in his chest. About Katrina. About those eyes in the mirror.

“I’m going to continue researching,” Alistair resumed. “I think it would be prudent to understand the exorcism ritual better. Just in case.”

“Are you actually going to conduct it?” Jonathan asked.

“Only if I see no other option. And if her parents wish it.”

“So… what should I do?” he asked.

“Sleep,” Alistair replied as he pulled up to the young man’s dormitory. “Sleep and pray.”

The car lurched forward ever so slightly as it stopped. The was a loud click as the young man released his seat belt, his hand now resting on the door handle. “I’m not sure I’ll be sleeping much at all tonight.”

Alistair smiled. “Well… then forget the sleep and just pray twice.” It was a classic Alistair-style joke, but after what he saw, Jonathan wasn’t certain when he’d smile again.

#

Lights out was at least an hour ago by Jonathan’s reckoning and his roommate Greg was already snoring in the bunk below him, yet Jonathan lay there, staring at the dorm room ceiling. In the pocked, popcorn-like patterns he saw Katrina. He saw her dolls. He saw those yellow eyes staring back at him in the vanity mirror. He saw her hands covered in blood and bile, clutching the freshly liberated head of her doll.

He let out a long sigh, running his fingers through his messy, brown hair and rolling to one side. He looked over the edge, watching his sleeping roommate. Greg was usually his go-to when he had a question he couldn’t ask Alistair. Should he wake him? He knew that, as he lay there, Alistair was researching, preparing. Had he sent his appeal to the Bishop already? Just in case?

He had prayed, as usual, before slipping into bed, pleading with God to grant him understanding, to tell him how to help the young girl, but God was silent tonight. Nothing came to him. He wanted so desperately to help Katrina, to help Alistair, but he didn’t know what to do. He rolled back onto the mattress properly, mind drifting through the night’s events. Katrina. Her attitude. Her presence. Beyond that, though, the burning. Even as a faithful Catholic, nothing he had experienced in his life had felt quite like this. It was overwhelming, penetrating, and gripping. It would have easily been a religious experience had it not felt so terrifying. So primal. So instinctual. Any other night with any other problem, Jonathan might have simply returned to prayer, but somehow, any thoughts of normalcy seemed mere illusions.

After restless hours of staring at the aging ceiling, Jonathan pulled on his university sweats and hoodie, deciding that fresh air was desperately needed. Out the door, down the darkened hallway, and outside to the campus lawn. Where he was headed, he had no idea; his feet were in charge as his brain was occupied with visions of Katrina. Those eyes. That look.

The brisk air brought some comfort as he stared down at the concrete beneath his feet, weighing the images of their visit against his own common sense. He paused at a large, stone edifice bearing the school emblem. His hand rubbed against the Ann Bayley crest, fingers grazing the words “Push Forward.” His mind told him he was overreacting and this was none of his business, but his heart, oh, his heart screamed against this sentiment. He thought again on the burning, the pressure. Clearly this was something he could not trust his faculties to process. He was studying for the priesthood; clearly something like this was a sign from God, one that could not be ignored.

“You’re out awfully late.”

Jonathan reeled around, a dark figure approaching, silhouetted by the sparse lighting. He took a cautious step back, sizing the figure up until they stepped into the next pool of light.

“Oh,” Jonathan said with a sigh of relief as he saw the cassock the figure wore. It was one of the Seminary’s priests.  “Sorry, Father. I know it’s past curfew.”

“No worries, I won’t tell. I’m sure you have a good reason for wandering around a campus after midnight. Alone.”

With the man now at least somewhat illuminated, he could see strange cut of the cassock. He might have given it a longer look had the priest not produced a cellphone, his attention now raptly absorbed by the device.

“I… I couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly. What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jonathan said.

“Well, that’s a lie,” the priest replied, still staring at his phone. He moved closer to the young man, the light of his device illuminating the stubble along his jaw and cheeks. “C’mon. I’m a priest. You’re a student here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jonathan stared at the stranger for several quiet moments before he looked up from his phone. The light glinted off his brown eyes, catching something inside the young man. “I… I’m just conflicted.”

“Aren’t we all?” The priest tucked his cellphone into his cassock and leaned back against the Ann Bayley statue. “Is it a girl?”

“No!” Jonathan replied. “Well… I guess, technically. But she’s a little girl.” The priest raised a concerned eyebrow. “No! I mean, she’s in trouble.”

“Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

Jonathan nodded. “I’m a seminarian.” He gestured back toward his dorm building. “My mentor, he’s dealing with a family who’s little girl is very…”

“Troubled?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Jonathan replied.

“They’re all rather demonic at that age, aren’t they?”

“Well, that’s just it! My teacher, he thinks she is. Demonic I mean. He – he wants to perform an exorcism on her!” Jonathan looked up to see how the priest would respond but he was once again absorbed in his cell phone. “Did – did you hear me?”

“Yes, an exorcism. Go on,” he replied, finger scrolling up and down his screen.

“That… that doesn’t freak you out?”

The priest clicked the sleep button on his phone and once again slid it into his cassock, turning himself to more fully face Jonathan. “I’ve seen a lot of freaky things. A priest deciding a mentally unhinged child needs an exorcism isn’t terribly uncommon. But what do you think? Do you think she’s possessed?”

Jonathan hesitated. Did he? She was a little girl that needed help, but that didn’t mean there was a demon inside her. Still, those eyes. That look in the mirror. “I don’t know.”

“Then find out,” the priest replied without hesitation.

“Wha- how do I find out something like that?”

“Sounds like your teacher is going to perform an exorcism sooner or later. You should be there. Support him. Find out for yourself if there’s a demon involved. If not, you’ll know you tried and maybe that’ll be the incentive the family has to seek therapy or whatever.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the other man. “That’s… not what I was expecting.”

“Not the advice you expected to hear from a stranger at one in the morning in an empty university quad?”

“Not the advice I expected from a priest. Are… you sure you’re a priest?”

“As sure as you are,” he said, pushing away from the statue. “I have to get going, but make sure you help out your teacher, okay? And, uh… pray and say your Hail Marys before breakfast tomorrow, alright?”

“What?”

Before he could make sense of anything the stranger was saying, he had disappeared into the darkness. Jonathan thought to follow him, but somehow felt better letting him go. Whoever he was, whatever his intent, Jonathan felt it best not to pursue. Tonight had already been long enough and the day ahead of him wasn’t looking any nicer without sleep.