The Exorcist's Apprentice

by Mark Lukens

  †

  After Paul was done removing the batteries, he went back inside. He stood inside the mudroom as snow dripped off of his black boots. His fingers were numb with cold and he stood there for a moment letting the heat from the house slowly bring him back to life.

  Father Hopkins rushed up to Paul from the kitchen.

  “I found Danny coming inside from the front porch about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Paul didn’t say anything.

  “He might have heard what we were talking about out there. He might have even seen you taking the batteries out of the vehicles.”

  Paul just nodded.

  “We have to start this now,” Father Hopkins said. “We can’t wait any longer.”

  CHAP†ER †HIR†Y-†HREE

  Danny was frozen with fear on his bed for a moment as he watched the closet door creak open. And then it stopped halfway, still hiding the person inside the closet.

  But Danny wasn’t ready to bolt out of his room just yet.

  He had seen the pale hand on the door, pushing it open. He could tell that the hand was small—a child’s hand.

  It was the girl … it was Melissa. She had been hiding in his closet.

  Waiting for him? Seeing if he had delivered her note, perhaps?

  Danny jumped off the bed, careful not to make too much noise. He crept over to the closet until he was in front of the open door, only six feet away.

  “Melissa,” he whispered.

  She hadn’t come out of the closet yet. The door was still halfway open. She dropped her hand down from the door handle and she stood in the darkness. But he could make out her ghostly white dress, her pale arms and legs, her black patent leather shoes and droopy socks. The dark blob of her head hung down, her scraggly hair hiding her face like she was looking down at her feet.

  “It’s okay,” Danny whispered. “It’s just me in the room.”

  She didn’t move a muscle.

  “I’ve got the bedroom door locked,” he added. “No one can get in here.”

  Melissa didn’t seem convinced. She waited in the darkness of the closet. Danny’s suitcase was beside her feet and a few of his clothes hung on hangers right beside her.

  “My parents hate me,” Melissa whispered.

  “Robert and Helen?” Danny asked. He wanted to take a step closer, but he didn’t want to frighten her.

  It seemed like Melissa nodded yes to his question, but the movement was so slight he couldn’t tell for sure.

  “They keep me locked in the basement.”

  Danny had suspected that.

  “They chain me to a wall sometimes,” Melissa whispered, hesitating a moment before continuing, like what she had to say was too awful to be uttered. “Sometimes they strap me down to a wooden chair in the basement.”

  Danny realized that her voice sounded a little muffled. She still hadn’t raised her head to look at him yet. He could see glimpses of her face underneath the scraggily hair—her face seemed pale like her skin, but it was different; it was rough and bumpy.

  “They use brown leather cuffs and straps,” Melissa whispered.

  “Why do they do that?” he asked, trying to keep her talking. “Why do they hate you so much?”

  It took a moment for Melissa to answer. “They’re afraid of me. I can see things. Visions. Sometimes I just seem to know things. They say I’m possessed by a demon. They say that I need an exorcism.”

  Danny’s heart skipped a beat. Was that why they were really here? To perform an exorcism on this poor little girl? Obviously Robert and Helen had been trying the exorcism on their own, that’s why they kept her strapped to a chair in the basement, but now they needed expert help.

  Like Paul’s help.

  No, he wasn’t doing that. He refused to help Paul exorcise a demon out of this poor girl.

  “I got out of the basement,” Melissa whispered. “A few days ago. I’ve been hiding and they’ve been looking for me.”

  Danny thought about Robert and Helen’s nervous smiles, their frightened eyes. He thought about the constant touring and blessing of the house. Were they really just looking for Melissa when they walked around, going from room to room looking for signs of where she might be hiding?

  He thought of the footprints in the snow that he had seen this morning, small footprints—a little girl’s footprints. Were they her footprints that she had made as she kept on the move, finding new hiding spots?

  But then the footprints weren’t there when he’d looked again. But he didn’t want to think about that. Maybe the snow had blown over the footprints. Or maybe someone had covered the footprints over with more snow. Who knew? It didn’t matter now anyway. The girl was real—she was right here inside his room.

  “I want to help you,” Danny said. “Come out of the closet.”

  “You’re in danger, too,” Melissa hissed, and it seemed like something was partially covering her mouth when she spoke. That’s why her voice sound a little muffled.

  “Come on out here,” Danny said. “Please, Melissa. Let me see your face.”

  She didn’t move, but she raised her head slightly and Danny saw something rough and gray all over her face now.

  “I can see things,” she said. “Things I don’t want to see. And I know you can see things, too.”

  Danny didn’t answer that.

  “The car accident,” Melissa continued in a whisper. “The one that killed your mother and sister … it was no accident. They were murdered.”

  For a moment Danny’s heart stopped and he couldn’t draw a breath in.

  Melissa stepped out of the shadows of the closet, pushing the door all the way open. Danny could see her better now. He saw the bruises and marks on the skin of her bare arms and legs. He saw the fading yellowish bruises around her wrists where cuffs had been cinched down tight.

  And when she lifted her head up to look at him, he saw that her face was covered with old, gray bandages held in place with strips of faded adhesive tape. There were holes in the bandages for her eyes, the tip of her nose, and a line between the strips of cloth for her mouth. The bandages disappeared up into her hairline, and the dark hair cascading down both sides of her head to her shoulders hid the edges of the bandages at the sides of her face. The tape and bandages tucked down under her chin and a few went down her neck into her dress.

  Danny felt sick to his stomach as he stood in front of her. What had these monsters done to her?

  “I’m going to get help,” Danny said, not really sure yet what he was going to do or who was going to help him. Paul? If he was in on this the whole time, then he wasn’t going to help.

  Melissa shook her head slightly. “You have to run. It’s the only thing you can do. You can’t let them get you. You can’t let them take you down to the basement.”

  Danny felt helpless tears threatening.

  Could that happen? Would they take him down to the basement? Would they think he was possessed? Was that the reason he was here?

  Oh God, no.

  “Go check your father’s room,” Melissa whispered.

  “What?” Danny took a step back from the girl, shaking his head. His world felt off-kilter, like everything was sliding just a bit and he needed to hold on.

  But he knew that he needed to help this girl, and he needed more information. He needed more proof.

  What was in Paul’s bedroom?

  “His bag,” Melissa whispered like she had read his mind. “It’s in there.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “What you’ve been looking for.”

  Danny knew he needed to go and look.

  “Wait here,” he told Melissa. “I’m going to check his bedroom and then I’m coming right back for you. And then I’m going to get you out of here. Okay?”

  Melissa shook her head no again, so slightly it hardly disturbed her hair or the bandages. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just slow you down. Go and get help. Bring help back to me.”

  The idea made
sense to Danny, but he couldn’t leave her here. She didn’t have any heavy clothes on, but he could give her one of his jackets, a pair of his sweat pants, a hat, and a pair of gloves. He could get the keys to Paul’s Bronco and then come back and get Melissa. They could get down to the truck and drive away. He wasn’t an expert driver yet—he only had his learner’s permit from Ohio—but he had driven his mom’s car enough that he was sure he could drive Paul’s Bronco to the nearest town and get some help.

  Taking Melissa with him might slow him down—but he wouldn’t leave her here with these people.

  What would they do if they caught her again? Would they drag her down to the chair in the basement and strap her to it? Would they do worse things this time?

  What would they do to him if they caught him trying to help her escape? Would he finally see what was locked behind the basement door?

  Paul and Father Hopkins’s words that he had overheard earlier by the garage echoed in his mind. Does he know anything yet? Does he have any idea what’s going on here? What we’re doing here is dangerous. The most dangerous thing.

  “Wait here,” Danny told Melissa. “Please. Just stay right here while I’m gone.”

  Melissa didn’t say anything, and he took that as a sign of confirmation.

  He turned and hurried to the bedroom door and unlocked it with the skeleton key that he had left sticking out of the lock. He slipped the key into his pants pocket in case he might need it to open Paul’s door. He wasn’t sure if one skeleton key opened all similar locks, but he would have one with him if he needed it.

  He glanced back at Melissa one last time before he left.

  She stood in the same spot, watching him through the ragged eyeholes in the dirty bandages. His stomach dropped and his heart ached. He felt more flashes of anger building up inside of him. She was only a nine or ten year old girl. Who could do something like this to a little girl?

  Danny slipped out into the hall after looking both ways and listened for a moment. He didn’t hear anyone coming up the stairs. He didn’t hear any voices or noises up here or downstairs. He didn’t hear anything at all—the house was totally silent.

  He crept down the hall towards the attic, and he stopped in front of Paul’s bedroom door across the hall. He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, realizing he was breathing quickly and trembling. He needed to get his nerves under control. He had to do this.

  After another quick glance around, he knocked lightly on Paul’s door.

  Then he waited, counting down from twenty in his mind. He could imagine Paul opening the door, looming there in his dark clothing, his muscles bulging underneath the fabric, his dark eyes pinning Danny there in the doorway.

  What would he tell Paul he wanted? Would he bring Paul to his bedroom and show him Melissa, show him proof of what Helen and Robert had been doing? But what if Paul already knew and he was in on this?

  But then Danny thought that if Paul knew that they had come to perform an exorcism on Melissa and not the house itself, then why wouldn’t he have told him? Why would he have kept that a secret? Maybe Paul didn’t think he was really ready for an exorcism yet.

  But even if that was true, then maybe Paul didn’t know or realize yet the conditions that Robert and Helen had been keeping their daughter in. Maybe Paul was still innocent to some degree here.

  At least Danny hoped so.

  He knocked again, a little louder, and made himself wait another ten seconds, ticking off each second in his mind. It seemed to be stretching out forever.

  Danny gripped the old-fashioned, cut-glass door handle and turned.

  The door was unlocked. He wouldn’t need the skeleton key in his pocket after all.

  He pushed the door open, praying that it wouldn’t creak or let out a squeal in the silence.

  It didn’t.

  He ducked inside the room and pushed the door almost all the way shut behind him.

  “Paul,” he whispered even though he could clearly see that his father wasn’t in the bedroom.

  This bedroom was much like the bedroom he had been using, almost the same size, one window, one door to a small walk-in closet. There was a bed with a crucifix over the headboard, an end table next to the bed with a lamp on it, a dresser against the wall with an extra wood chair beside it. No TV or radio—just like his room, like there was no outside contact allowed with the world in this house. Either these rooms hadn’t been remodeled yet or this was the way Robert and Helen wanted them.

  The bed was neatly-made of course, just like Paul made his own bed at home.

  Danny didn’t see any of Paul’s personal items on the end table next to the bed or on top of the dresser. He didn’t see a wallet, money, a comb, or more importantly the keys to his Bronco.

  His heart sank a little. Paul must have the keys on him.

  Of course he does.

  Getting out of here might not be as easy as he thought. But he wasn’t going to give up.

  Melissa had told him to check his father’s canvas bag. He didn’t know how she knew about his bag, but she did. There was something in there that she wanted him to see.

  Danny glanced back at the bedroom door and then he hurried over to the closet. He opened the door and saw Paul’s long dark coat hanging from the rod along with a few dark pairs of pants and sweaters. His hat was on the top shelf by itself. On the floor was the small suitcase Paul had carried his clothes in and it sat right next to the dark canvas bag. There was nothing else inside the closet.

  He grabbed the bag and pulled it, dragging it until it was completely out of the closet. His heart thundered in his chest as he unzipped the bag. His mouth was going dry and it felt like he had tunnel vision, everything in his peripheral vision was going dark around the edges.

  Danny had asked Paul about the canvas bag before and Paul had told him that it was the bag he took with him to exorcisms and hauntings. He told Danny what he kept inside the bag and when Danny unzipped the bag he saw the items Paul had told him about: metal containers with screw-on lids that contained salt and iron fillings; an old bible and prayer book handed down to him from his father; several crucifixes, some of them big and heavy and made of silver; a copper chafing dish that had scorch marks in it where something had been burned; one of the small wood boxes that Paul made in his garage woodshop. The box was painted black and had those strange symbols carved into it. Paul had told him before what the symbols meant—The names of God.

  But there were other things inside the canvas bag that Paul had not told him about. Leather straps and cuffs with buckles. They seemed like the ones Melissa had described, the ones used to strap her down to the chair in the basement. And there were lengths of rope connected to these cuffs and straps.

  Why were they in his bag? Who was Paul going to use these on?

  Was that what Melissa had wanted him to see?

  He was about to zip the bag back up, but a winking of light from a dark corner of the bag caught his eye. He dug down deeper, pushing items out of the way.

  And then he saw it. He picked it up carefully with two fingers and held it up in front of him. He felt his breath leave him for a moment. It was his mom’s necklace with his sister’s charms on it. The one that had been taken from his shoebox, the one he had been looking for; the one Paul had seemed so concerned about and helped Danny look for. Paul had the necklace with him the whole time.

  CHAP†ER †HIR†Y-FOUR

  Danny shoved the necklace down into the front pocket of his jeans where the skeleton key was.

  His mind reeled and he felt a little dizzy.

  Paul had stolen the necklace.

  His own father. Why? And then he had lied about where it was the whole time.

  Danny zipped the canvas bag back up and shoved it into the closet.

  He was sure that the necklace was what Melissa had wanted him to find, proof that his father was not on his side here, not to be trusted. But Danny still needed to find something else—the keys to the Bronco.


  He took the suitcase out of the closet and laid it down flat on the floor. It felt heavy like Paul still had a lot of clothes in there. He opened it and saw neatly packed clothes, mostly black or dark blue. But the object on top of the clothes stopped him in his tracks. It was a large manila envelope just like the one Paul had handed to Father McFadden at St. Mathews that contained his report. Except this envelope didn’t have a wax seal and the family crest sealing it shut. This one wasn’t sealed at all.

  Danny turned the envelope over and read the two words written in Father McFadden’s scrawling handwriting: Paul Lambert.

  It was the same manila envelope that Father McFadden had given Paul before they left Boston to come to this house.

  The same envelope that Danny had asked Paul to see. The same envelope that Paul refused to let him see.

  With shaking fingers, Danny pried the envelope apart and pulled out a few sheets of crisp paper and some color and black and white photographs. The photos were big and glossy. Some were a little grainy and out of focus, but Danny could see what was going on. These were photos of the accident that had killed his mother and his sister.

  It was no accident … Melissa’s words echoed in his mind.

  In one of the photos, Danny saw himself sitting in the back of the squad car, the door wide open, his legs drawn up to him, his head down. Officer Booker talked to him as the paramedics waited in the background, keeping a watchful eye on him.

  Another photo showed his mother’s car being pulled up out of the water by a tow truck, police lights shining on the scene. A diver was still in the water, several feet away from the car, watching and signaling to the tow truck driver. Water poured out of the car, out of the doors, the windows, the trunk.

  Danny couldn’t hold back the tears as he saw the metal tomb his mom and sister had died inside of.

  And for a brief moment, he saw a flash of memory from that night. It was something so fleeting yet so profound, a key to everything.