The Everett Exorcism (World of Shadows Book 1)

by Lincoln Cole

  The wind felt chilly, and his nose had grown cold and tender from long exposure when he finally came out of his reverie and realized how much time had passed since he’d set off walking. He had missed the turnoff to get to the church and walked several blocks farther.

  Annoyed, he chided himself for getting lost in his thoughts and quickly headed in the opposite direction. His feet and body felt exhausted, and a layer of sweat covered his skin, but he also felt better. Always, he became less prone to anxiety and worry when he grew physically exhausted. It helped him think more clearly.

  While he walked, his brain avoided the problems at hand and focused more on the people around him on the street. They looked normal enough. Just ordinary people going about their days. Nothing dangerous about them, right? A fair number of them lingered on the streets, more than he would have expected in this cold, but maybe they had business to attend to? Some carried grocery bags; others, briefcases.

  Did it represent an abnormal amount? Or had Niccolo become paranoid in seeing things where nothing existed? All the people looked as if used to the cold weather and constantly blowing wind, bundled up tight with thick scarves pulled up to cover their mouths. The city most likely looked like this regularly at this time of day.

  Niccolo had packed several scarves for this trip and regretted that he’d forgotten to grab any of them out of the luggage before heading out. Instead, he rubbed his hands and then pressed them to his cold and numb cheeks and nose.

  He retraced his steps through the city, made the correct turn, and stood at Father Reynolds’s church a short while later, exhausted and ravenous. And still, he didn’t know what he would tell Father Reynolds, if anything, about the goings on.

  ◆◆◆

  Father Jackson Reynolds sat in his office when Niccolo arrived, looking over a stack of papers. He wore a pair of large-rimmed glasses, which he removed promptly when Niccolo entered the room. He stood up from behind his desk and frowned.

  “Apologies; I must have lost track of time.”

  “Don’t worry; I wasn’t supposed to stop by until later,” Niccolo said. “I had planned to call first but then decided just to walk over.”

  “I could have come and got you.”

  “I didn’t mind the walk,” Niccolo said. “I just went out for a bit and thought I might spare you having to make the trip.”

  “Ah.” Jackson rubbed his face. “Did you speak with Bishop Glasser?”

  “Yes.” Niccolo nodded. “He expects us at his house tonight at seven.”

  Jackson glanced at his wristwatch. “So, a few hours.”

  “Is that all right?”

  “Of course. It just means I might have time to make part of the game.”

  “Game?”

  ◆◆◆

  A youth baseball game hadn’t factored as something Niccolo could envision attending with Jackson before their meeting with Bishop Glasser. His first reaction came as disbelief, considering their situation, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it offered a perfect way to pass the time.

  Right now, he didn’t want to spend time alone. The more people they surrounded themselves with, the better, and it served as a mild distraction to keep him from worrying about what Father Affretti had said.

  The game had importance for Jackson. They ended up at a high-school baseball game, and many of the students and parents were members of his congregation and close personal friends. Evidently, the young priest did this on a regular basis—going out to support his congregation in their life events, and Niccolo could respect that.

  It also served as a perfect way to blend in and keep a low profile, given his instructions to act naturally, and having Jackson take him to the game seemed like a perfect cover.

  Many of the parents greeted Jackson warmly when the two priests first arrived, and everyone seemed genuinely pleased to see them. It all fell outside of Niccolo’s comfort zone—he cared little for sports and had to struggle to keep his fear in check—but he had grown both willing and used to stifling his worries. They could go to the game, and then the dinner with the bishop, and then in the morning, they would leave the city with no one the wiser.

  Then it would become someone else’s problem to solve.

  The most surprising part about the baseball game, though, came in the fact that Niccolo enjoyed himself. He still worried that someone might sit watching him, but after they had sat there for a while, he calmed. It all felt so normal. The mood seemed light and happy, and he even bought a hotdog when he grew too hungry to think straight.

  A first for him—the hotdog, while not that good, tasted edible and quite different from what he had expected. His expectation had taken it as akin to sausage, and instead, the hotdog proved unique. He chocked it all up to a pleasant distraction to keep his mind occupied.

  The parents grew loud and cheerful as they watched their children play, and even though Niccolo had little idea of what events on the field meant, he found the excitement contagious. Jackson cheered and clapped when certain things happened, and on occasion, stood up or laughed.

  “You’re a baseball fan?” Niccolo asked during one of the lulls in the game.

  “I grew up with it,” Jackson said. “Not here, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was born in Boston, so I rarely miss a Red Sox game on the television. What about you?”

  “Baseball? Never played. I don’t even know what’s going on.”

  “I mean sports in general. Are you a fan?”

  Niccolo shrugged. “Not really. It never seemed important in my life. I don’t mind watching it, but I rarely turn sports on at home.”

  “You come from Rome?”

  “Yes. Born and raised, and I’ve rarely ventured outside of it. How did you end up here, in Everett?”

  “The Church asked me to take this parish shortly after my Seminary education. They didn’t give me much of a choice in the matter. It came down to this or nothing. At first, I was …”

  He seemed to realize what he was saying and glanced sideways at Niccolo.

  “Furious?” Niccolo said.

  Jackson laughed. “Displeased,” he said. “This didn’t make my first choice of places to go.”

  “Why not?”

  “No professional baseball team in the area, for one thing.” Jackson smiled. “Plus, the town has a lot of people who … let’s say, who are different from me.”

  “You mean white. Is that a problem?”

  Jackson shook his head. “It took some getting used to for all of us, but I didn’t mean that. I’d imagined that I would work in the communities I’d grown up in and help kids like me. Then, when the Church asked me to come here … well, I almost thought it belied a race issue.”

  “Do you regret taking the job?”

  Jackson shook his head. “No. As I said, it took some getting used to, but I realized that it brought a blessing and not a curse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jackson took a moment to consider his words, sipping his water. “I grew up an angry kid. Didn’t have the best upbringing, and I almost fell in with the wrong crowd. I used to look at the world around me and hate everything. All I wanted to do was change it.”

  “I can sympathize.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I became an ambitious kid, and I thought myself special. I wanted to go back and fix things, and when they told me I had to come here to take over Saint Joseph’s Cathedral instead, I grew furious. I pushed back and demanded to go home. They gave me an ultimatum, and I figured they just wanted to punish me.”

  “Now, you don’t think they did?”

  Jackson shook his head again. “Not anymore. When they put me here, I had to take over a well-established parish full of good people. I had arrogance, though, and felt ready to do something great. Like I could go out and fix the world, but the thing is, I remained just a confused kid. If they had put me back in Boston when I first left Seminary, I would have fallen back into bad practices and old h
abits, and I would have stayed just as angry as the day I’d left. I needed … separation from that.”

  “So, will you go back?”

  Jackson nodded. “Yes. That brings us to the other reason they didn’t send me to Boston, which I didn’t know at the time. They plan for me to take over the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, close to where I grew up. One of the oldest and most important churches in New England. They’ve already cleared it and begun setting plans in motion, but it won’t happen right away. I haven’t told anyone here, yet, but in a few years. Father O’Connell will retire soon, and his church stands only a few blocks from my old house. I think when I finally do go back, I’ll have grown ready to make a proper difference.”

  “I know you will. From all reports, you’ve done a tremendous job here. Your congregation loves you. I’ve heard only glowing reports about you in the Vatican.”

  Jackson waved his hand in the air, brushing away the praise. “You exaggerate, but I appreciate it nonetheless. The people here are great. I feel lucky to get to spend my days with them.”

  “Nevertheless, many important people see great things in your future.”

  “You mean, until this,” Jackson said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Until I freaked out and cried ‘demon’ to the Vatican? I feel fairly certain this will stain my reputation in the future.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, they sent you here to help me see the error of my ways,” Jackson said. “I claimed that we needed an exorcist in Everett, and they sent you, and you’ve found nothing here.”

  “I …” Niccolo had been about to say, I wouldn’t be so sure, and then stopped himself. He still felt unsure how much he should tell Jackson about their circumstances, and now he leaned toward withholding everything until they set off on their way out of the city.

  The people here didn’t know Niccolo, so if he behaved oddly, they could chock it up to his personality. But, if Jackson realized that they might have come into danger, then he would have a much more difficult time in hiding his true feelings from the people around them.

  Better for both of them if Jackson didn’t know that they had something to hide. Not yet, at least.

  “You did your duty,” Niccolo said, instead. “That’s all the Vatican can ask of you.”

  “Who will see it that way? Bishop Glasser will never forgive me for what I did, going behind his back like that, and he’s been known to hold a grudge.”

  That held truth, Niccolo knew. Leopold Glasser had grown famous for nursing grudges for years after an event had occurred. Most likely, Leopold would attempt to ruin Jackson’s career.

  That, of course, depended upon Arthur getting it wrong, and Leopold not having any involvement in whatever went on in Everett.

  Either way, agreeing didn’t seem the most prudent thing to do for the young man.

  “You acted the way you did because you wanted to help protect a member of your congregation. Even though you might have gotten it wrong, your intentions remain unquestionably good. We can’t second-guess the decisions we’ve made. We can move forward and learn from them.”

  “I suppose,” Jackson said. “Still, I felt so sure. I mean it felt like a demon, you know?”

  Niccolo frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Jackson glanced at him, tilting his head to the side, as though he’d only just realized what he’d said, and his eyes widened in concern. “Never mind.”

  “You mean when you visited with the woman? With Rose Gallagher? What did you mean, it felt like a demon?”

  Jackson hesitated and fidgeted. “I don’t know. Nothing. It isn’t a big deal.”

  “You felt something inside of her? Like another presence?”

  Jackson’s expression shifted to suspicion, as if Niccolo had tried to back him into a trap. Niccolo pressed at the idea, “What did you mean, you could feel the demon?”

  “Not exactly sure. When I sat with Rose, I could sense something … wrong inside her. It seemed like I could reach out and touch it like something evil lived there.”

  “And you think it was the demon?”

  “I did at first. But not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean …” The young priest shook his head and laughed at himself. “You must think me crazy, going on about this. As we said, we have no demon here in Everett, just me overreacting.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the game. Niccolo got lost in his thoughts, trying to come to terms with what Jackson had described. The idea that he would feel demons and reach out and touch them.

  He’d heard of such abilities before from some of the most famous exorcists throughout history, and the way they talked about what they did in old documents and reports. He hadn’t met anyone living who described things that exact way, as reportedly, it made for a rare gift.

  Still, what Jackson had described highlighted the idea that something felt wrong about the woman, not that he had sensed an actual demon. And, he didn’t seem to think it relevant anymore. Niccolo had jumped to conclusions.

  Niccolo hadn’t sensed anything strange about the woman, but he also didn’t believe the accounts that some people could sense and interact with demons. It seemed too far-fetched, and considering he didn’t believe in demons, he refused to accept the prospect of people with special gifts.

  Of course, he’d also never imagined ending up in a situation where his life might be in danger, either.

  “I’m off to get another hotdog,” Jackson said. “Would you like one?”

  “What?” Niccolo asked, distracted. Then he caught up, “No, thank you.”

  “All right, I’ll get back in a couple of minutes.”

  “Wait a second. When we spoke to Rose earlier today,” Niccolo said, as Jackson rose from the uncomfortable metal bench. “Did you … could you still sense the evil presence inside her?”

  Jackson frowned at him. “Why do you ask?”

  “Humor me. Could you still feel it there, or did things seem different this time?”

  The young priest hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yes. When we went into her house, I could still sense it. But it couldn’t possibly have meant she’s suffered possession, though. I got it wrong.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Because she’s not the only person that seems like that in the city anymore.”

  Then, Jackson headed down the stairs toward the concession stand, leaving Niccolo sitting alone on the aluminum bench. Uncomfortable from more than just the hard metal. Father Paladina sat there, watching him leave, and couldn’t keep his hands from trembling.

  ◆◆◆

  Quite a while passed, and still Jackson hadn’t returned from the concession stand. Niccolo sat there alone, trying to act normal and aware that he failed miserably.

  Fear for his life brought a double problem, he realized. First, it made it difficult to do anything because his entire body shook like a leaf. That didn’t bring the worst part, however, but more the longevity of the situation. To have his senses heightened by fear for such a long time made him exhausted and weak, and he didn’t know how to turn it off.

  Everything felt like a threat. He didn’t know if people watched or plotted against him, and now Jackson had gone missing—even though only for a few minutes. Niccolo could understand why people with deeply ingrained paranoia would have so much trouble functioning in daily life.

  Most likely, Jackson remained fine. The line had looked rather long when they’d first gone up, but he should have come back by now, and Father Paladina began to worry. It grew close to the time they would need to leave to go see Bishop Glasser, and he didn’t want to arrive late.

  Plus, the game wound down and many parents were packed up and made ready to leave. Niccolo couldn’t take it any longer. He stood and headed for the concession stand, hoping to find Father Reynolds and make sure he remained all right.

  He spotted him as soon as he walked off the metal bleachers and headed toward the conce
ssions. Jackson stood near the fence around the field and spoke with a middle-aged couple. The man looked squat and overweight, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts, and the woman stood a head taller than him and wore long business pants and a precise white blouse. She would have appeared quite attractive except that she seemed to have had too much plastic surgery in the past.

  Niccolo assumed them married as he walked up toward the three of them. Jackson had a wadded up napkin in his hand and looked to have finished eating his hotdog at some point during the conversation. When Niccolo drew closer, all three of them turned to face him.

  Jackson glanced over. “Ah, Niccolo, allow me to introduce you to the Spencers. Mary and Tim. Mary, Tim, this is Father Niccolo Paladina. He comes from Rome.”

  Niccolo nodded and shook their offered hands, smiling as pleasantly as he could manage.

  “A pleasure,” he said, raising a questioning eyebrow toward the young priest.

  “They asked me about the sermon this Sunday. Tim acts as one of my Deacons and had planned to help me repair one of the pews.”

  “Oh?”

  Jackson glanced over at Tim. “We hadn’t settled on an actual time? Would tomorrow work for you?”

  “Yeah, that works well,” Tim said. “It’s Saturday, so I’ll grab Brad, and we’ll meet you there first thing in the morning. I just need to remember to bring my tools. Shouldn’t take more than an hour to fix the pew up.”

  “Excellent,” Jackson said. “I’ll meet you there in the morning.”

  “We should get going,” Niccolo said. “We don’t want to end up late for our appointment.”

  “Of course,” Jackson said. “Mary, Tim, I will see you both later. Thanks again!”

  Father Reynolds turned away from the couple and headed toward the cars. Niccolo nodded politely at the man and then turned to follow, but he stopped when a look of anger flashed across the woman’s face.

  Pure rage, and she’d directed her look at Jackson’s back as the young priest walked away. Her eyes filled with it, though it only lasted for a second before her expression returned to normal.