by Tim Hawken
“If you follow my design, I promise it will be an aid in your mission. Those who want to embrace nothingness can. You speak about truth and freedom. This is a chance to deliver it to those who crave it, before you launch headlong into battle. This is real choice. Would you take that away from them? The ability to use their own freewill? If you do, then you’re just as bad as Asmodeus, who you oppose for his lies.”
I looked to Smithy for assistance, but he was staring ahead, concentrating on flying into the city. I looked to Mary.
“It is an honest answer.” She nodded. “We must pursue truth above all else.”
I couldn’t believe she was taking John’s side in this.
“But how do we do it? Where would we put it?” I asked them, searching for a reason to at least delay the process.
“You could put it at Casa Diablo,” Mary suggested. “It’s a fortress that no one would dare attack.”
“Yes!” John jumped in, seeing his advantage. “When I was freed from the forest, I saw that the back end of the castle was blocked off by high gates. Maybe there is a spot in the grounds there that could be used to build what I need. People can pass through the waterfall into a cave to sleep on the other side. You can build it using your elemental powers. I know you can.”
I looked out of the window of the helicopter. The last thing I wanted was to hold back the souls of Hell in their ability to make their own decisions. Stifling something like this opportunity was just as bad as putting control in place like Asmodeus had. If I wanted true freedom for all, then giving this chance to someone who asked for it was a step in that direction. I turned back to face John.
“Once you have performed the exorcism for us and we have the last set of keys, I will do what you ask,” I said reluctantly. “Your friends will have their choice.”
FIFTEEN
WE STOOD IN THE BOWELS OF MAGDALENE’S MANSION. Beneath the floors of her home she had created a crypt. Arranged around us, in seven closed, white coffins, were the bodies of the seven demons of Zoroaster. Now placed in an eighth open coffin was the sleeping body of Judas. Bare rock walls surrounded us, giving the room an oppressive feel.
In the middle of the circle of coffins was a large stone table altar in the shape of a crucifix. On the roof above the altar was a glass figure of a white dove emerging from a painted sunburst, which pulsed white light. The light streamed directly down onto the altar, while shadows clung to the edges of the room.
Bishop John entered through an opening carved in the rock face furthest from Judas’ coffin. He was dressed in a full-length black cassock, over which was a white surplice with a purple stole draped over his shoulders, hanging loosely along the length of his torso. He was carrying a jug of water in one hand and a book of scripture in the other. Mary stood next to me, beside Judas’ peaceful body. She was clothed in a plain white dress, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She held a thick candle in each of her hands; a crucifix around her neck dangled next to Zoroaster’s keys.
John came forward and asked Mary to follow him to the altar. Next to the altar sat a small table on which he placed the jug of water and book of scripture. He then took the candles from Mary and placed them beside the water. Unclasping the crucifix from around her neck, he carefully laid it neatly between the two candles.
At John’s request, Mary lay on the altar. With eyes closed, her head rested at the top of the cross. Her hands were arranged neatly over her chest. As soon as she was in this position the temperature in the room dropped. Both John and I were breathing vapor from sudden the chill in the air. I looked around but could see no reason for the cooling of the crypt. I felt there was a presence there with us, as if the demons inside her knew that something was about to happen. John motioned for me to stand close to Mary.
“If I ask you to restrain her, please do so, but only using your hands,” he said. “Do not use any elemental hold on her during the exorcism. She will be stronger than you think possible while the demons possess her. She may try asking us to stop or use any tactic to keep the demons inside her, but it’s not her talking; it is the demons looking to fool us. Inside this jug is holy water, which I have blessed according to custom. Should anything in the room start rattling or moving, please take some of the water and flick it on the object. I don’t know what is going to happen here, but we must be prepared for some strange occurrences.”
“I’ve have experienced nothing but strange occurrences recently,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. John looked at me blankly and went back to pick up his book from the table.
He traced the sign of the cross over Mary, over himself and then over me. Taking some holy water he sprinkled some on each of us, before beginning to chant over Mary’s body.
“Save your servant. Who trusts in you, my God. Let her find in you, Lord, a fortified tower. In the face of the enemy, let the enemy have no power over her and the son of iniquity be powerless to harm her; Lord, send her aid from your holy place. Watch over her from Zion. Lord, heed my prayer and let my cry be heard by you; The Lord be with you.”
He then made the sign of the cross over Mary. Her eyes snapped open and she turned to smile at John innocently.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, John Joseph. What kind of a Bishop kills himself anyway? You’re nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This isn’t going to work.”
John looked at me with a grimace.
“That is not Mary speaking. The demons are already trying a ruse. Do not engage her in conversation even if she speaks with you directly. We must strive ahead with purpose or the demons inside will divert us.”
He flicked the page in his book and continued.
“God, whose nature is ever merciful and forgiving, accept our prayer that this servant of yours, bound by the fetters of sin, may be pardoned by your loving kindness.”
Mary started to giggle.
“God blah, blah, this, Jesus blah, blah, that. They have no power down here in Hell! This is a waste of time.”
John pressed on, over the top of her.
“Holy Lord, Almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that apostate tyrant to the flames of hell. You who sent your only begotten Son into the world to crush that roaring lion; Hasten to our cry for help and snatch from the clutches of the noonday devil this human being made in your image and likeness.”
“I look nothing like that ugly old cunt,” Mary snarled.
I jumped, startled at her language. John seemed not to hear as he prayed.
“Strike terror, Lord, into the beast now laying waste your vineyard. Fill your servants with courage to fight manfully against that reprobate dragon; lest he despise those who put their trust in you. Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant Mary Magdalene, so he may no longer hold captive this person; Whom it pleased you to make in your image, and to redeem through Your Son; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever. Amen.”
Mary turned her head to face to me, her eyes rolling in her head.
“Please stop this, Michael. You’re the kind one here. This won’t work anyway. Even if we get the keys, we won’t be able to bring down the walls. Who do we think we’re kidding?”
Before I could answer, John cut in.
“Who is speaking now? Who inhabits this body of Mary Magdalene? Answer me, you demon, in the name of Lord God and his Son in Heaven.”
Mary swung around violently to John and spat in his face.
“I am your slut,” she croaked in a voice that wasn’t hers. It was a deep, subhuman howl. “I am your willing whore, your wet pussy. I am pure sin. I am the lust you bury inside, you unholy bishop. I am ready for you. Come and fuck me.” She licked her lips and looked at him with a terrifyingly inviting stare. “Come and fuck me like you fuck those little altar boys in Pakistan. Come and violate my ass with your shriveled little cock. I know you want to ravage this beautiful temple.” She rubbed her hand down her body
, pressing it between her legs. She spat at him again.
“Hold her down,” he said to me sternly, brushing off her obscene insults as if they were nothing.
I moved in, taking her arms and pinned them back into the stone altar. I avoided all eye contact. She writhed beneath me. I was at least double her size, yet incredible strength vibrated through her body. It took everything I had just to hold her down. She started speaking in a tongue I’d never heard. It was the same animal voice as before, churning out of her. Her syllables started long and drawn before rambling over each other. A rancid stench wafted up from her skin. It assaulted me, thick and pungent. I gagged, but held my breath as John’s voice grew louder behind me.
“I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God. By the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ tell me by some sign your name, and the day and hour of your departure. I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; Nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions.”
Mary began to convulse beneath me; her spine arching in pain, her mouth babbling a string of incomprehensible words. Her shoulders lifted so violently upwards that I was thrown back. I steadied myself on one of the white coffins, before moving back in to hold her. In between her grunts, more loudly, I could hear: “I am Lust, I am Greed, before she choked and spat, I am Gluttony, I am Wrath,” and on and on.
John rushed to her side. He crossed Mary over her brow, lips and breast and then flicked more holy water on her. At the water’s touch she began to scream. Her limbs wrestled against mine and I pushed my weight down to try to keep her in place.
John turned the pages of his book and began to read once more. “Luke 11.14-22: At that time Jesus was driving out a demon, and this particular demon was dumb. The demon was driven out, the dumb man spoke, and the crowds were enraptured. But some among the people remarked: ‘He is a tool of Beelzebub, and that is how he drives out Demons!’ Another group, intending to test Him, demanded of Him a proof of His claims, to be shown in the sky. He knew their inmost thoughts. ‘Any kingdom torn by civil strife,’ He said to them, ‘is laid in ruins and house tumbles upon house. So, too, if Satan is in revolt against himself, how can his kingdom last, since you say that I drive out demons as a tool of Beelzebub. Furthermore: if I drive out demons as a tool of Beelzebub, whose Tools are your pupils when they do the driving out? Therefore, Judged by them, you must stand condemned. But, if, on the contrary, I drive out demons by the finger of God, then, Evidently the kingdom of God has by this time made its way to you. As long as a mighty lord in full armor guards his premises, He is in peaceful possession of his property; but should one mightier than he attack and overcome him, he will strip him of his armor, on which he had relied, and distribute the spoils taken from him. Lord, heed my prayer. And let my cry be heard by you. The Lord be with you.”
Mary began to bash her head back against the altar, so hard I was afraid she’d crack her skull open. I let go of her arms and cradled her head. As soon as I let go of her she jerked up and bit me on the ear, growling. I pulled away and my ear tore off into her mouth. She spat it out at me, blood seeping on her lips.
“You’ll never get her back, Michael,” she smiled cruelly. “Never! God will destroy Charlotte’s soul before he’ll let you touch her again.”
I felt myself rushing in to attack her. But John held his hand out to stop me.
“It is not her,” he muttered. “It is the demons trying to distract us. Pay no mind and hold her down!”
I slammed Mary’s shoulders back into the stone in anger and held her fast.
“Keep going!” I yelled at the Bishop.
“Almighty Lord, Word of God the Father, Jesus Christ, God and Lord of all creation; who gave to your holy apostles the power to tramp underfoot serpents and scorpions; who along with the other mandates to work miracles was pleased to grant them the authority to say: ‘Depart, you devils!’ and by whose might Satan was made to fall from heaven like lightning; I humbly call on your holy name in fear and trembling, asking that you grant me, your unworthy servant, pardon for all my sins, steadfast faith, and the power – supported by your mighty arm – to confront with confidence and resolution this cruel demon. I ask this through you, Jesus Christ, our Lord and God, Who are coming to judge both the living and the dead of the world by fire. Amen.”
Again he made the sign of the cross over himself and then Mary. He leaned in and pressed his purple stole onto her neck. Burning flesh crackled beneath it. Mary’s screaming turned to girlish whimpers.
“No, Michael,” she sobbed. “In the name of Judas, make him stop.”
John placed his hand on Mary’s forehead and pushed her back down.
“See the cross of the Lord; begone, you hostile powers! The stem of David, the lion of Judah's tribe has conquered. I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions; In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; Begone and stay far from this creature of God. It is He who commands you; He who flung you headlong from the heights of Heaven into the depths of Hell; He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm. Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear, Satan, you enemy of the faith, you foe of the human race, you begetter of death, you robber of life, you corrupter of justice, you root of all evil and vice, seducer of men, betrayer of the nations, instigator of envy, font of avarice, mentor of discord, author of pain and sorrow. Why, then, do you stand and resist, knowing as you must that Christ the Lord brings your plans to nothing? Fear Him, who in Isaac was offered in sacrifice, in Joseph sold into bondage, slain as the paschal lamb, crucified as man; yet triumphed over the powers of Hell!”
He made three signs of the cross, then dipped his hands in the Holy Water, tracing a cross on Mary’s forehead. The water sizzled and popped on her skin. Bloody foam bubbled from out of her mouth.
“Begone, then, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Give place to the Holy Spirit by this sign of the holy cross of our Lord; Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever. The Power of Christ compels you! The Power of Christ compels you! The Power of Christ compels you! Be gone from this body of Mary. Be gone!”
Seven colored spirits burst out of Mary’s body, wailing into the air. Her body arched and twisted in convulsions as they gushed out of her chest. John fervently continued his chant as the demons spewed into the air.
“I cast you back into your cursed bodies, where you should dwell forever more. Leave this girl and do not return. In the name of God the Almighty, I banish you to your rightful body. Amen!”
A shower of light exploded above Mary and the twisted souls roared toward the seven coffins placed around her. I was sent sprawling to the ground by a hot wind as the souls flew past me to crash with a burst of sound back into their ethereal shells.
Dazed by the spectacle, I shook my head clear. I was on my knees next to the altar, gasping for breath. With effort, I held the edge of the stone table and pulled myself upward. Mary now lay back on the altar. Her eyes were closed. A small, white alabaster jar was clasped between her hands on her chest. There was not a mark of blood or a bruise or a scratch on her. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Where there had been violence there was peace. I reached up and touched my ear. It was whole.
Father John looked over to me and nodded, before collapsing to the floor in exhaustion.
SIXTEEN
I LEANED OVER WHERE MARY LAY ON THE ALTAR. She looked so lovely: serene in her unconsciousness. I reached out and touched her on the arm. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at me and smiled.
“How do you feel?” I asked, shakily.
“I feel… lighter,” she said, with a contented look on her face, as if she’d just awoken from a long and peaceful sleep. She
raised her head cautiously and sat up, cradling the white alabaster jar in her lap. Twisting the top off with care, she peered inside. She breathed a sigh of relief and replaced the lid. “They are there. They are safe.”
“Good,” I said, catching my breath. “You keep them that way until they’re needed.”
I heard a stirring at the foot of the altar. Bishop John’s head peeked above the stonework.
“Is everything in order?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “You did a fine job.”
Another noise growled around us. The rumbles grew stronger, coming from within the coffins which surrounded us.
“It seems your children are awake,” John said, looking about at the boxes with fear in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Mary said. “I’ll calm them.”
She walked around the circle, sliding the lids off each of the coffins with one hand. As each lid moved to the side, she showed the small white urn cradled in her other arm and nodded. After she had completed a full circle of the room, the growling subsided to a low hum. Slowly, each of the demons sat up from its deathly bed. Silently, they swung their legs in unison over the side and eased down onto the floor. They walked over to form a line in front of Mary who was now standing at the entrance to the crypt. As each came to her, she kissed them on the lips and whispered thank you. They formed a semi-circle behind her and looked at us with suspicion in their eyes.
“These are the Pure Seven,” Mary said to us. “Thus known because they are the ideal embodiment of their chosen vice.”
I looked to each of them, studying them for the first time. They were not ugly in the slightest; in fact, they were beautiful to behold. They were perfectly formed, female angels with silver hair and wings. Their skin was the color of their chosen sin, but in every other way they were identical. They had flawless features, high cheekbones, perfect proportion. The only hint that they represented some kind of real evil was their hands. They were clawed. Long curved fingernails forked into deadly knives at the end of each finger.
