I heard the front door open and hoped that the big meeting was about to happen and that since I was there already they’d let me watch and take notes. But it was only Jenn. She walked into the kitchen without announcing herself. Someone in the trailer must’ve seen me and Dad together on the surveillance cams, so she was dispatched in case our interaction was video worthy.
“Are you sure I can’t be at the big meeting?” I looked at Jenn and the camera when I said it, even though I was talking to Dad.
“Yes, I’m sure. What do you want for lunch, kid?”
I said, “Mac and cheese?” like I was asking if I could get away with something big. Mom would’ve said no and that I had to stick to the BRAT diet because of my stomach issues (which I seemed to have a lot of at that age) and then made me a plain piece of toast.
“Your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore?”
“Nope.”
“Did it really hurt at all this morning?”
“A little.” I stuck my face into the open notebook.
“Do you think it’ll hurt tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, good. Maybe I’ll have some too. Take down some notes while I make it.”
He boiled water and pretended to be a scientific expert on the properties of water boiling, and how long it needed to boil to make the perfect batch of mac and cheese. I wrote it all down and asked him the tough questions. He spoke of the golden ratio of cheese dust to milk and butter, the diameter and girth of the elbow-shaped pasta, the conductive properties and molecular structure of the white froth that bubbled over the pot. He held up the blue-and-yellow box and described the superhuman nutritional benefits of each ingredient. He used a funny scientist’s accent. When it was ready we evenly distributed the pasta into two bowls and tested the cheese sauce’s tensile strength: which bowl could keep a fork standing vertically the longest. My bowl won. We laughed, ate, and had a good time.
I remember this lunch in great detail because I remember it as being the last time he was happy-Dad with me. That might sound maudlin, sentimental, and hyperbolic, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
MOM TURNED UP THE TV’S volume purposefully loud and took the remote control with her into the kitchen.
I sat in the living room only sort of watching an episode of Teen Titans. My parents, Father Wanderly, Barry, and Ken were in the kitchen having their big meeting. Because of what Dad had said earlier, I knew I was the subject. After the months of all-things-for-Marjorie, I was pleased that something happening in this house potentially involved me. With Marjorie almost exclusively sucking up all our parental resources, I’d felt like I was getting lost, a loose picture that had fallen out of the family album.
I couldn’t hear anything said in the meeting and the one time I tried to sneak across the room and get closer to the kitchen, Dad heard and sternly ordered me back to my spot on the couch.
The meeting lasted forever and I began to hate the Teen Titans, particularly Beast Boy and his snaggletooth, but finally, everyone came into the living room. Mom sat next to me on the couch. She still had the remote and shut off the TV, and then she rubbed my back in slow circles, which made me nervous. It was an obvious sign we were to discuss something serious. Barry stood near the front door and spoke quietly into his Bluetooth. Jenn and Tony and their cameras emerged shortly thereafter, each flanking one end of the room. Ken sat in the plush chair by the front windows, lost in his notebook. I waved at him but he didn’t see me. Both Ken and Barry stood outside of camera range so they presumably wouldn’t be in the shot.
Dad followed Father Wanderly into the room and carried one of the kitchen chairs, which he set directly in front of the TV. Dad sat there and struggled to get comfortable. Father Wanderly had a red leather-bound book tucked under his left arm. He said, “Hello, Merry. I love your red jacket. Looks cozy.” He always sounded like his words were full of helium, which rose and dangled above your head. He methodically worked his way around the coffee table to sit on the couch next to me.
I scooted away, closer to Mom, and I stuffed my hands into the jacket pockets. “Hello. It’s not cozy. I’m wearing it because I’m a reporter,” I said, and looked nervously at Dad. I was afraid that if I didn’t address Father Wanderly like he wanted me to he’d get angry.
Dad gave me a reassuring nod and said, “We’re going to talk more about what it is Father Wanderly is trying to do to help Marjorie and how he thinks you can help him. Okay?”
I was disappointed at first to hear this was still about Marjorie, but that quickly passed with the realization that these adults, their actions and motives as mysterious as ever, were going to tell me more, and they wanted my help.
Father Wanderly said, “That’s right, Merry. Are you feeling better? I’m told you stayed home from school today.”
“I’m better. I think I was just really hungry and that made my stomach hurt.”
“I understand.” He smiled and showed off his big teeth, which were a dingy shade of gray.
Up this close to him, I could see flurries of dandruff sprinkled on his shoulders. The white collar squeezed his Adam’s apple so tightly a small flap of skin folded over it. His face was thick with beard stubble that went higher on his cheeks than it should’ve, and I thought about making a werewolf joke. His blue eyes were so light I was afraid if I looked too hard and long I could see straight through into the back of his head. He smelled like powder.
“I’m going to take notes, okay?” I took the notebook and pencil out of my pockets.
“Of course.” He leaned in closer to me and asked, “Do you know why I’m here?”
I nodded, even though I was still fuzzy on how he was going to help us.
“You know that I’m here to help your sister, and your family, and you.”
I nodded again, impatient for him to get to the part where he described how I’d be helping, annoyed that he was talking to me as though I were four, not eight.
“I’ve watched the video you shot in your room, Merry, and I’ve watched your interviews, including that—what do you call it, Barry, a confessional? I’m not sure I approve of that.” Father Wanderly smiled at Barry, who returned a Who, me? shrug. “In one of them you said an evil spirit lived inside Marjorie. Did she tell you that?”
“Yeah, in the basement she said it to me, yeah.”
“Well, Merry, my first job here is to figure out if she really has a demon spirit inside her.”
“Well . . . it—It’s what she told me?” I started looking to Mom and Dad in a panic, thinking that he somehow knew that what I’d told everyone had happened in the basement was a lie.
Father Wanderly said, “Merry, I believe you. And I believe that, unfortunately, your poor sister is possessed. I believe that somehow a demon spirit has gotten inside her and it’s what makes her act so strangely, so not like your sister used to be. Yes? My second job, by the Lord’s infinite grace, power, and love, is to help her and your family by getting the demon out of Marjorie, so it’ll go away and leave her alone forever.”
“How?”
“I’ll perform the sacramental ritual of exorcism.” He patted the leather book that was now resting in his lap.
I was getting more nervous so I drew a chain of circles in my notebook.
Dad said, “Merry, stop doodling and pay attention.”
Mom said, “John, she’s doing fine.” She squeezed my shoulders and it turned one of my circles into a squashed blob.
Ken looked up from his notebook but not at me. Dad crossed his arms over his chest and did that thing where he jutted out his bottom jaw and released air through the side of his mouth.
I asked Father Wanderly, “Are you going to read that to her?” and pointed at his small, red leather-bound book.
“More or less, yes, I will read and pray, which is all a part of performing the rite of exorcism.”
“Have you tried it yet?”
“We have not tried it yet. Performing an exorcism is
very serious business. The most serious. I first need to get the permission of our local bishop. In order to do so, we must make sure that there is a demon inside Marjorie and that she’s not simply—how should I put it?—that she’s not just sick.”
“Oh. So if she’s only sick you can’t help her, and we just have to give her medicine, or something and then she’ll be better again?”
“Well, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ can and does always help, but I’m afraid it’s not that simple—”
Dad cut in with, “We’re all tired, scared, and confused as to why this is happening to Marjorie and to us. But everyone in this house is confident that Marjorie is possessed by a demon. That’s how they say it, Merry: possessed. Okay? Otherwise we wouldn’t have gone to the . . . to the lengths that we’ve gone to here. What Father Wanderly is saying is that the church has to be absolutely sure before he can help her and read the special prayers from his book.”
“I think you should just read the special prayers to her now anyway. Just in case.” I leaned back into Mom, looked up at her, and said, “Mom?” I didn’t say Do you believe there’s an evil spirit inside Marjorie too? but that was what I meant.
She said, “Remember all of Marjorie’s doctor’s appointments? We’ve been trying medicine, and we’ve been trying everything we can think of, and things with her—things with her are still getting worse. So we’re doing what we think is best. Father Wanderly truly wants to help your sister.”
No one else said anything right away. Dad leaned back in his chair; the wood creaked and groaned. I wrote the word chair down in my notebook and drew a picture of one that had a long back and short legs, and then I quickly drew a ghost that haunted it.
Father Wanderly said, “Merry, this afternoon, Dr. Navidson, who I’ve been consulting with, is coming over to finish his evaluation—or his, um, checkup—of Marjorie on behalf of the church.”
“Who’s that? I thought her doctor was Dr. Hamilton. Right, Mom?”
Mom said, “Dr. Hamilton is still her doctor, sweetie. This new doctor is helping out Father Wanderly.”
“Why does she need another doctor?”
Father Wanderly said, “Dr. Hamilton is a very good man and doctor, but being an atheist, he does not have the sense of spiritual reality required for Marjorie’s case.”
“What’s an atheist?” I drew another ghost.
Father Wanderly leaned down to get into my field of vision. When I looked up at him he said, “A nonbeliever. Someone who doesn’t believe in Jesus or God.”
Mom said, “An atheist doesn’t believe there are any gods, Merry.”
I wasn’t sure what I was. I thought about asking if there was a name for that, a name for me. But I just said, “Okay.”
Father Wanderly said, “Dr. Navidson is both a man of science and a good Christian. Our Bishop Ford recommended him highly. He has seen all the videos and read your interviews and he’s coming over today to talk with Marjorie in person. I’m going to be in the room. Your parents will be there, and I’d like to ask if you would consider joining us as well, because we need your help.”
I sat up, scooted toward the edge of the couch, and looked at both of my parents, trying not to seem too excited.
Mom said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Dad didn’t say anything.
“I want to. I want to help! What do I get to do?” I wondered if I was going to have to dress up in a black shirt with buttons (I didn’t like black shirts and I didn’t like shirts with buttons) and wear a white collar and say some of the words in the book Father Wanderly had on his lap. I couldn’t read the cover. It was in a different language that almost looked like English but wasn’t.
Father Wanderly said, “For now, just your being there in the room is the help we need, Merry.”
“How will that help anything? I want to do something. I can read stuff. I can use my camera.” I tried to get Ken to look at me, but he was hidden behind Tony the cameraman who had left the periphery and now stood only a few feet away from the couch.
Father Wanderly said, “We’ve all noticed that the spirit inside Marjorie manifests or reacts strongest when you are in the same room as Marjorie, and on more than one occasion, the spirit has taken her to your room, as though seeking you out to be its audience. Please let me be clear, I’m not saying that you are the cause of her affliction or that what she does is in any way your fault, Merry, because it’s not. Not at all. But we do think the demonic spirit is attracted to you because it shows itself primarily when you are around. So by being in Marjorie’s room today during Dr. Navidson’s visit, we’ll increase the chances that he’ll witness a manifestation event—”
“A what?”
“He’ll see something that Marjorie does and will then know that she has a demon inside her. And then he’ll be able to report to the bishop that poor Marjorie is truly suffering at the hands of an evil entity.”
“Okay.” I put my notebook back in my pocket and I leaned against Mom’s chest again. I felt cold all of a sudden and thought I might start shaking for the rest of my life.
Mom hugged me and said, “I’m going to be with you and if it gets to be too scary or too much, we can leave whenever you want, I promise.”
Dad said in a low voice, “I’ll be in there with you too.”
I didn’t ask for further explanation, but Father Wanderly kept going and said, “If the visit goes like I think it will go, we can petition Bishop Ford for permission to perform the exorcism. I would then prepare myself over the course of the following week: fasting, praying, making confession—not in the room upstairs of course, but in a church—and say a Mass for Marjorie and ask for God’s help.”
“Then?”
“Then you all will help me perform the rite of exorcism, and we will expel the evil from Marjorie.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“We’ll perform the rite again. As many times as is necessary.”
“Is that other doctor coming over soon?”
Mom said, “Later tonight. But everyone hold on a second. Merry, sweetie, look at me. It’s going to be hard. It’s probably going to be . . . scary. We don’t really know what she might say or do.”
Dad said, “You mean we don’t know what the demon might say or do, right?”
Mom said, “Yeah. Right. So are you sure about all of this, Merry?”
“I’m sure,” I said, but I wasn’t sure at all. I didn’t know what a rite of exorcism was. I didn’t even know how to pray, really, or I didn’t know any prayers, anyway. And what if Marjorie did something so bad to me in front of everyone that would make me upset and blurt out that she was faking, that all of it was a fake? But what if she wasn’t faking and it was some evil spirit inside her that told me she was faking? I didn’t know what to think and just started talking even though Dad and Father Wanderly had already stood up and drifted over toward Barry. “Yeah, I’m sure I can help. I’m not scared. I’m tough. Ken said I was tough when we were playing soccer so I know I can do it.”
Ken smiled, closed his notebook, gave me a little wave with his hand, and then left the room and the house. When he opened the front door, the front foyer filled with light.
Father Wanderly said, “You’re a very brave, remarkable little girl, Merry. I bet you give all the boys trouble on the playground.”
“I don’t give anybody trouble.”
Mom said, “Why don’t you go out back and kick the soccer ball around. I’ll come out there with you in a few minutes, okay?”
When I was outside waiting for Mom and kicking the ball as hard as I could into the net, I wasn’t thinking about being in Marjorie’s room with everyone else including the new doctor. Instead, I obsessed over Father Wanderly’s trouble comment. I imagined being at a playground and handing out little black bags to all the kids, not just the boys. They opened them and found little hard candies inside, each poisoned with trouble.
CHAPTER 19
DR. NAVIDSON CA
ME to our house shortly after we finished eating dinner.
When the doorbell rang, Mom was upstairs in the confessional room with a glass of wine, Dad was in the kitchen being asked on-camera to talk about what he was thinking and feeling before the arrival of Dr. Navidson, and I was sitting on the living room floor doing my math homework but listening to Dad. Ken and Father Wanderly were in the living room too; Ken lost in his black notebook, Father Wanderly lost in his special red, leather book.
I ran to the door and Dad called out from the kitchen, telling me to wait for him. I didn’t wait for him. I threw open the door and nearly shouted, “Hello, Dr. Navidson.”
He said, “Hello,” back and sidestepped around me and into the house, careful not to make any accidental contact. Dad rushed up from behind and practically pushed me away and onto the steps.
Dr. Navidson was shorter than the other men, had light brown hair, and a thick, wooly beard, the kind that had to have taken years to grow. I hadn’t seen any foxes in real life but I imagined his beard and hair had the same consistency as a fox. He was younger than I had expected, and wore glasses with thin silver frames that boxed in his nervous eyes. He wore a black sweater and jeans, black shoes that had thick rubber soles, and he carried a laptop that was as thin as my Richard Scarry book.
There wasn’t a lot of standing around and chitchat like normally there would be for a new guest in the house. He politely shook hands with my parents and declined Mom’s offer of a glass of water while Dad herded him into the living room. He and Father Wanderly greeted by using first names and briefly embracing.
Dad was agitated and paced the living room, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sure Dr. Navidson is a very busy man. We should probably head upstairs as soon as possible.”
Father Wanderly put a hand on Dad’s shoulder, which stopped the pacing, and said, “Yes, of course, John. I know you’re anxious. We’re all anxious.” Then he insisted that we join hands and pray before going upstairs to Marjorie’s room.
A Head Full of Ghosts Page 14
