Marjorie’s plate had more color to it than mine but she didn’t eat much. I ate a mound of white rice and chicken fingers with lots of duck sauce. I so associate the tangy-sweet taste of duck sauce with that night that as an adult I avoid eating Chinese food. It’s funny that I can and have watched all the episodes from our show without ever feeling like I’m reliving the trauma, but duck sauce on white rice will send me over the edge and will instantly bring back all the anxiety and fear of exorcism night.
When we finished eating, Mom asked if we wanted our fortune cookies. I tore into mine, breaking it into glasslike shards. The fortune was some life-affirming aphorism I no longer remember. I do remember the “Learn to speak Chinese” lesson printed on the back of the slip of paper though. Shui means water. No one else wanted their cookie so I ate a second one, but I made sure to crumple up the fortune without reading it because Marjorie had told me once that getting two fortunes would bring bad luck.
Dad cleared the table and stacked the white cardboard containers of leftovers in the fridge. With his back to us, he announced that Father Wanderly would be arriving soon to perform the exorcism and that we should get ready. I didn’t know what to do to get ready so I went to the small half bath off the kitchen and washed my sticky hands. When I came out, Mom and Dad were sitting at the table with their heads down. I went over to Marjorie and gave her a hug around the neck, from behind, so if she wanted, she could’ve stood up and carried me around like her backpack.
I whispered directly into her ear, “You’ll do great, Marjorie.”
She said, “You’re going to do great, too, monkey.”
Mom got up and said, “Come on, Marjorie. I’ll go upstairs and wait with you.”
Dad stood too, looking confused, and said, “Oh, okay, yeah, good idea. Merry and I will talk with Father Wanderly when he gets here and then we’ll—” He stopped abruptly, and never finished.
I didn’t want either of them to leave. I wanted her to stay down in the kitchen with me. I said, “No, let’s all stay down here together.” I didn’t let go of her neck.
Marjorie shook her head no, and her hair feather-dusted my face. She said, “I want to go back to my room. I don’t feel very well.”
“Can I go upstairs with them too?”
Dad said, “No. You need to stay down here.” He sat back down. He put his hands on the table, then on his lap, then back on the table. Those big hands didn’t know what to do.
I tightened my grip on Marjorie and said, “I don’t want to.”
Mom looked directly at Dad and shouted, “Merry can come upstairs with us if she wants!”, and Tony the cameraman flinched and bumped a shoulder in the doorway.
“Hey, take it easy. I’m just saying she should stay down here with me. I—I mean we didn’t get a chance to fully prep her for tonight, right? Like we wanted.” He paused and then said, “Look,” as though Mom had responded or interrupted him, neither of which happened. “I want to talk to her again about what’s going to happen and I want Father Wanderly’s help.”
She said, “You don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“We need to pray.”
“There’ll be plenty of that later. She wants to be with her sister, let her be with her sister.”
“Right, because them being together has worked out so well before.”
“I’ll be there too.”
“This is fucking crazy. We agreed to have another prep meeting this afternoon—”
“Yeah, well, something else happened this afternoon, didn’t it? Maybe we should’ve had another prep meeting in your goddamned holding cell!”
Dad stood up quickly and sent the kitchen chair crashing to the floor. He looked backward and extended a hand to the chair, like he didn’t mean it. He said, “Jenn, Tony, hey, can you leave us alone, please? Seriously, stop taping. Just give us a few seconds.”
I couldn’t see Marjorie’s face. She was still wrapped in my arms. I felt her breathing. It was slow and even. My eyes blurred with tears, and I ducked back down and said, “Stop yelling at each other. I’ll just stay, I’ll just stay down here,” into the back of her head.
Mom shushed me and said, “Oh sure, now Mr. Confessional Interview wants to get rid of the cameras.”
I didn’t know where Ken and Barry were or if they were watching. I called out silently to Ken in my head, wanting him to show up and calm Dad down, calm everyone down. The two camerapersons didn’t respond to Dad and they didn’t turn their cameras away either.
Dad said, “Merry and I are staying down here and we’re going to pray and talk about how she can protect herself.” Dad grew louder, more manic, and in my memory, he grew in size too.
I whispered as lightly as I could, “Go please, Marjorie, just stand up and go. Go away. From them. I’ll hang on. Can we go?” I felt so helpless and I wanted to be away from Mom and Dad forever.
She whispered back to me, “Later. I promise.”
Mom said, “She and I will talk. And I’ll be there to protect Merry.”
“Come on, Sarah. Can’t you admit just for once that you’re in over your head?”
“I’m not the one who suddenly thinks he has the power to magically pray everything better!”
“What can you do to protect Merry? Seriously, tell me. What can you do that you haven’t already tried? I mean, aren’t you worried about Merry’s soul too?”
“I’m worried about everything! I’m worried about what all of this is doing to Merry. And if you’re so worried about her soul, tell Father Wanderly to come up with a spell to protect it. Come on, girls. Now.”
“This isn’t going to work if we don’t believe.”
“Jesus, John, really? You sound like a Disney movie. Don’t worry, I’ll believe when I have to.”
“Carry me, Marjorie,” I said. I was too afraid to let go.
Mom yelled at me. “Merry, will you just get off your sister! You heard her say she wasn’t feeling good.”
MOM GAVE ME A HURRIED explanation of what to expect, of what might happen. I didn’t listen to a word. I paced anxiously around Marjorie’s room.
Mom said, “Merry, please. You’re making me nuts.”
“Sorry.” I went over and sat at Marjorie’s work desk. I hated her wooden chair. It was so uncomfortable, and it made my legs fall asleep if I sat in it for too long, and then I’d get yelled at for having to stomp out the pins and needles.
Marjorie was in bed, lying on her side, facing her closed door. Mom sat on the bed beside her and stroked her hair.
Mom seemed ready to break down into tears, but said in her calmest voice, “Do you want to talk, Marjorie? Do you want me to put a stop to this? I will. You just tell me. I’ll cancel everything.”
Marjorie said, “A little late for that now, isn’t it, Mom?”
“No. It isn’t. I’m—I don’t know. It’s like a few months ago, when your dad first brought up the idea, I was this totally different person. I had to be, because I don’t understand what that other woman was thinking. I don’t understand how she could’ve thought that this was a good idea. And I’m so goddamn mad at her. Why didn’t she say no when—”
The doorbell rang. Two-tone. One high note, followed by a lower note.
Mom was still rambling on and Marjorie said, “It’s okay, Mom. Stop it. This is what I want now. It’s going to help, I promise.”
In my memory, heavy and hurried footfalls coming up the stairs immediately followed the ringing of the doorbell, then there were the whispers in the hallway and knocks on Marjorie’s bedroom door.
“Hello? May we come in?”
I shouted, “No! Go away!” I wanted everyone to just leave me, Mom, and Marjorie alone. Let us stay in her room like that forever.
“Yes, come in,” Mom said.
It was Barry with Jenn and Tony the camerapersons, and a small army of technicians clustered behind them in the hallway. Barry consulted a clipboard he was holding, looked up, and said, “Hi, just a few things. Just wan
ted to double-check that Marjorie was still okay with the exorcism taking place here in her bedroom, like we agreed to earlier?” Marjorie said yes. “Great. You’re a trouper, kid.” He then clumsily explained that they had some last-minute setup work to do.
Mom swore and said something about them having had all day to do this.
Barry’s legion poured into the room with more lighting and sound equipment. One guy had white candles and an ornate brass candelabrum in his arms, another had a large pewter crucifix, and another carried in small statues of the Virgin Mary. Barry shouted at the setup crew that it all had to be ready five minutes ago.
Mom said, “Gee, should we step out for a minute or something?” after one guy almost hit her in the head with a boom mic stand.
“No, you don’t have to. But, wait, yeah if you want. That’s fine, too. Maybe?”
Marjorie said, “I think I’m going to be sick,” and Mom shouted at everyone to get out of the way, to clear a path, and she ushered Marjorie out and to the bathroom.
I followed them out but Mom shut the bathroom door on me. I waited in the hallway outside the door and listened to Marjorie coughing. When it quieted down and I heard the faucet running, I wandered over past Marjorie’s busy room and to the railing that overlooked the stairs. I sat on the floor and rested my face between two balusters. I used to do that on Christmas mornings when I was up before everyone else and would just stare down at the bottom of the stairs and the front foyer, which was lit up in the soft white glow of the Christmas tree lights in the living room.
Dad and Father Wanderly were downstairs in the living room. I heard them talking. The front foyer was lit in a harsh white light from someone’s camera lamp, or maybe they’d set up a spotlight for a pre-exorcism interview.
Barry led his technicians out of Marjorie’s room and they filed downstairs. Barry said, “We’re ready for you upstairs, Father.”
Mom and Marjorie were still in the bathroom. I stayed sitting and with my head resting against the spindles. Tony the cameraman stood adjacent to me, leaned some of his weight on the railing, and pointed a camera down at the first floor. I told him not to lean on the railing because it could break. Dad always used to say that to me.
Father Wanderly was the first up the stairs. He wore a billowy white tunic over a black robe. He looked so much bigger, so much more substantial than he did in his usual black shirt and black pants. The tunic had lace decoration on the hem down by his ankles and near the collar, but was otherwise plain. His hands were lost inside the tunic’s giant sleeves. He wore a long purple stole draped over the back of his neck and it hung down below his knees.
There was another priest, the same one who had come to our house that day I was first introduced to Father Wanderly: Father Gavin, the short, young one with the beady eyes and lots of forehead sweat. He was similarly dressed in a white tunic and purple stole and he carried Father Wanderly’s red leather-bound book and this thing called an aspergillum, which is a long wand with a metal ball at the end that held holy water.
Dad came up the stairs next. He walked with his hands folded and his head down. The top of his head, which I normally didn’t see from such a favorable vantage, had a new bald spot like a crop circle. With everything else going on, I was still shocked by how much hair he had lost.
Father Wanderly walked right up to me and extended a hand. He said, “Please, stand with me, brave little Meredith.” Adults understood the sacred power of names. I had to take his hand and I had to stand with him even though I wanted to stay with my face pressed against the balustrade.
Dad asked what I was doing out here. I shrugged, and told him I was sorry. When I said it, I meant that I was sorry for not choosing to stay with him, even if I would’ve gone upstairs with Marjorie and Mom if given the same choice all over again. Dad didn’t look me in the eyes, but stared at some empty space just over my head. He asked where Mom and Marjorie were. I told him that they were in the bathroom. Dad walked over and knocked on the door. “Marjorie? Sarah? Are you okay? Father Wanderly is here and ready to get started.”
Mom: “We’ll meet you in Marjorie’s room. Give us a few more minutes.”
Dad sighed, lifted his arms, and let them fall bonelessly to his sides. He said, “Shouldn’t Sarah hear the instructions again, Father? I feel like she’s putting this all on me when we both had decided that this was best.”
Father Wanderly said, “It’ll be all right, John. You are a pillar of strength. You are a fine Christian man.”
“No, I’m not. I failed today. I failed tonight. I’m not a good—”
“Nonsense. You stumbled. And you got back up, and you are again standing alongside Christ.” He grabbed Dad’s hand and mine again. “What I need from you both, and what Marjorie needs from you both, is to believe in the power of God’s love.”
Dad whispered a thank-you at Father Wanderly. It lacked conviction, though, and sounded like I used to whenever I was reminded or prodded to say please.
The bathroom door opened, and Marjorie peeked around the corner; a hide-and-seek player trying not to get caught. Her face and hair were damp. Mom filled the doorway behind her.
Marjorie asked, “Should I go in the room first?” She held a hand to her stomach. “I feel—funny. There’s something not right.”
Father Wanderly said, “Sarah, please help Marjorie to her bed. We’ll be in right behind you.”
Marjorie’s bedroom door was closed. The hallway was filled with cameras and priests and people. It was too much for me, so I just stared hard at the door, at the cracks in the wood, and followed them up toward the ceiling and down to the floor until Mom finally passed in front of me like an eclipse and opened the door.
CHAPTER 22
TONY THE CAMERAMAN pushed through the rest of us to walk into Marjorie’s room next. Jenn was already inside.
Mom stood in the middle of the room and called out to those of us still in the hallway. “It’s freezing in here. Is the window open? You didn’t tell me the window was going to be open.”
Father Wanderly said they needed it to be “on the cooler side” in the room. He didn’t offer any explanation. He dropped my hand and Dad’s hand and walked in next. The rest of us followed.
Marjorie’s room wasn’t her room anymore. Lighting lamps, boom mics, and candle stands lined the perimeter. Her desk had been draped with a white cloth and housed candles and religious idols and statuettes. Crucifixes hung on each wall, with the largest one made from pewter and hanging on the white plaster spot on the wall where Marjorie had punched holes. My eyes were drawn to that crucifix and the deeply etched agony of Jesus’ face.
Mom was right. It was freezing in the room. I tucked my chin, hugged my chest, and fought off waves of shivers.
Low murmurs of discussion rumbled through the room. Barry was there—I hadn’t seen him come in—and he talked about lighting and angles with Jenn and Tony. Dad hung back toward the door, standing ramrod straight, head bowed, hands folded in front of him, his knuckles gone white. Marjorie sat on the bed—the comforter and sheets were turned down—and stared off to nowhere. Mom stood over her, and she suddenly got louder than everyone else in the room.
“I know we talked about this, but do we really have to tie her down? John?”
Leather straps had been fastened to the posts of Marjorie’s bed. They looked like black tongues.
Father Wanderly said, “Yes. As we discussed, the restraints are necessary to keep Marjorie safe. To keep her from accidentally hurting herself or anyone else in the room.”
Everyone in the room stood in a half circle and watched Marjorie lie down on the bed. She voluntarily stretched her arms out over her head, toward the bedposts, and said, “Mom, you tie them. Go ahead. Do it.” Mom slowly went down to one knee in front of the bed and buckled the straps around Marjorie’s wrists and ankles. Mom whispered something to Marjorie that I couldn’t hear. Marjorie just watched the ceiling. When she was done, Mom kissed her hand and pressed it to Marjorie’
s forehead. Marjorie exhaled and it was cold enough that I could see her breath.
Mom was crying. She slowly backed away and stood next to me.
I asked, “Mom, what did you say to her?”
Mom bent down and said, “She’ll be all right, Merry.”
I nodded my head even though my sister didn’t look like she’d be all right. She was dressed in a gray hoodie and black swishy pants, her arms and legs akimbo, strapped to the bed. Her legs and feet twitched, fast, like blinks, and her lips wormed around, making words without making sounds. I tried to read them.
Wind gusts rattled the old, open windows in their frames. Candles burned and wax sizzled. The walls, the statues of Mary on the desk, and Marjorie’s face glowed weirdly orange in the candlelight. Everyone in the room settled in and got quiet. I stood between my parents. Each had a hand on one of my shoulders. Their hands were cold and heavy.
Father Wanderly stepped into the middle of the room and said simply, “Let us begin the sacred rite.”
He slowly walked to the bed and made the sign of the cross over Marjorie’s body; his wavering hand hovered only six inches or so above her, like he was tracing her outline in the air.
Marjorie said, “He’s pretending to cut me into four pieces. It hurts. Divide and conquer. He’s going to do the same to all of you.” She sounded tired, uninterested, like she was in a hurry to get this, whatever this was, over with.
Father Wanderly repeated the sign of the cross over himself, then he did the same to everyone else in the room, including the camerapersons. When he got to me, he bent down and waved his right hand up, down, left, right, in front of my face. I followed his hand with my eyes like it was one of the vision tests I routinely failed without my glasses.
A Head Full of Ghosts Page 19
