With an uncertain glance at the two others, whom the priest had neglected to introduce, I asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Chase, there is.” He motioned toward the interior of the house. “May we come in?”
“Uh,” I said, but before I could get a chance to say anything else, the two escorts stepped forward. If I chose to stand my ground, I was certain they would simply knock me out of the way. They certainly did not act very priestly.
I’ve never been confrontational. The last time I was involved in any physical altercation, aside from the two incidents in the past six months, was when I was in grade school. Normally, I went out of my way to avoid such incidents, not only because it wasn’t in my nature, but at the back of my mind was the thought that my hands were my life. If anything happened to prevent me from being able to use a scalpel, I would lose my ability to operate.
Now, however, my career was over. A lot had changed in the past day. Before I knew what I was doing, I put a hand out to stop the nearest priest. To my surprise, he ceased coming toward me and avoided making physical contact.
There was an odd look in his eyes; one that I had never seen before.
Fear.
He was afraid of me.
Me?
Father Webber said, “I assure you, Mr. Chase, our intentions are pure.”
I looked at the older priest, who was giving me a placating smile.
“If you’ll allow me to come in and explain,” he continued, “I promise I will make everything perfectly clear.”
Before I could reply, Andrea appeared in the hall behind me.
“What’s going on here?”
“Mrs. Chase,” the priest said. “There’s nothing to worry about. We just need to have a word with your husband.”
It was obvious she did think there was something to worry about, because she said, “Maybe I should call the police.”
Father Webber nodded. “Please do. I believe you have Detective Hollingsworth’s number. I’m sure he can put your fears to rest.”
When I looked at the priest sharply, he added, “Of course, if you will give me a chance to explain myself, I’m confident I can clear this all up in a matter of minutes.” He held both of his hands up and cocked his head, waiting for my response.
I didn’t know what to think. Much had happened in a short time, and I hadn’t had enough sleep; my mind wasn’t working as quickly as it should.
With a glance at Andrea, who seemed just as unsure as I was, I said, “All right, Father Webber. You have one minute to explain what you want, then I am going to call the police.”
His lips turning up in a smile of victory, the priest motioned for both of his escorts to enter the house first. He followed, closing the door behind him.
I wasn’t about to let them any farther inside. I stood in the hall, blocking their way, mindful to keep Andrea behind me.
“First of all,” I said, “are you really a priest?”
He laughed at the question. “I can understand your confusion. I’m not the kind of priest you’d normally think of. I’m not part of a parish, nor do I preside over baptisms, confirmations, weddings, or funerals.”
He withdrew a business card from a pocket and handed it to me.
“I’m more of a specialist.”
I looked at the card.
Under his name was his affiliation: International Society of Exorcists.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked.
“It is not,” he said. “If you wish to phone the number on the card, you will be able to verify my identity. Alternatively, you may contact any of the parishes in the city, who will confirm that we exist.”
I could tell Andrea was puzzled by my reaction. I handed her the card and watched as the same expression of disbelief came over her face.
Turning back around to face Father Webber, I gave each of his bodyguards a quick once-over.
“I suppose you’re looking for a donation, then?” I shook my head. “I already gave at the office.”
The priest let out a small laugh. “No, Mr. Chase. Our mission is fully funded.”
“Then what does this have to do with me?”
“Hopefully,” he said, “nothing.”
I was losing patience.
The priest said, “It has, very specifically, to do with your father.”
My stomach cramped at the words, and I could feel my face reddening. “My father is dead. He was murdered last night.”
For the first time, the priest looked solemn. “Yes. So I understand from my conversation with Detective Hollingsworth.”
I’d finally reached my limit. “Enough dancing around it. Say what you came here to say.”
“I came,” the priest said, his words coming out slowly as he carefully considered me, “to find out how you are feeling.”
“How I’m feeling?” I said it louder and harsher than I’d intended, but as the words came out, I felt emboldened. “How do you think I’m feeling?”
Both of the younger priests tensed.
Father Webber shook his head. “I’m not here to counsel you about your emotional state. I am here to find out if you are feeling any physical changes after being exposed to…” He seemed to be struggling for the right words. “…the events surrounding your father’s death.”
“Aside from my knee, I’m fine.” I could feel my frustration coming to a head. “Now that you’ve asked your question, please leave.”
“I’m afraid I need to be certain, Mr. Chase.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I’d had enough. I turned to Andrea. “Call the police,” I said.
The look of horror in her eyes made me freeze. That, and the sound of a metallic click very near my ear.
Slowly, I faced back around. One of the priests had an automatic handgun out. He was pointing it at me. The barrel was less than a quarter of an inch from my temple.
The other man produced a similar weapon, and aimed it directly at Andrea.
“Please, Mr. Chase.” As Father Webber spoke, he pulled a small glass bottle out from the same pocket that had held the business card. “I do not wish for any unpleasantness, but it is vital that we are absolutely certain.”
“Certain of what?” I asked.
That was when he took the cap off the bottle and shook it at me. Several drops of a clear liquid hit me in the face.
“In the names of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, be gone, unclean spirit!” he commanded.
I suddenly figured out what was happening, and the ridiculousness of it nearly made me break out in incredulous laughter. “You think I’m possessed?”
Father Webber did not smile as he answered; and his expression was grave. “Not anymore, Mr. Chase. I’m very sorry to have caused you and your wife any distress.”
Both of the younger priests put their weapons back in the shoulder holsters under their suit jackets.
Just as the older priest reached for the door to open it and leave, I called out. “Now, just wait a minute. I think you owe me an explanation. Who the hell are you to barge into my house, point guns at us, and then just leave like it was a normal routine? Give me one reason why we shouldn’t call the police right now!”
“Mr. Chase, it is no longer your concern. I implore you to accept my apologies and forget this ever happened. You’ll be much happier by letting this go.” Once again, his pleasant smile returned. “If you wish to report this to the authorities, it is your right. However, I can assure you nothing will come of it; you’ll be wasting your time.”
He nodded toward Andrea. “I’m very sorry to have alarmed you, Mrs. Chase. Good morning.”
The three of them left. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to stop them, even if I wanted to.
After they retreated down the walkway to the dark-colored sedan waiting for them and drove off, I turned to Andrea.
“Should we call the police?” I asked her. I felt completely lost by
what had happened, and wasn’t entirely certain I would be able to recall the event for a formal report.
“That was crazy,” she said. “What exactly was your father into?”
I just stared at her, and realized that she was right. I’d had my suspicions that my father wasn’t acting above board. When I’d confronted him, he all but admitted the experiments were illegal. At first, I thought that was the extent of it.
Now, a priest was involved—an exorcist, no less. There was far more to the story than I knew, or had even suspected, and I instinctively felt the need to get to the bottom of it.
“I don’t know,” I replied to Andrea, “but I think I need to go and talk to Detective Hollingsworth. He knows more than he let on last night.”
There was a pained look on Andrea’s face.
“What?” I asked.
“The priest was right; we should just let this be. It’s none of our business.”
“My father died,” I said, my voice rising in protest.
“And I’m sorry about that,” Andrea said. I could see her bottom lip quivering as she summoned the courage to say what was on her mind. “Nothing you can do will bring him back. Leave the investigation to the investigators, whoever they may be. You’ve got other things to think about—”
“Other things?” I barked back. “Like what?”
In a small voice, she said, “Well, we need to contact a funeral home and make arrangements, and…”
It was the last thing I wanted to hear. “You said you were going to make the arrangements.” I stalked toward the closet to get my shoes and jacket. “I’m going to find out why an exorcist thought I was possessed by a demon after my father died.”
Chapter Eight
I immediately regretted storming out of the house after talking to Andrea so harshly. She’d done nothing but try to help, and I’d shouted at her in return. It was no wonder she’d asked for a divorce.
As much as I wanted to go back and say I was sorry, there was too much stubborn pride left in me to do so. My emotions were still running high, and I would most likely botch the apology.
My car was still at the university. I was down to the last few hundred dollars in my bank account, and couldn’t afford to splurge on a taxi. After my performance with Andrea, I couldn’t very well ask to borrow her car or beg her for a ride. Fumbling in my pocket for change, I headed for the nearest bus stop, sighing at the thought of the next hour or so that it would take to get to the precinct listed on Detective Hollingsworth’s business card.
* * *
When I got to the police station, and had the sergeant at the desk page the detective, I fully expected either to be ushered into the maze of offices or perhaps even into an interrogation room, or be told he wasn’t there and to try again another time. Instead, the officer told me to take a seat and wait.
Three-quarters of an hour later, I began to think I was being put off, but then Detective Hollingsworth came through the front doors of the lobby from the outside. He spotted me immediately and beckoned me over to him.
Not bothering to ask me what I was doing there, he said, “Come with me,” as he reversed direction and went back to the double glass doors of the station, face set with determination.
Momentarily startled by the unexpected order, I hurried to catch up with him as he led me down the sidewalk to the parking area. It wasn’t until we’d reached his vehicle, an unmarked sedan, that he spoke again.
“Get in,” he said.
I didn’t.
“Did you send that priest to my house?” I demanded. “He said he’s some kind of exorcist.”
The detective met my eyes for a moment, then nodded tersely.
I could feel the heat rising within me. “His priests—or bodyguards, or whatever the hell they are—held guns on me and my wife while he threw holy water on me.” My voice grew stronger as I said it.
The detective kept his tone even. “If you’d seen the shit they’ve seen—that I’ve seen—you would’ve done the same.” Then he cocked his head. “Besides, it all worked out.”
“Worked out?”
He slowly nodded. “You’re obviously not affected; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here now.”
I paled. Affected? “What the hell does that mean?”
Instead of answering my question, he unlocked his car door and sat in the driver’s seat. It seemed if I wanted to continue the conversation, I’d have to comply with his directive.
With a huff, I opened the passenger door and got inside. The interior was a messy disaster. Fast-food wrappers, empty paper coffee cups and newspaper clippings decorated the floor. My foot landed on a half-eaten hamburger and slid forward.
I made a face.
Hollingsworth, ignoring my reaction, turned the car on and exited the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Two hours after I left your hospital room,” he said as he navigated the Chicago traffic, “we got a report of another possible homicide.”
“Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with that,” I said, my tone somewhere between defensive and derisive.
“At this point, you might be the only one who can shed some light on it.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’d like you to take a look at the crime scene—it’s still active—and tell me what you think.”
“I’m not a detective.”
“But you are a physician,” he said, “and you were witness to the murder of your father last night.”
“So,” I said acerbically, “I’m no longer a suspect?” A moment later, I figured out why. “You think it’s Lawrence? You believe me about him. He’s killed someone else?”
Instead of answering me, the detective asked, “Are you religious?”
I hesitated before replying, unsure where his question came from.
Hollingsworth shook his head. “Neither am I. But there’ve been some crazy things happening in the last six months that have made me rethink things.”
“Like what?”
He paused before continuing. “Do you remember early this summer when eight young women were killed over the course of two weeks?”
“The papers called it the Casanova murders,” I said. “I don’t know much about it; I had other things going on.” I’d spent most of my time defending myself in court.
“I worked the case with my partner at the time, Detective Albert Mackey.” He took a breath. “Every night, the perp would show up at a different night club, pick up a girl, take her to a motel … do things to her … and then, finally, kill her.”
I remembered reading some of the news stories. “How’d he kill them?” I asked. “The papers didn’t say.”
The detective looked pale. “The seed of corruption.”
“What?”
“The medical examiner couldn’t determine the exact chemical, but during the … act … the perp injected the victims with some kind of substance that ate away at them from the inside. By the time they were autopsied, their reproductive organs were all but completely dissolved.”
“That’s horrible!” Then I shook my head. “What was it, some kind of acid?”
“It was Father Webber who suggested it was something outside our contemporary experience.”
“Father Webber?”
Nodding, he said, “One of the girls’ parents talked to their priest, who got in touch with Father Webber. When he introduced himself to me, he said, ‘Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction.’ He told me about the nature of corruption from a biblical perspective, and that he believed the perpetrator was an evil incarnation of that aspect.”
As a part of our curriculum in medical school, we had taken a lecture on religion in medicine. From a procedural standpoint, we had to know how to handle such things as parents refusing treatment due to their beliefs, faith healing, and the psychology of those whose delusions are so profound, they could manifest physically. There were some people who be
lieved their diseases were caused by demonic possession.
Rather than jump to the conclusion that this was the case in the Casanova murders, or that this was what had led to my father’s death, I started to suspect that there was some kind of conspiracy going on here, and that this Father Webber was at the center of it.
The detective looked at me and laughed hoarsely. “Yeah, I thought the same thing at the time: The priest was full of it and maybe more than a little delusional himself.”
I narrowed my eyes. “But you became a believer.”
“I did, but only after we stopped the perp.”
I said, “They never caught the guy. At least, that’s what the papers said. He just stopped killing.”
“The police never caught the guy,” the detective said, and gave me a strange look. “Officially.”
“You took matters into your own hands?” I asked, feeling more than conflicted by the idea of it.
“I’m not a vigilante, if that’s what you’re implying.” Hollingsworth took a deep breath. “I did everything by the book … right up until the first time we caught up to the Casanova Killer. We got lucky and saw him coming out of the back alley of a club one night. He was young; couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty.
“We drew down on him, and he laughed at us. The girl he was with ran, but he stood there and raised his hands in surrender. Detective Mackey approached with handcuffs while I kept my gun trained on him.”
The detective shook his head. “It happened so fast. One moment, the perp was complying; the next, Mackey was on the ground, his internal organs ripped out. I shot at the killer, and I swear I hit him with at least three bullets, but he ran off, laughing all the while.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. If I hadn’t witnessed the unusual events of last night, I would have dismissed Hollingsworth’s story.
“That’s when I decided to open my mind to other explanations.” He glanced at me as he continued. “Father Webber came up with the plan to trap him. There are dozens of nightclubs in the downtown core. Since the perpetrator hadn’t gone back to the same one twice, that narrowed down the possibilities.
“With some help from a few of the priest’s congregation, he went to each of the spots and performed some kind of ritual. He told me he was creating spirit traps. They’d have to repeat the procedure every night at each club until they caught the killer.
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 45
