“Maybe if we sedate him…”
He shook his head emphatically. “Precisely why I want to avoid doctors and paramedics, Father Crowder. The first thing they’ll do is administer a sedative, and that might prove disastrous.”
I thought of the boy’s knees. It hadn’t been a vision, I knew, but rather an incredible act of violence followed by some inexplicable regeneration. But it had happened, of that I was sure. “Father Sutherland,” I said, “if you’re worried about his heart—”
“Only one of them lived.”
I stared at him, uncomprehending.
“I lied to the Hartmans, Jason. I’m not proud of it, but it was necessary to gain permission for the exorcism.”
I frowned and opened my mouth to speak, but he went on briskly.
“The exorcism in which I was the lead priest, that one was successful. The one on which I assisted was not. Like you, I was convinced that medical attention was necessary. I had seen exorcisms end badly before and was wary of the entire process. My mind was very much in keeping with our modern system of beliefs—that religion is an enemy of science and should never inhibit scientific logic.”
He looked at me with those profound blue eyes. “But these are not matters of science, Father Crowder. They are matters of faith. And when the lead priest—a good, rational man who felt the same as I did then and as you do now—failed to drive the demon out of the host swiftly and decided to take refuge in modern medicine, the results were catastrophic.”
“What happened?”
“The host died,” he said simply. “And the malevolent presence overcame the officiating priest.” Sutherland’s eyes filled with tears. “He was my mentor, my shepherd. He had handpicked me from the seminary and nurtured me for more than a decade. He wasn’t a good man, he was a great man. A legend in the eyes of many and an individual whose gentleness and piety were renowned throughout the hierarchy of the Catholic Church.”
Sutherland’s voice broke. “And he nearly strangled me.” With a fierce tug, Sutherland tore away his collar and the top of his cassock, revealing to me a familiar wormlike scar that spanned the right side of his throat all the way to the collarbone. The scar had long been a mystery to those of us who knew Sutherland. “His thumb and index finger punctured my skin,” he explained. “The fingers burrowed into me and ripped a bloody trough through my flesh. Had he attacked the other side, he would have severed my jugular. As it was, he still perforated the carotid artery, and the doctor who had arrived to administer aid to the afflicted child was able to apply sufficient pressure to save me from bleeding to death.”
To fill the terrible silence that followed, I asked, “Did your mentor die too?”
“Not immediately. It took several paramedics and two policemen to bring him down, but eventually he was cuffed and taken away. He died at the hospital that night.”
I gazed uneasily at the sleeping figure on the bed.
“And that is why, when I was permitted to lead an exorcism,” Sutherland went on, “I was determined not to allow the same catastrophe to occur a second time. It was a decade later. I was older, wiser. I remained steadfast in my faith. And the demon was driven from the host.”
I frowned. “Did you really need to lie to the Hartmans?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have. I understand why you might be bothered by my misleading them, but I wanted them to take refuge in the Lord.”
“Aren’t you worried they’ll call an ambulance?”
He favored me with a singularly cynical grin. “And have Ron risk the exposure of his bad deeds to all of Chicago? He’d sooner permit his son to die than face such mortifying publicity.”
I asked, “Do you think Casey…”
“Is the Sweet Sixteen Killer?” Sutherland finished for me.
I waited.
“I doubt it, Father Crowder, but who can know? Perhaps Bittner is correct. Or Bittner himself is the killer. I’ve seen enough tonight to make me question everyone. There’s Danny…he’s a bit of a loner, and he’s saddled with an alcohol addiction. And then there’s Ron, who has proven to be amoral. Who better a killer than a man who thinks of no one but himself?”
I considered this. “Ron doesn’t have the stomach for it. Danny…he’d never do those things.”
“Perhaps you place too much faith in man’s goodness.”
I exhaled a tremulous breath and tried to clear my head.
“Now,” Sutherland whispered, “quietly.”
I followed him back to the bed and saw that the beatific expression still lingered on Casey’s face. It was difficult to believe that he’d been grinning horribly while his legs were being mangled only minutes earlier.
Father Sutherland produced his white handkerchief and, careful to keep the cloth positioned between his hand and the skin of the boy’s wrist, he probed for a pulse. Finding one, he gazed down at his watch, silently counting the beats against the revolving third hand. A single bead of sweat formed at the corner of his eyebrow and dripped onto his cheek, but Sutherland didn’t move at all, only maintained his concentration on the watch.
Casey’s hand clamped down on Sutherland’s wrist.
Sucking in air, Sutherland dropped the handkerchief and attempted to pull away, but Casey’s grip was implacable. And when the eyes opened, revealing glassy orbs as black as fresh pitch, the legs beneath me went rubbery with terror. The Casey-thing’s face split into a nasty leer, and its abominably sharp teeth moved as if the creature were preparing to speak. Then a look of stupefaction came over the malign features, as if some stunning revelation had just been imparted from its contact with Sutherland’s flesh.
“Let…me…go!” Sutherland grunted as he struggled with the creature. None of the priest’s normal self-possession remained. Whether it was the shock of being seized or the fear of having his deepest secrets revealed that had done it, the panic Sutherland now exhibited frightened me worse than anything had thus far.
I joined in the struggle, but in moments the creature relinquished his hold on Sutherland. Both of us stumbled a little from this abrupt release, and at once Sutherland contrived to usher me from the room.
“Don’t go, Father!” the creature said in the same wheedling growl it reserved for its most scathing taunts. “Don’t leave before you tell the eunuch here about your little hobby!”
I paused six feet from the door. Sutherland bade me continue forward, but I turned and listened as the creature said, “Told the diocese you wanted your own home for privacy and learning, didn’t you, Sutherland? How astonished they would be to find the souvenirs you’ve hidden under the floorboard of your study!”
“What’s he talking about?” I asked.
“Lies,” Sutherland said, dragging me toward the door.
“What souvenirs?” I asked, and the creature on the bed began to cackle.
“Wants to know what his hero’s been up to!” the demon laughed. “Wants to see the little ladies’ keepsakes!”
“What keepsakes?” I shouted as Sutherland hauled me out of the room and slammed the door behind us.
“What’s he talking about?” I demanded.
“He’s planting doubt in you, Father Crowder.” He patted his forehead with his purple stole. “Frankly, I’m astonished you were taken in so easily.”
“But who was he talking about? What little ladies?”
“There are no little ladies, don’t you see? He wants to divide us, for together we are invulnerable. You saw how we subdued the demon with Scripture. You bore witness to the power of faith.”
“Why were you so afraid to touch him?” I asked, aware now that Liz had materialized beside me. She looked frazzled and drawn, but there was a vitality in her eyes that I admired. My attention, however, was on Sutherland.
As if to himself, Sutherland said, “We’ve been rash.”
“Father?” I asked. “Why were you so afraid to touch Casey?”
“It isn’t Casey,” he said, teeth bared. “Can’t you see that? It’s a pestile
nce. A foul intelligence whose only skill is duplicity. It’s using the terrible scandals associated with the clergy to induce doubt in your mind. Is your opinion of me so deplorable?”
“But it was so specific.”
He flapped a dismissive hand. “This is absurd.”
“What happened in there?” Liz asked.
I said, “May I use your phone, Mrs. Hartman?”
Sutherland shot me a sharp look.
“They aren’t working,” she said.
I swallowed. “Maybe the storm is affecting the signals or—”
“It knocked out the landlines too,” she said. “None of them are working. Not even a dial tone.”
Freezing tendrils of dread slithered down my spine.
But Sutherland seemed not to notice. He touched his forefingers to his lips and nodded. “We’ve been fixated on trying to exorcise the demon, but we’ve failed to ask the most important question.”
Liz frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Why?” Sutherland said.
I opened my mouth to press him, but he stilled me with a glance. “Why, Jason? Why here? This house? Why Casey specifically?”
His words acted on me like a galvanic shock. My misgivings were swept away in the light of some new realization.
Liz’s voice was fierce. “Will one of you please tell me—”
“One of the most important questions relating to demonic possession,” I said, “is that of selection. Very seldom—in cases deemed to be authentic—is the inhabiting spirit random in its choosing. Ordinarily, there’s some logic behind the selection of a host.”
She seemed to withdraw from me. “Are you saying Casey did something to deserve this?”
Father Sutherland spoke gently. “He’s not saying anything of the sort, Mrs. Hartman. There are myriad reasons why one might become host to a demon.”
She massaged her throat. “Such as?”
“Sometimes the host has dabbled in the occult. Ouija boards, séances, any manner of spiritualism.”
But Liz was shaking her head. “Casey doesn’t get involved with any of that stuff.”
“Perhaps at a friend’s house?” I ventured. “At a sleepover maybe?”
She thought about it. “I can’t imagine any of his friends being interested in the occult. Or their parents allowing it.”
“There are other causes,” Sutherland said. “Sometimes the house itself is responsible for the manifestation. On these occasions the demon takes up residence in a home and preys on someone vulnerable. Typically a child going through adolescence.”
“Do you know the history of the house?” I asked.
She frowned, thinking. “We’re only the third owners. The people we bought it from, they were very nice. Simple people. Ron couldn’t imagine how people so unostentatious could afford such an expensive property.”
“And before that?” I prompted.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Ron probably does, but I’ve never bothered to ask.”
We fell silent, pondering. Then, his voice scarcely audible, Sutherland said, “There is another possibility, Mrs. Hartman.”
She waited with a look of naked dread.
“In some of the worst cases,” Sutherland began, “in some of the most violent cases recorded in the annals of the Catholic Church, the cause of possession was neither a conscious invitation from the host, nor was there a history of supernatural disturbance in the property.” He sighed, plainly unhappy to utter the possibility. “In these cases the possession occurred as a result of some terrible sin.”
Liz looked at him wonderingly. “What could Casey have possibly done?”
“In most instances,” Sutherland explained, “it was not the host who transgressed. It was a member of the family.”
Liz’s eyes widened.
Unable to keep silent any longer, I told Liz what the demon had revealed about her husband while she was unconscious. Sutherland didn’t interrupt me. Perhaps he also desired that she know the truth. To Liz’s credit, she didn’t seem surprised by anything I said.
“Mrs. Hartman,” Sutherland went on, peering deep into her eyes now, “how well can you account for your husband’s whereabouts over the past few months?”
Her voice was little more than a whisper. “You’re talking about the murders.”
Sutherland’s intense scrutiny never wavered.
I waited for Liz to tell Sutherland what she’d told me about her husband’s childhood in Greece. I waited for Sutherland to ask her if he could search the premises. But neither of those things happened.
Because a shrill cry reverberated down the hall and made us stare at each other in shock. It hadn’t come from Casey’s room.
It had come from Carolyn’s.
“Help me with her!” Danny shouted.
Liz bolted toward the bed right away, with Sutherland and me close on her heels. Danny was struggling to hold Carolyn down, but she was whipping from side to side, her head thrashing back and forth on her slender neck hard enough to snap her spine. We grabbed hold of the girl to prevent serious injury. Liz had both hands on the girl’s shrieking face. Danny clutched Carolyn around the waist. I fought to maintain a grip on her scissoring ankles. But, heedless of our attempts, the girl continued to whip from side to side and up and down as if she were being shaken by an immensely powerful man.
“When did this start?” Sutherland shouted.
Danny shook his head, his eyes huge. “Twenty seconds ago?”
Liz pleaded with the girl to stop, as if, I thought wryly, it were in Carolyn’s power to prevent the abuse being visited upon her.
“What was happening when it began?” Sutherland asked.
“Nothing,” Danny said. “We were just talking. I was stroking her forehead. You know, to calm her. And then she just…” He looked away, clenching his jaw with the effort of stabilizing her movements.
Carolyn wailed and begged us to make it stop, and though the abject terror in the girl’s voice deepened my concern, I took it as a hopeful sign that the girl still retained the power to speak in her own voice. The demon, I decided, had not taken control of her the way it had Casey. Which meant…
Sutherland seemed to be on a similar wavelength. “Father Crowder, please go to Casey’s room. Verify for me that—”
But I was already pushing away from the bed and racing toward the bedroom door. For once I was excited, determined even. I had a task which I was capable of performing. Further, I found, I wanted to perform it, wanted to verify that the demon was still inhabiting Casey. If it wasn’t, I wondered, could I possibly smuggle the boy out of his room and away from the house? Was it possible to sneak the demon’s host away while its attention was diverted toward the boy’s younger sister?
I didn’t know if it was possible, and as I dashed down the hallway to Casey’s room, I had a terrible vision of the demon taking up residence inside Carolyn. At least Casey was a teenager, able-bodied enough to perhaps sustain such a dreadful assault. Carolyn was a mere child, with a mind and body patently incapable of withstanding such trauma. I burst into the room, my anger rising. How dare this abomination lay siege to this family? Despite their father’s sins, these children were guiltless. Innocent victims of a fathomless evil. Nor did their mother deserve to be plunged into such a nightmarish ordeal. Wasn’t being married to Ron punishment enough?
Casey’s door was ajar, and I entered without wondering why. Had I paused to consider the fact, who knows what might have happened next. But such questions are pointless now. Since we had vacated the room and closed the door, it had somehow reopened. As if beckoning me inside.
As if inviting me to venture closer.
I got halfway to Casey’s bed and stopped, my airway constricting as though invisible fingers were clutching my neck. I stared at what lay before me.
The extension cords had been torn apart.
The handcuffs had been snapped.
The bed was empty.
I whirled, thinking to escap
e before the creature could attack me.
Then the door slammed shut.
And the room went black.
Part Three
Clash
Chapter Eight
There was a sense of being caged. And like a trapped thing, I immediately began to panic. Not only was the room as stygian as a tomb, but the atmosphere enveloping me was as humid and thick as an unaired closet. The odors that had assaulted my nostrils earlier now swarmed over me like a shroud. Wild-animal musk. Sweaty, oily hair. Dog excrement. Hot sperm squirted over a prostitute’s heaving stomach.
I grew nauseated, but the nausea was as nothing beside the mind-shattering fear that gripped me. To my left I could hear the storm raging outside, the wind buffeting the solid brick exterior, the rain machine-gunning the double-paned windows. I was, I judged, only seven or eight feet from where I’d entered the room, yet that expanse suddenly seemed impassable. I took a step in the direction of where I believed the door to be.
I paused, my flesh crawling. I fancied I could hear breathing in the room with me, but strove to dismiss the sound as nervousness. There was no denying how overtaxed my faculties at that moment were, how beleaguered my emotions. Even my body, unaccustomed to the physical punishment it had sustained at the hands of the insidious presence, seemed to flag as I took another step toward the door. In seconds I believed I would reach it. I’d actually extended my right hand to grasp the knob when the toe of my shoe encountered some object. My blood froze.
Something touched my ankle, my shin. I realized there were fingers caressing my calves through my robe. Then under my robe.
“Jasonnnn,” a female voice whispered.
Sexual yearning such as I had never experienced swam over me like warm, jasmine-scented water. I could feel the delicate nails tracing the backs of my knees, my hamstrings. Instantly erect, I was assailed by images of Liz, nude, beneath me. Her succulent body was warm and unresisting, her skin supple, her face an exultant pout. As I rammed into her, her bare feet juddered in the air, her molten breath drowsed into my ear.
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