by John Tigges
“I think you’d better get your head straightened out, Father. Look. I demand that you come and visit with her. See the apartment and find out firsthand what’s going on. That’s all I’m asking. You certainly are making it difficult for me to respect your position. Try to be a little more compatible. Aren’t you supposed to win converts for the Church? Aren’t you supposed to help people?”
“All right. All right. I’ll come and visit with her. I hope you realize the terrific imposition, but I will come. Give me the address.”
Myles jotted the apartment address and number down on a tablet the priest offered him. “What time shall I tell her you’ll arrive?”
“Between eight and eight forty-five this evening. Will you be there?”
“I’m afraid I can’t be. I’ll be at the station preparing for the late newscast. I’ll tell Nicole that you’re coming over this evening.” Myles stood, offering his hand to the priest.
After they had said goodbye and Myles had left the rectory, Gorkland picked up the telephone and dialed seven numbers.
“Chancery office,” rang in his ear.
“Father Pins?”
“Yes?”
“Father Gorkland here. I just wanted to apprise the chancery office of my activities. I’ve been approached by a man who claims that the apartment in which he and his mistress live, or whatever the terminology is for sinful women, is being plagued by spirits of some sort.”
“I see. Would you like to speak to the bishop?”
“No. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll check it out and if there is anything worth reporting, I’ll get back to you.”
“Very well, Father,” Father Pins said.
Gorkland hung up, smiling benignly. He was positive it would be all for nothing.
12
Wednesday, November 19, 1986 8:41 P.M.
DuWayne Gorkland ran a finger inside the Roman collar surrounding his neck. Right now, he wished he was someplace else, anyplace but outside the door that led to the apartment of a woman with problems. Of course, it was part of his job to do things like this. Unpleasant things. Why weren’t there more happy duties connected with the priesthood? Why did people have to make life so complicated? Why couldn’t they just live and let live? Did it always have to be the ultra-dramatic whenever someone needed him?
Possessed! That would be the first thing this woman—what was her name? He pulled out the slip of paper bearing the name of Nicole Kilton and the address Myles Lawrence had given him. Myles Lawrence was an enigma, too. Why couldn’t he put a finger on Lawrence’s religious state? Was the man Catholic or not? At first, he had assumed that he wasn’t, but then, the newscaster had said some glib thing about Gorkland’s having assumed immediately that he was. What kind of talk was that? Was he or wasn’t he a Roman Catholic? More than likely, if he were, he probably was not one who practiced his religion. Heathen!
He wondered what would happen when he met the woman. He’d have to be tough and make certain that he remained in control of the ideas generated by this woman—this sinner. But possession?
He’d nip that flower in the bud before it had half a chance at blooming into a full-fledged idea. Stuff like that just simply did not exist. He remembered everything he had ever learned on the subject in seminary. Then, he had been ready to believe—anything and everything. But the year before he was to be ordained, the Vatican had decreed that certain changes would be made concerning the sacrament of Holy Orders. The one that shook his faith most had been the removal of exorcism from the ranks of the minor orders that every priest had taken for the last—how many hundreds of years? If they could remove it just like that, like snapping one’s fingers, it made the whole idea seem a bit superfluous at best. Surely the devil still existed. If he existed, didn’t the possibility of demonic possession also exist? If both were possible, why was the minor order of exorcism—this privilege of doing battle with Satan—done away with and given to only a few chosen priests? The whole idea had bothered him then and had continually pestered him through his whole career as a priest. Never— not once in all the years that he had been a priest of God and Jesus—had the idea of possession ever been mentioned to him by anyone outside ordinary conversation. He had even read the more lurid novels concerning the subject. The Exorcist had caused quite a flap when it was published, but the one he had enjoyed the most had been Garden of the Incubus, which seemed the more accurate and better researched of the two.
What difference? he thought, slipping out of his overcoat. Draping it across his arm, he tentatively reached out with his forefinger to ring the bell. How difficult would this interview be? Would the woman become hysterical? He hoped not. He recalled the one time he had slipped in his career as a priest. Answering a parishioner’s cry for help, he had called on her, a young housewife whose husband had beaten her. She had become frightened, then hysterical, and in an attempt to calm her, he had embraced her. Before he knew what happened, they had wound up in bed. Shortly thereafter, the woman had committed suicide and he had been transferred. The guilt of the sin had been removed in the confessional, but the memory had remained with him over the years. Now, he would have to face another woman on a one-to-one basis. Of course, he had done that over the years but not with the possibility that the woman could become hysterical. He’d control the situation if that happened. He’d have to.
He heard the bell ring and footsteps approaching the door. When it opened, he forced a smile. “I’m Father Gorkland. We have an appointment.”
“Yes, Father,” Nicole said, stepping back and gesturing at the same time that he should enter. “Please, come in.”
Entering, he smelled her perfume. Was she trying to seduce him? A quivering shudder ran down his spine. The jezebel! He’d have to be on his guard. “Is Mr. Lawrence going to be here?”
“Myles is at the station, Father. Give me your coat and I’ll hang it up.”
“If it’s the same to you, I’ll just throw it over this hall chair.” He dropped the coat before turning to face her. At least he’d be able to get away in a hurry if escape became necessary.
“Why don’t we sit in the living room,” Nicole said, moving toward the arched entryway.
The priest followed, selecting an overstuffed easy chair opposite the couch where Nicole sat down.
She hesitated. Who should speak first? Should they have some idle talk first? Or should she simply throw herself on his mercy and tell him everything? Even about the ritual?
She studied Gorkland. Small. In fact, Myles’ description had not done justice to the man. At best, he barely came up to the level of her face. But was size important when confronted with demons and the devil? Faith—that invisible, unmeasurable quality that men and women were supposed to possess in unknown quantities—was the main ingredient when it came to fighting unseen beings.
But her beings weren’t all unseen. She had seen one—the horrible thing standing at the foot of her bed. Should she tell Gorkland about that? The dream? Maybe. But she’d reserve judgment on telling him about the apparition she had seen. It had to have been a figment of her imagination.
Then, too, there was the question of the ceremony she had performed. Should she tell this man, this priest of God, about that as well? Trying to conjure up the devil in the form of Lucifer hardly seemed the right thing to tell a priest who was here to help her. He’d probably rant and rave at her and call her a heathen or a witch or something equally bad. He’d condemn her. Considering the tirade he’d unleashed at Myles about the two of them living together in sin, she decided to relegate the rite to the farthest recesses of her mind, along with the thing she had seen at the foot of her bed.
“Why don’t you begin by telling me everything that has happened that you consider to be out of the ordinary, Miss Kilton.” Gorkland paused after having taken the initiative.
Coughing to clear her throat, Nicole said, “Myles and I had a breakup this past September and I was upset and frustrated because of it.”
/> She went on to tell him of the depression into which she sank and how her only thoughts had been of Myles. Skipping over the book she had bought on impulse and the rite she had performed that one Friday night, she told of the water incident, the apparent vandalism, the smells, and most everything else that had happened.
When she finished, he brought his fingertips together, staring at her. “The water,” he began. “That in itself is pretty much ordinary. I could hardly consider that something unusual. Probably faulty workmanship in the plumbing. As far as someone else breaking into your apartment and vandalizing your possessions, I could hardly take the suggestion that that is uncommon in this day and age. It happens all the time. Do I make myself clear?”
Nicole chewed on her lip for a moment before answering. It was slowly becoming apparent to her that the man was going to explain everything in a rational manner. Probably, he would even suggest that she seek help of some type. Hadn’t he already done that with Myles? “I understand what it is you’re saying, Father. It’s just that all of it seems so blasted unreal.”
“I don’t see why it should seem unusual, my dear. Vandals do break into homes and apartments every day and night of the year.”
“But,” she said, holding her hands up, “they usually have a reason. They’re looking for something to steal. Nothing was taken from my apartment. If it’s as you say, just ordinary circumstances, explain that if you would.”
“Perhaps they found nothing worth taking.” He smiled, a condescending look holding his face.
Standing, Nicole crossed the room to the stereo and TV set. “What about these? This is high quality equipment. If they were looking for something to steal and turn into cash, both of these things should have brought a good price at any pawn shop.”
Gorkland shrugged, his smile intact.
“What about the smell?” Nicole wrinkled her nose when she thought of the vile, repulsive stink.
“What about it? That could be sewer gas backing up through your kitchen sink or through the shower or bathtub. Good heavens, Miss Kilton, you can’t expect something like the things you’ve told me about to be coming from the devil or hell. Why think that?”
“What about the fact that the police were not able to find any evidence of someone breaking in when they investigated the vandalism incident?”
“Someone is very clever. That’s all I can say.”
“Then, Father, say something placating about my TV set and stereo equipment turning themselves on.” She was growing irritated with the man’s offhanded way of trying to logically explain everything. She had to control her temper or run the risk of embarrassing herself as well as the priest.
Gorkland stood, brushing past Nicole, and went to the window overlooking the street below. “Vibrations. Vibrations from traffic. I’m positive. It’s not really anything out of the ordinary after all, Miss Kilton.” He turned to face her.
“Then, tell me how they suddenly came on when the police were here, answering the call of my neighbor’s complaint? They were standing at the door and I was three or four feet away and just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “they went on. Loudly. Very loudly.”
“Because you didn’t feel the vibrations doesn’t mean they weren’t there.” He stopped smiling and a sober, self-confident expression crossed his face. Obviously, he was pleased in the manner with which he was fielding her questions and objections. He sincerely hoped she would forget about the incident that followed the police investigation. When he saw her eyes light up, he knew she was about to mention it.
“When the cops left,” she said, slowly, evenly, “and right before Myles returned, they went back on again but they weren’t plugged in. The police had pulled them out and tied the cords together. Explain that, Father Gorkland.” Her voice had grown bitter and an icy sarcasm hung on each word.
“Now you have one piece of unexplained evidence. Not too much when one considers that everything else has a ready explanation.”
Before she pursued that one piece of evidence and before she brought up anything else, she bowed her head, biting her lip for a second. “Could I offer you a cup of coffee, Father? I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good hostess.”
“That would be nice,” he said, returning to his chair.
“We can still talk while I make it,” she said, entering the kitchen. “The apartment isn’t that big.”
“You’re sure,” he said, raising his voice just a bit to make certain she’d hear him, “that you haven’t made any wishes or done anything that might be considered … well, contrary to God’s law?”
“I’m not certain what you mean, Father,” she said, measuring the ground coffee into the basket. She certainly was not going to tell him about the Satanic ritual she had performed. If he had proven to be somewhat different from Myles’ interpretation of his prim character, she might have considered but not with the man sitting in her living room. To her, it was too apparent the priest had a few problems of his own.
“An idle promise in the form of a deal with … say, the devil.”
“Such as?” She entered the living room, the sound of water heating and perking through the coffee coming from behind her.
“Suppose you were in line for a promotion at work or for a raise. It wouldn’t be uncommon to say to one’s self something like: ‘If I get that job or that raise, I’ll do this or that or the other thing.’ Sort of a bargain, if you will.”
Nicole puckered her lips in feigned thought. “No. Nothing like that. Tell me, Father,” she said quickly, “how do you explain what happened last night? Myles swears I was floating in midair. Is something like that possible?”
“You know it’s not. In the old days, the Church demanded, among other things, that phenomena contrary to the certain laws of nature be evident before someone could be declared as being possessed. But today, we have psychiatry and psychology, and most of the clues from the past that were part and parcel of possession are no longer relevant.”
“But the cover sheet ripping and me floating … good God, Father, can’t you say something that will help me understand?”
“Don’t be so quick to call on God in circumstances such as this.” His voice snapped the words. His pragmatism was getting to Nicole, eating at her like a cancerous growth. Thankful for the quiet coming from the kitchen, she stood, excusing herself to go for the coffee.
“I think that the fact that you’re living in sin with this man might be affecting you more than you realize.” Gorkland stood, his attention caught by something over the TV set. Crossing the room, he reached out, pulling from its place on the shelf the antique red book trimmed in gold.
Nicole came back into the living room, carrying two cups of coffee.
“What is this?” he asked, his voice oily with righteousness.
After she placed the coffee cups on the table, she hurried to the priest. Reaching out, she grabbed the book away from him. “That’s mine. It’s none of your business.”
“None of my business, eh? Well, let me tell you one thing, Miss Kilton. I know what’s in that book. I held it long enough to see that it contains chants and curses and such from witchcraft and what have you. Shame on you. Shame on you, you harlot! You whore! You live with a man and cannot face the responsibility that a lifelong commitment entails. You then develop a mental problem because of it and try to get me to soothe your guilt-ridden conscience! Shame, indeed. I wouldn’t help you now for anything. You’ve lied to me. You are lying to yourself and to God—if you believe in Him and ever pray to Him. But it is all for naught. You, my dear, are going to hell. Straight to hell. Then, you’ll meet, face to face, the unholy force with which you have been flirting.”
Nicole fought to restrain her temper. The sonofabitch was chastising her for a mistake. Whatever happened to common decency—and yes, forgiveness? Wasn’t that the priest’s main role? To represent God, offering forgiveness for sins and transgressions? But not this one. He was judging her and Myles, condemning them to everlastin
g hell’s fire. She didn’t need that type of guilt thrown on her.
“I think you’d better go. Father,” she said very quietly, in contrast to the rage fomenting within her.
“I certainly am not needed here, witch! You and your partner in sin will burn forever in hell. You and …”
Nicole stormed to the door, throwing it open. Tapping her foot, her irritation with the priest ready to boil over, she waited. He could pick up his own coat and get the hell out of her apartment and her life! Forever!
“The both of you are beyond hope,” he said flatly, slipping into his coat while standing in the doorway to the hall.
Unable to close it because of where he stood, Nicole waited for him to finish his verbal onslaught. Defiantly returning his glare when he stared at her for a long minute before leaving, she slammed the door after he turned to walk down the hall.
The sonofabitch! That bastard! That worthless piece of scum! She stood, feet apart, facing the doorway where the priest had been standing seconds before. She felt relieved, peculiarly safe, now that he had left and she was alone. Why had she thought that anything would come of this meeting? Myles had insisted on it, having told the priest everything that had happened. Convincing him to visit with her had been one colossal mistake. Perhaps another priest might have reacted differently, but this one had something bothering him That was painfully obvious. Perhaps he wasn’t as sure of himself when it came to a pecking order with Divine Providence. Maybe he had only given vent to his own insecurities and convictions when the opportunity had presented itself to do so with one he felt was worse off and more vulnerable than he.
Well, it was over.
The smack of something falling to the floor brought her around to find a picture, framed and covered with glass laying on the floor behind her. Somehow it had fallen from its place on the shelf in the entry way. It lay on its back, the glass covering the enlarged photo of her dead parents, intact. Not broken. Not even cracked. Without thinking, she picked it up, replacing it on the shelf. How could it have fallen over four feet onto the tile floor in the entryway and not shattered? She didn’t care. At least it was all right and not broken. That was the important thing.
